_The Bailiff._ Despatch: broad daylight comes.
_Theodora._ Amen: and Alleluia! Heart flown home, If thou wouldst speak, rise up.
_Didymus._ Ye worthy men, I would not stay you long. Of Didymus, Who made his port of intellectual storm At Alexandria, tell only this: That he for Christ died Christian, with clear joy. And when his comrades from their outpost ride, And, reining in abreast, ask news of him, Lay in their wondering ears, I charge you all, That word miraculous, that happy word.
_A Voice._ I ever knew it. Devil! Sorceress!
_The Crowd._ The bowl whereof he drank, Between her lifted fingers melts away! Their magic arts, and them, destroy!
_The Bailiff._ The axe: Smite first the soldier.
_Didymus._ Theodora saint, How beautiful, how more than banner-bright, Streams over the far roofs our birthday sun! Farewell, and follow me.
_Theodora._ Each moment of mine exile, so distinct, So vast, so bitter, and so ever-during, Burns sweet before Our Lord: love’s last slow grain Rich as the first: for lo, the censer’s broken; And all my soul foreruns her call to climb Out of this ruin. Lest I slip, or cry, O visible form of light, dear Didymus! Turn now: give me thy hand.
WHILE all was glad, It seemed our birch-tree had, That August hour, intelligence of death; For warningly against the eaves she beat Her body old, lamenting, prophesying, And the hot breath Of startled ferny hollows at her feet Spread out: a toneless sighing.
Across an argent sea, Distinct unto the farthest reef and isle, The clouds began to be. Huge forms ’neath sombre draperies, awhile Made slow uncertain rally; But as their wills conjoined, and from the north The leader shook his lance, O then how fair Unvested, they stood forth, In diverse armor, plumed majestically, Each with his own esquires, a King in air!
Up moved the dark vanguard, With insolent colors that o’erdusked the skies, And trailed from beach to beach: Massed orange and mould-green; vermilion barred On bronze and mottled silver; saffron dyes, And purples migratory, Fanned each in each, As the long column broke, athirst for glory.
Sudden, the thunder! Upon the roofed verandas how it rolled, Twice, thrice: a thud and flame of doom that told New-fallen, nor far away, Some black destruction on the innocent day. And little Everard Deep in the hammock under, eyes alight With healthful fear and wonder The brave do ne’er unlearn, Clenched his soft hand, and breathing hard, Smiled there against his father, like a knight Baptized on Cressy field, or Bannockburn.