Classic Poem

When weariness would let her
No longer pray and weep,
And midnight long was past,
Then Cyra fell asleep.

Into that wretched sleep she sunk
Which only sorrow knows,
Wherein the exhausted body rests,
But the heart hath no repose.

Of her Father she was dreaming,
Still aware that he was dead,
When, in the visions of the night,
He stood beside her bed.

Crown'd and in robes of light he came,
She saw he had found grace;
And yet there seem'd to be
A trouble in his face.

The eye and look were still the same
That she from her cradle knew;
And he put forth his hand, and blest her,
As he had been wont to do.

But then the smile benign
Of love forsook his face,
And a sorrowful displeasure
Came darkly in its place; —

And he cast on Eleimon
A melancholy eye,
And sternly said, " I bless thee not, —
Bondsman! thou knowest why! "

Again to Cyra then he turn'd, —
" Let not thy husband rest
Till he hath wash'd away with tears
The red spot from his breast!

" Hold fast thy hope, and Heaven will not
Forsake thee in thine hour:
Good Angels will be near thee,
And evil ones shall fear thee,
And Faith will give thee power. "

Perturb'd, yet comforted, she woke;
For in her waking ear
The words were heard which promised her
A strength above all fear.

An odor, that refresh'd no less
Her spirit with its blessedness
Than her corporeal frame,
Was breathed around, and she surely found
That from Paradise it came.

And, though the form revered was gone,
A clear, unearthly light
Remain'd, encompassing the bed,
When all around was night.

It narrow'd as she gazed;
And soon she saw it rest,
Concentred, like an eye of light,
Upon her husband's breast.

Not doubting now the presence
Of some good presiding Power,
Collectedness as well as strength
Was given her in this hour.

And rising half, the while in deep
But troubled sleep he lay,
She drew the covering from his breast
With cautious hand away.

The small, round, blood-red mark she saw;
Eleimon felt her not;
But in his sleep he groan'd, and cried,
" Out! out — accursed spot! "

The darkness of surrounding night
Closed then upon that eye of light.
She waited for the break
Of day, and lay the while in prayer
For that poor sinner's sake —

In fearful, miserable prayer;
But while she pray'd, the load of care
Less heavily bore on her heart,
And light was given, enabling her
To choose her difficult part.

And she drew, as comfortable texts
Unto her thoughts recurr'd,
Refreshment from the living well
Of God's unerring word.

But when the earliest dawn appear'd,
Herself in haste she array'd,
And watch'd his waking patiently,
And still as she watched she pray'd;
And when Eleimon had risen,
She spake to him, and said: —

" We have been visited this night;
My Father's Ghost I have seen;
I heard his voice, — an awful voice! —
And so hast thou, I ween! "

Eleimon was pale when he awoke;
But paler then he grew,
And over his whole countenance,
There came a deathlike hue.

Still he controll'd himself, and sought
Her question to beguile;
And forcing, while he answer'd her,
A faint and hollow smile, —

" Cyra, " he said, " thy thoughts possess'd
With one too painful theme,
Their own imaginations
For reality misdeem;
Let not my dearest, best beloved,
Be troubled for a dream! "

" O Eleimon, " she replied,
" Dissemble not with me thus;
Ill it becomes me to forget
What Dreams have been to us!

" Thinkest thou there can be peace for me,
Near to me as thou art,
While some unknown and fearful sin
Is festering at thy heart?

" Eleimon, Eleimon,
I may not let thee rest,
Till thou hast wash'd away with tears
The red spot from thy breast!

" Thus to conceal thy crime from me,
It is no tenderness!
The worst is better known than fear'd.
Whatever it be, confess;
And the Merciful will cleanse thee
From all unrighteousness! "

Like an aspen leaf he trembled,
And his imploring eye
Bespake compassion, ere his lips
Could utter their dreaded reply.

" O dearly loved, as dearly bought,
My sin and punishment I had thought
To bear through life alone;
Too much the Vision hath reveal'd,
And all must now be known!

" On thee, methinks, and only thee,
Dare I for pity call;
Abhor me not, — renounce me not, —
My life, my love, my all!

" And, Cyra, sure, if ever cause
Might be a sinner's plea,
'Twould be for that lost wretch who sold,
His hope of Heaven for thee!

" Thou seest a miserable man
Given over to despair,
Who has bound himself, by his act and deed,
To the Prince of the Powers of the Air. "

She seized him by the arm,
And hurrying him into the street,
" Come with me to the Church, " she cried,
" And to Basil the Bishop's feet! "