Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AGLAE, by CONDE BENOIST PALLEN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AGLAE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Atrium of aglae's house in rome. A fountain
Last Line: O christ, accept me! I believe!
Subject(s): Christianity; Courts & Courtiers; Religion; Roman Empire; Theology


PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

AGLÁË, a young Roman Matron.
BONIFACE, Steward of Agláë's Estates.
CYPRIAN, a Christian Priest.
LAVINIA, Maid to Agláë.
A BAND OF CHRISTIANS.

SCENE I

Atrium of Agláë's house in Rome. A fountain playing in the
centre. The Lares and Penates at the entrance on either side. Present:
Agláë and Lavinia. Lavinia weaving. Agláë seated near by in
a disconsolate attitude. Time: the beginning of the fourth century.

LAVINIA

Sweet mistress, thou art sad.

AGLÁË

'Tis strange, Lavinia:
I know not why, but all my soul sinks down
With sadness, and the spirit's airy wings,
That once stretched lightly in the irised sun,
Droop drenched and draggled now with constant tears!
Why am I sad, when all else seems so glad?

LAVINIA

'Tis hard sometimes to tell.

AGLÁË

It seems so strange
That I, whose years are crescent yet with youth,
When life and love are at their fullest tide,
Should feel as one whose pulses slow old age
Has laid his icy fingers on and chilled
Their ruddy currents into sluggish streams
Creeping through frozen channels.

LAVINIA

Perchance
Thou'rt ill and needst the doctor's care.

AGLÁË

'Tis not the body's ill that wounds me so,
But some distemper of the soul, that chills
And dulls the mirror of my joy. My heart
Is bared to autumn's melancholy winds
Complaining of lost summer's happiness;
My boughs are stripped of all their countless blooms,
Whose flame once took the enamored air with sweets,
And naked of their leafy loveliness
Serve but to catch the drooping heaven's tears
And weep them to the ground.

LAVINIA

Dear Mistress, this
Is only shadow of a little cloud
From humors of thy spirits overtaxed
With happiness.

AGLÁË

Am I not rich?

LAVINIA

In Rome none richer.

AGLÁË

Am I not loved?

LAVINIA

By all, dear lady, slave and freeman, high
And low. Kind is thy heart and lavish too.

AGLÁË

Withal so sad! For this I weep the more.
The largesses of fortune mock a heart
That misery holds in fee. 'Tis now a month
Since this strange jailer of my soul has stood
Cold sentinel upon my joy. Ah me!
Whence comes this gruesome witchery to filch
My happiness?

LAVINIA

Yes, Mistress, well I know;
For thou wert wont to brim with gayety.

AGLÁË

And I who never wept before now feed
On constant tears. It came not all at once
But rather stole upon me unawares,
Stealthily creeping like the salty sea
With bitter flood upon the sunny shore
Till all its pleasantness is overwhelmed.
And I, who took no count of careless time,
Save in the wingèd calendar of joy,
Now drag the listless days as slaves their chains
Gyved round their gallèd ancles. Lavinia!

LAVINIA

Mistress!

AGLÁË

Rememberest thou that strange—

LAVINIA

Yes, lady!
That strange old man found fainting at the door
By Boniface?

LAVINIA

Oh, yes, quite well.

AGLÁË

Dost thou recall the man?

LAVINIA
Old and gaunt
Feeble and worn, a beggar—

AGLÁË (with a gesture of impatience)

No, not that
So much, for that was but the outward man;
But in his eyes despite his ragged woe,
A deep compelling calm serene as skies
Whose vaulted blue outspans all taint of cloud.
His aspect venerable, and his voice
Weighted with quiet authority, that seemed
Rooted in wisdom; strange his words; of things
More strange, that barbed my very heart, and waked
Therein a fear I never felt before!

LAVINIA

Nay, I heeded not his words, dear Mistress,
Nor understood!

AGLÁË (rising and much agitated)

Within his eyes there shone
A sovereignty that awed the quickened soul,
Yet merciful. He seemed to read my heart
As one who summons to a secret court
A culprit to be judged and yet to be
Forgiven. Me, a Roman matron too,
The mistress of a thousand slaves, whose word
Is weight of life and death upon her own,
This ragged beggar summoned and adjudged
As I were meanest of them all!

LAVINIA

Why,
Most humble was his mien and mild his speech!
I heard no word against thy nobleness;
Thy dignity endured no smallest hurt.

AGLÁË

Not in the outward marks that only take
The eye, the manner and the form of courtesy,
Was my nobility thus made ashamed;
But there, where is the proper of our pride,
Within the secret chambers of the soul,
Was I brought to my knees, a guilty thing
Not all condemned but somehow hoping still
For pardon!

LAVINIA

Strange were that, indeed, Mistress!
How could a Roman matron's great nobility
Be criminal, and who her judge but Caesar?

AGLÁË

Thou art a simple child, Lavinia. Alas!
So too thought I until—(weeping violently)
LAVINIA (throwing herself at Agláë's feet)
Weep not, sweet Mistress!
It ill becomes the summer of thine eyes
To see them clouded so.

AGLÁË

Ay me! mine eyes
Are wells of grief for the sad heart's salt springs.
Yet in this weeping is a bitter ease
That softens, though it lessen not this woe.
(Enter Boniface)

BONIFACE (pausing at threshold)

(Aside) Agláë weeping! What portent in her tears?
(To Agláë) Lady, I wait upon thy word.

AGLÁË (starting)

'Tis thou,
Boniface! I would speak with thee. Go,
Lavinia, child, and wait my further bidding.
(Exit Lavinia)

BONIFACE (approaching with anxious air)

Thou weep'st Agláë! My spirits take the chill
Of thy dear sorrow as the mirror dims
With sudden breath. Why droop thy spirits so?
Tell me, Agláë, the secret of this grief,
That I may share its dolorous tenderness,
Or else with careful hand may lift the flower
From off the thorn that wounds it so?

AGLÁË

Ah, me!
How may I tell! I feel, but scarcely know.

BONIFACE

Thy words were wont to be a very song;
Nor all the feathered music of the groves
Gave out more gladness to the ear.

AGLÁË

And now
Some nameless shadow creeps upon my soul
And silences its song. Alas, alas!
I've slipped the wonted moorings of my joy
And drift, a helmless and a lonely barque
Into the widening waste of landless seas!

BONIFACE

'Tis but a passing shadow; some effect
Of weariness, that weighs thy spirits down.

AGLÁË

In vain I seek to cast the burden off.
Pleasure is mockery, and shows of joy
Are only gilded robes, all lead to one
Whose heart keeps fast with hidden misery.

BONIFACE

Whence came this humor first?

AGLÁË

'Tis hard to tell;
It came as winter comes in autumn's breath,
Gently at first, preluding deeper wrong
To summer's lustihood. And as the flower
First droops with keener nights, though all the days
Be warm and tender still, upon me fell
The frosts that nipped the spirit's brighter bloom,
And plucked the petals from the stricken stalk.

BONIFACE

But is no record of the hour, no touch
In memory of time before and after
To mark the sunshine from the night that glooms
Thy skies and shrouds the image of the stars?
For though the day die slowly into dark,
Nor fixed the instant in the thickening light
When we may say 'tis now the night, now day
Is spent, yet well we know the rounded hour
Of perfect light from utter gloom.

AGLÁË

Perchance
That day—Dost thou remember, Boniface,
The stranger succored by thee at the gate
And given shelter? He was old and worn,
A Christian speaking a strange doctrine.

BONIFACE

Yes,
His name was Cyprian.

AGLÁË

Then first in all my days
Was I rebuked and made ashamed!

BONIFACE

By Cyprian?

AGLÁË

By him!

BONIFACE

Dared he upbraid thee!

AGLÁË

Not in words—
Nay, listen—thou shalt hear. Within his eye
There dwelt so clear a light, so deep a calm,
That I was drawn as one who gazes down
Into the ocean's depths, and sinks and sinks
Helpless from deep to deep. Then suddenly
The lambent shame rushed flaming to my brow
In presence of his soul, that held mine own
In that abyss where thought is tongueless speech,
Whiles all my guilt stood naked and ashamed
Before his questing eyes, that pitied me!
He read my heart, O Boniface, and saw
The guilty image of our love; and yet
He spake no word, but well I knew he knew!

BONIFACE

'Twas but the flaring fancy's painted fear,
A little grain of conscience sputtering up
In love's bright fire to burn itself away
In that resplendent flame like sudden chaff.
Why conjure phantoms in the broad bright day
And sadden with pale ghosts the laughing hours,
That wheel around the golden sun and strew
His path with flowers? We live and love; what more
Is given in this narrow house of time
To mortals? Let us take and spare not—Hold
The largess of the gods. All else is folly.

AGLÁË

Thy words were once bright fountains to my joy
And bore my spirits lightly up. But now,
Alas! they only feed my tears. 'Tis not
I love thee less, O Boniface, but I
Would love thee better. Love that knows its shame
Is broken music on a guilty ear.
This knew I not before, but now I know.

BONIFACE

What is this riddle?

AGLÁË

None; but simple truth.
O Boniface, I am ashamed!

BONIFACE

Agláë!

AGLÁË

I am all misery. I weep and weep,
And wonder at the ocean of my tears!
Some ghastly phantom shakes my frightened heart,
A shadowy presence rather felt than seen,
Faint syllablings like voices in far dreams,
Accusing whisperings that say no word,
Yet somehow speak a dreadful thing!

BONIFACE (aside)

Her humor blows a cold and heavy wind,
That quite congeals my nimbler spirits. How
Distract her mood?

AGLÁË

Knowest thou of Cyprian aught?

BONIFACE

How may I know? A beggar at the gate
He came unknown and like a beggar gone.
But shake thou off this heaviness; unfold
The crumpled petals of thy happiness
To brighter suns, and let them drink the mists
Of melancholy wept by tearful night.
Agláë, come; we'll fill the hours with love
Again, and in the crystal floods of joy
Drown this grim melancholy.

AGLÁË

No; 'tis not
The same. My love is heavy with strange fears
And cannot rise upon so fragile wings.
Perchance, if I might speak with him again,
That strange old man—

BONIFACE

A ragged beggar!

AGLÁË

I know, and yet he seemed so wonderful!
He was as though some greater god had breathed
Upon his soul a more than mortal peace!
What are these Christians, Boniface? Knowest aught about them?

BONIFACE

'Tis said they worship a dead god,
A Jewish malefactor crucified
By his own people long ago. Their rites,
I hear, are horrible. They sacrifice
A living babe, whose flesh their priests consume
Before the assembled worshippers!

AGLÁË

Most horrible indeed, and yet so strange!

BONIFACE

A dangerous, bloody and malefic sect,
They secretly conspire against the life
Of Caesar; and when siezed and brought before
The Praetor, stubbornly refuse to burn
Incense to Caesar's statue!

AGLÁË

Yet Cyprian seemed
Not so. Gracious and mild his mien. He spoke
Of peace and love to all. He said that thou,
Whose kindness succored him in need, would gain
Some precious great reward; for Christ, he said,
Loved the compassionate. I know not what
He meant, but in his words, there seemed to lurk
Some curious hidden sense, like a dim light
That makes the darkness deeper.

BONIFACE

Thou art bewitched,
Agláë! This strange old man has cast some spell
Upon thee, some strange charm brought from the East;
For I have heard these Christians practise magic.
Their Christ, they claim, could even raise the dead,
And left the secret of his power to them
That follow him.

AGLÁË

Perchance 'tis true, and yet
I cannot think of Cyprian working ill
To me or other. Love so clearly spake
From eye and mien, and rang in every word,
That malice surely could not mingle bane
With such fair honesty!

BONIFACE

Rather, Agláë,
The subtlest poison in the rarest flowers
And in the precious wine the deadliest bane.

AGLÁË

I know not, Boniface; but this I know,
I am not what I was. I love thee still,
Yet other than I did. And all my soul
Is a fierce fire whose flame leaps ever up
Dying into the empty air and finds
No food for its aspiring tongue. What once
Was precious to my heart is ashes now
In that consuming heat; and I, who loved
The glittering raiment of the passing hour,
The lissome wantoness of clinging robes,
The light of jewels on neck and hand and arm,
The careless hour of feast and mirth, the wine
That flamed the cheek to roses and the eye
To love's own splendors, I, who loved the pomp
Of place, the pride of power, the luxury
Of wealth, till time seemed all elysian joy
That knew no end, find now the end of all.
The withered chaplet of a faded feast,
The years lie blanched within my trembling hands.
Save only love of thee, O Boniface,
My life bears now nor leaf nor bloom.

BONIFACE

Some spell
Agláë, has enmeshed thy spirits quite;
Some foul, unwholesome incantation throws
Its fetid humors thwart thy fancy's eye.
'Tis most unnatural that youth and wealth,
Beauty and power, the very roots of love
And happiness, should wither in the sudden
And spread their branches barren to the sun.
And if some spell has bound thy spirits up
In such congealing frost, may we not find
Some counter charm to melt the opposing bonds?
I'll seek these Christians out, and find a magic
To loosen all the winter of thy woe,
And make thee smile again.

AGLÁË

A little warmth
Stirs in the ashes at the thought! Hasten—
But whither? How?

BONIFACE

Most easily, I think.
The Christians here in Rome, so runs the rumor,
Made bold by Caesar's rash indulgence brave
The open day. I'll seek them out and learn
Some way to wrest the secret of their skill.
I know one, Mincius, who, 'tis said, abjured
The superstition once before the Praetor.
Gold is his passion and will buy his tongue,
If fear or other thing should hold his speech.

AGLÁË

May the gods assist! Perchance there's hope in this!
Yet am I all divided in my mind,
And in the feeble heart of my faint hope
Doubt sinks a bitter shaft.

BONIFACE

Then pluck it out!
And give thy fledgling chance to spread his wings!
I'll go and speed with Mercury's nimble feet
Upon thy quest! Nay, smile again, Agláë; see
The sunlight on yon fountain's silvery shaft!
A happy augury! Its splendor breaks
And dances in a thousand flying lights
About us! On thy hair and face it plays,
Wooing thy beauty with amorous dalliance. Smile,
Agláë—now thou art thyself again!
Olympus would be brighter for thy smile—
I go to find thy happiness again!
(Exit Boniface)

Three months' interim between first and second scene. Atrium of
Agláë's house in Rome. Present: Agláë and Lavinia.

AGLÁË (holding a rose in her hand)
The third month gone to-day, and yet no word!
Were months but petals, I'd crush them as this rose!
How time does rack our patience on his wheel!
What can delay his coming back?

LAVINIA

'Twas far
To go, dear Mistress; over seas and mountains,
A rough way; Lucoë told me so,
For from Cilicia came she as a child.

AGLÁË

She said 'twas very far?

LAVINIA

Truly, and hard.
A long and tiresome journey over sea,
And then great mountains bar the toilsome way.
'Twas many weary weeks, she said, 'twixt Rome
And Tarsus.

AGLÁË

'Tis very hard to wait.
Each moment is a weary while, each hour
A lengthened anguish, and each day so brimmed
To overflowing with the creeping flood
Of endless hours to make the stagnant round,
'Twould seem that time had ceased to flow.

LAVINIA

Think
Upon the journey's length, and measure time
By that. Mountain and river, sea and plain,
Make slow toil e'en for hastening feet. And then
The thousand various haps to make delay
In a long journey; on the sea the wind
May fall and hold the eager ship becalmed,
Or blustering storm may beat it baffled back,
Or angry torrents drown the wonted ford,
Or snow upon the mountain passes—

AGLÁË

Yes,
Too many far the petty hindrances
To pile delay a mountain high. To think
On these but sharpens appetite for haste,
And daily whets the edge of grief anew.
This weighing all the hazards only adds
Fresh burdens to the staggering load I bear.
I conjure fears of all the thousand perils
That throng the hostile way and frighten hope.
The snows of patience cannot cool a heart
Afire; the ardor of my longing melts
Them all!

LAVINIA

But this impatience wears thee out.
Thou'rt grown so white and thin, a lily now
Would blush beside thy cheek, and zephyrs sway
Thee lightly as a blade of faded grass.

AGLÁË

A shadow of myself, I know. How soon
The body melts before the soul's desire!
How lightly are we made! The elements
That fashion our unstable frames are soft
And feeble, solving 'neath the touch of time
The ruder hand of grief or fortune's strokes
Like irised vapours in a biting wind.
I care not now as once I cared.

LAVINIA

Alas!

AGLÁË

Nay, sigh not so, Lavinia. My woe
Has taught me this—one precious pearl of gain
From out the darkened waters of my grief—that joy
Is not the body's gift, nor time may hold
The fee of happiness.

LAVINIA

But that is hard
To understand; where then may be our joy?

AGLÁË

O who may answer that? That precious wine
Once held for me within the shallow shard
Of time, is now all spilled. This much I know,
And for the rest I only hope, blindly
'Tis true, but firmly; why, I cannot tell,
But something whispers me from out my darkness,
That Boniface will bring back peace and love
And happiness.

LAVINIA

May fortune prosper him,
And speed him quickly home! Yet thinkest thou
A relic from a Christian's body slain
By Caesar's law will work so fair a spell?
'Twould seem to me that ill would come of ill.
These Christians are an evil people.

AGLÁË

Ah, yes, I know!
Yet Cyprian was a Christian, and he seemed
So gentle, kind. And Boniface declared—
For so did Mincius tell him,—that a cloth
Steeped in the blood of one who died for Christ—
For thus they speak—has power to cure the sick,
The lame, the blind and e'en to raise the dead
To life again: I know not how, but Mincius said
That he had seen such marvels wrought!

LAVINIA

'Tis strange
To think on! Theirs must be a potent magic.

AGLÁË

Though here in Rome the Christians go in peace,
'Tis known that Caesar's edict in the East
Pursues the obstinate, and many yield
Their lives for Christ their God.

LAVINIA

What fools! To think
That men would rather yield themselves to Hades
Than burn a pinch of incense to Caesar's statue!

AGLÁË

Yet gladly do they die, 'tis said, and meet
The dreadful agony with smiles. Who knows
The secret meaning of their sacrifice?
Who welcome death so happily, as 'twere
A gift, must see beyond its bloody pale.

LAVINIA

But 'tis unnatural to welcome death,
Save as relief from hopeless misery;
And when to live is still a joy, then death
Is horrible!

AGLÁË

I know not what to think,
And yet I seem to half divine a meaning.
(Singing in the distance. Listening they hear it,
but without being able to distinguish the words.)

SONG

The martyr's crown is his; with Christ
Triumphant now he reigns:
Death he trampled under foot
And all its pains.

AGLÁË

He would not yield so willingly to death
Who had no secret stay within his soul
Against the pangs of nature's dissolution.

SONG (approaching)

Death but the happy gate to life
From out this vale of tears
To him who, lingering, longs for Christ's
Eternal years.

AGLÁË

What is this singing in the street, Lavinia?

LAVINIA

I'll go and see (Exit Lavinia)

AGLÁË

"In Christ's eternal years!"
How strange the words! How solemn, yet how glad
The burden of the music. What may it be?

SONG (just outside the house)

Nor craunching rack nor flaming brand
His steadfast will can break;
Sweet is the body's sacrifice
For Christ's dear sake.

AGLÁË

"For Christ's dear sake!" These are the words of Christians!

SONG

The golden palm within his hand,
The sign of victory won,
He sits enthroned among the saints,
Clothed with the sun.

AGLÁË

Who sings so strangely in the streets of Rome?
(Enter Lavinia.)

LAVINIA

Dear lady, there wait without a band of men
All garbed in white, bearing a body shrouded
In white upon a bier, and with them Cyprian.
'Tis they who sing.

AGLÁË

Cyprian!

LAVINIA

The very same.
He bade me tell you he would speak with you.

AGLÁË

Yes, yes, at once! Go, bid him come!
(Exit Lavinia)
Cyprian!
How faint I grow! O who will stay me now!
This I have longed for all these weary months,
And now I fear and tremble!

SONG

O sweet the agony and trial
Sustained by love so great,
Beyond the power of man's weak will
And low estate.

AGLÁË

What subtle meaning in these curious words?

SONG

For Christ upon his own pours down
His all enduring grace,
And they that stand his witnesses
Look on His Face!

O sweet beyond all sweets to die
When summoned at His call
Sweeter than life to die for him
Who died for all.

AGLÁË

"Who died for all!" How strangely do I hear!
(Enter Cyprian.)
What mean these solemn words"Who died for all?"

CYPRIAN

Christ Jesus, Lord and God.

AGLÁË

Cyprian!

CYPRIAN

Daughter.

AGLÁË

Thy words are very strange. Thou call'st me daughter!

CYPRIAN

In Christ our Lord and God, who died for all.
His priest I bear His word of life to them
That hear me. Peace to thee, Daughter.

AGLÁË

Strangely and yet not strangely do I hear.
'Tis like the piercing of a broken dream!
Some shadowy prescience taking outward shape,
Yet vague. Speak, Cyprian, speak.

CYPRIAN

Daughter, I come
From Tarsus.

AGLÁË

Why, 'tis thither Boniface
Journeyed! Hast news of him?

CYPRIAN

Yes, Daughter, truly.

AGLÁË

I perish for it! Speak and succor me!

CYPRIAN

But first this golden prelude to the tale:
'Twill pave the way to happier things. Listen!

AGLÁË

With all my soul. But is he well?

CYPRIAN

Aye, Daughter, very well.

AGLÁË

I'm glad, so glad!

CYPRIAN

He sends thee greeting, and he bade me say
The charm he sought is found.

AGLÁË

E'en now I feel
Its power. I'm glad, so very glad!

CYPRIAN

A charm
Beyond all charms to heal our deadliest ills.
But hear my tale, whose swift unfolding like
The flaming of the dawn upon the banks
Of night, will make thy darkness light.
When Boniface's pity succored me some months
Agone, and thy compassion joined
Made gracious healing of my weakened frame,
I prayed to Christ our Lord and God who died for all,
To succor thee and him who succored me,
His servant—Nay, I know, my Daughter, all—
For Boniface confided all and bade
Me speak with thee. And passing hence I went
Into Cilicia, where the flock of Christ
Is harried by the wolves, to comfort them
Whom Caesar seeks to break unto his will
And force from their allegiance to their Lord.

AGLÁË

And there thou saw'st Boniface? Why comes
He not himself? What holds him?

CYPRIAN

Thou shalt hear.
In secret I administered to them
Who for their faith in Christ were seized by Caesar;
For I was sent for this, and was not free
To court the blessedness of martyrdom,
But serve the others in their need. Each day
I stood unknown, save unto them, beside
The bloody strand and saw them die for Christ
Passing unto His glory crownèd saints!
One day when all the arena smoked with blood,
And many were the witnesses to Christ,
A glorious holocaust, I saw beside
The Praetor's throne, a man who watched the scene
With eager eye. He paled and flushed and trembled
When scourge bit bloodily or limb was wrenched
Upon the creaking rack or greedy fire
Devoured the tender flesh. But most of all
Upon his countenance sat wonder throned
To see the smiling fortitude of those
That thus so valiantly attested Christ;
For these, as feasters ever welcoming
The daintier bits to whet their appetites
For more, with constant joy embraced the pain
That ever brought them nearer unto Christ
In suffering.

AGLÁË

So have I heard they die
Whose god is Christ. But what of Boniface?
Why comes he not as thou hast come?

CYPRIAN

Be not
Impatient, Daughter; thou shalt know; for so
He bade me speak as preface to his coming.
That day a maiden stood before the Praetor,
A tender child, a virgin in her bud,
Slender and frail, lustrous with innocence.
That she served Christ her only crime, but that
Enough. Her angered judge, that one so young
And simple yielded nothing to his frown
And braved the utmost vengeance of his threats,
Ordered her stripped before the vulgar throng,
That shame of its bold gaze might strike its terror
Unto her virgin heart and bend her to his will.
Forthwith the rude, impetuous, ribald hands
Of jesting soldiers rent her garments from her,
And as they stripped her of her raiment, lo!
As 'twere by unseen hands unloosed
Her coiled abundant locks slid down about her
Pouring their sheltering lustre to her feet;
Nor any eye in all that gaping crowd
Raped e'en a glimpse of her fair innocence.

AGLÁË

Did not that melt the astonished Praetor's heart?

CYPRIAN

Nay, flint struck harder, flashes angrier.
Enraged at thwarting of his vile intent,
He ordered them to brand her slender breasts
With irons thrice heated in the bellowsed flame,
But when the glowing metal white-hot touched
The whiter coolness of her virgin flesh
It paled to greyness, nor so much as seared
The tender skin. Whereat the Praetor wroth
To fiercer madness, and now a panting beast
With jaws outstretched, balked of his prey,
Shrieked out to place her on the dreadful wheel
And tear her limb from limb. And so they seized
And stretched her fragile frame, hand bound adverse
To hand and foot to foot, her innocence
Still clothed in the bright wonder of her locks,
Upon the ponderous machine; but at
The lever's turn it cracked like brittle glass,
And she unbruised, unscathed, rose up and cried,
"Seek not my life save by the sword, for so
My Lord and Spouse, who is in Heaven, ordains."
And kneeling bent and bowed her slender neck;
Whereat a soldier lifted up his sword
And smote, and so she yielded up her soul
And passed a glorious witness to her Lord!

AGLÁË

O tender child! O sweetest innocence!

CYPRIAN

At this the stranger by the Praetor's throne
Leaped forward, lifting up his hands to Heaven,
And cried, "O Christ accept me! I believe!
I am a Christian; Christ alone is God!"
Then scourge and fire they pitilessly plied
To shake his constancy that stood unshaken
Against the fearful torture, till the day
Sank wearied into night more merciful.
And that same night through one a Christian guard,
Admitted to the prison secretly
I ministered the holy rites to him.
The second day therefrom, they brought him forth
Again before the Praetor, but he stood
Rooted in fortitude against the storms
Of their balked wrath. The fire that ate his flesh
He smiled at; pain he welcomed joyously;
The rack that seemed to wrench his limbs asunder
He eagerly embraced, though thrice he swooned,
When broken nature's powers ebbed out exhausted;
Yet smiled and welcomed that great agony
Again, as life flowed back to consciousness;
Till baffled by this Christian constancy,
The Praetor wearied out, commanded them
To slay him with the sword. Then with great joy,
That made a glory all about his face,
He bowed his head and yielded up his soul,
And passed, a glorious witness to his Lord.
The holy body of this saint I bring
From Tarsus—for so did Boniface request—
And this the Christian charm to heal thine ill.
(To those outside.)
Bring in the sacred burden. Its touch shall make
Thee whole again.

SONG

O sweet beyond all sweets to die
When summoned at His call,
Sweeter than life to die for him
Who died for all.

(Christians enter bearing martyr's body; place bier down and retire to
the rear.)

CYPRIAN

Come, Daughter, lift the cloth that yet conceals
The holy face of one who died for Christ,
And gazing on this blessed countenance
Thou shalt be healed forever!

(Agláë approaches and places her hand upon the bier.)

AGLÁË

Some strange unknown virtue steals upon my senses!
O Christian priest, beseech thy God for me!
I fear and yet rejoice! My soul is shaken!
I fear! I tremble!

CYPRIAN

Fear not, Daughter, but lift
The cloth with reverence.

AGLÁË

(Lifting the cloth) Boniface!

CYPRIAN

'Tis thus he greets thee Agláë in the love of Christ!

AGLÁË

(Falling on her knees.)
O Christ, accept me! I believe!






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