Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds
One amaranth glittering on the path of frost, 165
When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds,

Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed,
Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled
From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,

The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, 170
With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore
And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild.

And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,
The pupil and the master, shared; until,
Sharing that undiminishable store, 175

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill
Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
His teacher, and did teach with native skill

Strange truths and new to that experienced man;
Still they were friends, as few have ever been 180
Who mark the extremes of life’s discordant span.

So in the caverns of the forest green,
Or on the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen; and when winter’s roar 185
Sounded o’er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,
Then saw their lamp from Laian’s turret gleam,
Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star 190

Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam,
Whilst all the constellations of the sky
Seemed reeling through the storm...They did but seem—­

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by,
And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, 195
And far o’er southern waves, immovably

Belted Orion hangs—­warm light is flowing
From the young moon into the sunset’s chasm.—­
’O, summer eve! with power divine, bestowing

’On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm 200
Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness,
Filling the sky like light!  How many a spasm

’Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness,
Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale,—­
And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,—­ 205

’And the far sighings of yon piny dale
Made vocal by some wind we feel not here.—­
I bear alone what nothing may avail

’To lighten—­a strange load!’—­No human ear
Heard this lament; but o’er the visage wan 210
Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere

Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,
Glassy and dark.—­And that divine old man

Beheld his mystic friend’s whole being shake, 215
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest—­
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,