SEQUEL.
Ages Later.
I.
While mortals slept and stars lit up its bed,
Ere Phoebus smiled the infant’s soul had fled.
Kissed by the god of day, a blue-eyed boy
Sprang from his couch, with eager love and joy.
White twinkling feet then ran across the floor
To Natalie, as many a morn before.
Death’s mystery to him was yet untaught;
The lifeless babe no dread to his mind brought;
To mother’s arms he bore the drooping form—
“Poor baby cold! make pretty sister warm.”
The lustrums sped. A girl of lightsome heart
Was told, “He comes! with him thou must depart.”
To find her in the East, he sailed from West,
Responsive to the power of soul’s request.
Resistless forces bade her go fulfill
The part that she, by her own human will
Had planned upon a day, when swayed by love
She would her consort find, on earth, above,
Wherever might he dwell there too would she:
Attachments deep can bind like stern decree.
To learn the past, to Maya-land both turned,
But no faint ray of mem’ry in them burned.
Altho’ he murmured in a certain place—
“Familiar ’tis, there’s something I would trace.”
As Maya chief reborn, men of the soil
Hailed him, and led by him would patient toil
In forest depths, ’mid desert mansions old
And temples drear—their history to unfold.
Within a white stone urn in ancient tomb,
Charred heart and talisman lay in the gloom.
To her he gave the gem,—“Now take thine own,
I pray; henceforth it must be thine alone.”
In dancing flame the mortal dust from urn
Was thrown. “A form ascends from what doth burn!”
The natives loud exclaimed, “A princely shade
That into nothingness doth quickly fade.”
When evening came, and all from work reposed,
They told the white man why the things inclosed
Were found by him: “Thou art returned once more
From long enchanted sleep; wast here before.”
To this, both earnestly responded—“Nay,”
But nothing changed; the men thought their own way.