Helen of Tyre

What phantom is this that appears
Through the purple mist of the years,
&nbsp Itself but a mist like these?
A woman of cloud and of fire;
It is she; it is Helen of Tyre,
&nbsp The town in the midst of the seas.

O Tyre! in thy crowded streets
The phantom appears and retreats,
&nbsp And the Israelites that sell
Thy lilies and lions of brass,
Look up as they see her pass,
&nbsp And murmur "Jezebel!"

Then another phantom is seen
At her side, in a gray gabardine,
&nbsp With beard that floats to his waist;
It is Simon Magus, the Seer;
He speaks, and she pauses to hear
&nbsp The words he utters in haste.

He says: "From this evil fame,
From this life of sorrow and shame,
&nbsp I will lift thee and make thee mine;
Thou hast been Queen Candace,
And Helen of Troy, and shalt be
&nbsp The Intelligence Divine!"

Oh, sweet as the breath of morn,
To the fallen and forlorn
&nbsp Are whispered words of praise;
For the famished heart believes
The falsehood that tempts and deceives,
&nbsp And the promise that betrays.

So she follows from land to land
The wizard's beckoning hand,
&nbsp As a leaf is blown by the gust,
Till she vanishes into night.
O reader, stoop down and write
&nbsp With thy finger in the dust.

O town in the midst of the seas,
With thy rafts of cedar trees,
&nbsp Thy merchandise and thy ships,
Thou, too, art become as naught,
A phantom, a shadow, a thought,
&nbsp A name upon men's lips.