I made them all my study. Much I mourned
The sad disheartened life that Mesmer led.
He never knew that one good thing, success;
But yet his strong, persistent genius, to the end
Endured. Yet such the rule in every age.
The one true man appears, and gives his thought,
At which the whole world rail or basely sneer.
The next man comes and makes a thankless use
Of what the other knew, and wins the praise
The first man lost by being ripe too soon.
VI. NEWS FROM MESCHED.
Down the long street, upon my iron-black steed,
I rode and pondered. Where shall I seek to find
A sweet soul pure as dawn, who to my will shall be
Both malleable and ductile; who can soar
Over the whole earth, or go back in the past?
While yet I mused, lo, up a garden walk,
A lady chased a bird. An empty cage
Stood in the vine-clad cottage-window near.
The bird was like some sweet elusive thought;
The maid, a Sappho, weary with pursuit.
She only glanced my way to see me pass,
Then turned and ran towards me, her large eyes
With gladness scintillant. It was the maid,
Veera. Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk
We went, my steed following, while her bird,
Tired of his liberty, had found his cage.
Strange news had Veera. Here she lived in peace;
But through the city she had sought me long.
When I was gone from Mesched, and my brothers read
The paper I had written, their wrath rose
Against my tutor whom they deemed the spy.
He, being found asleep beside the king
Who lay dead, to his door they brought
The baseless charge of murder. Through the streets
They sent their criers to proclaim the deed.
So, clamorous for his life, the people came
And dragged him forth, and led him to the block
And slew him. On a spear they set his head,
And placed it high upon the tower above
The eastern gate. The birds pecked at the eyes,
And of the hair made comfortable nests.
The rain beat on it, and the active wind
Crowned it with desert dust. Always the sun
Made salutation to it, flushing it
Until it seemed more ghastly than before.
But after this mad crime the older brother grew
Jealous of him, the younger. One dark morn
They found the last-born lifeless in the street,
Stabbed by a long, sharp poniard in the back.
Misrule followed misrule, and justice fled.
Laws were abolished, and pleasure's lewdest voice
Hawked in the market-place, and through the streets.
Her story done, Veera entreated me
To set my face for Mesched with the dawn.
"Not yet," I said, "not yet." And then I made
Strange passes with my hands, and braced my will,
To sway her will; then with a questioning glance
She passed out to a calm Mesmeric sleep.
So, well I knew that I had found the soul
My purpose needed, and I bade her wake.
VII. THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
I sat and pondered in my room that night
Until the towers and steeples, near and far,
Like sentries of the sky, issued the hour
Of midnight. Then I wrought magnetic force
With waving hands; and set my swerveless will
That Veera should approach me, and that none
Should harm or see her as she passed the streets.
At last I heard her footstep on the stair-
The patter of her feet as soft as rain,
And then she turned the hinge and entered in.
A long white wrapper made of satin, bound
With lace of gold, and fastened at the throat
With buttons of cut diamond, clad her form.
A band of opals was around her neck-
A hundred little worlds with central fires.
Her feet were naked, and her hair was down.
Her large eyes, wide and staring, took no heed
Of anything before them; thus she slept.
I bade her sit beside me, and I placed
The Bible on her knee, and laid her hand
Upon the verse that names the tree of life.
"Tell me," I said, "where may this tree be found."
"The way is long," she answered me at last,
"And I am worn and weary. I have tracked
The shore of one long river, many a mile.
The sun scorches like fire. I am athirst.
I cannot find the tree; my search is done."
"Look down the past, and find if any knew
Where grows this tree, or how it might be found."
Again her lips made answer: "One I see,
Long dead, who bends above a written scroll,
And therein makes strange characters, which hold
Some hidden sense pertaining to this tree.
In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
I see this scroll to-night; 'tis worn with age."
"Now seek thy home again," I said, "sweet soul.
Thou art as meek and pure as him whose hand
First wrote God's words." So she arose, and passed
Along the dark, deserted street, and I
Followed her closely, till I saw her cross
The threshold of her cottage; then I turned,
And found my home, and calmly slept till dawn.
VIII. THE PALIMPSEST.
In Milan, in the Ambrosian library there,
Among Pinellian writings seared with age,
I found a prophet's palimpsest-a scroll
That Angelo Maio had brought to light.
And on the margin of this scroll, I found
Mysterious signs which baffled me at first.
After a full week's search I chanced to find
The mongrel dialect of which they were.
I thus translated: Gihon is the Nile.
A perfect soul may find long life and gold.
Surely, I thought, Veera the maid is pure.
Her life's blue sky has not one cloud of sin.
If her feet press the soil where Eve first trod,
I can but follow and attain. So I
Back to Vienna came and found Veera.
To her I made my double purpose plain,
And prayed her to go with me in my search.
She smiled assent. To be near me, she said,
Had brought her to Vienna; this indeed
Detained her from her kinsmen. Her heart's book
Lay open to me, and I read her love.
So we were wed, and both lives ran to one.
IX. GIHON.
Now for the Nile we journeyed, gaining first
The town of Gondokoro, where the stream
Of Bahr el Abiad, or White Nile, flows.
Thence we passed on, and with the savage kings
Of Karagwe, Uganda and Ungoro, stopped,
To rest our weary feet, or in their huts
Escape the sun's fierce glare. At last we found
The sources of the Nile; two lakes that now
Are called Nyanza and Nzige. If here
I had but paused, and had retraced my steps,
The whole world would have known and praised my name,
For I was first to find the secret out.
But then I cared not for it, journeying on.
After a week, we came upon a land
All void, and barren of a single leaf.
Veera was pale and worn, although she bore
Fatigue with generous patience for my sake.
Our feet were swollen, and with the hot sand scorched,
Our garments were in tatters, and we seemed
Like beggars, in a land where there were none to give.
At night we slept beside a wide, cool stream,
Whereat we quenched our thirst, and bathed our feet.
My beard was grown, and all my hair hung down
Neglected, on my shoulders. I was weak,
And thin, and feverish, and Veera, too,
I saw was sick, and languished hour by hour.
X. GOLD!
In the sand, lo! something to the sun
Replied with brilliant lustre; as I brushed
The dust away, I saw that it was gold!-
A solid bar of gold-and yet so weak