ST. JOHN IN PATMOS.

PART I.

CAVE IN PATMOS.-APPARITION OF

CHRIST.-MYSTERIOUS

VISITANT.DAY, NIGHT, AND MORNING.

'Twas in the rugged and forsaken isle

Of Patmos, dreariest of the sister isles
Which strew th' Egean-where the pirate, wont

To rove the seas with scymiter of blood,

Now scowl'd in sullen exile-an old man,
Tranquilly listening to the ocean-sounds,
And resting on his staff, beside a cave,
Gaz'd on the setting sun, as it went down,
In glory, o'er the distant hills of Greece.

B

Pale precipices frown'd above the track

Of dark grey sands and stone; nor wood, nor

stream,

Cheer'd the lone vallies--desolate, and sad,

And silent; not a goat amid the crags

Wandering, and picking, here and there, a blade
Of wither'd grass, above the sea-marge hung.
The Robber* scowl'd, and spoke not; his dark eye
Still flash'd unconquer'd pride, and enmity

To man, and looking on his iron chain,
He mutter'd, to himself, a deeper curse.

The Old Man had his dwelling in a cave, Half-way upon the desert mountain's side, Now bent with the full weight of ninety years And upwards; and that cavern'd mountain-crag

* Criminals banished to this island.

Five years had been his dwelling:* there he sat,
Oft holding converse-not with forms of earth—

But, as was said, with spirits of the blest,
Beyond this cloudy sphere, or with the dead
Of other days. A girdle bound his loins;

Figs and Icarian honey were his food 1;

An ill-carv'd cup, by a clear fount was seen;

His long locks, and his white descending beard,
Shook, when he totter'd down into the sun,
Supported by a slender cross of pine,

His staff; and when the ev'ning star arose
O'er Asia, a brief time he stood, and gaz'd,
Then sought his melancholy cave, and pray'd.
And who, in this sad place, was this Old Man?
Who in this island, (where the robber scowl'd)
Exil'd, and destitute, was this old man,-

Old, but so reverenc'd, the murd❜rer pass'd

* The period is uncertain.

His rocky dwelling, and bade peace to it?

"TWAS HE, who leant upon our Saviour's breast

At the last supper-HE, to whom the Lord,
Looking upon his countenance of youth,

His calm, clear forehead, and his clustering hair,
Said, “What, if He shall tarry till I come?"

Long years and many sorrows mark'd these

years

Had pass'd since this was said; and now that face

Was furrow'd o'er with age; and weariness,

And exile, in the last, lone days of life,

Were now his lot; for They whom he had lov'd,

Professing one warm faith, one glorious hope, Were all, in the same faith, and the same hope,

Laid down in peace, after their pilgrimage,

Where the world ceas'd from troubling:

He alone,

Linger'd, when all were dead, with fervent prayer,

Soon in the bosom of his Lord to rest.

And now he comes forth from his rocky cave

Το

gaze awhile upon the silent sea,

In the calm eventide of the Lord's Day;

To think on Him he lov'd, and of that voice
Once heard on earth: so pond'ring, on his staff,
The old man watch'd another sun go down
Beyond the Cape of TENOS.* The still sea
Slept, in the light of eve, beneath his feet,
And often, as in very gentleness,

It seem'd to touch his sandals, and retire.
And now the last limb of the sinking orb
Is hid, yet far away the cloudy track
Reddens with its departing glory—

* Now Tino-island to the West.