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
Strange and harassing as those trials of my mind were, they had yet
contained some appeals to individual energy, some excitement of personal
powers, that produced a kind, of cheering self-applause. I was Prometheus
on his rock chained and remediless, yet still resisting and unconquered.
But the real misery was when I was passive.
… I strayed through an Egyptian city. Buildings numberless, of the most
regal designs, rose round me; the walls were covered with sculptures of
extraordinary richness; noble statues lined the public ways; wealth in
the wildest profusion was visible wherever the foot trod. Endless ranges
of porphyry and alabaster columns glittered in the noonday sun. Superb
ascents of marble steps mounted before me, to heights that strained the
eye. Arch over arch studded with the luster of precious stones climbed
until they lay like rainbows upon the sky. Colossal towers circling with
successive colonnades of dazzling brightness, ascended—airy citadels,
looking down upon earth, and colored with the infinite dyes and lusters
of the clouds. But all was silence in this scene of pomp. There was no
tread of human being heard within the circuit of a city, fit for more
than man. The utter extinction of all that gives the idea of life was
startling; there was not the note of a passing bird, nor the chirp of a
grasshopper. I instinctively shrank from the sight of things lovely in
themselves, yet which froze my mind by their image of the tomb. But to
escape was impossible; there was an impression of powerlessness upon me,
for whose melancholy I can find no words. My feet were chainless, but
never fetter clung with such a retarding weight as that invisible bond
by which I was fixed to the spot. Ages on ages seemed to have heavily
sunk away, and still I stood, bound by the same manacle, standing on the
same spot, looking on the same objects. To this I would have preferred
the fiercest extremes of suffering. Of all passions that dwell within
the heart of man, the passion for change is the most incapable of being
extinguished or eluded.
[Sidenote: In the Twilight]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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