_Lords Of The Visionary Eye_

I came upon a pool that shone, Clear, emerald-like, among the hills, That seemed old wizards round a stone Of magic that a vision thrills.

And as I leaned and looked, it seemed Vague shadows gathered there and here-- A dream, perhaps the water dreamed Of some wild past, some long-dead year....

A temple of a race unblessed Rose huge within a hollow land, Where, on an altar, bare of breast, One lay, a man, bound foot and hand.

A priest, who served some hideous god, Stood near him on the altar stair, Clothed on with gold; and at his nod A multitude seemed gathered there.

I saw a sword descend; and then The priest before the altar turned; He was not formed like mortal man, But like a beast whose eyeballs burned.

Amorphous, strangely old, he glared Above the victim he had slain, Who lay with bleeding bosom bared, From which dripped slow a crimson rain.

Then turned to me a face of stone And mocked above the murdered dead, That fixed its cold eyes on his own And cursed him with a look of dread.

And then, it seemed, I knew the place, And how this sacrifice befell: I knew the god, the priest's wild face, I knew the dead man--knew him well.

And as I stooped again to look, I heard the dark hills sigh and laugh, And in the pool the water shook As if one stirred it with a staff.

And all was still again and clear: The pool lay crystal as before, Temple and priest were gone; the mere Had closed again its magic door.

A face was there; it seemed to shine As round it died the sunset's flame-- The victim's face?--or was it mine?-- They were to me the very same.

And yet, and yet--could this thing be?-- And in my soul I seemed to know, At once, this was a memory Of some past life, lived long ago.

Recorded by some secret sense, In forms that we as dreams retain; Some moment, as experience, Projects in pictures on the brain.