Simon Magus and Helen of Tyre

SIMON.Swift are the blessed Immortals to the mortalThat perseveres! So doth it stand recordedIn the divine Chaldaean OraclesOf Zoroaster, once Ezekiel's slave,Who in his native East betook himselfTo lonely meditation, and the writingOn the dried skins of oxen the Twelve BooksOf the Avesta and the Oracles!Therefore I persevere; and I have brought theeFrom the great city of Tyre, where men derideThe things they comprehend not, to this plainOf Esdraelon, in the Hebrew tongueCalled Armageddon, and this town of Endor,Where men believe; where all the air is fullOf marvellous traditions, and the EnchantressThat summoned up the ghost of SamuelIs still remembered. Thou hast seen the land;Is it not fair to look on?

HELEN.It is fair,Yet not so fair as Tyre.

SIMON.Is not Mount TaborAs beautiful as Carmel by the Sea?

HELEN.It is too silent and too solitary;I miss the tumult of the street; the soundsOf traffic, and the going to and froOf people in gay attire, with cloaks of purple,And gold and silver jewelry!

SIMON.InventionsOf Abriman, the spirit of the dark,The Evil Spirit!

HELEN.I regret the gossipOf friends and neighbors at the open doorOn summer nights.

SIMON.An idle waste of time.

HELEN.The singing and the dancing, the delightOf music and of motion. Woe is me,To give up all these pleasures, and to leadThe life we lead!

SIMON.Thou canst not raise thyselfUp to the level of my higher thought,And though possessing thee, I still remainApart from thee, and with thee, am aloneIn my high dreams.

HELEN.Happier was I in Tyre.Oh, I remember how the gallant shipsCame sailing in, with ivory, gold, and silver,And apes and peacocks; and the singing sailors,And the gay captains with their silken dresses,Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cinnamon!

SIMON.But the dishonor, Helen! Let the shipsOf Tarshish howl for that!

HELEN.And what dishonor?Remember Rahab, and how she becameThe ancestress of the great Psalmist David;And wherefore should not I, Helen of Tyre,Attain like honor?

SIMON.Thou art Helen of Tyre,And hast been Helen of Troy, and hast been Rahab,The Queen of Sheha, and Semiramis,And Sara of seven husbands, and Jezebel,And other women of the like allurements;And now thou art Minerva, the first Aeon,The Mother of Angels!

HELEN.And the concubineOf Simon the Magician! Is it honorFor one who has been all these noble dames,To tramp about the dirty villagesAnd cities of Samaria with a juggler?A charmer of serpents?

SIMON.He who knows himselfKnows all things in himself. I have charmed thee,Thou beautiful asp: yet am I no magician,I am the Power of God, and the Beauty of God!I am the Paraclete, the Comforter!

HELEN.Illusions! Thou deceiver, self-deceived!Thou dost usurp the titles of another;Thou art not what thou sayest.

SIMON.Am I not?Then feel my power.

HELEN.Would I had ne'er left Tyre!

SIMON.Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbeliever!And leave me unto mine, if they be dreams,That take such shapes before me, that I see them;These effable and ineffable impressionsOf the mysterious world, that come to meFrom the elements of Fire and Earth and Water,And the all-nourishing Ether! It is written,Look not on Nature, for her name is fatal!Yet there are Principles, that make apparentThe images of unapparent things,And the impression of vague charactersAnd visions most divine appear in ether.So speak the Oracles; then wherefore fatal?I take this orange-bough, with its five leaves,Each equidistant on the upright stem;And I project them on a plane below,In the circumference of a circle drawnAbout a centre where the stem is planted,And each still equidistant from the other,As if a thread of gossamer were drawnDown from each leaf, and fastened with a pin.Now if from these five points a line be tracedTo each alternate point, we shall obtainThe Pentagram, or Solomon's Pentangle,A charm against all witchcraft, and a sign,Which on the banner of AntiochusDrove back the fierce barbarians of the North,Demons esteemed, and gave the Syrian KingThe sacred name of Soter, or of Savior.Thus Nature works mysteriously with man;And from the Eternal One, as from a centre,All things proceed, in fire, air, earth, and water,And all are subject to one law, which, brokenEven in a single point, is broken in all;Demons rush in, and chaos comes again.By this will I compel the stubborn spirits,That guard the treasures, hid in caverns deepOn Gerizim, by Uzzi the High-Priest,The ark and holy vessels, to revealTheir secret unto me, and to restoreThese precious things to the Samaritans.A mist is rising from the plain below me,And as I look, the vapors shape themselvesInto strange figures, as if unawaresMy lips had breathed the Tetragrammaton,And from their graves, o'er all the battlefieldsOf Armageddon, the long-buried captainsHad started, with their thousands, and ten thousands,And rushed together to renew their wars,Powerless, and weaponless, and without a sound!Wake, Helen, from thy sleep! The air grows cold;Let us go down.

HELEN, awaking.Oh, would I were at home!

SIMON.Thou sayest that I usurp another's titles.In youth I saw the Wise Men of the East,Magalath and Pangalath and Saracen,Who followed the bright star, but home returnedFor fear of Herod by another way.O shining worlds above me! in what deepRecesses of your realms of mysteryLies hidden now that star? and where are theyThat brought the gifts of frankincense and myrrh?

HELEN.The Nazarene still liveth.

SIMON.We have heardHis name in many towns, but have not seen Him.He flits before us; tarries not; is goneWhen we approach, like something unsubstantial,Made of the air, and fading into air.He is at Nazareth, He is at Nain,Or at the Lovely Village on the Lake,Or sailing on its waters.

HELEN.So say thoseWho do not wish to find Him.

SIMON.Can this beThe King of Israel, whom the Wise Men worshipped?Or does He fear to meet me? It would seem so.We should soon learn which of us twain usurpsThe titles of the other, as thou sayest.