As the sun sank below the horizon, eagerly the Phoenix set about the task which was before him.  At last he might build the nest which till now he had never known.  On the top of the highest palm he would build it, that it might receive from the blessed East the first beam of the morning sun.  Marvelously strengthened for the task, back and forth to the ends of the earth his wings of crimson and gold bore the Phoenix that night.  For this was to be no nest of sticks and straw.  Of precious things must it be made, and well he knew where such were to be found.  Of silky leaves and grass interwoven with splinters of sandal-wood were the walls.  Then on the bottom of the nest he laid, bit by bit, a pile of sweet-smelling gums, cinnamon and spice, spikenard, myrrh, camphor, ambergris, and frankincense, with no meaner choice.

All night he labored, beak and talon, until the nest was ready.  And as the first tints of dawn began to streak the east, the Phoenix rose once, high into the air, gazing with wistful eyes over the world which he had loved; then, slowly sinking to the palm, he poised his gorgeous body upon the fragrant nest.  With wings spread wide, and eyes fixed eagerly upon the spot where the Sun was sure to rise, he waited, waited.

At last the golden Eye appeared.  As on the night before, one radiant beam seemed to single out the lonely palm.  One shaft of flame pierced to the nest whereon the Phoenix sat.  It was the final signal to the Bird of the Sun.  Immediately the great bird began to fan the sweet-smelling mass with his wings.  The burning ray grew brighter,—­a pungent, wonderful aroma of mingled fragrances filled the air.  Gradually the Sun rose, great and glorious, and as it advanced into the heaven a thin cloud of smoke floated from the palm tree, and wound away across the desert towards the east.  Faster and faster fanned the great wings of the Phoenix, until when the Sun shone full down through the palm tree top, the whole mass burst into flame, in the midst of which the Phoenix blended crimson and gold.  High in the air rose the fire, diffusing abroad all the sweet odors of Araby the blest.  For a little while it glowed, then gradually sank, lower and lower, until but a pile of ashes remained at the bottom of the nest.

But lo!  Was the Phoenix dead?  What was this creature risen in youth and beauty from the ashes?  A bird like the Eagle in shape, but nobler, larger, stronger, more gracious even than the King of Birds, a brilliant vision of crimson and gold, rose like a flame from the nest, hung for a moment above the palm, looking eagerly at the Sun, which baptized him in its splendor.  A new Phoenix lived in the world.  Once more the ancient glory was renewed.  Once more youth, joy, and hope sprang from the Phoenix’s ashes and rejoiced in the centuries of sunshine before him.  Death was indeed worth dying to make this life worth living!

Slowly the young Phoenix descended to the nest which had been at once a sepulchre and a cradle.  Tenderly careful of the parent ashes which it held, with lusty beak and talon he tore the nest bodily from the branches, and set out upon his pious journey.  He knew not where he went, nor why, but the Sun drew him to the East.