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Translated by J. Merivale
A YOUTH, athirst for knowledge, (hot desire!) | |
| To Sais came, intent to explore the dark | |
| And hoarded wisdom of Egyptian priests. | |
| Through many a grade of mystery, hurrying on, | |
| Far, and more far, still pressed the inquiring soul, | 5 |
| And scarce the Hierophant could cool or calm | |
| The studious fever of impatient toil. | |
| “What,” he exclaimed, “is worth a part of Truth? | |
| What is my gain unless I gain the whole? | |
| Has Knowledge, then, a lesser or a more? | 10 |
| Is this—thy Truth—like sensual, gross enjoyment, | |
| A sum doled out to each in all degrees, | |
| Larger or smaller, multiplied or minished? | |
| Is not Truth one and indivisible? | |
| Take from the harmony a single tone, | 15 |
| A single tint take from the Iris bow, | |
| And lo! what once was all, is nothing—while | |
| Fails to the lovely whole one tint or tone!” | |
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| Now, while they thus conversed, they stood within | |
| A lonely temple, circle-shaped, and still; | 20 |
| And, as the young man paused abrupt, his gaze | |
| Upon a veiled and giant image fell: | |
| Amazed he turned unto his guide,—“And what | |
Beneath the veil stands shrouded yonder?”
“Truth,” | |
Answered the priest.
“And do I, then, for Truth | 25 |
| Strive, and alone? And is it now by this | |
| Thin ceremonial robe that Truth is hid? | |
Wherefore?”
“That wherefore with the Goddess rests; | |
| ‘Till I’—thus saith the Goddess—‘lift this veil, | |
| May it be raised by none of mortal born! | 30 |
| He who with guilty and unhallowed hand | |
| Too soon profanes the holy and forbidden,— | |
He,’ says the Goddess—”
“Well?”
“‘He—shall see Truth!’” | |
| “A rare, strange oracle! And hast thou never | |
Lifted the veil?”
“No! nor desired to raise!” | 35 |
| “What! nor desired? Were I shut out from Truth | |
| By this slight barrier—” “And command divine,” | |
| Broke on his speech the guide. “Far weightier, son, | |
| This airy gauze than thy conjectures deem,— | |
| Light to the touch, lead-heavy to the conscience!” | 40 |
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| The young man, thoughtful, turned him to his home, | |
| And the fierce fever of the wish to know | |
| Robbed night of sleep. Upon his couch he rolled;— | |
| At midnight rose resolved—Unto the shrine! | |
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| Timorously stole the involuntary step— | 45 |
| But light the bound that scaled the holy wall, | |
| And dauntless was the spring that bore within | |
| That circle’s solemn dome the daring man. | |
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| Now halts he where the lifeless Silence sleeps | |
| In the embrace of mournful Solitude;— | 50 |
| Silence unstirred, save by the hollow echo | |
| Answering his tread along mysterious vaults! | |
| High from the opening of the dome above | |
| Came the wan shining of the silver moon, | |
| And, awful as some pale presiding god, | 55 |
| Glistening adown the range of vaults obscure, | |
| In its long veil concealed the image stood. | |
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| With an unsteady step he onward past, | |
| Already touched with violating hand | |
| The Holy—and recoiled! A shudder thrilled | 60 |
| His limbs, fire-hot and icy-cold by turns, | |
| And an invisible arm did seem to pluck him | |
| Back from the deed. “O miserable man! | |
| What wouldst thou?” (Thus within the inmost heart | |
| Murmured the warning whisper.) “Wilt thou dare | 65 |
| The All-hallowed to profane? ‘May mortal-born | |
| (So spake the oracular word) not lift the veil | |
| Till I myself shall raise!’ Yet said it not, | |
| The same oracular word, ‘Who lifts the veil, | |
| He shall see Truth’? Behind, be what there may, | 70 |
| I dare the hazard—I will lift the veil”— | |
Loud rang his shouting voice—“and I will see!”
“See!” | |
| A lengthened echo, mocking, shrilled again! | |
| He spoke and raised the veil! And ask ye what | |
| Unto the gaze was there within revealed? | 75 |
| I know not. Pale and senseless, at the foot | |
| Of the dread statue of Egyptian Isis, | |
| The priests beheld him at the dawn of day; | |
| But what he saw, or what did there befall, | |
| His lips disclosed not. Ever from his heart | 80 |
| Was fled the sweet serenity of life, | |
| And the deep anguish dug the early grave: | |
| “Woe, woe to him”—such were his warning words, | |
| Answering some curious and impetuous brain, | |
| “Woe—for she never shall delight him more! | 85 |
| Woe,—woe to him who treads through guilt to Truth!” | |
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