The Daily Phoenix

EIDOLON.

BY JAMES B. RANDALL

Ah, sweet-eyed Christ! thine imago smile
Shrined in the Heaven-enamored arms
In its Cathedral cell,
Of her who never fell;
And if my phantom eyes implore
A more benignant dream.
'Tis a nepenthe I would crave
For a memorial dream:
Dear Leonie, here didst thou kneel
That musky summer noon,
As the zephyrs sang their Angelus
'Mid the dimpled cheeks of June
As the sunlight drifted o'er thy brow
Its golden wave of grace,
Bright blending with the miracle
Of that angelic face.
Adorably Madonna-like
By this communion rail
Thy raptured face, though rich with vow
Was spirit-like and pale.
And, oh, those luminous blue eyes,
Those Meccas of despair,
They--they were glorious Eden-isles
Lost in a lake of prayer.
Saint Leonie, I saw thee flit.
Gazelle-like, to the street.
And pure, melodious angels led
Thy dainty tinkling feet;
My rebel thoughts were petrel-winged,
Attendant upon thee,
Chasing thy loved and lissom shape,
As Arabs of the sea.
Long did I love thee, belle Creole.
As Guebres love the sun,
And in the temple of my soul,
Thou wast the Eidolon.
Long did I love thee, belle Creole,
'Neath Corcovado, did I not.
With heart and mind afire,
Carve on thy broad, monarchal brow;
Her wildly worshipped name
Watching the homeward ships scud by
Before the nimble breeze,
Till memory with them swept away
Beyond the tropic seas?
Years--years had died, and once again
I saw the spires of home,
And armed with an undying hope
I stood beneath this dome;
But not within the pillared aisle
Nor by the sacred sign,
Could my bewildered eyes behold
The loveliness of thine.
The sad November days had come,
And eagerly I fled.
To find thee where the maidens deck
The kingdoms of the dead. *
I found thee--yes, I found thee, love--
Beneath the willow tree,
With marble cross and immortelle,
And one word--Leonie.

*In New Orleans, the old Catholic custom of ornamenting the tombs is still prevalent upon the first and second days of November--the second day especially, which is "La Fete des Morts."