The Soul of Osiris

THE HOLY PLACE. 95 THE EVOCATION. ROM the abyss, the horrible lone world Of agony, more sharp than moonbeams strike The shaken glacier, my bitter cry is hurled, As the avenger lightning. Swiftly whirled, It flings in circles closing serpent-like On the abominable devil-horde I summon to the mastery of the sword. In my white palace, where the flashing dawn Leaps from the girdling bastions, where the light Flames from the talisman as if a fawn Glode through the thickets, where the soul, withdrawn From every element, gleams through the night Into that darkness palpable, where They Lurk from the torment of the light of day. Swings the swift sword in paths of vivid blue ; Rings the sharp summons in the halls of fear ; Flames the great lamen ; as a fiery dew Falls the keen chanted music ; fierce and true Beams the bright diamond of the crowning sphere. None may withstand the summons : like dead flame Flares darkness deeper, and demands its name. F