University of Virginia Library

AMARACOS the beautiful was page,
Or, as some say, the son of Cinyras,
A famous hero in the morning time
Of history, when history was a dream,
And gods meant passions, feelings, scents, and sounds,
And kings and queenly girls and children fair
Acted with singing flowers and talking birds,
Strange fairy tales of nature's mysteries.
Cinyras in the isle of Cyprus served
As the high-priest of Venus. Very dear
To him was her great name, and all her rites
Were as the very spirit of his soul,
For he had looked on beauty through all lands,
And cast his worship starward in the night
Through the dark violet heaven—and in all
Had found that by her power all things drew
Together and made life;—yea, death itself
Was but a pause to leap to life again;
And therefore by much study of this thought
It seemed to him the chiefest end of life
To honour her, and this he taught his son;
The pride and glory of the services
Of Aphrodite's temple filled his soul.

Love leads to present rapture,—then to pain,
But all through Love in time is healed again.
There was a grand procession to the shrine
On the great festival, when, as they say,
A voice is heard upon the silent hills
Through all the world, yea, and through all the worlds,
Proclaiming worship to the Queen of Love.
And in the train upon this holy day,
Most beautiful among the beautiful
Went young Amáracos. His office was
To bear the precious Alabaster vase
Which in the olden time had come to earth,
Soft borne by doves unto the Cyprian shrine,
A gift from Venus to her worshippers.
What was within the vase no sage could say,
But this they knew, it gave a sweet perfume
Unlike all fragrant odours known on earth,
And every one did deem himself most blessed
Who could inhale it. Therefore he who bore
The vase was in great honour. All the lords
Of all the land came smiling to the boy,
Each seeking by his courtesy to inhale
The sacred breath of Venus, for they deemed
The mystic vase sent forth an aura sweet
Like that which hangs around the dame divine;
And as he went, bearing his sacred charge,
Hearing his beauty praised by young and old,
Full of the glory of the loveliness
In which he lived, to which his life was given,
Pride swelled within his heart, yet scarce had risen,
When, lo! a wild dove from a wood near by,
Dashed boldly on the wing close to his head:
Yes—flapped her pinions in his very face,
And he, all startled by this portent strange,
Let fall the vase—he felt it slip—in vain!
A fright like sickness flashed across his soul:
Down went the vase and shattered on the ground.
One long loud wail rose from the gentle boy,
And instant agony thrilled all the crowd
At this most dark disaster. Then they saw
Amáracos fall down upon the earth
Dead to the heart, but even as he fell
He vanished from their sight, and with him went
The fragments of the vase. Nothing remained,
But on the earth a new-grown herb there stood
Beside a mantle, and its leaves gave forth,
Richer and sweeter than the vase had done,
The self-same sacred fragrance, which is called
The scent Amárakine. The plant grew well,
And others throve from it in every land.
A better gift from Venus than the first:—
And maidens call it the Sweet Marjoram.