"
"Nay you but jest," said Malchus, "where is he?"
"Dead these two hundred years," the man replied,
And, deeming that the youth had lost his mind,
He sent him to the Bishop of the town.
The Bishop heard the marvelous story through,
And being deeply learned in history,
Recalled the memory of the noble seven
And their sad fate in days of Decius.
Then coming to the rocky mountain cave,
(Led up by Malchus all the winding way,)
He witnessed all the truth of what was told.
Nor lacked he faith in God, for he believed
All wondrous things with Him were possible.
But ere by letter he could tell the tale
Unto the Christian Emperor, the youths
Sank into blessed dreams again, and waked
Within a crystal city where was peace.
* * * * * *
I think we all are dreamers like the seven;
The morning rises from her silver throne
And smiles upon the hours we call our own.
The minutes brim like drops of golden wine
O'er Life's o'erflowing cup; we see the shine
Of perfect day on every path we scan;
And Fame's fair vaulted Temple on the span
Of rainbow arches is upheld--and gleams
In every future of our boyhood dreams.
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