Poems (Jones)/The Vision of the Egyptian Priest

by Amanda Theodosia Jones

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE VISION OF THE EGYPTIAN PRIEST.

N the midst of the desert, companion was none:
My bed was the sand, and my pillow a stone;
With my face to the East sought I slumber and rest,
While Osiris entered the house of the West.

I feared not the power of the spirits that slay,
For I wore the white robe of the priesthood of day;
But the whirring of arrows I heard from afar,
Where Chamsin the Southwind made ready for war.

By the fount where the gods wont to lave did I lie:
It had shrunk to its caverns; its channels were dry;
And I saw, in the dim skies, the Scorpion glare,
As the chariot of Night swept the zone of the air.

Then a shape from the earth rose, and darkened and grew;
With wings like the wings of a dragon it flew;
The far constellations did tremble and reel:
Then knew I the Vexer of Heaven, Adbeel.

I rose—I, the mortal—confronting the Shade;
Nor quailed in his pathway, nor cried out for aid:
Heaven was not, earth was not, time was not, nor light;
But only Adbeel and my soul and the night.

His wild eyes I saw—eyes that never might sleep—
Now lurid and baleful, now darkened and deep;
His breath scorched the air like the wind of the East,
And the censer he bore, and the rod of the priest.

In silence most awful we stood soul to soul,
And a great cloud of incense around us did roll;
The smoke of the incense did bend overhead,
Like Buthos, the Black-winged, that broods o'er the dead.

"And thou art the Servant of Typhon," I thought.
"Is great Demiurgos then Ruler for nought?
Has Neith torn the veil from her virginal breast?
Is Osiris bound in the house of the West?"

The eye of the Vexer did lighten and gleam,
While, always, that smoke from the censer did stream;
And lo, on its front, flames of scarlet did write,
"Great Typhon is Ruler—the god of the night.

"And thou art his servant: forever to dwell
By Ameles, the fountain and river of hell.
The robe of thine office strip from thee in dread,
For Osiris enters the house of the dead."

"I pay thee no homage, thou priest of the cloud,
Though Isis go mourning, and Ammon be bowed:
Not Typhon is Ruler, while, daring his might,
One soul wears the robe of the priesthood of light."

But symbols of fire ran anew on the scroll—
"Thou art sealed for the death: who shall rescue thy soul?
For the signs of the zodiac tremble and reel
At the power of the Vexer of Heaven, Adbeel."

"Go, seal thou the stars in the zone of the sky;
Drag them down to the pit, from their houses on high;
At the feet of dark Typhon forever to roll:
But who, who shall darken the star of the soul?"

More lurid and awful, quick flames pierced the cloud,
"At the feet of great Typhon lies Neith in her shroud;
Demiurgos is fallen, Amenthe is won;
Then where is thy savior, thou priest of the sun?"

"Though the gods are asleep in the house of the dead,
Behold! I, the mortal, am god in their stead!
And thou in my presence shalt tremble and reel,
Like the far constellations, thou Vexer, Adbeel!"

Then white was that cloud with the heat of his ire;
He moved on, majestic, all shrouded in fire;
With the rod of his priesthood uplifted, he strode;
He called forth his slaves from their secret abode.

They heard—they came forth, at his mandate, in haste:
Uprose, in their pathways, the sands of the waste;
Their chariots, bird-drawn, through the desert were driven;
And wings shook the air, like the thunders of heaven.

Their arrows, like scorpions, hissed in my ears;
I was deaf with the clang and the whir of their spears:
But I wore the white robe of the priesthood of day—
They cowered at my feet, they fled, shrieking, away.

Adbeel was alone, with the heat of his wrath:
He smote with the rod, he divided the path;
The torn breast of earth gasped in audible breath,
Like the groaning of gods at the portals of Death.

From the chasm underneath gushed forth lava, like blood;
Beside me, around, ran the fire of the flood;
Overhead was the blaze of the pendulous cloud;
Before, stood that servant of Typhon the Proud.

I lifted the rod of my priesthood on high—
The smoke of the incense went out of the sky:
I touched the hot sand—it was healed of its scars;
For the earth knew Aseneth, the priest of the stars!

He saw: in deep silence we stood for a space;
His breath, like the breeze of hell, blew in my face;
His eyes, within mine, did concentre and steep;
They were subtle as Death,—as the pit they were deep.

In the strength of my godhood confronting the Shade,
I shook not, I quailed not, I shrieked not for aid;
My eyes, within his, did not waver nor veer:
He trembled, he reeled, he was smitten with fear.

He fled from before me—his pinions were fleet!
Lo, the fount of the gods sprang anew at my feet;
From the altar of Ammon, all stainless and white,
Came that mystical dove, the restorer of light.

And the lotus-flower out of the fountain was born,—
Its azure and silver were fair as the morn:
Thereon, softly cradled, lay Horus the Wise—
Avenger of Osiris, Child of the skies.

I looked to the East—there had risen a star;
I saw the fair gates of Amenthe unbar;
I beheld (yet I lived) through the veil of their shrine,
Demiurgos and Neith—One and ever Divine.

Their love did constrain me—it drew me above,
Through the gates of Amenthe, drawn on by their love;
There, prostrate, adoring the Centre of Day,
I was numbered with gods—I was holy as they.