The Soul of Osiris

THE HOLY PLACE. 97 Back flung the baffled corpse. But through the air Looms the more startling vision in the night ; The actual demon of my work is there ! Where is the glittering circle ? Where, ah, where The radiant bowls whose flame rose fiery bright ? I am alone in the absolute abyss ; No aid ; no helper ; no defence—but this ! My left hand seeks the lamen. Once again Fearless I front the awful shape before me, Fearless I speak his Name. My trembling brain Vibrates that Word of Power. I cry amain : “ Down, Dweller of the Darkness, and adore me ! I am thy Master, and thy God ! Behold The Rose of Ruby and the Cross of Gold ! “ I am thy Saviour ! ” At the kindling word Up springs the dawn-light in the broken bowls ; Up leaps the glittering circle. Then I heard A hoarse shrill voice, as if some carrion bird Shrieked, mightier than the storm that rocks and rolls Through desolation : “ Thou hast known my Name. What is thy purpose, Master of the Flame ? ” I made demand : through long appalling hours Stayed he to tempt and try my adamant Purpose : at last the legionary powers Behind him sank affrayed ; his visage lowers Less menacing : his head is turned aslant