ALL FOR LOVE;

OR,

A SINNER WELL SAVED.

TO CAROLINE BOWLES.

COULD I look forward to a distant day,
With hope of building some elaborate lay,
Then would I wait till worthier strains of mine
Might bear inscribed thy name, O Caroline!
For I would, while my voice is heard on earth,
Bear witness to thy genius and thy worth.
But we have both been taught to feel with fear
How frail the tenure of existence here;
What unforeseen calamities prevent,
Alas, how oft! the best-resolved intent;
And therefore this poor volume I address
To thee, dear friend, and sister Poetess!

KESWICK, Feb. 21, 1829.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

THE story of the following poem is taken from a "Life of St. Basil," ascribed to his contemporary St. Amphilochius, Bishop of Iconium; a Latin version of which, made by Cardinal

Ursus in the ninth century, is inserted by Rosweyde among the "Lives of the Fathers," in his compilation "Historiæ Eremiticæ." The original had not then been printed; but Rosweyde obtained a copy of it from the Royal Library at Paris. He intimates no suspicion concerning the authenticity of the life, or the truth of this particular legend; observing only, that "hæc narratio apud solum invenitur Amphilochium." It is, indeed, the flower of the work; and, as such, had been culled by some earlier translator than Ursus.

The very learned Dominican, P. François Combefis, published the original, with a version of his own, and endeavored to establish its authenticity in opposition to Baronius, who supposed the life to have been written by some other Amphilochius, not by the Bishop of Iconium. Had Combefis possessed powers of mind equal to his erudition, he might even then have been in some degree prejudiced upon this subject; for, according to Baillet, "il avoit un attachement particulier pour S. Basile." His version is inserted in the "Acta Sanctorum (Jun. t. ii. pp. 937-57). But the Bollandist Baert brands the life there as apocryphal; and, in his annotations, treats Combefis more rudely, it may be suspected, than he would have done had he not belonged to a rival and hostile order.

I.

A YOUTH hath entered the Sorcerer's door;
But he dares not lift his eye,

For his knees fail, and his flesh quakes,
And his heart beats audibly.

"Look up, young man!" the Sorcerer said;
Lay open thy wishes to me!

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Or art thou too modest to tell thy tale?
If so, I can tell it thee.

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Thy name is Eleëmon;

Proterius's freedman thou art;
And on Cyra, thy Master's daughter,
Thou hast madly fixed thy heart.

"But fearing (as thou well mayst fear!) The high-born Maid to woo,

Thou hast tried what secret prayers and vows And sacrifice might do.

"Thou hast prayed unto all Saints in Heaven,
And to Mary their vaunted Queen;
And little furtherance hast thou found
From them or from her, I ween!

"And thou, I know, the Ancient Gods,
In hope forlorn, hast tried,
If haply Venus might obtain
The maiden for thy bride.

"On Jove and Phoebus thou hast called,
And on Astarte's name,

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And on her who still at Ephesus

Retains a faded fame.

'Thy voice to Baal hath been raised;
To Nile's old Deities;

And to all Gods of elder time,
Adored by men in every clime,

When they ruled earth, seas, and skies.

"Their Images are deaf!

Their Oracles are dumb!
And therefore thou, in thy despair,
To Abibas art come.

"Ay, because neither Saints nor Gods
Thy pleasure will fulfil,

Thou comest to me, Eleëmon,
To ask if Satan will!

"I answer thee, Yes!' But a faint heart Can never accomplish its ends:

Put thy trust boldly in him, and be sure He never forsakes his friends."

While Eleëmon listened,
He shuddered inwardly

At the ugly voice of Abibas,
And the look in his wicked eye.

And he could then almost have given
His fatal purpose o'er ;

But his Good Angel had left him
When he entered the Sorcerer's door.

So, in the strength of evil shame,

His mind the young man knit
Into a desperate resolve,
For his bad purpose fit.

"Let thy Master give me what I seek, O Servant of Satan!" he said,

“As I ask firmly, and for his
Renounce all other aid!

"Time presses. Cyra is content To bid the world farewell, And pass her days, a virgin vowed, Among Emmelia's sisterhood, The tenant of a cell.

"Thus hath her Father willed, that so
A life of rigor here below
May fit her for the skies,
And Heaven acceptably receive
His costliest sacrifice.

"The admiring people say of this,
That Angels, or that Saints in bliss,
That holy thought inspire;
And she is called a blessèd Maid,
And he a happy Sire.

"Through Cappadocia far and wide
The news hath found its way,
And crowds to Cæsarea flock
To attend the solemn day.

"The robes are ready, rich with gold. Even like a bridal dress,