O great magician, Depart out of our coasts; let us alone, We are afraid of thee.
PETER.
Let us depart; For they that sanctify and purify Themselves in gardens, eating flesh of swine.
And the abomination, and the mouse, Shall be consumed together, saith the Lord! VIII TALITHA CUMI JAIRUS at the feet of CHRISTUS.
O Master! I entreat thee! I implore thee! My daughter lieth at the point of death; I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her, And she shall live! CHRISTUS.
Who was it touched my garments?
SIMON PETER.
Thou seest the multitude that throng and press thee, And sayest thou: Who touched me?
'T was not I.
CHRISTUS.
Some one hath touched my garments; I perceive That virtue is gone out of me.
A WOMAN.
O Master! Forgive me! For I said within myself, If I so much as touch his garment's hem, I shall be whole.
CHRISTUS.
Be of good comfort, daughter! Thy faith hath made thee whole.

Depart in peace.
A MESSENGER from the house.
Why troublest thou the Master?
Hearest thou not The flute players, and the voices of the women Singing their lamentation?
She is dead! THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS.
We have girded ourselves with sackcloth! We have covered our heads with ashes! For our young men die, and our maidens Swoon in the streets of the city; And into their mother's bosom They pour out their souls like water! CHRISTUS, going in.
Give place.

Why make ye this ado, and weep?
She is not dead, but sleepeth.
THE MOTHER, from within.
Cruel Death! To take away front me this tender blossom! To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling! THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS.
He hath led me and brought into darkness, Like the dead of old in dark places! He hath bent his bow, and hath set me Apart as a mark for his arrow! He hath covered himself with a cloud, That our prayer should not pass through and reach him! THE CROWD.
He stands beside her bed! He takes her hand! Listen, he speaks to her! CHRISTUS, within.
Maiden, arise! THE CROWD.
See, she obeys his voice! She stirs! She lives! Her mother holds her folded in her arms! O miracle of miracles! O marvel! IX THE TOWER OF MAGDALA MARY MAGDALENE.
Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn, I sit here in this lonely tower, and look Upon the lake below me, and the hills That swoon with heat, and see as in a vision All my past life unroll itself before me.
The princes and the merchants come to me, Merchants of Tyre and Princes of Damascus.
And pass, and disappear, and are no more; But leave behind their merchandise and jewels, Their perfumes, and their gold, and their disgust.
I loathe them, and the very memory of them Is unto me as thought of food to one Cloyed with the luscious figs of Dalmanutha! What if hereafter, in the long hereafter Of endless joy or pain, or joy in pain, It were my punishment to be with them Grown hideous and decrepit in their sins, And hear them say: Thou that hast brought us here, Be unto us as thou hast been of old! I look upon this raiment that I wear, These silks, and these embroideries, and they seem Only as cerements wrapped about my limbs! I look upon these rings thick set with pearls, And emerald and amethyst and jasper, And they are burning coals upon my flesh! This serpent on my wrist becomes alive! Away, thou viper! and away, ye garlands, Whose odors bring the swift remembrance back Of the unhallowed revels in these chambers! But yesterday,--and yet it seems to me Something remote, like a pathetic song Sung long ago by minstrels in the street,-- But yesterday, as from this tower I gazed, Over the olive and the walnut trees Upon the lake and the white ships, and wondered Whither and whence they steered, and who was in them, A fisher's boat drew near the landing-place Under the oleanders, and the people Came up from it, and passed beneath the tower, Close under me.

In front of them, as leader, Walked one of royal aspect, clothed in white, Who lifted up his eyes, and looked at me, And all at once the air seemed filled and living With a mysterious power, that streamed from him, And overflowed me with an atmosphere Of light and love.

As one entranced I stood, And when I woke again, lo! he was gone; So that I said: Perhaps it is a dream.
But from that very hour the seven demons That had their habitation in this body Which men call beautiful, departed from me! This morning, when the first gleam of the dawn Made Lebanon a glory in the air, And all below was darkness, I beheld An angel, or a spirit glorified, With wind-tossed garments walking on the lake.
The face I could not see, but I distinguished The attitude and gesture, and I knew 'T was he that healed me.