holiness and penitence. During the persecution under Dioclesian, his sufferings for the faith were most exemplary; and being at length, at an advanced age, condemned to hard labour, for refusing to comply with an Imperial edict, he died at the Brass Mines of Palestine, A. D. 297.—
"As Alciphron held the opinions maintained since by Arius, his memory has not been spared
by Athanasian writers, who, among other charges, accuse him of having been addicted to the superstitions of Egypt. For this calumny, however, there appears to be no better foundation than a circumstance, recorded by one of his brother monks, that there was found, after his death, a small metal mirror, like those used in the ceremonies of Isis, suspended around his neck."
FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT
WELL may you wonder at my flight
From those fair Gardens, in whose bowers Lingers whate'er of wise and bright, Of Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light,
Is left to grace this world of ours.
Well may my comrades, as they roam,
On such sweet eves as this, inquire
Why I have left that happy home
Where all is found that all desire,
And Time hath wings that never tire;
Where bliss, in all the countless shapes,
That Fancy's self to bliss hath given,
Comes clustering round, like road-side grapes
That woo the traveller's lip, at even;
Where Wisdom flings not joy away -
As Pallas in the stream, they say,
Once flung her flute-but smiling owns
That woman's lip can send forth tones
Worth all the music of those spheres
So many dream of, but none hears;
Where Virtue's self puts on so well
Her sister Pleasure's smile, that, loth From either nymph apart to dwell,
We finish by embracing both.
Yes, such the place of bliss, I own,
From all whose charms I just have flown;
And even while thus to thee I write,
And by the Nile's dark flood recline,
Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight
Back to those groves and gardens bright,
And often think, by this sweet light,
How lovelily they all must shine;
Can see that graceful temple throw
Down the green slope its lengthen'd shade,
While, on the marble steps below,
There sits some fair Athenian maid,
Over some favourite volume bending;
And, by her side, a youthful sage
Holds back the ringlets that, descending,
Would else o'ershadow all the page.
But hence such thoughts!-nor let me grieve
O'er scenes of joy that I but leave,
As the bird quits awhile its nest
To come again with livelier zest.
That not of life or earth they seem'd,
But shadows from some world unknown. More oft, however, 'twas the thought
How soon that scene, with all its play Of life and gladness, must decayThose lips I prest, the hands I caughtMyself-the crowd that mirth had brought Around me-swept like weeds away!
This thought it was that came to shed
O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys;
And, close as shade with sunshine, wed
Its sadness with my happiest joys.
Oh, but for this disheart'ning voice,
Stealing amid our mirth to say
That all, in which we most rejoice,
Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey; But for this bitter-only this
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss,
And capable as feels my soul
Of draining to its dregs the whole,
I should turn earth to heav'n, and be,
If bliss made Gods, a Deity !
Thou know'st that night-the very last
That 'mong my Garden friends I pass'd-
When the School held its feast of mirth
To celebrate our founder's birth,
And all that He in dreams but saw
When he set Pleasure on the throne
Of this bright world, and wrote her law
In human hearts, was felt and known-
Not in unreal dreams, but true
Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew—
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt.
That night, when all our mirth was o'er,
The minstrels silent, and the feet
Of the young maidens heard no more-
So stilly was the time, so sweet,
And such a calm came o'er that scene,
Where life and revel late had been-
Lone as the quiet of some bay,
From which the sea hath ebb'd away-
That still I linger'd, lost in thought,
Gazing upon the stars of night,
Sad and intent, as if I sought
Some mournful secret in their light; And ask'd them, 'mid that silence, why Man, glorious man, alone must die, While they, less wonderful than he, Shine on through all eternity.
That night-thou haply may'st forget Its loveliness-but 'twas a night
And music floated every where,
Circling, as 'twere itself the air,
And spirits, on whose wings the hue
Of heaven still linger'd, round me flew,
Till from all sides such splendours broke,
That, with the excess of light, I woke!
Such was my dream;-and, I confess, Though none of all our creedless School E'er conn'd, believ'd, or reverenc'd less
The fables of the priest-led fool, Who tells us of a soul, a mind, Separate and pure, within us shrin'd, Which is to live-ah, hope too bright!— For ever in yon fields of light; Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes
Of Gods are on him as if, blest And blooming in their own blue skies, The' eternal Gods were not too wise
To let weak man disturb their rest!. Though thinking of such creeds as thou And all our Garden sages think, Yet is there something, I allow, In dreams like this- -a sort of link With worlds unseen, which, from the hour I first could. lisp my thoughts till now, Hath master'd me with spell-like power.
And who can tell, as we're combin'd
Of various atoms-some refin'd,
Like those that scintillate and play
In the fix'd stars-some, gross as they
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay-
Who can be sure, but 'tis the best
And brightest atoms of our frame,
Those most akin to stellar flame,
That shine out thus, when we're at rest;-
Ev'n as the stars themselves, whose light
Comes out but in the silent night.
Or is it that there lurks, indeed,
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed,
And that our Guardians, from on high,
Come, in that pause from toil and sin,
To put the senses' curtain by,
And on the wakeful soul look in!
Vain thought!--but yet, howe'er it be,
Dreams, more than once, hath prov'd to me
Oracles, truer far than Oak,
Or Dove, or Tripod, ever spoke.
And 'twas the words-thou'lt hear and smileThe words that phantom seem'd to speak"Go, and beside the sacred Nile "You'll find the Eternal Life you seek-" That, haunting me by night, by day, At length, as with the unseen hand
Of Fate itself, urg'd me away
From Athens to this Holy Land; Where, 'mong the secrets, still untaught, The myst❜ries that, as yet, nor sun Nor eye hath reach'd-oh, blessed thought!May sleep this everlasting one.
Farewell-when to our Garden friends
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends
The gayest of their school thus far,
Wandering beneath Canopus' star,
Tell them that, wander where he will,
Or, howsoe'er they now condemn
His vague and vain pursuit, he still
Is worthy of the School and them;— Still, all their own-nor e'er forgets,
Ev'n while his heart and soul pursue Th' Eternal Light which never sets,
The many meteor joys that do, But seeks them, hails them with delight, Where'er they meet his longing sight. And, if his life must wane away, Like other lives, at least the day, The hour it lasts shall, like a fire With incense fed, in sweets expire.
And where-oh where's the heart that could with- Is played in the cool current by a train
The' unnumber'd witcheries of this sun-born land,
Where first young Pleasure's banner was unfurl'd,
And Love hath temples ancient as the world!
Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn,
Hides but to win, and shades but to adorn;
Where that luxurious melancholy, born
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom
Making joy holy;-where the bower and tomb
Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns from Death
The instant value of each moment's breath.
Couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream
This lovely land now looks!—the glorious stream,
That late, between its banks, was seen to glide
'Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side
Glitt'ring like jewels strung along a chain,
Hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain
And valley, like a giant from his bed
Rising with outstretch'd limbs, hath grandly spread;
While far as sight can reach, beneath as clear
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd our sphere,
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry domes,
And high-built temples, fit to be the homes
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose hour
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower!
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she ', whose chain
Around two conquerors of the world was cast,
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last.
For oh, believe not them, who dare to brand,
As poor in charms, the women of this land.
Though darkened by that sun, whose spirit flows
Through every vein, and tinges as it goes,
'Tis but the' embrowning of the fruit that tells
How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells —
The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear,
Announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there.
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free
The secret of young hearts more tenderly.
Such eyes!-long, shadowy, with that languid fall
Of the fring'd lids, which may be seen in all
Who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays-
Lending such looks as, on their marriage days,
Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze!
Then for their grace-mark but the nymph-like
shapes
Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes
From green Anthylla, or light urns of flowers-
Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest hours,
E'er imag'd forth, even at the touch of him 2
Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb;
Then, canst thou wonder if, 'mid scenes like these,
Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make I should forget all graver mysteries,
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake,
Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives
Of life and motion, ever moves and lives.
Here, up the steps of temples from the wave
Ascending, in procession slow and grave,
Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands;
While there, rich barks-fresh from those sunny
Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts ——
Glide, with their precious lading to the sea,
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory,
Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains
Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains.
Here, where the waters wind into a bay
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way
To Saïs or Bubastus, among beds
Of lotus flowers, that close above their heads,
Push their light barks, and there, as in a bower,
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour;
Oft dipping in the N'e, when faint with heat,
That leaf, from which its waters drink most sweet.
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank
All lore but Love's, all secrets but that best
In heaven or earth, the art of being blest!
Yet are there times-though brief, I own, their
stay,
Like Summer clouds that shine themselves away-
Moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall
Upon my sadd'ning heart, and I recall
That Garden dream-that promise of a power
Oh, were there such!-to lengthen out life's hour,
On, on, as through a vista, far away
Opening before us into endless day!
And chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought
Come on that evening-bright as ever brought
Light's golden farewell to the world-when first
The' eternal pyramids of Memphis burst
Awfully on my sight-standing sublime
"Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time,
From whose lone summit, when his reign hath past
From earth for ever, he will look his last!
There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round
Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound
In the still air that circled them, which stole
Like music of past times into my soul.
I thought what myriads of the wise, and brave,
And beautiful, had sunk into the grave,
Since earth first saw these wonders - and I said,
"Are things eternal only for the Dead?
"Hath man no loftier hope than this, which dooms
"His only lasting trophies to be tombs ?
"But 'tis not so earth, heaven, all nature shows
"He may become immortal
- may unclose
"The wings within him wrapt, and proudly rise,
"Redeem'd from earth, a creature of the skies!
"And who can say, among the written spells
From Hermes' hand, that, in these shrines and cells
Then do these spirit whisperings, like the sound
Of the Dark Future, come appalling round;
Nor can I break the trance that holds me then,
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge I mount again!
Even now for new adventure, new delight,
My heart is on the wing; this very night,
The Temple on that Island, half-way o'er
From Memphis' gardens to the eastern shore,
Sends up its annual rite 3 to her, whose beams
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams.
The nymph, who dips her urn in silent lakes,
And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes ;-
Oh, not our Dian of the North, who chains
"Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there may not be In vestal ice the current of young veins,
"Some secret clue to immortality, —
"Some amulet, whose spell can keep life's fire
"Awake within us, never to expire!
""Tis known that, on the Emerald Table', hid
"For ages in yon loftiest pyramid,
"The Thrice-Great 2 did himself, engrave, of old,
"The chymic mystery that gives endless gold.
"And why may not this mightier secret dwell
"Within the same dark chambers? who can tell
"But that those kings, who, by the written skill
“Of the' Emerald Table, call'd forth gold at will,
"And quarries upon quarries heap'd and hurl'd,
"To build them domes that might outstand the
But she who haunts the gay Bubastian grove,
And owns she sees, from her bright heaven above,
Nothing on earth to match that heaven but Love.
Think, then, what bliss will be abroad to-night! —
Besides those sparkling nymphs, who meet the sight
Day after day, familiar as the sun,
Coy buds of beauty, yet unbreath'd upon,
And all the hidden loveliness, that lies,
Shut up, as are the beams of sleeping eyes,
Within these twilight shrines-to-night shall be
Let loose, like birds, for this festivity !
And mark, 'tis nigh; already the sun bids
His evening farewell to the Pyramids,
"Who knows but that the heavenlier art, which As he hath done, age after age, till they
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