Classic Poem

At length the meal was ended; and we passed
In straggling twos and threes out of the hall
To the rock-platform, where the stars looked down
Brilliantly on us, and the gulf beneath
Lay vague and fathomless. Beside me paced
Now Theodorus, as in eager talk
He held me from the rest; with outstretched arm
Pointing this place and that, — towns, mountains, streams, —
All hidden in the night. And one by one
The Brethren left us for their evening tasks;
He only lingered yet.

" Tell me, " he said
" How moves the world in Athens? Do they still
Place little tables at the cafe doors,
And sit all afternoon, and watch the crowds,
And smoke and talk? And do the soldiers drill
Out beyond Lycabettus as they used?
And the Piraeus, that bright sinful port,
Do the great ships still crowd the harbor's mouth,
And boatmen throng the wharves? — Or has the world
Grown quieter than in my day?

" The world, "
I answered, " is not quick to change its ways.
I think that you would find all things the same,
Even to the tables, — where three days ago
I sat and smoked and watched the crowds go by,
And saw the King pass with his shining guards
And troops of cavalry. "
His attentive eyes
Gleamed with the picture.
" And when did you last
See white-walled Athens? " I with idle thought
Questioned him. And with slow words he replied —
" Twelve years ago: then I became a priest. " ...
And spoke no more; but shortly turned away,
Murmuring of his tasks that must be done.

Then paced I silently the platform's bounds;
As, on some farthest rampart of the world,
Alone, at night, a spirit from the stars
Beyond Orion might alight and pace;
And looking down upon the sleeping earth
From that secluded outpost's icy height,
Marvel in silence on the pageant spread
Beneath his vision, with the crowded thoughts
Of one whose being had therein no part.
And for this spirit tenanting my breast
Wonder was dominant, — labyrinthine moods, —
And sense not of the kinship of mankind
But of life's strangeness and the infinite forms
Of days and destinies.

The processional stars
Moved slow above me. As I tarried still,
Out of the cloisters Theodorus came
And silently rejoined me; and our steps
Sounded together, back and forth the rock.
The great hush of the hour, the shroud of dark,
Stifling all echoes of departed day,
Enfolded us. We were alone with night, —
Night, that in such a silence seems to drop
The measureless beatings of gigantic wings
On the frail heart. With such a presence close,
Our deep seclusion from the sleeping world,
Our slow concordant footfalls, wove a sense
Of some strange bond between us as we strode
Mute and together. On that barrier-ledge,
Raised like an altar to the lifeless stars,
A magic greater than old fellowship
Drew me to him with whom I seemed alone
In the vast dusk: across the trackless seas
That sunder man from man, my thought reached out
To touch this alien, who for one strange hour
Seemed as a brother.

Something bade me say,
After long silence — " I could half believe
That all the world lay dead beneath our feet,
And you and I upon this lonely rock
Solely remained. "

" Sometimes not more alone "
He said, " than thus, is one who strays afar
Circled by minds that have a different birth. "
And through the darkness his unquiet eyes
Seemed bent upon me.

Well I knew he spoke
With thought of me, a stranger; but to me
An alienage profounder than my own
Seemed to encircle him; and to his words
I answered, with his keen impassioned face
Vivid before my sight. —

" My friend, " I said,
" For you this pinnacle must be a tomb:
You need the sunlands. "

And he understood,
And flushed, with changing eyes, as though my words
Had touched the harp-strings in his breast and waked
Unutterable voices.

" No, " he cried,
" No land, — but life! " ...

His speech faltered away;
And I could feel beneath the burdened words
An impulse, — rare in our cold northern race, —
The longing to reveal to alien eyes
Things that perhaps could never be revealed
Save to a stranger, — one whose path lay far,
So far that never any later day
Of faith turned bitter could bring forth regret
That he had spoken

But no words I said,
Being unwilling to invite his speech
Unless his heart impelled him; I but drew
A little closer, with attentive ear:
While ministry of silence told my mood
With greater eloquence than mortal tongue
Could master, doubtless; and I heard his breath,
And tremors seemed to shake him; and at last
From subterranean chambers hid from light,
Long sealed and voiceless, now in broken words,
With many a pause and space for groping thought,
Poured forth a torrent of tumultuous speech
Broken and eloquent, furious and shy.

" I think that you are one who understands.
When our eyes met across the board to-night
You looked at me with glance that well might read
Something of those dim travails of the mind
Which to the Brethren here upon the rock
Possess no being. Righteous men are these,
But peasant-priests, half-kindred to the herds,
Ignorant of the strange convulsive powers
That may inhabit us. . . .

" My stranger-friend,
Things long repressed burn on my lips to-night,
Born of your look, your voice. " ...

Gently I said —
" I will devote my heart to understand. "
And at those words, he spoke — as Winter snows
In the Spring floods sweep o'er the thirsty lands. —