Tarry thou till I come; or, Salathiel, the wandering Jew.Croly, George
General
Tarry thou till I come; or, Salathiel, the wandering Jew.
Croly, George
Wandering Jew -- Fiction
Lest this mystic repose should be disturbed by any of the sights of
living man, I withdrew deeper into the shades which first sheltered me.
It was enough for me that there was a canopy of leaves above to shield
my limbs from the casual visitations of a sky whose sapphire looked
scarcely capable of a stain, and that the turf was soft for my couch.
Fruits sufficient to tempt the most luxurious taste were falling round
me, and the waters of the bright rivulet, scooped in the rind of citron
and orange, were a draft that the epicure might envy. I was still utterly
ignorant on what shore of the Mediterranean I was thrown, further than
that the sun rose behind my bower and threw his western luster on the
waveless expanse of sea that spread before it to the round horizon.
CHAPTER XLI
_The Granddaughter of Ananus_
[Sidenote: Salathiel’s Activity]
But no man can be a philosopher against nature. With my strength the
desire for exertion returned. My most voluptuous rest became irksome.
Memory would not be restrained; the floodgates of thought opened once
more, and to resist the passion for the world, I was driven to the
drudgery of the hands. I gathered wood for the winter’s fuel, in the
midst of days when the sun poured fire from the heavens; I attempted to
build a hut, beside grottoes that a hermit would love; I trained trees
and cultivated flowers where the soil threw out all that was rich in both
with exhaustless prodigality.
Yet no expedient would appease the passion for the absorbing business
of the world. My bower lost its enchantment; the delight of lying on
beds of violet, and with my eyes fixed on the heavens, wandering away
in rich illusion, palled upon me; the colors of the vision had grown
dim. I no longer saw shapes of beauty winging their way through the
celestial azure; I heard no harmonies of spirits on the midnight winds; I
followed no longer the sun, rushing on his golden chariot-wheels to lands
unstained by human step, or plunged with him at eve into the depths and
ranged the secret wonders of ocean.
[Sidenote: The Island Prison]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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