ALL FOR LOVE,

OR

A SINNER WELL SAVED.

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 Historia Eremitica. 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 endeavoured 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. 937-957.) 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.

Should the reader be desirous of comparing the Poem with the Legend, he may find the story, as transcribed from Rosweyde, among the Notes.

I.

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

For his knees fail and his flesh quakes,

And his heart beats audibly.

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

Or art thou too modest to tell thy tale?

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Proterius's freedman thou art ;

And on Cyra, thy Master's daughter,

Thou hast madly fix'd thy heart. —

"But fearing (as thou well mayest 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 call'd,
And on Astarte's name;
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 listen'd
He shudder'd 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 vow'd,
Among Emmelia's sisterhood,
The tenant of a cell.