More than he did no one in mortal frame
Could do, aspiring to the Holy Flame,
To keep soul free from earth. His nourishment—
Whereon the sun its vital ray had sent—
Pure water, simple fruit, white flesh of bird,
Was more than he required, he oft averred.
In mystic posture he besought Mehen,
The Word, that he might wisdom pure attain.
He could at will ascend from solid ground
And float above, while crowds up looked spellbound.