And the crowd when Paul had been brought, vehemently cried out: He is a magician! away with him! But the proconsul gladly heard Paul upon the holy works of Christ. And having called a council he summoned Thecla, and said to her: Why dost thou not obey Thamyris, according to the law of the Iconians? But she stood looking earnestly at Paul. And when she gave no answer, her mother cried out, saying: Burn the wicked [wretch]; burn in the midst of the theatre her that will not marry, in order that all the women that have been taught by this man be afraid.
And the governor was greatly moved; and having scourged Paul, he cast him out of the city, and condemned Thecla to be burned. And immediately the governor went away to the theatre, and all the crowd went forth to the spectacle of Thecla. But as a lamb in the wilderness looks round for the shepherd so she kept searching for Paul. And having looked upon the crowd, she saw the Lord sitting in the likeness of Paul, and said: As I am unable to endure my lot. Paul has come to see me. And she gazed upon him with great earnestness, and he went up into heaven.
But the maid-servants and virgins brought the faggots, in order that Thecla might be burned. And when she came in naked, the governor wept, and wondered at that power that was in her. And the public executioners arranged the faggots for her to go up on the pile. And she having made the sign of the cross, went up on the faggots; and they lighted them. And though a great fire was blazing, it did not touch her; for God, having compassion upon her, made an underground rumbling, and a cloud overshadowed them from above, full of water and hail; and all that was in the cavity of it was poured out, so that many were in danger of death. And the fire was put out, and Thecla saved.
Rev. Alexander Roberts, DD and James-Donaldson, L.L.D. Eds, Apochryphal Gospels, Acts and Revelations: Ante Nicene Christian Library Translations of the Writings of the Fathers Down to AD 325 Part Sixteen (Edinburgh T & T. Clark, 38, George Street MDCCCLXX p.283-284)
I have longed to move away
From the hissing of the spent lie
And the old terrors’ continual cry
Growing more terrible as the day
Goes over the hill into the deep sea;
I have longed to move away
From the repetition of salutes,
For there are ghosts in the air
And ghostly echoes on paper,
And the thunder of calls and notes.
I have longed to move away but am afraid;
Some life, yet unspent, might explode
Out of the old lie burning on the ground,
And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind.
Neither by night’s ancient fear,
The parting of hat from hair,
Pursed lips at the receiver,
Shall I fall to death’s feather.
By these I would not care to die,
Half convention and half lie.