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Updated: June 23, 2025
In this is preserved the celebrated library of antiquity, where, it is pretended, ancient Greek and Latin authors are to be found in abundance with the lost books of Titus Livy. This appears to be mere conjecture. But the mosque the more frequented and venerated, is that dedicated to the founder of the city, Muley Edris, whose ashes repose within its sacred enclosure.
And then before his fancy appeared to float the radiant visage of Edris, half-child, half-angel, he seemed to see her beautiful eyes, so pure, so clear, so unshadowed by any knowledge of sin, and the exquisite lines of a poet-contemporary, whose work he specially admired, occurred to him with singular suggestiveness: "Oh, thou'lt confess that love from man to maid Is more than kingdoms, more than light and shade In sky-built gardens where the minstrels dwell, And more than ransom from the bonds of Hell.
"O doubting and unhappy one!" she went on, in accents sweeter than a chime of golden bells "Thou art lost in the gloom of the Sorrowful Star where naught is known of life save its shadow! Lost.. and as yet I cannot rescue thee ah! forlorn Edris that I am, left lonely up in Heaven!
The symphonic poem, "Edris," was also performed by the Thomas Orchestra. It is based upon Marie Corelli's novel, "Ardath," which gives opportunity for much programmism, but of a mystical highly colored sort for which music is especially competent. It makes use of a number of remarkably beautiful motives.
And now, O my Poet, my lord, my king! we are together forever more, together in the brief Present, as in the eternal Future! the solitary heaven-days of Edris are past, and her mission is not Death, but Love!" Oh, the transcendent beauty of that warm flush upon her face! the splendid hope, faith, and triumph of her attitude!
Edris and All Angels!" She listened, looking down upon him with grave, half timid tenderness, her tears dried, and a sudden hope irradiated her fair face with a soft, bright flush, as lovely as the light of morning falling on newly opened flowers. When he ceased, she spoke her accents breaking through the silence like clear notes of music sweetly sung.
Come, sweet one, . . cease to play this mystic midnight fantasy I have done with dreams! ... Edris, be thyself! ... for them art Woman, not Angel thy kiss was warm as wine!
"My name is Edris," she answered, in low musical accents, that carried to his sense of hearing a suggestion, of something sweet and familiar. "Edris!" he repeated "Edris!" and gazing at her dreamily he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them gently "My fairest Edris! From whence do you come?" She met his eyes with a mild look of reproach and wonderment.
Wings! the brilliant shafts of radiance that part angels from mortals, wings, that, after all, are not really wings, but lambent rays of living lightning, of which neither painter nor poet has any true conception, . . long, dazzling rays such as encircled God's maiden, Edris, with an arch of roseate effulgence, so that the very air was sunset-colored in the splendor of her presence!
Hear me while I swear my faith to thee as at some holy shrine! ... As I live, with all my soul I do accept thy Master Christ, as mine utmost good, and His Cross as my proudest glory! ... but yet, bethink thee, Edris, bethink thee of this world, its wilful sin, its scorn of God, and all the evil that like a spreading thunder-cloud darkens it day by day!
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