THE HOLY PLACE. 
97 
Back flung the baffled corpse.  But through the air 
 Looms the more startling vision in the night ; 
The actual demon of my work is there ! 
Where is the glittering circle ?  Where, ah, where 
 The radiant bowls whose flame rose fiery bright ? 
I am alone in the absolute abyss ; 
No aid ;  no helper ;  no defence—but this ! 
 
My left hand seeks the lamen.  Once again 
 Fearless I front the awful shape before me, 
Fearless I speak his Name.  My trembling brain 
Vibrates that Word of Power.  I cry amain : 
 “ Down, Dweller of the Darkness, and adore me ! 
I am thy Master, and thy God !  Behold 
The Rose of Ruby and the Cross of Gold ! 
 
“ I am thy Saviour ! ”  At the kindling word 
 Up springs the dawn-light in the broken bowls ; 
Up leaps the glittering circle.  Then I heard 
A hoarse shrill voice, as if some carrion bird 
Shrieked, mightier than the storm that rocks and 
rolls 
Through desolation :  “ Thou hast known my Name. 
What is thy purpose, Master of the Flame ? ” 
 
I made demand :  through long appalling hours 
 Stayed he to tempt and try my adamant 
Purpose :  at last the legionary powers 
Behind him sank affrayed ;  his visage lowers 
 Less menacing :  his head is turned aslant