The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

But the time flew fast-that dreadful morrow was approaching. Already I saw her writhing in the hands of the torturer-the flames, the racks, the wheels, were before my eyes! Half frantic with the fear that her resolution was fixed, I flung myself from the litter in an agony of weeping, and supplicated her, by the love she bore me, by the happiness that awaited us, by her own merciful God, who was too good to require such a sacrifice by all that the most passionate anxiety could dictate, I implored that she would avert from us the doom that was coming, and-but for once-comply with the vain ceremony demanded of her.

Shrinking from me, as I spoke—but with a look more of sorrow than reproach "What, thou, too!" she said mournfully" thou, into whose inmost spirit I had fondly hoped the same light had entered as into my own! No, never be thou leagued with them who would tempt me to make shipwreck of my faith!' Thou, who couldst alone bind me to life, use not, I entreat thee, thy power; but let me die, as He I serve hath commanded - die for the Truth. Remember the holy lessons we heard together on those nights, those happy nights, when both the present and future smiled upon us- -when even the gift of eternal life came more welcome to my soul, from the glad conviction that thou wert to be a sharer in its blessings;-shall I forfeit now that divine privilege? shall I deny the true God, whom we then learned to love?

"No, my own betrothed," she continued. pointing to the two rings on her finger-"behold these pledges they are both sacred. I should have been as true to thee as I am now to heaven, -nor in that life to which I am hastening shall our love be forgotten. Should the baptism of fire, through which I shall pass to-morrow, make me worthy to be heard before the throne of Grace, I will intercede for thy soul-I will pray that it may yet share with mine that inheritance, immortal and undefiled,' which Mercy offers, and that thou-and my dear mother-and I

She here dropped her voice; the momentary animation, with which devotion and affection had inspired her, vanished;-and there came a darkness over all her features, a livid darkness-like the approach of death-that made me shudder through every limb. Seizing my hand convulsively, and looking at me with a fearful eagerness,

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He then told me in a low voice, what he had just learned from the guardian of the prison, that the band round the young Christian's brow was - oh horrible! - a compound of the most deadly poison-the hellish invention of Orcus, to satiate his vengeance, and make the fate of his poor victim secure. My first movement was to untie that fatal wreath-but it would not come away—it would not come away!

Roused by the pain, she again looked in my face; but, unable to speak, took hastily from her bosom the small silver cross which she had brought with her from my cave. Having pressed it to her own lips, she held it anxiously to mine, and, seeing me kiss the holy symbol with fervour, looked happy, and smiled. The agony of death seemed to have passed away;-there came suddenly over her features a heavenly light, some share of which I felt descending into my own soul, and, in a few minutes more, she expired in my arms.

Here ends the Manuscript; but, on the outer cover is found, in the handwriting of a much later period, the following Notice, extracted, as it appears, from some Egyptian martyrology:

"ALCIPHRON -an Epicurean philosopher, converted to Christianity, A. D. 257, by a young Egyptian maiden, who suffered martyrdom in that year. Immediately upon her death he betook himself to the desert, and lived a life, it is said, of much

1 We find poisonous crowns mentioned by Pliny, under the designation of "coronæ ferales." Paschalius, too, gives the following account of these "deadly garlands," as he calls them: "Sed mirum est tam salutare inventum humanam nequitiam reperisse, quomodo ad nefarios usus traducent.

Nempe, repertæ sunt nefandæ coronæ harum, quas dixi, tam salubrium per nomen quidem et speciem imitatrices, at re et effectu ferales, atque adeo capitis, cui imponuntur, interfectrices."-De Coronis.

holiness and penitence. During the persecution under Dioclesian, his sufferings for the faith were most exemplary; and being at length, at an advanced age, condemned to hard labour, for refusing to comply with an Imperial edict, he died at the Brass Mines of Palestine, A. D. 297.—

by Athanasian writers, who, among other charges, accuse him of having been addicted to the superstitions of Egypt. For this calumny, however, there appears to be no better foundation than a circumstance, recorded by one of his brother monks, that there was found, after his death, a "As Alciphron held the opinions maintained small metal mirror, like those used in the cere since by Arius, his memory has not been spared monies of Isis, suspended around his neck."

ALCIPHRON:

A FRAGMENT.

LETTER I.

FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT

ATHENS.

WELL may you wonder at my flight

From those fair Gardens, in whose bowers
Lingers whate'er of wise and bright,
Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light,

Is left to grace this world of ours.
Well may my comrades, as they roam,
On such sweet eves as this, inquire
Why I have left that happy home

Where all is found that all desire,
And Time hath wings that never tire;
Where bliss, in all the countless shapes,

That Fancy's self to bliss hath given,
Comes clustering round, like road-side grapes
That woo the traveller's lip, at even;
Where Wisdom flings not joy away-
As Pallas in the stream, they say,
Once flung her flute-but smiling owns
That woman's lip can send forth tones
Worth all the music of those spheres
So many dream of, but none hears;
Where Virtue's self puts on so well

Her sister Pleasure's smile, that, loth
From either nymph apart to dwell,

We finish by embracing both.

Yes, such the place of bliss, I own,
From all whose charms I just have flown;
And even while thus to thee I write,
And by the Nile's dark flood recline,

Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight
Back to those groves and gardens bright,
And often think, by this sweet light,
How lovelily they all must shine;
Can see that graceful temple throw

Down the green slope its lengthen'd shade,
While, on the marble steps below,

There sits some fair Athenian maid,
Over some favourite volume bending;

And, by her side, a youthful sage
Holds back the ringlets that, descending,
Would else o'ershadow all the page.
But hence such thoughts!-nor let me grieve
O'er scenes of joy that I but leave,
As the bird quits awhile its nest
To come again with livelier zest.

And now to tell thee-what I fear
Thou'lt gravely smile at-why I'm here.
Though through my life's short, sunny dream,
I've floated without pain or care,
Like a light leaf, down pleasure's stream,
Caught in each sparkling eddy there;
Though never Mirth awaked a strain
That my heart echoed not again;
Yet have I felt, when even most gay,
Sad thoughts-I knew not whence or why-
Suddenly o'er my spirit fly,

Like clouds, that, ere we've time to say

"How bright the sky is!" shade the sky.
Sometimes so vague, so undefin'd,
Were these strange dark'nings of my mind —
While nought but joy around me beam'd-

So causelessly they've come and flown,

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This thought it was that came to shed
O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys;
And, close as shade with sunshine, wed
Its sadness with my happiest joys.
Oh, but for this disheart'ning voice,
Stealing amid our mirth to say
That all, in which we most rejoice,

Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey;
But for this bitter-only this-
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss,
And capable as feels my soul

Of draining to its dregs the whole,
I should turn earth to heav'n, and be,
If bliss made Gods, a Deity!

Thou know'st that night-the very last
That 'mong my Garden friends I pass'd-
When the School held its feast of mirth
To celebrate our founder's birth,
And all that He in dreams but saw

When he set Pleasure on the throne

Of this bright world, and wrote her law
In human hearts, was felt and known-
Not in unreal dreams, but true
Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew —
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt.

That night, when all our mirth was o'er,
The minstrels silent, and the feet
Of the young maidens heard no more-
So stilly was the time, so sweet,
And such a calm came o'er that scene,
Where life and revel late had been-
Lone as the quiet of some bay,
From which the sea hath ebb'd away-
That still I linger'd, lost in thought,
Gazing upon the stars of night,
Sad and intent, as if I sought

Some mournful secret in their light; And ask'd them, 'mid that silence, why Man, glorious man, alone must die, While they, less wonderful than he, Shine on through all eternity.

That night-thou haply may'st forget Its loveliness-but 'twas a night

And music floated every where,
Circling, as 'twere itself the air,
And spirits, on whose wings the hue
Of heaven still linger'd, round me flew,
Till from all sides such splendours broke,
That, with the excess of light, I woke!

Such was my dream;-and, I confess,
Though none of all our creedless School
E'er conn'd, believ'd, or reverenc'd less
The fables of the priest-led fool,
Who tells us of a soul, a mind,
Separate and pure, within us shrin'd,
Which is to live-ah, hope too bright!-
For ever in yon fields of light;
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes

Of Gods are on him- as if, blest
And blooming in their own blue skies,
The' eternal Gods were not too wise

To let weak man disturb their rest!Though thinking of such creeds as thou And all our Garden sages think, Yet is there something, I allow, In dreams like thisWith worlds unseen, which, from the hour I first could lisp my thoughts till now, Hath master'd me with spell-like power.

-a sort of link

And who can tell, as we're combin'd
Of various atoms- —some refin'd,
Like those that scintillate and play
In the fix'd stars-some, gross as they
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay-
Who can be sure, but 'tis the best

And brightest atoms of our frame,
Those most akin to stellar flame,
That shine out thus, when we're at rest; -
Ev'n as the stars themselves, whose light
Comes out but in the silent night.
Or is it that there lurks, indeed,
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed,
And that our Guardians, from on high,
Come, in that pause from toil and sin,
To put the senses' curtain by,

And on the wakeful soul look in!

Vain thought!--but yet, howe'er it be,
Dreams, more than once, hath prov❜d to me
Oracles, truer far than Oak,

Or Dove, or Tripod, ever spoke.

And 'twas the words—thou'lt hear and smileThe words that phantom seem'd to speak"Go, and beside the sacred Nile

"You'll find the Eternal Life you seek-" That, haunting me by night, by day,

At length, as with the unseen hand

Of Fate itself, urg'd me away

From Athens to this Holy Land; Where, 'mong the secrets, still untaught, The myst'ries that, as yet, nor sun Nor eye hath reach'd-oh, blessed thought!— May sleep this everlasting one.

Farewell-when to our Garden friends
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends
The gayest of their school thus far,
Wandering beneath Canopus' star,
Tell them that, wander where he will,
Or, howsoe'er they now condemn
His vague and vain pursuit, he still

Is worthy of the School and them;Still, all their own-nor e'er forgets,

Ev'n while his heart and soul pursue Th' Eternal Light which never sets,

The many meteor joys that do, But seeks them, hails them with delight, Where'er they meet his longing sight. And, if his life must wane away, Like other lives, at least the day, The hour it lasts shall, like a fire With incense fed, in sweets expire.

LETTER IL

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

Memphis

'Tis true, alas- the myst'ries and the lore
I came to study on this wondrous shore,
Are all forgotten in the new delights,
The strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights.
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak
From subterranean temples, those I seek
Come from the breathing shrines where Beauty

lives,

And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives.

Instead of honouring Isis in those rites

At Coptos held, I hail her, when she lights
Her first young crescent on the holy stream-
When wandering youths and maidens watch her

beam,

And number o'er the nights she hath to run,
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun.
While o'er some mystic leaf, that dimly lends
A clue into past times, the student bends,
And by its glimmering guidance learns to tread
Back through the shadowy knowledge of the dead-
The only skill, alas, I yet can claim

Lies in deciphering some new lov'd-one's name—
Some gentle missive, hinting time and place,
In language, soft as Memphian reed can trace.

And where-oh where's the heart that could with- Is played in the cool current by a train

stand

The' unnumber'd witcheries of this sun-born land,
Where first young Pleasure's banner was unfurl'd,
And Love hath temples ancient as the world!
Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn,
Hides but to win, and shades but to adorn ;
Where that luxurious melancholy, born
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom
Making joy holy;-where the bower and tomb
Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns from Death
The instant value of each moment's breath.

Couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream
This lovely land now looks!—the glorious stream,
That late, between its banks, was seen to glide
'Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side
Glitt'ring like jewels strung along a chain,
Hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain
And valley, like a giant from his bed
Rising with outstretch'd limbs, hath grandly spread;
While far as sight can reach, beneath as clear
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd our sphere,
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry domes,
And high-built temples, fit to be the homes
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose hour
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower!

Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she ', whose chain
Around two conquerors of the world was cast,
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last.

For oh, believe not them, who dare to brand,
As poor in charms, the women of this land.
Though darkened by that sun, whose spirit flows
Through every vein, and tinges as it goes,
'Tis but the' embrowning of the fruit that tells
How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells -
The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear,
Announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there.
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free
The secret of young hearts more tenderly.
Such eyes!-long, shadowy, with that languid fall
Of the fring'd lids, which may be seen in all
Who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays-
Lending such looks as, on their marriage days,
Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze!
Then for their grace-mark but the nymph-like
shapes

Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes
From green Anthylla, or light urns of flowers—
Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest hours,
E'er imag'd forth, even at the touch of him 2
Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb;
Then, canst thou wonder if, 'mid scenes like these,

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make I should forget all graver mysteries,
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake,

Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives
Of life and motion, ever moves and lives.
Here, up the steps of temples from the wave
Ascending, in procession slow and grave,
Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands;
While there, rich barks-fresh from those sunny

tracts

Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts—
Glide, with their precious lading to the sea,
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory,
Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains
Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains.
Here, where the waters wind into a bay
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way
To Saïs or Bubastus, among beds

Of lotus flowers, that close above their heads,
Push their light barks, and there, as in a bower,
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour;
Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat,
That leaf, from which its waters drink most sweet.
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank

1 Cleopatra.

All lore but Love's, all secrets but that best

In heaven or earth, the art of being blest!
Yet are there times-though brief, I own, their
stay,

Like Summer clouds that shine themselves away-
Moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall
Upon my sadd'ning heart, and I recall
That Garden dream—that promise of a power-
Oh, were there such!-to lengthen out life's hour,
On, on, as through a vista, far away
Opening before us into endless day!
And chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought
Come on that evening-bright as ever brought
Light's golden farewell to the world-when first
The' eternal pyramids of Memphis burst
Awfully on my sight-standing sublime
"Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time,
From whose lone summit, when his reign hath past
From earth for ever, he will look his last!

There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round
Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound
In the still air that circled them, which stole
Like music of past times into my soul.

2 Apelles.

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