of a life of much wandering. Alas, what shall I do? How shall I live my life soulless, breathless, completely paralyzed? What comfort for my pains shall I receive? With what incantations shall I quench my despair? Earth, do not cover the body of my beloved; and if you cover it, do not wither her nature, do not receive this body as common earth and dust; guard her face, as it has beauty; respect the splendor of all her limbs; bear her as a statue even though buried; do not tear apart the circles of her eyes, they hold within them bright shafts of light; and guard the musical mouth of the nightingale now closed, it has the melodies of Orpheus; do not unravel the braid of her tresses; you have received a treasure, not a lifeless corpse; guard it all well for the one who gave it. Alas, what am I saying? I have been led astray by my words; the rush of my grief carries me to a cliff. I have no light, no breath and no heart, all things have flowed away with my beloved; my crown is dust to me, my power is fine ash, one thing is longed for by me, one comfort for me; the tomb that hides you; if I look upon it, I am comforted, perhaps I am cheered. What to me are splendid furnishings? Let all of them fall quickly to the ground; gold is like dust, the carving of pearls is now reckoned by me only a rough stone; one stone is most beautiful to me, very lovely, the one that covers your flesh, revered one; the rest for me is earth and dust and decay.” Hold back, O most mighty ruler of all the earth, stop the stream of your unmeasured tears, cease groaning, stand composed and look, as is right. Know our nature, that we are nothing but tinted dust; and life and death are like two gates, and between them is this short life. No one has passed through the gate of entry, who has not also passed through the gate of exit. The deceased was beautiful and (who does not say it?) precisely supreme among all women, but mortal nonetheless, and she has died to this life, as Abraham before, as Moses who in the darkness saw the divine light of truth, as Christ himself, the master of breath, as the one who bore him without birth-pangs. Such is the nature of transient things, such is the nature of present splendor. What is new, if mortal nature has died? The body is by nature dust formed into an image, and earth is a mother and all things flow down to earth, from which they first received their substance. Why do I say these things? Look carefully, O king, at all of visible creation itself and know how they follow natural law, how all things round about live and die; you see the trees today in bloom, but tomorrow they fall away as if dead. The leaf falls like a hair from the branches; those are of life, these are of the common end. Behold the bright and shining morning star, how it first lives as if an ever-living nature, shining at dawn with strange torch-lights, then it dies, turning towards its setting, and is hidden, alas, and the bright eye of earth and heaven is covered below. And the moon in turn, though often living alone, is destined to die and wane just as often, suffering myriad passions of eclipses. Each of the stars happens thus. And it is nothing new nor strange to nature, if with the moon, with the plants, with the sun, your moon and plant and morning star has departed, has flowed out from this life. Do not find much fault with her end, O king of the earth, she is by nature a common benefactor to our race; she leads to the height of our ancient dignity, she leads to the very place of Eden, from which we were cast out through inattention. She is by nature a cutting off of passionate movements, she halts the unbearable rush of evils. She is not a complete dissolution of the living, but a small separation of things that were united; for the soul exists even when the flesh is dissolved, and it flourishes more, living in a better way. And why are you troubled and do you twist your heart, as if not having or seeing the one you desire? She has not gone away like a mist, nor like a cloud, she has not flowed away completely like a fog, but she is and lives and beholds the Master, and she speaks with you and abides with you in spirit. And she utters these things: “Cease from your lamentations.

I have not completely left your heart, I have not been scattered like smoke into the air, but I am and am present in a spiritual way. And leaving off to mourn the dissolution of the flesh, remember me now for my cares on your behalf, for many anxieties and unceasing toils, which in a foreign land, being present with you alone, I endured like a tower, like a steadfast

πολυπλάνου βίου. οἴμοι, τί πράξω; πῶς διάξω τὸν βίον ἄψυχος, ἄπνους, παντελῶς παρειμένος; ποῖον παρηγόρημα τῶν πόνων λάβω; ποίαις ἐπῳδαῖς τὴν ἀθυμίαν σβέσω; γῆ, μὴ καλύψῃς σῶμα τῆς ποθουμένης· κἂν συγκαλύψῃς, μὴ μαράνῃς τὴν φύσιν, μὴ σῶμα κοινὸν τοῦτο δέξῃ καὶ κόνιν· φύλαττε τὸ πρόσωπον, ὡς κάλλους ἔχει· τὸ λαμπρὸν αἰδέσθητι τῶν μελῶν ὅλων· ἄγαλμα ταύτην καὶ τεθαμμένην φέρε· τῶν ὀμμάτων τὰ κύκλα μὴ διασπάσῃς, λαμπρὰς βολὰς ἔχουσιν ἔνδον ἀκτίνων· τὸ μουσικόν τε τῆς ἀηδόνος στόμα τήρει μεμυκός, Ὀρφέως ἔχει μέλη· τῶν βοστρύχων τὸ πλέγμα μὴ διαξάνῃς· θησαυρὸν ἔσχες, οὐχὶ νεκρὸν σαρκίον· ὅλον καλῶς φύλαττε τῷ δεδωκότι. οἴμοι, τί φάσκω; πεπλάνημαι τοῖς λόγοις· ἡ τοῦ πάθους ῥύμη με πρὸς κρημνὸν φέρει. οὐκ ἔστι μοι φῶς, οὐ πνοὴ καὶ καρδία, συνερρύη τὰ πάντα τῇ ποθουμένῃ· τὸ στέμμα μοι χοῦς, τὸ κράτος λεπτὴ κόνις, ἕν μοι ποθεινόν, ἓν παρηγόρημά μοι· ὁ τύμβος ὁ κρύπτων σε· τοῦτον ἂν βλέπω, παρηγοροῦμαι, ψυχαγωγοῦμαι τάχα. τί μοι τὰ λαμπρὰ τῶν κατασκευασμάτων; εἰς γῆν ἅπαντα τῷ τάχει συμπιπτέτω· ὁ χρυσὸς ὡς χοῦς, ἡ γλυφὴ τῶν μαργάρων λίθος τραχύς μοι νῦν λογίζεται μόνον· εἷς μοι λίθος κάλλιστος, ὡραῖος πάνυ, ὁ συγκαλύπτων σόν, σεβαστή, σαρκίον· τὰ δ' ἄλλα μοι χοῦς καὶ κόνις καὶ σαπρία.» Ἐπίσχες, ὦ κράτιστε γῆς ὅλης ἄναξ, στῆσον τὸ ῥεῦμα τῶν ἀμέτρων δακρύων, παύου στενάζων, στῆθι συγκεχυμένος καὶ βλέψον, ὡς χρή. γνῶθι τὴν ἡμῶν φύσιν, ὡς οὐδέν ἐσμεν πλὴν κόνις κεχρωσμένη· ζωὴ δὲ καὶ θάνατος ὡς πύλαι δύο, μέσον δὲ τούτων ὁ βραχὺς οὗτος βίος. οὐδεὶς διῆλθε τὴν πύλην τῆς εἰσόδου, ὃς οὐ παρῆλθε τὴν πύλην τῆς ἐξόδου. καλὴ μὲν ἡ θανοῦσα καὶ (τίς οὐ λέγει;) πασῶν γυναικῶν ἀκριβῶς ὑπερτάτη, θνητὴ δὲ πάντως, καὶ τέθνηκε τῷ βίῳ, ὡς Ἀβραὰμ πρίν, ὡς ὁ Μωσῆς ὁ γνόφῳ ἰδὼν τὸ θεῖον τῆς ἀληθείας φάος, ὡς Χριστὸς αὐτός, τῆς πνοῆς ὁ δεσπότης, ὡς ἡ τεκοῦσα τοῦτον ὠδίνων δίχα. οὕτω πέφυκε τῶν ῥεόντων ἡ φύσις, οὕτω πέφυκεν ἡ παροῦσα λαμπρότης. τί καινόν, εἰ τέθνηκεν ἡ θνητὴ φύσις; τὸ σῶμα χοῦς πέφυκεν εἰκονισμένον, ἡ γῆ δὲ μήτηρ καὶ πάντα καταρρέει πρὸς γῆν, ἀφ' ἧς εἴληφε πρὶν τὴν οὐσίαν. τί ταῦτα φάσκω; βλέψον ἀκριβῶς, ἄναξ, εἰς πᾶσαν αὐτὴν τὴν ὁρωμένην κτίσιν καὶ γνῶθι, πῶς ἔχουσι φυσικοῦ λόγου, πῶς ζῶσι καὶ θνήσκουσι πάντα κυκλόθεν· βλέπεις τὰ δένδρα σήμερον τεθηλότα, ἀλλ' αὔριον ῥέουσιν ὡς τεθνηκότα. πίπτει τὸ φύλλον οἷα θρὶξ ἐκ τῶν κλάδων· ζωῆς ἐκεῖνα, ταῦτα τοῦ κοινοῦ τέλους. τὸν λαμπρὸν ἄθρει καὶ φαεινὸν φωσφόρον, πῶς ζῇ τὸ πρῶτον ὡς ἀείζωος φύσις, λάμπων ἑῷος λαμπαδουχίαις ξέναις, ἔπειτα θνήσκει πρὸς δύσιν καταστρέφων καὶ κρύπτεται, φεῦ, καὶ καλύπτεται κάτω τὸ λαμπρὸν ὄμμα γῆς ὁμοῦ τε καὶ πόλου. ἡ δ' αὖ σελήνη ζῶσα πολλάκις μόνη τοσαυτάκις πέφυκε θνήσκειν καὶ ῥέειν, ἐκλείψεων πάσχουσα μυρία πάθη. τῶν ἀστέρων ἕκαστος οὕτω τυγχάνει. καὶ καινὸν οὐδὲν οὐδὲ τῇ φύσει ξένον, εἰ σὺν σελήνῃ, σὺν φυτοῖς, σὺν ἡλίῳ ἡ σὴ σελήνη καὶ φυτὸν καὶ φωσφόρος ἀπῆλθεν, ἐξέρρευσε τούτου τοῦ βίου. μὴ πολλὰ μέμφῃ τῇ τελευτῇ, γῆς ἄναξ, εὐεργέτις πέφυκε κοινὴ τῇ φύσει· ἄγει πρὸς ὕψος τῆς παλαιᾶς ἀξίας, ἄγει πρὸς αὐτὸ τῆς Ἐδὲμ τὸ χωρίον, ἀφ' οὗπερ ἐρρίφημεν ἀπροσεξίᾳ. τομὴ πέφυκεν ἐμπαθῶν κινημάτων, τὴν τῶν κακῶν ἵστησιν ἄσχετον ῥύμην. οὐ παντελὴς πέφυκε τοῦ ζῶντος λύσις, διάστασις μικρὰ δὲ τῶν ἡνωμένων· ψυχὴ γὰρ ἔστι καὶ λυθέντος σαρκίου καὶ μᾶλλον ἀνθεῖ ζῶσα κρείττονι τρόπῳ. τί καὶ ταράττῃ καὶ στρέφῃ τὴν καρδίαν, ὡς τὴν ποθητὴν οὐκ ἔχων οὐδὲ βλέπων; οὐχ ὡς ἀχλὺς ἀπῆλθεν οὐδ' ὥσπερ νέφος, οὐχ ὡς ὀμίχλη παντελῶς ἀπερρύη, ἀλλ' ἔστι καὶ ζῇ καὶ βλέπει τὸν δεσπότην καί σοι νοητῶς συλλαλεῖ καὶ συμμένει. καὶ ταῦτα φωνεῖ· «παῦε τῶν ὀδυρμάτων.

Oὐ παντελῶς λέλοιπα τὴν σὴν καρδίαν οὐκ ἐσκεδάσθην ὡς καπνὸς πρὸς ἀέρα, ἀλλ' εἰμὶ καὶ πάρειμι γνωστικῷ τρόπῳ. ἀφεὶς δὲ θρηνεῖν τὴν λύσιν τοῦ σαρκίου, μνήσθητί μου νῦν τῶν ὑπὲρ σοῦ φροντίδων, πολλῶν μεριμνῶν καὶ πόνων ἀνενδότων, ἃς ἐν ξένῃ γῇ συμπαροῦσά σοι μόνη ἐκαρτέρουν ὡς πύργος, ὡς στερρὰ