“Let me behold this world recede and pass
Like shifting mist upon a stormy coast
Or vision in a necromancer’s glass;—
For I, ’mid perishable earth can boast
Of proven Immortality,—can reach
Glories ungrasped by minds of lower tone;—
Thus, in a silence vaster than all speech,
I follow thee, my Star of Love, alone!”
He ceased. El-Râmi, who had listened attentively, resting his head on one hand, now lifted his eyes and looked at his young brother with an expression of mingled curiosity and compassion.
“The verses are good;”—he said at last—“good and perfectly rhythmical, but surely they have a touch of arrogance?—