Atma - A Romance

Returning the paper to its case he secured it about his attire and

sought Bertram, who had wandered along the woody banks of the lake, and

whom he found at some distance away, listening to the rare song of a

swan, distant and strange and sweet. Soon it glided into death at the

opposite shore. It brought back to Atma's mind the morning when a noble

bird had by his aid escaped its captors. He recalled its subsequent

restoration to its kind, and the sympathy and undefined aspirations

awakened in his breast.

They entered a boat and crossed the water, landing speedily on the soft,

damp islet sward. The grotto was still clad in morning freshness, for

the strong beams of the sun had not yet penetrated to the heart of the

sacred grove. The entrance was hung with garlands, votive offerings from

the poorer pilgrims. More costly gifts lay near and all around knelt

worshippers.

A new party arrived, bringing a snowy fleeced lamb to be offered in

sacrifice. It was decked with wreaths, and bleated piteously. Presently

it was killed, and its blood was caught in vessels to be taken home and

smeared on doors and walls to drive away blight and pestilence from the

dwellings of men. While this was being done, the crowd looked on

carelessly or curiously. But Bertram and Atma noticed that the man who

had made this offering looked upwards with famished eyes and despairing,

and a groan escaped his lips, and to Bertram it seemed as if he said: "Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot

perceive him."

They stood apart, watching the scene. Then Atma presented his gift for

the enriching of the shrine, and withdrawing aside he knelt on the grass

and prayed, "Bright God and Only God!

Not to be understood!

Illume the darkened twilight of thine earth;

The dewdrop of so little worth

Is garnished from the riches of the sun;

Lead me from shadowy things to things that be,

Lest, all undone,

I lose in dreams my dream's reality;

Thy Home is in the Fatherland of Light,

Strong God and Bright!

In still beatitude and boundless might!

I veil mine eyes,

Thy holy Quietness I seek with sighs."

Said Bertram, "The earth has not a spectacle more fraught with meaning

than this; the acknowledged monarch of terrestrial things bowing in

dread--a dread of what? of that voice in his breast which, being silent,

is yet the loudest thing he knows? Why is the innocence of that

sacrificial lamb so pathetic to my sight? Why should religious rites in

which I do not participate move me strangely and deeply?"