For fruitfulness, and perfect love,
And constant peace, they pray’d,
On Eleëmon, the Lord’s Servant,
And Cyra, the Lord’s Handmaid.
They call’d upon the Lord to bless
Their spousal celebration,
And sanctify the marriage rite
To both their souls’ salvation.
A pause at every prayer they made,
Whereat with one accord
The Choristers took up their part,
And sung in tones that thrill’d the heart,
Have mercy on us, Lord!
Then with the marriage rings the priest
Betroth’d them each to each,
And, as the sacred pledge was given,
Resumed his aweful speech;
Pronouncing them before high Heaven
This hour espoused to be,
Now and for ever more, for time
And for eternity.
This did he in the presence
Of Angels and of men;
And at every pause the Choristers
Intoned their deep Amen!
Then to that gracious Lord, the Priest
His supplication made,
Who, as our sacred Scriptures tell,
Did bring Rebecca to the well
When Abraham’s servant pray’d.
He call’d upon that gracious Lord
To stablish with his power
The espousals made between them,
In truth and love, this hour;
And with his mercy and his word
Their lot, now link’d, to bless,
And let his Angel guide them
In the way of righteousness.
With a Christian benediction,
The Priest dismist them then,
And the Choristers, with louder voice,
Intoned the last Amen!
The days of Espousals are over;
And on the Crowning-day,
To the sacred fane the bridal train,
A gay procession, take again
Thro’ thronging streets their way.
Before them, by the Paranymphs,
The coronals are borne,
Composed of all sweet flowers of spring
By virgin hands that morn.
With lighted tapers in array
They enter the Holy Door,
And the Priest with the waving thuribule
Perfumes the way before.
He raised his voice, and call’d aloud
On Him who from the side
Of our first Father, while he slept,
Form’d Eve to be his bride;
Creating Woman thus for Man
A helpmate meet to be,
For youth and age, for good and ill,
For weal and woe, united still
In strict society,
Flesh of his flesh; appointing them
One flesh to be, one heart;
Whom God hath joined together,
Them let not man dispart!
And on our Lord he call’d, by whom
The marriage feast was blest,
When first by miracle he made
His glory manifest.
Then in the ever-blessed Name,
Almighty over all,
From the man’s Paranymph he took
The marriage coronal;
And crowning him therewith, in that
Thrice holy Name, he said,
“Eleëmon, the Servant of God, is crown’d
For Cyra, the Lord’s Handmaid!”
Next, with like action and like words,
Upon her brow he set
Her coronal, intwined wherein
The rose and lily met;
How beautifully they beseem’d
Her locks of glossy jet!
Her he for Eleëmon crown’d,
The Servant of the Lord;..
Alas, how little did that name
With his true state accord!
“Crown them with honour, Lord!” he said,
“With blessings crown the righteous head!
To them let peace be given,
A holy life, a hopeful end.
A heavenly crown in Heaven!”
Still as he made each separate prayer
For blessings that they in life might share,
And for their eternal bliss,
The echoing Choristers replied,
“O Lord, so grant thou this!”
How differently meantime, before
The altar as they knelt,
While they the sacred rites partake
Which endless matrimony make,
The Bride and Bridegroom felt!
She, who possest her soul in peace
And thoughtful happiness,
With her whole heart had inly join’d
In each devout address.
His lips the while had only moved
In hollow repetition;
For he had steel’d himself, like one
Bound over to perdition.
In present joy he wrapt his heart,
And resolutely cast
All other thoughts beside him,
Of the future, or the past.
V.
TWELVE years have held their quiet course
Since Cyra’s nuptial day;
How happily, how rapidly,
Those years have past away!
Blest in her husband she hath been;
He loved her as sincerely,
(Most sinful and unhappy man!)
As he had bought her dearly.
She hath been fruitful as a vine,
And in her children blest;
Sorrow hath not come near her yet,
Nor fears to shake, nor cares to fret,
Nor grief to wound the breast.
And blest alike would her husband be,
Were all things as they seem;
Eleëmon hath every earthly good,
And with every man’s esteem.
But where the accursed reed had drawn
The heart-blood from his breast,
A small red spot remain’d
Indelibly imprest.
Nor could he from his heart throw off
The consciousness of his state;
It was there with a dull, uneasy sense,
A coldness and a weight;
It was there when he lay down at night,
It was there when at morn he rose;
He feels it whatever he does,
It is with him wherever he goes.
No occupation from his mind
That constant sense can keep;
It is present in his waking hours,
It is present in his sleep;
But still he felt it most,
And with painfullest weight it prest,..
O miserable man Î
When he was happiest.
O miserable man,
Who hath all the world to friend,
Yet dares not in prosperity
Remember his latter end!
But happy man, whate’er
His earthly lot may be,
Who looks on Death as the Angel
That shall set his spirit free,
And bear it to its heritage
Of immortality!
In such faith hath Proterius lived;
And strong is that faith and fresh,
As if obtaining then new power,
When he hath reach’d the awful hour
Appointed for all flesh.
Eleëmon and his daughter
With his latest breath he blest,
And saying to them, “We shall meet
Again before the Mercy-seat!”
Went peacefully to rest.
This is the balm which God
Hath given for every grief;
And Cyra, in her anguish,
Look’d heavenward for relief.
But her miserable husband
Heard a voice within him say,
Eleëmon, Eleëmon,
Thou art sold to the Demon!”
And his heart seem’d dying away.
Whole Cæsarea is pour’d forth
To see the funeral state,
When Proterius is borne to his resting place
Without the Northern Gate.
Not like a Pagan’s is his bier
At doleful midnight borne
By ghastly torchlight, and with wail
Of women hired to mourn.
With tapers in the face of day,
These rites their faithful hope display;
In long procession slow,
With hymns that fortify the heart,
And prayers that soften woe.
In honour of the dead man’s rank.
But of his virtues more,
The holy Bishop Basil
Was one the bier who bore.
And with the Bishop side by side,
As nearest to the dead allied,
Was Eleëmon seen:
All mark’d, but none could rede aright,
The trouble in his mien.
“His master’s benefits on him
Were well bestow’d,” they said,
“Whose sorrow now full plainly show’d
How well he loved the dead.”
They little ween’d what thoughts in him
The solemn psalm awoke,
Which to all other hearts that hour
Its surest comfort spoke:
“Gather my Saints together:
In peace let them be laid,
They who with me,” thus saith the Lord,
“Their covenant have made!”
What pangs to Eleëmon then,
O wretchedest of wretched men,
That psalmody convey’d!
For conscience told him that he too
A covenant had made.
And when he would have closed his ears
Against the unwelcome word,
Then from some elms beside the way
A Raven’s croak was heard.
To him it seem’d a hollow voice
That warn’d him of his doom;
For the tree whereon the Raven sate
Grew over the Pagan’s tomb.
VI.
WHEN weariness would let her
No longer pray and weep,
And midnight long was past,
Then Cyra fell asleep.
Into that wretched sleep she sunk
Which only sorrow knows,
Wherein the exhausted body rests,
But the heart hath no repose.
Of her Father she was dreaming,
Still aware that he was dead,
When, in the visions of the night,
He stood beside her bed.
Crown’d and in robes of light he came;
She saw he had found grace;
And yet there seem’d to be
A trouble in his face.
The eye and look were still the same
That she from her cradle knew;
And he put forth his hand, and blest her,
As he had been wont to do.
But then the smile benign
Of love forsook his face,
And a sorrowful displeasure
Came darkly in its place;
And he cast on Eleëmon
A melancholy eye,
And sternly said, “I bless thee not,..
Bondsman! thou knowest why!”
Again to Cyra then he turn’d,
“Let not thy husband rest,
Till he hath wash’d away with tears
The red spot from his breast!
“Hold fast thy hope, and Heaven will not
Forsake thee in thine hour:
Good Angels will be near thee,
And evil ones shall fear thee,
And Faith will give thee power.”
Perturb’d, yet comforted, she woke,
For in her waking ear
The words were heard which promised her
A strength above all fear.
An odour, that refresh’d no less
Her spirit with its blessedness
Than her corporeal frame,
Was breathed around, and she surely found
That from Paradise it came.
And, though the form revered was gone,
A clear unearthly light
Remain’d, encompassing the bed,
When all around was night.
It narrow’d as she gazed;
And soon she saw it rest,
Concenter’d, like an eye of light,
Upon her husband’s breast.
Not doubting now the presence
Of some good presiding Power,
Collectedness as well as strength
Was given her in this hour.
And rising half, the while in deep
But troubled sleep he lay,
She drew the covering from his breast
With cautious hand away.
The small round blood-red mark she saw;
Eleëmon felt her not;
But in his sleep he groan’d, and cried
“Out I out... accursed spot!”
The darkness of surrounding night
Closed then upon that eye of light.
She waited for the break
Of day, and lay the while in prayer
For that poor sinner’s sake....
In fearful, miserable prayer;
But while she pray’d the load of care
Less heavily bore on her heart,
And light was given, enabling her
To choose her difficult part.
And she drew, as comfortable texts
Unto her thoughts recurr’d,
Refreshment from the living well
Of God’s unerring word.
But when the earliest dawn appear’d,
Herself in haste she array’d,
And watch’d his waking patiently,
And still as she watched she pray’d;
And when Eleëmon had risen,
She spake to him, and said:
“We have been visited this night!
My Father’s Ghost I have seen;
I heard his voice,.. an aweful voice!..
And so hast thou, I ween!”
Eleëmon was pale when he awoke;
But paler then he grew,
And over his whole countenance
There came a deathlike hue.
Still he controll’d himself, and sought
Her question to beguile;
And forcing, while he answer’d her,
A faint and hollow smile,..
“Cyra,” he said, “thy thoughts possest
With one too painful theme,
Their own imaginations
For reality misdeem;
Let not my dearest best beloved,
Be troubled for a Dream Δ
“O Eleëmon,” she replied,
“Dissemble not with me thus;
Ill it becomes me to forget
What Dreams have been to us!
“Thinkest thou there can be peace for me,
Near to me as thou art,
While some unknown and fearful sin
Is festering at thy heart?
“Eleëmon, Eleëmon,
I may not let thee rest,
Till thou hast wash’d away with tears
The red spot from thy breast!
“Thus to conceal thy crime from me,
It is no tenderness!
The worst is better known than fear’d.
Whatever it be, confess;
And the Merciful will cleanse thee
From all unrighteousness!”
Like an aspen leaf he trembled;
And his imploring eye
Bespake compassion, ere his lips
Could utter their dreaded reply.
“O dearly loved, as dearly bought,
My sin and punishment I had thought
Too much the Vision hath reveal’d,
And all must now be known!
“On thee, methinks, and only thee
Dare I for pity call;
Abhor me not,... renounce me not,..
My life, my love, my all!
“And Cyra, sure if ever cause
Might be a sinner’s plea,
‘T would be for that lost wretch who sold
His hope of Heaven for thee!
“Thou seest a miserable man
Given over to despair,
Who has bound himself by his act and deed
To the Prince of the Powers of the Air.”
She seized him by the arm,
And hurrying him into the street,
“Come with me to the Church,” she cried,
“And to Basil the Bishop’s feet!”
VII.
PUBLIC must be the sinner’s shame
As heinous his offence;
So Basil said, when he ordain’d
His form of penitence.
And never had such dismay been felt
Thro’ that astonish’d town,
As when, at morn, the Cryer went
Proclaiming up and down,
“The miserable sinner, Eleëmon,
Who for love hath sold himself to the Demon,
His guilt before God and man declares;
And beseeches all good Christians
To aid him with their prayers.”
Many were the hearts compassionate
Whom that woeful petition moved;
For he had borne his fortune meekly,
And therefore was well beloved.
Open his hand had been,
And liberal of its store;
And the prayers of the needy arose
Who had daily been fed at his door.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 137