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Which won me more than all the best
Outshining beauties of the rest.
And her alone my eyes could see,
Enchain'd by this sweet mystery ;
And her alone I vatch'd, as round
She glided o'er that marble ground,
Stirring not more th' unconscious air
Than if a Spirit were moving there.
Till suddenly, wide open flew
The Temple's folding gates, and threw
A splendor from within, a flood
Of glory, where these maidens stood.
While, with that light—as if the same
Rich source gave birth to both-there cama
A swell of harmony, as grand
As e'er was born of voice and hand,
Filling the gorgeous aisles around
With luxury of light and sound.

Where'er I sought to pass, their wands

Motion'd me back, while many a file Of sacred nymphs—but ah, not they Whom my eyes look'd for-throng'd the way Perplex’d, impatient, 'mid this crowd Of faces, lights—the o'erwhelming cloud Of incense round me, and my blood Full of its new-born fire-I stood, Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught

A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, Or wreath of lotus, vhich, I thought,

Like those she wore at distance shone.

But no, 'twas vain-hour after hour,

Till my heart's throbbing turn'd to pain, And my strain’d eyesight lost its power,

I sought her thus, but all in vain. At length, hot-wilderd-in despair, I rush'd into the cool night air, And, hurrying, (though with many a look Back to the busy Temple,) took My way along the moonlight shore, And sprung into my boat once more.

Then was it, by the flash that blazed

Full o'er her features-oh 'twas then, As startingly her eyes she raised,

But quick let fall their lids again,
I saw-not Psyche's self, when first

Upon the threshold of the skies
She paused, while heaven's glory burst

Newly upon her downcast eyes,
Could look more beautiful, or blush

With holier shame, than did this maid, Whom now I saw, in all that gush

Of splendor from the aisles, display'd, Never--though well thou know'st how much

I've felt the sway of Beauty's starNever did her bright influence touch

My soul into its depths so far; And had that vision linger'd there

One minute more, I should have flown, Forgetful who I was and where,

And, at her feet in worship thrown,
Proffer'd my soul through life her own.

There is a Lake, that to the north
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth,
Upon whose silent shore the Dead

Have a proud City of their own,' With shrines and pyramids o'erspread Where many an ancient kingly head

Slumbers, immortalized in stone ; And where, through marble grots beneath,

The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, Nor wanting aught of life but breath,

Lio in their painted coverings, And on each new successive race,

That visit their dim haunts below, Look with the same unwithering face,

They wore three thousand years ago. There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves The neighborhood of death, in groves Of Asphodel lies hid, and weaves His hushing spell among the leaves Nor ever noise disturbs the air,

Save the low, humming, mournful sound Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer

For the fresh Dead entomb'd around.

But, scarcely had that burst of light
And music broke on ear and sight,
Than up the aisle the bird took wing,

As if on heavenly mission sent,
While after him, with graceful spring,

Like some unearthly creatures, meant
To live in that mix'd element

Of light and song, the young maids went;
And she, who in my heart had thrown
A spark to burn for life, was flown.

'Twas tow'rd this place of death—in mood

Made up of thoughts, half bright, half dartI now across the shining flood

Unconscious turn'd my light-wing'd bark.

In vain I tried to follow ;-bands

Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle:

Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south of Memphis.

Cold, dead, and black’ning, 'mid the gloom

Of those eternal sepulchres.

The form of that young maid, in all

Its beauty, was before me still; And oft I thought, if thus to call

Her image to my mind at will, If but the memory of that one Bright look of hers, forever gone, Was to my heart worth all the rest Ol woman-kind, beheld, possess'dWhat would it be, if wholly mine, Within these arms, as in a shrine, Hallow'd by Love, I saw her shineAn idol, worshipp'd by the light Of her own beauties, day and nightIf 'twas a blessing but to see And lose again, what would this be?

Scarce had I turn'd my eyes away

From that dark death-place, at the thought, When by the sound of dashing spray

From a light oar my ear was caught, While past me, through the moonlight, sail'd

A little gilded bark that bore
Two female figures, closely veil'd

And mantled, towards that funeral shore.
They landed—and the boat again
Put off across the watery plain.

In thoughts like these—but often cross'd
By darker threads—my mind was lost,
Till, ncar that City of the Dead,
Waked from my trance, I saw o'erhead-
As if by some enchanter bid

Suddenly from the wave to rise-
Pyramid over pyramid

Tower in succession to the skies; While one, aspiring, as if soon

"Twould touch the heavens, rose o'er all; And, on its summit, the white moon

Rested, as on a pedestal !

Shall I confess-to thee I may

That never yet hath come the chance Of a new music, a new ray

From woman's voice, from woman's glance, Which-let it find me how it might,

In joy or grief, I did not bless, And wander after, as a light

Leading to undreamt happiness. And chiefly now, when hopes so vain Were stirring in my heart and brain, When Fancy had allured my soul

Into a chase, as vague and far As would be his, who fix'd his goal

In the horizon, or some starAny bewilderment, that brought More near to earth my high-flown thoughtThe faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, Less high and heavenly, but more sure, Came welcome-and was then to me What the first flowery islo must be To vagrant birds blown out to sea.

The silence of the lonely tombs

And temples round, where naught was heard But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes,

Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird,
Form'd a deep contrast to the scene
Of revel, where I late had been ;
To those gay sounds, that still came o'er,
Faintly, from many a distant shore,
And th' unnumber'd lights, that shone
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon.

Quick to the shore I urged my bark,

And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed Between the lofty tombs, could mark

Those figures, as with hasty tread They glided on-till in the shade

Of a small pyramid, which through Some boughs of palm its peak display'd,

They vanish'd instant from my view.

My oars were lifted, and my boat
Lay rock'd

upon the rippling stream; While my vague thoughts, alike afloat,

Drifted through many an idle dream, With all of which, wild and unfix'd As was their aim, that vision mix'd, Thal bright nymph of the Temple-now, With the same innocence of brow She wore within the lighted faneNow kindling, through each pulse and vein, With passion of such deep-følt fire As Gods might glory to inspire ; And now-oh Darkness of the tomb,

That must eclipse even light like hers!

I hurried to the spot--no trace Of life was in that lonely placo ; And, had the creed I hold by taught Of other worlds, I might have thought Some mocking spirits had from thence Come in this guise to cheat my sense.

At length, exploring darkly round
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found
An iron portal-opening high

'Twixt peak and base-and, with a prayer

To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye

Alone beheld me, sprung in there. Downward the narrow stairway led Through many a duct obscure and dread,

A labyrinth for mystery made, With wanderings onward, backward, round, And gathering still, where'er it wound,

But deeper density of shade

For there was yet one wonder there,

That held me as by witch'ry bound. The lamp, that through the chamber shed Its vivid beam, was at the head Of her who on that altar slept;

And near it stood, when first I cameBending her brow, as if she kept

Sad watch upon its silent flameA female form, as yet so placed

Between the lamp's strong glow and me, That I but saw, in outline traced,

The shadow of her symmetry. Yet did my heart-I scarce knew whyEven at that shadow'd shape beat high. Nor was it long, ere full in sight The figure turn'd; and by the light That touch'd her features, as she bent Over the crystal monument, I saw 'twas she-the same—the same

That lately stood before me, brightning The holy spot, where she but came

And went again, like summer lightning!

1

Scarce had I ask'd myself, “ Can aught

“ That man delights in sojourn here ?"When, suddenly, far off, I caught

A glimpse of light, remote, but clearWhose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour

From some alcove or cell, that ended The long, steep, marblo corridor,

Through which I now, all hope, descended. Never did Spartan to his bride With warier foot at midnight glide. It seem'd as echo's self were dead In this dark place, so mute my tread. Reaching, at length, that light, I saw

Oh listen to the scene, now raised
Before my eyes then guess the awe,

The still, rapt awe with which I gazed.
'Twas a small chapel, lined around
With the fair, spangling marble, found
In many a ruin'd shrine that stands
Half seen above the Libyan sands.
The walls were richly sculptured o'er,
And character'd with that dark lore,
Of times before the Flood, whose key
Was lost in th' “ Universal Sea.”—
While on the roof was pictured bright

The Theban beetle, as he shines,

When the Nile's mighty flow declines,
And forth the creature springs to light,
With life regenerate in his wings :
Emblem of vain imaginings!
Of a new world, when this is gone,
In which the spirit still lives on!

Upon the crystal, o'er the breast
Of her who took that silent rest,
There was a cross of silver lying-

Another type of that blest home, Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying

Build for us in a world to come :This silver cross the maiden raised To her pure lips :-then, having gazed Some ininutes on that tranquil face, Sleeping in all death's mournful grace, Upward she turn'd her brow serene,

As if, intent on heaven, those eyes Saw then nor roof nor cloud between

Their own pure orbits and the skies ; And, though her lips no motion made,

And that fix'd look was all her speech, I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd

Deeper within than words could reach

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Direct beneath this type, reclined

On a black granite altar, lay
A female form, in crystal shrined,

And looking fresh as if the ray

Of soul had fled but yesterday. While in relief, of silv'ry hue,

Graved on the altar's front were seen A branch of lotus, broken in two,

As that fair creature's life had been, Aud a small bird that from its spray Was winging, like her soul, away.

Strange power of Innocence, to tumu

To its own hoe whate'er comes near, And make even vagrant Passion burn

With purer warmth within its sphere! She who, but one short hour before, Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er My heart and brain—whom gladly, even

From that bright Temple, in the face Of those proud ministers of heaven,

I would have borne, in wild embrace. And risk'd all punishment, divine And human, but to make her mice ;She, she was now before me, thrown

By fate itself into my arins

But brief the glimpse I now could spare,

To the wild, mystic wonders round;

Though the red sun for hours hath burn'd,

And now, in his mid course, hath met The peak of that eternal pile

He pauses still at noon to bless,
Standing beneath his downward smile,

Like a great Spirit, shadowless!
Nor yet she comes--while here, alone,

Saunt'ring through this death-peopled place,
Where no heart beats except my own,
Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown,

By turns I watch, and rest, and trace
These lines, that are to waft to thee
My last night's wondrous history.

There standing, beautiful, alone,

With naught to guard her, but her charms Yet did I, then-did even a breath

From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move, Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death

Held converse through undying love ? No-smile and taunt me as thou wilt

Though but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt,

To win by stealth so pure a sight: And rather than a look profano

Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, Or voice or whisper broke the chain

That link'd her spirit with the skies, I would have gladly, in that place, From which I watch'd her heavenward face, Let my heart break, without one beat That could disturb a prayer so sweet. Gently, as if on every tread,

My life, my more than life, depended,
Back through the corridor that led

To this bless'd scene I now ascended,
And with slow seeking, and some pain,
And many a winding tried in vain,
Emerged to upper air again.
The sun had freshly risen, and down

The marble hills of Araby,
Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown,

His beams into that living sea.
There seem'd a glory in his light,

Newly put on—as if for pride
Of the high homage paid this night

To his own Isis, his young bride,
Now fading feminine away
In her proud Lord's superior ray.

Dost thou remenaber, in that .slo

Of our own Sea, where thou and I Linger'd so long, so happy a while,

Till all the summer flowers went byHow gay it was, when sunset brought

To the cool Well our favorite maids Some we had won, and some we sought

To dance within the fragrant shades, And, till the stars went down attune Their Fountain Hymns' to the young moon?

!

That time, too-oh, 'tis like a dream

When from Scamander's holy tide I sprung as Genius of the Stream,

And bore away that blooming bride, Who thither came, to yield her charms

(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) Into the cold Scamander's arms,

But met, and welcomed mine, instead Wondering, as on my neck she fell, How river-gods could love so well! Who would have thought that he, who roved

Like the first bees of summer then,
Rilling each sweet, nor ever loved

But the free hearts, that loved again,
Readily as the reed replies
To the least breath that round it sighs
Is the same dreamer who, last night,
Stood awed and breathless at the sight
Of ono Egyptian giri; and now
Wanders among these tombs, with brow
Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just,
Himself, had risen from out their dust!

My mind's first impulse was to fly

At once from this entangling netNew scenes to range, new loves to try, Or, in mirth, wine, and luxury

Of every sense, that night forget. But vain the effort-spell-bound still, I linger’d, without power or will

To turn my eyes froin that dark door, Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead

Oft fancying, through the boughs, that o'er The sunny pile their flickering shed, 'Twas her light form again I saw

Starting to earth-still pure and bright,
But wakening, as I hoped, less awe,

Thus seen by morning's natural light,
Than in thal strange, dim cell at night.

Yet so it is and the same thirst

For something high and pure, above This withering world, which, from the first,

Made me drink deep of woman's love

But no, alas-she ne'er return'd:

Nor yet—though still I watch-nor yet,

1 These songs of the Well, as they were called by the ancients, are still common in the Greek isles.

As the one joy, to heaven most near
Of all our hearts can meet with herom
Still burns me up, still keeps awake
A fever naught but death can slake.

Farewell ; whatever may befall.
Or bright, or dark--thou'lt know it all.

And, 'stead of haunting the trim Gardon's school
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule,
Like the pale moon's, o'er Passion's heaving lide,
Till Pleasure's self is chill'd by Wisdom's pridem
Bo taught by us, quit shadows for the true,
Substantial joys we sager Priests pursue,
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss,
Or Pleasure's substance for its sbade to miss,
Preach other worlds, but live for only this :-
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round us flung,
Whích, like its type, the golden cloud that hung
O'er Jupiter's love-coucis its shade benigu,
Round human frailty wraps a veil divine.

LETTER IV.

1

FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, TO DECIUS, Still less should they presume, weak wits, that
THE PRETORIAN PREFECT.

they

Alone despise the craft of us who pray ;-
Resoice, my friend, rejoice :-the youthful Chief Still less their creedless vanity deceive
Of that light Sect which mocks at all belief, With the fond thought, that we who pray

beliora
And, gay and godless, makes the present hour Believe !--Apis forbid-forbid it, all
Its only heaven, is now within our power.

Yo monster Gods, before whose shrines we fall
Smooth, impious school !--not all the weapons aim'd Deities, framed in jest, as if to try
At priestly creeds, since first a creed was framed, How far gross Man can vulgarize the sky;
E'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield, How far the same low fancy that combines
The Bacchant's pointed spear in laughing flowers Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's signs,
conceaľd.

And turns that Heaven itself into a place
And oh, 'twore victory to this heart, as sweet Of sainted sin and deified disgrace,
As any thou canst boast-even when the feet Can bring Olympus even to shame more deep,
of thy proud war-steed wade through Christian Stock it with things that earth itself holds cheap

,
blood,

Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen's sacred brood,
To wrap this scoffer in Faith's blinding hood, Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for food-
And bring him, tamed and prostrate, to implore All, worthy idols of a Faith that seos
The vilest gods even Egypt's saints adore.

In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities!
What do these sages think, to them alone
The koy of this world's happiness is known ? Believe -oh, Decius, thou, who feel'st no care
That none but they, who make such proud parade For things divine, beyond the soldier's share,
Of Pleasure's smiling favors, win the maid,

Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds,
Or that Religion keeps no secret place,

A good, fierce God to swear by, all he needs
No niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to grace ? Little canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs
Fools ! -did they know how keen the zest that's Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess the pangs
given

Of loathing and self-scorn with which a heart,
To earthly joy, when season'd well with heaven ; Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot's part-
How Piety's grave mask improves the hue

The deep and dire disgust with which I wade
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half seen through, Through the foul juggling of this holy trade-
And how the Priest, set aptly within reach

This mud profound of mystery, where the feet,
Of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each,

At every step, sink deeper in deceit.
Would they not, Decius--thou, whom th' ancient Oh! many a time, when, 'mid the Temple’s blaze,
tie

O'er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise,
Twixt Sword and Altar makes our best ally Did I not keep still proudly in my mind
Would they not change their creed, their craft, for The power this priestcraft gives me o'er mankind-
ours ?

A lever, of more might, in skilful hand,
Leave the gross daylight joys that, in their bowers, To move this world, than Archimede e'er plana'da
Languish with too much sun, like o'erblown I should, in vengeance of the shame I feel
flowers,

At my own mockery, crush the slaves that kneel
For the veil'd loves, the blisses undisplay'd

Besotted round; and like that kindred breed
That slyly lurk within the Temple's shade? Of reverend, well-dress'd crocodiles they feed,

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