westward, attended by a great throng, till he gains the country of the
Syrians. Then he sends away his retinue, and stays alone in a grove,
hidden from human eyes. Here is a lofty tree, blossoming bright above
all other trees, and on this tree the Phoenix builds his nest, on a
windless day, when the holy jewel of heaven shines clear. For he is fain
by the activity of his mind to convert old age into life, and thus renew
his youth. He gathers from far and near the sweetest and most
delightsome plants and leaves, and the sweetest perfumes that the Father
of all beginnings has made. On the lofty top of the tree he builds his
house fair and winsome, and sets round his body holy spices and noble
boughs. Then, in the great sheen of mid-day, the Phoenix sits, looking
out on the world and enduring his fate. Suddenly his house is set on
fire by the radiant sun, and amid the glowing spices and sweet odours,
bird and nest burn together in the fierce heat. The life of him, the
soul, escapes when the flame of the funeral pile sears flesh and bone.

Then comes the resurrection of the Phoenix, who rises from the ashes
of his old body, young and wondrously beautiful. Fed on the honey-dew
that oft descends at midnight, he remains a while before his return to
his own dwelling-place, his home of yore.

When he goes he is accompanied by a great retinue of the bird-folk, who
proclaim him their leader. Ere he reaches his own country he outstrips
them all, and comes home alone in his splendour and his might. And the
next thousand years go on, and again comes the change to this creature
who has no dread of death, since he is ever assured of new life after
the fury of the flame.

And so it is that every blessed soul will choose for himself to enter
into everlasting life through the dark portals of death. Much of a like