University of Virginia Library

—“Peace and good will towards men!” Such, gracious Lord!
Thy Father's message when thou didst come down
With great humility—his Light and Word—
Incarnate Truth! laying aside the crown,
Before whose brightness all God's angels bow,
And sinless make the sinner's curse thine own!
That holy head was shelterless—thy brow,
Circled with thorns, by cruel hands was smitten!
Yet uncomplaining Lamb! no voice was heard
But prayer for us—so merciful art thou;
Yea, even for those, fulfilling what was written,
Whose lips blasphemed thy patience, and preferred
A murderer to their king—“Father, forgive!
“They know not what they do!”

It is through thee
If hearts so far estranged have loved or feared,
And through that Spirit who makes the dead stock live,
Rendering it fruitful! Let the rescued see
How hard and hopeless was their servitude
When Reason sold itself as slave to sin
Tired of the truth—Lust stooped its willing knee
Before congenial altars, and imbued
Their deities with blood and luxury:
All knowledge seemed perverted, instinct erred
Bewildered where the brutes err not—a lie
Assumed that better voice which cries within,
Conscience connived, and Nature spake unheard!

Lo! thus the laughing populace reel along,
Loud with lascivious jestings o'er the din
Of giddy horn and timbrel. At their front
Unblamed, unshamed, above the intemperate throng,
On slow-paced mules, Bel's Priests and Prophets ride—
Ill-seated cavalcade. Thus sometime wont
Thessalian revellers, midst mirth and song,
—Silenus old with Bacchus at his side—
Copies perchance of these; when vintage ended,
To crown their foreheads with the faded vine,
Making their sin their boast, their shame their pride.

So passed triumphant Cathura, attended
By Assur-baladan, Belsyphirine,
Rabphalga, Urr, and more, with garments died
In purple grape-juice, or the lees of wine.
These were Bel's holiest! Vulgar ministers went
On either side, each with his vine-wreathed wand;
Chaldæa's loose-zoned matrons danced before:
The fairest of her boys and maidens bent
Beneath their baskets—with unsteady hand
Maturer youth the half-spilt wine-pots bore;
And beauty, innocent yet, but seen no more
From this day forth by love's delighted eyes,
Toward home its still reluctant look addresses,
Though worshipped by the crowds which swarm below.
An ignorant part of sin's worst sacrifice!
Chaplets of costliest pearls confine those tresses,
Broidered with gems and gold those vestures flow.
Each in her chariot riding, like a queen,
The flower of Babylonian virgins go:
Incipient deities, whose eyes are seen
To flash with hopes celestial, as the song
Extols their glory midst heaven's thrones:—“Where love
“Immortal in immortals never ceases
“Through time or change; and beauty always young,
“Mightier by far than wisdom, and above
“All other strength else absolute, increases
“On food which grows those happy shades among.
“Atargatis and Bel! the serpent and the dove!
“Bel hath his bride to-day in Heaven; but who
“Shall meet the glowing God at eve descending
“Earth's image of the Goddess, and imbue
“Her spirit with divinity, by lending
“Corporeal mould, henceforth eternal too,
“As habitation to the Queen of souls,
“And so surpass earth's loftiest glory—who?”

Accursed illusions of that devilish crew
Whose fraud is hidden in luxury, and rolls
Its serpent train midst flowers! The mother brings
Her fairest daughter to their open door,
Panting for ever-during crowns in Heaven;
Still of Bel's golden bed the chorus rings—
Six chariots fraught with beauty pass before;
One void remains—his will is bound to seven:
At last the number and the choice are even!
A Bride is found! approach her, and adore!
Behold love's Queen!

When greyly looks the morn
O'er hills and misty plains, ere labour wakes,
Or smoke from distant cot or sleepy farm
Stains the chill ether—ere the fragrant thorn
Hath ceased to drip with dew—from forest brakes,
Tired of their darkness, and its lair still warm,
The wandering herd advances—roebuck old;
Pied hart with antlers broad, and dappled fawn,
Midst hollies skirting round the foremost pine
To graze in lighter pastures, and behold
Man's world subdued; affrighted if the kine
Low from their stalls, or flocks their moistened fleeces
Shake as they rise, and bleat within the fold:
Soon reassured the treacherous space increases
'Twixt them and home—large range for Death behind—
Whence ambushed slaughter lifts its sudden cry;
The hunter's tumult gathers on the wind,
Shrill horns and clamorous hounds bray furiously!
Swift as their fears, but scattered and in vain,
Back to that leafy wilderness, the hind
Would lead her young: bearing their heads on high,
Amazed, the panting tribe o'er path and plain,
Bound, look behind, disperse, collect, and flee,
Then trace their tangled steps, and trace again.

So from the shadow of that grove, to see
Belshazzar's triumphs round Bel's Temple winding
Their homeward splendours as they rose; a space—
Yea, but a little space—with breath drawn in,
Feet often turned for flight, and dubious ears,
Went Israel's daughters listening to the din
Far off, through empty streets. In every place
New sights, fresh terrors, mightier wonders finding:
And drunken lust thus urged the noisy chase,
When innocence fled bewildered by its fears,
Though fleet, soon captive, even to tardier sin.
Ailona singly struggles midst the crowd,
Her breast half bare, veil rent away, and face
Suffused by angry shame, yet dewed by tears;
Imploring first, then threatening—suppliant—proud—
Wild—and subdued by turns. Beneath their gaze,
Whose slightest glance were injury, she hears
Bel's choice proclaimed, while Cathura on the ground
Descending kneels and worships her. “O! raise
“Those eyes to bless us! From his towers above,
“The sovereign God looks laughingly around
“Through all Heaven's regions, for they all are his,
“And thine, from him, they will be! He shall love,
“Who led this way the bride himself had found,
“—Thou breathing image of Atargatis!—
“To silence grief so beautiful in bliss:
“The joyful Serpent comes! O! joyful be the Dove!”

Once more toward home her scattered sisters fly,
As plovers wing them from the loosened snare,
Caught, not detained, with plumage discomposed,
Regardless of their captive fellows' cry,
Heard but to quicken terror through the air;
Nor which is lost yet know they. One enclosed
Strives with the toils—her dark and frenzied eye
Looks round for help; and if indeed she were
Human in birth alone, now deified—
Creature compounded 'twixt the earth and sky,
From what in each is fairest, fiercer pride
Could scarce have fired the wronged divinity,
While fillets round her struggling wrists were tied,
About her knees long wreaths of roses twined—
A victim bound with garlands, by the side
Of Cathura and Assur-baladan!

Again the concourse moved, the mirth began,
Dances obscene before, and hymns behind;
Midst impious adoration forced to ride,
She scared the city's triumphs with her cries,
Till from Bel's gates sublime the broad steps ran,
Flight after flight descending, and the last
Received on earth his worshippers. Three faces
They compassed of that Temple; toward the skies
Aspired the fourth, ere sovereign Wisdom cast
Confusion midst its builders, or came down
To separate speech, dispersing families,
And baffle pride. The rest had portals vast,
With porphyry porticos, where all earth's races
Found entrance, all earth's languages, save one,
Again were heard among them. Deities,
Captive themselves, were gathered with its tribes
From every land made subject, and adorned
The majesty of mightier Bel.
His throng
Dismounting at the utmost step, with bribes
Of honied promises adjured and fawned,
So to disguise the force which darkens wrong,
And leaves an omen midst plebeian fears.
Unprofitable toil! Ailona's ears
Perceive not if the chorus swells or ceases,
Nor aught of pomp or priest her eyes discern;
But steps on high, a Temple, tumult, crowd,
Like visions while the sick man's thirst increases,
And weary torments slumber though they burn:
All else forsakes her, midst the cymbals loud
Bewildered, but reluctant shame, a dread
Of unknown sin, despair, remorse, dismay,
Breath thick with agony, and eyes o'erspread
As if they sought for succour through a cloud—
A tongue too swoln to speak, a soul too faint to pray.

Look up! behold who calls thee! Ye that bear
Yield to a mightier claimant! From her face
Bel's dreadful Sorceress draws the veil away,
Your noisy triumph needs must faulter there!
Her name they utter once, the noontide air
Grows silent when its sound hath passed—a space
Recoils the nearest on the next behind—
If gales were stirring men might hear the wind:
The chariot steeds start back—even Cathura leaves
His captive kneeling on the steps between:
Wolf-spoiler of the weak! that lynx-like glare
Even at his den confounds him, and bereaves,
—Despite Seth-arioch's wand, Rab-phalga's prayer—
The abashed and feebler tyrant of his prey.
Her bands are burst scarce touch'd—“Now rise, O Queen!
“My last night's promise finds belief to-day.
“Ye that pursued, it is your turn to flee—
“And thou still first where folly needs a guide—
“Away!”—She spake, then stamping on the ground,
Smote hard her palms above her head, in pride.
“The vision that I saw, ye cannot see,
“Your eyes discern not that her brows are crowned!
“Kings knelt before her, mightiest kings forsook
“Their thrones, to bear the cup and bend the knee;
“Whilst every tongue, in every language, spoke,
“Look up, ye nations! kindreds, people, look!
“Who worships not the Queen—accursed is he!

“I saw the pleasant tents, on Jordan's side
“Their homeward flocks lay down; Bethesma's field
“Was filled with bleatings; softly breathed the gale
“While Judah sang his ancient songs again;
“Ten thousand thousands clapped their hands and cried,
“His wrath is passed away, His terrors yield!
“Farewell those mightier streams, that broader vale—
“Behold! the mountains where our hearts abide!
“Hills, vallies, rivers of our fathers—hail!”

“Accursed be they,” the trembling priest replied,
“Accursed and soon to perish, who shall take
“Awe from the patient sovereignty of Bel,
“And at his gates despoil him of his bride.”
Her scowling visage cleared as thus she spake:
“If one be wanting, this at least is well,
“Thou wilt not suffer for thy master's sake,
“Six brides I leave his servants.”—Deadlier swell
Rash thoughts within him, dashed by shame; and pride
Burns from rebuke more scorchingly: “Awake!
“Lay hold upon the maid—that curse which fell
“Shall rest on all who help us not!”—He says,
And first ascends the step Assyrian Gyre,
Red from the wine-skin reeking, whose hot cheek
Is flushed with thoughts of love beneath the rays
Of cloudless beauty gendered, and the fire
Blown high by Cathura's furious breath, to seek
The praise of all Bel's worshippers. His hand
Reaches the virgin's neck, and round his wrist
Outstretched, in turn, the Sorceress lays her grasp;
Loud yells the dubious concourse; one long shriek,
Far louder, pierces Heaven. The red iron's brand,
O fool! were balm to this; 'twere better twist
A bracelet from the moulten ore, and clasp
Thy flesh with liquid silver while it glows!
When south winds blow and sunny banks are warm,
As one who plucks in haste the briar-fenced rose,
But feels instead about his naked arm
An adder's length coiled round, or gripes an asp
Between mistaking fingers—strives in vain
To shake the angry reptile from his palm,
That wreathes the more intense its circles manifold—
He bellows with affright, and stamps with pain:
And when, at length, she frees him from her hold,
To thrice its natural bulk the swoln limb grows,
Glossy awhile, as if its skin would burst,
Distained with putrid blackness; and again,
Ere wonder suffers that the eye should close
Which sees its change—far smaller than at first,
Withers and stiffens round the fleshless bone,
The bone itself distorting. Thus a scroll,
Whose parchment lore is useless or unknown,
Distends its folds, one moment, in the flame,
And shows a grosser volume than its own,
Till scorched and conquered o'er the furnace coal
Its twisted form collapses. Whence he came
The ghastly cripple turns his leprous cheek,
Blotched with consuming ulcers—eyes half blind—
And lips extended to the ears. “Now go,
“For Cathura's curse bear ours; be just and speak,
“O thou of giant strength and dreadless mind!
“Whose words weigh most,” she says. The crowds below
Flee from a spectacle so foul, and shun
Him, hideous, following with unstable gait,
As if in nature's scorn, despite of fate,
Some plague-swoln carcass tottered from its grave,
And bared Death's loathsome mysteries to the sun.

She tarried not, but thus: “Leave we the brave!
“Virgin, our path lies higher.” Up Cirta's coast,
Escaped its thundering surge and far-pursuing wave,
The shipwrecked seaman gladly speeds his way,
Thankful, while all he had, or hoped, is lost,
Beside the life God gave him—that his feet
Stand on the solid earth once more, the day
Shines in his eyes, and, weary though they be,
His members have their use and feel its heat:
At first regardless where he is—unthinking
That grief and death usurp both land and sea—
So toils from step to step the rescued maid,
Whither she heeds not yet—till near their height,
On wall and door above, her young eyes shrinking,
Discern the graven images arrayed:
Idols part monstrous—natural part! a sight
Whence older faces might look round afraid.

“O mother—dreadful in thine anger—hear!”
She calls, a moment pausing: “Strong art thou
“To ruin or save, who once hast heard my cry!
“I may not enter where those shapes appear,
“Have pity still!” The Enchantress turned her brow,
Then answered thus: “Ailona, what have I
“With prayers and pity? On thine head even now,
“Anointed Queen! the oil smells fragrantly
“Which made thee mightier.”“Let thy Servant die,
“But mock me not,” she said: “a captive child,
“Alas! and parentless.” Those pale lips smiled,
Then spake: “be strong and follow fearlessly—
‘We seek who will not wait.” In doubt, once more
Ailona gazed upon the sculptured wall,
And on the crowds behind her—should she fly
Toward those whose treacherous lusts she fled before:
Or pass through idol symbols to the hall
Where horned Osiris is a God? Her eye
Fills with its tears, while righteous hate prevails
O'er both the abominations. “Send me home
“Accursed and blasted like the wretch below,
“And such as men remember in their tales—
“But free from sin! there tarries till I come,
“Who yet will love me though in shame and woe!
“Let me flee hence!” She spake—with loftier tone
Replied the impatient Sorceress: “Take thy prayer!
“We will not enter—follow where I go—
“Dost wring thine hands and tremble, faithless one?
“—By all men dread in Heaven or Hell—I swear!”

Thus ending, toward the left she turns her feet
Upon that broad step where she staid to hear;
Nor rising nor descending, till its point
Looks diverse, and the Temple's faces meet:
Another length she travels like the last,
For each gives room, as when with bandaged joint
The wounded shrinks from him that hurries past,
Suffering untouched through fear. A voice subdued
Numerous as insect wings, while sunny morn
Swarms with delighted life o'er shrub and flower
In cultured plot or heathy solitude—
A hushed and equal sound they hear, upborn
From infinite tongues whose awe breathes health to power—
Or like some torrent's distant water roaring:
Then, where the third front cast its shade, behold!
Midst tributary kings sublime—in state
More feared than Bel's itself—Belshazzar sat
As God enthroned, and all his Hosts adoring!

Arrayed with royal pall, and crowned with gold,
Before his feet the subject monarchs wait;
Beside, sits Nitocris. In just degrees,
Descending from the first step to the last,
And hiding all—his princes on their knees
Worship far off the effulgent Deity.
A living hill, upon whose face is cast
More than the rainbow's brightness, gloriously
Appears that ample slope to shine, with vests
Of all earth's hues or heaven's, when lordly sets
The crimson sun at harvest time, and rests
Pillowed by clouds—such mingled radiance streams
From gold-enwoven robes and jewelled coronets.

Nor space enough that mighty area seems
Between the steps and river, to contain
His congregated armies—helms and spears—
Thick though they stand and level, as the ears
Of Egypt's barley when her prosperous fields
Brought food by handfuls, and the unmeasured grain
Was stored, till Famine's lean and blasted years,
Foreshown in dreams, consumed it. Lustrous shields,
And mail, whose burnished plates of brass or gold,
Repel the arrowy sunbeams opposite;
O'er serried ranks of horse and foot, unrolled
Chaldæa's ensigns glitter in the light:
Crescents and stars—the signs which men adore
As Gods in heaven—and beings of earth and water—
Are imaged here with shapes supposed or true.

Irresolute stops the maid to breathe, once more,
But thus her guide: “Yet dost thou doubt me, daughter?
“One of their thrones is thine—earth has but two!
“Dost linger still?” Then up those steps, and through
Their prostrate crowds, the shuddering virgin bore,
Light as a kid unweaned in hands like hers,
Till at the thrones she placed her, in the view
Of those who sat, where Monarchs bowed before,
Herself erect. The startled God uprose;
And with him, from their knees, his worshippers;
Myriads of quivers rattled, unstrung bows
Were bent, and lances shaken; but her mien
Seemed peaceful, and the uplifted hand outspread,
Motioned as theirs that speak, while thus she said:
“Dost gaze like one who knows me not, O Queen!
“Remember Nineveh.” The Queen replied:
“Woman, I do remember thee, with dread,
“But not unthankfully.”“A captive maid,”
Exulting spake the Prophetess again:
“A captive in the wilderness—that cried
“To taste of water, near the fountain's side,
“And none would give! I turned me from the slain,
“From dreams I rose, and o'er her naked head
“These eyes discerned the garland of a bride—
“They saw the crown of power, the canopy of pride!

“A leafless branch cast loosely on the sand,
“A dying branch was found—a broken spray—
“I raised the sapless fragment in mine hand,
“To fertile streams I bore the lost away:
“Its roots are deep as Hell—the light of day
“Rejoices midst its blossoms. Sea and land,
“Morn, noon, and eve, are covered by its shade:
“Belshazzar, from thy regal seat look down!
“A fairer plant beside its parent grows
“Ere yet the fruit fall off, or verdure fade—
“Accursed is he that spurns! seek thou to cherish!
“Chaldæa sends the Virgin for her Crown;
“Thy Queen stands near thee with anointed brows,
“I heard the words—woe! to Chaldæa, woe!
“If she shall weep—woe to the tongue of pride!
“Woe to the golden city! ere she perish,
“The streams shall fail—Bel's roofs with fire shall glow—
“Woe to the loftiest first! the Bridegroom ere the Bride!”

She said, and tarried not reply, but straight
Passed by their thrones, none hindering, to the gate
Of moulten brass behind, whose valves stood wide,
Lamps never quenched and altar-fires revealing;
But where the Sorceress placed her, paused the Maid
Aghast, with loosened tresses, eyes unveiled.
Panting from flight and strife—and yet afraid—
With beauty's tears to love, through grief, appealing—
And bosom still unconscious though betrayed.
As if some being of happier worlds bewailed
Its shame in earthly bondage—from his place
The astonished king beheld that trembler kneeling—
For soon she knelt—and o'er her innocent face,
Before so pale, celestial blushes stealing,
A rosier hue and healthier lustre shed.
Meanwhile the Sovereign Mother to the ground
Descending whence she sat—above her head
A web like silver, from her own unbound,
A filmy veil of precious texture spread.
Belshazzar waves his hand, the trumpets sound
Dispels, like mists, that mighty concourse—still
As leaves on summer groves at noon, or reeds
On lake or fen, till gales begin to blow,
When both awake—rank marsh and woody hill,
Touched by the breeze. The pageant as before
Moves on august and slow with homeward steeds:
But wearied wisdom sickens midst the show,
And age endures its heat and cries no more;
The popular breath of slaves her great heart scorning,
Less clamorous ways are best to Nitocris.
She shuns the encumbered bridge oblique, and leads
Where barges built of cedar touch the shore,
Each with its ivory beak and silken awning.
In foam behind the whitened waters hiss,
With practised cadence dips and skims the oar:
Lost, rescued, frightened—Captive, Queen, and Bride!
Well may she look beyond attaining this;
As lightly down that river's ample tide
By ancient palaces she floats, and towers
Whose heads are in mid air, 'twixt arches wide,
Gilt domes, and groves of stateliest growth below,
Her refluent spirit mounts again to bliss.
The voice of pleasure issues from their bowers—
Sweet music, sweeter when its haunts are hid—
The careless laugh—the light and sportive scream:
And still she sees the granite portico,
Fresh-sculptured obelisk, or pyramid
With trembling shade inverted in the stream.
Like streaks of fire the sister gallies glow,
Gilt to their keels, and freighted deep with arms;
Sometimes abreast the rival banner flies,
Nor yet too far for interchange of smiles,
While playful beauty half unveils her charms
To traffic with divided love in sighs;
Till reverence checks the speed which hope beguiles,
Strength yields to awe, and emulous haste grows wise.

The thoughtful Queen sits silently; her eyes
Rest on the Maid.—Now sound your clarions! blow
Your deep-toned horns! the sovereign Mistress comes!
With costlier art her marble portals rise,
To steps of porphyry turn the bounding prow—
Behind, o'er all—o'er pinnacles and domes
Groves bloom in air, and gardens in the skies.

She that had tarried midst the noiseless hall
From day to day, and watched the sunbeam creep
With lengthening arc, in autumn, on its wall—
Whose sum of time was shared 'twixt toil and sleep,
Truth's holiest teachings and the rest of God—
Following through chambers where her sandals trode
On variegated pavements, and the crowd,
Though Slaves within, were Princes at the gate,
Saw ill at ease that while the Queen passed by
Was every lip compressed and forehead bowed;
Gracious, indeed, yet awful in her state,
A Mother, but with dread and royalty.

Within the shadow of that gorgeous pile
Is compassed all which earth can boast elsewhere
As broad to use as daylight. Feasts beguile
The else vacant hours; melodious choirs are nigh
When Love shall call them; fountains cool the air;
In crystal mirrors beauty learns to smile;
The couch is softly strewn for luxury;
And baths of jasper nerve the limbs of Care.
To such her guides conduct her—pleased and kind,
Three garrulous maids, a laughing sisterhood,
Whose charge she is, all eager to begin
With offices of love their task assigned—
Chaplets are wreathed, robes chosen, odours strewed:
They teach her how to bar the door within,
Then bow their heads and leave her.

Such a change—
Sudden and dubious still if evil or good,
But in the extreme of one—a portent strange
Believed, distrusted, disallowed, yet feared,
Hath touched her soul; and now in solitude,
Whence eyes of late so kind have disappeared,
Voices so bland have parted—now it is
That wonder finds a larger world begin;
One stunning thought misrules a multitude;
The spirit toils to sound its own abyss—
Error is twined with truth, and innocence with sin.

Lonely she stands at last; of figured gold
The cieling glows above her; on the ground,
Inlaid with lucid shades and colours manifold,
Birds seem to perch or flit midst fruits and flowers:
In chariots riding kinglike warriors crowned
Above their steeds mosaic sceptres hold:
A vase of sculptured agate largely pours
From level lip its sparkling waters round;
More spacious still the bason where they fall,
From one fair stone scooped out. That Huntress chaste,
Whose wrath transformed Actæon, here had found
Room for her heated Nymphs, where none molest,
To sport at pleasure in its depth, if all
Had bathed beside their Mistress. From her waist
Its zone of silk the pensive Maid unbound,
And drew the slender sandals from her feet;
O'er roof and floor, and round the sculptured hall,
Her eyes still wandered, while the heaving breast,
And cheeks distained by conscious nature's heat,
High thoughts of power and love's first dream confest—
Dreams disallowed, and thoughts she feared to think—
Thrilling with cold ere felt, she made her seat
A moment on the ceaseless fountain's brink,
Touched the pure wave within, and cast aside the vest.

Meantime the chamber of that awful Queen—
Her cool retiring-place, where pomp might rest
Its chafed and jaded sovereignty unseen—
Is strewn with fresher roses; fruits are piled
In crystal urns—the rarest and the best,
That men spend lives in seeking midst the wild,
Or art, with equal labour, plucks at home.
Far climes meet here, from Ganges to the fords
Where nations cross on foot the infant Nile:
Damascus sends her tribute; some lone Isle,
Which may possess a name in times to come,
Unnumbered now, its single wealth affords:
Whatever nature from her children hoards,
Profuse in vain elsewhere, or freely throws
To those who ask with patience—moist and dry,
Hard-rin'd, or candied in its sweetness—all
That gathered when the sun hath touched it, glows
With purple clusters from its branch on high;
Or on the ground, before his hot beams fall,
Is sought midst early dews beside its root.
In golden vessels spice and wine stand by—
A fragrant altar, heaped with flowers and fruit
Her table seems, on some great festival;
Herself enthroned its present deity,
Who waits the approaching votaress.

Lo! she comes,
Bearing the fountain's freshness on her cheek,
And robed as those are feigned whose sacred homes
Are caverns in the ocean—like its green
When least disturbed, or hues which sometimes streak
The sunset skies with tenderest light serene,
'Twixt gold and azure mingling. Flowerets sweet
The wreath whose twisted tendrils crown her tresses;
Pearls edge and bind the sandals on her feet;
More white than pearls that panting bosom presses
The belt which ill restrains and half conceals.

Happy are they that follow where she kneels;
In beauty's triumphs skill may claim a share—
The sovereign Mistress raises her, and feels
That nature, when she framed a being so fair,
Conferred the right to empire. Of the wine
She tastes herself, and offers to her guest;
Spreads fruit before her—soothes with gentle speech—
Commends Arabia's spice and Syria's vine,
Then bids her matrons leave them. “Eat and rest,”
She says; “take courage from the cup to teach
“Whence came ye both—that Prophetess who blest,
“And thou with her.” The Virgin's lips obey—
Faultering at first, nor yet assured are they—
But pleasure lights her eyes—hope glows within her breast.