,the ,orpheus ,series                   
,no4 #a      ,,the  ,,hero ,,in ,,man   
,,by  ,a4 ,e4  ,transcriber's note3     
,a4,e4 is a pseudonym of ,george        
,william ,russell     ,the ,orpheus     
,press1 #aiaj     ,first ,edition       
7#a1jjj copies71 ,may1 #aiji4  ,second  
,edition 7#a1jjj copies71 ,september1   
#aiaj4     ,,prelude4  ,greek3 lampadia 
echontes diadosousin allelois4--,,plato4
   ,we who live in the great cities     
could not altogether avoid1 even if we  
would1 a certain association with the   
interests of our time4  ,wherever we go 
the minds of men are feverishly debating
 some new political measure or some new 
scheme for the reconstruction of        
society4  ,now1 as in olden times1 the  
rumours of an impending war will engulf 
the subtler interests of men1 and unless
 we are willing to forego all           
intercourse we find ourselves involved  
in a hundred sympathies4  ,a friendly   
group will gather one evening and open  
their thoughts concerning the           

experiences of the soul2 they will often
 declare that only these matters are of 
profound interest1 and yet on the morrow
 the most of them regard the enthusiasms
 of the mind as far away1 unpractical1  
not of immediate account4  ,but even at 
noon the stars are above us and because 
a man in material difficulties cannot   
evoke the highest experiences that he   
has known they have not become less     
real4  ,they pertain to his immortal    
nature and if in the circumstance of    
life he loses memory of them it is      
because he is likewise mortal4  ,in the 
measure that we develop our interior    
selves philosophy becomes the most      
permanent of our interests and it may   
well be that the whole aim of ,man is to
 acquire an unbroken and ever-broadening
 realisation of the ,supreme ,spirit so 
that in a far-off day he may become the 
master of all imaginable conditions4    
,he1 therefore1 who brings us back to   
our central selves and shows us that    
however far we may wander it is these   

high thoughts which are truly the most  
real--he is of all men our greatest     
benefactor4  ,now those who thus care   
for the spiritual aspect of life are of 
two kinds1--the intellectual and the    
imaginative4  ,there are men of keen    
intellect who comprehend some           
philosophic system1 who will defend it  
with elaborate reasonings and proclaim  
themselves its adherents1 but the earth 
at their feet1 the stars in the         
firmament1 man himself and their own    
souls have undergone no transfiguration4
  ,their philosophies are lifeless1 for 
imagination is to the intellect what    
breath is to the body4  ,thoughts that  
never glow with imagination1 that are   
never applied to all that the sense     
perceives or the mind                   
remembers--thoughts that remain quite   
abstract1 are as empty husks of no      
value4  ,but there are those who have   
studied by the light of imagination and 
these know well that the inner life of  
thought1 of experiment1 and of wonder1  

though it may often be over-clouded1 is 
the only life which can henceforth give 
them content4  ,they know that it was   
not when they were most immersed in the 
affairs of the day but rather when the  
whole world appeared for a little while 
to be pulsating with an almost          
uncontainable splendour1 that they were 
most alive4  ,for the best mood we have 
ever known1 though it be lost for long1 
is yet the clearest revelation of our   
true selves1 and it is then that we     
learn most nearly what marvels life may 
hold4  ,if we read with imagination the 
,dialogues of ,plato we dwell for a     
while among those ardent ,greeks for    
whom the universe was changed by the    
words of the poet-philosopher4  ,so too 
when we read the letter that was written
 by ,plotinus to ,flaccus1 perhaps the  
serenest height the human soul has ever 
attained1 we become ourselves the       
recipients4  ,in either case we feel    
that we have lived in the presence of a 
princely soul4  ,it is an inspiration to

 realise that we are of the one race    
with these and may look out on the same 
beauty of earth and heaven4  ,yet the   
magic of the mind is not enduring and to
 dream overlong of a bygone beauty is to
 make sorrowful the present4  ,what     
imaginative reader of ,plato but has    
desired with a fruitless ardour that he 
might in truth have been numbered with  
those who walked on the daisied lawns of
 the ,academy1 might in truth have heard
 the voice of the hardly human initiate1
 have seen him face to face1 have       
responded to the influence of his       
presence8 who but would willingly       
translate his life to another century if
 he could but hear ,plotinus            
endeavouring to describe in human       
language an ecstasy which makes of man a
 god8  ,i know that one may easily      
injure whatever one most loves by       
speaking of it in superlative praise to 
those who as yet remain aloof with      
interest unaroused1 but for me it is    
hard to refrain from an expression of   

that admiration1 and ,i would fain say  
also that affection1 which burns up     
within me when ,i read the writings of  
,a4,e4  ,for they cause me to think of  
him as one of those rare spirits who    
bring to men the realisation of their   
own divinity1 who make the spiritual    
life seem adventurous1 attractive1 and  
vivid1 so that we go forth into the     
world with a new interest and a new joy 
at heart4  ,that1 as ,i have sought to  
show in the opening of this note1 is the
 greatest of all things that anyone can 
do4  ,the life of such a man makes      
beautiful the generation with which it  
coincides4  ,if we penetrate the human  
words and inhabit1 so far as we are     
able1 the mood which was passing in the 
soul as it shaped them1 we may learn    
from the reveries that are here         
reprinted how to the mystic of this     
material age the world remains equally  
wonderful and human life equally holy as
 either seemed in the far-off days when 
beauty was more greatly desired4  ,for  

of deeper value at all times than any   
particular thought is the pervading     
mood4  ,perhaps the reader will remember
 here the following passage by ,robert  
,louis ,stevenson3--,such are the best  
teachers2 a dogma learned is only a new 
error--the old one was perhaps as good2 
but a spirit communicated is a perpetual
 possession4  ,these best teachers climb
 beyond teaching to the plane of art2 it
 is themselves1 and what is best in     
themselves1 that they communicate4  ,to 
read the essays that follow1 or the     
three volumes of poetry that ,a4,e4 has 
published1 is to recognise one who has  
endeavoured always to communicate the   
best in himself1 and the mood which they
 induce is a mood from which we may see 
the world once more in its primal       
beauty1 may recover a sense of the      
long-forgotten but inextinguishable     
grandeur of the soul4  ,,clifford ,,bax4
  ,april1 #aiji4     ,,the ,,hero ,,in  
,,man4  ,i4  ,there sometimes comes on  
us a mood of strange reverence for      

people and things which in less         
contemplative hours we hold to be       
unworthy2 and in such moments we may set
 side by side the head of ,christ and   
the head of an outcast1 and there is an 
equal radiance around each1 which makes 
of the darker face a shadow and is      
itself a shadow around the head of      
light4  ,we feel a fundamental unity of 
purpose in their presence here1 and     
would as willingly pay homage to the one
 who has fallen as to him who has become
 a master of life4  ,i know that        
immemorial order decrees that the laurel
 and the crown be given only to the     
victor1 but in those moments ,i speak of
 a profound intuition changes the decree
 and sets the aureole on both alike4    
,we feel such deep pity for the fallen  
that there must needs be a justice in   
it1 for these diviner feelings are wise 
in themselves and do not vaguely arise4 
,they are lights from the ,father4  ,a  
justice lies in uttermost pity and      
forgiveness1 even when we seem to       

ourselves to be most deeply wronged2 or 
why is it that the awakening of         
resentment or hate brings such swift    
contrition8  ,we are ever               
self-condemned2 and the dark thought    
which went forth in us brooding revenge1
 when suddenly smitten by the light1    
withdraws and hides within itself in    
awful penitence4  ,in asking myself why 
it is that the meanest are safe from our
 condemnation when we sit on the true   
seat of judgment in the heart1 it seemed
 to me that their shield was the sense  
we have of a nobility hidden in them    
under the cover of ignoble things2 that 
their present darkness was the result of
 some too weighty heroic labour         
undertaken long ago by the human spirit2
 that it was the consecration of past   
purpose which played with such a tender 
light about their ruined lives1 and it  
was more pathetic because this nobleness
 was all unknown to the fallen and the  
heroic cause of so much pain was        
forgotten in life's prison-house4       

,while feeling the service to us of the 
great ethical ideals which have been    
formulated by men1 ,i think that the    
idea of justice intellectually conceived
 tends to beget a certain hardness of   
the heart4  ,it is true that men have   
done wrong--hence their pain3 but back  
of all this there is something          
infinitely soothing1 a light which does 
not wound1 which says no harsh thing1   
even although the darkest of spirits    
turns to it in its agony1 for the       
darkest of human spirits has still      
around him this first glory which shines
 from a deeper being within1 whose      
history may be told as the legend of the
 ,hero in ,man4  ,among the many        
immortals with whom ancient myth peopled
 the spiritual sphere of humanity are   
some figures which draw to themselves a 
more profound tenderness than the rest4 
,not ,aphrodite rising in beauty from   
the faery foam of the first seas1 not   
,apollo with sweetest singing1 laughter1
 and youth1 not the wielder of the      

lightning1 could exact the reverence    
accorded to the lonely ,titan chained on
 the mountain1 or to that bowed figure  
heavy with the burden of the sins of the
 world2 for the brighter divinities had 
no part in the labour of man1 no such   
intimate relation with the wherefore of 
his own existence so full of struggle4  
,the more radiant figures are prophecies
 to him of his destiny1 but the ,titan  
and the ,christ are a revelation of his 
more immediate state2 their giant       
sorrows companion his own1 and in       
contemplating them he awakens what is   
noblest in his own nature2 or1 in other 
words1 in understanding their divine    
heroism he understands himself4  ,for   
this in truth it seems to me to mean3   
all knowledge is a revelation of the    
self to the self1 and our deepest       
comprehension of the seemingly apart    
divine is also our furthest inroad to   
self-knowledge2 ,prometheus1 ,christ1   
are in every heart2 the story of one is 
the story of all2 the ,titan and the    

,crucified are humanity4  ,if1 then1 we 
consider them as representing the human 
spirit and disentangle from the myths   
their meaning1 we shall find that       
whatever reverence is due to that heroic
 love which descended from heaven for   
the redeeming of a lower nature1 must be
 paid to every human being4 ,christ is  
incarnate in all humanity4  ,prometheus 
is bound for ever within us4  ,they are 
the same4  ,they are a host1 and the    
divine incarnation was not spoken of    
one1 but of all those who descending    
into the lower world tried to change it 
into the divine image and to wrest out  
of chaos a kingdom for the empire of    
light4  ,the angels saw below them in   
chaos a senseless rout blind with       
elemental passion for ever warring with 
discordant cries which broke in upon the
 world of divine beauty2 and that the   
pain might depart1 they grew rebellious 
in the ,master's peace1 and descending  
to earth the angelic lights were        
crucified in men2 leaving so radiant    

worlds1 such a light of beauty1 for     
earth's grey twilight filled with tears1
 that through this elemental life might 
breathe the starry music brought from   
,him4  ,if the ,foreseer be a true name 
for the ,titan1 it follows that in the  
host which he represents was a light    
which well foreknew all the dark paths  
of its journey2 foreseeing the bitter   
struggle with a hostile nature1 but     
foreseeing perhaps a gain1 a distant    
glory o'er the hills of sorrow1 and that
 chaos1 divine and transformed1 with    
only gentle breathing1 lit up by the    
,christ-soul of the universe4  ,there is
 a transforming power in the thought    
itself3 we can no longer condemn the    
fallen1 they who laid aside their       
thrones of ancient power1 their spirit  
ecstasy and beauty1 on such a mission4  
,perhaps those who sank lowest did so to
 raise a greater burden1 and of these   
most fallen it may in the hour of their 
resurrection be said1 ,the last shall be
 first4  ,so1 placing side by side the  

head of the outcast with the head of    
,christ1 it has this equal beauty--with 
as bright a glory it sped from the      
,father in ages past on its redeeming   
labour4  ,of his present darkness what  
shall we say8  ,he is altogether dead in
 sin8  ,nay1 rather with tenderness     
forbear1 and think that the foreseeing  
spirit has taken its own dread path to  
mastery2 that that which foresaw the    
sorrow foresaw also beyond it a greater 
joy and a mightier existence1 when it   
would rise again in a new robe1 woven   
out of the treasure hidden in the deep  
of its submergence1 and shine at last   
like the stars of the morning triumphant
 among the ,sons of ,god4   ,,ii4  ,our 
deepest life is when we are alone4  ,we 
think most truly1 love best1 when       
isolated from the outer world in that   
mystic abyss we call soul4 ,nothing     
external can equal the fulness of these 
moments4  ,we may sit in the blue       
twilight with a friend1 or bend together
 by the hearth1 half whispering1 or in a

 silence populous with loving thoughts  
mutually understood2 then we may feel   
happy and at peace1 but it is only      
because we are lulled by a semblance to 
deeper intimacies4  ,when we think of a 
friend1 and the loved one draws nigh1 we
 sometimes feel half-pained1 for we     
touched something in our solitude which 
the living presence shut out2 we seem   
more apart1 and would fain wave them    
away and cry1 ,call me not forth from   
this2 ,i am no more a spirit if ,i leave
 my throne4 ,but these moods1 though lit
 up by intuitions of the true1 are too  
partial1 they belong too much to the    
twilight of the heart1 they have too    
dreamy a temper to serve us well in     
life4  ,we should wish rather for our   
thoughts a directness such as belongs to
 the messengers of the gods1 swift1     
beautiful1 flashing presences bent on   
purposes well understood4  ,what we need
 is that this interior tenderness shall 
be elevated into seership1 that what in 
most is only yearning or blind love     

shall see clearly its way and hope4  ,to
 this end we have to observe more       
intently the nature of the interior     
life4  ,we find1 indeed1 that it is not 
a solitude at all1 but dense with       
multitudinous being3 instead of being   
alone we are in the thronged highways of
 existence4  ,for our guidance when     
entering here many words of warning have
 been uttered1 laws have been outlined1 
and beings full of wonder1 terror1 and  
beauty described4 ,yet there is a spirit
 in us deeper than our intellectual     
being which ,i think of as the ,hero in 
man1 who feels the nobility of its place
 in the midst of all this1 and who would
 fain equal the greatness of perception 
with deeds as great4  ,the weariness and
 sense of futility which often falls    
upon the mystic after much thought is   
due to this1 that he has not recognised 
that he must be worker as well as seer1 
that here he has duties demanding a more
 sustained endurance just as the inner  
life is so much vaster and more intense 

than the life he has left behind4  ,now 
the duties which can be taken up by the 
soul are exactly those which it feels   
most inadequate to perform when acting  
as an embodied being4  ,what shall be   
done to quiet the heart-cry of the      
world3 how answer the dumb appeal for   
help we so often divine below eyes that 
laugh8  ,it is the saddest of all       
sorrows to think that pity with no hands
 to heal1 that love without a voice to  
speak1 should helplessly heap their pain
 upon pain while earth shall endure4    
,but there is a truth about sorrow which
 ,i think may make it seem not so       
hopeless4 ,there are fewer barriers than
 we think3 there is1 in truth1 an inner 
alliance between the soul who would fain
 give and the soul who is in need4      
,nature has well provided that not one  
golden ray of all our thoughts is sped  
ineffective through the dark2 not one   
drop of the magical elixirs love distils
 is wasted4  ,let us consider how this  
may be4  ,there is a habit we nearly all

 have indulged in4  ,we weave little    
stories in our minds1 expending love and
 pity upon the imaginary beings we have 
created1 and ,i have been led to think  
that many of these are not imaginary1   
that somewhere in the world beings are  
living just in that way1 and we merely  
reform and live over again in our life  
the story of another life4  ,sometimes  
these faraway intimates assume so vivid 
a shape1 they come so near with their   
appeal for sympathy that the pictures   
are unforgettable2 and the more ,i      
ponder over them the more it seems to me
 that they often convey the actual need 
of some soul whose cry for comfort has  
gone out into the vast1 perhaps to meet 
with an answer1 perhaps to hear only    
silence4  ,i will supply an instance4   
,i see a child1 a curious1 delicate     
little thing1 seated on the doorstep of 
a house4  ,it is an alley in some great 
city1 and there is a gloom of evening   
and vapour over the sky4  ,i see the    
child is bending over the path2 he is   

picking cinders and arranging them1 and 
as ,i ponder1 ,i become aware that he is
 laying down in gritty lines the walls  
of a house1 the mansion of his dream4   
,here spread along the pavement are     
large rooms1 these for his friends1 and 
a tiny room in the centre1 that is his  
own4  ,so his thought plays4  ,just then
 ,i catch a glimpse of the corduroy     
trousers of a passing workman1 and a    
heavy boot crushes through the cinders4 
,i feel the pain in the child's heart as
 he shrinks back1 his little love-lit   
house of dreams all rudely shattered4   
,ah1 poor child1 building the ,city     
,beautiful out of a few cinders1 yet    
nigher1 truer in intent than many a     
stately1 gold-rich palace reared by     
princes1 thou wert not forgotten by that
 mighty spirit who lives through the    
falling of empires1 whose home has been 
in many a ruined heart4  ,surely it was 
to bring comfort to hearts like thine   
that that most noble of all meditations 
was ordained by the ,buddha4  ,he lets  

his mind pervade one quarter of the     
world with thoughts of ,love1 and so the
 second1 and so the third1 and so the   
fourth4  ,and thus the whole wide world1
 above1 below1 around1 and everywhere1  
does he continue to pervade with heart  
of ,love far-reaching1 grown great and  
beyond measure4  ,that love1 though the 
very fairy breath of life1 should by    
itself and so imparted have a sustaining
 power some may question1 not those who 
have felt the sunlight fall from distant
 friends who think of them2 but1 to make
 clearer how it seems to me to act1 ,i  
say that love1 ,eros1 is a being4  ,it  
is more than a power of the soul1 though
 it is that also2 it has a universal    
life of its own1 and just as the dark   
heaving waters do not know what jewel   
lights they reflect with blinding       
radiance1 so the soul1 partially        
absorbing and feeling the ray of ,eros  
within it1 does not know that often a   
part of its nature nearer to the sun of 
love shines with a brilliant light to   

other eyes than its own4 ,many people   
move unconscious of their own charm1    
unknowing of the beauty and power they  
seem to others to impart4  ,it is some  
past attainment of the soul1 a jewel won
 in some old battle which it may have   
forgotten1 but none the less this gleams
 on its tiara and the star-flame        
inspires others to hope and victory4    
,if it is true here that many exert a   
spiritual influence they are unconscious
 of1 it is still truer of the spheres   
within4  ,once the soul has attained to 
any possession like love1 or persistent 
will1 or faith1 or a power of thought1  
it comes into spiritual contact with    
others who are struggling for these very
 powers4  ,the attainment of any of     
these means that the soul is able to    
absorb and radiate some of the diviner  
elements of being4  ,the soul may or may
 not be aware of the position it is     
placed in or its new duties1 but yet    
that ,living ,light1 having found a way 
into the being of any one person1 does  

not rest there1 but sends its rays and  
extends its influence on and on to      
illumine the darkness of another nature4
  ,so it comes that there are ties which
 bind us to people other than those whom
 we meet in our everyday life4  ,i think
 they are most real ties1 most important
 to understand1 for if we let our lamp  
go out1 some far away who had reached   
out in the dark and felt a steady will1 
a persistent hope1 a compassionate love1
 may reach out once again in an hour of 
need1 and finding no support may give   
way and fold the hands in despair4      
,often we allow gloom to overcome us and
 so hinder the bright rays in their     
passage2 but would we do it so often if 
we thought that perhaps a sadness which 
besets us1 we do not know why1 was      
caused by someone drawing nigh to us for
 comfort1 whom our lethargy might make  
feel still more his helplessness1 while 
our courage1 our faith1 might cause our 
light to shine in some other heart which
 as yet has no light of its own8        

,,iii4  ,the night was wet3 and1 as ,i  
was moving down the streets1 my mind was
 also journeying on a way of its own1   
and the things which were bodily present
 before me were no less with me in my   
unseen travelling4  ,every now and then 
a transfer would take place1 and some of
 the moving shadows in the street would 
begin walking about in the clear        
interior light4  ,the children of the   
city1 crouched in the doorways1 or      
racing through the hurrying multitude   
and flashing lights1 began their elfin  
play again in my heart2 and that was    
because ,i had heard these tiny outcasts
 shouting with glee4  ,i wondered if the
 glitter and shadow of such sordid      
things were thronged with magnificence  
and mystery for those who were unaware  
of a greater light and deeper shade     
which made up the romance and           
fascination of my own life4  ,in        
imagination ,i narrowed myself to their 
ignorance1 littleness and youth1 and    
seemed for a moment to flit amid great  

uncomprehended beings and a dim         
wonderful city of palaces4  ,then       
another transfer took place and ,i was  
pondering anew1 for a face ,i had seen  
flickering through the warm wet mist    
haunted me2 it entered into the realm of
 the interpreter1 and ,i was made aware 
by the pale cheeks1 and by the          
close-shut lips of pain1 and by some    
inward knowledge1 that there the ,tree  
of ,life was beginning to grow1 and ,i  
wondered why it is that it always       
springs up through a heart in ashes3 ,i 
wondered also if that which springs up1 
which in itself is an immortal joy1 has 
knowledge that its shoots are piercing  
through such anguish2 or again1 if it   
was the piercing of the shoots which    
caused the pain1 and if every throb of  
the beautiful flame darting upward to   
blossom meant the perishing of some more
 earthly growth which had kept the heart
 in shadow4  ,seeing too how many       
thoughts spring up from such a simple   
thing1 ,i questioned whether that which 

started the impulse had any share in the
 outcome1 and if these musings of mine  
in any way affected their subject4  ,i  
then began thinking about those secret  
ties on which ,i have speculated before1
 and in the darkness my heart grew      
suddenly warm and glowing1 for ,i had   
chanced upon one of those shining       
imaginations which are the wealth of    
those who travel upon the hidden ways4  
,in describing that which comes to us   
all at once1 there is a difficulty in   
choosing between what is first and what 
is last to say3 but1 interpreting as    
best ,i can1 ,i seemed to behold the    
onward movement of a ,light1 one among  
many ,lights1 all living1 throbbing1 now
 dim with perturbations1 and now again  
clear1 and all subtly woven together1   
outwardly in some more shadowy shining1 
and inwardly in a greater fire1 which1  
though it was invisible1 ,i knew to be  
the ,lamp of the ,world4  ,this ,light  
which ,i beheld ,i felt to be a human   
soul1 and these perturbations which     

dimmed it were its struggles and        
passionate longings for something1 and  
that was for a more brilliant shining of
 the light within itself4  ,it was in   
love with its own beauty1 enraptured by 
its own lucidity2 and ,i saw that as    
these things were more beloved they grew
 paler1 for this light is the love which
 the ,mighty ,mother has in her heart   
for her children1 and she means that it 
shall go through each one unto all1 and 
whoever restrains it in himself is      
himself shut out2 not that the great    
heart has ceased in its love for that   
soul1 but that the soul has shut itself 
off from influx1 for every imagination  
of man is the opening or the closing of 
a door to the divine world3 now he is   
solitary1 cut off1 and1 seemingly to    
himself1 on the desert and distant verge
 of things3 and then his thought throws 
open the swift portals2 he hears the    
chant of the seraphs in his heart1 and  
he is made luminous by the lighting of a
 sudden aureole4  ,this soul which ,i   

watched seemed to have learned at last  
the secret love3 for1 in the anguish    
begotten by its loss1 it followed the   
departing glory in penitence to the     
inmost shrine where it ceased           
altogether2 and because it seemed       
utterly lost and hopeless of attainment 
and capriciously denied to the seeker1 a
 profound pity arose in the soul for    
those who1 like it were seeking1 but    
still in hope1 for they had not come to 
the vain end of their endeavours4  ,i   
understood that such pity is the last of
 the precious essences which make up the
 elixir of immortality1 and when it is  
poured into the cup it is ready for     
drinking4  ,and so it was with this soul
 which grew brilliant with the passage  
of the eternal light through its new    
purity of self-oblivion1 and joyful in  
the comprehension of the mystery of the 
secret love1 which1 though it has been  
declared many times by the greatest of  
teachers among men1 is yet never known  
truly unless the ,mighty ,mother has    

herself breathed it in the heart4  ,and 
now that the soul had divined this      
secret1 the shadowy shining which was   
woven in bonds of union between it and  
its fellow-lights grew clearer2 and a   
multitude of these strands were1 so it  
seemed1 strengthened and placed in its  
keeping3 along these it was to send the 
message of the wisdom and the love which
 were the secret sweetness of its own   
being4  ,then a spiritual tragedy began1
 infinitely more pathetic than the old  
desolation1 because it was brought about
 by the very nobility of the spirit4    
,this soul1 shedding its love like rays 
of glory1 seemed itself the centre of a 
ring of wounding spears3 it sent forth  
love and the arrowy response came       
hate-impelled3 it whispered peace and   
was answered by the clash of rebellion3 
and to all this for defence it could    
only bare more openly its heart that a  
profounder love from the ,mother ,nature
 might pass through upon the rest4  ,i  
knew this was what a teacher1 who wrote 

long ago1 meant when he said3 ,put on   
the whole armour of ,god1 which is love 
and endurance1 for the truly divine     
children of the ,flame are not armed    
otherwise3 and of those protests1 sent  
up in ignorance or rebellion against the
 whisper of the wisdom1 ,i saw that some
 melted in the fierce and tender heat of
 the heart1 and there came in their     
stead a golden response which made      
closer the ties1 and drew these souls   
upward to an understanding and to share 
in the overshadowing nature4  ,and this 
is part of the plan of the ,great       
,alchemist1 whereby the red ruby of the 
heart is transmuted into the tenderer   
light of the opal2 for the beholding of 
love made bare acts like the flame of   
the furnace3 and the dissolving         
passions1 through an anguish of remorse1
 the lightnings of pain1 and through an 
adoring pity1 are changed into the image
 they contemplate1 and melt in the      
ecstasy of self-forgetful love1 the     
spirit which lit the thorn-crowned      

brows1 which perceived only in its last 
agony the retribution due to its        
tormentors1 and cried out1 ,father1     
forgive them1 for they know not what    
they do4  ,now although the love of the 
few may alleviate the hurt due to the   
ignorance of the mass1 it is not in the 
power of anyone to withstand for ever   
this warfare2 for by the perpetual      
wounding of the inner nature it is so   
wearied that the spirit must withdraw   
from a tabernacle grown too frail to    
support the increase of light within and
 the jarring of the demoniac nature     
without2 and at length comes the call   
which means1 for a while1 release1 and a
 deep rest in regions beyond the        
paradise of lesser souls4  ,so1         
withdrawn into the ,divine ,darkness1   
vanished the ,light of my dream4  ,and  
now it seemed as if this wonderful weft 
of souls intertwining as one being must 
come to naught2 and all those who       
through the gloom had nourished a       
longing for the light would stretch out 

hands in vain for guidance3 but that ,i 
did not understand the love of the      
,mother1 and that although few1 there is
 no decaying of her heroic brood2 for1  
as the seer of old caught at the mantle 
of him who went up in the fiery chariot1
 so another took up the burden and      
gathered the shining strands together3  
and to this sequence of spiritual guides
 there is no ending4  ,here ,i may say  
that the love of the ,mother1 which1    
acting through the burnished will of the
 hero1 is wrought to highest uses1 is in
 reality everywhere1 and pervades with  
profoundest tenderness the homeliest    
circumstance of daily life2 and there is
 not lacking1 even among the humblest1  
an understanding of the spiritual       
tragedy which follows upon every effort 
of the divine nature bowing itself down 
in pity to our shadowy sphere2 an       
understanding in which the nature of the
 love is gauged through the extent of   
the sacrifice and the pain which is     
overcome4  ,i recall the instance of an 

old ,irish peasant1 who1 as he lay in   
hospital wakeful from a grinding pain in
 his leg1 forgot himself in making      
drawings1 rude yet reverently done1 of  
incidents in the life of the ,galilean  
teacher4  ,one of these which he showed 
me was a crucifixion1 where1 amidst much
 grotesque symbolism1 were some tracings
 which indicated a purely beautiful     
intuition2 the heart of this crucified  
figure1 no less than the brow1 was      
wreathed about with thorns and radiant  
with light3 ,for that1 said he1 was     
where he really suffered4  ,when ,i     
think of this old man1 bringing         
forgetfulness of his own bodily pain    
through contemplation of the spiritual  
suffering of his ,master1 my memory of  
him shines with something of the        
transcendent light he himself perceived2
 for ,i feel that some suffering of his 
own1 nobly undergone1 had given him     
understanding1 and he had laid his heart
 in love against the ,heart of ,many    
,sorrows1 seeing it wounded by          

unnumbered spears yet burning with      
undying love4  ,though much may be      
learned by observance of the superficial
 life and actions of a spiritual        
teacher1 it is only in the deeper life  
of meditation and imagination that it   
can be truly realised2 for the soul is a
 midnight blossom which opens its leaves
 in dream1 and its perfect bloom is     
unfolded only where another sun shines  
in another heaven3 there it feels what  
celestial dews descend on it1 and what  
influences draw it up to its divine     
archetype3 here in the shadow of earth  
root intercoils with root and the finer 
distinctions of the blossom are not     
perceived4  ,if we knew also who they   
really are1 who sometimes in silence1   
and sometimes with the eyes of the world
 at gaze1 take upon them the mantle of  
teacher1 an unutterable awe would       
prevail3 for underneath a bodily        
presence not in any sense beautiful may 
burn the glory of some ancient divinity1
 some hero who has laid aside his       

sceptre in the enchanted land to rescue 
old-time comrades fallen into oblivion3 
or again1 if we had the insight of the  
simple old peasant into the nature of   
this enduring love1 out of the exquisite
 and poignant emotions kindled would    
arise the flame of a passionate love    
which would endure long aeons of anguish
 that it might shield1 though but for a 
little1 the kingly hearts who may not   
shield themselves4  ,but ,i too1 who    
write1 have launched the rebellious     
spear1 or in lethargy have ofttimes gone
 down the great drift numbering myself  
among those who not being with must     
needs be against3 therefore ,i make no  
appeal2 they only may call who stand    
upon the lofty mountains2 but ,i reveal 
the thought which arose like a star in  
my soul with such bright and pathetic   
meaning1 leaving it to you who read to  
approve and apply it4     ,,the         
,,orpheus ,,series1 ,,etc4  ,this series
 of booklets will be issued in          
connection with ,orpheus1 a ,quarterly  

,magazine of ,mystical ,art1 which may  
be had for four shillings and sixpence a
 year4  ,it is hoped that some of the   
succeeding numbers may also be composed 
of reprints from the early writings of  
,a4 ,e4  ,the following is a list of the
 books that ,a4 ,e4 has at present      
published3   ,,verse3    ,the           
,earth-,breath4              ,john ,lane
   ,homeward ,songs by the ,way4        
,john ,lane   ,the ,divine ,vision4     
,macmillan   ,,prose3    ,the ,mask of  
,apollo 7,dream-,stories74              
,macmillan   ,some ,irish ,essays 7,the 
,tower ,press ,series1 ,no4 ,i47        
,maunsell1 ,dublin     ,women's         
,printing ,society1 ,ltd41 ,brick       
,street1 ,piccadilly