University of Virginia Library


20

DE SPIRIDIONE EPISCOPO.

THIS is the story of Spiridion,
Bishop of Cyprus by the grace of God,
Told by Ruffinus in his history.
A fair and stately lady was Iréne,
Spiridion's daughter, and in all the land
Was none so proud, if that indeed be pride,
The haughty conscience of great truthfulness
Which makes the spirit faithful unto death
And martyrdom itself a little thing.
There came a stranger to Spiridion,
A wealthy merchant from the Syrian land,
Who, greeting, said, ‘Good father, I have here
A golden casket filled with Roman coin,
And Eastern gems of cost uncountable.
Great are the dangers of the rocky road,
False as a serpent is the purple sea,
And he who carries wealth in foreign lands
Carries his death too often near his heart,
And finds life's poison where he hoped to find
Against its pains a pleasant antidote.
I pray you keep for me these gems in trust
And give them to me when I come again.’
Spiridion listened with a friendly smile,
And answered thus the dark-browed Syrian:
‘Here is a better guardian of gold:—

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My daughter, Sir. The people round about
Are wont to say that if she broke her faith
Silver and gold themselves would lose their shine.
She is our island's trusty treasurer:—’
‘Then,’ said the Syrian, ‘she shall be mine
As well as theirs’—and saying this he gave
The casket with the jewels to her hand.
Then thoughtfully the lady answered him,
As one who slowly turns some curious thought,
And as they sometimes speak who prophesy:—
‘Sir, you have called this treasure life and death,
Which in your Eastern lore, as I have read,
Is the great symbol of the deity,
And the most potent spell to sway the world.
With life to death I'll guard the gems for you,
And dead or living give them back again.’
Now, while the merchant went to distant Rome
The fair Irené died a sudden death,
And all the land went mourning for the maid;
And on the roads and in the palaces
Was one long wail for her by night and day.
While thus they grieved the Syrian came again,
And after fit delay, in proper time
Went to the father:—to Spiridion;
Condoling with him on his daughter's death
In many a sad and gentle Eastern phrase
Deep tinctured with a strange philosophy.
Now, when they had awhile consumed their grief,
Outspoke the Bishop: ‘Syrian, it is well
If this sad death be not more sad for us
Than thou hast dreamed of.’ Here he checked his speech,
And then, as if in utter agony,
Burst forth with: ‘She is gone—and all thy store,
It too is gone—She only, upon earth,

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Knew where 'twas hidden, and she trusted none:
Oh, God be merciful! what shall I do?’
Then on him gravely looked the Syrian
With grand calm mien, as almost pitying,
And said, ‘Oh, father,—can this be thy faith?
Man of the West, how little did'st thou know
The wondrous nature of that girl now dead!
Hast thou not heard that they who once become
Faithful to death are masters over death,
And here and there on earth a woman lives
Whose eyes proclaim the mighty Victory won?
Give me thy hand, and lead me to the dead—
Thou know'st it is not all of death to die.’
He took his hand, and led him to the bier,
And they beheld the Beautiful in Death,
The perfect loveliness of Grecian form,
Inspired by Egypt's solemn mystery:
A single pause in the eternity
Of Present, Past, and Future all in one.
Awhile they stood and gazed upon the dead,
And then Spiridion spoke as one inspired:
‘Oh God! thou wert our witness—make it know!’
He paused in solemn awe, for at the word
There came an awful sign. The dead white hand
Was lifted, and Irené's eyes unclosed,
Beaming with light as only angels beam,
And from the cold white lips there came a voice:
‘The gems lie hidden in the garden wall;
God bless thee, father, for thy constant love!
God bless thee, Syrian, for thy faith in me!’
This is the story of Spiridion,
And of his daughter, faithful unto death.