Then indeed, with hearts made to tremble, a strange dread steals into all through their breasts, and in silence they saw the things to come. While he warned many horrors concerning this coming, a boy, just marking his unshorn chin with first youth, rich in resources, flourishing in the pursuits of an inglorious leisure—five flocks of bleating sheep were his, five herds returned, and he loaded his tables with unbought feasts—straightway, eager, stretched out both his palms, and embracing his knees thus spoke with friendly mouth: 'O glory, O deservedly the greatest part of our fame, to you I flee and a suppliant I beg your divine power. I have anticipated all things and gone through them beforehand with myself in my mind. Snatch me, O unconquered one, from these evils. What at last remains, or what could I, following, overcome such great labors? Receive and give a pledge of faith:
It is right for me to undertake your commands.' And to him the hero gave answer thus in few words: 'O youth surpassing in spirit, cease from entreating, nor let it grieve you: nothing, O friend, has been left undone for you. This too I will add to these, if your will toward me is sure: learn, boy, to despise riches and to fashion yourself also worthy of God, and you shall be able to know what virtue is. Give your right hand to the wretched, and let not brother forsake brother. If he hastens to be joined in fellowship, join him willingly. Let the chaste house preserve its modesty. Come, break off your slothful delays, and come, not harsh toward needy circumstances.' He had spoken these things. The other, at the word, turned his steps, more sorrowful, lifting his pale face in wondrous ways, groaning much, and turned and bore himself away from sight. Then, when first there was confidence in the sea,
the companions lead out the ships through the tranquil deeps, and by the master's craft here one beats with a casting-net the wide stream, seeking the deep, and there another drags wet lines through the sea. After the ships held the deep and no more lands at all met them, the ether flashes with frequent fires, the clouds suddenly snatch away sky and day, the winds rise together and lift the waves to the stars. But for the companions the chill blood grew rigid with sudden terror: their spirits fell, and all at once they gazed weeping upon the sea—every voice failed them—doubting between hope and fear, whether they should believe they lived or were suffering their last, by the slight margin of death—such things as sailors suffer many on the deep sea.
Behold, God—he in whose hands is the supreme power—perceived that the sea was being stirred with a great roar and that a storm had been let loose. Equal to the light winds and swifter than the wings of the lightning, he makes for the downward seas and runs down over the open deep: nor does he stand far off in his course, the keel going before him. From afar the companions, stripped, recognize the King and his powerful right hand, and with a great shout they salute him. After he touched the high billows and came to the waters, that indeed was a thing dreadful and marvelous to behold: the waves subside, that there might be no struggle for the oar, and he puts to flight the gathered clouds and walks across the sea. Now he had not yet dipped his lofty sides in mid-wave; but advancing through the very midst of his companions in the ship, he himself takes the helm as steersman, himself as master.
The mast trembled, the boat groaned beneath the weight, the sails fall, and God sat down in the high stern: and at last, glad, they are turned toward the familiar sands. Then too the slow driver of the little ass sat upon it, shining forth from a cloud: round whom very many mothers and men and boys cast the familiar garments beneath, and rejoice to touch the rope with their hand. And now they were drawing near to the gates, and he enters the ancient temple, lofty with a hundred columns of old cedar, in the midst with a great accompanying throng. To them this was a temple dreadful with woods, this their council-hall, these their sacred seats, which they cherished with wondrous honor. For while, beneath the vast temple, he surveys each thing one by one, he shudders at the sudden sight, and sounded out with a scourge and signals with his hand, and at the same time thunders with mighty mouth:
'What faces of crime are these, what flashing standards of Caesar do I behold, and his name? What madness changes the mind? These are our own proper seats; here, at a fixed time, we are wont, through unbroken ages of the fathers, to gather at the tables.' They were stunned in spirit, and a cold tremor ran through the depths of their bones, and in fear they left the tables set before them. Meanwhile, as Olympus sloped down, the Evening Star drew nearer. Then with food they call back their strength, and reclining upon the grass they load the tables with banquets and set out the cups. After the first rest from feasting, and the tables had been removed, He Himself, foremost among the first, renews honours to the Father, looking up to heaven. Then silence fell upon their tongues. He gives into their hands the fruits and sweet waters from the springs, and He filled the bowl with wine, and teaches them the rites of the sacred things, and mingles prayers, and speaks such words as these:
'Hear, O nobles,' He said, 'and learn your hope. No one from this number shall depart from me ungifted, and by the Father's promises,' He said, 'your sure rewards await you, my children, and no one stirs from his rank for the palm. And when tomorrow's light first restores itself to the lands, there shall be but one against me and against the destruction of my own, while he offers himself in the midst for our body's sake unto peace. And now the day, unless I am mistaken, is at hand. Set aside your cares. That toil shall be with me, nor does my resolve deceive me: one life shall be given for the many.' Having thus spoken, He fell silent and granted late rest through His limbs. Meanwhile rising Dawn left the Ocean. And now the priests fill the places far and wide with lamentations, together with the people and the fathers, and a murmur is borne through the throngs.
What race of men is this, what land so barbarous permits this custom? Gathered from every side they demand punishment with blood, and with a great shout they pursue the innocent one, and the ignoble crowd rages in its passions. The fiery Sun had climbed the mid-orb of heaven, when suddenly all, both people and fathers, demand that He be summoned, and bid Him speak: of what blood He was sprung, what He seeks, what He Himself brings. As they behold the glorious deeds of the man, grief mingled with stupor presses the sluggish — the mind of men knows nothing — and they vie to mock the captive. Then indeed, snatching up weapons, they rush together from every side.
A shout is raised to heaven, and all at once they seized the sacred figure, and with bloody hands set up a huge oak, its branches lopped on every side, and bind Him to it with mighty coils, and they stretched out His hands, His feet bound to one another — a grim service — and the rest of the youth follow them, all having dared a monstrous crime, and having made good their daring. But He, undaunted, said, 'Why do you bind these fetters? Has so great a confidence in your race held you? Hereafter you shall not atone for what you have done with a like penalty.' Such things He persisted in declaring, and remained fixed. Meanwhile the sky begins to be confounded with a great roar, and black night took the colour from things, and the impious ages feared an eternal night.
The earth trembles, the wild beasts flee, and lowly terror lays low the hearts of mortals throughout the nations: then suddenly the earth gives forth a groan, and all heaven thunders with crashing. At once, stirred from the deepest seats of Erebus, the thin shades came forth. The earth too and the waters of the sea gave signs: the rivers stand still, and the lands gape open. Nay, the very houses were stunned, and the inmost Tartarus of Death and the shadowy caverns lay open within. The Sun also, even as it rose — all confess they know it — then veiled its shining head in dark, rusty gloom. The companions scatter and are covered by murky night, and revolve many hard things in their sad hearts. What should they do? His face and words cling fixed in their breast, nor does care grant peaceful rest to their limbs.
Then the elder, pondering much, uttered such words from his heart: 'Where now for us is that God our Master? Whom do we follow? Or whither do you bid us go, where to set our seats? O grief and glory, glory of so great deeds! Now, now there is no delay: snatch us also along with you into all things — we pray — and do not withdraw yourself from our sight.' Amid these stirrings, in the midst of such words, the third light had driven the cold shade from heaven; and now, retracing its step, it was coming to the upper airs, when suddenly before their eyes was a tomb of vast mass, where the lifeless body had been laid — neither the barriers nor the guards themselves can endure it — and they see rocks torn from rocks, with the close-fitting joints of the sides loosened. A sound arises: the earth was shaken with mighty weight.
Terror everywhere upon the mind, and the very silence itself dismays. But lo, the first songs of the birds beneath the rooftop: He comes forth, leaving the cave, and proud of His spoils He went exulting, and the earth, roused, trembles at the tread of His feet; and bearing those wounds He bore Himself in through the lofty doors. And here, marvelling, He finds that a great number of new companions had flowed together, and suddenly, unforeseen by all, He says: 'In person, the one you seek, here I am. Piety has conquered the hard way, and living valour. Be vigilant, headlong men; let all fear be far off. These are our returns and the long-awaited triumphs; this is my great pledge. O thrice and four times blessed! What rewards worthy of you, O men, for these your praises do I think can be repaid, what gifts prepared? Receive then in your hearts:
the same land which first bore you from your parents' stock shall receive you in its glad bounty. Call back your spirit, and send away your mournful fear, and keep yourselves for prosperous things. As for what remains, glad in your well-ordered deeds, pray for peace with the hand; great-hearted, seated, praise peace; peace is the sole inviolable pledge.' And at the same time, with these words, He showed His face and countenance, His countenance and both hands, and His breast ravaged with the iron: and they mingle hands with hands and rejoice as they gaze. Nor is it enough to have seen Him once: it delights them to linger still and to keep step and to join right hand to right hand. When at last these things were done, He parts the breathing airs: borne through the soft air and into the open sky, He left their mortal sight in the midst of speech:
And the palace of the starry heaven receives Him on its throne, and holds Him through the ages with an eternal name. From that day the honour is celebrated, and the glad younger generations have kept the day, now that so many years are slipping by. O our glory, go, glory of so great deeds, and graciously draw near, both to us and to your sacred rites with favouring foot — the yearly rites which it is sin to put off. Celebrate, with favour, this custom of the sacred things, O comrades: hold to it yourself, O sweet spouse, and if by piety we deserve it, let our chaste descendants abide in this religion.