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?"