當代的曙光，被選而被愛戴的亞墨斯達法，在阿法利斯城中等候了十二年，等他的船到來，好載他歸回他生長的島上去。
在第十二年綺露收穫之月的第七天，他出城登上山頂，向海凝望；他看見了他的船在煙霧中駛來。
他的心門砉然地開了，他的喜樂在海面飛翔。他合上眼，在靈魂的嚴靜中禱告。
但當他上山的時候，忽然一陣悲哀襲來。他心裡想：我怎能這般寧靜地走去而沒有些悲哀？不，我要精神上不受創傷地離此城郭。
在這城圍裡，我度過了悠久的痛苦的日月和孤寂的深夜；誰能撇下這痛苦與孤寂沒有一些悼惜？
在這街市上我曾撒下過多的零碎的精神，在這山中也有過多的赤裸著行走的我所愛憐的孩子，離開他們，我不能不覺得負擔與痛心。
這不是今日我脫棄了一件衣裳，乃是我用自己的手撕下了自己的一塊皮膚。
也不是我遺棄了一種思想，乃是遺棄了一個用饑和渴做成的甜蜜的心。
然而我不能再遲留了。
那召喚萬物來歸的大海，也在召喚我，我必須登舟了。
因為，若是停留下來，我的歸思，在夜間雖仍灼熱奮發，漸漸地卻要冰冷變石了。
我若能把這裡的一切都帶了去，何等的快樂呵，但是我又怎能呢？
聲音不能把付給他翅翼的舌頭和嘴唇帶走。他自己必須尋求「以太」。
鷹鳥也必須撇下窩巢，獨自地飛過太陽。
現在他走到山腳，又轉面向海，他看見他的船徐徐地駛入灣口，那些在船頭的舟子，正是他的故鄉人。
於是他的精魂向著他們呼喚，說：
弄潮者，我的老母的孩兒，
有多少次你們在我的夢中浮泛。現在你們在我的更深的夢中，也就是我甦醒的時候駛來了。
我已準備好要去了，我的熱望和帆篷一同扯滿，等著風來。
我只要在這靜止的空氣中再呼吸一口氣，我只要再向後拋擲熱愛的一瞥，
那時我要站在你們中間，一個航海者群中的航海者。
還有你，這無邊的大海，無眠的慈母，只有你是江河和溪水的寧靜與自由。
這溪流還有一次轉折，一次林中的潺緩，
然後我要到你這裡來，無量的涓滴歸向這無量的海洋。
當他行走的時候，他看見從遠處有許多男女離開田園，急速地趕到城邊來。
他聽見他們叫著他的名字，在阡陌中彼此呼喚，報告他的船來臨。他對自己說：
別離的日子能成為聚會的日子麼？
我的薄暮實在可算是我的黎明麼？
那些放下了耕田的犁耙，停止了搾酒的輪子的人們，我將給他們什麼呢？
我的心能成為一棵纍纍結實的樹，可以採擷了分給他們麼？我的願望能奔流如泉水，可以傾滿他們的杯麼？
我是一個全能者的手可能彈奏的琴，或是一管全能者可以吹弄的笛麼？
我是一個寂靜的尋求者。在寂靜中，我發現了什麼寶藏，可以放心地佈施呢？
倘若這是我收穫的日子，那麼，在何時何地我曾撒下了種子呢？
倘若這確是我舉起明燈的時候，那麼，燈內的火焰，不是我點上的。
我將空虛黑暗地舉起我的燈，
守夜的人將要添上油，也點上火。
這些是他口中說出的，還有許多沒有說出的存在心頭。因為他說不出自己心中更深的秘密。
他進城的時候，眾人都來迎接，齊聲地向他呼喚。
城中的長老走上前來說：
你不要離開我們。
在我們的朦朧裡，你是正午的潮者，你青春的氣度，給我們以夢想。
你在我們中間不是一個異鄉人，也不是一個客人，乃是我們的兒子和親摯的愛者。不要使我們的眼睛因渴望你的臉面而酸痛。
一班道人和女冠對他說：
不要讓海波在這時把我們分開，使你在我們中間度過的歲月，僅僅成為一種回憶。你曾是一個在我們中間行走的神靈，你的影兒曾明光似的照亮我們的臉。
我們深深地愛了你。不過我們的愛沒有聲響，而又被輕紗蒙著。
但現在他要對你呼喚，要在你面前揭露。除非臨到了別離的時候，愛永遠不會知道自己的深淺。
別的人也來向他懇求。他沒有答話。他只低著頭；靠近他的人看見他的淚落在襪上。
他和眾人慢慢地向殿前的廣場走去。
有一個名叫愛爾美差的女子從聖殿裡出來，她是一個預言者。
他以無限的溫藹注視著她，因為她是在他第一天進這城裡的時候，最初尋找相信他的人中之一。
她慶賀他，說：
上帝的先知，至高的探求者，你曾常向遠處尋望你的航帆。
現在你的船兒來了，你必須歸去。
你對於那回憶的故鄉和你更大願望的居所的渴念，是這樣地深，我們的愛，不能把你繫住；我們的需求，也不能把你羈留。
但在你別離以前，我們要請你對我們講說真理。
我們要把這真理傳給我們的孩子，他們也傳給他們的孩子，如此綿綿不絕。
在你的孤獨裡，你曾警守我們的白日；在你的清醒裡，你曾傾聽我們睡夢中的哭泣與歡笑。
現在請把我們的「真我」披露給我們，告訴我們你所知道的關於生和死中間的一切。
他回答說：
阿法利斯的民眾呵，除了那現時在你們靈魂裡鼓蕩的之外，我還能說什麼呢？
■ 美不是一種需要，只是一種歡樂。
■ 只能和你同樂不能和你共苦的人，丟掉了天堂七個門中的一把鑰匙。
01
The Coming of the Ship
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn onto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:
How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.
Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among. these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark.
For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is here.But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea. and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said: Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides,
How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,
Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother.
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade.
And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.
And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from the field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.
And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?
Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?
If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,
And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.
And the elders of the city stood forth and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved.
Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.
And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you, But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And others came also and entreated him.
But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple.
And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.
And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.
And she hailed him, saying:
Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost. long have you searched the distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth.
And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And he answered,
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls?
