  Sunset. A high rocky pasture above Alexandria. In the year of Our Lord 304. Didymus, a young soldier, enters and throws himself down. Didymus. T THIS mound is sweet to me. All my blood aches, Since driven onward like a dark hill-cloud, Dizzy with secret lightnings nowhere spent, I chase yon happy sun to his bright death, Alas, I know not whither: but I know I shall not see the myriad shields uphung In camp to-night, nor on our cypresses Smoke rise and sink in loath blue fountain spray. So far, so far I drift from even them Who fill one gourd with me, who cheer my heart, Who come in, warm and singing, to the tent, And miss me who am gone away, I think, Forever, though a day; out of their world, Though over a few leagues of upland grass! Why hast Thou laid on me magic of pain, God unrevealÈd? Was I drawn from sleep, Man’s duty, body’s health, to be mere wind, Wind undirected over fallow wastes? What wouldst Thou ask of me, no sword of Thine, No ark of service? Yet aware of Thee I am and shall be. All my thought, outspread, Is open unto Thee: a lonely beach Where the wide sobbing surf ebbs everywhere, And, hard upon each dawn-encolored wave, Flutters the wavy line of drying sand Back to the verge: the white line, shadow-quick, Thrilling there in the dark: an earthen gleam, Vain huntress of the sea. Suffer me now To follow and attain Thee, fugitive, And be my rest, who hast, my whole life long, Been mine unrest: implored, immortal Love! A Child enters, with a reed, wearing a wreath of thorns in his hair. The Child. Soldier, pipe up for me, a herd-boy, glad Because his flocks are folded. Didymus. Ah, not I! My star is withered; I am man no more. Sigh after sigh the builder Grief takes up, To heighten over me her gradual arch. The Child. An arch of entrance to a generous garden, Where spirits and the moonlit waters are. Take comfort! Didymus. Thou art a strange child, methinks, To say that too wise word. The Child. Remember, then, ’Twas breathed to thee at Alexandria, In early-dying April’s golden air. Didymus. Do I lie here, who deemed myself afar? I had forgot; I am foolish, lost, bewildered. The Child. O mine elect: be patient!... Listen now. There is an evening anthem in my reed; And while the laurels sparkle, and sun-lit, The mother-swallow dips into her cave, And doves move close along their bridal bough, Murmuring sorrow, I will play to thee. Didymus. I thank thee, boy, for I may fall asleep. The Child. Rather shalt wake, and from thy doubt be born! Lean so, against my knee. [The Child plays, a long time. O Didymus, With thy shut eyes, thy youth undedicate, Tell me the name of this new pastoral. Didymus (asleep). He said: “My yoke is sweet, My burden light.” O light, O sweet, perchance, as it was said! The Child. True heart! The hour rounds up; thy wine-press waits; And so this music fades: the silver tones Thin out, and faintly drip delight, and cease, No willing man nor bird hears how. Good-night, O soon-made-perfect! II Night. The same fields. Didymus wakes, alone. Didymus. It is black, and chill. My little piper’s gone.... How I have dreamed, How I have dreamed! Lord, gather quietly All wild hearts like mine own into Thy hand. Yet on the look of these fresh-kindled stars I feed, as if their bright benignant lips Betimes had kissed the fever out of me, And given to me their seat in warless air, Their naked majesty, their poignant calm. Not less remote my spirit, not less free, After this unimaginable sleep; Having changed place, indeed, poor moth that was! With vast abiding things: for now are cast Old bonds, old ardors, expectation, ease, Glory and death, belovÈd land and sea. Even as walled frost that feels the solar ray, Curls up, impermanent, and reels far down In long blue films, elfin, processional, While the built stones fall to their first grave hue, De-silvered: so the awful powers of earth Exhale from me who stand the same; for these Are vain, these are phantasmal, but not I. At last I know myself, and know my need As simply as a young child might, who cries For honey from his father’s liberal hive. I will go down at dawn; I will seek out The Christian bishop, who shall lift me up, A soul baptized.... Some lanthorn is beyond, And moving. Hail, there! Would that I could say, “The gods be kind to thee!” A Voice. And why not, friend? Thou greetest Cratidas, an old sad man, On his home-going track. Didymus. I too would house A head as sad as thine: pause but a space; I’ll find thee on the road. Now pray thee tell Whose farms are these? His little herd-boy passed, And spake or sang to me: Oh, if he were An angel, or a Greater! Cratidas. What art thou? Didymus. One from the camp Nicopolis. Cratidas. I ask, Leal to the State, or Christian? Didymus. In this dark, Imperial Diocletian’s telltale dark, And even to the sober ears of eld, What danger in the word! But now and here, Danger I love as if she were my fawn. Turn the lamp full this way: I’ll answer thee. A true-accounted Christian I am not: Afar from them my nurture; but I heard How my young mother, long now in her urn, Received them: whence aroma of their prayers Haunted our dwelling ever. In the wars, I have been sick with longing and half-faith, Last year and this; that prickle has lived on, Till every natural mirth is dead in me. In the shunned name of Christ, I know not how, Some harvest of mine innermost desire Is sown, is springing up. Art satisfied, Father who servest Jove? Cratidas. AccursÈd creed!— Sir, there my hasty tongue spake for my heart. A rebel girl I loved forsook me late, Bit with the Galilean pestilence. It rages, and it rots our best: be warned. I am no spy; I will befriend thee. Come. Didymus. Thou livest nigh? Cratidas. Not far. Where yon sole gem Swings from the new moon’s girdle, is my hearth, ’Twixt grove and grove: a solitary place, Since Theodora went. Hark!... Didymus. Sound of horror! The city’s anger must be under it. Cratidas. Ah me, I tremble: my poor lamb’s the cause Of such blind fury. Bitter, is it not, That her last kinsman, hearing, cannot help her? Didymus. Cratidas, I would help! Read possible aid In this firm-sinewed arm. Speak. Cratidas. That I do, As unto a well-wisher. I distrust Our fickle and tempestuous populace, Greek, Roman, Jew, Egyptian, multiform. Ah, the uproar! I had not thought to find it So fierce, so soon. Didymus. Speak quickly! Cratidas. Loose my wrist. Many light things are heavy to the old: Therefore, let me not feel thy touch again, The while I talk, and guide across the dew.— I, weeping in the hall, some three days since, Saw Theodora tried. Aloft he sat, Eustratius Proculus: no steely man, But wise and gracious, in the prefect’s chair. I do not blame him. (Mark the sudden gaps Along our path.) Eustratius Proculus, The gold and purple fringing his white robe, In a domed chamber, on a curving throne; And next the lighted jasper altar, wheeled Far up the floor, boxed incense piled thereby, Tall Theodora, like the lotus-flower That rides a flooded stream; lictors and priests, Notaries, naked executioners, Ranged thick about. The prefect so began: “Proclaim thyself.” “A maid named Theodora, Ward of her aged cousin, Cratidas.” “What is thine age?” “They tell me, seventeen years.” “And thy condition?” Whereto she replied: “Christ’s.” Very patiently he asked: “Art bond or free?” as runs the rote of law. She smiled in answering: “Free: made free by Christ; Else, of free parents honorably born, Rhoxis and HerÄis, who both are dead.” “Then why unmarried?” “For Christ’s sake,” she said, “I have been busied with the things of Christ:” (For none could quench that hectic “Christ” in her, Poor fool!) Then spake Eustratius Proculus: “Our code imperial deals with virgins thus: Either unto the gods they sacrifice, Or in an infamous place shall be exposed. Come: one small grain within the brazier dropped, And thou dost forfeit all pollution so, Nor lose thy burial-rites.” She, blanching not, Looked up. “Thou art not ignorant, nor I, How man’s coÖperate or revolted will Doth color, in the councils of high Heaven, Both what we do, and suffer. Violence, Though sent to seek my soul, shall by her gate Sit pilgrim-meek. Christ keeps His citadel.” The prefect bent again, compassionate: “O girl! rememberest not thy sires august? Pity thy beauty, heirloom of their house, And precious most in thee. Choose to obey; Since even thee my duty cannot spare.” But she: “The nail-pierced Hands that have my vow, Defend it.” “Save thyself,” he cried, “and trust No crucifiÈd ghost. From foul disgrace Snatch thine own youth.” And she: “Behold, I do. Christ is my source of honor, and mine end: Christ shall be my preserver.” Next I heard: “Buffet her twice.” Then: “Wilt thou sacrifice?” My Theodora of the reddened cheek Seemed absent from the body for a space, Before she uttered: “No.” “Child, I am grieved For such affront, which all our city sees. Thy quality invites another usage, Wert thou not crazed.” He paused, being full of ruth; But self-relentless, she in that same pause Brake forth: “O my one Wisdom, O my Joy!” And last, Eustratius Proculus rose up: “The edict! Let it work. I dally not, For loyal and immovable regard Unto mine Emperor.” “Bid me stand as true,” She murmured, “in allegiance to a Power, Before whom sceptred Diocletian shines Brief as this puffing coal.” “Ai, blasphemy!” The vast crowd thundered. So they led her down Into a three days’ torture in the prison; And to the draped tribunal, all unchanged, This eve she came. Said I, indeed, unchanged? Her spirit and speech were that; her body swayed Hither and thither: a candle in a draught. Some scrupled naught to praise such blithe disdain, Immaculate, illumined; who e’er knew Disdain could wear a look so like to Love’s? And thrice Eustratius Proculus read out Sentence, whereby the virgin Theodora, A Christian obdurate and impious, Must die indeed, but first must be immured, Until the day break, in the house of shame. He ended: “May thy God for thee achieve The best He can!” She added: “Ay, He will. As Daniel from the lions, from the deeps Jonah; from furnace-heats the unbought three; Peter from dungeon chains; as yesterday Our Agnes from the Roman ignominy, Shall I be rescued: He is faithful yet.” Softly she prayed: “Lord, Lord! deliver straight Thy bounden servant, overshadowing Thine own, in dread mid-battle, with Thy wing. Out of Thy mercy, let them harm me not: By thy most bitter Passion borne for man, O Fount of chastity, O Fortitude Of all Thy saints, Jesu! remember me.” Thus, in that voice which I shall hear no more. I turned away, dragging my leaden limbs Hillward, and homeward. Didymus. And these shouts, these shouts, Incessant, brutal, terrible, they mean— Cratidas. That now the lictors drive her forth; they mean Quick menace to a never-soilÈd blossom Of Hellas come, and her heroic seed. Ah, well: she will recant; she must recant.— My young hound bays her welcome. Enter, sir.— What! Gone? An armored man swooped like a hawk Down the sheer ledges to the city’s core? Beware, my fiery nameless half-a-Christian, Hot for romance, beneath the stars of spring! Well, well, well, well! Down, Demo. I believe He’ll somehow free her: we shall have her back, Good Demo.... Tut! of all the wild hawk-swoops! III Midnight. A brothel. Theodora alone. Didymus breaks in. Didymus. Grant me forgiveness, lady Theodora! And fear not. I have spent my breath of life, Beating the human hurricane outside, To reach thee first of any. Piteous thing, Flutter not to and fro; thy net is cut: No carrion crow shall ever prey on thee, White dove! The evil room’s alive with light, Thy light shed out; nor am I longer dark, Who see, feel, bathe in it. Oh, what a stream, Full from within, as through a lattice door, Widens around thee in an aureole; From lifted eyes, loose hair, and hands unlocked, Gushes the even glory! While I look, So bright, thou seraph of the golden blood, Rains that pure fire on me, that now I know Of what clear essence thou, not less am I; Yea, I with thee, and all my thoughts with thine, Run up before our God in one straight flame. Child, I am here to help thee: Didymus, A Cappadocian. Theodora. Heaven be thanked, and thou, For I believe thee! Cappadocia: Was it not there the blessed Dorothy Brought apples to her lover, after death, In token of the riches of that orchard Where Christ walks with His own? Let us go thither. Didymus. Ah, muse no more. Theodora. The Lord abide with thee! Didymus. Though unto me thy voice be like the foam Upon a wave of quiet, thy delay Dearer than wine of roses, rouse thee: haste! How else can I the pact maintain with Him Who bade me loose thee from the snare? Come nigh: Doff thine apparel; put mine armor on. Think but of flight, and safety. Theodora. WingÈd one, Best brother, brighter than a star, and stronger, Uphold me! Didymus. Bind thy locks. Alas, I am No angel sent of Christ, nor yet a Christian. Theodora. Why dwell in lowland shadow? Thou, ere long, Must drink of grace divine the deathless light. On, happy soul: for there are hills to climb, E’en Calvary hill. Didymus. Art thou not vested yet? The minutes seethe and rush. Oh, had I time, I’d tell thee of my pangs: how it has been From march to march with me; how vehemently The sluices brake in this tormented heart, Last night, ten lives ago; how on yon heights A boy, (not sweeter Hyacinthus was,) Having a pensive garland of green thorns Intrailed among his auburn curls, came by, And with his new-cut reed, and myrrhy lip, Entranced me into slumber; how I saw Thy foster-father, and walked on with him, And heard thy sacred story: thence I sprang Into this hell, where I for thee shall answer. And do thou plead with Christ, for me His thrall. Theodora. The thong: pray knot it! Gentle Didymus, Here is my robe: the stuff is torn; the stains Began ’neath sharpened spikes, the hooks, the rack. Didymus. For dress of mine, good in the foray once, That keeps thee and a holy dream intact, Thou giv’st me this, strangely to make of me The athlete of thy Lord. Well, give it so: I kiss each dear and venerable stain, And lay the rended linen over me: Would I were worthier! Theodora. Cratidas the fond Has somehow faded from me, and our roof Among the date-palms, and my dial old, Set in the myrtle plot that takes the sun. But thou art close and real: thou hast seen The Mystical, the Virgin-born: his name Not Hyacinthus, but Emmanuel. (Much have I startled thee, who art so brave!) None shared with me that vision until now. It was to Him I pledged my early troth, Towards whom I live, for whom I look to die; Whose love was sovereign healing unto me, When late within the torture-cell I lay. His chosen other, kneel not thou to me! There is a Hand that will not let thine fall, As mine doth. Didymus. Sign me slowly with the cross. Theodora. So: on predestined brows. Didymus (after a pause). Thy sandal’s fast, The breastplate firm and fine, each joint in place; Draw low the vizor; let the short cloak hang; And stoop in issuing forth: step hurriedly, As one ashamed, whom his loud sins pursue. Go thus, secure. Theodora. Thou shalt not always hunger! O thy requital: might I see it! Didymus. Go: Go, even as I said. Theodora. I am so weak: What if I cannot? Didymus. Hush: unbar the door, And front the pack.—My sister, my twin-born, Live thy sequestered life; and pray for me. [Theodora goes. Ah, gracer of our Roman mail! I hear No smallest rumor that her passage makes, Not one least vicious snarl or jeer the more. I dare to dream Thou hast accepted this, My true task in the world! By now, I think, She leaves behind the fetid neighborhood; A moment more, and her accustomed feet Will be among the vineyards and the folds. The little weary feet wounded for Thee, Do Thou sustain!... They come. IV Midnight. The city square outside. Didymus in the arched doorway of the same house. A turbulent crowd around. The Bailiff. Give way, give way! Order among ye, subjects, citizens; Order, I say! A seaman, in this dark, Would swear he heard the angry equinox Gorging and emptying the island caves: A swash of death, where he had hoped for haven. Whence the commotion, that, from well-earned beds Untimely drags your rulers? Ibrahim, Or Rufus, any of you with unslit tongue, Speak! A Voice. At me that am terror-struck they laugh, Who was the first to find him: Come, mock not Too easily, but measure what I saw! I heard, and ye too heard, in likelihood, What I called fable, that this Christian God Changed water into wine; yet in night’s eye, A slim maid that was shut ’twixt four known walls, Your Christian God turns to a brawny youth, Whom seven men and myself barely haled hither. Didymus. Murmur not, wonder not: ye are broad awake. No trick hath been, nor am I one transformed. Whom late ye thought to have, lo, ye have lost; And whom ye have unwitting, ye may keep. There is a twofold glory on the hour: A virgin is a virgin still, and I, The empire’s soldier, champion of her King. A Voice. A generous comedy! Another Voice. Dost applaud it? Ay? The Crowd. See him in the doorway, yellow-gowned; See the young beauty in his flower! O Pan! The Bailiff. Among these loud boors press your torches in. Back! Let the prefect pass. Eustratius Proculus is borne into the square. A Voice. Now shall we view The snorting tiger-dam at bay, the while The cub’s concealed. The Prefect. Be silent! Clear with rods The threshold of that house: the accused alone Shall stand there. Hither and together call The trumpeters, for I this cause arraign In open air. [The trumpets sound. Who so disturbs the streets, With the grave ends of justice interferes, And draws contempt on me? What roysterer, What prince of Alexandria’s worst? Didymus. I think It must be Christ Himself, or Christ in me, Since in His quarrel I stand ambushed thus. The Prefect. His talk is echo. The Bailiff. Learned of lady-love! Dull matter all: sheep filing over bars, One hobble without end. A Voice. Thy Theodora— Didymus. Revere that name; for she is Christ’s alone, Not mine, not mine. Whithersoever goes The Lamb in Heaven, such do follow Him. The Prefect. Enough: with quick straightforward words respond. Who art thou, chief in this unseemly brawl? Didymus. One new to camp and city, one indeed No alien, but your servant in the wars, Beneath the imperial eagles now three years: Octavius Didymus, centurion. The Prefect. A Roman, then. What of thy friend, the woman, Duly condemned for heinous sacrilege? Didymus. The innocent Theodora is set free. In as a thief came I who gave such good, But never greeted her, nor saw, nor heard, Up to our late accost in this vile pen. A Voice. How now, neighbors? A joker. Another Voice. Or a liar. The Crowd. More like, a fellow-Christian. Didymus. Why a Christian? The Prefect. If not a Christian, it rejoiceth me, Aweary grown of all the casuist breed. I deem thou art sincere. The charge is light; The penalty shall therefore too be light, Since thou thyself of prior circumstance Wert plainly unaware; and forasmuch In thy regard, our judged idolatress Was one with any whimsied wench, cajoling A frolic hand to let her out o’ doors. Didymus. Let us not fail in truth: sir, I knew this. My soul’s defiance glowed in all I wrought. A Voice. By Pompey’s certain pillar, he’s a Christian! The prancing gesture, see: the head upcast, The bosom all in a white wrath, and yet Bridled and bitted: that’s their duplex way. The Prefect. I hesitate. The Crowd. Eustratius Proculus, We take him for a Christian! The Prefect. Prisoner, Attend, and ease our cares. Obediently Unto the known gods wilt thou sacrifice? [Didymus is silent. Art thou a Christian: nay? Didymus. Tell me. The Prefect. Alas, Why loath to sacrifice? Do thou but so, Irreverence to the law shall be condoned, And for the brave adventure of a night, No tax be laid. Didymus. I sacrifice no more. Who hath inspired me? I can but attest One Infinite loved her for her confident eyes. Would we were open to the heart of things! For if He keeps without spot, as some say, Those leal to Him, is it not wonderful? And Him thus fair reputed, Him untried, Shall I reject? I sacrifice no more, Save to the Living: save to Him who died, And rose again. The Bailiff. Ye hear. A Voice. A leprous word! The Prefect. It is a difficult hour: I must comport Myself within mine office, steadfastly. Bring me the writ. One act is mine to do: Another time for fond alternatives! Though fain to spare, fain to respect in thee, Arms, broadening empire, and invincible Rome, I that would never, fighting civic harm, See Diocletian fail, nor have it said Great Decius and Valerian failed before, Rise to the common weal, and so bar out Contagion from our long inviolate air. Didymus. I feel the little lovely kiss of death Breathe at my temples, softer than a bride. The Prefect. Octavius Didymus, bound in triple cords, Shall be at sunrise, on the appointed plain, Beheaded. Gracious CÆsar, hail! all hail! The Crowd. Hail, CÆsar! Didymus. These have made me Thine, O Christ! The Prefect. Reflect: I can revoke, I would revoke. Name but thy young confederate’s hiding-place. Didymus. I know not, sir, where Theodora is. She passed: and I remain.... Demonic laughter! I would I had said less: it saddens me. In all this swarm, there figures verily Not one that will believe; not one kind soul But is so sodden with the slime of life, (Life pagan, and without our Star,) that he Must read awry, and slander my fair deed. Ah, if they knew: but wherefore should they know? Lord, fold amid the leafage of my heart Her lilied memory! I will strive no more; But turn to Thee, away from time and tears, A melting snowflake in Thy mercy’s sea. The Prefect. Disperse. [The trumpets sound. A Voice. Our novel damsel, fallen dumb, On the good public flint shall soon strike fire; And we may trap that masking man-at-arms, Before a lizard gets his inch of sun. Ho, ho! Away: lead on! The Crowd. Huzza! huzza! V Dawn. The place of execution, west of the city, looking seaward. The same crowd, leading Didymus. A Voice. A long march is well ended. How fares he? The Bailiff. He thrives; I hear him murmuring idle spells. Didymus. Soft is the twilight breeze, soaked full of sea. The veiled isle yonder rears her breathing lamp; And under us, in hollows of the crags, Each washing wave goes like a gentle gong. Across the hills, there brims a lucent tide, Inaudible, yet lovelier; living gray Ridges the pulsing east, a surf of light; And doubling ever on itself, a glow Now near, now far, breaks up the crested sky, As children, pink against the green sea-garden, Play in the earthly waters, unafraid, And ruddier than all roses, race ashore. So come, so come, gracile and glorious, O rose unborn, my Day! The Bailiff. We’ll halt awhile, And shortly see our way to honest work.... Listen! Do others follow us, or no? It seemed our concourse emptied all the town. Who stirs through this dim weather? A slave rushes in. A Slave. Theodora! They are bringing Theodora here to die. The Crowd. Victory! Didymus. Lord my God, what hast Thou wrought? I tremble with the sorrow and the joy. The shouts, the trampling feet, renew for me A sacrifice I thought to make no more. The Bailiff. Drag her yet nigher. The Crowd. She is welcome! A Woman. See: Her knees are white; the gold hair brushes them; The glimmering breastplate, in the breaking dark, Shows comely. A Voice.Take it off! Theodora. Not so; not yet. The Bailiff. Then tell thine own night’s tale: there’s privilege. Theodora. A simplest tale. When dedicated hands Gave me this dress, lest I should suffer wrong, The strong disguise bred courage; but I went Only a mile: the armor was too heavy. Where blossomed almonds shade the roadside well, Did I fall down, aswoon; I think I swooned For long; and some late revelers, passing by, Found me, and with a tumult took me hither. Fulfill your will in pity; I would rest. The Bailiff. Half of the warrant drawn for Didymus, Is yet to read: thy fate and his are one. Theodora. On Didymus? Most miserable I, If he must suffer, being kind to me! What have ye done with Didymus? Didymus. I am nigh. Voices. Look: they have run together! Miscreants! Theodora. O strange ordaining! Tell me: by what right Art thou encountered on the fatal ground? Didymus. By right more fair than thine, because, forsooth, Not punished for thy planned deliverance, But rather for the sacred Name, I stand Thus ready to the headsman. Aye: give thanks; Yet thou, too rash, hast clouded my last hour. Did I not guard thee? Was my prayer in vain? For into horror’s mouth thou hast returned. Theodora. Nay: chide not. Test their changed intent, and mark That in it lurks for me no word but “Death,” No word at all but dear dispassionate “Death.” Were I, still helpless, in dread peril caught, To thy releasing hand I still had cried, Who could not yield mine honor up; but this, The debt of life, I can myself discharge. And if I die not so for Christ, to-morrow Will these be angered less with me? and then For taking flight, for guiltiness of thy guilt, My helper, shall I not less nobly die? Was it from martyrdom erewhile I ran, Or only from the maw of wickedness? And lightly I relinquished unto thee My girlish raiment, not my soul and self: My fond profession of the Christian name. Would he deprive me now of my last due, Greatly deceives me one I thought my friend! What will become of me if thou shouldst go, Alone? That cruel hour would strike away My second sentence, glad, desirable, And lower me to the insupportable first. Leave me not to the torment; rather share The blessedness; be jealous even for me! Let it forevermore of thee be told How from the thousand hands of a brute foe Thou savedst once the spouse of Christ for Him. Ah, Didymus, Didymus! of the eternal crown Rob me not thou: for thine to thee I gave. Didymus. Thy sovereign pinion overmasters harm, Life, Death, and me: and if I feared, I erred. We shall not be divided: and therefore BlessÈd be One who hath despised me not, And, of His clemency, absolved from ill His handmaid Theodora. Theodora. BlessÈd He, Towards only children twain, most merciful Both in the olden time, and unto us, Who so, in triumph, wait our vigil’s close. O Light from Heaven, break, break! The Bailiff. Attend, all men: Heed how to deal with perished Christian swine, For much the law doth vary, touching them. And since, too oft, their kind do set a watch, And, ere the wild beasts from their lairs descend, Conceal their bodies elsewhere, ’tis decreed That these upon the bordering desert straight, Shall, after death, be burned. The Crowd. It suits us well. Theodora. Then not to secret chambers of the rock, Our own, with hymnal rite, shall lead us home; Not to our natural nest beside the sea, Above blown Pharos and the trader’s sail, Where, day and night, the Eucharistic Love Broods over us, shall thou and I be borne, And laid amid our fathers in the Faith, Sleep the good sleep of immortality. Not one small tress of ours shall reverence save; No fragment of our interchangÈd garb Be shrined forever, nor ascetic lips Embrace, in our carved names, the Crucified. God’s Will be done, and done with all accord In all! and may He grant that unto thee, (Who art both more and less than neophyte,) Denial of that quiet sepulture Be not so keen a pain.—His look’s afar: He has not answered. Didymus. ... Whole on every side! Whole, boundless, and immingled: not a chink In tremulous textures of this bubbly world, Where spirits might slip through. O spacious hour Of ocean-distances, air-altitudes, Pearl cloudless rounding over waveless pearl: Pure Mediterranean! bland Africa! Ignoble are the dreams that make of you Mere ante-room; and ante-room to—what? True to original and terminal earth, Rather may royal man, ensphered so fair, His chemic end not thanklessly salute, When too soon, from our arc of known content, We blunder, poor blithe faces, to the Void. That spark once fallen, can it live again? If poets weep, if just Aurelius Evade, if wistful Plato pause unsure, Ah, who art Thou that biddest me believe? Theodora. Encased in thy so serviceable steel, Against my bosom, I have kept for thee An aromatic and a covered cup. Come hither: drain it. Sudden over me, While I lay stricken, ere my captors came, There bent the childish Shepherd of the hills, Austerer than his wont, and uttered low: “Wake, Theodora! Bear to Didymus, Whom, spent in final battle, thou shalt meet, A little draught of mingled wine and dew, For baptism, and viaticum.” Didymus. I hear. A stupor, a temptation, clogged my brain: Gone evermore.—What hast thou been to me! In any of God’s halls where I may find Him, I seek thee also there: O dove! thou knowest Thy hidden heavenly way through words withheld. I kneel, but cords impede my hands. Pour thou, Till I have slaked a supersensual thirst, And, faint with salutation, drink to Him, Christ Jesu, whom in dying I adore. The Bailiff. Despatch: broad daylight comes. The Headsman. All is prepared. Theodora. Amen: and Alleluia! Heart flown home, If thou wouldst speak, rise up. Didymus. Ye worthy men, I would not stay you long. Of Didymus, Who made his port of intellectual storm At Alexandria, tell only this: That he for Christ died Christian, with clear joy. And when his comrades from their outpost ride, And, reining in abreast, ask news of him, Lay in their wondering ears, I charge you all, That word miraculous, that happy word. A Voice. I ever knew it. Devil! Sorceress! The Bailiff. What troubles them? The Crowd. The bowl whereof he drank, Between her lifted fingers melts away! Their magic arts, and them, destroy! The Bailiff. The axe: Smite first the soldier. Didymus. Theodora saint, How beautiful, how more than banner-bright, Streams over the far roofs our birthday sun! Farewell, and follow me. [Didymus is executed. |
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