PR hooS pi IH S '/"i'"/' Cornell University Library PR 6005.A98P7 Poems and plays, 3 1924 013 594 837 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013594837 POEMS AND PLAYS POEMS AND PLAYS C. WHITWORTH WYNNE k^^.A e>^{ vi^ W^ Ccx\ii:r LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd. Dryden House, Gerrard Street, W. 1906 '•■ ^>z%Z 1 Copyrighted in the Onitea States All rishts reserved TURNBULL AND SPEiRS. PRINTERS. EDINBURGH. To MY WIFE CONTENTS PREFACE POEMS NATURE POEMS— Invocation to the Muses ... 3 The Spring Minstrels 4 Sunshine and Shower 7 An Equatorial Sunset 9 Evening at Sea 10 To May 10 The Ring-Dove IZ The Game-Keeper's Daughte r •3 Twilight 14 The Cottar's Song 15 Vicissitude . 16 Ode to the Swallow . '7 lolaire 19 To the Nightjar lo The Harvest of the Hay zz The Sou' Wester »3 Sundown Z5 A Dull Day in September IS LOVE POEMS— Love's Golden Pilgrimage . . . . .29 To Winifred ..... • ^9 vii CONTENTS Love Poems (ctmtinueJ) — page The Little Archer . . . . ■ ■ 3> Love's Sleeplessness . 3* Phyllis 3» Sorrow's Throne 33 Dawn Fires . 34 The Island of Dreams 35 Love's Burden 36 The Star of Hope . 36 The White Poppy . 37 Love's Rule . 38 The Jewels of Dawn and Dusk 39 lanthe 4' Attar of Roses 42 Love's Oneness 43 Love's Bitterness 44 Tell Her, Sweet Thrush I . 44 Thro' the Pass of Llanberis . 45 If Love were All 46 Have We not Met . 47 My Silver Moon 48 At Parting . 48 Love's Cross and Crown 49 Withered Hopes 5' She whom Thou Lovest 51 Rejected 52 Love in Chains . S3 A Spirit hath Fled from My Hearth 53 The Vision . 54 Through the Night . 55 Love is for Evermore . 55 O World, thy Creed . 57 CONTENTS SACRED POEMS— Guard thy Heart ! Forgiveness . Morning Hymn On Death Young Desire Iconoclasts Eastertide Lord, Teach us how to Pray I Soul-Mastery Hymn for Catholic Love Charity A Maxim for every Day HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS— Dean Liddell ..... The Fight over the Newman Statue in Oxford Death of Tennyson .... To a Victorian Knight The Abbey of St Mary, in Furness . Peace ..... England and the S. A. Republics Victoria ..... On the Extinction of the Boer Republics To Chamberlain .... Hymn of Empire England, Queen of the Seas . Sons of the Empire .... Till the Day be Done One by One ..... Here's to the Toilers I The Jack o' the Union The God of Ignorance ix 6i 6z 63 64 «5 65 66 67 6S 69 70 7' 75 76 77 77 78 7« 79 80 gi 8z 83 85 87 90 93 96 98 CONTENTS MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— To My Mother To E. G. . To Helen Rex . A Woman's Fall Her Worst Accusers — Women ! Waifs and Strays Time to Youth The Tragedy of Beauty The Newest Woman . Man*s Toil . Truth in Art . PAGE 105 • 105 106 106 107 . 107 . 107 108 108 108 109 109 AMY ROBSART AD ASTRA I II 123 PLAYS DAVID AND BATHSHUA DONNA MARINA 193 Z97 PREFACE The author's three earlier volumes, " Ad Astra," "Songs and Lyrics," and "Songs of Summer" being now out of print, he has been advised to bring all his poetical work together under a single cover. He trusts that in yielding to this advice, he has not trespassed too far on the generosity of those who have during recent years subscribed to his publications seriatim. As to the modifications and alterations in this volume : " Ad Astra," the first and most popular of his writings, the author has only ventured to retouch very sparingly. It has been reduced, however, by some thirty stanzas, which do not affect the main argument of the poem. " Songs and Lyrics," " Songs of Summer," and " For Greater Britain " have all been carefully revised, and their contents distributed under the different sectional headings to which they have been transferred, the earlier poems in most cases preceding the later ones. Some few of the author's previously published verses have been withdrawn, whilst a number of new poems have been added. The fiscal songs, published under the title PREFACE " For Greater Britain," were written for party purposes. They served their day in the leading organs of the Unionist Press, and should not be judged by so severe a standard as the rest. Possibly they should not have been included, but the more controversial stanzas having been omitted, it appeared to the author that there re- mained a residuum of patriotic verse which was worth preserving. " David and Bathshua" has been largely reconstructed, and shortened by some three hundred lines. In its new form it is hoped that it may be more generally acceptable. The name " Bathshua " was preferred to the more popular "Bathsheba" for the sake of euphony, and, if stress is laid on the first syllable, the word is capable of more passionate declamation. " Donna Marina," a drama founded on the Conquest of Mexico, is now published for the first time. c. w. w. xn NATURE POEMS INVOCATION TO THE MUSES Awake ! ye tuneful Nine, and sing The budding glories of the Spring. Awake ! and sweep each sounding lyre, Breathe on the strings celestial fire ! Euterpe first, with her soft flute, Shall bid the whistling winds be mute. And after her let each in turn Reveal the thoughts that inward burn. And you, ye Nymphs, that haunt the grove, Whose only hardship is to love, Who all night long in revel gay Prolong the scenes ye shun by day. And, circling round your Fairy Queen, In sprightly dance rejoice unseen. Awake ! and let the Chorus bear Your blended voices thro' the air. The children of the New-born Year Are worthy of your sweetest care- — 3 NATURE POEMS The first to greet you every day, And spread their incense in your way, — Impearl'd in robes of spotless white. The transient relics of the night, — Each little face o'erbrimm'd with joy, And blushing like a maiden coy, — And when the sun with orient wings His glittering splendour round them flings, No jewel from the pearly seas, No wavelet flick'd before the breeze. E'er scatter'd on the lucid brine Such emeralds as their dewy eyne. THE SPRING MfNSTRELS Thrush Hark ! how the welkin rings, Trembling with glee ! Hark ! how the Mavis sings, Changing his key ! Bird of the dapple-gray ! Thine is the sweetest lay, Whistling from fragrant bay, Happy and free. 4 NATURE POEMS Blackbird The Blackbird's piping call Rings on my ear. Its accents seem to fall Both far and near : Yet, with how true a note The quavering stanzas float ! I would I had by rote The half I hear ! Lark Queen of the Azure sky ! Whose dew-lapp'd home, Green blades, or wheat, or rye, Serve for a dome — Soaring, with spiral flight. High o'er the realms of sight, Wrapt in thy song's delight. Where dost thou roam ? Linnet List ! how that gentle lay. Sweetly refined. Warbled from tender spray. Floats on the wind — 5 NATURE POEMS Flitting from tree to tree. Filling my soul with glee, Linnet, thy melody Is wondrous kind ! Robin What ails thee, winter bard. Melodious Robin ? Was that the voice I heard When winds were sobbing ? Hast thou some vain regret That holds thee in its net ? Surely the Spring can set Thy heart a-throbbing ? The Rooks Cradled in sunset glows, Bearers of balm, Far from your fellest foes. Chanting Life's psalm. Love in community. Strong in Love's unity, — Dawn's importunity Is Evening's calm I 6 iS89' NATURE POEMS All Ye Poets of the air ! Skalds of the sky ! Ye all have gifts most rare, Ye all must die — Then sing while sing ye may. And sing while lasts the day, Praising this Season gay And God on High ! SUNSHINE AND SHOWER Blow soft, ye winds, from out the Souths A message from the All-Mother's mouth. And whisper to this darksome heart Tidings, nor life nor death can part. Of Him Whose Hand is over all. Who watcheth lest a sparrow fall. Whose Presence ever lights us here. Who, still unseen, is ever near. Waft, waft, ye winds, come waft me o'er Rich odours from your varied store — The violet and its tender bloom, The drooping lily's sweet perfume, 7 NATURE POEMS That, rambling thro' this sylvan vale, With thankful heart I may inhale Spring's balmy fragrance. Inconstant Dame ! hast changed so soon The garb thou wore but yesternoon ? Dost think thy moody fits and ways Are fairer than the Sun's bright rays ? Or would'st thou to my youthful mind Some golden maxim now unbind ? — How cloud and sunshine, wind and shower. Are gifts alike of equal dower, Ordain'd by God's all- wise command To scatter plenty o'er the land. Then haste thy mandate to obey ! Lead on thy legions to the fray ! — The warring winds, the mist, and rain. And all that help to swell the grain, Breaking the silence ! Ill Hark ! thunder warns — and startled hares Are scamp'ring to their grassy lairs. While Heaven's high flood-gates, open'd wide, Pour forth the deluge tide on tide, NATURE POEMS And leaping iires of varied form Reveal the grandeur of the storm ! Not now the feather'd tribe delight In songs of love, or whirring flight, But, shelter'd 'neath some spreading Ash, Their colour'd pennons cease to flash. While the bright sun's life-giving rays Are hidden 'neath a murky haze. When, lo ! a token from on high, A Rainbow flashes o'er the sky Her peaceful radiance ! 1888. AN EQUATORIAL SUNSET The sun has set ; and sea and sky are blending In tints of purple, amaranth, and gold. While fretted clouds, that stretch in line unending. New harmonies of light and shade unfold. Like Sappho's cheek, with love incarnadined. The Western main is deepening every hour. Till from the distance comes the soft night wind Delicious numbness on the sense to pour. Bringing forgetfulness of place and time. When lo ! from out the waves, apparell'd bright In all her witchery of golden light. Fair Venus rises radiantly sublime, 9 NATURE POEMS And, 'mid the jewell'd splendour of the sky. Calls forth a tear from many a lover's eye ! EVENING AT SEA A PERFECT night ! — a night of calm at sea. In all its grace and all its purity ! And not a sound, save where the glittering spray Falls off in emerald furrows round our way. Myriads of little stars, divinely fair, Come shimmering thro' the vestures of the night. And Venus in her loveliness is there. Enthroned Queen of all those realms of light ! Now, from the furthest disc, comes peeping forth Diana, in her chastest robes of snow. Pale as the daylight in the frozen North, Yet full of sympathy, as lovers know. For, as she mellows with each darkening hour, Their linked hearts confess her gracious power. TO MAY May, like a maiden soft and fair. With pink-white blossoms in her hair. Came tripping thro' the verdant mead, With lightsome heart and frolic tread, lo NATURE POEMS To her came lovers, old and young, Whom wintry griefs had held from song. To list once more her sweet command, And beg some token at her hand. The Cuckoo, too, his note doth raise In one incessant song of praise, And little birds, from brake and bough, Her, Queen of all the months, allow. The Chestnut and the Hawthorn vie Whose blossoms shall outmatch the sky. Where soft and fleecy clouds unveil Their blueness to the Nightingale. Now mounts the Lark on quivering wing The treasures of his heart to sing, And flood the hollow vault of Heaven With music not to mortals given. Maiden of Months ! to thee I bring This little tribute of the Spring — Content, if in thy smiles I see A glimpse of what thy love might be ! TT NATURE POEMS THE RING-DOVE 'Mid beechy umbrage, bosky dell, 'Tis there the Ring-dove loves to dwell, And, when the fiery noon is high. Croon softly to the sapphire sky. Like plashing waters heard at even, In which the sunset lights are riven. His mellow voice is soft and cool As moonbeams on a silent pool. Not here the upward-soaring lark With quivering throat can pierce the dark ; The Nightingale might sing in vain Within the Ring-dove's hush'd domain. Thy song is like a summer dream Beside some gently-rilling stream — A vale where quiet hearts may rest. And in Love's sanctity be blest. With passionate straddle, to and fro. Thou 'plainest of thy love's sweet woe. She will take pity on thy state, — My mistress is more obdurate. 12 NATURE POEMS Amid the lush and waving grass, I watch the shadows as they pass, And in thy leafy covert find A respite for my wounded mind. THE GAME-KEEPER'S DAUGHTER (kate bolt, aged eleven, in charge of her LITTLE brother) ' Georgie, whom do you love best ? ' ' Kittie ' — is the quick reply : Baby lips are wildly prest. Little arms are flung on high. Georgie's love, I fear, will fade, Sissie's too will some day wane : He will claim another maid, She some simple, loving swain. Yet to me their tender loves Bear the seal of Heaven's impress. When the spirit swiftly moves At a little maid's caress. 13 NATURE POEMS TWILIGHT O MYSTIC Hour ! when day and night Seem spell-bound with the fading light, When hill and valley, dale and grove. Bespeak none other voice but Love. Recumbent on her couch of pine. With languorous grace and dewy eyne. The Queen of Heaven ^ doth now unfold Her fatal beauty, limn'd in gold. Whilst on the air the bat's bent wings Add witchery to earthly things. As, sailing with uneven flight. He mocks the shadows of the night. Now doth my spirit feel a part Of One, Great, Universal Heart — The bond of fellowship at least 'Twixt Man and Nature, bird and beast. ' The Planet Venus. 14 NATURE POEMS THE COTTAR'S SONG Here the birds still chirp and twitter In November days. Meting out the sweet and bitter In the life they praise. London streets may brim with morsels, Dainty fare for all ; But for them the cottage door-sills. Crusts the weans let fall ! Better half a crumb with gladness In the light of day. Than a feast with pale-faced sadness Brooding o'er the way ! Let me feel the warmth of Heaven, As it purely flows — Feel that it is freely given, Straight from God's own brows ! Not for me the City's glamour. Its adulterate wine — Hectic flush, and noisy clamour Of a World supine. 15 NATURE POEMS VICISSITUDE Pleasant it is, when woods are green, And winds sing soft and low, To sit beneath the budding Thorn, With youthful hearts aglow. Thus, in the morning of our life, We sing of Hope and Love, With health and energy before, And cloudless skies above. But, when the woods are sere and brown. The land in furrows laid, How soon the Spring-tide is forgot ! How soon the Hawthorn's shade ! So, in the evening of our days, With Hope and Love foregone. We reck not of the sun and showers, The paths we loiter'd on — We wander in a world distraught. Proscribe the biting East, Forgetful that the sap will rise To bring a richer feast. l6 NATURE POEMS Ah, but the feast is not the same ! Those half-averted eyes Will fill with tears of vain regret, As other Springs arise. The Autumn now has more of Hope, As mellow'd with our age : The eyes once more are forward bent. We turn another page. ODE TO THE SWALLOW Thou bringest Summer on thy steel-blue pinions ! Whom laughter-loving April could not lure From thy sun-girdled, over-sea dominions. The maiden May,^ with drooping lids demure, Has drawn : and all her opening heart is thine, Full of the fragrance of expanding buds. The pink-and-white complexion of the year. Winter so long deiay'd, thro' storm and shine. Gives place at last — for see thy helpmate scuds Along the mead ! Summer, Summer is here ! 1 In igoi the swallows did not arrive till May, owing to the late and boisterous Spring. B 17 NATURE POEMS Tho' few thy seasons, still thy magic gleaning Hath taught thee April lingers into May ; But who hath taught the mystery and meaning Of the vex'd wind and variable way ? Over the passage of the lonesome deep Thou wing's! secure, to rear thy callow broods In shelter of our close projecting eaves, To watch and ward their heavy-lidded sleep. And so the mind, thro' thy maternal moods, Nature's undeviating course perceives. Ill O glad at heart ! O joy and gladness bringing ! Once more we welcome thee to our bluff shores. O happy swallow, thro' the meadow winging Thine azure flight above the harvest floors ! So long as thou art with us, we may feel The end of life is not a monied goal. But rest i' the eye of Nature — each tired head Laid where her soft caresses gently steal ; But, when thou go'st, 'tis whisper'd to the soul, ' The swallows congregate : Summer, Summer is fled ! ' l8 NATURE POEMS lOLAIRE LINES WRITTEN IN THE NORTH SEA ON BOARD THE S.Y. lOLAIRE This was the land that the Norseman plough'd- Here lay his furrows, there his shroud : A thousand years . . . Oh, what are they. But the romance of yesterday ! lolaire ! lolaire ! Dance in the moonbeams free and fair. Thou art a Viking's chosen bride. Speed-away, speed-away over the tide. And these same streamers that we chase Have tost their foam in the Viking's face : A thousand years . . . and the rolling billow Will rest our sons on the Norseman's pillow ! lolaire ! lolaire ! Shake out the moonbeams from thy hair. Scatter thy jewels on the tide. For thou art a Viking's joy and pride ! 19 NATURE POEMS Breeze of the Norland ! fresh and strong. Blow us a stave of the Viking's song : One short hour of the Norseman's quest — The English maid with her snow-white breast. lolaire ! lolaire ! The stars are bright, and the night is fair ; Whilst over the moonlit waters wide The phantom hosts of the Norsemen glide. TO THE NIGHTJAR When the moon hangs high in the heavens. And the evening star shines bright. The purr of the nightjar leavens The music of the night. It speaks of the soft caresses That Summer gave to June. His murmurous voice impresses The magic of the moon. Past hill and dale it leadeth — Now far, now very near, While note to note succeedeth More passionately clear. 20 NATURE POEMS O joy for the happy lover To find, as he nears his bliss, The song of the nightjar cover His first, ecstatic kiss ! As spirit with spirit blendeth. The wheel-bird ^ carols low ; Anon the vale he rendeth With the fulness of h'd woe. And in those deep embraces He seems to bear a part — In quiet, woodland places. Where heart clings close to heart. Lips that the day did sever, Spirits by song set free, Now meet like an unchain'd river As it mingles with the sea. Whilst thro' and thro' their gladness There thrills the Nightjar's song. And to such old-world madness He croons the whole night long. ^ So called from the resemblance of the Nightjar's purr to that of a spinning-wheel in motion. 21 NATURE POEMS Bird of the high-midsummer ! Silent, and swift, and shy ; Linger awhile, sweet hummer, Beneath our northern sky. For the lands of the South shall hear thee When our nights are long and chill; But my heart will be cold and dreary Till thy song comes over the hill. THE HARVEST OF THE HAY I O GOLDEN Joys of Summer ! O days and nights in June ! O freshness of the morning ! O radiance of noon ! O the subtle scents of evening ! O the shadows in the lane, When the moonlight floods each arching bough with amethystine rain ! II O happy days of summer, when the mowers mow all day ! O the jocund shouts of children amid the tumbled hay ! The oldest and the youngest a-working with a will, As the big, broad sun goes shouldering the church- tower from the hill. 22 NATURE POEMS III O first-fruits of the Summer ! O pathways bright with flowers ! O the redolence of roses amid the dreaming hours ! O days of joyous labour ! O nights of slumbrous ease ! O the ecstasy of living where everything doth please ! SpELDHORST, June 1904. THE SOU' WESTER (blowing over the OVERTON HILLS, CHESHIRE ) Blustering, boisterous wind, that bloweth over the bracken, Rending the knotted oak, and tearing the stalwart pine. Never for one short pause do thy wild coursers slacken. Hurrying, scurrying by, with slashing sting of the brine. Roaring, and rolling along with the force of the full Atlantic, Bending the fern-leaPd beech, and breaking the poplar's pride. Driving the giant chiefs and lords of the forest frantic. Writhing their mighty limbs in tortuous circles wide. 23 NATURE POEMS On over boulder and crag, with a fury that brooks no negation, Bellowing back to the blast, booming aloud to the vale, Now like the sweep of a scythe, as it moweth in close serration. Now like the rush of a torrent, lash'd white with wintry hail. On over bracken and ling, over bilberry, gorse, and heather, Raying their silvery sides in the light of the westering sun, On over bramble and broom, where the tall grasses blow together. On in the joy of battle, in the armour of victories won! Quieted now are the million, murmurous voices of summer, Only the thud of the surf in the beat of a surging sea, Whilst over above the gale the voice of the fierce new- comer — ' I am the breath of a spirit that wandereth ever free ! ' 24 NATURE POEMS SUNDOWN The noises of day come out distinct and clear. While children's voices break the muffled roar That rises from the village. Evermore The babble of birds disturbs the dreaming ear. The ring-dove gurgles from a coppice near. The lark flits low above his wheaten floor. And, tired of climbing, seeks his nestlings four, Whilst swallows cleave the laden atmosphere. The bloom of fruit is on the distant firs. The valley fills with soft and filmy spray. The breeze just fans the face, and dies away. And not a leaf within the forest stirs. The sun goes down upon the throbbing air. And leaves the hills more silent than they were. A DULL DAY IN SEPTEMBER A MELANCHOLY wind moans all the day ; The rain comes down at intervals, and then As quickly lifts into the vault again. Whilst little torrents tear their ribbed way. 25 NATURE POEMS The sky is dun, with leaden rifts and gray. The hurrying clouds break 'neath the veering strain, And little isles of blue appear amain. To lose themselves in leagues of billowy spray. So on towards Evening, when the conquering Sun, Rolling the beaten foe before his face, And breaking up his forces one by one, Completes his victory over time and space, And, on the field he has so hardly won. Calls off his glittering legions from the chase. 26 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S GOLDEN PILGRIMAGE To one who loves, all things are beautiful — Love colours every thought, and on his wings Doth bear those tender, sweet imaginings That stir the soul to depths most dutiful. The merry clamour of the Bells at Yule, The Cuckoo's trumpet-call, when first it rings On unaccustom'd ears, — and other Springs Fade fast before the mind's bright vestibule — Are messengers of Love, but Love has more Than all the wealth of Nature can bestow, For he who loves, has of Love's boundless store A heart, a mind, whose riches overflow, And, in the light and wisdom of Love's lore. Perceives in Nature things unseen before. TO WINIFRED (aged eighteen months) The Syrens alone might tell you The Land whence my Lady came. Or the days she took to travel Over a sea aflame. 29 LOVE POEMS She came with the early Dawn, Before the stars were set. The roseate streamers lighting The pink on her coverlet. But hush, can I tell the wonder, The joy that has come to me, In the light of the bluest eyes That ever smiled out of the sea ? Such treasure of golden floss. In strands of drifting ore ! 'Twas spun by a faery hand. By the light of faery lore. Her smile is a flash of the Dawn, Before the morning breaks : 'Twould scatter the dullest clouds That ever the East awakes ! Such tiny hands and feet ! Such mimicking words and ways ! And, oh, for that childish prattle, When the heart, itself, betrays ! 30 LOVE POEMS For to thee, thou little Innocent ! The world cannot help but be kind — But the larger the heart, the greater The sorrow it needs must find ! THE LITTLE ARCHER Deftly the little Archer plies His shafts of light — Thou canst not hold him in disguise, He lurks beneath those summer skies. And revels in his victories Till set of night. And Love and Laughter hide and seek Where lilies vie — They chase the sunbeams o'er each cheek, And ripple low, like waves that break Upon the shingle of a lake. Until they die. And Love enkindles at thy voice, And hovers near — The Love that crowns a maiden's choice. The Love that makes a heart rejoice, The Love that only seraphs voice In heavenly sphere. 31 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S SLEEPLESSNESS I CAN no more mine eyes to sleep compose. And thou alone sweet cause of my unrest ! Yet think not I would drive thee from my breast. Or lose one pearl of grief thy love bestows. Whilst thou, close-shelter'd like a budding rose. In spirit realms immeasurably blest. Art dreaming of a love thy tears caress'd, Unconscious of thy lover and his woes. Ohjwould that I might tend thy tranquil sleep. And guard the passage of thine incensed breath !— To dwell upon thy breast's entrancing steep "Were all of Heaven, and too much of Death— The heart that once had beat so near to thine Would stop for aye, when sever'd from its shrine ! PHYLLIS 'Tis not that my Phyllis has sun-laden hair — Those long, flowing tresses, that lovers declare Are the first of Love's charms, and the breath of its air. 32 LOVE POEMS 'Tis not that my Phyllis has wonderful eyes, Whose depth is the ocean, whose zenith the skies. Whose harmonies wake in the kingdom of sighs. 'Tis not that my Phyllis is sweet as the Rose, When the dews of the morning its freshness disclose. Or as it more fragrantly sinks to repose. 'Tis not that my Phyllis is tender and kind. That self is abandon'd — and others may find That the charm of all charms is the charm of her mind. Then why do I love her ? — Can any one tell ? And why doth this maiden my homage compel .'' — She's the tyrant who maketh my heaven or my hell, And, despite of myself, I must love her ! SORROW'S THRONE Why are friends like summer showers, As fresh as they are fleeting .' Why are friends like all sweet flowers That die within the greeting .' 33 LOVE POEMS The sweetest sweets the soonest cloy, Our dearest hopes deceive us — And so with Friendship's fitful joy, It only smiles to grieve us ! DAWN FIRES I HAVE ask'd you the simplest question That my soul in its want could conceive, And you treat the question lightly, In a world of make-believe. You would have me say that I love you Ten thousand, thousand times : But only the stars give answer. In soft, unchanging chimes — The chimes of my spirit's fancy, Ringing my heart's desire. But never a word that would set me free From the doubts that burn like fire ! For seven long years have I waited. Trusting the clouds would break. And your spirit dawn upon me The brighter for Love's sake ! 34 LOVE POEMS Perchance, when this voice is silent, The answer will come too late, And only the wild winds echo The sadness of our fate ! THE ISLAND OF DREAMS 'Tis a close-shelter'd Island — the Island of Dreams ! Where Love, like the murmur of far-away streams. Doth lull with its music, doth gild with its beams. 'Tis an Island of refuge ! An Island of calm ! Where the weary are rested, and life has a charm That may seldom be found in this world of alarm. 'Tis an Island of worship ! An Island of light ! Where the soft, quiring stars are transcendently bright. And the Moon is the Queen of that Island of night. 'Tis an Island of pleading — so tender, and low, That the heart in its joy might for ever forego The round of its duties, the round of its woe. 'Tis the Isle of all Isles ! — where grief and unrest Are hush'd on the surge of the All-mother's breast. Where hearts that are broken, again are made blest. 35 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S BURDEN All my longing, since first I beheld thee, My lips in three words would convey, But to speak them might breathe of dishonour To one whom I would not betray. Oh, what if I never may tell thee, And die with the burden I bear ! Wilt thou value the friendship I gave thee, The silence that cost me so dear ? And so in our hearts we must cherish The knowledge that makes life divine. And, when in the dawning we perish, God mingle thine ashes with mine ! THE STAR OF HOPE Love is not Love that can admit despair. For Love was born of Hope, and Hope is fair — With that bright Star to guide him on his way, No life were loveless, tho' Love say him ' nay.' 36 LOVE POEMS "What tho' the World may pass him by with scorn, Life without Love were surely more forlorn ! He, who has look'd upon Love's guiding Star, Knows that it never sets— but burns afar ! Tho' Love shall never here his guerdon find. Love leaves his own sweet recompense behind. For but to love — is to forget the while Griefs that no Time can ever reconcile. THE WHITE POPPY Like a shimmering poppy, robed in white, With sashes and bows of palest green, A very woman of soft delight ! Yet moulded as the flowers have been. Eyes golden-brown, and deep as true, Bespoke a mind to calmness given, A soul in which a man might view The very sanctities of Heaven. And when she smiled, it seem'd as tho' Pale shadowy moonbeams sought her lips, And scatter'd there an argent glow That never sufFereth eclipse. 37 LOVE POEMS And those soft hands that lie superb Upon the foldings of her gown, — O beating heart, how can I curb The folly they would make you own ? For you would hold them, in despite Of any protest she might make — You, the arch-traitor, would invite Further aggression for Love's sake. Till, warm'd with secret fires, I feel Her reddening lips droop nearer mine, And life upon its axis reel With kisses that are more than wine ! LOVE'S RULE How soon hath sped this golden summer day ! This day for ever sacred in our eyes, That first reveal'd to us far dearer ties Than any we have proved 'neath Friendship's sway. Neither will lightly let it pass away, And, as a thought long cherish'd never dies. Its fond memorials shall renew our sighs When other youthful joys have known decay. 38 LOVE POEMS So shall we blissfully from life decline, Knowing that we have tasted to the full The cup that other lips have deem'd divine — The cup we drain'd in nectarous draughts and cool t And may Love's rosy garlands here enshrine The Day we first submitted to Love's rule ! THE JEWELS OF DAWN AND DUSK I Like a diamond on a roseleaf when the rain has gemm'd the flower, Like the first faint flush of sunrise stealing over stream and tower. Like the palest light of evening, darkly deep'ning every hour, So the jewels of dawn and dusk meet in thine eyes. II Like a brook that purls and ripples ever with a silvery sound. Like the chime of distant sleigh-bells tinkling over frosty ground. Like a soft-string'd Stradivarius, breathing on a spirit wound. So cadenced falls the music of thy voice. 39 LOVE POEMS III Like the soft and fleecy treasure of a child's bright golden hair, Like the whiteness of the hawthorn when the summer months are near. Like the warmth of tender nestlings zoned within a mossy sphere, So gleam thy slender, lily-cinctured hands. IV Like the tints that fall at sunset on a cloudlet's drifting snow, Like the flash of crimson streamers when the Alpine ridges glow. Like the blossoms of the almond, like the petals of the sloe. So blush and pale the roses of thy cheeks. V Like the dawn to one beleaguer'd in a fortress cold and grim. Like the Angelus at evening, or the children's vesper hymn. Like soft moonlight on the waters when it floods the ocean's brim. So steals upon a darken'd heart thy smile. 40 LOVE POEMS lANTHE Ianthe ! could thy name express But half the love I feel for thee, Why, from my voice, thou then might'st guess How very dear thou art to me. No other homage would I pay. But simply breathe again thy name — A thousand things it seems to say That thee, and thee alone, proclaim. For in thy presence there doth flow A music that is passing sweet, All other notes are lost below Until within thy name they meet. And, whether by the brooklet's side, Or by the shallow, murmuring weir. In the soft hush of eventide, Thy name alone floats on my ear. Or, in the silence of the night. If thy dear name my sleep invade, I wake to clasp a brief delight — I wake to find the vision fade. 41 LOVE POEMS ATTAR OF ROSES Like the petals of the Rose When the dews their scent disclose, Soft as velvet tho' they be, Fragrant of the Dawn and thee, Yet thy lips are sweeter far Than all garden Roses are. Once I thought my life supreme, Bedded in a Rose's dream — • Scent of Attar on my lips, Nectar that the brown bee sips, — Yet I never knew before What sweet scents thy lips could store ! This, above that carmine wave, Was the soft response they gave — Fading fast before my touch. Never yielding overmuch ! Now I have no peace of mind Till thy lips again I find. 42 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S ONENESS (to a lady who complained that others were NEGLECTED FOR HERSELf) If I had loved thee less, I had been free To smile when others smiled — to hope, or fear, And lend to each such silent sympathy As well might prove a friend was listening near. But, loving thee, I have no eyes to see What others see, or feel as others feel — I have no thoughts that are not part of thee, And all my sweets from thoughts of thee I steal. By day, by night, a presence everywhere. Thy mirror'd loveliness in all I find. In others' griefs I am not fit to share. Who cannot turn from thee my steadfast mind. Thus loving thee far more than aught beside, I've lost my friends, and thou dost merely chide ! 43 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S BITTERNESS Why should I love, where others would despise ? Why idly hope thou still may'st love me best ? — When every act doth wear a bold disguise, And other friendships seem to stir thy breast ! And yet, to look but once upon those eyes. So darkly beautiful, so purely true, I, for my doubts, can but myself chastise. Who could of thee such bitter thoughts review. Have I no cloak of dignity or pride. That I must fall to thinking foul of thee ? Shall jealous fears in my strong love abide, Or is there estimate of love in me ? No, tho' mine eyes should tell me thou hadst lied, I'd tear them out to prove thy constancy ! TELL HER, SWEET THRUSH ! O THOU sweet bird in the hazel tops, Piping high, piping low, piping clear ! O thou sweet bird in the hazel tops, Pipe to me of my dear ! 44 LOVE POEMS Thou canst make love to her better than I, Thrush, O Thrush of my heart ! Blending thy notes with the blue of the sky. Whilst the cloudlets drift apart. Call to her now from the fields of thy grace, Name her by wood and stream ! Tell her, I long to see her face "Within the moonlight gleam. Tell her, sweet Thrush, of the grief that has lain For six long months at my breast, Tell her, sweet Thrush, of my endless pain — Of the agony of unrest. And if, of her grace, she would pity give — Pity from her heart's core — Tell her, by that one word I'll live. And love for evermore ! THRO' THE PASS OF LLANBERIS You ... at the end of the valley. Storm-wrack and cloud before — Thro' the wild pass of Llanberis To the gleam of a tranquil shore. 45 LOVE POEMS So, thro' the gulfs of sorrow. Thro' anguish of heart and mind. One only hope to my journey, One haven of peace I find. Yet, if that hope should fail me, That home in the valley fair, Alone, 'mid the wastes of the mountains. Must I wrestle with despair ! IF LOVE WERE ALL (suggested by the ' PRISONER OF ZENDA ') If Love were all, then might not thou and I Seek out some plot of Earth before we die, And live and breathe into each other's being The happiness which seems beyond our seeing ? If Love were all, then might I take thy hand, And wander with thee into Fairyland. How poor soe'er thy lot, no cloud could be Too great that did encompass thee and me ! If Love were all, then on that all I'd cast My life, my honour, all that Fame holds fast ; For but to be enfolden in thine arms Were rich reward for all a maiden's charms. 46 LOVE POEMS But Love is only Love when it doth bind Hearts to themselves, with Godhead intertwined- If I should yield, my love, and fly with thee. Could I believe that God had smiled on me ? HAVE WE NOT MET Have we not met, and must we weep Because our paths divide ? Have we not pass'd from steep to steep Upon the mountain side ? Our sun, if we had never met, In passionless content had set. Have we not met, and can we find No antidote to pain ? Are thought and feeling both resign'd ? Doth nothing sweet remain ? Thou wouldst not we had never met, And thou been spared this wild regret ? Have we not met— what wouldst thou more. The paradisal flowers ? If Fate should not our love restore, Eternity is ours ! — And in those happy fields are set The long, lost hours of our regret. 47 LOVE POEMS MY SILVER MOON As the moon puts on new lustre In the blackest of the night, So thine eyes with deepening splendour Flood my darken'd soul with light. AT PARTING She caught my eyes and held them with her own. There might I read what speech would not betray, What human lips could never yet convey. The language that the heart must speak alone. In that brief moment was her spirit known ! All the fierce doubts of many an anguish'd day In that bright radiance seem'd to pass away, For surely love was to full stature grown ? Bravely she faced me in that last farewell, Proudly, yet mute, with virginal control. One look that made my heart's blood surge and swell. And then again sweet mastery of the whole. Unalterable love, ah, who can tell .-' Yet from my Pisgah I had view'd her soul ! 48 LOVE POEMS LOVE'S CROSS AND CROWN Dost thou miss me. Heart of mine ? Doth thy soul its fellow know ? Is my sorrow also thine ? Doth the inward trouble grow ? Do the morning sunbeams wake Hopes to which the heart must cling, - The alternate joy and ache That another day will bring ? As, between each kindling thought. Vistas of the treasured past Thro' dim avenues have caught Glory all too bright to last. IV Then the vacancy, the void, Where no love-wind ever blew ! And oh, the darkness unalloy'd I' the gulf betwixt us two ! 49 LOVE POEMS Trivial things of sight and sound Stab remembrance in the brain, Opening up afresh Love's wound, Quickening every pulse of pain. Hourly doth thy lover's face Come betwixt thy task and thee. Shaking thy resolved peace With its one eternal plea ? vu Hast thou never at eve's fall Put thy work by with a sigh. Heard a voice within thee call, ' I must go to him or die ? ' VIII It were wiser, wiser far Thou and I should never meet ! Lest the flame of passion mar Lives that both of us hold sweet. 50 LOVE POEMS Something doth remain of bliss Even unto sunder'd souls — Even in the joys we miss There is somewhat Love controls ! Veil'd in clouds Love's star hath set, Darkness covers all the shore, Oh, the passionate regret In that one word — ' Nevermore ! ' WITHERED HOPES Last night my heart was as a fading Rose, Which in an Urn of Tears I did dispose : Dawn stoop'd to raise the Rose's drooping head. But, like my heart, the soul o' the Rose had fled. SHE WHOM THOU LOVEST O HEART, my heart ! Why tost in tempest throe ? She whom thou lovest. Cares not for thy joy, 51 LOVE POEMS Cares not for thy woe. Then let her go ! O beauteous Truth ! Why is thy heart so wrung ? She, whom thou lovedst, Is false to thee and thine. Is false to me and mine, Then why repine ? O kindly stars ! Why shed thy tears for her ? Or is it mine own blinding pain That sees tears in thy glistening rain ? Oh, join with me to forget ! Leave not a way for regret ! And yet . . . and yet ! REJECTED You cast my soul to the four winds of heaven. You hurl me, passionate, upon the sea of life- And all that I in love have madly given Comes back to me in strife ! 52 LOVE POEMS LOVE IN CHAINS I flung Love down upon the dungeon floor, Close-shackled to his fellow-prisoner Hate ; Grim warders twain I set before the door — My Pride and Will, to guard him for his fate. Daily I sign'd the warrant for his doom, Yet daily that fell mandate I withdrew ; A thousand times I wish'd him in the tomb, A thousand times his life I would renew. At last perplex'd, yet wishing he should feel Some measure of the torment 1 endured, To harsher usage I my heart did steel, And for the rogue fresh chastisement procured. Ah, vain my hope ; vain, too, the grinding chain. For Love rose up and bless'd me in his pain ! A SPIRIT HATH FLED FROM MY HEARTH A spirit hath fled from my hearth, A spirit I shall see no more : All desolate now is my path By the wave-trodden shore. 53 LOVE POEMS Ah, the days that are over and gone, And the nights that were number'd as one ! How can I live on, love, alone In the light of the sun ? For the things that did gladden me once Are now but a torment to me. And with them all joy I renounce, For it speaks but of thee ! And so, thro' the slow-ranging years, I abide with my pain. Until thro' the mist of my tears I enfold thee again. THE VISION Softly she comes at the close of day And stands beside my chair, The thrush calls loudly from topmost spray. Lightens the evening star. So, in the dusk of that twilight land. When those we love draw nigh, I take once more that beloved hand, Her lips to mine comply. 54 LOVE POEMS Once more for us 'neath the fading skies A veil of blue is drawn, Once more for us in each other's eyes Opens the pearly dawn. Ah, woe is me for that vacant place, She doth not heed nor hear ! Ah God, that the loss of one loved face Can leave the world so drear ! THROUGH THE NIGHT One hope have I — one prayer both night and day- That God will lead thee some day to my side, And touching me upon the shoulder say, ' Take her : she is for evermore thy bride.' LOVE IS FOR EVERMORE I HAD thought to bury my love too deep for tears Beyond the searching gaze of the silent years, I had wish'd to fold the past in its ashen shroud. But ever the spirit within me cried aloud — O the joy that may never awaken In the bosom by love forsaken ! 55 LOVE POEMS I had thought to have still'd this aching at my heart, In the duties of wife and mother I did my part. But that which makes the hght of the home alway Lay buried amid the blooms on my bridal day. O the joy that may never awaken In the bosom by love forsaken ! I could not marry the man my heart required, So I gave to another the heart that he desired : He has been good to me, kind as the stars above, But oh, I have never given him a heart to love ! O the joy that may never awaken In the bosom by love forsaken ! I did not think at the time of the wrong I did. For happiness seem'd to me for ever hid ; In his strong love I had hoped to love again. But deeper and darker grows that treacherous stain ! O the joy that may never awaken In the bosom by love forsaken ! I am his wife and yet I am not his own. For my heart leaps up at another's look or tone ; Nothing, oh nothing, can ever recall the past ! And the curse of that marriage vow must for ever last ! O the joy that may never awaken In the heart of a woman by love forsaken ! 56 LOVE POEMS O WORLD, THY CREED O WORLD, thy creed is cold and stark,. How little dost thou heed our weeping ! Whilst ever thro' the glimmering dark The shadow of death is slowly creeping. 57 SACRED POEMS GUARD THY HEART! Guard thy heart ! as tho' thy Lady Hung her costliest jewels there — Tho' false friends may oft persuade thee. Yield not to the fleshly snare ! Let thy hand be firm and steady. Let thy heart be stout and true. Let thy feet be ever ready, Tho' the Master's calls be few. Every thought of self abandon'd. Every passion lull'd to rest. Every insult freely pardon'd, Every angry word repress'd. Thou may'st rend the veil asunder. See thy Master face to face ! In thy life reflect the wonder Of so fair a dwelling-place. 6l 1890. SACRED POEMS And, when age to youth succeedeth. Each fond memory shall appear Like a voice that sweetly pleadeth, Whispering words of love and cheer. FORGIVENESS ' Must I forgive till seven times seven ? ' A voice within me cried, ' As thou wouldst hope to be forgiven,' A Voice within replied, And this my only hope of Heaven ? — O Lord, Thou know'st how hard I've striven To conquer all my pride ! And must I turn each smarting cheek. And kindly make reply ? My arm is strong — my faith is weak. And storm-tears cloud mine eye. ' Beyond his strength is no man tried,' That Voice within again replied, ' And Victory is nigh ! ' And have I but the hour withstood ^ Revenge, a welcome guest ! And shall this second, fiercer flood O'erwhelm my battling breast .'' 62 1890- SACRED POEMS O let me feel Thy Presence near ! Thy words of Love alone can cheer, Alone can bring me rest. MORNING HYMN Now the golden morning shines, Let us each be up and doing. And when daylight swift declines, May it find us still pursuing ! Each hath his appointed sphere, ^ Hands and brain alike achieving. Crowning all the fleeting year "With new beauties of his weaving. Tho' the labour of his hands Seems but to enrich another, God, above him, understands He is helping on some brother. Who, of frailer mould and form, Other purposes fulfilling. Else had perish'd in the storm, Laying by God's task, unwilling. 63 SACRED POEMS Tho' in mines he delve all day, Gloom perennial surround him, Every blow emits a ray From the spot where Duty bound him. Art and Science, Medicine, Law, Into unknown realms extending. From man's steady purpose draw Glorious triumphs, never-ending. Never let the heart repine, Tho' thy toil seem unavailing — Every labourer's work 's divine. Never canst thou speak of failing ! ON DEATH Why shouldst thou fear, since Death must come i Why, Mortal, shouldst thou fear the tomb ? Thou canst not one sweet minute gain. Nor stay the Hand that stilleth pain ! Then bravely meet the silent Foe,^ ^Foe He be. Who ends thy woe, — For at the worst Forgetfulness, And at the best great Happiness Will minister to thy distress. And make the parting less and less. 64 SACRED POEMS YOUNG DESIRE When Young Desire first shakes his lustrous wings, Rejoicing in the strength which manhood brings. And, like the dragon-fly in summer's pride. Flaunts his bright armoury from side to side. What charm can keep his passionate heart secure ? What amulet resist the Devil's lure ? O Love ! there is no talisman like this — The sanctity of one true woman's kiss. ICONOCLASTS There are those who would silence the Thrush, And stifle his woodnotes wild ; But never for them the Evening's hush. Or the heart of a little child ! There are those who would ravish a flower. The heart of a maid despoil ; But the Spirit that lives from hour to hour Shall never their faith assoil ! E 6$ SACRED POEMS III There are those who would strangle belief, Profaning the mystic tryst ; But over the swirling waters of grief Comes the luminous face of Christ ! EASTERTIDE Come wrap the crocus in his winding-sheet, For lowly lies his head, His wind-blown petals torn with snow and sleet, And March, the slayer, fled. Lo Easter comes, and with the risen God A million chimes awake : The grass springs greener from the dripping sod, The lily scents the brake. Ill And Nature hails her new-appointed priest With music all her own ; Her choirs await his chariot in the East, And his bright service crown. 66 SACRED POEMS IV Till every glade takes up the joyous song, And every rill unites — ' Glory to Him to Whom all joys belong, Hosanna in the heights ! ' LORD, TEACH US HOW TO PRAY ! 'Mid clashing creeds and civic strife, 'Mid hosts with jealous envy rife, 'Mid all the turbulence of life. Lord, teach us how to pray ! II 'Mid wrongs that speak from hour to hour Of raging lust, of rampant power, Of many a bruised and broken flower. Lord, teach us how to pray ! 'Mid lives whose luxury decrees To millions broken hearts and knees, "Mid wanton waste and slothful ease. Lord, teach us how to pray ! 67 SACRED POEMS IV 'Mid tongues that slander and defame. That batten on a neighbour's shame, Regardless of the lives they maim, Lord, teach us how to pray ! Give us Thy Faith — the Faith of old, Hope springing from her fount of gold, And Charity that grows not cold, And teach us how to pray ! VI Be Thou our inspiration still, Make us subservient to Thy will. Our hearts with Thy compassion fill. And teach us how to pray ! SOUL-MASTERY No man hath gain'd soul-mastery without Fierce self-renunciation — and the fight. So hardly won, so perilous near to rout. Widens man's whole horizon to his sight- 68 SACRED POEMS HYMN FOR CATHOLIC LOVE Lord Jesu, Son of Grace, Thy boundless charity instil. And hearts which here Thy love abase With Thy compassion fill. 11 Thou madest all, dear Lord ; Sinner and Saint alike are Thine — 111 can Thy Father's heart afford To lose one child divine. Ill Thou sentest forth Thy Son The unregenerate to reclaim — Never a sin-besmirched one But Christ hath call'd by name. His was no strident voice To quench and quell the stubborn heart ; Singly to each He gave the choice — To enter or depart. 69 SACRED POEMS To enter Thy sure rest — The calm that comes of loving Thee- And loving Thee, then only blest In fruits of charity — Or graceless to depart. And journey thro' the world alone, Missing that gladness of the heart. To true believers known. Lord Jesu, Son of Grace, Thy Heart of Charity bestow. That we, who seek to know Thy face, May find Thee here below ! CHARITY True test and savour of a Christian soul — Sweet Charity, how rarely art thou found ! Or, found at all, how seldom is thy dole Meted to Christian folk on Christian ground ! 70 SACRED POEMS A MAXIM FOR EVERY DAY Do all the good you can. Take up thy human load, Fulfil the higher man, And leave the rest with God ! 71 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS DEAN LIDDELL (CHRIST church) December 1 891 Dear crown of manliness and fervid truth ! Thy gentle reign of over thirty years Is drawing to its close, and silent tears Attest the sorrows of our heyday youth. And have we words to tell our bitter ruth, And break a silence that our love endears ? — A living memory of our past arrears Shall make us feel our speech is all uncouth. Our grief is one with thine, dear Master-friend, For we shall miss thee at thy wonted seat. Tho' other lords will claim our reverence meet And other feet will on our steps attend, Thy spirit will go with us to the end — An influence breathing of a life complete. 75 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS THE FIGHT OVER THE NEWMAN STATUE IN OXFORD 1 February 1 89 2 Is Bigotry the order of the day ? Must we, of larger faith, submit our views To a minority- — whose least excuse Is threaten'd violence to our right of way ? And Lawlessness, a fit companion, aye. To Christian zeal in most un-Christlike cause !^ To rob an Hero of his just applause, Since in this city martyr'd Cranmer lay ! Shall Time reprove us of the wrong we do. Our petty spitefulness, our lack of pride ? Shall these roll on thro' ages, and abide An earnest of our faith — our weakness too ? Lo! thro' the years the clouds are backward driven — One Universal Faith ! one Hope ! one Heaven ! ' 'l"he University, in contrast to the open-mindedness shown by a large majority of the citizens, strenuously opposed the erection of a statue to Newman in Oxford, threatening that, if such a statue were erected, it would immediately be pulled down. 76 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS DEATH OF TENNYSON October 6, 1 892 Mourn, all ye Nations, mourn ! for he is dead — The sweetest singer of our later choir. Whose thoughts were borne aloft on wings of fire, And Truth and Beauty left us in their stead. The last of all our prophets now is fled : Fled is the music of his magic lyre. The melody of half a world's desire — The yew and cypress wound about his head. Sunrise and sunset shall go fleeting by. And all the voice of Nature now be mute, Since he, who loved them, leaves us but his lute. With none the master of its minstrelsy. Yet, in his life and death, what joy have we Who knew the tree, and tasted of its fruit ! TO A VICTORIAN ICSIIGHT It is not for the dints upon your shield That tell of prowess in the ensanguined field. For which our pure and princely Arthur gave That badge of Honour — Knighthood to the brave. 77 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS Nor yet like those great rovers of the main, Who curb'd, and crush'd the mighty fleets of Spain, And from a Virgin Queen received the meed Of valorous service or of derring deed. Peace hath her captains as renown'd as those Who meet to battle with their country's foes — Victoria first the Sword of Honour drew To recognize their worth in such as you. THE ABBEY OF ST MARY,i IN FURNESS Seven Henries sought thee thro' four hundred years, But thou, for love, return'dst a vestal's vow: The Eighth first woo'd with calm and saintly brow, And then profaned thee 'mid thy suppliant tears ! PEACE Thou gentle Dove ! sent out to warn mankind Of such a time when war shall cease to be. Yet ever to thy sheltering Ark dost flee, For nowhere can thy feet a foothold find. 1 Built during the reign of Henry I., and destroyed by Henry VIII., the so-called " Defender of the Faith ! " 78 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS The air thou cleavest is with sulphur blind. While horrent shapes scud o'er the foamy sea, That bristles with a monster progeny, The clash of arms is borne upon the wind. O when wilt thou return to tell of fields Ripening with plenty, whilst the smiling lands Are bound by fellowship of hearts and hands ? — No more the sword its bloody sceptre wields ! Come to us from the realms where Heaven expands. And bring the leaf the tender olive yields ! 1900, ENGLAND AND THE S. A. REPUBLICS Be just and generous ! Fear not Thou That Kindness may be vain — Tho' Winter frown from bough to bough. The April buds remain. January X901. 79 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS VICTORIA (lines written on learning that the queen's condition was hopeless) Her reign : the greatest that this realm hath seen, Whether we count by years or by achievement. Her loss : shall we not keep it ever green With tears of sad bereavement ? God gave, of his fair gifts to this fair Isle, A virgin Queen, proud and invincible. And for her guide — a Prince, to reconcile Her heart to Queenly Rule. Of their pure love a noble progeny- — O Sovereign Monarch, blest all Queens above ! — Three generations on that royal knee Have claim'd a Mother's love. And if, too early in her life was known. The Sorrow that alone makes desolate : She stood as one, whom ages shall enthrone As ruler of her fate. 80 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS To God she bow'd : and from His Hand she took The grievous chastisement of later years — Her faith in His Great Purpose never shook, 'Mid shattering hopes and fears. And now, she waits the Angel of His Peace, With happy eyes turn'd towards a happier morn. For never Soul long'd more for its release Than hers, so bravely borne ! January 22, 1^01. ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE BOER REPUBLICS Whilst we debate upon their overthrow, We would do well to weigh that fateful hour. When the Arch-Raider,^ covetous of power. Struck for himself the first insensate blow. To that fell act a thousand ills we owe : Suspicion of our purpose, deadly stour Of hate, revenge — a sweet and deathless dower. Our Justice lagg'd, England's good faith lay low ! 1 Cecil Rhodes. F 8l HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS What tho' corruption lurk'd within the State, What the' the Boer Executive delay'd, Time would have brought some less disastrous aid, For Right must triumph, tho' the Wrong be great. Then England, O my Country, fear no fall. But do thou justice first and last of all ! TO CHAMBERLAIN "our chief of men" Thou Warwick of our age ! whose puissant arm Can make or unmake Empires ; whose starr'd shield Can turn the fortunes of the doubtful field From dolorous gloom to Victory's heighten'd charm. Thrice from disruption and from deadly harm Thou hast deliver'd ! — knowing when to wield The sword, and when — far harder task — to yield To fierce entreaty or to faction warm. In thee the Irish rebels met their foil ; Not thee the wily Dopper might outface ; The German found thee native of the soil. And his " swill'd insolence " to rage gave place. And now, when most seek ease from strife and toil, Thou standest forth the champion of our race. 82 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS HYMN OF EMPIRE Britons ! salute the rising sun, The murky clouds of night are riven, Whilst, thro' the Eastern gate, the dawn O'erflows the saffron fields of heaven. II High as that great imperial orb The passion of our lives is set — To further Peace, and to absorb The Light whose beams scarce reach us yet. Ill The Light that quickens to the free. That hurleth Ignorance afar ! Whose sister-soul is Liberty, Whilst Truth and Love her handmaids are. The Light that in a Briton's breast Once kindled glows with steadfast fire, That will not let his spirit rest Till Justice all men's hearts inspire. 83 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS The Light that led him forth to fare Thro' unknown wilds and untrod ways, That speeds his footsteps everywhere Till the fulfilment of his days. That gave him kingdoms for his own And all the highways of the deep ; In temperate, or in torrid zone, That ancient Power its watch doth keep. VII . These realms were given to him in trust, To hold for men of every land. He knows his Empire is but dust. And so he takes it from God's hand — Till the fulfilling of the Law, Till Truth prevail and Valour save, Until the Light shall overawe, And bind the Darkness in its cave. 84 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS IX Sons of the Free ! salute the Dawn, Salute the flag to Faith unfurl'd. For England's sword was never drawn, Save for the Freedom of the World ! ENGLAND, QUEEN OF THE SEAS I Will you take them into partnership These men of your race and thew, Who have never let occasion slip To do what a Briton should do ? Who glory in the good old name — England, Queen of the Seas, And dear to them as their oivn good fame Is the Jack of the spanking breeze I II Will you take them into partnership ? Fall back on a fresher strain ? The business is one that will soon outstrip The dream of the parent brain ! Who glory ^c. 85 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS III Will you take them into partnership, Who are masters of your trade ? It were folly to give your foes the whip Without their friendly aid ! Who glory $£f c. IV Will you take them into partnership ? Have you thought what war may entail ? In vain the struggle to man and equip, If your food supply should fail ! Who glory Is'c. Will you take them into partnership ? Have you thought what refusal may mean, When we pass the cup from lip to lip With a glint of steel between ? Who glory ^c. VI Will you take them into partnership ? Your Imperial task fulfil ? Thank God for the hand of good fellowship, And grasp it with right good will ! 86 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS IVho glory in the good old name — England, Queen of the Seas, And dear to each as his oivn good fame Is the Jack of the spanking breeze ! SONS OF THE EMPIRE Dear Motherland ! Dear Motherland ! Home of the brave and free ! Above the roar of ocean comes thy children's cry to thee For one united Empire — one flag, one law, one crown. One Commonwealth on which the sun shall nevermore go down. Sons of the Empire ! far and -wide. Danger has found us side by side ; Nothing can daunt us, naught subdue, Sons of the Empire, staunch and true ! II In England's hour of danger, the only friends she knew Were those of her own blood and bone, of her own pith and thew ; 87 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS In England's hour of danger, the only friends she'll need Are the men of her own kith and kin, of her own berserk breed. Sons of the Empire I ^ffc. Ill Tho' treachery and treason stalk'd the Continent in vain,'^ Tho' Europe sought to separate hearts welded by the main, Thro' slander, slime, and calumny her loyal sons stood fast. And lie on lie by their strong hands was nailed to the mast. Sons of the Empire I Iffc. IV Her erstwhile enemies are now the foremost of her friends, For nothing like success succeeds, and so the fury ends. They learnt to know the length and reach of England's mighty arm ; Sneering is out of fashion now when all would seek to charm ! Sons of the Empire ! Jff c ' During the Boer War. HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS V Cobden declared that all the world would soon adopt Free-trade, Cobden is dead, and all the world respects his kindly shade, But neither the Nations of the East, nor the Nations of the West Have thought the thing that Cobden thought, nor deem'd his counsel best. Sons of the Empire ! 'zffc. And evermore the tariff walls are rising high and higher, And evermore the singed cat dreadeth the jungle fire. But tainted with our prejudice, and tinctured with our pride. We still with our old shibboleths would hope to stem the tide ! Sons of the Empire ! ^c. VII Free-trade for all is a maxim sound — Free-trade for all the world. With never a hostile tariff raised, nor a hostile flag unfurl'd ; 89 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS But until that happy day shall dawn in the halcyon years to come, Free-Trade within the Empire ! and widen the bounds of home. Sons of the Empire ! far and -wide. Danger has found us side by side. Nothing can daunt us, naught subdue. Sons of the Empire, staunch and true ! TILL THE DAY BE DONE Britons ! rouse ye from sloth and slumber, Foes surround you without number, Hastily up and guard your own Ere your heritage be flown ! What your father's valour won, Hold it till the day be done. For your children's precious lives, For your mothers and your wives ! Wh(id be a little Englander, Whom English loins have bred"? Who^d be a little Englander, And shame her mighty dead ? 90 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS Thank God, our cry for England Is the •war-cry of our sires ! And on her ancient altars We raise our sanguine fires. II Commerce recks not of her slaughter, Neither gives nor asketh quarter, Like the never-sated sea She devours eternally ! We must set our scouts afar To maintain an equal war — Time has many a new device, Ancient arts will not suffice ! Who'd be a little Englander ? ^c. What our rivals know to-day, Britain show'd them first the way. What our rivals know to-morrow, Britain will be last to borrow ! Knowledge none may ever spurn. For the wise have most to learn. He must keep an open mind Who would learn of all mankind. Who'd be a little Englander f Is'c. 91 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS IV Mark the produce of our soil, Fast displaced by foreign toil ! Labour for our British hands Driven away to foreign lands ! If their markets we invade, Hostile bounties thwart our trade ; Whilst our antiquated laws Foster most our rivals' cause ! ^ Whid be a little Englander ? £if c. v Give us leave to meet our foes With the weapons that they chose, Britons ! we can hold our own. Fortune smile, or Fortune frown. Not on laurels of the past Stands our Empire firm and fast ; But on each true son's endeavour, Striving towards the Great Forever ! WMd be u little Englander, Whom English loins have bred"? Whod he a little Englander, And shame her mighty dead"? 1 Witness the disadvantages that British Shipping labours under when in competition with the Foreigner, owing to the burden of the Light Dues and the restriction of the Plimsoll Load Line. 92 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS Thank God, our cry for England Is the nvar-cry of our sires ! And on her ancient altars We raise our sanguine fires. ONE BY ONE One by one our trades are going — Would ye lay your wheat-fields low ? Steadily the tide is flowing, On its bosom wreck and woe. Then stem the tide, my hearties ! Breast it with might and main ; For a trade once lost, -whatever the cost. Will never come back again. Corn was kill'd by Cobden's kindness — This the great Free-trader slew, And that errant patriot's blindness Britain many a day shall rue. Then stem the tide Iffc. 93 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS III Acres out of cultivation, And her homesteads bleak and bare, Hear the cry of desolation ! Hark the wail of blank despair ! Then stem the tide ^c. IV Britain's navies once defeated. Then the land were all in all ! And her granaries depleted Would precipitate her fall. Then stem the tide ^c. V Where is now the yeoman spirit ? Where the manhood of our sires ? Where the race that should inherit Some of their ancestral fires ? Then stem the tide Iffc. VI Sunk within our crowded cities, With their sputa-laden streets. Dregs of men ! whom no one pities, Suckled at a drunkard's teats. Then stem the tide y^ . 94 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS VII Back then to the land, my brothers ! Fend it with your fathers' care — Every trade a rival smothers Is one trade the less to share. Then stem the tide ^c. VIII Every trade a rival smothers — Count not present loss or gain, Every trade is fed by others, These will follow in its train. Then stem the tide ^c. IX Up then ! share your brothers' burden, Drive the alien from your door, Britain's sons shall reap the guerdon, 'Tis their birthright and no more ! Then stem the tide l^c. Strong in her true sons' affection, Greater Britain shall arise — Powerful in her free election, Peace in her Imperial eyes. 9S HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS Then stem the tide, my hearties ! Breast it -with might and main ; For a trade once lost, ivhatever the cost, Will never come back again. HERE'S TO THE TOILERS ! Work ! work ! work ! from factory, forge, and mill, The ring of a thousand hammers, the hum of the whir- ring wheel ; Constant, steady employment, and each man to his trade — We'll protect our position, till fair competition shall need no extraneous aid ! Here's to the toilers ! Heris to the moilers I Here s to the -work for our hands to do ! An end to their getting by dumping and siveating ! Briton to Briton the ivide ivorld thro' ! Dump ! dump ! dump ! whatever you've got to spare, For the lordly British Lion is enmesh'd in the Free-trade snare, 96 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS His roar may sound terrific, but he lacks the power to strike, Then dump on cousin Jonathan as free and as fast as you like! Here's to the toilers ! Sjf r. III Sweat ! sweat ! sweat ! from early morn till night, For the muscle and blood of the working man are as nothing in your sight. Now the Britisher puts down sweating, but the sweated goods pour in, And only in Free-trade England would they countenance such sin ! Here's to the toilers ! $ff f. IV Vote ! vote ! vote ! and vote both strong and true, For if ye fail of your purpose, this England of ours shall rue ! For what's the good of the cheaper loaf, if you've not the money to buy ? And what's the use of your rivers, if your streams are running, dry ? G 97 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS Here's to the toilers ! Here's to the moilers ! Here's to the ivorkfor our hands to do ! An end to their getting by dumping and sweating I Briton to Briton the wide world thro' I THE JACK O' THE UNION I Britons ! on your votes depend England's greatness, England's end. If ye falter in your trust, Her proud Empire bites the dust. Bath'd in the blood of her sons, in the blue of her seas. Break out the Jack ! let it boom to the buffeting breeze I This is no light-hearted war But the death-knell of her power. Should ye fail to use aright Tour prerogative of might. Bath'd in the blood of her sons ^c. Ill All the battles of the past Are as nothing to this last. 98 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS The arbitrament of sense Shall maintain, or drive you hence. Bath'd in the blood of her sons &c. IV Think not all the world are fools Who reject your Free-trade rules ! From adversity they drew Lessons that seem strange to you. Bath'd in the blood of her sons &fc. Talk not of our fathers' fears ! England alters with the years — We must now adapt our creed To this present England's need. BafFd in the blood of her sons &c. Voices from across the foam Chant the Commonwealth to come — They perceive our destined goal, They are with us hand and soul. Bath'd in the blood of her sons &c. 99 HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS In the union of our race God's great providence we trace — Fashion'd upon fields of blood, Soldiers of one King we stood. BatUd in the blood of her sons &c. VIII Thro' the battle's fiery zone, On thro' perils bravely won. With a clearer purpose now To the mart, and to the plough ! BatVd in the blood of her sons &c. IX Let the chains of Commerce bind Hearts that love hath intertwined ; Weld the Empire closer yet, Britain's Star shall never set ! Bath'd in the blood of her sons, in the blue of her seas, Break out the Jack I let it boom to the buffeting breeze ! lOO HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL POEMS THE GOD OF IGNORANCE Mexitli^ more regarded human life ! Our streets are altars, whence we immolate Thousands of victims yearly by a fate More slow and painful than the Aztec knife. This spitting scourge ! this terminable strife 'Twixt man and death ! — Oh, why procrastinate ? Why send more millions thro' the narrow gate ? Why ? — with the arrowy doom so swift, so rife ! Must then our God of Ignorance be fed ? — Our best-belov'd led out before our eyes To grace this most inhuman sacrifice, And swell the toll of the unnumber'd dead ! When will the Law in its strong might arise, And banish from our Land this bestial dread ? ^The ancient War God of the Mexicans, on whose altars two thousand lives are said to have been sacrificed yearly. The death-roll from Consumption in Great Britain alone is computed at 60,000 annually — the disease being almost entirely communicated through the dried sputa of thoughtless spitters ! lOI MISCELLANEOUS POEMS TO MY MOTHER (the author's first verses) The light of my fireside ! The joy of my home ! The dear face that haunts me wherever I roam. The guide of my childhood ! The star of my youth ! The loved one whose watchword was ' God and the Truth.' The essence of virtue — best gift from above — With eyes soft and tender, bright planets of love ; High-minded and noble, most ardently leal, What thought can express her ? what image reveal ? TO E. G. Oft have I plann'd, and thought to write of thee. Dearest and best of friends — yet, when I think Of what thou art to me, my soul doth shrink From words, which after all are but a sea 105 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Of thoughts confus'd — nor would I raise a doubt That I could love thee less, or love thee more, Than when, in days gone by, we wander'd o'er The Hills at Cove — and did you then find out How much I valued your sweet company ? The deepest love is nurtur'd silently : E'en so my boast of love was somewhat small — The smaller for its greatness — yet you knew For Friendship's dear account I valued you, And that my heart responded to your call. 1890. TO HELEN {Obiit December 3, 1 90 3) Lilies for her virgin breast. Where sweet peace shall ever rest ; Violets to recall her eyes. Opening now in paradise. REX He hath pass'd into the Heaven of Heavens — Our little Rex, alone. The gather'd grace and charm of five short years With his young spirit flown. June loth, 1900. 106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS A WOMAN'S FALL She sinn'd — because her very soul took fire : And she, who most should move our tears to flood, As having lost the crown of womanhood. Is thrown upon the streets, besprent with mire ! HER WORST ACCUSERS— WOMEN ! Poor maimed soul, what refuge hast thou here, Whom man's fierce passions still pursue and vex ? Yet bitterest portion of thy lot — to bear The uncompromising scorn of thine own sex ! WAIFS AND STRAYS Their birthright — sin and sorrow from the first, Victims of man's insatiate desire ! Branded with infamy, tho' pure as fire — In heathen lands ye were not so accurst ! 107 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS TIME TO YOUTH Ah, fold her fast in thy victorious arms, Thy thirst for beauty now or never slake — Too soon the baleful morn, when thou shalt walce To find some diminution of her charms ! THE TRAGEDY OF BEAUTY Is there to womanhood a woe so deep, A moment that so ruthlessly congeals, As that when, rising from soft-lidded sleep. She first perceives that Time upon her steals ? THE NEWEST WOMAN Vulgarity, with open front, The modern maid entices — At first she did but ape man's dress, She now affects his vices ! io8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS MAN'S TOIL Each man would wish to be his own good-master — Freedom the distant goal to which he strains : 'Tis strange such energy should court disaster, Since he is happiest who last attains ! TRUTH IN ART " Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." — Keats. A WiLL-o-THE-wisp that ever evades the sight. The nearer we get, the blacker grows the night. And he, who would grasp it, grasps but a reedy light. Whilst over his sinking shadow it dances bright ! 109 AMY ROBSART AMY ROBSART The hour is late, yet streaks of light appear Along the West, and fade, and glimmer there With such enchantment in their still eclipse Over the hills and valleys and the tips Of many a forest at the horizon's brim, That the tall darkness seems afraid to swim Upon the land, and shut the eye of day. No sound of life, no stir of leaf at play — The world with all its voices is at rest. Its noise and tumult past into the West. When hark ! a voice upon the Autumn air. Flooding the night with music of despair, So melancholy sweet, so full of woe — Alas, that Love should be requited so ! What tender longing ! What affection dear ! A woman's love, with all its hope and fear ! In every note the passion of a life, In every note a soul too sweet for strife — The hunger of a heart for ever fed On love and hope, when hope and love are dead ! H 113 AMY ROBSART And what are these — these accents wild of grief? And who is she that sings her soul's relief ? — Who, to the pitiless woods, from her high tower Doth sing love's requiem at evening hour, While Cumnor's shadows fade across the sky, And Twilight gathers up her skirts to fly ? Sure such a voice was never heard in bower, Since Enid chanted love in Yniol's tower ! Sure never lady's face was seen so fair. Since sweet Elaine gave Love her lilies rare. And paled the violet in the tender Spring With eyes that to remembrance pansies bring ! " Leicester ! my Leicester, could this voice of mine Recall thee to thy duty, and these eyne But show thee half the sorrow that I bear, Since in thy sight I am no longer fair. Or could mine arms thy wonted ardours fan And thou rejoice in love but once again ! I might forget the past, and learn to live In memory of what thou once didst give — The passion and the rapture of thy kiss. That fatal madness which I took for bliss, Those eyes that seem'd to pierce my. very soul, And rob me of all power of self-control, 114 AMY ROBSART The subtle poison of thy matchless tongue, On whose least accent I so fondly hung ! These, these I might forego — Ah, death to me. That, what I liv'd for, I no longer see ! That never more shall Spring-time bring me hope. Nor Summer crown, nor Autumn gild life's slope. But Winter ! always Winter — bleak and cold. Until I take my journey — sorrow told ! " How happier far the days when young and free I lisp'd my sorrows on a father's knee. When all my joys and all my cares were his, And every secret shared — save only this ! Ah, had I then, too foolish maid, given ear To his fond counsel and persuasion dear, I might have stood, where I too easy fell — And thou been victim, whom I loved too well ! Yet, Leicester ! am I mad to love thee so, Whose hateful scorn should trample out my woe ? Must pity ever in my breast abide, And hope of freedom vanish with my pride ? Is this the doom of Love — that love should be A thing impossible 'twixt thee and me ? Thou, whose first vows were sweet as manna dew — Thy breathless kisses thrilling thro' and thro', 115 AMY ROBSART Whose every word some richer promise gave That I should never ask, what now I crave -, That Pyramids might crumble in the dust, And thrones and empires perish in their lust, The unfathom'd ocean and her seas run dry, And mountains quit their mansions in the sky. Ere I might doubt a Dudley's plighted word, Whose honour stood as proven as his sword. " So vehement his vows, till love was given [ Alas ! — there is but one thing under Heaven That never Dudley yet had strength to face — Ambition is the curse of that proud race— The prospect of advancement in the state, And honour, virtue, faith itself might wait ! A Dudley never question'd whom he slew — The end would justify the means — and few Who cross'd his path their line of crossing knew ! A Dudley's weapon pierc'd where steel might fail. In days when poison lurk'd beneath the nail — A glove, a letter, some such friendly token. And, with the seal, the chords of life were broken ! " But now a Virgin Queen had shown him grace, Had prais'd him to the Court and to his face, Il6 AMY ROBSART Had flatter'd him with hopes beyond his dreams, Consulted him on all her maiden schemes — With such a vista opening to his eyes, What wonder if a Dudley saw the prize ! What wonder if his love for Amy waned. Where honour, loyalty, and truth were strain'd ! What wonder if he wish'd the past undone. With but a step 'twixt virtue and the throne ! Oh, Memory ! wilt scald me with thy tears ? Thy sympathy is past, thy friendship sears — My hope is shatter'd and my trust is gone, And I am left abandon'd and alone ! " Be calm, my soul ! I yet have strength within To give my life a sacrifice for sin — To pray in some dim convent's cloistral shade For peace — both to betrayer and betray'd. That, when we meet again in Heaven above, Our lives may there be perfected in love." So sang that Lady of her heart's despair, Making low moan upon the midnight air, And with faint sobs, and tender hands of grief. She stretch'd to God — and found her soul's relief. Now morning rose on other hills and towers. And kiss'd fair Windsor's streams and shady bowers- 117 AMY ROBSART Here all was stir, and hurrying to and fro, While hounds were baying in the court below, And horses champ'd the bit, and hearts ran high, 'Mid eager questions if the scent would lie. The Queen herself would view the kingly sport With all the splendour of that Virgin Court, The noble Earl of Leicester at her side Rode like a prince in his imperious pride — The Earl — the envy of all gallant men : The Queen — what maid had not been Countess then ! So all that morn by forest, lake, and fen. Where Nature wound by many a secret glen, And every voice that broke from copse or tree Was eloquent of Love and Liberty, The Queen and Leicester rode — and with them shame Of that great love, which neither dared to name, And yet their eyes too often met to fear What each from either had been pleas'd to hear, What each had waited months and months to tell, What each had learnt, yet knew not how to spell ! At length the Queen broke silence — yet with voice So tremulous, it seem'd to mock her choice — " Leicester, this day of love must be our last. Far other duties in the world thou hast ; It8 AMY ROBSART And I have been too weak, and thou too strong. Or else thou hadst not done thyself this wrong. Return to her who claim'd thy earliest vows — Elizabeth her sweetest thanks bestows — The past is as a day, too soon forgot ! What knows my Dudley of his future lot ? " "But this, fair Queen, that banish'd from thine eye Dudley has but one wish, and that — to die ! Despoil me of my honours, rank, and fame. And all my service, done in thy dear name, But doom me not to shades of endless night, I cannot live without thy peerless sight ! I never loved before ! — Be this my vow — How much my soul doth yearn towards thee now. Elizabeth ! you must, you shall be mine ! In Love there is no law, human, divine — It is our fate ! Then yield to Fate— not me, And I will give my life to worship thee ! " " No, Dudley ! no — it cannot, must not be — Were I, as other maidens, fancy free, Then might I choose my happiness — but now A Nation claims the love / may not show." ***** 119 AMY ROBSART Ah ! Night, thou mother of all human ill. Whose own accursed progeny doth fill The palace, as the sheep-cots of the poor, Adventuring lust and crime from door to door — How long wilt thou torment us with thy sight. And virtue pale before thy damning light ? — " Yes, Varney, yes — despatch her as thou wilt. But see thou leave behind no trace of guilt ! If once suspicion rest upon my name, I were as like to wed the block, as fame — - ' The wrath of Kings is as a flaming fire,' And Tudor blood was never slow to ire, — And this Elizabeth, with all her smiles. Has somewhat of the serpent in her wiles ! Let not thy right hand to thy left reveal The fateful task that shall thy service seal." Dark is the night, but not more dark than dread. While heavy hangs the tempest overhead, And sulphurous vapours roll along the ground, And murder seems abroad in every sound, — A pause, for the fierce wind to gather breath — But now the thunder breaks the ban of death With rattling bursts that rend the very skies, And now the darkness opens to our eyes 1 20 AMY ROBSART And all the terrors of the storm lie bare ! — The weird fantastic demons of the air, Abhorrent imps, deform'd with deadly sin. Are dancing wildly on the village Inn, While Cumnor towers are wrapt in lambent fire, As round them sweep the storm-fiends in their ire ! And many a watch-dog howl'd that night from fear. And many a maiden wish'd her lover near. And many a gable end was split in twain, And many an oak lay shatter'd on the plain — And ever as the wind went moaning by An aerial voice was heard from out the sky — And still that plaintive voice rings in my ears — " Dudley, I do absolve thee thro' my tears." 1893. 121 AD ASTRA AD ASTRA The leaves are falling fast, and Winter drear Steals on apace with fingers numb and cold, With marble touch his hoary hand doth sear The very heart-strings of the poor and old — The little songsters in the leafy wold Are quiet now, no more to charm the sky With rapture of a love that cannot die. All things must die, all things must have an end That tell of a beginning and a birth, All things must die, and soon or late must lend Their little pile of dust to swell the earth. But Love came with us in our baby mirth. Love grew beside us, taught us how to smile. And Love will guide us thro' Death's dark defile. 125 AD ASTRA And what is Love ? — Hath ever man defined ? — So small a word, and yet so wonderful ! The sweetest of the mysteries enshrined Within the temple of the human soul — A power no force can curb, no Time control, Whose mystic arms encircle land and sea, Lighting the great deeps of Eternity. IV Love is an union sweet of eyes and heart. Each bound in willing service to the other. No sooner doth the eye its joy impart Than tears give answer for its silent brother — Bright jewell'd founts, in which we fain would smother The weakness and the rapture of our love. Forgetful that the gift is from above ! Yet Love is sweetest when the sweets are tears — The soft unfolding of the bud in Spring, The glittering pageantry that Summer rears, And Autumn's deep and sober colouring Are dearer to the heart round which they cling, Because their loveliness must pass away. Because their beauty is but for a day. 126 AD ASTRA VI And so we nourish in our breasts the sting Of joys that are too exquisite to last, We like to keep the heart a-sorrowing, And with sad tears bemoan the happy past, Regardless that the hours are fleeting fast — And that To-day, in which we rage and fret, To-morrow will be part of our regret ! VII So in the change of days, when "Winter hoar Doth wrestle with his brother for the crown. When all the elements are waging war. And Autumn dirges are around us blown. What wonder if the heart should feel adown Amid the tempest and its bitter mirth. The mocking winds that desolate the earth ! Can Nature still the craving of the Soul ? Can Nature soothe the anguish of the mind ? Can Nature teach us firm and sweet control ? Can Nature bring us nearer to our kind ? In part she may — if in her face we find The smile, long sought for 'mid a million loves. That doth exalt the mind o'er which it moves — 127 AD ASTRA IX That answering smile that seems to set at rest Long days of anguish and dread nights of pain- At last to lay one's head against her breast And feel security from storm and strain, To be enfolden like a child again, — The peace that broods upon the giant deep When the unruly winds are hush'd to sleep. But one must suffer first to feel her fair ! Nature was ever yet a second love — Heart-broken, and in bondage of despair, Her beauty dawns upon us as we rove, Too weak those first fond memories to reprove ! Gradually, yet by how slow degrees, She lures us to her own most gentle knees. Ah, lightning interchange of soul and sense ! Divine communion with a kindred frame — When spirit voices speak from out the immense. Unfathomable Silence whence we came. And Man's immortal destiny proclaim — What time we breathe a far serener air And reach at joys that are beyond our sphere. 128 AD ASTRA XII She weaves around us widening sympathies, A heart to measure all her variant moods — If we but love her for herself, we rise To higher levels in her solitudes — Amid the stillness of the fragrant woods We may forgive the pettiness, the wrong, The cowardly spite of many an evil tongue. XIII But that which most of all she doth instil. And teaches with a mother's zealous care, Is thankfulness of heart, and joyous fill Of Worship, Adoration, Praise, and Prayer — The glorious liberty of light and air ! Of Life, pulsating thro' a thousand forms. Of bird, and beast, and flower, and creeping worms. XIV But have we never found her friendship vain. Ere yet the struggling will has been resign'd ? Her cold indifference to mortal pain, The sympathy which is so hard to find ! Perchance her mood is captiously inclined — She smiles, siie seems to mock us in our sorrow And just as lightly will she weep to-morrow ! I 129 AD ASTRA When Life seems hopeless, and the future void, The contrast is too great for us to bear — Nature in all her children is o'erjoyed, Whilst we are sinking from a deep despair : What does the universal Mother care ? Like some proud dame, whom social pleasures crown. Forgets her offspring in her latest gown ! Nature is like a woman greatly loved With all the outward glamour of Romance, So long as all her charms are to be proved, She holds the soul in an ecstatic trance — Her beauty gave the death-wound at a glance ! Yet, when we look behind those lustrous eyes, We find scant echo to our deepening -sighs. XVII Our Love it was that gave the mystic grace. And robed her in the splendour of the sun ! Our Love it was that carved upon her face The witching lines by which we were undone ! That set her on her interstellar throne ! But soon or late our Love must wake, and then— Love'unrequited makes us faithless men ! 130 AD ASTRA XVIII Whilst she looks on with cold indifference Behind the granite of her rugged brows, Our little loves to her are but pretence, And pass as lightly as all lovers' vows — She cloaks herself in her eternal snows, A stately Presence, with an icy mien. And bold his heart who crowns her deathless Queen ! XIX Love, at the highest, asks for no reward. For perfect Love rejects all recompense : So that of his own fires he may keep guard. Of other longing makes he no pretence, His altars breathe of myrrh and frankincense, And in the joy of such high sacrifice His only true and finite pleasure lies. XX So that our love for Nature is not vain. But doth return to enrich our hearts the more, Whate'er we give, she gives us back again With something added from her boundless store — With larger knowledge of ourselves we pore Upon the book her bounteous grace makes known. And find a mother's heart behind her frown. 131 AD ASTRA XXI She teaches us to look for sympathy Within the lives of those whose toil we share, And she can heighten Love's affinity With bonds the sweetest that the stars declare — Whom she hath join'd no evil tongues can scare, Their friendship grows with each revolving moon, And silent Death o'ertakes them all too soon. ***** XXII O beauteous World of Wonder and Romance ! Thou dost reveal some heaven-born mystery ! Some moments of our lives thou dost enhance As sacred symbols of Eternity ! We feel so conscious of our part in thee, The spirit leaps towards her native skies. Doubt and Despair fall from her as she flies. XXIII 'Tis the sublime in Nature we most love, But all the gentler aspects of her state A Woman's finer fancy for us wove — She first in us soft pity did create. And tenderness for all things, small or great — 'Tis thro' her love that we have learnt to share A world of bright perceptions, sweet and rare. 17,2 AD ASTRA XXIV The age of Chivalry can never die, So long as Woman holds to her domain ! She is the loveliest thing beneath the sky, And wields a power that Man can ne'er attain. Then never let her of hft- lot complain ! She so can sweeten, in her time and place. That with her rests the future of the race. And nowhere is her presence so supreme As in the halls Nature has deck'd for her — 'Mid mountain scenery and forest gleam She stands confest the Queen of all things there. How delicately fashion'd, and how fair ! "With gentle lustre beaming from her eye She fills with radiance earth, and sea, and sky. XXVI For Love and Nature are so close allied, That one, without the other, seems less fair — If thou wouldst learn to love, look on thy bride When moonlight steeps her lips and lustrous hair. And Ocean's old romance enthrals thine ear. Or from the shadow of some piny steep When the great sun dies out upon the deep. AD ASTRA XXVII For what is Nature, with no comrade by To share the fulness of the heart's excess ? To show, with sympathy of hand or eye, That joy is doubled by a like impress ? — Beloved Fellowship ! that ^rows not less By daily intercourse with things divine. The worship of twin souls at Nature's shrine. * ^ ^ V^ Tft XXVIII O Nature, lovely charmer, gentle bride ! I fear thy reign will soon be at an end ! Man's ravage hems thee in on every side. Before his step thy beauteous form must bend- No more for us shall rural vales extend In widening prospect 'neath the unsullied sky, Until in dreamy tracts of blue they die. Oh, I could weep for those who follow after, To think what our dear England may become ! Where Nature reigns shall flow discordant laughter, And village shouts where nightingales are dumb !- No more for us the beetle's drowsy hum Shall break the stillness of the Summer night. And to the scents of eve add new delight. 134 AD ASTRA XXX No more, — yet have we not divine amends Within the mighty progress of the mind ? Woman, no more the slave for meaner ends, But as companion to the soul design'd ! Her influence breathing, like a gentle wind, Health and a quiet calm to stormy seas — Peace after tempest, and from turmoil ease. XXXI And Man, to what achievements doth he move ! Who shall his boundless destiny descry ! Out of the earth what untold treasure-trove ! What realms await him in the trackless sky ! The stored lightnings at his bidding fly, The circuits of the World their bounds decrease Before the smile of universal Peace. Tho' factory smoke and noise of whirring loom Obscure his perfect vision for awhile. Time will obliterate, and deep entomb These reminiscences of primal toil — His latter days shall yield him richer spoil. Bought with a lesser strain of eye and nerve, And Nature's giant forces him subserve. AD ASTRA Then Cities shall arise, both sweet and fair, In purer regions of the untrammell'd sky, No murky fumes pollute the healing air. And sunny streets in widening prospect lie — Of sickness and disease shall no man die ! A happy race, in happier climes shall prove The blessedness that comes of Peace and Love. xxxiv Then let the Future bring us what it may. It cannot so the Mind deteriorate That it would let her sceptre pass away. And Nature's beauty be determinate — She, who hath taught us more of our poor state Than all the sages since the World began. And first reveal'd to us God's love to man. ***** XXXV O Nature, tho' thy beauty never wanes. And every hour sets forth some new device To captivate Man's heart, and hold in chains His fond imagination — still thou'rt ice To his affection, like a maid's caprice ! But never, like a maid, to give thy love. And all the stings of doubt at last remove. 136 AD ASTRA XXXVI In Love's great heights and depths thou canst not share- Love's widening coil of reciprocity ! In that brief moment when two lives declare That Life is richer than all dreams can be, What time the mellow'd fruit falls from the tree — To reap the harvest of the heart's desire In one all-perfect joy, too soon to expire ! XXXVII ' O little hands and feet ! O heart of mine ! Why dost thou tarry in thy father's hall ? Why dost thou linger in that home of thine, And dost not know I love thee all in all ? Hast never heard thy lover's plaintive call ? What tho' mine eyes have never own'd thee fair, Thy heart is mine, and Beauty dweileth there ! XXXVIII ' O Lady mine, I seek thee thro' the World, In every forest depth I feel thee stir. In flush of sunsets, or in clouds upcurl'd, In every pulse of breath upon the air — For thee Dame Nature doth her magic wear. The tender flowers their yearly grace endue. The winged choir their songs of love renew. 137 AD ASTRA ' O thou, who somewhere braidest billowy gold, And look'st upon thyself with lowly eyes. When in thy glass thy dawning charms unfold At morn and eve their maiden mysteries. As half unconscious where their sweetness lies ! Like some white, fragrant lily of the wood. That never knew how graciously she stood ! XL ' Judge from thy heart, how much I long for thee ! Here all seems trouble, turmoil, and despair — Man is more cruel than cold Death can be, Which robs the eye of all it deem'd so fair ! Beneath the shadow of thy sheltering hair My weary spirit fain would find its rest, Pillow'd upon the surge of thy soft breast. XLI ' What hope have I, till Love shall come my way ? O whither should my weary footsteps bend ? — How few there are to whom a man may say All that he feels, as fellow unto friend ! How little doth the outward mask portend ! " Give unto all men of the best thou hast " — I gave — and scorn remembrance of the past ! AD ASTRA XLII ' Yet who is there that doth not boast of friends ? That hath not in his heart some memory stored ? E'en tho' experience points to where it ends. And but a breath can make the name abhorr'd ? E'en tho' the parting cuts us like a sword, We fain would love again, and be undone — Is it not sweet to sit at Sorrow's throne ? XLIII ' And oft, at evening, passing thro' the town. Ere yet the ruddy lights their lantern'd play Had half begun, when every little frown Is sweetly mirror'd in the dying day, And maidens' eyes with that fair light of May Are crystal-clear, as to their homes repair The dainty purchasers of dainty fare, XLIV ' How have I sigh'd, to think of my return ! — No eye will light with kindlier fire for me, No heart will bide my coming, till it burn At every sound of Love's expectancy, No ear alert Love's Messenger to be, — All desolate and drear my lonely room. The shadows fall, and thou — thou dost not come ! AD ASTRA XLV ' And shall I cry for ever, and in vain ? The night-winds mock me with their hollow sighs, And daylight greets me in my bitter pain — Still, still, thou art unknown ! — my tearful eyes Are weary waiting for thy soft replies — On every hand I see that Love is fair. And every sight increaseth my despair ! XL VI ' How I could love, if loved in like degree ! Life seems to hold no richer harvest here — To sail beyond the sunsets, and to see Those Western Isles, that all have deem'd so fair. To breathe awhile in that diviner air. And feel, like those old Gods of ancient time. Existence mellow'd to a joy sublime. XLVII ' O Love ! that sitt'st upon thy deathless throne, Controlling all by thine Omnipotence — O Heart ! that deem'st thou canst not love, since none Can give thee back thy heart's full recompense — O Love for Love ! divinest Affluence ! To read thy longing in another's eyes, And the New Dawn in sumptuous splendour rise ! ' 140 AD ASTRA XLVIII ' One have I met — most precious memory ! — For whose dear friendship not in vain I sued — Hath not her patient spirit been to me A fine example of sweet fortitude, — Of sorrow never sanction'd to intrude, — And taught me more of Reverence and sweet Faith With every intake of her gentle breath ? XLIX 'The tender, wistful smile of one, whose life Was barren of the hope that makes life fair ; The struggle of a soul, whose inward strife Seem'd hourly more than its frail shell could bear- O what a treasury of love was there ! — - A richer mine man never found on earth. Yet stored for one unconscious ot its worth ! ' So now I wait, if haply I may find Another, who shall some resemblance bear To Her, who all unconsciously did bind Me to herself with many a silken snare — Have I not seen her smile when none was near ? — Those sorrowing lips, what could they tell of love ?— They told of depths / would have died to prove ! 141 AD ASTRA LI * Is there in all this world that perfect flower Wherein my soul might fold its wings and rest ? Heart-weariness doth hold me every hour, I cannot still the tumult of my breast ! Yet in the silence stands thy love confest — I feel thy winnowing wings about my soul, I dare not go beyond their sweet control. LII ' No outward sign I ask of Love's awaking, No doubt or question come from me to thee ! When once our eyes have met, all else forsaking. Not Death itself shall set our spirits free ! For each one hope, one language, there will be — Our souls shall meet in silence, and none hear The swift response that maketh all things clear. ' Thou star ! that shone upon me from a height As wide and boundless as the spacious Heaven, Filling my lonely soul with thy pure light. And that effulgence not to mortals given — Bright beacon to my bark ! in tempest driven Too near the perilous quicksands of Despair, Which else had founder'd in the midnight bare — 142 AD ASTRA ' Be thou the guide and compass of my way ! Let thy true needle point me to the sky, Where shines the light of never-ending day, And passion's surges roll unheeded by — Dwell thou within my bosom till I die ! Purge and refine each grosser image there, And make my heart a habitation fair. LV ' Come to me, O my soul's diviner soul ! Come breathe upon me all thy softer airs — Sweet woman, loved beyond my heart's control ! That I may tell thee all my secret cares. And in thy bosom fold the grief that sears — To feel thee sharer of my heart and brain, And to my dearer self myself explain. ' For thou alone canst fully understand — Made one with me in all things — how I fare, And with a touch of thy soft woman's hand Can lighten half the burden that I bear — Thy gentle fingers can disfranchise care. Whilst, in the mirror of thine own pure mind, A nobler likeness of myself I find — AD ASTRA LVII ' A better, purer self, that will not fail For want of human sympathy and love, A higher, nobler self, that will not rail At all things that Adversity must prove. Believing that our trials are from above, Enduring each as for the common good. And bravely battling down each wilful mood. LVIII ' And so, dear heart, for thee I sit and pine, And many a day goes idly, vacant by, Which should have woven in it " Mine" and "Thine," Which should complete the life for which we sigh — For what were all the bliss beneath the sky. If we should never meet, or never know The greatest gift that Godhead may bestow ? LIX ' 'Tis with the evening that I feel thy want. For with the light my sun of life goes down — How cold the Moon's pale fire ! how grim and gaunt The leafless trees amid their forest moan ! How wofully the wind sweeps by alone ! And I — tho' Love is round me everywhere — Have no sweet Love to comfort my despair ! ' ■^ ^ *" Sit ■#■ 144 AD ASTRA LX ' I will away, into the light of day ! For morn is peeping o'er the hills afar, I will away, and somewhere will I pray For strength and guidance, that I may not mar The life that still is left — my evil Star Hath set : another day dawns bright and clear. And brighter for the clouds that hung so near. LXI ' Awake, my Love, the morn is newly drest ! Awake, and meet thy lover on the lea ! How cold and drear, till thou dost leave thy rest ! How bright the sunshine that awakes with thee ! For when thou go'st abroad 'tis told to me — The very winds are richer for thy sighs. As from thy lips they take their sweet supplies.' LXII Such is the cry of Youth, before it learns That not for Love alone was man design'd. Till painfully at last the Man discerns That Youth was to Love's deeper meaning blind. For passion oft betrays the youthful mind, And like the spangle of a lesser star Dazzles, where Love glows steadfast from afar ! K 145 AD ASTRA LXIII O Woman, with what soul-alluring charms Thou dost constrain the eye to worship thee ! How can we fight against those beauteous arms ! How wrestle with so sweet a destiny ! And yet, if man had only strength to see. Thy love is but the mirage of a dream, That mocks him with the magic of its gleam ! When will he learn to look at thee aright, Not make of thee an idol for a day ? To place thee on a far serener height, Where spirit doth not mix itself with clay ? Thy Beauty then will meet a purer ray. And in the light of never-ending Love The perfect joy of one true union prove. LV Soul, that ever whispereth of thy wants. In God alone canst thou be satisfied ! 1 know how much the earth-born nature pants For Love, that never woman yet supplied ! For Love, that is to mortal years denied !— O passionate heart, why strive eternally Against the Love that can alone set free ? 146 AD ASTRA How vain, how short, the best of mortal's love ! Yet fixity in Love the spirit craves ! Unless your trust in God knows no remove. Your life is but a sleep on summer waves — Rough winds will toss you to their ocean caves. Thro' which the bellowing sea with thundrous roar Doth break the chilly silence evermore. Unto the naked Heavens I cry aloud, ' O Father, give me back my Childhood's faith — That Faith which sought Thee in the brightening cloud. And deem'd it but the mirror of Thy breath — O give me that assurance, which in Death Men have, whom lifelong fears and doubts assail'd. Yet at the last Thy glorious Light have hail'd ! LXVIII ' Oh, when this passionate heart hath ceased to beat. Then only may I feel myself secure ! I am not fit to lay me at Thy feet. How canst Thou all my frailty endure ? — O Lord, unless I felt Thy pardon sure, Mine own unworthiness might bid me pause. Ere I could ask forgiveness in my cause. AD ASTRA ' In sole reliance on Thy saving grace, The blood of Christ which cleanseth from all sin, I supplicate Thy mercy in this place — Here, at Thine altar, seek I peace within — Lord, now in me Thy earnest work begin ! O grant me true repentance of the past. And Faith, that shall not doubt Thee at the last ! ' O give me Love — strong, perfect, undefiled ! A heart to answer to my own heart's need, An eye that is not by new sights beguiled. But calm and steadfast, reverencing its creed, A soul that is from sensual slavery freed — Or, if I may no earthly union prove, Console me with Thy grace, Thy peace, Thy love.' ***** LXXI In Nature's solitudes we needs must feel How great a debt of happiness we owe To those who live our lives, and share our weal — To find a friend in many a seeming foe !— For those, who on themselves their love bestow,. Learn soon or late that love, like hoarded gold. Is greater weight than one poor mind may hold. 148 AD ASTRA LXXII We cannot live without our fellow-men — Men are gregarious as the flocks that roam — Then wherefore sulk, like some lone denizen, Away from those who share our natural home ? Nay, rather let us to Man's service come ! For we are not our own, but one another's, Our happiness and pain involve our brothers' ! And some there are — poor, self-deluded souls !- Who stoically endure the worst of bonds. Believing that so far as each controls His bent for pleasure, so the soul expands — Such is the creed Philosophy commands ! But those who bow to such a stubborn God, May find it break them with an iron rod ! LXXIV Self is the basis of Philosophy ! — To make the Will invulnerably whole, To glory in one's own divinity. That perfect Ego that defies control ! And if, at times, there seems a higher goal. Then that Intelligence which made the Will Its mighty purpose will at last reveal. 149 AD ASTRA LXXV These are thy first-fruits, O Philosophy ! — To be above the pains of mortal men, To let no fear disturb that Faculty Which ruleth all that is, and that hath been — To be impervious to Pleasure then ? The riddle of the World were hard to find, If hope and fear and love are left behind ! LXXVI Only to hearts devoid of human feeling, Only to natures cold as thy cold creed. Can thy trite truths. Philosophy ! bring healing, Can thy poor Faith bind up the wounds that bleed- The soul is dead that is from suffering freed — Philosophy would blunt the edge of pain. Yet is more pitiless than wintry rain. LXXVII And so Philosophy did but appeal To natures unimpassion'd as her creed — The froward heart of man could never feel In her a friend to serve him at his need. Who only spoke to minds from passion freed — She never had thro' grief and rage endured. And at the last safe harbourage procured. 150 AD ASTRA Why was the Gospel, then, so long delay'd? Why was the knowledge of the Light denied ? Where was God's loving-kindness, where His aid Thro' those dark aeons of adulterous pride ? That He — a God ! — could still in Heaven abide, Whilst Sorrow walk'd the earth in league with Death, And Sin gave forth its pestilential breath. LXXIX We rate our little lives beyond their worth — Time hath not taught us true humility ! What claim hath any man of mortal birth That life should be from pain and sorrow free ? To Immortality what right have we ? — Salvation is a favour, not a right, For none is justified in God's clear sight. LXXX Thro' long and patient years the soil was fed In which the Seed of life was to be sown — By true nobility of nature led. The greatest minds the ancient world had known The Pagan creeds had severally outgrown, Had come so near to Christ, it seem'd as tho' They preluded the Dawn of Love below. 151 AD ASTRA LXXXI To those bright Intellects of Greece and Rome, Whose fearless gaze was fix'd upon the sky, Who look'd to Heaven as Man's eternal home. And Death but as a friend that lingereth nigh To ease the throbbing brain, the tortured cry — We owe the first conception of our God, 'Twas they prepared the path that Jesus trod. LXXXI I And, if their hope and teaching were in vain — Oh, not in vain their brave and earnest Faith ! A Faith that might the noblest life sustain In all except that last dread hour of Death, For what assurance hung upon their breath ? — They follow'd where the star of Morning lured. No living Saviour had their faith secured. LXXXIII What is this cry of universal pain. Whose volleying echoes wake the slumbrous years .'' That seems to paralyse the human brain. And daunt the strongest heart with unknown fears .'- God is more vengeful, more remote from tears. Than any of the race that owe Him breath — Shall Disobedience merit instant death ? 152 AD ASTRA We judge from our own standpoint — that of sin ! As sinners we can feel for those who err, And our rewards and punishments begin From Laws, which from self-interest we confer. Whose all-sufficiency is to deter — We disregard the criminal intent. And merely punish what we can't prevent. LXXXV But God ! — can evil live within His sight ? What can He think of sin. Who knew not sin ? And shall we bound Him by our sense of right, And then appeal to that Small Voice within. Whence all our thoughts of Holiness begin ? — Not of ourselves may we inherit Heaven, But only thro' His grace, so freely given. LXXXVI 'The soul that sinneth, it shall die ! ' — Forewarn'd, The Jews had but th' Avenging Sword to fear !- God's Justice never yet hath been suborn'd, It is to all men as the daylight clear — ' But if the wicked will his ways forswear And keep My statutes, he shall surely live.' What greater promise could Jehovah give ? AD ASTRA LXXXVII Why to the Jews ? — Why to the Jews alone The glorious privilege of righting wrong ? Why should they be peculiarly His own, Who made all men alike, both weak and strong ? Why should His Righteousness to them belong ? Why was The Light not equally diffused. So had God's Justice never been accused ? LXXXVII I If we would fathom His august decree, And so determine His divine intent — O that the mind of man should wish to see Into that Great, Primseval Element, The Spirit force by which our lives are blent ! — Why should we doubt, and why should we despair. Because we cannot reason all things clear ? — LXXXIX Are not our lives girt round with mysteries. That mock the shadowy substance of our years ? And shall we find our answer in the skies. That shift as lightly as a maiden's tears ? In faith alone may we abate our fears — A firm belief that He, Who made the soul. The mystery of our being doth control. AD ASTRA xc Yet even here there seems no need to doubt The justice and the wisdom of God's choice — His Kingdom was not built up from without, But from within must come the still Small Voice ! No trampling legions bade the World rejoice, ' Jehovah hath prevail'd o'er all His foes ! ' No Babylon amid the desert rose ! xci Peace and goodwill towards men He came to teach — A universal brotherhood in Christ ! When Love shall heal war's devastating breach, And nations in close amity subsist, — Of Law that shall for ever co-exist With God, and our conceptions of the right, As ruled in presence of the Eternal Light ! xcii With how much greater force His message came From that small band, who lived the life He taught. As man with man the stubborn will to tame, Nerved by His strenuous zeal. His noble thought ! Till from such close communion they were wrought Into fit instruments to work His will. And in men's hearts the Christian's Hope instil. 155 AD ASTRA XCIII So seems there reason for His special choice, That, out of all the World, one race alone Should first interpret that mysterious Voice, The darkness of the ages to dethrone ! And in selection was God's justice shown- To Abraham, for Faith and Righteousness, Was given the Covenant we now possess. Yet were not these — the Chosen Seed — exempt From that same stern, inexorable law Of Death for Sin ! — how often did they tempt The anger of Almighty God, and draw Upon themselves the ruin He foresaw, Who by the mouth of Prophet, Judge, and King Had turn'd them from their vain imagining ! xcv Forewarn'd, they had their fate before their eyes- Freewill to choose Jehovah for their King, To make of self a loving sacrifice, And give Him of their heart's best offering. Or still to heathenish transgressions cling — To set up idols of insensate lust. And drag their generations in the dust. 156 AD ASTRA Like childrea, seizing first the glittering bait, They snatch'd at Pleasure as she caught the eye, Choosing the certain death that doth await Those who give rein to sensual vanity — Till, wearied out with their Idolatry, God scatter'd them the heathen hosts among. That they might learn thro' suffering whence they sprung. XCVII Just as, in later times. Imperial Rome, Whose pristine manhood held the World in fee, When luxury and vice besieged the home. Gave up her strength to shameless harlotry — Till the Barbaric sword alone could free A Nation so debauch'd with lust and wine As scarce to recognise her ancient line. XCVIII And who — if not the Jews — have proved ingrate ? No race was ever born 'neath kindlier stars ! No brighter destiny, no happier fate, Jehovah's sword to guide them in their wars ! — When Man's ingratitude thy spirit sears. Think of the Christ, His anguish on the Cross, And those for whom He suffer'd such a loss ! 157 AD ASTRA XCIX Doth it not seem as tho' His life were vain. Since they for whom His Gospel was proclaim'd In scornful incredulity remain ? — And those, whom ' heirs of righteousness ' He named, The very men by whom He was defamed ! — Who still await a Prince of David's line, Tho' David's Hneage lies in dust supine ! O will they ever find a Home at last ? And will God gather them from East and West ? For nigh two thousand years borne down the blast Of pitiless retribution, sin deprest ! — If only they would turn them from their Quest, And recognise in Christ great David's Son, In Whom the Future and the Past are one ! CI The world-wide empire promised to the Jews — Thro' lack of Faith and Disobedience lost — Doth it not seem as the' God's Love renews A second promise to the Anglian Host, Whose sons have treasured Purity the most. To see the Standard of the Cross unfurl'd, Till Error be to Outer Darkness hurl'd ? 158 AD ASTRA ClI For, if we be not of the lost Ten Tribes, At least we have procured them harbourage — A shelter from the flouts, the sneers, the gibes Of malice that befits not this fair age ! Turn where you will each blood-stain'd, guilty page, The foreign hatred ever doth abide. The Jew is menaced still from every side. cm If to the Jews Christ's mission was in vain, How much more wonderful the Gentiles' faith ! Why should the Gentiles reap the bearded grain ? The Jews alone incur His righteous wrath ? Have not we both offended unto death ? — Must Loyalty to Creed pronounce their doom, Who look for a Messiah still to come ? CIV Are there not signs that still God loveth them ? — Whate'er they touch turns golden in their hands. And stone by stone the New Jerusalem Is rising 'mid the wreck of other lands. For as their Wealth, so too their Power expands — From East to West the sky is all aflame With dawning greatness of the Jewish name ! 159 AD ASTRA O God, if all our thoughts of Thee are vain ! How vain and foolish do they sometimes seem ! Life holds so much of bitterness and pain, How can we know Thy power is all-supreme ? Our Faith — how doth it soothe us ? — like a stream That murmurs gently on its winding way, Too shallow for the needs of every day. cvi ' I have no Faith ' — how pitiful the cry ! Or, ' Daily doth my Faith grow less and less ' — On every breeze is borne the pained sigh Of one who dare not all his heart confess — O shield us from the storm, the strain, the stress ! Come to us in this Age of greed and gain, And 'stablish in our hearts Thy perfect reign ! CVII And other fears there are — as who shall stand In faint remembrance thro' the lapse of Time ? We are but units in an unit land. With scarce the substance of a passing chime, And shall the Great Unseen with power sublime Review the outcome of our little day ? And is He ever near us when we pray ? 1 60 AD ASTRA CVIII And what of all the millions that have been, Long laid to rest with their devout desire ? The myriad myriads on this verge of green, Still looking upwards to the central fire ? The multitudes the Future shall inspire ? — Our utter insignificance of being Makes us despair of all beyond our seeing ! cix Our minds are finite — can we measure His ? Judge of Infinity by finite laws ? — The little that we know obscures our bliss, We cannot face the Great Primseval Cause ! Our narrow orb of sight its light withdraws, — Yet in the boundless spaces of the sky What worlds undreamt of may go wheeling by ! ex The thousand questions that come surging in, And thunder like the waves upon the beach ; The haven that we ever strive to win. And yet, despite our striving, never reach ; The doubts that in due season fall to each, And never leave us but with sullen dread That all Life's beauty is for ever dead. L l6l AD ASTRA CXI And where at last do all our questions end ? And are they not as foolish as we deem A child's first questions of his earliest friend ? More foolish ! for what folly must it seem To question where is no responsive gleam. No sympathetic parent to expound The mysteries which in our lives abound ? * * * * - * CXII O breaking hearts ! O smiles that fain would hide Your anguish from the prying eyes of Morn ! The bitter tears that Beauty's cheeks have dyed, Only to vanish with the Day new-born ! The biting wounds the cruel gyves have worn ! O who would be so fetter'd, so distraught. But for the Crown of Life so dearly bought ? CXIII And would you tear it from their aching sight, And tell them there is nought beyond the veil ? That human misery is but a blight That falls haphazard where the roses trail ? That all their fortitude at length must fail. Since there is none to call to at their need. And man hath now outgrown the Christian creed ? 162 AD ASTRA CXIV Must Woman's sweet Devotion also pass. Her tender trust in all things pure and true ? And with it half the joy she did amass Whilst Faith and Love the Day's bright curtain drew ?- No more the mystic bond, the love 'twixt two, For once her sacredness is laid aside. Her virtue will but rest upon her pride. cxv O little lives, brought thro' the starry gloom, Fragrant as early flowers of Paradise ! O little Innocents, whose tender bloom Is soft as that which on the violet lies ! Who would not rescue you from sin and vice ? Too oft transmitted thro' ancestral veins. Too soon to bind the infant mind in chains ! cxvi Heredity ! thy awful laws reveal The fearful criminality of sin — The secret faults which man would fain conceal. With all the host of ills they usher in. Now show their vile and noisome origin — O let us not, amid our lightest laughter, Forget the debt to those who follow after ! 163 AD ASTRA ex VI I How can we judge of evil, when we see That all things work thro' evil up to good ? And shall we judge that a calamity Which is but an incentive to the blood, To bravely battle with the swelling flood ? — Had ancient Nilus his full tribute paid, Egyptian Art and Science had been stay'd ! CXVIII So that misfortune often is a spur To goad man to his highest, and that wrong Which seem'd to cast upon his life a blur. Is but a favour granted to the strong. That should the joy of victory prolong — The finer metal must be purged with fire, If perfect purity it would acquire. cxix Behold the savage with his simple wants, Content, if in the sunshine he may bask ! The torpor of indifference him enchants, And drowsy negligence of any task Save that of blinking at the stars — the mask Of the wide globe puzzles his childish brain, And so a thousand years he will remain. -(& ^ ^ ^ ^ 164 AD ASTRA cxx What man is there that hath a sickly child, That doth not love it more than all the rest ? Thus is our grief for sorrow reconciled, And larger love exalts the parent's breast — The little sufferer is of all most blest. For love and sympathy are dearer far Than all the joys that other children share. cxxi So every sorrow hides a central joy. And with all suffering and pain'd under-song There is a leavening mixture of alloy. That more than compensates the seeming wrong. For to all such far other joys belong — A keener sensibility to bliss, A finer insight into all that is. CXXII So Pain and Sorrow also have their part In the great scheme of universal good — Without them how refine the human heart, Too soon elated unless these withstood ? So lightly do we flit from mood to mood. We seldom see the sorrow of the thing, Until the Angel Pity droops her wing. 165 AD ASTRA CXXIII And Sorrow is not only to refine, For Love leaps up with tenfold sympathy To mitigate the suffering and the sin That are a part of the divine decree, In that foreshadowing of the life to be — Where Pity hath become an Angel grace, And Sorrow shows once more a smiling face. CXXIV And these are warnings also of their kind, That every time we sin we cast abroad Seeds, that the ever-fructifying wind Will bring to ripeness in some fair abode, Increasing sorrow and the human load^ O who would sin, if first he did review The pity of the thing he fain would do ? ***** cxxv Pause ! ere thou cloud the bright faith of the poor — Revere, thou godless man ! those toil-worn hands- Why should they battle on, why seek to endure The thousand slights put on by thy demands. Unless beyond the gloom God's Heaven expands ?- Where every man shall meet with his reward, And their long-suffering voice at last be heard. 1 66 AD ASTRA CXXVI I cannot reconcile my faith in Man With what I see beneath these homely skies — The million prostrate, that the few may span With their broad palms the wealth the land supplies, 'Mid luxury of a thousand selfish ties, Forgetting those strong arms to which they owe Immunity from toil and foreign foe. CXXVII Yet those broad acres that our Fathers loved — The stately chase with all its woodland sheen, The slender-footed deer, that whilom roved 'Mid pasturage of verdant English green. The winding avenues, the distant scene, And last the ancient Manor, ivy-crown'd. Still breathing of a feudal peace profound, CXXVI 1 1 And over all the bearing of the host. That perfect blending of good sense and pride, — That ancient dignity, too often lost By contact with the coarse and meaner side. Where noble lineage is to gold allied, — Courteous and kind, with that attendant grace That is the sure presentment of his race — 167 AD ASTRA CXXIX O who can look on these indifferently ? Rather than see such scenes and manners die, Almost one were in love with tyranny, Almost one could ignore the widow's cry, The thousand breaking hearts beneath the sky- Perish the thought, which would my faith impair That all men have in joy an equal share ! ***** cxxx Interminable streets of London Town ! Teeming with myriads, myriads still to come ! How dost thou set our poor vain natures down ! How stultify our very thoughts of Home ! For here, as in the desert, one might roam. Unnoticed, tho' a thousand pass us by. Unloved, tho' many a loving heart be nigh ! Bewilder'd 'mid the rush, the whirl, the jar Of millions striving for the foremost place, Man loses sight of his true guiding star — To live for the advancement of his race. The struggle for existence doth efface The self-denying ordinance of life. Since he who would survive must live by strife ! l68 AD ASTRA CXXXII This is the greatest danger of the Hour, Lest, thrown upon a too-tempestuous sea. The individual may forget his power. And in the mass merge his identity, Oblivious of a higher destiny That calls him to the fields of bright renown, And shapes for him at last the Victor's crown. CXXXIII Each hath his separate calling, each his sphere — To each man comes the knowledge of his worth — Then let him follow with a conscience clear The path that Destiny mark'd out from birth. Walking with fearless steps the bounteous Earth, Pleased with whatever substance God hath given, And living as beneath the eye of Heaven. cxxxiv Virtue sits throned in every human heart, Tho' to our sight the outer man seem vile. In each there is a temple set apart. Which neither thought nor passion can defile. Lose faith in Man i" — It is the Devil's wile ! — Let no such perilous doubt thy heart constrain. Lose faith in man, and trust in God were vain ! * * * » * 169 AD ASTRA cxxxv Man's conquests over matter — do they move From God, or from his own determinate will ? For what do his so-vast achievements prove But that all matter yields to mortal skill, Indomitable courage, scorn of ill ? — How thro' repeated failures man may rise To heights beyond the heights he did emprise ? How else had the Egyptian Priesthood curb'd The mighty waters of the muddy Nile ? How else had the Phoenician prows disturb'd The long, still dream of many a slumbering Isle, Lull'd by the gentle plash of waves erstwhile ? Idolators ! what did their Gods reveal That their own perseverance did not steal ? CXXXVII And, if the Mind be then the seat of Power, What doth its height of sovereignty control ? What claims it for its spiritual dower ? What mastery hath it o'er the human soul ? Before this new-fledged Power we would extol. Let it resolve the bounds of Time and Space, And give to every World its own appointed place ! 170 AD ASTRA cxxxvm And so with greater knowledge reverence grows — He, who hath seen God's mystic fingers traced Upon the Hills and their eternal snows, Will last deny the Presence that hath placed This little Planet in the boundless waste — And what is all our striving and achieving. If here the soul its last bright web is weaving ? ***** CXXXIX Are not our sense-perceptions from without ? Then why still argue of the Voice within ? Doth not the creed of Nature make us doubt The aspirations that the soul would win. The heavenly source whence all our joys begin ? Was Conscience not evolved from out old Time, An instinct born of punishment for crime? Had not the ancient Greeks as fine a sense Of true discernment betwixt Right and Wrong ? An intellectual manhood as intense ? A soul that soar'd the highest Gods among ? Yet knew they not the song Isaiah sung ! — To them the Holy Spirit was not given In that first sign and sacrament of Heaven. 171 AD ASTRA ex LI If thro' the whole creation Conscience reign, An instinct born and disciplined of dread — In man the slow result of grief and pain, Thro' seons upon seons perfected. Owning the mighty impress of the dead — What of the still Small Voice we deem'd divine, Whose sanction was Morality in fine ! CXLII O cursed lure, to lead our feet astray ! If we deny the God within the breast. The God without is but a feeble stay ! And where then may the wounded spirit rest. If Conscience is to lower realms deprest ? — Conscience, whose final judgment all await. Strong in whose strength Man may think scorn of Fate ! CXLIII First, that it should pervade the brute creation — Is it not this that makes the Lion cower Before the eye of Man, and learn his station, Tho' greater far in strength and valorous power ? Man's overlordship Conscience cannot lower, And, far from leveUing all on Nature's plan. It differentiates the brute from Man ! 172 AD ASTRA CXLIV Something there is in Man then that doth force E'en from the brute acknowledgment of God ! That ever-Hving, intellectual Source That hath thro' him the whole wide world subdued, That makes him fear'd by all the forest brood, Since none unshrinkingly his glance receives, That glance to which the might of godhead cleaves ! CXLV In His own image God created Man, And over all things gave him godlike power, A mind that may His whole Creation scan, With Conscience as his spiritual dower — A gift that should preserve him, lest he lower His nature to the beast which doth not change, But thro' the ages walks the selfsame range. CXLVI This Living Voice within the human will That would our utmost thoughts and actions frame. This Spiritual Essence that doth fill Our minds with mystery and our souls with flame. Still whispering of the Presence whence it came — Is it the child of God, or moral Law ? Which inference would the larger reason draw ? 173 AD ASTRA CXLVII We, who are in the world, are of the world. And worldliness is ever our first care — Children of Fate ! whom some strong Hand hath hurl'd Into the stellar silence from afar, And left us wondering of what world we are — Strive as we will to reach the Master Mind, Impenetrable mists before, behind ! And so, before we judge of things divine, We first should mortify our sinful flesh — Not to the body must our wills incline. But to the spirit bathed in love afresh ! Children of Nature ! taught by her to thresh The grain of life from out the husk of death, And in her solitudes find calmer faith. Without a God, what hath man to desire ? Money ? — the vulgar tyrant of the crowd ! Or, if to higher things he would aspire. With larger faculties and sense endow'd. His life to some ennobling purpose vow'd. What is there in the far-off realms of Truth That can repay him for his once-lost youth ? 174 AD ASTRA CL Shall we take Pleasure thea as our sole guide. To snatch the sunbeams as they dance and rise ?- A sweet philosophy that few will chide ! Who please themselves, alone are truly wise ! The soul looks out at intervals, and sighs To think of what we are, and might have been, Who look'd to Pleasure as a deathless Queen ! CLI Another cries, ' O seize the fleeting hour. For like the leaves our moments fall away ; Make happy whilst the God is in his bower, And Youth and Love their rival charms display ; Life's golden harvest hath so brief a day ! O lose not for remote, imagined gain The precious hours that still to thee remain ! ' CLII If thou wouldst ask that God should sanction sin And aid thy body in its fell desire. This trespass on thyself must war within, And leave thy breast a ruin charr'd by fire, And Love in ashes all too soon expire ! Oh, think not God and Nature are at strife. To rob thy soul of one sweet breath of life ! — 175 AD ASTRA CLIII Nor that thine own imagined good is best — For, if there be other Life but this. Before thou dost thy better self divest. And stake thy happiness upon a kiss, Or some such other indiscriminate bliss, Be sure that when each coarser sense is fed. Remorse shall ask no questions of thy dead ! CLIV For, if there be no Heaven nor Hell — but Here — How much the greater need that truth remain ! That we may make this Earth a heavenly sphere By lessening its load of grief and pain, And not with others leave the sting or stain, — Tis not by jovial, self-indulgent sins Man learns where his true happiness begins. CLV O let no momentary joy enslave The spirit which thou hast received pure ! The paths of pleasure flower but to the grave And few there are resist the fragrant lure ! O, not to selfish sins thyself inure ! ' Follow thy pleasures with determined feet' — Who ever found a selfish joy complete ? 176 AD ASTRA CLVI O God, — if in the spiritual mood The soul rejoices in its purity — When the soft tongue of passion fires the blood, How far ofF seems the Voice that speaks of Thee ! How mighty is the impulse that we flee ! Why hast Thou made the face of Sin so sweet That all our nature yearneth towards defeat ? CLVII This is an Age of lethargy and vice ! With stimulants are all our senses fed — The patient soul is made a sacrifice, To pay for pleasures of the heart and head. While soft narcotics numb with nervous dread — No wonder that its spirit-sight is dimm'd. And Gk)d the further off, Love's lamp untrimm'd ! CLVIII To lust is not to love — Love scorneth Lust ! — How canst thou say ' I love,' and Love defile ? For Love is reverent, tender of its trust. And could not stoop to any thought of guile : Love knows no wantonness, no Devil's wile ! — True Love is a perpetual sacrifice. Whose smoke in heaven-ascending thoughts doth rise M 177 AD ASTRA Two Roads present themselves to every man — The one the "Way of Christ, thro' blinding tears, The other roof'd with many a flowery span. And redolent of all that life endears — In each the smoke of sacrifice appears : Two victims are upon the altar laid, And Soul or Body now must meet the blade ! CLX The Atheist argues — that the Christian creed Is but the love of Self, in form disguised. That could we analyse each noble deed. Some selfish motive ever were premised : Is Virtue by such sophistry chastised ? Are not our greatest actions incomplete Until we lay them at our Master's feet ? CLXI ' The infinite conceit, another cries. Of Christian fellowship and faith in God ! Consider all the life beneath the skies, The lives that to Futurity are owed. The countless myriads now beneath the sod. Then, looking on thyself, dost thou not feel That thou art merely dust upon the wheel ?' 178 AD ASTRA CLXII ^ O would that God would write His meaning plain. And not leave life a riddle, hardly guess'd ! ' Such is the cry that all have voiced with pain. That found an echo in old Khayyam's breast — Let no such fearful doubt disturb thy rest, God's meaning is writ large upon the skies, And lo, on earth the same clear impress lies ! CLXIII And still another, ' Only minds diseased The morbid craving after God reveal, That in proportion as we are released From suffering, further from the Faith we steal ' — Can such perverseness from itself conceal That buoyant health may lead the soul astray. Since then the body's wants alone have play ? CLXIV But when the body is with sickness bow'd — And who of mortal men is freed from pain ? — The spiritual nature cries aloud For that strong Arm that can alone sustain. Our old allegiance doth return again — Happy the man, who needs no chastening Hand The mystery of the Faith to understand ! 179 AD ASTRA CLXV And others, more defiant in their tone, Have solved the riddle of the sorrowing earth — ' Sport for the Heavenly Huntsman,' sayeth one. And yet another, ' But for Life and Death,' And that the soul fades with the fleeting breath — What answer is there unto such as these ? What answer that can wholly set at ease ? CLXVI Have we not felt that nothing matters much ? That we are creatures of that creature Chance ? Yet, thinking so, how very near we touch The borderland of this great World's Romance, Where all that breathes His Glory doth enhance ! Each life a link in the Eternal Chain, Unclasp'd by God, to close in Him again. CLXVII 'Tis easier to believe than disbelieve ! Altho' man's mind may never apprehend Infinite God, nor fixedly conceive A Time without beginning, without end, Nor where the stars in their bright courses wend- Enough the evidence to which he clings. The might and mystery of created things ! 1 80 AD ASTRA CLXVIII Who, that hath scaled the heights, knows not the hour When, from the altitude of some lone peak. He feels the deep immensity of Power, The stilly silence in which God doth speak, Himself — a very child in wisdom weak ? O'er-borne at last, his self-reliance gone. He kneels before the One Eternal Throne. CLXIX Unless like little children ye believe, Te shall not see the Kingdom of your God — So shall these heavenly mysteries deceive The unwearying intellects that daily plod To find God's purpose in His chastening rod — 'Tis strange that He, Who gave the mind its power. Should humble it within the selfsame hour ! CLXX In spiritual Truths to be a child. And sit at the All-Father's feet, and learn That Satan, splendid Angel, was beguiled By pride of intellect his God to spurn. That all who diligently seek, and turn Their eyes from evil, shall not seek in vain — Than these, man hath no higher truths to gain. i8i AD ASTRA CLXXI The lower nature asketh for a sign. But Faith is of the heart, not of the eyes f Do we our confidence in man confine To what at best we vaguely may surmise ? For who can pierce his bodily disguise ? Instinctively in man we place our trust, And yet refuse to see that God is just ! — CLXXII That God, Who of His own immortal Soul Gave us that Gift of Gifts — Eternal Love ! Our kinship is beyond our own control, Our spirits to undying music move, Our noblest thoughts and aspirations prove That we are sons of God, children of Light, And born to live for ever in His sight. ***** CLXXIII ' Who art thou that repliest against God,' That questionest His mercy great to man ? Shall He Who fashion'd man from out a sod Answer to thee whose life is but a span ? And wouldst thou ask the Universal Plan ? Thou, whose poor mind is finite, whose weak brain Not half of thy scant knowledge can retain ! 182 AD ASTRA CLXXIV But live the Christ-like life, and thou shalt know ' Whether the doctrine be of God or not ! ' What simpler answer could our Lord bestow ? How doth it lighten our poor human lot ! How soon are all our doubts and fears forgot ! For God reveals Himself in many ways, Till Disbelief a Doubt of Doubt betrays ! CLXXV His laws are built upon Eternal Truth — Truth that is evermore inviolate ! 'Tis but the fashion of misguided youth Infinite Wisdom to interrogate, Youth irreligious, unregenerate ! But with each Spring a deeper feeling flows, Lights with the lily, reddens with the rose. CLXXVI An old man's judgment in the face of Death Is testimony worth a young man's ear, When thro' the years there rings the cry of Faith, ' The Lord my refuge is, I have no fear ' — Doubt vanishes before the Morn of Cheer ! For at the last is clearer insight given — The Peace for which his youth had vainly striven. 183 AD ASTRA To love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, This is the first commandment and the last ! The love of Christ alone can grace impart To triumph over all the sinful past, Illumining the soul in splendour vast ! Can so transform the nature of a man, That all shall marvel whence the change began. CLXXVIII His Life and Teaching cannot be in vain, Since no Philosophy the World hath seen Can heal and succour, lighten and sustain. Can arm with Faith when grief's dark days convene. Like that of Jesus Christ, the Nazarene, And in the lonely passage of the tomb What hand like His to guide us thro' the gloom ? CLXXIX What man is there would be afraid to die If Christ should meet him in the way to-morrow. And tell him of the Shadow drawing nigh ? Dost think that he would look on Death with sorrow ? Nay, rather, would he not new comfort borrow To knoiu that Christ doth live, hath power to save, That there is Victory even in the grave ? 184 AD ASTRA CLXXX And canst thou doubt that Christ doth surely live. That Sun and Moon and Stars hold Him in awe ? Disorder never yet had power to give The cosmic cycle, the Metonic law — What other inference can our reason draw ? We feel the beat of His o'er-shadowing wings. The harmony in all created things. CLXXXI Why should we fear to die, since Death must come And all things to their elements return ? Earth, air, fire, water, constitute our home. In these alone ourselves we may discern ! Is this a thing that any man should mourn. The body mingles once again with flame. The soul returns to God, from Whom it came ? CLXXXII Yet even in this little World of ours. Where all things point to ruin and decay, Where Man is arrogant of his vain powers, And Beauty holds her court but for a day. Where Lust and Vice their rival charms display. How few there are would willingly resign One single hour to share the Life divine ! 185 AD ASTRA CLXXXIII A wise man makes provision for his death, And doth insure against the stroke of fate — Yet, when the simple premium is Faith, How few there are assure their future state ! 'Tis easier to believe that God is great. That Time and Space are bounded by His will. Than that the Worlds some unknown law fulfil ! CLXXXIV Jesus should be to us a Light, a Guide, A Friend so near to us in joy or sorrow. That ever to His Heart we would confide Our cares, and from His Love true succour borrow — One Whom we look for on some bright To-morrow, When pain and sickness shall have pass'd away. And dawns for us, at last, the Eternal Day. CLXXXV The Church of a great Nation should command The finest intellects, the noblest minds — Whom God hath gifted with so rich a hand Should yield the tribute which their genius finds. Else may they learn that Knowledge only blinds Those faculties to which they look'd for light, And Wisdom fade before their darkling sight. l86 AD ASTRA CLXXXVI She must supply the wants of the New Age, In Her alone can sustenance be found ! The Centuries have turn'd an ampler page, And man is treading upon higher ground — O, on the heights may plenteous grace abound ! The Church of Christ may nevermore stand still, If here Her glorious mission She fulfil. CLXXXVII O who can doubt Her civilising power. Or the ennobling influence which She wields ? — Deprive Her of Her customary dower, Blot out Her Light from all our English fields. The virtuous lives Her bright example yields. And in that day when Faith and Reverence go Man may look out upon a world of woe ! CLXXXVIII O what avails this bitter war of creeds. When, 'mid the schisms that have rent the Church, Our Faith is fall'n away, and none succeeds To place it far above the vulgar perch Of low ambitions, to redeem the search For all that is most beautiful and true. And in men's hearts the Christian's Hope renew ? 187 AD ASTRA CLXXXIX What matters it, if Anglican and Greek Have stigmatised the practices of Rome ? God's Word is open unto all who seek, Here may we read of Man's Eternal Home. O would that all to one sane mind would come ! For all are branches of the Christian vine, Embracing every land with tendrils line. cxc The Church infallible ? — Look to Her Past, There is the answer to Her high pretension ! What hand like Hers hath strewn along the blast Such awful seeds of discord and dissension ? Her doctrines ! Her immaculate invention ! Interpreting Christ's Message with the sword. Making His very Name a Name abhorr'd ! cxci What tho' it be the vaunted boast of Rome That She alone retains the ancient Faith, That only in Her fold may man become Fit for the Resurrection after death — Heretical our vain, apostate breath ! — Let Her remember in Her pride of days God's chosen people now are castaways ! 188 AD ASTRA CXCII Yes : Unity ! — but under God, not man — No papal domination for the weak ! — The arch of Heaven is not too wide a span To sphere the freedom that the soul would seek, The glorious silence in which God doth speak ! — He that is not against, is for the King — That is the Unity which time will bring. O what do all our tenets signify ? These wranglings that forever us dispart ? Sons of ONE FATHER, may we not draw nigh. And worship Him together, heart to heart ? What is there in a name to keep apart Those whom God's loving spirit doth possess, Who openly the selfsame Christ profess ? cxciv In Catholicity there is a voice That speaks from out the venerable Past, Whose music still doth bid the World rejoice In One Great Church that shall prevail at last. And hold all creeds in One Communion vast — In that far time when perfect Love shall reign. And all men's hearts be knit in Christ again. 189 AD ASTRA cxcv In all religions God hath sacrifice ! The pale Mohammedan with eyes etern No earthly lure, no offering can entice — Taught from his youth all childish pleas to spurn- To disregard the Prophet's mandate stern. That whether Duty take him far or near 'Tis his to kneel when strikes the hour of prayer. cxcvi Behold that sacred city of the East, The sunrise gilding minaret and tower. The myriad worshippers, the solemn feast. When Ganges claims his matutinal dower. And man and maid their rich libations pour. Scattering upon the river's ample breast The tender offerings that the heart loves best. cxcvii Gather the Nations to Thee once again, For not in Rome alone dost Thou abide ! Thy Church is Universal, and Thy Reign O'er all the earth doth pour its golden tide. An affluence of love from Thy dear side, Foreshadowing the halcyon years of Peace, When the wild rivalries of man shall cease. 190 AD ASTRA CXCVIII Arise, O Lord ! and let not man prevail, Let not his arrogance go unreproved ! Put him in fear that so he cannot fail To know Thy promises are not removed. Thou wilt not suffer harm to Thy beloved. O teach the Nations that they are but men. Ere they presume upon Thy Truth again ! cxcix The Lord shall be the God of the whole Earth ! Lo now His Light illumines every shore ! All sects and creeds acclaim the Saviour's birth. And hail Him King of Kings for evermore ! The multitude of the Isles shall Him adore ! Till in the fulness of the perfect day The night of doubt and discord pass away. CO Then diverse tongues shall in one language meet That men may worship Him with one accord. And Star to Star the endless song repeat, ' Glory and Honour to the Incarnate Lord ! ' For Day and Night one tribute shall afford — When Darkness stills the voices of the North, The South its glorious song shall utter forth ! 191 DAVID AND BATHSHUA DRAMATIS PERSONS David, afterwards King of Israel and Judah. The Little Prince, his son. Ahitophel, his chief counsellor. JoAB, captain of his host. Uriah, husband of Bathshua, and officer of David. Nathan, the prophet. Abiathar, the high priest. First Elder of Judah. A ' [Offi'^'^''^ of David. A Prisoner. A Reveller. An Amalekite. A Ziphite. High Priests, Priests, Levites, Princes, Rulers and Elders of the Tribes, Captains, Officers, Soldiers, Warders, Revellers, Attendants, etc. Saul, the Jirst King of Israel. Jonathan, his son. Abner, captain oj Saul's host. A Jester. Lords, Officers and Soldiers in attendance upon Saul. MiCHAL, daughter of Saul and wife of David. Merab, Saul's eldest daughter. Bathshua, grand-daughter of Ahitophel, and later the wife of Uriah. ZoE, Nurse to Bathshua. An old Witch. Ladies, Girls, Attendants, etc. Scene : Palestine. DAVID AND BATHSHUA ACT I Scene I. — Forest near Hebron. Enter a number of girls, garlanded nvith Jioivers ; some carrying timbrels, others small harps; Bathshua conspicuous. After some light movements, they dance and sing : I How lovely the Spring is, How fragrant the flowers ! How sweet is the morning After fresh showers ! Glad are our hearts and gay, Brighter than buds of May In Eden bowers. II Sweet is the matin song Of lark and linnet, 19s DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Primrose and daffodil Pastorall'd in it. Free are we, and without care, Scattering sunbeams everywhere Each joyous minute. Bath. You strew your notes as lightly as the sunbeams : 'Twas a rain of larks' music. Excellent ! Small Girls {clinging to Bathshua). Our holiday : how shall we spend it, Bathshua ? Bath. How can we spend it better than in such wise — Singing and dancing ! The forest's full of song, And dancing is the true accompaniment To hearts at ease. Here is the sward for tender feet, A carpet woven of needles of the pine ; And there are tufted hillocks of smooth grass. Where we may sit and rest. Come girls, and foot it ! But those who'd idly talk of senseless love May go elsewhere. First Maid. Why, Bathshua, of love \ Have we nought else to talk about but love .'' Sec. Maid. And is love senseless .'' this is some newer sense In Bathshua ! Bath. What do all maids desire ? But I would have you know 'tis waste of breath. And want of sense to speak of it. 196 SCENE I.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Several. Of love ? Bath. Yes, what is love to us ? Sec. Maid. A thing to dream of. And find more pleasant every time you dream it. Third Maid. But if we never dream ? Sec. Maid. Why then you miss it ; And missing it, miss what is best worth having. All. O come, sweet dreams, and tell us what is love ! Bath. O why is all the world so full of love ? Enter old -witch, unobserved. Old Witch. Aye, aye, the world is very full of love. But still more full of sorrow ! 'Tis a sad World : i' faith a sorry world, a woeful world ! Woe's me, woe's me ! Bath. Tell us your grief, poor mother ; We have the wish to mend it. Old Witch. Child, I have none : At least not such as other mortals have ; But none the less I thank thee, pretty one ; Thy voice was kindly, and 't did warm my heart To see that precious pearl within thine eye. Love and Sorrow, Sorrow and Love — Alas the day that thou wert born ! 197 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. For thou, dear heart, shalt live to prove The Rose of Life hath many a thorn. So beautiful thou art ! and to think that thou Must drink of the cup of life's bitterness ! And yet to know the measure of earthly love, That, that is something ! bitterer indeed Were life to a woman — without that knowledge ! Bath. Truly, mother, thy kindness is most questionable. Why breakest thou upon our play with notes Of such ill omen ? Old Witch. I follow, follow. Up and down the world, round and round the world. For words of mystic meaning flood my brain. {Taking Bathshuas hand) I stand upon the threshold of all Time : Hist ! child, — quick words, and image forth my vision ! — I see thee seated on a golden throne I' the golden gates of morning, and round thy brow A crown of beaten gold, and thro' thy hair. Shot with the splendour of the northern lights, A flaming aureole, and in thy hand The sceptre of a queen . . . For art thou not the loveliest of the land. And loved of him the noblest in the land .'' 198 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA A thousand hearts give thee their benison ! For charity and grace around thee flow, Like mists inhaling sunlight ; thou shalt be loved, Aye, more than ever woman yet was loved, By him who is the very prince of love ; And thro' thy children shalt thou be beloved, For thou shalt mother him the pride of men. In wisdom greatest of the sons of men,^ And thro' that son's remoter Son bequeath Unto the world the crowning gift of Peace — Of Charity that is above the law. Of Faith unconquerable, Hope supreme — The Paraclete^ Who shall set free thy sex From bonds of slavery and sensual sin. Making the weak fit help-mate for the strong ; And adding to the glory of the woman The tender joy of true maternity, Till motherhood become the basic law Of life, and all men shape their lives thereby. Bath. The old dame turns my head : what would she say ? Is not this blasphemy against the Law ? And I — what virtue lies in me to do All this, a simple and unwitting maid ? ' Solomon. ^Bathshua, as the mother of Solomon, was the direct ancestress of our Lord. 199 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Old Witch. And simpler for the fact thou art a maid ; But Time will show, and when thine hour shall fall, Fear not to take the sceptre to thine hand, Dread not the majesty of that dread throne : Follow, follow, follow, follow, Follow, altho' thy heart seem hollow. Follow thy lord, follow thy lord. Follow him at his beck or word, Leave thy past to the roaring wind. Leave thy kith, and leave thy kind. \yanishes. Bath. What mystery, and what perplexity Hath she unroll'd ? Sec. Maid. How now, sweet Bathshua ? What of thy senseless love ? If love shall bring thee A crown, and jewels, and the prince of love, Thou'lt surely never say love hath no sense ? Bath. Idle thy talk as that poor wizen'd dame's. First Maid. Our Bathshua a Queen ! let's crown her all. And do obeisance to her majesty. AH (bo-wing). Your Majesty's most liege and humble servants. Bath. Go to, you fools, nor mock me any more, I've had enough of queening it for the nonce. Foice {without bodily presence). Much greater wonders hath this old world seen 200 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Than that a pretty maid should die a queen ; For all that hath been is, and all that is hath been. \They all scatter frightened. Scene II. — The same. Another part of the forest. Enter David and Jonathan. Jon. The king will alter : do not take his moods So much in earnest, his spirit frets him sore. It is more pain of body than a disposition To do thee harm. David. Murder has come from less — But that I saw the madness in his eye, The colour mount his cheek, ere he could poise His javelin, my body now were pinn'd Against his palace wall, and you the loser Of one who loves you better than the world, Tho' all were put into the scale against you. Jon. Your love I reckon more than all the world. And daily do I wonder more and more That one of so high soul, of so pure mind as David, Should give his faith to such an one as I, "Who fashion'd in a less ethereal mould 20I DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Am all unworthy. David. No more, sweet Jonathan. Nature has bound our souls in such sure bonds As death shall not dispart, nor love dissever ; Not even that sweet love we dream of, ypu and I — The meeting between heavenly opposites. That draw together like long sunder'd stars, To flood the night with their converging joy ; That unity of minds, diversely strung. Resolving to one harmony ; that spirit love. Which doth fulfil the life of man and woman, Which unfulfill'd, leaves each a barren waste. Jon. Thou sayest true, my friend, For death is but the exchange for happier fields, Where we may free the love that's stifled here. . . . Never woman, David, shall steal my heart from thee, For there is not within the heart of woman Such love as thine. David. Thy troth makes large amends For all the enmity of all thine house. Praise be to God, for giving me a friend As brave and loyal as thou ! Jon. David, thy hand ; And vow to me, before thy God and mine. That, hap what may, no doubt shall come between us, And that for this same love thou bearest me 202 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Thou wilt not wreak thy vengeance upon Saul, Or on Saul's house, deeply as he hath wrong'd Thy loyal heart, grievous as is the offence He hath committed 'gainst thy person. For I know thou shalt be king, and in that day May thy true friend find favour in thy sight, That peace may be between my seed and thine For aye. David. Jonathan, I love thee as my soul. And could I war against thee, or thy father ? He is the king, and truly God's anointed. And, if I find no favour in his sight, Surely the fault's with me, not with thy father ? But would I knew my fault ! For, if there be a flaw within my loyalty, I'd liefer, friend, that thou shouldst take and slay me — [Presenting his sivord to Jonathan. Silently draw this blade across my throat. That my vile blood may out, and that the traitorous trunk May shrink and shrivel to its swift decay. But, if there be not, — can nothing turn thy father's heart .'' For, verily, there lies but one short step Betwixt me and the grave. For since the day The blatant mob call'd out my young achievements, 203 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Won in Jehovah's name, and overdid Their part, as is their wont, proclaiming me The ten times greater lord by reason of My conquests than the king, he hath not miss'd Occasion to undo me : now he seeks By violence, anon by strategy To rid me of my life, and, whether by His hand, or waging war upon his foes. What matters it the way by which I go ? Evil he sees in all my thoughts towards him ; I may not live, and hope to serve the king ! [^Exeunt. Scene III. — Gibeah. A room in SauPs palace. Enter Merab and Michal. Mich. I have not seen our brother in such anger As when he rose from table yestereve. His tunic torn, our father's spear infixed. My brave, brave Jonathan ! My ever-dearer brother ! Thou stand'st between the two — in deadly peril ! Alas, that thy noble pleading was in vain. Thy zeal and thy devotion for thy friend 204 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Of no avail ! Merab. Nor will they ever help him : For Jonathan had best side with his father, 'Twere tact to do so. Mich. Thou wouldst stand by and see injustice done .' Merab. If that I could not stem the tide of wrong. Mich. Such tact must stand for cowardice ! most tact, I think, does so. Who fears to speak the truth, Is generally accredited with tact. Or takes it to himself as blessed balm, To heal the stings of slow-awakening pride. Merab. I have no pride towards the king my father. Mich. And /have so much pride towards him, that I Cannot endure to see him wrong himself, As every time his rage o'ermasters him. Thou wouldst impel him towards the giddy brink — The tottering heights where sanity grows dim, — By silent acquiescence in the wrong ; For, to agree with a man when he is mad, But speeds him to his doom. Merab. Not to agree Might bring, I think, a speedier doom upon him ! Mich. Thou 'rt cavilling, my sweet sister ; this is no time To cavil. Merab (^shrugging her shoulders). Perhaps, may be : I care not ; I 205 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Enter Saul, Lords, Ladies and Attendants. Saul. And has that fool, thy brother, cool'd his anger. His too perfervid friendship for that adder That's ever in our path, sliming our palace walks, Choosing the undergrowth in which to thrive. And striking at us in the dark thro' our sons ? Most noble friendship ! that would side with those The enemies of his house. Most loyal friendship ! That doth prefer the stranger to his kin. Setting aside the natural ties of blood. Indeed a friendship such as ^yomen share. Secretive and hush'd : not like true-hearted men. That need not words to make their feelings known. A damned, villainous, unholy friendship ! I tell thee, Merab, nor my throne, nor person. Will ever be secure, whilst this same viper crawls. Merab. Dear father, that thou say'st is but too true, I would I could think otherwise ; but, alas, David was ever traitor at the core — Traitor to man and woman ! And his heart. Since that thy javelin fail'd a second time, Hath crystallized to black and icy hate. Henceforth thy life— — Mich. Hush, Merab, stay thy speech Thou wilt repent thee of these hasty words 206 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Spiteful they well might seem, if 't were not that The motive ^ for such virulence seems lacking. David plotting against the king .-' 'tis monstrous ! 'Tis infamous that such a lie should live, Even for that brief space which gave it birth ! And thou, my father, shame on thy noble mind That could conceive, and coin such wickedness ! Thy tongue that could so palter with the truth ! David in league with Jonathan ! Aye, if to league Be but to set up bands of staunchest steel Around their loyalty to thee, to daily vie In loving fealty and true heart-service Which shall commend him first to thy affection. Then David is in league with Jonathan ! I would not let my love for either plead, But I can answer Merab word for word. There is not one more loyal of heart and soul Than Jonathan — unless that one be David, My own, true husband. Merah. Ha, ha, ha, thy husband ! I thought thy husband was a feather bolster. An image stuck with goat's hair ! Mich. My sister hath, Indeed, a pleasant wit. Zaul. Enough : {to Michal) And you, 1 David had preferred Michal to Merab. 207 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Who taught you to call shame upon my speech — You, who have call'd down shame on your marriage bed? But she, who mocks her father and her husband, God will most surely punish her. Mich. My noble father doth forget himself: I did it but to save his life. Saul. But yesterday It was to save your own : lie upon lie : Deceive your sire as you've deceived your husband ! Mich. I grieve to think I could so do to either ; But if, from harsh necessity, I wrought Some slight deception on my lord the king. It was to save — Saul from himself, David from Saul. Your calmer judgment will approve my action. For you must in your heart I know forgive me. As well I know your true heart will excuse me. Saul. Child, get you hence, ere you exhaust my patience. As you have made your bed so must you lie ; David's your choice : look no more to your father, Henceforth you have none. Mich. My father, O my father ! [Exit sobbing. Merab. Take care she prove not now the greater rebel ! A woman spurn'd is far more to be fear'd Than twenty men ; men know not how to hate, 208 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Their hates disperse like mists before the sun : But woman, when she hates, hates once for all, Hates with a fury that no force may quell. Hates with a hate for ever at white heat Till it burn on to vengeance, or consume The vessel that can hold such bateless fire. Michal is now the fiercer enemy. Saul. My Merab, canst thou speak so of thy sister .'' Merab. Of twenty sisters, if they proved as false. Saul. False \ Hath she proved false to thee ? Merab. I know not, father ; But plots she not against thy life and throne ? And am not I thy daughter, and most loyal ? Saul. Yea, more my daughter than thy sister's friend, More loyal may be than loving ! Merab. Traitors I hate. Saul. Ah, say not so ; it doth embrace so many : And such a fund of hate may sear thy bosom. It is not good for human hearts to hate. However bruised : there is no healing in it — Bear with the injury and it will heal. Bear with the injurer and he'll repent. Merab. But, father, thou dost hate as well as I. Saul. Nay, child, I do get angry it is true. But hate is anger that hath petrified, o 209 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. I never yet could hate beyond a day, But on the morrow do I hate my hate, And fling it from me as a thing accurst. Merab. I cannot hate, and unhate, in that fashion. Saul. Then hadst thou better never hate at all, For she who hates, — ponder it well, my Merab, — Hates her ownself more than her enemy. Else would she be more careful of her hate, Not spill it 'gainst herself: for God is just, And doth reward us for our love or hate According to the use we make of either. Merab. Then the reward of David must be great. For is not his whole heart an armed camp Of treason and rebellion ? \Saul frowns. Enter Jester. Saul. Come, Fool, if thou art worth thy place, declare it : Disperse these heavy mists now closing in. That threaten to engulph me in their night. Jest. What would my lord, that I should make him merry ? Saul. Nay, Fool, but that thou shouldst make me less sad. Jest. A merry task that well might prove a sad one. Saul. Nay, an it will, if that thou gib'st me more. 2IO SCENE iii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Jest, (to ladies). Come all you fair ones then of light and healing, And you shall guess, — what should need no re- vealing, — A simple riddle of a great disaster : How true love stole a march on his old master. What is there that should rid ICing Saul of sorrow, Yet is no good for sport ? — That ne'er a one of you is like to borrow That's lived a month at court ? First Lady. A husband. Jest. Nay : That were a very likely thing to borrow. Second Lady. But some of us have husbands, and have no need to borrow ! Jest. "Why then you have the greater need to borrow. Several. How so .'' Jest. When your good man goes a-roving. And you've not enough of loving, What must you do, but borrow, borrow, borrow ? Third Lady. And some of us are still unhusbanded. Jest. Now that's very sad : your case is less complex ; For, not having one of your own, you're very like To borrow someone else's. 211 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Third Lady. Impudent rogue ! Jest. Nay, but all women are alike: not having a hus- band, they do desire one above all things ; no sooner is their whim gratified, their peering and impelling curiosity assuaged, than they quickly find he is not all their eye painted him, their mind con- ceived ; then must they go worrying to find a remedy, and the remedy is always — another hus- band, someone else's for preference ! Sec. Lady. Go on, Fool, with your riddle. Jest. List then whilst I repeat it. [^Repeats riddle. First Lady. I know : a lover ! Jest. Well, well, I thought you would come as near by your first guess as possible : if you cannot have a husband, try a lover ! But how should a lover rid King Saul of sorrow .'' First Lady. By his antics. Jest. Ah, cruel, and from you that are the cause of them ! But granted the antics, how can you main- tain that a lover is no good for sport .'' Most women seem to find sport in their lovers, and certes the lover affordeth excellent sport to the onlooker : with his ogling it, his coaxing it, his squeezing it, not to say his accommodating it upon his knee. Then there are the moonlit walks : with heads joined, hands joined, waists joined (mimicking the appearance 212 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA of lovers as seen from behind in a country lane). F faith I often wonder how they ever come apart again, they seem so truly and delightfully one ! And surely to such the world seems but a vast pleasure- garden, where they may wander at will, quite oblivious of all save their own sweeting. Happy, happy lovers ! Indeed I should not mind fooling it so once in a way myself. Bee. Lady. Thou wouldst make a better fool in love than out of love. Jest. Ah, love's a wonderful quickener ! Surely you must have had much practice in the art .'' Bee. Lady. I will quicken thee in a minute, so thou be not quick to solve thy riddle. \&trikes him. Jest. You have me by the quick ; I cry you mercy. I'll rid me of my riddle, so you rid me of your riddling. 'Tis not a lover, my dear, but a very par- ticular substitute for a lover : one that sets great store by his head-gear, what with his oiling it, and perfuming it. {To attendant) Bring in the scented answer to my riddle. \Exit attendant. Re-enter attendant, bearing the teraphim that Michal had substituted for David. Jest. Take care, now, of his larded davidical locks, All. The teraphim ! The teraphim ! 213 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act i. Severally. A wise fool ! A witty fool ! A wondrous- clever fool ! Saul. Nay, Fool, but now you jest too near myself. [Hurls his Javelin at the jester. O glad am I that I may vent my rage On this poor senseless fool, and not on her. For Michal, if I had thee now, I'd kill thee. (To lords and ladies^ Out of my way ! For I could mow you down. Like single blades before the advancing storm. [Exeunt all except Saul. (In a calmer voice) Now Samuel is gone from me, whom have I On whom to lean ? For these wild bursts must wreck my brain — even as They rack my body. . . . Samuel ! O Samuel ! Why didst thou leave me in my hour of trial ? Why for one sin, one little sin forsake me — One little sin that led me on to others. Stung by the punishment for my first offence ? Hadst thou stood by me then I might have turn'd, Hadst thou kept tryst with me I had not sian'd ! The Philistines were at the gates of Gilgal, — And surely did I think thou wouldst not come. Or I had waited, waited patiently, Until the setting of the seventh day's sun, 214 SCENE HI.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Ere I had disobey'd thy high behest, And fann'd the flame of sacrifice to God. But how didst thou rebuke my slight offence ? Thou turn'dst my fault to treason against God, And didst revoke my kingship ! Aye, much more — Thou didst decree the downfall of my house. O injustice ! My worst of sins did never merit this ! Surely God hath forgiven .-' And thou, my guide, my earthly counsellor, Art thou still stubborn ? Lies there no way to peace ? Is Saul for ever damn'd .'' The face of his soul Held up to him as in a threefold mirror, In which he sees all his defects of nature. Without thy cold indifference to remind him. Have I not striven to expiate my sin, A thousand acts against two small misdeeds .■' Will nothing move thee, immalleable priest .'' {Penitentially) O Samuel, my advocate and friend. Come back to me again that I may live. That I may feel once more God's Holy Spirit Replenishing the springs of life within me — Ah, no : it cannot be ! that day is past ! Samuel hath vow'd he will not come again : He hath anointed David my successor. It is enough ! O my sons, O my sons, 215 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act n. If it were not for you, King Saul could bear it. But Saul is damn'd ! damn'd in his house and kingdom — Then Saul I fear is damn'd eternally, For Saul now bids defiance to Jehovah, Spits at his temple, tramples on his priests. Persecutes his people : and this same David, Let me but once lay hands on him, but once! [Exit. ACT II Scene I. — Mountainous country in the ivilderness of Engedi. In the background limestone ca-ues. In the foreground groups of soldiers, Ahner and other Captains. Enter King Saul {stepping out of one of the caves^. King Saul. Abner, methinks this mountain search is vain. No man, however sorely press'd, would choose These sun-baked slopes, this wild and arid desert. For his concealment ; and canst thou persuade me A crafty freebooter of this bandit tribe 216 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Would let himself be taken unawares "Within these narrow wadys ? Abner. Nay, my lord ; Still cunning oft defeats itself, and these same caves Might well afford both shelter and concealment To one hard press'd. My counsel is we seal them with all speed, Setting a guard both to the North and South, Then at our leisure we may search them thro'. King Saul. Nay, man, 'tis waste of time. Let's to Hachiiah : There in the forest we shall run him down. Abner. My lord, spare but the time for this one search ; And afterwards — to Hachiiah. King Saul. Afterwards, Thou'lt still be crying afterwards ! Abner. My lord, I humbly King Saul. Confusion take thy humbleness ! Humble thyself by swift obedience. Set all our force in motion. \They move off" slowly. Enter David (^from the cave) attended by Joah, Abishai, and other Captains. David. My lord, the king ! 217 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ii. King Saul. David ! do I indeed behold my son ? David. My lord, thou dost behold a loyal subject : One who, tho' sorely tried, is yet most true — Witness this pledge of his unfaltering faith ! [Holding up a piece of Saul's robe. Wherefore, O king, dost thou come out against My life ? Hath David treasonable thoughts ? Thou knowst he hath not ! Doth David seek thy hurt ? If so, the occasion hath but slipp'd his grasp. Why, then, shouldst thou believe in my dishonour. Accepting what mine enemies have said. And drawing thence hasty and rash conclusions, That should prejudge me traitor, all unheard ? What wrong could I commit against my lord ? Evil proceedeth but from evil men, And those, who think evil, encompass evil ; But every thought of mine towards the king Is, as my hand this day, clean and unsullied. The Lord judge between me and thee ; the Lord Avenge me of thee ; but my hand shall never Be against thee. King Saul. David, my son, my son. How sweet it is to hear thy voice again. E'en tho' thou speakest to my own confusion ! Saul stands abash'd before thy greater soul — SCENE I.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Saul, who doth own no master but Jehovah, Humbles himself and his high pride to thee. How have I wrong'd thee, son, this many a day ; And, ah, how nobly hast thou me requited ! There is not one more loyal to me than thou, Not one in all my kingdom ! For who would so have spared his adversary ? May the great God reward thee for thy zeal. Thy dutiful devotion ! Aye, and He will reward thee, for now I know That thou shalt reign, and that my throne will pass — Pass altogether from the House of Saul. Thou shalt be father to a line of kings, Prouder than any that have walk'd this earth, Greater than any since the dawn of Time ; Thou art the herald of a world-wide hope. In thee the Sun of Israel shall not set, But flame on the hills for ever ! . . . Come near, That I may lean upon thee as of old. \_E}nbracing David. Few are there now on whom my age may lean. And, if that few were fewer, it were well ! (Taking his hand) Swear to me, David — ■ Thou wilt not cut my seed from off the earth. Nor yet efface my name in Israel : So shall thy justice be temper'd with mercy, 219 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ii. And the people of God rejoice in thy law. David. Not for thy sake, O king, but Jonathan's, Must I look tenderly upon Saul's House, I could not in my heart do otherwise. [Exeunt. Scene II. — On the foreshore of the Great Sea. Enter Bathshua. Bath. How good it is to come here from the hills ! How exquisite the deep blue of the ocean ! O heart, my heart, how dost thou surge and swell ! And you, my feet, how pulsing to be off! Off fast before the wind ! (Drawing in a long breath.) I cannot breathe Enough of the sweet air ! O happiness To be again with the free winds of heaven, And not within the narrow haunts of men ! O men, you are not fit to walk God's earth, Who have not eyes to see the beautiful. Nor souls to feel what tender women feel ! Love have you never dreamt of ! all save one — David my heart's true idol, and its king ! How valiant wert thou as thou strod'st along, 220 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Leading thy stalwarts to the tent of Saul, Heading thy captains and thy men of war, Thy face all flush'd with battle, thy eager eyes Clear as the noonday sun, and thy whole soul Emblazon'd on thy god-like countenance ! I would give all the world for one long kiss Of thy sweet mouth, and yet, unless God wills, I may not even touch thy hand—/, who Am but a simple maid of Benjamin. [Sighs deeply. Enter old Nurse {panting and out of breath). Nurse. Stay thee, Bathshua ! thy poor old nurse has not The strength to follow, and scarce,! think, the breath. Bath. I'm sorry, nurse, I meant not to outrun thee. This air strikes brisk, and hard it is to hold One's spirits in check ! Nurse. Yes, my sweet love, I know it ; I would have raced thee thirty summers back, I was most light upon my feet. My poor, Dear father used to say, " Zoe is fleeter Than the roe." Bath. Come, nurse, art sure thou speak'st the truth — The unvarnish'd truth .'' 221 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ii. Nurse. Why, child, look at this instep. [Shelving her foot. Knowest thou not a high arch is ever The sign of a swift runner ? Bath. True {raising her skirts^ ; for mine Is higher still : thou wouldst not have outrun me ! Nurse. Certes thou art more nimble with thy tongue ! Bath. But with my feet ? Nurse. Ah, that's another matter. Bath. Thou'lt not concede the victory ! Dear heart, Let's move along. The day is failing fast. Already is the sun 'neath the horizon, And we must make towards home. "What lovely shells ! [Picks up one. I did not know the sea had such fine jewels. Nurse. Fine jewels ! Why they're only common shells. Wait till thou see'st the jewels at the court — Diamonds and rubies, sapphires and emeralds — Why, child, thou art not listening. Bath, {picking up another shelly. Indeed, I am. There are no jewels at the court like these. None half so fine, nor of so great variety ; Look but at the tinting of this shell. Hath The diamond of the court so many hues, Or such transparency .'' the beaming ruby A countenance like this .'' — 222 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Here are the very waters of the sea, Roll'd into flesh of iridescent pearl. Nurse, (deprecatingly) Dear, dear ! — My child ! my child ! Bath. Alas, how few Can look upon a lowly thing, and find It lovely — the lovelier for its lowliness ! And yet, such's the common eye, it would proclaim This (holding up shell) mean and insignificant beside Some tawdry jewel of the court, deep-delv'd From mother earth, with but a borrow'd brightness. My first of men would not have so disdain'd it. Nurse. Who is this paragon of thine ? Bath. Ah, nurse. That is my secret : One that can look into the starry heavens. And trace God's finger there, or on the mountains, . . . And mark amid their monumental calm The immeasurable strength of their Creator ; Or just as simply — for his faith is large — In the bright colouring of an autumn leaf Attest the Great Artificer amid The russets, and the yellows, and the browns. Nurse. Indeed, these be great virtues ! but myself Had just as lief prefer a man more stolid. Who look'd to me for beauty, not to the stars Nor to the dulling glory of the leaf. 223 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ir. Bath. To me for beauty ! — I have not pride enough To think of that : yet still that beldam's words, ' I see thee seated on a golden throne r the golden gates of morning, and round thy brow A crown of beaten gold, and in thy hand The sceptre of a queen.' Nurse. Thou art a queen already — A Queen of Beauty ! and what has any queen To boast of but her beauty ? it was for that That she became a queen, and, when she loses it, She loses half her empery ! Bath. O Love, Could I be worthy of so great a lord ? He only can give voice to all my thoughts : Could I not add some radiance to his ? For I would so encompass him with love, He must live lovelier, think lovelier, Create lovelier — I would not try to hold him with my beauty, But with those charms that captivate the mind : Grace, that shall set the bells of his soul aringing. Sympathy, attuned to the fall of a sigh, Mute understanding, softly and silently winging To a home in his heart, noneknoweth so well as I. Beauty is but a magnet : these the hoops I'd set about his soul to keep it mine. 224 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Oh I could love, dear, if only another Could love me as / could love ! Ah. [Sighs. Nurse. Who is This favour'd prince, for prince at least he must be ? BatL Ah, sounds he not too like a prince of faery ? Nurse. He must be faery prince that wins my maid. Comes such an one a-wooing ? Bath. Nay, sweetheart. But sometimes I have thoughts of such an one. Nurse. God send thou mayst have more than thoughts of him ! [Exeunt. Scene III. — Sau/ seated under a tree in Ramah ; Merab, Michal, Jonathan, Ahner, Lords and Ladies in attend- ance. At the hour of sundoiun. Abner. The king looks sad. &aul. And so wouldst thou look, Abner, If thou hadst won a kingdom with thy prowess. And saw it slowly, slowly slipping from thee. As steadily as sinks yon western orb. The night is coming up, and I must die : Pass, and leave all I have to other hands, And those most hateful to me. p 225 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ii. Jehovah cares not for my dimming sight, My shatter'd hopes of kingship ! {In a stronger voice.) What vails it that I look'd death in the face a thousand times. If that my victories serve to disinherit My own true sons ? David is not my blood — Abner. Nor shall he reign, whilst one of thy royal house Yet lives : so help me God ! &aul. I know thee, trusty friend, but I have sworn it. Merab. Under misapprehension. David has trick'd thee — He knew much better than to lay his hand Upon the person of the Lord's anointed. With Abner and three thousand men near by, Himself scarce able to command five hundred. Thou mayst be sure he weigh'd the odds of battle. Ere he had made a virtue of his fear, And staked his all upon thy clemency. His ready wit stood him for double gain — Renewal of his life, and of Saul's favour, For every moment's doubt did more imperil One in so close a strait. He wisely chose The lesser of two evils, and threw himself Upon thy royal heart. 8aul. I never look'd at it, my child, in that light ; But now I think on it, 'tis very true. I was a fool to be so moved by words ! 226 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Hadst thou been born a boy, my throne were safe ; My days had then gone down with peaceful ebb Unto that silent sea, whence all must go. But, when I look on these (indicating his sons), I am wrung to the heart : I do despair for Israel ! Sons have I none ; Thine eye is now sole bulwark to my state. Jon. And ministers but to a state diseased. Saul. Silence, thou fool ! David will take the crown from off thy head. Jon. Then will he crown my head with greater glory. For such a friend hath no man ; and I joy To think that he will some day reign in Israel, And that my service shall therethro' bestead him : Perchance as captain of his host, but if He shall assign to me some lesser place, Then will I serve him just as loyally. So that I serve him, matters it not where. Saul. If David chooseth captains such as thou. He is not like to reign so long in Israel. What says my Michal .'' Mich. Father, take back that taunt. For I am heart and soul with Jonathan. Saul (to ^bner). David appears to have more friends than I, And fashion'd from these loins : I have raised up 227 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act ii. These children but to sting and poison me With their envenom'd, fulsome praise of David. Enter Attendant. Attend. My lord, some men of Judah beg an audience. Saul. Bid them attend. Enter Ziphites {they prostrate themselves). What would you, men of Judah .' First Ziph. My lord, we bring you news of him you sought But lately thro' the wilderness of Ziph, And drove past tarn and quarry : he is now In hiding in the forest of Hachilah. Saul. Enough. {To Abner) Abner call all my men together, And we will see if we may snare him there. This time I shall not spare him ! \^Exeunt. Scene IV. — The Hill of Hachilah. Night. Saul and his men asleep in their encampment. David aud Abishai seen dimly groping their ivay amid the slumbering host. Abish. {in " low voice). My lord, here lies the king wrapt in deep slumber, 228 SCENE IV.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA God hath deliver'd him into thy hands ! {Raising his spear) Let me strike home : he shall not stir again. David (staying his arm). Nay, Abishai, I cannot hold him guiltless. Who would so use the Lord's anointed. God In His own time and way will punish him : He will avenge me on mine adversary. Take now the cruse that stands beside Saul's pillow. [^David himself uproots Saul's spear. These tokens will suffice. We must away : Faint glimmerings shoot up from the underworld, And dawn is near. \As they move off the daivn broadens, and several of the sleeping soldiers awake. David and Abishai are next seen on the other side of a ravine, from •which David hails Abner. David. Abner, thou valiant chief, why sleepest thou ? Are day dreams pleasanter than duty .'' Abner ! Abner ! Abner. Who calls unto the King ? David. One, indeed. More thoughtful of the King than thou ! tho' less In his high favour. Surely, my friend, thou art A leader versed in all the feints of war, Subtle and perspicacious in thy plans, 229 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act n. Of manifold experience and resource, Yet wouldst thou be surprised if I should charge thee "With gross neglect concerning thy royal master ! See now Saul's spear and cruse ! Some enemy Hath come too nigh the king. Saul. Is that thy voice, my son ? Is it the voice of David that I hear ? David. Thou know'st my voice, O king, and wilt thon tempt My strain'd allegiance till it snap and fail ? Are all Saul's promises of no account ? Is David's life so trivial a thing That he must hold it ever at thy mercy ? Try me not overmuch, for I am frail. What evil genius stands beside the king To prick him to such folly .? What woman's strategy lies veil'd in this .'' Show me my fault, and I will strive to mend it. For Saul is oft persuaded 'gainst himself To his own hurt : and those, my slanderers, Dare not to speak the thing that they affirm. Except as slanderers behind my back. For they are many who would do me wrong. Saul. David, my son, I have sinn'd — sinn'd grievously against thee : I have believed things which I knew were false : 230 SCENE IV.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Believed, because I wish'd to so believe, Believed, because I hoped to find thee evil. But now I know thou art my own true son, That guile or wickedness are not in thee But an exceeding goodness and great mercy. David {raising his hand). My lord, men oftener take their friends for foes. Than recognise a foeman in a friend. Let now the king send one of his young men To fetch his spear and cruse. And forasmuch as Thy soul was this day precious in my sight. So may the soul of David find redemption Even in the eyes of the Great Judge of all. Saul. Blessed be thou, blessed be thou, my son ! For as in the beginning thou didst prevail, So to the end shalt thou be still victorious. Thou wilt do great things, for God is with thee. \^Exeunt. 231 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. ACT III. Scene I. — Ziglag. At the entrance of the city. Enter David, High Priest, Captains and O^ers. David. What news of Saul ? Is there no messenger ? When last we heard the king was hastening north To expel the invading host encamp'd at Shunem, And with him all the might of Israel. The prize — the lovely vale of Esdraelon, The key to the trade and commerce of the north, The highway to the south : Philistia's Lords Have long set wistful eyes upon this pass, And now with all the force they can command, They do await Saul's battle, firm and composed. If he engage them in the open plain, Israel is lost : valour will not avail Against the savage onset of their horse. The roar and rattle of their flaming cars That like a whirlwind sweep the floor of earth. And leave but wrack and ruin in their path. Whatever men Saul might to these oppose, 232 SCENE I.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA The heathen scythes would cut and mow them down, And shock them in close sheaves upon the morrow. But, back'd by their own inhospitable hills. The Tribes may prove a more than equal match For all Philistia's craft and skill in war. And given a leader . . . but, alas, they have none ! For Saul is headstrong, rash, impetuous. And Jonathan too easily o'er-borne In council, tho' strenuous in action : Abner — a shuttle-cock between these two. My mind forebodeth ill Enter Messenger. Mess. News, news, my lord, news ! [^Prostrating himself. The armies of Israel are scatter'd : Saul and His sons are slain. David. How know'st thou this .'' Mess. My lord. When the king saw the battle was against him And that his sons were slain, himself sore-stricken. He call'd to him that bore his shield to slay him. But he, — whether from love or fear, I know not, — Forebore, and whilst I waited, Saul raised himself Upon his arm, even upon the pivot of 233 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iii. His thigh, and cried, "if there be any near, Or friend or generous foe, let him draw nigh. And ease me of my mortal agony." Then, out of pity for a dying man, I did for him the office of a friend. And scarcely had the last breath left Saul's body, When that proud man who had stood by unmoved. Immovable! — his erstwhile armour-bearer, — Stepping astride the massy, sinuous trunk. Fell heavily on the point of his own sword. Refusing to outlive his royal master. David. And Jonathan, how fared he thro' the battle? Mess. He was the first to fall, tho' not before A dozen wounds had bit thro' shield and tunic : He fought as one who reck'd not of his life, Exposed himself most freely, and where he swept The battle seem'd to ope and widen out Beneath his sword, so breathless was his ire. And when at last they bore him from the field, Fainting from loss of blood, he made as tho', Between returning pangs of consciousness. He would have spoke, but as often did his lips Refuse their office, mutely articulate. Until upon one long and labour'd sigh. He breath'd thy name and died. David {overcome). O Jonathan, my brother, 234 SCENE i.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Dearer than life wert thou ! (To Messenger) What is thy name ? Mess. I am a stranger, an Amalekite ; And hither have I brought Saul's crown and bracelet, Stript from his person. [Presenting them. David (in anger). Base slave, settest thou these As price of a king slain ? and darest thou To face me with the tokens of thy guilt Warm in thine hand ? thou art, indeed, a stranger ! Craftily hast thou spoken and with colour. But, — that all men may know 'tis no light thing To lay fell hands upon a heaven-crown'd king, — I do deliver thee now to instant death. (To Officer) Go near and fall upon him. [Officer strikes him down. (To High Priest) Make this a day of solemn supplication : A day of prayer and fasting. And to-morrow We must to Hebron to convene the Tribes. [David then takes his tunic in both hands and rends it ; next, turning to the people, he intones : Saul, Saul is dead. Saul and Jonathan — The heroes of war are no more : O Israel, where are now thy hosts, Scatter'd and strewn upon Mount Gilboa ? 235 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. Wail with the sound of loud lamentation, For Saul is dead, The bravest of the brave lies slain. \The people take up the refrain, and chant it after him as they retire. [Exeunt. Scene II. — Hebron. An open space. Ajull muster of the tribe of Judah. Enter David, Captains, Officers, Elders, and Chief Men of the Tribe. First Eld. Most valiant prince, most venerable councillors, And you thick-sinew'd sons of mighty Judah ! If to the privilege of age be added Devotion to the people and the law, Then to none must I yield priority. Who can look down upon the oldest here As still a child in knowledge. For amongst you Who is there that remembers that dread night When the first messenger arrived from Aphek, And Eh, that hoar priest, fell forward dead 236 SCENE 11.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA On hearing that the Ark of God was taken And that his sons were slain ; When thirty thousand of our countrymen Chose death before defeat, and when the westering sun, Threw back the lurid and portentous glare Of Shiloh, that dear city of our rest. Rising in fire and flare and flame to God ? Those scenes were burnt into my boyish brain. Thro' the long years of manhood I beheld The heathen tyranny, the alien yoke. Our young men taken but for menial tasks, Our maidens oft defiled without redress, The nation stripp'd to the bare means of sustenance. So strick'n, we ate the bread of servitude. Salted with bitter tears, until Jehovah, Hearkening at length to the long voice of prayer. Sent Samuel to our succour. . . . Under that princely judge, that noble law-giver, Israel regain'd her strength, and the Great God Directing all her councils, she went forth Fear'd and respected as of yore. Happy Had she retain'd that governance divine ! But Pride, that erst o'erthrew, again constrain'd her, Until she begg'd of Him an earthly ruler — One that should be the glory of her strength, 237 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. The symbol of her manhood. God gave her then Her wish . . . And in that ruler is she now abased. Her glory lies with his on Mount Gilboa ! And yet our first of rulers was a king Fashion'd to the height and measure of our hearts, With many fair, endearing qualities. But he is dead ; and, with his dauntless sons, Is past our cognizance : he is gone from us. And we must choose betimes one in his place, For we are brought to no uncertain pass. First, then, your choice must be for a tried leader, To guide you down the perilous paths of war ; Next for a righteous judge and prudent ruler; And last, — tho' highest attribute of all, — For one on whom Jehovah's favour rests — Unless the Lord doth lead, vain is the setting forth ! — One man alone unites these qualities : The son of Jesse, — him I do submit To you with confidence, — whom Samuel Appointed to the kingship after Saul. [Vociferous applause. Joab. Compatriots of Judah ! you have all heard The speech that flow'd like honey from the lips Of our august and honour'd countryman. To that I can add little, but that little 238 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA I am prepared to back with my good sword. Blunt am I of speech, but my weapon's edge Hath never been left to rust from like disuse, With that I shall be happy to make good My liege's claim to the chieftainship of Judah. /am for King David, And those with me will follow him to the death. {Kaising his sword) Long live King David ! Tribesmen (with loud acclaim). King David ! King David ! \The partisans of Joab shouting, " Joab and David! " " Joab and David! " Ahitophel (as President of the Council). I understand the people are resolved To have the son of Jesse for their king. Nathless, it is most right, seemly, and fitting That we proceed on lines of precedent. That nothing may be lacking to confirm Our will, or prejudice the King's election. Wherefore, men of Judah, I put it to you, one and severally : Will ye the son of Jesse for your king .? And ye shall answer by a show of swords. [JZi^ tribesmen flourish their siuords and shout, " King David! " " King David! " Ahit. Will ye swear fealty to ICing David .-' 239 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. Tribesmen (together). We will. Ahit. Let Jesse's son stand forth before the people. \_David steps forivard amid shouts of loud acclamation. Ahit. Most dread and potent prince, art thou prepared To take the solemn vows of kingship ? to rule Well and nobly, according to the best That thy heart knoweth, submitting at all times Thy will unto the Most High God ? to strive Not for thine own but for thy people's good. Diligent and faithful to the great charge Entrusted to thee .'' Wilt thou keep alive The true religion ? Wilt thou respect the law, Altho' thou art above the law, maintaining it As the true fountain of the nation's life 1 Wilt thou redeem thy word wherever given, That men may know there is a king in Judah ? Wilt thou abide by these ? David. All these will I observe, justly and rightly. According to the best that in me is ; And hereby make my solemn attestation — To uphold the law, and make my people's will My own. Ahit. Then David, son of Jesse, I declare thee. By grace of God, the chosen of this people. I thee commit to the hands of the High Priest, 240 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA That as thou first receiv'dst the holy oil From Samuel, God's true servant, so thou shalt. Even at the hands of his august successor, Be 'stablisht and confirm'd in royalty. The Lord direct thy soul both now and ever ! All the People. Amen ! [David kneels to the High Priest, who anoints his head with oil. H. Priest. Rise up. King David, blessed of the Lord. This day hath He appointed thee to rule. And be the guardian of His people Judah. Firm in the faith, and valiant for the right. Go forth, nor fear the issue of that battle That thou must ever wage against thyself. For mask'd within lurks man's worst enemy ! The stubborn will, the oft-unguarded heart. The ear that lulls its votary to sleep Upon the giddy heights of crown'd ambition, These are the foes most perilous to princes ! Therefore take heed, and place thy kingly heart In His most holy keeping. My prayer shall rise for thee both night and day. The prayer of all thy people shall uphold thee, God bless, and guard, and guide thee to His rest. David. Most gentle potentate, and priest of God, And you dread lieges of the tribe of Judah ! Q 241 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. The dignity that you have call'd me to. Together with your loud acclaim as king, Almost o'erwhelm me. Friends, did I not feel The sharp and stern necessity of the times And your compelling trust, I could not stem This sovereign grief, that bears so heavily Upon my soul, for him who was to me Far more than brother ; with whom, and for whom. United in one common bond of love, I had hoped in after times to rule this land. God hath disposed it otherwise, and all Must bow to His high ruling ! Men are we. And, tho' the loss of those we love unman us For days or weeks — for weeks, aye even years, Must brace our hearts, and put our trust in Him. Saul brought upon himself his own destruction. For jealousy and hate grew in his heart Like noisome weeds, until his nobler self Lay choked and smother'd : then straightway put- ting off The kingly nature, he abused his trust. Fell foul of all true feeling, fled his soul. And so by devious shifts came to his doom. Yet lay not at his door our great defeat. For the just God will not let one man's sin Carry so far, nor for one grievous fault 242 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Afflict so many. We must look within, For the offence is even in our hearts — We have denied our Maker, set up idols Of selfwill, and follow'd our own pleasure, Even to the bloody steep of Mount Gilboa ! l^Jldurmurs of applause. And so we pay the reckoning, even with the loss Of those, the bravest of our manhood ; aye, worse — The stinging, vile disgrace of routed men, And all the nameless horrors bred of war. For nations have to learn humility By such dire chastening. Let us return to God, And that which we in our poor wisdom deem Irreparable loss, may be the means hereafter Of strengthening us in fibre and in soul. [He is interrupted by loud shouts of " Long live King David ! " {Pointing skywards) High in the Heavens our Star of Destiny Is set ! Follow we It, or leave we It To another .''... And now, thanks be to God, These mountain fastnesses have saved our tribe. Of Israel's host, Judah alone remains Unbroken, undivided, unavenged ! [Tumultuous applause. Then let her be the centre of our strength, 243 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. Until the might of Israel gather round her, And we, the invaded, become in turn the invaders, Driving our ancient enemies before us. And setting up one God, and that Jehovah, From the great river even unto the great sea. \Wild enthusiasm. {To Abishai) Throw out our standard, Abishai, And let the fiery summons speed forthwith From tribe to tribe, until remotest Dan Have heard our battle cry, and Asher know We will not let the heathen sit in peace. Upon his spoils. (To Asahel) My speedy Asahel, Bear to the men of Jabesh Gilead greeting. And tell them we would have them near our person, With quick preferment unto each, according to His quality : for that they did inter Saul's body — were faithful to the fallen — Such men are beyond all price. \Exeunt. Scene III. — The Hill of Zion. Dawn. Enter Bathshua. Bath. Dawn ! the still, gray dawn, and in the fitful East The tender presage of another day : 244 SCENE 111.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA A day so big with promise ! One after one, The starry sentinels have changed their guard, Their furthest watch withdrawn. . . . Silently, To short occasional flutings from small birds. The morn arrays herself. . . . Soon will the sun Gild roof and dome and minaret with fire. And hasten on the hour of our rejoicing. This was no night for sleep ! but to receive From the sweet, tender stars a spiritual grace, A hallow'd benediction, for to-day The Ark of the Holy Covenant returns. From Ephratah in the south, even to the steeps Of woody Lebanon, the tribes have heard. And all the land shall break in song. To-day I shall set eyes upon the king : think, to-day ! God grant me a full sight of his lov'd face. That by it I may live another year. And learn to endure in silence. O my father. Why didst thou force this hateful marriage on me ! What thought have I in common with this Hittite .'' My nature revolteth against his nature, I had as lief be trodden beneath his feet As take his kiss, and now I must submit To him in all things : O my God, I cannot ! O give me respite but for one day more — One day for pity ! and, perchance, to-morrow 245 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. I shall be stronger, more content. . . . To-day ! [^ smile breaking over her face. Let me not sully it by remembering him ! O my prince, my king, To-day is thine with every thought of it ! Thro' the long watches of this silent night Our prayers have risen together ; even now The same glad beams are springing in thy heart As mine. O, one in soul and spirit, come ! Lead me to the sure haven of thy rest. \_Music heard in the distance. Hark ! like the sough o' the wind on a distant sea. Or the beat and thud of the surf on some lonely shore, Comes the murmur of a host : hark ! for I hear The shriller-sounding pipes, faintly and far. And the tinkling clash of cymbal and Castanet, . . . And now the voices of the multitude. Pealing and swelling thro' the vale of Hinnom — Hush, hold, my heart ; break not for sudden joy ! With hidden music must thou now be mute. [Bathshua retires. [The voices grow louder as the daivn broadens, and the procession is seen sloiuly luinding its way up the Hill of Zion, until it conies into position before the gates of the citadel. 246 SCENE in.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Order of Procession. Mighty warriors {blowing silver trumpets). The two High Priests {in their ceremonial robes). Seven Trumpets, The Ark {borne on staves by Levites). King David. Priests and Levites. Princes and Rulers of Judah and Benjamin. Princes and Rulers of the more northerly tribes. As the Ark comes into full view of the citadel^ the Priests and Levites take up the following chant : " Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered : Let them also that hate Him fee before Him. " Arise, Lord, into Thy rest. Thou, and the Ark of Thy strength. " Let Thy priests be clothed with righteousness ; And let Thy saints shout for joy. " For the Lord hath chosen Zion; He hath desired it for His habitation." High Priest {standing before the ramparts). " Lift up your heads, ye gates ; 247 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iii. Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors : That the King of Glory may come in." The Warder of the citadel {from the rampart s\ " Who is this King of Glory ? " High Priest. " Jehovah, strong and mighty ; Jehovah, mighty in battled The gates are throivn open, and the procession enters, the Levitical choirs chanting: " Lift up your heads, O ye gates, Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ; And the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory ? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory." \Exeunt. Scene IV. — Before the Palace. Enter from one side, King David and his officers, returning from placing the Ark on Zion : and, from the other, Michal and her attendants. David. Comest thou out, dear wife, as Miriam came, With timbrels and glad heart of song, after 248 SCENE IV.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA That fateful passage thro' the dread Red Sea, Or, like that peerless maid, Jephthah's fair daughter With the proud light of victory in her eyes. And unrestrained joy upon her cheeks, To greet her sire's return ? For, verily, God hath been gracious unto me this day. Who of His infinite goodness hath vouchsafed This great and long-withholden privilege Of bearing to its rest the sacred Ark. There in the midst of Zion is it set, Like a jewel amongst the hills 1 to be For evermore the glory of His people, The loadstar of our race. Mich. When thou hast finish'd, I, too, have somewhat I would say to thee. David. What ! dost thou mock me, Michal ? This — thy welcome .'' Mich. Thou didst behave like a fool before the people. And dost expect a welcome, a royal welcome ? Whom shall we welcome then — the King, the Priest, or The Baalite ? for like a wanton goatherd Didst dance before the Ark, making thyself Vile in the sight of all who thee beheld .'' Thou didst this day shame me to my handmaidens. Thou didst pollute the robes of the High Priest, 249 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act hi. And, for a king, thou didst conduct thyself In most unkingly fashion. Despicable Thou wert, indeed ! David. Silence, woman ! Profane no more thy lips with such foul speech, Thy heart with such sad jesting. Thou'st dis- honour'd Thyself unto all time, dishonouring Thyhusband — nay more, thou hast dishonour'd God! Of Him shalt thou ask forgiveness : for me, I can but grieve to think that one whose head Hath lain so close to my heart, could so belie My love for her. Get thee far from my sight. Barren as is thy heart, e'en so shall be thy womb ! Yet know, before thou goest, that of these Same handmaidens shall I be held in honour. For my dancing was before the Lord Most High. Alas, that the blood of Saul must out — even In thee ! Mich. Shame me no more. The king has done with me : long live the king ! [Exeunt all except David. David. Such is the wife that I so fondly loved ! She can no more reciprocate this heart Than the cold moon. Beyond the flesh, she hath No wider range of possibilities. 250 SCENE iv.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Sometimes, methinks, a handclasp might suffice For more than she can give, for in the touch Of kindred souls is peace and satisfaction. I have loved often as men love, but never as I deem that I could love, were I united To one, my spiritual counterpart, Who could unlock this heart with a golden key, — The key of love : a smile, a touch, or a tear, — Till it o'erflow'd with rubies. Only to-day, As the Ark of the Holy Covenant drew nigh Its last sure rest, I caught for a moment's space The flash of a woman's eyes within the crowd, And my heart stood suddenly still, and then beat high. With rapturous beats that clamour'd above the din Of cymbal, and horn, and viol, for there — there — The heart of all hearts the world can hold for me ! Instant the recognition ! and a mist Came o'er mine eyes, and I dreamt, as we pass'd, 1 had been face to face with an infinite bliss. The bitter drought o' my soul for aye assuaged. Those eyes ! those dear, dark eyes possess me still r Pray God I find them at last ! but of that I am sure. As I am of the grace, the joy, the fulness. And favour of this day in a million years. [Exit. 251 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iii. Scene V. — The Gardens of the Palace illuminated. Enter group of Revellers. First Rev. God save King David ! I have had such a supper, as should sleep me into the new moon, if I am able to recognise the slim wench, when she appears. Why, for such wine as this (drinks), it were a sin not to see the old lady, — young lady, begging her pardon, — double : dub her with the honours of a matron, and look over her sleekness, her slimness, her slender horn ; she's a saucy one too ! changing her smiles every month, just like the rest of her sex ! (Catching sight of one of the girls mocking him) O thou little, cozening trickster ! the more I see of thee First Maid. O fie ! who are you asking to see more of? First Rev. Well, let me think, who was I asking to see more of ? Ah, I remember, I was squililocising with the moon. First Maid {laughing). Fancy squililo — What do you call it .'' — squil-ilo-cising with the moon. First Rev. Soquililocising, wench, soquililocising. First Maid. Soliloquizing, you old stupid ! 252 SCENE v.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA First Rev. That's just what I said : squi-squililocising. First Maid. I should try and sneeze it out next time. First Rev. As if I couldn't pronounce a five legged word after a few cups ! First Maid. Five footed you mean, precious. \jPatting him on the cheek. First Rev. Well, a leg's a foot, isn't it ? First Maid. I don't know what's a foot ; but all legs are not a foot, you know ! [Drags him after her. [Exeunt Maid and Reveller. Sec. Rev. Come, Simon, thou wert going to give us the King's dance. Simon. Ay, it was a fine step 'a taught us. 'A knows how to fling his legs about does the king ! I think, after another cup {drinks), I might hit the step. Sec. Rev. Thou art as like to hit the step with thy head as with thy feet, if thou goest on drinking. Simon. 'Tis necessary to put one's head into one's feet to dance well : thou wouldst never make a good dancer, for thou hast not brains enough. Sec. Rev. I have enough to make thee dance anyway. [Strikes him. Simon. That's not brains, that's coercion, that is — force, without brains. 253 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act m. Sec. Rev. Thou art too forceful with thy brains. Thou hadst better remove that force into thy feet, or [Threatening him. [Simon thereupon commences a -wild dance, flourishing his -wine cup in his right hand, and mimicking the king's performance before the Ark. In the midst of the dance Uriah enters. Uriah. What folly is this ? Is this how you repay Our royal master's hospitality ? Have at you then, you drunken vagabonds ! [Strikes them. Hell-spawn ! Gutter-loafers ! Breeders of mischief ! Ill-visaged, foul, and utterly contemptible ! Were it not that the times are mutinous, I'd have you at the rack, you scurvy knaves ! {Scattering them) Away ! and sleep the fumes from out your heads, And think that you have got a cheap dismissal. [Exeunt Revellers. Uriah. Thus are our finer actions oft translated By meaner minds, and all our nobler uses Turn'd awry. What boots it, then, to think nobly. If the thinking bring such pain .' Have I not striven, In service of a like nobility. To wean my wife from fanciful dreams of love To love's reality .''... 254 SCENE v.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA For is she not my true and lawful wife ? And am not I entitled, as of right. To take her, and use her to mine own ends ? But could I hope to win her love that way ? No, ten thousand piteous, painful, stifling noes ! I have given all to win that pearl her heart. That precious jewel set in a sea so blue. It ravisheth my sense to think of it. . . . I will surround her with yet further proofs Of my devotion, cut from my body If needs be — the solder'd scars of courage — Such deeds as make men covetous ! and if She give me not full love for love, then must I strangle her, or stifle in my love. lExit. Enter Bathshua and Nurse. Bath. Oh, nurse, this married life grows still more bitter. And never seem'd it bitterer than to-day, I feel that I must kill myself outright, If he demand from me his perfect right — This body. Oh, how I fear him ! Nurse. Nay, child. Talk not so wildly ; he may be summon'd To the wars : a thousand chances lie betwixt You — and to-morrow ! Bath. Ah, I remember ! 255 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iii. There's whisper of invasion : the Philistines Our ancient foes are up. Perhaps Nay, nurse, (^catching sight of Uriah advancing tonuards them) I cannot. Nurse. Nerve yourself to meet him, child ; It may be the last time that you will need to. Bathshua {putting her hand to her heart). How my heart beats ! Nurse. Be brave. Enter Uriah. Uriah. What, Bathshua ! [Takes her hand. Hast heard the news .'' Bath. Nay, I have heard nothing. Uriah. The Gibborim Are call'd out, and to-morrow we leave for Gath. They say the king accompanies the army. But, whether he does or not, it will go hard With them. The ever-watchful Joab was Apprised of this, almost before their thought Had ripen'd into action, and so we march As men girt on with victory ! I shall Gain honours, Bathshua, or leave my body Where heaves the highest pyramid of the slain. The honours are for you, my child, my queen ; 256 SCENE v.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA But if God wills it that your lover fall, Then deem his death but proof of his devotion, Who died to win your love, so long denied him ! Bath. You are a brave man. Uriah. All men are brave in love : I could be braver for one little word ; Tell me that I shall win to love at last. \She lifts her face to his to be kissed. Silence, perhaps, speaks most ! (reverently kissing it). I shall return. l_She shudders. You feel the cold : {drawing her cloak about her) the night is treacherous. Bath. Ah, not more treacherous than I ! Uriah. My love, I know how hard it is for you. To bear with one so rough as I — much less To love him : ah, but I could be tender, Bathshua ! Bath. I know it, Uriah ; therefore Do I say that I am treacherous. You Deserve much better : I am not worthy Of you. Uriah. Ah, no : you are too good, too holy ! I could wish you were less saint — more womanly. \Trumpet heard. Hark ! ... It is my country that calls for me ! I must away : bid me God speed. R 257 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Bath. God speed, Uriah. Uriah. Child, kiss me on my lips, that if I die I may send back your kiss with my last breath, Loyal I shall be to you — even in death. \_She raises her lips to his to be kissed. Ah God, one more : so sweet, so pure, so true ! [Breaking aivayfrom her. God keep you, Bathshua ! Bath. And you, Uriah ! \_Exeunt, ACT IV. Scene I. — A Room in the Palace. King David rising as from sleep. Enter Ahitophel (hearing a cup of •wine). Ahit. I trust I did not break upon your sleep. David. I did but doze, Ahitophel, I cannot Sleep. The face I saw in the procession Haunts me ever ! Ahit. If the king could but describe The face ? David. Ah, that were difficult, my friend : 258 SCENE I.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Poet as I am, I could not hope to fashion Out of mere words her perfect semblance ; yet, Peradventure my poor, lame speech might help thee To a knowledge of her, I will recount All that a momentary glance might seize Of her exceeding beauty. First then : her hair. Wound like a diadem of rare device. Was wreath'd in glittering coils about her head. Showing the perfect oval of her face, From which there shone two eyes, bright as the ocean When the moonlight hath steel'd the waters and They shimmer like silver, and on the marge Two tiny isles of bliss — her perfect ears ; A forehead round, yet smooth and womanly. And spaced about with finely pencill'd brows ; A mouth that arch'd to sweetness — the lower lip Hung like a clustering peach warm i' the sun. Yet ripe with delicious fulness ! the whole Converging to the downiest dimpled chin That the soft kiss of love e'er lighted on. I tell thee, man, that every sense grew faint At sight of workmanship so exquisite : And now the thought of her doth drive me mad, For fear fruition may not crown my joy. [Strolling towards the ivindoiu and drawing bad the curtain. 259 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Ahit. (aside). It well describes her. David. Didst speak? Ahii. No, my lord. My lord's description somewhat overshot her ? David. In no way (appearing engrossed). Whose house is that, Ahitophel, That lies buttress'd against my palace wall, Whose fair rose-garden this window overlooks ? yihit. It doth belong, my lord, to Uriah, The Hittite, who lately hath espoused The daughter of my son Eliam. David. Is she . . . Beautiful ? Ahit. She is reported so, my lord : Altho' for me it is scarce fitting to Pronounce upon her looks. David. Hath he ... a great Affection for her .'' Ahit. (aside). A most strange question ! (To the King) They say he dotes on her : worships the ground She treads upon : cannot contain himself An hour out of her sight : follows her glance Like a hungry wolf: is jealous without cause — David. In fact, he is her lover ! [King leaves the window. 260 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Ahit. Assuredly, For is he not her husband ? David. The window From which thou dost survey the world, Ahitophel, Is surely very narrow ! Ahit. My Lord, there are Things in the world that one would rather not see : At such times a narroiu •windoiv promotes The happiness of all within the house. David. I shall remember that, Ahitophel. It may well suit me that thy view should be So limited : I had always thought thee Too observant ! — that thy window was ever Open to the broad faults of the world. But, Concerning this same relative of thine, Canst bring her to me, for I am desirous To put her beauty to the test ? I have Been sad too long, disconsolate I might say : Perhaps this lady Ahit. My lord, O king, I trust You do but jest. David. Provoke me not, old fool, too far ! Is not the honour of a king worth more Than all the ransom'd beauty of the world .'' Ahit. With deep misgiving do I now obey you. David. Obey, that is sufficient. 261 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Ahit (aside). A king's honour ! [Exit Ahitophel chuckling to himself. A king's honour ! A king's honour ! David (taking up the cup and returning to the ivindoiv). What miracle of grace ! Look how she holds her- self! Her vesture falling round her like soft clouds Reveals a fleckless heaven of unsunn'd bliss ! See now she turns ! — her bosom's broad expanse Glows to the light, and all her snowy waist Lies bare ! O what a covert for close-lidded sleep ! What browsing pastures lie between her breasts ! And what ambrosial shelter 'neath her hair ! Her potency enthrals me : I must possess ! Possess her, whilst this ruddy riot lasts And youth's mad fever burns along my veins. (Holding up cup) Drown, Virtue, drown ! Thou'rt but a jaded hag, I'll hug thy heart no more ! Give me free love — The love that comes like this in purple flashes ! Full of new life, and hope (drinks), and manly vigour, Not cloy'd with dull satiety and custom. But burning, breathless, pulsing to its goal ! (Cautiously) But soft ! there is much need for cir- cumspection — 262 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Is she not a wife ? I must walk warily To make possession sure. Some women are won By assault, but most by undermining — The gradual encroachment day by day, Until the much-prized stronghold yields at last To man's persistence, imperceptibly — The city captured e'er they know 'tis threaten'd ! If it be true — this royal woman mine ! O wine of Love ! I drink thee to the lees. [Drains cup. Re-enter Ahitophel {leading Bathshua closely veiled). David {to Ahit.'). Leave us, good friend. [Ahitophel hesitates. Didst thou not hear me .'' leave us ! Ahit. My lord, you compromise my daughter's honour. David. Thy grand-daughter's ! Ahit. Be't so, my lord. David. Ah well, Ahitophel, we like not forced sweets : The daughter of Eliam has a voice. And she shall answer thee. If 'tis her wish. Reluctantly we shall release her. {To Bath.) Speak, Thou hast nothing to fear ! Bath. Thine handmaid hath No wish but to obey my lord, the king. 263 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Jhit. Child, Thou know'st not what a net thou draw'st about thee: Consider well thine answer ! Bath. I have consider'd thro' long nights and days : There is none like the king, none ! Whatever hap may come to me from him, I shall endure it gladly. David. Art content ? Ahit. I needs must be. David. Then, if thou lov'st thy daughter. See that none come upon us unawares ; Thy head shall answer for the slightest breath, Aspersing her fair fame. [Exit Ahitophel. (The king draivs closer to Bathshua.^ Bath. What would my lord ? David. First, that thou shouldst unveil. [As she unveils, the king recognises his lady of the procession. My God ! Bath. Hath the light pierc'd thee also ? David. Aye, The shaft of God hath sped : thou and I . . . have met. Nothing will ever be the same again. I have look'd for thee thro' the years, I beheld Thee once for a moment. . . . And now our lips 264 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Have spoken ! Nothing more is to be known — Only this (taking her hand) : I love thee ! Bath. So fast, my lord, O King ! And I — have I No voice ? Reflect ! I am the wife of another, As brave and resolute as thou, perhaps As loving ! Why, thou dost not even know My name ! David. Thy name ! There is no single word That could describe thee ! No group of words ; for thou Are faultless ; whilst words are never without flaw, Being at the best but halt and lame interpreters. Thy name — I'll think upon it ! Dream sweetly, ^Draiuing her closer. 'Twixt kiss and kiss, what best becometh thee ! For, of the flowers, Iwould make question, — whether The lily or the rose, the jasmine or The hyacinth doth most resemble thee -, And, of the stars, — Those precious, glistering jewels of the sky !-- Whether the violet-tinted amethyst. Or the deep-gleaming, opalescent moon-stone Is match for those dark eyes ; or, for a symbol of Thy heart, — whether the blood-red ruby, or The purple jacinth (gazing into her eyes) breathes intenser passion. 265 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Thy name ! why should we wait for that ? we were named Ere we were born, we two were born for this — To meet, to cling, to kiss. [^Strives to embrace her ; she struggles •with him and then yields. Bath. Ah God ! I cannot resist thee. I know Thou art my fate ; and that apart from thee I have no desire to live. [Putting her arms round his neck, and looking into his eyes. But thou — canst thou Be true .'' David. Until this minute, truthfully, I could not. Where that will-o'-the-wisp — a woman's luring smile Led on to love ! But now — Bath. Yes, yes ; but now ? David. Now, my beloved, know I that true faith (stroking her forehead) Is far more beautiful than ranging love. Never, until this hour, have I believed That love could last — survive the kiss of passion : Love for one only I have laugh'd to scorn ! But now all things seem changed, myself the most. From the first moment when our glances met, When I first saw those eyes, within the crowd, 266 SCENE I.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Glint fire of recognition, soul to soul, I knew what 'twas to love ! . . . For art thou not my own, my very own. Born to me from the commencement of all time ? And are we not the complement of each other ? Art thou, indeed, not she for whom I have sigh'd Thro' the dim and shadowy years, mocking at love That never came ? (^folding her in his arms) Breathe it upon my lips. If oui: love hath not grown to fuller stature Thro' these long years of unfulfill'd desire. (^Kisses her). Bath, {breaking away). Thy mouth, thy mouth, it hath undone me ! nay, for I was undone, as thou hast said, of old time. From the first moment that I saw thy face I knew I loved thee ; but long, long before that I loved the beautiful spirit of the king — The soul of David ! Thou hast taught me, beloved. To love all that I love : thro' thy dear eyes Have I look'd out upon the world, and found It wonderful : And now thou wouldst fall off from thy great self. And do this evil upon thine handmaid. Since what am I to resist thee ? . . . For my husband, — That fiery Hittite who was forced upon me, — 267 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. I care not. For myself, what should I care, Loving thee — loving thee far, far beyond all fear ? But, for the soul of David, — O, my lord, pause ! Thou wilt think differently to-morrow. David {seizing her). To-morrow shall never come, and thou and I Be as ive are noiv to one another ! This step shall be irrevocable for both ! Bath. O David, David ! {sinking in his arms) The stars are going out : I faint : I fail {swoons). [The King carries her to an inner room. Enter Ahitophel. Ahit. {turning over the cup). To the dregs ! So he hath taken the bait. Henceforth he is my servant : not / his. Well, well, power is always a pleasant thing, Especially when one exercises it Over one's former master ! I have much To repay : he shall have it in his own coin. Now that he hath his finger in the pocket Of my treasure, I must have mine in his : Pure gold, doubtless, he'll find it, — fortunate he ! — No mixture of a baser metal there, 'Tis all his own to use it as he likes, 268 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA No counterfeit presentment ! and the first, I' faith, will bear his superscription — after that No man durst vouch, save he that had the making, And he not on his oath ! But I must draw The noose yet tighter, or he may escape me. Monarchs, like men, have oft a slippery way Of finding scapegoats for their own misdeeds. Now this I must prevent ! He must e'en answer For his own sins, not /for him : so here's To stir up trouble, on the top of which I thrive ! [Exit Jhitophel. Re-enter David. David. My God, what have I done ! a hound-like thing ! Athing that calls out "shame!"from the four walls — Shame on the honour of the woman that bore me. Shame on the honour of the woman I love, Shame on all womankind — no reverence there ! Her trust and faith in me alike misplaced. And what have I gain'd ? say, rather, what have I lost ! For the spirit's loss outweighs the body's gain. Shaking the tender scales of love and honour With clangorous overpoise. What satisfaction, Now that my passion hath fulfill'd itself ? 269 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Only the blacken'd embers of desire — Two charr'd and wasted lives ! l^Sinks on a seat luith his head between his hands. Scene II. — The same. David reading. Enter Ahitophel. Ahit. My lord, The palace is arous'd and in high ferment. As thou didst feast thine eyes on a dumb show, Even so did the servants of Uriah Upon a living one — thou wert o'er-look'd. Even as thou thyself didst overlook. And now there's mischief i' the wind ! Moreover, she Did leave thy presence in full flood of tears, And hath, in spite of many sweet remonstrances, Refus'd all fellowship. Such's the way of women : They weep at that which they enjoy the most ; They love to chew the cud of their own thoughts. And ruminate in tears. David. Proceed more tersely. We want not the philosophy of love. But facts — plain facts, Ahitophel ! Ahit. The tongue of slander, At all times lolling forth in the fresh air. To taint the breeze with its envenom'd breath, Grown surfeited on such a rich repast, 270 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA And dropping poison from its neighbouring fangs. Hath pierc'd the triple armour of thy throne, And craves a victim. [Murmurs of disaffection are heard -without. Hark, the serpent hisses ! Now must we e'en supply the thing with food, Or perish. David. Perish, then, thou and thy cowardice ! What care / for the rabble ! call out the guards ! But, first, secure her safety : haste thee now ! Convey her by the subway to the palace. [Exit Ahitophel. So soon upon my pleasure ! comes it so soon ! The illusion first, and then the disenchantment ; The brief delight, and then the bitter pain ; The dream of bliss, and then the rude awakening ; For all the joys we aim at are but shadows — Our life an unsubstantial, airy pageant. Our destination to believe it real ! \The disturbance increases. So this, then, is the penalty of Greatness ! One step beyond the boundaries of prudence, — And who, indeed, in love is always prudent ? — And the whole hell-swarm follows fast upon me. As thick as wolves and ravening for their prey. Hypocrites ! 271 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. I'll show them their own faces in the glass. Not one of them but had done as I have done, Given the all-hallow'd opportunity ! For who, of men, is free from this same taint. The subjectivity to womankind ? — A glance, a smile, and their doom's already spun. Re-enter Ahitophel. Ah'it. My lord, the guards scarce hold their own ! The people Are mad with rage : we must devise some means To quiet them. {Aside) It works almost too well. David. Hast thou secured her .'' Ahit. She is even now Upon her way, in the hands o' the secret guard. Who will use every means to effect her safety. David. Until I hear her footfall in the palace. Talk not to me of safety ! \Shouts become momentarily more menacing. Let them rave ! (To Ahit.) Fulfil thy mission, and that speedily. Or, God ! (rising in lurath) I'll fling thy corpse out to the mob. 'Tis thou shalt quiet them ! Ahit. {aside). He's almost in my power : I can endure it. YExit Ahitophel. 272 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA David. The dog ! 'Tis a slant eye : I like it not. But treachery will out, and so will he, If I can fasten it on him. Participators In crimes like this are safer out of the way. Fll have no witness of my guilt ; I'll not Commit that folly ! Re-enter Ahitophel. Ahit. My lord, she is without, And but awaits your will. David. Admit her then. \Ahitophel ushers in Bathshua : as she enters, the King -walks totxiards her and takes her by both hands. Now can I breathe ! Whilst thou, my soul, wert threaten'd, A torturing terror held me. Now I am free. To think, to act ; to act, to greatly dare, To venture all, if needs be, for thy sake ! Now am I ten times myself! {To Ahit.^ Hast thou a plan. Most crafty councillor, that shall convince The mob of our much-injured innocence .■' Ahit. A plan ! The time for planning is gone by : The proof might seem a little less convincing s 273 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. Than the remedy ! David. "What remedy hast thou then ? Jlhit. Thou hast but one : 'tis set forth there. [Hands him scroll. David (reading aloud). To Joab, captain of the king's forces before Rabbah : " set ye Uriah in the fore- front of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die." So thou Wouldst remedy one ill, by setting up Another ? jihit. The usual course — in nature. David. The worser evil counteract the lesser ? Ahit. Say rather, The lesser evil counteract the greater : It surely were a less calamity That one should perish, than that this whole realm Should be subvert with mutiny .'' David. Convincing To minds like thine, but I want further proof. \_A noise as of crashing timber : the porch of the palace is "wrecked, and some of the trellis-ivork flung into the apart- ment, followed by a hail of sticks and stones. Some of the guard are driven in, but recover themselves. 274 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA Ahit. (pointing to debris). Thou hast it ... in abundance ! Doth my lord Remember the Mosaic law, and the death That follows those who're taken in adultery .'' Her blood will soon bespatter thy palace walls, Unless Bath, (entreatingly). O spare not me, my lord ! my life is thine ; I shall not fear to die — //"at thy hands. My body then would satisfy these wolves. {Ecstatically) I have lived : I have loved : it is enough. David, (holding her fast). No, not to die — to live ! to live and love. And grow more fond with every fleeting hour ; New vistas of delight are opening up Thro' these same lurid and portentous skies — (Pointing skywards) See, see, the blue : how it ex- pands for us ! There, somewhere, shall we reach our isles of bliss, And sun our souls by the violet-tinted sea. To die ! why, child, we have but begun to live ! To live — and oh, the difference in living ! \_Another ugly rush is made, but is overcome by the guard. Ahit. My lord, my lord, this is no time for love ! 275 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act iv. David. "What then, oldgray-beard, fear'st thouforthy skin? All times are happy, if we count them so ; And death is nothing when the heart is light : A broken sunbeam — that is all ! {To Bathshua) Fear not, I shall o'ercome them. \Bathshua nestles to him fearlessly. Ahit. Thou must take action then. Or let the occasion slip. David {indicating scroll). How will this help us ? Ahit. Thus : I will give out that a grave reverse Hath fall'n upon our arms in front of Rabbah, And that Uriah is amongst the slain. That will take the sting David. They'll not believe it. No messenger hath yet approach'd the city. Ahit. My lord, one came this morning : him have I Held up with all his news unpromulgate. David. That messenger hath a tongue ! Ahit. Fear not thou that. Him also will I curtail of speech, after He hath served our purpose. David. Thou art a devil, Ahitophel — a very prince of devils ! Ahit. My lord is a good judge — of devils. {Presenting scrolt) Will 276 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA My lord sign ? Bath, {snatching it from Ahit.). Not his life ! Ah, no — not that ! David, (^seizing her by the ivrists and looking into her eyes). He stands between us ! Child, our love's at stake ! \Undoes her fingers and takes scroll from her : she gazes wildly about her, and then falls. Seven years elapse betiveen Acts IV. and V. ACT V. Scene I. — Jerusalem : Hall of Audience in King David's Palace. Hour, tnviUght. Bathshua lulling her little son to sleep. Bath, (singing). Darkness steals o'er hill and valley, In the heavens one pale star shines, Whilst the nightjar's murmurous music Breathes the magic of the pines. Sleep : sleep : in happy slumbers blest, For silence broods upon a world at rest. 277 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Enter King David. David. How is my little son ? Bath, (raising her arm in ivarning). Hus-sh-sh ! \The King goes tonvards them and gazes fondly at the child. Bath, {in a low voice). Hehas been somewhat petulantof late. And will not sleep unless I send him off. He was so wishful to sit up, and see The stars come out ; but this warm eve hath been Too much for him. He is a little poet, David, just pushing out small shoots of knowledge. Some day you will be proud of him. David. Proud of him ! I am proud of him ! Never was father Prouder of his son, than I am of this child. I tell you, wife, I am so proud of him, That if it should please God to take him from me [Stooping over him and kissing his forehead. Bath. Why speak you so alarmingly .■' He is firm And well-knit for his years : why should you then Be anxious .'' David. Are we not always anxious About those we love .? Is it not thro' these That God doth plague us .'' . . . I never knew what 'twas to love a child, 278 SCENE I.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Till I loved this one. Look how boisterously He doth reciprocate my love for him ! He is a bit of my own passionate self. Young as he is, he understands his father ; And is he not our child — our firstborn ? [Taking her hand and kissing it. Bath. He is The dearest pledge that ever yet was given In love. David, (offering to lift the child). Shall I ? Bath. Nay, love, let him sleep on : I like to keep you both beside me thus (seating David beside her) : My two most precious, dearest, earthly ties. David. Dear wife (taking her hands in his and smoothing then} affectionately). Thou hast been all i' the world to me of late. Thou know'st what I have suffer'd — what we to- gether suiFer'd . . . God knows : but He will not redeem my soul. Thro' all these years I have not heard His voice. Neither in the quiet of the noontide, Nor when the North Wind, Stealing into my chamber from the fields Of starry space, strikes the chords of my harp. Awakening the silent strings to tremulous life . . . 279 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. . . . Often it sang me to sleep To the murmur of wind music : oftener It spoke to my soul of God, and the night Was hallow'd, and the day came all too soon. [David rises. But those beloved communings are past, I am as one given over to the dead, A spirit restless in the land of shadows. Bathshua, will He never forgive .'' Ah, no : I'll not believe't ! for He whom I have loved Is above all a just and jealous God — An ever-present, ever-loving Father, Whose watchful eyes are over all the world, Seeing all things, shaping all things, sustaining all things ; Of mercy infinite, and of love so vast That all our boundaries of love must stretch. And break, ere they embrace its fulness. Therefore, In death alone may we know all His love For us, and comprehend His goodness. . . . (With palms uplifted) O voice of God, speaking within and around me. Only to know Thou speakest is enough ! Speak ! speak ! for thy servant listeneth, O Lord. [Falling into a half-kneeling posture, he commences to sob bitterly. 280 SCENE i.j DAVID AND BATHSHUA Bath, {putting her hand on his head). My husband ! Be thou patient yet a little. And God will sure reveal Himself to thee. He knows thy sorrow. David. Nay, love, it is no use : I have not paid the price of sin — bloodguiltiness Is on my soul, and He will not redeem it. Unless — ah, no, I dare not think of that ! Bath. Of what? David. Too well I know my punishment. Is it Not ever before me ? A life for a life — 'Tis thy life or the child's — my son, my little son. Or thee ! — Ah, no, I will not give thee up ! I will cheat God at least of that despair. For in that moment when thou diest, I die. Bath. My life is of less value than the child's. Thou canst get other wives — more lovable, More fair ; but not another son like this. David. Thy life is my life : thy death my death. But I Would die before thee, for thou dost not love As I love thee ! Bath, (fondly). O foolish one. Dost think I do not Jove thee unto death? — What were the world to me without thy love .'' But thou — thou judgest God, even before He hath judged thee. Who knows, if these same fears 281 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Be not the children of distemper'd dreams, And that to-morrow's sun will not disperse them, As lightly as the vapoury mists of morning ! David. He hath already judged me : His silence is my judgment ! the more awful In that I cannot pray as I was wont. O wife. Thou canst not know how desolate I am ! Leave us awhile, I would beseech God for him, For him, for thee, but most of all for myself. If He may take this heavy burden from me. \^Exit Bathshua. David kneels at the couch luhere his son is sleeping, and leaning lightly over his body, utters the following prayer : — "Have mercy upon me, God, according to Thy loving kindness : " Hide Thy face from my sins, And blot out all mine iniquities. " For I acknomuledge my transgression : And my sin is ever before me. 282 SCENE II.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA " Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned. And done this evil in Thy sight. " Create in me a clean heart, God, And renew a right spirit -within me. " Cast me not aivay from Thy presence ; And take not Thy Holy Spirit from me ! ' Scene II. — The Same. King David, sitting in judgment. Bathshua seated on his right : his left hand resting on the shoulders of his little son. Lords and councillors in attendance. A prisoner is brought fornvard, bound hand and foot, and thrown upon his knees before the King. David. What accusation bring you 'gainst this man .'' Ahit. He hath conspired against your throne and person. David. The evidence ? Ahit. The testimony of The woman at his side, supported by Most damning, gross particulars. Moreover, The knave doth not deny the accusation. 283 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. David {to prisoner). Know you the serious nature of the charge That is preferr'd against you ? Pris. I do, my lord. David. And that, if prov'n, your life is surely forfeit ? Pris. I am content — to die. David. Have you nothing To urge in your defence ? Pris. Nothing my lord. David, (aside). And yet, methinks, he looks not like a traitor. (To the Prince) Dost think that man would take thy father's life .? \The little prince steps donun from the throne, and, placing a hand on either shoulder of the prisoner, looks him luith childlike frankness in the face. Prince. He is a good man, father : I am sure He is a good man. (Going over to the -woman and looking up into her face.) Are you a good woman .'' Woman. Child, what a foolish question ! Of course I am : Why shouldst thou think I am not .' Prince. I don't like you. Woman, (laughing uneasily). A child's whim ! (Viciously) And who appointed thee my judge ? 284 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA David. No one hath judged thee — unless it be thyself. But I am very much of the same mind As my small son. {To officer) Release him. \_Prisoner is unbound. (To prisoner) Now wilt tell me Why thou refusedst to defend thyself? Pris. My Lord, to have done so, would have been to call The woman I once loved a shameless liar. The bitter knowledge of her treachery was Heart-break enough for me. Why death, it is A paltry thing, an easy remedy ! But hapless, hopeless, ever-hungering love Is a burden that bites deeper every year ! And if I now defend myself, it is because The little prince, thy son, hath won my heart. Bless him ! — his frank, blue eyes have probed the wound. And drawn the deadly poison from my hurt. Might I but serve him, I would serve him well. I am no traitor, king ! David. Needest thou not To declare it : thy face hath spoken for thee. And, for we never know 'mid the stress of life When requisition may be made upon The loyalty of our subjects, we do appoint thee The keeper and custodian of our son. 285 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Prince (running up and putting his hand into that of the prisoner's). I am so glad ! I am so glad ! David (to nvoman). For thee, Thou thing enswath'd in the soft flesh of woman, No punishment could suffice for thy deserts. (To guards) Take her, and shut her from the light of day. S^Exit guard -with woman. Enter Officer. Off. My Lord, the prophet Nathan is without. And begs an audience. David. Bid him enter. Nathan enters and does obeisance. David. Seer of the living God, uprise ! thy message ? Nath. My lord, O King ! I ask for judgment. It hath ever been The eld-old privilege of the sacred college. Whose humble messenger I am this day, To bring to the knowledge of our lord the King,- The noble head of our theocracy, — Cases of grievous wrong, that his reproof May carry thro' the land, and be a warning 286 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA To evil-doers. The facts I shall relate. Grave as they did appear unto my Order, Immured in lives of holy meditation. Will strike an echoing chord of horror and Of indignation in the heart of the King, And set for a mark and seal upon all time His justice and his judgment. David. Nathan, speak on. Nath. Two men there were, who dwelt within one city — One rich, the other poor. And the rich man had Of flocks and herds, of wine, and oil, and treasure. Exceeding great abundance : but the poor man Had little substance he might call his own, Save one ewe lamb that he had bought and cherish'd. That ate at his own table, and drank from his own cup. And was as dear to him as his own daughter. And on a day it chanced there came a traveller To him that had such plentitude of riches. And begg'd of him a stranger's entertainment. Now he that had been bless'd with such increase, Loath to diminish by a single head His droves of sheep or herds of fallow kine, Pass'd quickly by his own ; and hastily took and slew The poor man's one ewe lamb, and set it dress'd Before the wayfarer. 287 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. David (rising in indignation^. The man that hath done This thing shall surely die. Nathan (pointing at David). Thou art the man I \The King falls back upon his seat, crushed; his left hand supporting his head, his right clutching at the arm of the throne ; and he remains in this attitude, nvhilst Nathan pronounces sentence. " Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, I anointed thee king over Israel, and I delivered thee out of the hand of Saul ; ' ' And I gave thee thy master's house, and thy master's •wives into thy bosom, and gave thee the house of Israel and Judah ; and if that had been too little, I -would moreover have given unto thee such and such things. ' ' Wherfore hast thou despised the commandment of the Lord, to do evil in His sight ? thou hast killed Uriah the Hittite -with the sivord, and hast taken his wife to be thy "wife, and hast slain him -with the sword of the children of Amman. " Novj therefore the svaord shall never depart from thine house ; because thou hast despised Me, and hast taken the -wife of Uriah the Hittite to be thy 'wife. " Thus saith the Lord, Behold, I -will raise up evil against thee out of thine o-wn house, and I •will take thy 288 SCENE ii.J DAVID AND BATHSHUA •wives before thine eyes, and give them unto thy neighbour. " For thou didst it secretly: but I tuill do this thins: before all Israel, and before the smt." David. I have sinn'd against the Lord. Nathan {raising his army The Lord also Hath put aivay thy sin : for He hath heard Thy voice of supplication, and He knoweth The sorrow and contrition of thy heart. Therefore, and for this. He hath spared thy soul. But, because thou hast given great occasion To the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme. The child that hath been born to thee in sin — The tender fruit of thine adulterous commerce (pointing at the prince^ — He shall most surely die. \Bccthshua puts her hands silently into those of the King. As he realises the full force of the bloiv, the Kin^s head falls on his breast. David {in a broken voice'). It is enough : my cup is full. Prince {seeking the Kin^sface). Father ! 289 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Scene III. — A Room in the Palace. The little prince laid out for burial. Bathshua prostrate beside the body. Bath, (in abandonment of grief). My son, my little son — give me him back ; God, give me him back ! Enter David from an inner room, -with the signs of mourning still upon him). David. The child is dead : Come, put away thy grief, for it is barren. Whilst he yet lived, we did well to beseech Our Father in Heaven that He might spare his life. But now that he is dead, he is beyond The aid of prayer — he is with God, there leave him. JVe shall go to him, he -will not return to us. Bath, {despairingly). My son, my son ! (With tearful entreaty). O let me bide with my grief! 1 cannot put it away from me so lightly. David. Thy trust in God, dear heart, is not complete ! Rise : Thou canst not add one tittle to his comfort — He is at peace. 290 SCENE III,] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Bath. Let me but look on him a little longer. He was so fair ! David. Think of him as he was ! Now that the spirit hath fled, it is but clay Thou worshippest. Bath. It is all that remains To us — all save a memory ! and soon This dear, cold body will have pass'd from sight. David. 'Tis better so, for thou wilt grieve the less. \Tries to draiv her anvay. Bath. Not while these eyes may look on him, these hands Still minister to him, these ears await His little kingly voice, his childly bidding ; For see he sleeps, he sleeps so peacefully ! One could be almost certain that he breathes. So surely doth the blanched coverlet heave ! It cannot be that death hath claim'd him yet, He was so beautiful, so lovable ! Ah, but he's mine ! — more mine in death than life ! Too soon they will take him from me ! O my lord, I am a woman and a mother [Breaks down. David. True : Thou art a woman, and canst find relief In tears — men find them unavailing. (^Laying his hand upon her head) Weep on : Somewhere, unseen, thy child is gathering up 291 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. The priceless, precious jewels that are falling, Like star on star in the ocean, and his eyes Are moist with unshed tears, as the angels' are. . . . never doubt, love, but the day will come When thou wilt look on this heart-searching sorrow But as a landmark in God's love for thee ! Bath. Thy heart, my lord (kissing the King's hand), is perfect : would that I Had but a tithe of thy sure faith ! then might I Uplift the front and forehead of my grief. Strive to forget, and build life up anew. 1 can but walk i' the ways that I have known. For I am but a weak and all-too-loving woman. David. Thank God, dear heart, for the love that still remains- — That will uphold us now that he is gone. \_Smoothing the child's brow. So when the storm at last hath spent itself. And thou canst look thro' these same winnowing cloudrifts To the clear and open spaces of the sky. Come, place thy hand in mine ; and we two will Fare forth again together, the closelier knit Because of this deep sacrament of love. \_Kisses the forehead of the dead child and •withdraws. 292 SCENE III.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA Bathshuas prayer over the dead child : — Father of life, of light, of love. In Whose vast arms the world endures, Pour down Thy blessing from above — The peace that faith alone secures. O let the waters flow again — The fountain of my grief upspring ! For all life's sands are parch'd with pain. And desolate the heart I bring ! Remove, O Lord, the sense of guilt, The bitter memories amass'd. Thou canst give sevenfold, if Thou wilt. The treasure that seem'd unsurpass'd ! But of all treasures — this, the most — O keep me first in David's heart ! For without him my life is lost : Let not his joy in me depart. And with his love, dear God, restore The spirit that hath left this clay : Into another vessel pour The life, the light, that was our day ! 293 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Enter Nathan. Naih. {approaching Bathshua unobserved, and touching her upon the shoulder). Comfort thee, Bathshua ! The Lord hath heard thy prayer, and thou shalt have Another son, fashion'd like unto this. And he shall be beloved of the Lord, The hope and joy of thy declining years. And thou shalt name him " Solomon," because The peace, which was withholden in our time. Shall last throughout his reign : to him 'tis given To build a sanctuary to the Lord Most High — Even the temple which King David plann'd, And had in mind to execute, but to whom It is inhibited to lay one stone Upon another, not for his grievous sin, — For this Almighty God hath put away, — But for the innocent blood that he hath shed. Yet, so high-minded is our Lord the King, He will come thro' this trial of his faith Greater in soul and purpose, for he will Strengthen the hands of his more honour'd son. And thus prepare the way for that vast tabernacle — To David the conception and design. To Solomon the honour and the glory ! . . . 294 SCENE HI.] DAVID AND BATHSHUA And now, O Queen, thou hast been blest as wife, And still more blessed shalt thou be as mother, — Thro' thee shall spring a line of mighty kings, Yet mightiest He that is the lowliest born ! . . . What solace and support thy heart can give, Thy husband will have need of, for 'tis written — King David's reign shall set in clouds and gloom. [Exit Nathan. Bath, (sorrow/u/ly). It is the voice of the Lord ! I am content. Re-enter David, having put o^ the signs of mourning. Bath. My king, my lord ! No sorrow can endure whilst I have you ! Unspeakable as was my love for him. It is no measure of my love for you. For he was but a fragment of yourself. You were the source from whence that blessing sprung. Lavish your love upon me then once more. And let the whisper of another life Make music thro' the channels of my heart. For God hath promised me another son. And thro' our love shall David's line continue. David. Hath Nathan, then, been to thee ? 295 DAVID AND BATHSHUA [act v. Bath. He hath, my lord, And this sad heart doth sing aloud for joy, For God, our God, hath wholly us forgiven. David {lifting up his hands in prayer). He hath heard thy supplication, O my soul ! The years of travail now are at an end. {Embracing Bathshua) And thou, O queenly heart ! As thou'st endured thro' all my years of anguish. So shall thou be partaker of my joy — This blessed joy of reunion under God. His hands shall guide us, and His peace enfold us, Until we know Him as He truly is. \Curtain. 1902. Note. — It may be objected that, in fixing the age of the little Prince at six or seven years at the time of his death, the author is exceeding the Scriptural narrative. He would like to point out, in answer to this, that wherever Bathshua's sons are mentioned in the Bible, Solomon is always recorded as the last of four. It is also expressly stated that he was given to replace the son that was taken away. Is it not, there- fore, quite conceivable that Bathshua had four sons alive at the time of the death of her firstborn ? This would also explain David's infatuation for the child, whose little princely ways had had time to coil themselves about the King's heart. — C. W. W, 296 DONNA MARINA DRAMATIS PERSONS Montezuma, Emperor of Mexico. GuATEMOZiN, his nephew. PiLPATOE, Governor of the Province. Q' \Generals of Montezuma. UAUHPOPOCAjJ -' High Priest, of Cholula. Prince of Darkness. Princess Tecuichpo, daughter of Montezuma. CoRiTA, her maid. Officers and Soldiers of Montezuma, Envoys, Ambassadors, Courtiers, Priests, Maids, Messengers, Attendants, etc. Magiscatzin, Tlascalan General. Envoys, Officers and Soldiers of Tlascala. Cortes, Hernando, Captain-General of the Spanish Forces. Ordaz, Diego de, Alvarado, Pedro de. Olid, Christoval de, \Officers of Cortes. Sandoval, Gonzalo de, Leon, Juan Velasquez de, Olmedo, Bartolome de, Father, Chaplain to the txpedition. Sabiot, Gonzalez, an old soldier. Benito,") 7^ T yUrummers. Juan, J Donna Marina, (^Malinche) a Captive Princess at the Court of Mexico, afterivards the Mistress of Cortes. Officers, Soldiers, Attendants, etc. Scene : The Province of Mexico. Time: 1519-1520 a.d. DONNA MARINA ACT I. Scene I. — The Island Gardens of Iztapalapan, -with the Lake of Mexico stretching into background. Enter Pilpatoe and Teutile. Pilp. Our chance then is to intercept the King : For if these blood-ensmirched priests o' the Sun, Whose sinewy fingers are upon the throat Of all our manhood, choking the nation's life To fill their hidden coffers with its treasure, — (Our royal master daily more compliant To their lascivious and lawless wills) Should these — which may the gods forfend ! — now gain The ascendency, and with their glossing tales Perplex the troubled mind of Montezuma, Unhinged by presage of impending doom, Then Mexico is lost ! Teut. Confusion take them ! The time for priests and cant is past. Now let The thund'rous throat of Popocatapetl 299 DONNA MARINA [act i. Hurl defiance at our foes ! Pilp. Timely urged, Teutile : Lay hold upon the present, and the future Becomes your servant. Teut. By the gods ! 'tis true : Never more so than in war ! for in war Time is the ablest general in the field, And may not be recall'd. Pilp. Therefore 'tis well He pass not to the enemy. Teut. I grant you : But how arrest the attention of the King ^ To cross him when the moody fit is on Is to court certain death, and if he pass With these pale-visaged, cut-throat friends of his, We might as well seek audience of the devil As his amid these clustering acolytes ! pup. We must find means to lure him from their side — Harp to him on the sensual string, for woman Availeth — far above power of priestcraft ! What saint but would fall off from his allegiance, To lose himself and his remoter heaven In the sea-brightness of a maiden's eyes ? And Montezuma .'' Teut. Hath had the lion's share Of such-like booty, and so from a full-gorged 300 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Stomach can look on unmoved — Pilp. "With ever A little appetite for some daintier feast ! Now mark me, — if that laughter-loving maid, The heart-close friend of our belov'd Tecuichpo, Beguile him not ere long from his devotions, And tantalise and cross his kingly soul With her caprice and the delays of love. Enter the Princess Tecuichpo, her arm affectionately linked in that of her girl-friend Malinche, both poring over an Aztec manuscript book. Pilp. Lo, here they come, twin flowers upon one stem ! So gracefully they lean towards one another. It would seem pain to separate their blooms. Teut. The petals of their cheeks out-blush the rose. When first she meets the burning glance of the sun With her unveiled beauty. [^Flutes, horns and kettle-drums. Pilp. (JVarningly). Montezuma ! [Afontezuma crosses tonvards the back of the stage, surrounded by priests. He catches sight of the Princess, and breaks anvcty from the priests, ivho endeavour to detain him. As Montezuma comes forward, Pilpatoe and Teutile conceal themselves. 301 DONNA MARINA [act i. Mont. {Advancing towards Tecuichpo). My child. You put me out of countenance with the day, For you are all in keeping with the flowers That lift their dew-wash'd faces to the sun To meet his warm caress with their soft beauty, As yours to mine {kissing her) : tho' I am all unworthy. So newly come from out the House of Sorrow, To touch such loveliness. And you, Malinche, How beautiful you are, child, in the light ! I scarcely had divined how fair — till now. [Montezuma signs to priests to luithdraw. Pilp. {Aside to Teutile). Give the soft poison time to work. Come : this way. [Exeunt Teutile and Pilpatoe. Mont. {To Tecuichpo). What think you, that the Gods are harsh taskmasters .'' Or that, on such a morn, they might forgive Some slight infraction of my kingly duty, Should I remit my visit to their shrines .'' Tec. The Gods are kind : 'tis not to be supposed That they are jealous of our smaller loves ! We claim thee for this day {putting her hand affectionately in his) ; 'tis ours by right. For many suns have pass'd, since thou didst warm Our hearts with thy royal countenance, and our hands With the close clasp of fatherly affection. 302 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA A gentle ripple covers all the mere, Fresh blowing from the east — shall we not put forth ? Mont. Thou would'st corrupt me, child, and to be so corrupted Is joy indeed to a father's heart. There, temptress {kissing her). Ever thou hast thy way ! Thy shallop rides F the reeds ; haste and unloose it. What have we here .^ (taking book) The poems of Nezahualcoyotl. That hero-prince still lives within his songs, As in our hearts. The minstrel cannot die ! — His music is caught up amidst the spheres. There to become one with the grace of sunset And the glory of sunrise. Yes, take them, child. For they will add enchantment to the day. And kindle in our hearts a higher zeal For all the beauty of this visible world. \Tecuichpo runs up stage, unlooses skiff and gets into it, ivhilst the action of the play continues. Mont. (Turning to Malinchi and taking her hand). Come, little truant of love, my sweet Malinche, Hast thou no welcoming word ? Mai. Can my lord ask ? Is not my welcome set within mine eyes. If not upon my tongue ? Speaks it not there ? DONNA MARINA [act i. For where the father of his people comes All joys are raised, all sorrows are made less. Mont. I ask no prettier speech of tongue or eye. But what can such a tripping maiden know Of joy or sorrow .'' Mai. Of sorrow much : but, oh, Of happiness — I have but dreamt of it ! Mont. Thy dreams must then have beggar'd the reality, For happiness o'erfloweth from thy face Like unimprison'd sunlight. Mai. Good my lord. Yet I have sufFer'd many grievous wrongs. Mont. Thou tak'st them cheerfully ! Mai. So Nature bids me. For she appointed cheerfulness for all. We do not well to inflict our pain on others. And add to the dark shadows of the earth. If but a ray of light in heaven appear. My heart is subject to it, for the clouds Are never so dense but they will pass away. Mont. Thrice happy maid that can so look on sorrow ! Yet, sometimes, 'tis relief to speak our cares. For the unbosoming of whelming griefs Draws closer all the holy ties of friendship. Abstracts the sting of suffering, and assuages The fiercer trepidation of the spirit. SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA In human hearts such power of healing lies, We do not well to lean upon ourselves ; Nor dost thou well to shut thy grief from me. Mai. My lord is kind — too kind to one so low. Mont. I could not be too kind to one so fair. Come, thou shalt tell me at thine own sweet will How sorrow came to dwell in such a temple. \They move off ionvards the lake. Re-enter Pilpatoe and Teutile. Pilp. My lord ! news of grave import Mont. Pilpatoe, keep Thy news ! {Aside) Confusion take the man ! — and wait More seasonable opportunity. Pilp. My lord Mont. Did not I say the news could wait ? Pilp. My gracious liege Mont. By the thunder of heaven ! Pilp. May't fall upon these white and bearded strangers ! Mont, {clutching for support). These white — and bearded — strangers — 'tis the third Time they are come. . . . Twice respited, but now . . . These white men from the east with flowing beards u 305 DONNA MARINA [act i. Pilp. My lord, O king, the tale is not all told ; Not only are they landed, but 'tis bruited That they have sought alliance with Tlascala — Our hated, immemorial enemy. Mont. Why was 1 not made 'ware of this ? Canst answer ? Pilp. O king, for nigh a week none durst approach thee Save those o' the sacred Order of Mexitli. This opportunity Mont. 'Tis not to be believed, Such being our danger, that they would deny You to ourself ! Pilp. O king, pardon ! these men Now rule in Anahuac. Mont. InsufF'rable ! Dar'st thou to insinuate that my faithful priests Are not my loving vassals — eh ? Pilp. {making obeisance). O king, Is there upon this earth who is not vassal To Montezuma ? Mont. Thy drift ? Pilp. This : that my lord. Blinded by his devotion to the Gods To the true inwardness of his faithful priests. Is easily mov'd by that which seemeth fair, Yet is most foully false, — so talk of Virtue Moves thee more near than Virtue's valiant self : 306 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA And so thy priests presume Mont. Thy head, Pilpatoe, — Hast a care for it ? Just a little ? Pilp. My lord, I weigh it not against your royal crown. And lightly do I hold it where my country Makes of all claims this ultimate appeal. Mont. Thou hast a glib tongue, Pilpatoe, my friend. But an it prove thee false beware of me ! {To Teutile). Think'st thou as meanly of these priests of mine .'' Teut. O sovereign fear'd and loved beyond all kings ! Most noble Montezuma {making obeisance), lord o' the whole earth ! It shames me to repeat the common cry — Enter Guatemozin at back, ivho converses ivith Princes. Tecuichpo. The vapourings of the idle multitude — Tho' 't surges in my ears continually. Mont. Thou hast our leave, my valiant Teutile, speak. Teut. Thus then thy loyal subjects: " O strange that he, Whose arm hath carried dread thro' Anahuac, Should now become the slave of his own fears And the minion of his priests ! " 307 DONNA MARINA [act i. Mont. Thou'dst repeat it ! I have indeed brave counsellors ! yet remember, Who slights my priests slighteth his country's Gods, And I — their mandatory — am dishonour'd ! We pass that for the moment. Go, Teutile, Call out our levies from the east and west. Bid all the tribes on fear of instant death Attend our summons. Speed i — You, Pilpatoe, \_Exit Teutile. Prepare rich gifts to snare and bind the invader. One way or the other we shall take him then. Pilp. We may delay him so, but not delude him. These gifts may even plead against ourselves, As touching on our wealth — the sight of gold Doth not allay the ardour of the thief : These men are covetous, and would take our country ! You urge them to it, if you show them treasure. Mont. Obey, Pilpatoe ! Did not I say obey .? [_E»:it Pilpatoe. {^Abstractedly, and oblivious of the presence of Malinche), We may not fight against Fate ! — Ages ago. When we were a small people, and our forefathers Sojourn'd for cycles of interminable years In regions of the bleak and barren North, — To a time when we were strong enough to cope With the great nations of the southern plains, 308 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA And, conquering them, to exchange the old fierce life Of pitiless warfare upon man and beast, (Driven by the iron hand of harsh vicissitude : Famine and pestilence, disease and drought) For a life of fuller scope and richer aim, Till the Aztec banners flamed invincible From Guatemala and Nicaragua in the south To the farthest part of Sinaloa and The Province of Panuco in the north, — One truth we have reverenced as infrangible : — The holy legend of Quetzalcoatl, [Malinche here listens intently. Lord of the Seven Caves, who after years Of struggle and endeavour in our midst, Of high instruction both in peace and war, — Welding to one vast, homogeneous whole The seven tribes that form this mighty nation, — Departed for fresh conquests in the East, Leaving a promise that in years to come He, or his true descendants, would return To amend our ancient government. . . . These men are like to him in face and form, Like him they hold the lightning in their palm, And hurl the forked death upon their foes ! . . . Dare we now provoke DONNA MARINA [act i. These fateful strangers, and bring upon ourselves Their vengeful arms ? whose loud reverberations Shake the firm base of Popocatapetl, Whilst Orizaba echoes to the hills Doom of the deep-mouth'd engines of their war ! Alack ! How many and portentous signs Prognosticate the downfall of my Empire ! — The temple stones take fire and burn like wood ; Comets are seen by day, with brazen heads Like fiery serpents ; the waters o' the great lake O'erflow, and bubble up like burning pitch ; Streams of hot lava flood the mountain side, And desolate our valleys ; windy tremors Shake and convulse the pillars of our land ; Death and destruction threaten everywhere ! Mai. My lord should not allow himself to brood Over Earth's mysteries, which must for ever evade him; Sufficient, if he prove himself all-valiant In meeting danger when the hour shall fall. Mont. True, true, Malinche, — wisely counsell'd : I Had overlook'd thy presence 'mid my cares. What's happen'd of late might quell the stoutest heart : I fear not man nor aught that he may do, But in the hands o' the Gods I am a child, 310 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA With a child's terror of the vast unknown ! How have I brought upon myself their wrath, For troubles greater than any my fathers knew Have fallen in my time ? Mai. It is to try Thy mettle, O my lord ! for otherwise Thou might'st have gone down to thy grave unknown, Unproven in thy greatness. The measure of a man Is his true bearing in the face of trouble. Not of our merits do the Gods adjudge us. For those who most deserve are awarded least, Whilst men without or scruple, faith, or honour In this world thrive and prosper. Alas, our virtues More often than our vices prove our ruin ! Yet, noble Montezuma, I'd not exchange the consciousness of right For all the glory of triumphant wrong ! — Indeed, my lord, believe't ! — Truly our actions Reap in the heart their harvest, good or ill. Mont. Yet, out of adverse circumstance, my child. How would'st thou meet the perils that now threaten .'' Dost think the advice of Pilpatoe is good .■' Or hath thy woman's wit a readier way Of circumventing fortune .'' Mai. My lord defers Too much to the opinions of those near him. 3" DONNA MARINA [act i. My lord should act ! but only take their counsel If it confirm his preconceived views, Or, as occasion makes demand of him, To clarify his own far shrewder thought. Is it not so, my lord ? Mont, (impatiently). Y the case in point, Wouldst fight ? or try if gifts may not prevail ? Mai. Peace first — and that impossible — then war ! Mont, (with sudden inspiration). And to my gifts I will add living treasure — Girls in the first faint rose of womanhood. For these beguile the heart o' the stoutest foe, And charm him to subservience. Thyself — Would'st go .? Mai. If by my going I might serve my lord. Mont. And thou shalt hold the heart of the invader F the hollow of thy hand, and bring him bound And captive to my feet. Tecuichpo here comes foriuard ivith Guatemozin. Tecuichpo, we have news Of a fresh landing by these bearded white men. And we are sending gifts to pacify. And girls to propitiate these noble strangers. Guat. To propitiate and to pacify ! Say rather : To entice them upward to thy royal eyrie. 312 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Meet them with the whole force of Mexico, And send them back to the land from whence they came ! It is not in the blood of the Aztec monarchs To propitiate and to pacify — Cold gyves, and not warm girls, are their usual gifts To those who venture on their high domain Unbidden and unwelcome ! Mont. Hark ye, nephew. When we desire your counsel we will ask for't. Your speech is both unbidden and unwelcome. Tec. Father, he reasons well, and valiantly As doth become a scion of your House. Let him go forth and earn a soldier's crown At the head of our conquering myrmidons. These men — come not in friendship ! Mont. So I suspect : We wait the proof. I'd not commit my country To open rupture with their tutelar gods. These men may be descendants of Quetzalcoatl Guat. Put not too great reliance in your gods ! for they speak As speak your priests, and their first thoughts are ever For fuel to feed the flame of sacrifice ; Next, to usurp fresh power. These men are the curse DONNA MARINA [act i. Of our land ! Mont. You too, young lord of Tezcuco ! Must I forever listen to such tales ? The arrogance of my subjects knows no bounds. Out of my sight ! See to your own foul marshes, And send me double tribute from this day. Guat. (aside) Thou shalt yet pay an hundredfold for this ! [Exeunt. Scene II. — The Spanish camp at Vera Cruz. Rustic church, •with tents and sea in background. Pavilion of Cortes in foreground, bearing the conquistador's flag — a -white cross on a ground of gold, -with the device ' ' Let us go forth in the strength of the Cross, for -with this sign ■we shall conquer T Enter Sabiot and a number of Soldiers. Sab. Huzza for Hernando Cortes ! 'Twas masterful strategy that of resigning the commission given by the Governor-general — old Diego Velasquez, and receiving the same again at the hands of the council of this mushroom colony of New Spain ! By our halidom, but it takes the wind out of the sails of Don Diego de Ordaz ! 3M SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA First Sold. And of De Leon, and the whole Velasquez breed. O ho ! but I'd give the renegades all the wind I could to help them back to Cuba. Sab. Not so our general ! for they be prime swordsmen all, and we've none too many blades to reap the harvest ! Sec. Sold. Thou mayn't never see two strutting chiefs to one barn-yard. Ordaz has been badly mauled ; we must wait till's comb's healed. Third Sold. And for the rest of the cockerels, a little gold-dust will cure their crests : 'tis a fine salve ! First Sold. But a villainous salvation ! as many'll find to their cost. Third Sold. Give me the salve, and let salvation go. A merry life and a short one, that's for me ! Several. Ay, and for me ! Sai. A merry life for us all ! [Cheers. Enter Cortes, nvho crosses towards pavilion, accompanied by Father Olmedo, Sandoval, and guard of soldiers. Sab. Three cheers for our Captain-general ! Solds. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Two Voices. Down with Velasquez ! Death to the Governor of Cuba ! A Third Voice. Lead us to Mexico ! DONNA MARINA [act i. So/ds. (shouting and raising their swords). To Mexico ! to Mexico ! Cort. (pointing with his sword to the fiag over pavilion). For God and the glory of Spain ! \Enters pavilion ivith Sandoval. Olm. (making the sign of the Cross). In the name of the Cross we shall conquer ! [Enters pavilion. [Soldiers cheer and disperse to their tents, except the guard. Enter De Leon, Olid, Alvarado, Ordaz and Off.cers. De Leon. The result was a foregone conclusion, for he packed the council with his friends. Olid. By your leave, De Leon ! Francisco de Montejo was appointed chief alcalde, and he's a firm adherent of Valasquez. Ord. The craft of Cortes — to give a veneer of justice to his ends. What could Montejo do against so many ? Ah. He need not have accepted office. Ord. Thou'dst have refused the palm-sweet invitation ? Ah. Have a care for thy tongue, Don Diego 1 Olid. Come, sirs, 'tis not our affair, but the captain's. Ord. Zounds ! 'tis all men's affair ! — the whole matter's A vile conspiracy against the Governor ! This upstart, this purse-proud adventurer, 316 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Had never set his foot upon this soil But for Velasquez' favour, and now he fawns And whinnies at us for our loyal swords, To sheath them in his patron's breast ! It ill consorts with The dignity and mettle of a soldier To play the cur to such a cowardly knave. And aid him in his insubordination ! Ah. (draiving). Thou'lt eat thy words, or by the God who made me ! Re-enter Father Olmedo from pavilion. Olm. {throwing up their siuords). Don Diego, — Alvarado, — Gentlemen ! Is this the place to ease your private feuds ? Put up your swords. Ue Leon, {drawing Ordaz aivay). Our friend is right, Diego ; Cortes will have to answer to the Emperor For the legality of his acts. Come, I pray be patient ! — his o'er-topping pride Will fall upon himself. Give him rope enough. And the end of that man 'twill not be ours to envy ! \Soldiers draw round during this altercation. Ord. {to Alvarado^ We but defer our meeting. Ah. At your service. 317 DONNA MARINA [act i. Re-enter Cortes from pavilion ivith Sandoval. Cort. I hear, gentlemen, that some of you are dissatisfied with the conduct of this expedition, and that you are for returning to Cuba. If so — there lie the ships. Will none of you depart ? Ord. May I ask, sir, on what authority You take upon yourself such plenary powers. Your old commission having been revoked By the Governor, Velasquez ^ Secondly, How you can reconcile it with your conscience To accept a fifth o' the fruits and commerce of This enterprise — a share indeed equal To that of the Emperor — for your services As leader ? Cort. And I'll answer your two questions, Don Diego, with a third — will you yourself Accept this coveted post of Captain-general ? [Murmurs of disapproval from soldiers, and shouts of "Cortes I" "Cortes!" My sole ambition's for the sure success Of this our undertaking, and I can, Without the least wound to my will or pride. Take up a soldier's pike with that same hand Which now resigns the baton of a general. [Cheers, and cries of " Never ! " 318 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA For I am assured, had not the Council's choice Rested on myself, your services and parts Must have proclaim'd you leader. [Loud shouts of " Cortes ! " Cortes ! " Ord. (ioiving). My thanks, sir, but Your question does not warrant a reply, For our commission carries not so far. Fd not be false to Velasquez ! Cort. And / Would not be false to my friends, (^/oud cheers from soldiers^ as I should be Did I allow you still at large, who art A traitor to our cause, and a disturber O' the public peace. Arrest him, Sandoval, Also that mild-eyed relative of his {indicating De Leori), Whose fingers so affectionately cleave To his sword hilt. A week's imprisonment May mend their manners. If not, eternity May teach them the respect due to authority. Let them look to it that their obstinacy Cost them not their heads ! \Exeunt Ordaz and De Leon, under guard. {Addressing soldiers') Friends and companions, When I consider the many desperate battles, 319 DONNA MARINA [act i. By sea and land, thro' which we've come unscathed, The obstacles and perils now surmounted, I can but acknowledge the providence of God, And take fresh heart for the enterprise before us. Dangers and hazards we shall have to face. Long and fatiguing marches, bloody encounters, Sustain'd attacks by innumerable foes, Famine and many painful deprivations. But ivithal — nothing that unflinching courage, Conjoin'd to unfailing patience, may not o'ercome. Let us, therefore, proportion our resolve To the great hopes that we have set before us. Being of one mind to will, and as one hand To execute, for therein lies our strength. [Applause. My heart assures me — from I know not what great source — That a conquest so auspiciously begun. Under such signal and supernal signs. Must end i' the final victory of our arms. [Loud Applause. Wherefore, my friends. To bind all waverers to our common cause, I now propose that we destroy our fleet, Reserving one small vessel, to convey Our envoys — and such as fear the hazard — home. 320 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Swords up, for those who hold with me in this ! \_Soldiers raise their snvords and shout " To Mexico I " "To Mexico!" [Trumpets. [Montezuma's Embassadors are announced. Pilpatoe, before delivering his embassy, causes mats of palm tree leaves to be spread upon the ground, on nxjhich Montezuma's presents are arranged. First is disclosed a wheel of gold, richly carved, representing the sun ; then a larger ivheel of silver, equally "wrought, representing the moon ; after these, coverlets and robes of cotton, fine as silk, of rich and various dyes; penaches and plumes of variegated feathers ; imitations of birds and animals in gold, silver, and feather-work, of exquisite "workmanship ; shields, helmets, collars, and cuirasses, embossed "with plates and orna- ments of gold; and lastly, a considerable quantity of jewels and precious stones. Whilst these presents are being displayed, other atten- dants come in, bearing small perfuming pans, burning gum-copal and other s'weet scents. These purifying ceremonies over, Pilpatoe addresses Cortes. The soldiers, during the delivery of his speech, express by their actions unbounded surprise and admiration at Monte- X 321 DONNA MARINA [act i. zuma's gifts, and are luith difficulty restrained 3v their officers. Pilp. From the great Emperor Montezuma — greeting ! Our lord hath heard of the arrival of your fleet From some unknown shore in the far, far distant East. And, — knowing by the prowess of your arms, Establish'd i' the fight at Tabasco River, (What time ye engaged the enemies of our lord) That ye indeed are the emissaries of Some high and powerful monarch, whose dominions Embrace the wide seas of the vast Atlantic, — Hath sent by us to inquire with what intention Ye are come upon his coasts, whether in need Of succour, or assistance, or of aught That lies within the province of his friendship To dispose. And, that ye may no longer doubt The kindness and civility of our lord, His princely disposition to all strangers, He hath commanded us to lay these gifts At your feet, and to offer you full measure Of all our bountiful country may afford. Pray you accept our service ! Cort. Return then to your monarch equal greeting And thanks — for his abounding hospitality. Which his most christian majesty, Don Carlos, Emperor of all the East, will reciprocate 322 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA With gifts as rare and costly in their kind. Adding to these the right arm of his friendship. As touching now the purpose of our visit, We are come here, on special embassy, Bearing credentials from our sovereign liege, Don Carlos, to confer with Montezuma Relative to affairs of state, and other matters That vitally concern him and his people. Wherefore, good sir, it is expedient That with as brief delay as possible We be accorded audience of your prince. Teut. So-ho, ye are scarce landed on our shores And ye demand an audience of Montezuma ! Incredible ! Pilp. One moment, Teutile, my friend, — For princes are not ruled by our conceptions, — {To Cortes). Our lord's concern's for the peril of the way, — Where one may pass with safety, many may not. If your commander will entrust his person To our sure escort, we will conduct him. By mountain paths known only to ourselves. Into the shining presence of Montezuma. This little host, encumber'd with its baggage, Might never pass secure thro' Anahuac, Where dangers and a multitude of foes DONNA MARINA [act i. Infest, where no man's life's his own. Cori. My friend, Dost think that we who've come o'er leagues of sea. And braved the perils of the vasty deep, Are to be turn'd by trifles ? "What foes we meet, Our own good swords will vouch for; as for dangers. These will afford relief and entertainment From the rigour of our march. Return again. Acquaint your noble master with our purpose ; Offer him our respects and duteous service, And tell him that we may not now depart, Our embassy and message undischarged. Without dishonour to the King we serve. Teut. Your embassy were better undischarged Than you should risk the wrath of Montezuma ! Cort. That is not yours to determine : nor is it Within your province as ambassador. To oppose your personal views and predilections To those of the King, your master. For mark you : Princes luho are /overs of peace never affront The representatives of other monarchs. Nor will your Montezuma. Pi/p. You'll remain here. In your encampment, till we bring you word. Or ay or no, from Montezuma ? Cort. Unless— SCENE ii.J DONNA MARINA Your answer be too long upon the way. [A Soldier drops his helmet, -which rolls tonvards Teutile. Tent, {examining helmet •with mvesome curiosity). O marvellous ! {Aside) How like the helm that doth adorn the brow Of our great god QuetzalcoatI ! Pilp. {to Cortes). One thing remains To rivet you within our lord's affection — Twenty o' the fairest damsels in the land He hath sent to do you honour. Behold, then. Our Emperor's last, supremest gift of all ! Enter t-wenty young girls, in clinging, diaphanous robes, closely veiled. These for yourself and for your noble captains ! \The Officers evince great interest in the maidens, but are restrained by Cortes. Cort. My friends, they must be first baptized — before We lift their veils, or let temptation enter. Father Olmedo, these are now your charge. As daughters of the Church we will es'pouse them, 325 DONNA MARINA [act i. Not otherwise. {To girls). Follow this holy man. \They move off toivards Church under Father Olmedo^s care. [Trumpets. Enter Magiscatzin and Ambassadors from Tlascala. Cart. What answer sends the Senate of Tlascala To an alliance with our arms .' Mag. My lord, Before our face you entertain our foes, And ask of us an answer. Have it then ! — Never will the Republic of Tlascala Join in forced league or hateful covenant With the fickle, faithless sons of Mexico, Butchers, betrayers all ! Teut. {raising his spear). Ha ! tempt me not To spit thee where thou stand'st, curst Magiscatzin ! Pilp. {restraining him). Teutile, forbear thy spite. Mag. {to Teutile). Thou'rt valiant here, But never have I known thee terrible When in the field. Teut. Liar ! thou'st fled me twice. Cort. Stay ! Such words are wanting in respect to me, And to the monarch whom I represent. 326 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Teutile withdraw. Pilpatoe, you know my mind. See you convey our charge to Montezuma With all speed. \_Montezuma s Embassy ivithdranvs . {Aside) This hate I'll turn to account. (To Magiscatzin). Now, sir, What says the proud Republic of Tlascala? Mag. Whoever is the friend of Mexico Must likewise be the enemy of Tlascala. There is no other answer possible ! Wherefore regard me as your mortal foe From this hour forth Cort. Until a newer bond. Cemented in the blood of the Aztec race. Shall seal us friends .' Mag. (Coming closer). What hope is there of that .'' Cort. (aside to Magiscatzin). Much : listen — I distrust this Montezuma, And most of ail his gifts. Mag. (aside to Cortes). 'Tis well you do so. (Aloud) Return his gifts, and we will be your friends, \Shouts of " Never ! "from Soldiers. (To Soldiers). This gilded bait will lure ye to your doom. A Voice. And so it be a golden doom what matters ! \Cheers from Soldiers. Mag. (to soldiers). Flee the accurst temptation, or flee us ! [Cries of ' ' Neither ! " 327 DONNA MARINA [act i. Tlascala then withdraws her profFer'd friendship, And will break you on her altars. Cort. Break thou first This news of war to thy people, then break us If thou wilt and canst. Warrior, farewell. [Exit Magiscatzin ivith Ambassadors. Cort. Proceed we to a division of the spoil — One fifth's the share allotted to Don Carlos, A similar portion is assign'd to me, And in the balance all participate. Sab. A right partition ! That's three-fifths for ourselves. First Sold. Ay : when his captains have been recompensed! Sec. Sold. His captains — whew — ! (whistles) Third Sold. Hark ye, our general speaks ! Cort. But that no man may deem me covetous Of gold, or a close seeker after treasure, Whose chief reward is in the captaincy Of this high enterprise, I do renounce My share until such time as our success Is more assured, and give 't with all glad heart Unto my faithful soldiers for their valour. First Sold. O noble captain ! Sec. Sold. Where is such another .'' Third Sold. His own share for division 'mongst ourselves ! Fourth Sold. O regal Cortes ! Fifth Sold. O bountiful commander ! 328 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Cort. As to these native brides, — whom some of you Thus early seem to regard as the treasure Of all treasures ! — For, closely veil'd tho' they be, Their suppleness and grace cannot be hid, — I do relinquish here my primal choice As leader, and present them unto you My lieutenants, who forthwith shall draw lots As to their fate and future happiness. \Whilst the Officers are dranving lots, the native brides return in procession from the church, •with "veils raised and hearing boughs of palm leaves in their hands. They are preceded by Father Olmedo and choir, chanting a mission- ary h\mn. ACT II. Scene I. — A forest. Donna Marina discovered -weeping. Several Tlascalans cross the stage in flight, pursued by Cortes, Sandoval and Spaniards. Cort. I am spent : I can follow them no further. Sand. My lord, see here {pointing to blood stains) — their cacique is sore wounded, 329 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Else had we never fetch'd so close to them. But one hour more, the daylight aiding us, The chances are that we shall capture him, And hold him to a ransom from Tlascala. Cort. Imperil not too far the lives of our men. \_Exeunt Sandoval and Spaniards. [As Cortes perceives Donna Marina, she tries to run anvay, but he intercepts her. Cort. Little Malinche ! And whither are thy light feet speeding thee .'' Mar. My lord, You must not call me little Malinche now. For since my baptism I have been called — Donna Marina. Doth it not sound sweet .' Cort. And yet to me thy native name sounds sweetest. Mar. 'Tis dear to me to hear you think it so. Cort. Why these swollen eyes ? — Why, child, thou hast been crying ! Mar. It is a woman's privilege to cry. Cort. May I be privileged to know the cause ^ Mar. My lord, it cannot interest you — for I am nothing to you. Cort. Beauty in distress Must always interest a man — much more When the heart of the man feels too the stab 33° SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Of pain. Wilt tell me ? Mar. If my lord will promise To rid me of the cause of this my grief. Cort, Come {seating her beside him on a fallen trunk) : thou shalt treat me as thy father confessor. Mar. Don Alonso de Puertocarrero Hath claim'd me for his bride, and I refuse To marry him ; and so I've fled the camp. Cort. But he's a kind and courtly gentleman, An hidalgo of Spain — why should'st thou fear To marry him .'' Mar. He may be a noble in Spain, He is not noble here — he's rough and horrible ! Cort. Thou dost amaze me. Mar. {archly) His eyes are not soft and tender like my lord's. I cannot look on you^and then on him ! Cort. Thou art a minx, Malinche ! {Pressing her to him.) Mar. Give me your hand ; {Turning it palm up) For this's the chart and register of your soul. What's written here can never be unwritten. Till the Gods efface the record. Therefore, take heed! That scar upon your lip — how came it there. Unless by fighting for a lady's favour .'' And many such encounters, dear my lord, DONNA MARINA [act ii. Are index'd in your palm. Shall I proceed ? \_He nods. You are as clay within a woman's hands That she may mould at will, provided only She shapes the vessel whilst your passion's hot. She must not dally, for soon your ardour cools — God save me from the love of such as you ! Cort. A vain attempt to retaliate in kind, Because I call'd thee minx ! What thou hast said, Thou might'st have guess'd of any cavalier. All men are plastic whilst their love is warm. Most men Mar. Judge them not all by your own heart ! Cort. Come, tell me of the future, z/'thou canst : The past, my little palmist, was mere guess-work. Mar. The future } . . Ah, that is far more difficult to scan, For the Gods allow our wills to operate : Not irresistible the inborn nature ! Will is the helmsman of our destiny ; And in a measure we can shape our lives, And 'void the currents that set strongly in As we approach the isles of our desire. Cort. I fear that / shall shipwreck on that isle ! [Attempts to kiss her. SCENE I.J DONNA MARINA Mar. Wait ! something I can tell you of the future : This masterful thumb — is the keynote of Your character, and presages success In whatsoever ventures you assay. Cort. This enterprise then .? Mar. Will both succeed — and fail ; Yet out of failure you shall carve success, And finally attain the goal you seek. Cort. To what cause shall I owe this transient failure .'' Mar. To over-confidence, my lord, — a grave Fault in a leader ! Cort. And to what — success ? Mar. To the devotion of a stranger. Cort. So .? Mar. For twice your life will be in deadly peril, Twice you will owe salvation to a woman, And twice the triumph of your arms will rest with her. Cort. And she — this lodestar of my destiny ? Mar. Will live to contemplate her country's ruin, To look unmoved upon her king in chains. To watch the land she loved laid desolate — Its altars pillaged, and its people fled 'Fore ruthless wrongs, and rapine cold as death. But, oh, to know herself the cause of all. And learn at last the sacrifice was vain ! 333 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Cort. What sacrifice is this that she shall make i Mar. The sacrifice of kith, and kin, and country Upon the altar of her love for you. Cort. Thou speakest like a seer — who is this woman ? Mar. There is but one in this wide universe Whose fate-line coincides with yours. Cort. And she ? Mar. Is near — too near — unless Cort. And knowing this (Taking her in his arms), Thou still would'st love .' What of thy will, Malinche .? Mar. I am as the moth that goes towards the light ; In vain do I beat the air with amorous wings. For I know that I must perish amid the flame Of passion — in your love find my — my doom. (Breaking aivay from him) Ah woe is me, woe, woe a thousand times ! For I, who have been sent here to betray you, Must of necessity become your shield. Cort. So the Aztec monarch would betray me thus ! I had not given him credit for such subtlety. Love, thou shalt tell me of this Montezuma, Don Puertocarrero we'll — despatch to Spain. \_Exeunt 354 SCENE I.J DONNA MARINA Enter Father Olmedo, forcibly detaining the tiuo drummers Benito and Juan. Olm. So, my young runaways ! I've caught the pair of you. Hold ! will you take your chastisement from me ? Or wait till I report you to your captain ? Ben. If only you'll not tell, from you, sir, I. Juan. I'll never do't again — I promise, sir ! — if You'll let me off this once. Olm. No : you must choose. [Olmedo undoes his belt. Ben. (aside) Get 't over quickly, Juan. Juan (aside) Not for me ! Father Olmedo's belt knows how to bite ! Olm. Now, my lads, I must first explain to you the nature of your offence. Stand there in front of me (seats himself on the fallen trunk). Disobedience is a deadly sin in a soldier: that is — one worthy of death ! Without obedience, no commander can preserve discipline ; and without discipline, his army moves towards inevitable destruction. Therefore, take it to your understandings, and treasure it in your hearts, that the step between disobedience and death is but a short one for a soldier. Next, sirs, for the consequences of your folly ! If it were not for the 335 DONNA MARINA [act ii. very special regard I have for you, I should have left you to take care of yourselves, — which on most occasions I observe you are well able to do, — but I cannot have my chubby-faced little drummer-boys walking open-eyed into the pits prepared for them by these savages, to be subsequently made into dainty dishes for the Aztec nobles. Juan. O, sir, how horrible ! Do they really eat people ? Olm. They do indeed, Juan {pinching his cheeky, after fattening them in cages, and of this you are even now running a very sensible risk, for our ubiquitous foes still roam at will through these wild woods. [Oltnedo rises. Juan. O, sir, let us get back. Ben. (aside to Juan). Don't be a fool, Juan, he's only trying to frighten you. Olm. And so, my lads, I hope you will remember, when I put you to a very sore reminder of your mortahty, that I do so from the very great affection I have for you. Ben. O, sir, mother always used to say that; but she laid it on the harder for her affection ! Olm. Come, Benito, you rascal ! you are trying to disarm me. Hold out your hand. \_A s the blonv is about to descend, Father Olmedo is throivn upon his back by some Indians, under SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Quauhpopoca, -who have been stealthily approach- ing from cover. Father Olmedo and the two lads are secured, and carried off amid the shrieks of Juan. Scene II Mexico. The Temple of Darkness, sometime known as the House of Sorrow. Montezuma and the Image of the God dimly visible in the intense murk, -which is only broken by rays of light that penetrate near the roof of the building. Distant mutter ings of thunder are heard as Montezuma unrobes, and these gronv louder as he abases himself before the Image. Anon the lightning becomes more vivid, and the frequent flashes reveal the head and front of the God, "which are seen to be those of a dragon, -whose fangs are nvet "with blood. At the feet of the Image is a golden platter , containing five human hearts which glisten with the fresh drip from the mouth of the dragon. Mont. Lord and lover of darkness ! whose delight Is to do evil without end. In whom Nothing is good, save the immute resolve Still to be steadfast thro' all griefs that shatter : Unquenchable in hate, in will sublime. Father of all lost spirits ! Sire of Hell ! To thine abode of horror am I come, Y 337 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Frustrate of all my hopes, humbled in pride, — 1, Montezuma, do abase myself Before thine awful shrine. Prince of Darkness {speaking through the mouth of the Image). My son, what trouble hath befallen thee, That thus thou break'st upon my noontide sleep ? These hours are precious, stored with sweet oblivion. All night have I in which to roam abroad. But light I loathe, and thro' the garish day Obliterate myself and my vex'd mind. For to me, also, my appointed calm. Where memory cannot scorch, nor passion sear. By day, my myrmidons can speed my will ; But night is my chief joy and field of pleasure, — Then can I compass deeds that mock the light. Then leaps my brand to revel in the sting And stab of human hearts ! Mont. By day or night. Matters it not, great Prince, so that thou serv'st Me truly. Prince of D. What of thy other Gods — have they all fail'd thee ? That thus at last thou hast recourse to me t Who could have saved thee first ! Mont. Thy terms are onerous : Not lightly parts a man with his own soul ! SCENE ii.J DONNA MARINA Long have I writhed in torment, ere I came To this. Prince of D. A subtle compliment, my friend ! What's lightly won is ever lightly prized — I shall respect thy soul the more. {Thunder. ^°»i- Thy respect— Not for that came I : I want Prince of D. My aid ; and, O king,— Despite thy long indifference to my calling. As ancient as 'tis honourable, — I Am ready at a price to grant thy wish. Mont. Name it, and have done ! Prince of D. Thou shalt sign with thy life's blood The bond I have prepared. Mont. What's in the bond ? Prince of D. Briefly, the deed concerns thy soul : hence- forth It will be safer in my keeping. Read ! \Thunder. \A scroll unrolls itself at the foot of the image. Mont. {Reading). " I, Montezuma, Prince of Mexico, For service rendered in my hour of need. Assign my soul" — God! Thou demand'st of me The utmost I have't in power to give ! Prince of D. The bargain is one-sided, for thy soul Is almost mine. Thou art the slave of thy lusts ! The fruit is canker'd, and must fall to me. 339 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Mont. Yet, till I sign, there is hope — {^siveet music heard) after that, none ! My conscience kicks against the written bond. Prince of D. Thy conscience or thy crown — that is the issue ! If I must save the latter, then I claim The former for my service. Mont. Canst thou ensure My throne against these white men ? Prince of D. /only can Safeguard ! provided that — and this is vital — Thou dost eschew all other counsellors. Mont. I'll sign {lie bares his arm and draws blood from it). Prince of D. Thou'lt find my service easy. Mont, (signing). 'Tis done ! And I am thine. [Loud crash of thunder , followed by vivid lightning. Prince of D. Now hearken well my counsel — Your past diplomacy is much at fault -, 'Twas yours to allay suspicion — not excite it. A dozen times you've fought, and been repulsed — You may disclaim these actions, but your foes Are quick to see your mind in these encounters — Then, after each repulse, to send fresh gifts And sue their swift departure, this indeed Was consummation of sheer, cragged folly ! 34° SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA As certain to excite tiieir greed and envy, As to confirm them in their westward march. For such pusillanimity, my lord, You have your daylight counsellors to thank ! . , . You should have welcomed them to Mexico, Strewn all their paths with flowers, profuse of friendship, Debauch'd their souls ere you discharged your bolt ! Then, having them at last within your power, Unmann'd by dissipation and excess. And unsuspicious of your waning love. You could upon a night have cut the causeways, Mew'd up these white men in your father's palace. To await the due apprizal of your Gods ! Mont. O thou great lord of subterfuge and guile ! Is't yet too late to execute this plan ? Prince of D. Daily you render it more difficult. This sacrifice you've countenanced at Cholula — 'Twere best to countermand it ! Mont. But the priests Have my sign-manual to proceed: there's not time Prince of D. Then fabricate the best excuse you may. And if you can't delay it, then deny it ! Say that your name was forged, and slay the forger ; Put all the priests who execute your warrant To speedy death ; ('Twere best rid of them ! ) DONNA MARINA [act ii. But clear your credit of the white men's blood, The safety of your realm demands this of you. Mont. Thou'st given me heart ! I go to do thy bidding. \Fierce storm of thunder and lightning, in •which scene fades out. Scene III. — The plateau of Anahuac. Spanish bivouac. Soldiers in groups about their fires. Christoval de Olid and brother officers are seen completing the round of the •watch. First Sold. Don Christoval for a song ! Solds. A song ! a song ! Sec. Sold. Our nightingale of the desert, charm us to sleep ! Olid. That were a small compliment to my singing ! Sab. {To Sec. Soldier). Thou'dst ever put thy foot in it, feather-head ! (To Olid). 'Tis a soldier's compliment, sir, rough and ready. Sec. Sold. Thou leave my speech alone, sergeant ! 'tis something to get to sleep before thy trumpet breaks upon the night — there's not much sleep for us after that ! e Third Sold. Thou'rt right, my lad ! 'tis worse than the long-drawn hoot of the owl on a misty eve, and as aggressively persistent ! SCENE HI. J DONNA MARINA First Sold. That highly-polished piece of furniture on's face will want seeing to, when he gets into civilised parts again. Sabiot's a most uncanny bed-fellow — his girl ought to be warned ere she takes a night- organ like that to the altar with her ! Sab. Come ! Three against one's too many ! Officer (to Olid). The watch is placed : give them a song Cris ! 'Tis the last some of us will hear this side of eternity, for the assault at dawn to-morrow is likely to prove expensive. Olid. What shall I give you, my lads — a song of old Spain? Of Castilian pride and beauty ? or ? Sab. Give us the lasses of New Spain — these dark-eyed daughters of the Aztec nation ! Solds. Ay, the lasses of New Spain ! Olid. Faithless so soon to the girls you've left behind you ! Sab. (singing). The heart that is nearest Is ever the dearest. 'Tis the way with us soldier men ! Third Sold. Ay, and — The lad that is newest To him we'll be truest. Is that not the way o' the women ? Sab. God bless 'em for their instability, say I. IPt were not for their love of change, an old campaigner like myself would have a poor chance of a little occasional bliss ! The fascinating dears ! "What an uninterest- 343 DONNA MARINA [act ii. ing world it would be, if they were all Sancta Marias ! Olid. Thank God they're never likely to be — this side of the sun ! (^Soldiers murmur approval.') What shall I give you then — Donna Marina ? Sab. Donna Marina : part Conqueror of Mexico ! Solds. Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! Olid sings, the soldiers joining in the refrain : Song Dark her eyes as the forest pines When the slanting sun declines, Deeper than the ebon night Tresses that exhale the light. Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! II Like a June-enchanted eve, Faery spells about her weave — Tranced in moonlight at her feet. Dreams the mystic marguerite. Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! 344 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA III All whereon her footprints press She doth sublimate and bless. Mountain daisies bow before her, Whisp'ring each how they adore her. Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! IV Two sweet doves, divinely prest. Flutter 'neath her broider'd vest, Ever longing to be free. Passionate at heart as she ! Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! V He, who sees her charms unlaced, Clasps a goddess by the waist ! He, who breathes his passion to her, Like a god has come to woo her ! Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! VI Tremulous smiles and tender tears. Queen of all our hopes and fears ! Captive-captain of our band, See our hearts are in thine hand ! Donna Marina ! Donna Marina ! 345 DONNA MARINA [act ii. [Loud applause, during ivhich Bugles sound the " turn in" \The Soldiers adjust themselves for sleep. The moon, •which had been but dimly visible throughout the first part of the scene, noixj breaks through the enveloping cloud-ivrack, disclosing a large •wooden Cross in the desert, and Donna Marina in an attitude of devotion at its foot. Mar. (with arms outstretched to^wards the Cross^. Emblem of Victory, of Faith, of Love ! Dear Cross of Passion, glowing thro' the dark ! The same white arms outstretch'd to heal and save. As in the hush that fell on Calvary In that last hour of world-redeeming grace. Sweet Saviour, let me pour from my heart's treasure Soft tears of spikenard to anoint Thy feet. In gratitude for Thy so priceless gift — This gift of love — how wondrous in its workings ! O the bright realms of Spirit Thou hast open'd To this poor wayward heart that knew not Thee ! That learnt to know Thee thro' Thy noblest creature, And, so upborne, to scale the highest heavens ! O world how beautiful thou art in Christ ! How radiant in the light of this new joy ! — The sacrifice of a pure and loving heart For the fierce and brutal Aztec ritual ! SCENE Hi.J DONNA MARINA Huitzilopoctli ! bend thy stubborn knees, And bow thy hollow frame to this High God. Love is the ruler of the universe ! All sentient things do but subserve his ends. For this we two came naked thro' the spheres. Bearing our bright election on our brows, "With flaming mandate for each other's eyes ! . . . For this man I would die a thousand deaths. Endure all torment to eternity ! Nothing can e'er divide us ! — Space is too short To separate the souls that once have loved. For in some other star we'd reunite. If Fate should smite me now, I feel so sure That we should live our love beyond the sun, That parting has no peril, death no fear. O Eternal God, keep him for ever mine ! For his I am unto the end of time. No lips but his shall ever take my kiss. No hands but his shall draw the warmth of mine, No heart but his shall hear the beat of this ! Enter Cortes, someivhat in advance of his Officers. Cort. As even now it hears it and responds (kissing her\ Wherefore abroad, my sweet, at this late hour ? Art not afraid ? 347 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Mar. Can danger here abide ? How could I feel afraid beneath the Cross ? He is such a beautiful God — your God ! The moonlight drew me forth to worship Him. Cort. Methought your words declared some earthly passion. Mar. For you and God are one to my poor soul. Cort. So keep your vow ! I'll never do you wrong. Mar. How could you wrong me ? /who am yourself.? [They converse apart. Ord. See how she dotes on him ! But give her time To know the man as he is, and this fierce heat Will turn to fiercer loathing. Leon, You misread her. That woman will adore his very faults, And love him more for that he is a man And not a demi-god. Ord. Demi-god forsooth ! I'll stake my life I cure her of this passion ! Leon. I'll stake my soul you make her more in love ! Ord. Aye — with another. Leon. No — with her husband, Or him she deems such. [Trumpets Enter Tlascalan Chiefs headed by Magiscatzin. Mag. This was our trysting-place, was't not ^ 348 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA Cort. {embracing Magiscatzin). Well met ! For here I chose that we should make our league, Beneath the far-flung shadow of the Cross, So shall it hold for ever ! Mag. I am yours, my lord. And have so counsell'd ; but these unruled chiefs Must try conclusions first. Now they acknow- ledge There is no God except the Christian's God ! There is no friendship like Castilian friendship ! [^Murmurs of approval from Tlascalan Chiefs. And, having sworn fidelity, they will keep it. TIascala's honour stands untarnish'd yet With guile, or falsehood, or any low deceit. This boast would burn the tongue of Mexico, For lies and treachery are her chiefest weapons ! Cort. We must convert her children, Magiscatzin. Mag. As soon convert the devil as a Mexican ! Ere the Sun-god touch meridian to-morrow. You shall have crowning proof of Aztec faith. For, unless our joint attack at dawn succeeds, Your captive friends will grace their festal boards. And not as guests, but much-prized delicates ! Intent upon this novel sacrifice. They've left the passes to their town unguarded. And these are now securely held by me. 349 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Cort. O worthy Magiscatzin ! Mag. Praise me not : For we have a long reckoning with Cholula ! To-morrow's hght will scarce suffice to sate it. Shall we then to your tent to form our plans ? Cort. (turning to Tlascalan chiefs). Warriors of Tlascala ! I ask you now to swear eternal friendship To the cause of Spain, which is the cause of God ! To stand by us thro' good or ill report, To share with us our trials and privations, As you shall share the spoils of victory. By this most holy symbol of Christ's death You shall now covenant ! Chiefs (raising their spears). By that sacred sign, Tlascala swears eternal amity ! \_Exeiint. Scene IV. — Sunrise. The terrace of the great temple of Mexitli at Cholula. Mountainous country in the back- ground. In the centre of the terrace, but towards the front, a convex sacrificial block of jasper, -with instruments and receiving vessels of silver near-by. Towards the back tivo small sanctuaries, containing images of the Mexican Gods, before each an altar with fire upon it. To the SCENE iv.J DONNA MARINA left three ivooden cages, in ivhich are the victims for the sacrifice. A steep flight of stairs, wrought in the stone in the form of a half Pyramid, leads from the lower court of the temple to the terrace. The court is filled ivith Mexicans, singing and dancing, and making weird and demoniacal noises -with flutes, horns and kettle drums. On the terrace the priests are busy with preparations for the sacrifice, burning incense and arranging flcnvers. When all is ready, tivo priests of the Sun strike the huge cylindrical temple drum, ivhich emits a tragic and melancholy sound. Silence restored, the High Priest comes forivard to the head of the steps, and addresses the multitude. High P. Silence for the great festival of the Sun ! \The crowd beloiv prostrate themselves, and remain in an attitude of prayer, till the High Priest again addresses them. High P. (to Priests). Prepare the victims. [Father Olmedo and the Drummers Juan and Benito are taken from their cages. Olm. Now can you prove yourselves true sons of Christ, And heirs of the bright glory of Castile ! Fear not : They cannot harm our souls, and for our lives — A soldier's life is pledged unto his country. And must be given ungrudgingly, when God DONNA MARINA [act ii. Exacts fulfilment. Stand forth, my sons, with fortitude. And show these heathen priests that the boys of Spain Know how to die like men — unflinchingly, "When Duty calls, and for the Holy Cross ! \The High Priest luashes his hands preparatory to the sacrifice, nuhilst the Priests busy themselves brightening instruments , and placing receiving vessels to his hand. Ben. (in a state of exaltation). Father ! I have no fear, for the good God Has opened mine eyes that I might see ; And now I know that I can never die ! Last eve the choiring angels sang to me — Myriads of voices, exquisitely soft, Came floating down the hollow vault of night, Whose music was the sound of many seas And rushing systems rolling on thro' space. the bright stars ! how wondrously they sang ! For are they not His messengers of peace. Of hopes that light the pathway of the grave ? Last eve great joy was with me — and to-day 1 do not fear to die ! In all my life I have not been so happy as this hour ; And with firm faith and fortitude embrace Christ's Cross and the sure victory to come ! SCENE IV.] DONNA MARINA Juan {putting his hand in Olmedo^s). Father ! Thy prayers removed the terrors of the dark, But, oh, with daylight comes the flooding pain ! High P- Hasten the offering, for the altar smokes ! Juan {clinging to Olmedo). I would be brave, but O my limbs so rock. And see my hands are numb. Olm. Courage! Juan, For God may yet devise a means of safety. Never let it be said amongst the heathen A christian boy fears death ! Sound the " fall in " ! Roll out your message, lads, unto the mountains For they have ears. \They sound the "fall in " on their drums. Benito, as if on parade. Juan, faintly and fearfully. High P. "What sacrilege is this .? Strip and prepare them for the sacrifice. [Priests commence to strip them. Olm. Grant this last favour, priest of Anahuac, That I at least may die in the simple dress In which I have lived ! High P. A very natural wish : A proper pride in a priest ! Mexitii Is generous, and granteth your request He would not humble by so small a slight The representative of a fallen deity. z 353 DONNA MARINA [act ii. (To Priests) Take first this well-condition'd youth (indicating Benito), him shall Mexitli Honour above the rest, for he's full favour'd And of a cheerful countenance. Such delight The God more than your lean, pale-visaged striplings. (Pinching the shin on Juatis chest) He is all bone — ■ back to his cage with him ! \Juan faints, Olm. If thou hast aught of humanity still left In thy blood-encysted breast, torture him not ! But let him die with me. Ben. Farewell ! In heaven we meet. [Father Olmedo embraces Benito, -who is then strapped on the sacrijicial block. Priests (chanting). The victim waits at the threshold of the Sun. Olm. (to High Priest). Suffer me to minister to this my son To the last ! High P. (to Priests) Away with him ! [They lay hands on Father Olmedo. Olm. Be merciful ! He is but a child : my prayers will quiet him. [Olmedo kneels in prayer over the prostrate body of Benito. The High Priest then intones the folloiuing ode : — 354 SCENE iv.J DONNA MARINA Choric Ode to the Sun O MAJESTY of Heaven ! Whose bright dotninion Is over all the peoples of the earth, A myriad worlds beneath each streaming pinion ! O Thou Who dost renew in us at birth The vital spark that germinates unseen, Lighting with torch divine each nuptial hearth, And breathing into substances terrene The Spirit that transmuteth our dull clay, Whose centre is Thine everlasting sheen. The two eternities of night and day Are in Thine hands, and in Thy holy keeping Th' unnumber'd souls that now in Thee are sleeping. II O Thou Omniscience, Incomprehensible ! Creator beneficent to Thee we bow. Ruler of suns and systems inconceptible ! The girdle of the world's about Thy brow. Thro' seons upon seons round Thy throne The stars have circled as they circle now. 355 DONNA MARINA [act ii. Thou Genesis of life ! Thyself unknown, — What primal Deity created Thee ? Father and Son, Insoluble and One ! Our only duty is to bend the knee. Truths that we here may never comprehend, Thou wilt interpret at the journey's end. Be Thou our guide, and short the way appears ! Teach us to worship Thee with faith profound ! — Thou Who dost gild for us the shining years, Plenty and peace in Thy diurnal round. Flame on our sacrifice ! Light it from above ! Accept the victims at Thine altar bound ! Gladly they speed to meet the All-Father's love — To know at last the Aztlan of their dreams ! Grant, Lord, that each shall in Thy presence prove The joy that death's brief agony redeems ! Whilst we, who humbly wait on Thee with prayer, Shall feel Thy Spirit touch us unaware. [Whilst the High Priest is intoning the hymn to the Sun, Father Olmedo takes from his vestment a small silver hand-mirror, and attaches it to Benito^ s left breast, covering his heart. SCENE iv.J DONNA MARINA Olm. (aside to Benito). The Lord accepts our sacrifice, Benito, Thy breast now takes the sun's rays startlingly. {The High Priest returns to complete the sacrifice ; he is about to plunge his knife into Benito's breast, when he catches sight of his own dis- torted features in the mirror, and falls back appalled. High p. The Devil ! I have seen — the Devil ! {Drops the knife. Olm. True, friend, {Stabbing hint). Thou'st seen thyself. {Holding up knife), The instrument of the Lord ! [High Priest falls. {The boom of Cortes' cannon is now heard, and the terror-stricken priests co-wer in difi^erent corners of the temple. A short and sharp struggle ensues below, and then Sandoval at the head of the Spanish forces cuts his ivay through, mounts the stairway, and completes the rescue. Olm. {raising his hand in benediction'). To Jehovah, the only true Lord of Hosts, Be Honour and Glory world without end ! 357 DONNA MARINA Fact hi. ACT III. Scene I. — Banqueting Hall of the Spanish Quarters in Mexico. To right a fiight of steps leading to Cortes' private apartments. To back recessed "windows, overlook- ing terrace and lake of Mexico. To left curtains leading to outer hall. Serjeant Sabiot engaged in placing chairs at a central table preparatory to a council of ivar. Sab. Prodigious fine quarters these ! well, I suppose our captain knows what he's about, but for myself I feel a little uneasy — a faint sinking somewhere in the region of my diaphragm : the pit of conscience some call it ; but I, Gonzalez Sabiot, the well of good-fellowship, for thence floweth a multitude of charities : cheerfulness, conviviality, coUoquiality, corporality — in fact 'tis the sizer of all good qualities ! Give me a man that can take his four quarts a day, and keep his flag flying, and I know his heart's i' the right place. Oh — those pains again (rubbing his stomach) ! I can't have had my due allowance this morning — I have been unkind to you, well of delight ! If thou wert cheery, I could be more charitable ; but I haven't a Christian word to say of SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA these Mexican magnificoes. There's a menace in their sidling looks, and a devil-may-care cocksure- ness in their waving plumes. Now I felt more charitably disposed to the whole race of heathen, and vastly more comfortable, lodging under the stars. One can trust solid mother earth, but here — great God of battles ! what can an old soldier, who has been through a hundred fights, and always care- ful to keep his line of retreat open, do in a sea-city like this, whose only exits and entrances are by narrow causeways, leagues upon leagues in length, with these dusky-headed gentry bobbing up like mites in a cheese at every street corner ? 'Tis against all military policy ! Enter Cor'ita left : moves towards steps. Sab. No, no, you must not pass that way. Cor. Who's to forbid me .'' Sab. I, Gonzalez Sabiot. Cor. You ! (makes a rush for steps) Unhand me, sir ! Sab. Not till I've directed you in the way you should go. That way is barred. Cor. {stamping her Joot) But I must have speech with the lady Donna Marina. Sab. My orders are precise : I cannot allow you to pass. 359 DONNA MARINA [act hi. Cor. {changing her tone) Not if I make myself very sweet ? Sab. Aha ! that's a royal road to most places ! — (aside') especially to this old campaigning heart. We can defer that point for consideration. Cor. But I'm in a hurry. Sab. So am I, my dear — not that I haven't a moment or two to spare, to consider that very agreeable pro- position of yours : now most women Cor. What do you know about women } Sab. Oh a little, my dear ; just a little — but I'm always learning, always ready to learn ! Cor. Well : suppose you defer your lesson till this evening ? Sab. No time like the present, sweet mistress ! (She makes a second attempt to get past him) No — not if 1 can hold you ! (Aside) There's something behind this : 'tis my obvious and immediate military duty to sound her. Cor. (stroking his cheek) You know you're rather nice with that fuzzly old beard of yours. Sab. Ah, now we're coming to business ! (seats himself on steps) Suppose you give me my first lesson here ; whilst I, in return, will instruct you somewhat in our Spanish customs. Cor. (resigning herself) There's no help for it. Needs must when the ! Sab. Sssh ! There, sit upon my knee. 360 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Cor. Is that a Spanish custom ? (seating herself ). Sab. It is a custom much honoured in Spain. Cor. And by whom ? Sab. Princes, dukes, marquises, hidalgoes — in fact all sorts and conditions of men ; though princes and nobles have to accomplish it by stealth, else would they lose caste. 'Tis the first seat God made for woman and — the safest. Cor. And yet your great men cannot offer it in public ! Sab. Ah, but in private they enjoy't the more. Cor. But I thought the seat was for the enjoyment of the woman } Sab. For reciprocal accommodation. Cor. How does it accommodate you, Serjeant Sabiot ? Sab. Come, I'll show you : (Puts his arm around her). O, but you must shut your eyes, to arrive at the full perfections of this [Snatches u kiss. Cor. But that's not part of the chair .'' Sab. Yes : that's what Nature designed this seat for. Cor. Nature's a wicked old dame ! See — I'm going to sleep again. [Sabiot kisses her, passing his hand lightly over her dress for anything concealed on her person. Sab. (aside) I thought so ! — Come, wake up, little girl ! or we shall get caught : we'll finish the lesson this evening. 361 DONNA MARINA [act hi. Cor. But it will be so very long to wait, and not half so nice in the dark ! Sab. H'm ! wait till you've tried it, my dear. A kiss in the dark is worth six in the daylight. Hullo ! what's this ? — something unreasonably hard in so soft a place ! [^Draivs a scroll from her bosom. Cor. O my God ! give't me back or Sab. Wait a Uttle, my precious, — no secrets between you and me ! (^restraining her luith his left arm, he reads letter) To the lady Donna Marina " I earnestly entreat you to visit me this evening — as you love me, dearest, come ! To-morrow it will be too late : Tecuichpo." "To-morrow it ivill be too late" — h'm! (Smiting his breast), Sabiot, there'll be small sleep for you this night ! Enter Cortes at head of stairs. Cort. Come, Serjeant Sabiot — what means this fooling ? Sab. (rising) Business, my lord ! I always combine business — with pleasure. [Corita iveeps, Cort. So it appears ; but the pleasure seems one-sided though. 362 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Sab. That document, my lord {handing letter to Cortes), will, I trust, explain my conduct — though I've had to go a round-about, waist-about way to obtain it. [Cortes reads letter. Cor. {tearfully) You traitor ! I'll never trust a man again. Sab. (bowing) Nor / the kisses of an Aztec maiden. Cor. You lie ! Sab. No I don't, my dear, for I've some powder on my cheek still. Cor. Release me ! Sab. Wo-ho, my little termagant ! Cort. Take her away, and set a guard upon her. Sab. None shall come near her, my lord — {aside) if / can help't ! [Exeunt Corita and Sabiot. Cort. Ho ! within ! Enter Attendant. The lady Donna Marina — r the instant ! [Exit Attendant. This but confirms my fears : well — She's loyal to me, despite the call of blood. We'll see how she interprets it. Enter Donna Marina. My love. This message has been rudely intercepted. 3^3 DONNA MARINA [act iii. No doubt it would have reach'd me from your hands, But time is precious ; read. [Jldarina reads letter. Enter Ordaz, Al-varado, Olid, De Leon, Sandoval, Officers, Etc. Cart. One moment, sirs, This business will not stand. I'll call you in. \Officers stroll off on to terrace. Mar. How came this letter ? Cort. Princess Tecuichpo's maid — Mar. And you've detain'd her .-' Cort. Certainly. Mar. She must not Return. Cort. You suspect treachery .'' Mar. My lord, they Attack to-night. This missive was to ensure My safety. Cort. I divined so. Mar. Well, my lord ? Cort. Our destinies hang upon a single thread — We must forestall their attack. Mar. But how, my lord } Cort. Secure the sacred person of Montezuma. Mar. Of Montezuma ! Cort. There is no way but that : SCENE 1.] DONNA MARINA Retreat — and we lose the prestige of our arms, Even if retreat be possible. Nor may we For long sustain a siege within these walls. Mar. Heaven help us ! Cort. (making the sign of the Cross) Ay, and Heaven nvill help us, love. And, knowing that, 'tis meet we bear us bravely. Much will depend upon your ready tact — Your task by no means the least difficult Or hazardous. Mar. I am yours to command, my lord. Cort. You must return at once to allay suspicion ; Give out that the maid will follow you, that You could not tear her from her new-wed friends — Sad gossips all ! — you'll contrive to be present, If possible with the Princess, your preserver, At the audience vouchsafed this afternoon By his imperial Majesty — no doubt To still our fears, and mask his devilish purpose ! Thereafter you will shape your course by mine. Mar. But, O my lord, if you should fail in this .'' Cort. Talk not to me of failure ! he only fails Who has not set his purpose high enough. I shall succeed. Mar. I am so fearful for you ! (Clinging to him) If harm should come ■ DONNA MARINA [act in. Cort. There, love {kissing her), that's to inspire you ! Now show yourself my soul's true counterpart, And let your courage rise with the event. Mar. {going) God be with you, O my liege, O my lord ! \_Exit Marina. \Oflcers saunter in from terrace, and take their seats at council table. Cort. Well, Sirs, there's little to communicate Since the council broke last evening. Three courses Were then debated at some length — the first, To abide the issue, letting events mature : This throws the initiative upon our foes ! The second, urged with greater warmth and freedom, Was to forestall attack and storm the palace : The third, which also found staunch advocates, Was for retreat — God save me from this last ! — Each having had some leisure for reflection, I'd have your views as briefly as may be. And to the point ! . . . This only I may add — I have reason to suspect that Montezuma, Despite his gifts and specious promises, Is even now conniving our destruction. And that ere dawn we shall have proof of this. Alv. Then for swift vengeance / ! The treacherous king Is known to have the head of Juan de Arguillo 366 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Set up within his closet, where he gloats In secret on his mutilated corpse. Let this now pass — which may the Saints forbid ! — And where is our security for the future ? Our comrade's voice calls to us from the grave. We must avenge him ! — (addressing Cortes^ the means we leave to you, sir. Ord. Hark we not back to policy, my friend ? Doth not the matter so resolve itself ? Avenged our fellow shall be soon or late. But now ? . . . Is this the hour to strike for him and Spain ? Were it not wiser then to mask our hate. And wait till reinforcements reach us here ? What hope have -we against these multitudes ? Let us then meet the guileful Prince half-way — Dissemble our intentions, whilst we guard Against surprise or covert treachery. If we could hold these stolid foes at bay Within the desert — why may we not withstand them Behind stone walls, our batteries commanding The avenues that debouch upon this palace ? / am for delay, since Time fights on our side. Olid. The reinforcements that you name, Ordaz, We may not reckon on for months — meanwhile. How shall we feed our army in this city ? 367 DONNA MARINA [act hi. They've but to cut the causeways, and our fate Is seal'd ! Nor do Don Pedro's burning words Inspire me more — the loss in men and ammunition Should we attack the palace, even if Successfully, would jeopardise our future, And leave us at the mercy of these hordes. Wherefore, my friends, my counsel's for retreat, While yet we may. Sand. And give up all we've fought for ? Olid. Until our swords can hold what they have won. Sand. Sirs, I protest ! Retreat must spell our ruin — The passes held by Montezuma's troops. Not one of us would reach the coast alive. Our prestige gone, our allies would desert. And join our foes i' the general hue and cry. Now we have ciimb'd to such a giddy height, 'Tis easier to go forward than cry back. Therefore, I'm for attack with Alverado. Leon. And I am for Don Christoval — and retreat. The arguments for which seem overwhelming. Cort. Our counsels are divided ! — I at least, sirs. Am very clear as to our course of action. All you have said I've listen'd to with patience, Tho' I have yet a bolder scheme to air — One that will tax your courage and resource 368 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA To the uttermost. My proposal is — To seize the person of this Montezuma, And hold him as a hostage for our safety. All (incredulous). Montezuma ! Cort. "We must inspire them with fresh awe of us, Fasten new fangs of terror on their souls, So only may our smaller force prevail. Of all hazards boldness is now the least ! Officer. How capture him, sir ? Cort. This afternoon : in his own audience chamber. Ord. A daring scheme, well-nigh impossible. Cort. I think not : We'll play upon his superstitious fears. And force or cajole him to acquiescence. Leon. If we should fail ? Cort. Then, in that case, my friend. His life shall answer for't ! We'll fall back here, And hold this fort till succour reaches us. Retreat is hopeless — so I deem it, sirs ! Alv. Great captain, I am for you. Sand. Ay, and I. Leon. Magnificently masterful ! Is't not so .'' Ord. Never a bolder stroke was e'er conceived. Olid. One worthy of our leader ! — and, Don Hernan, We'll follow you in this, as in all else. 2A 369 DONNA MARINA [act hi. Cort. I doubt it not. And, gentlemen, believe me You'll follow me to success. Then to our plans. YScene changes to Scene II. Scene II. — Ha/l of audience, Montezuma s Palace. Doors right and left, and entrance at back from balcony. The heat of afternoon. Princess Tecuichpo reclining on a low couch. Donna Marina in a half-kneeling, half-sitting posture at her feet. Tec. {fondling her hair). You have still something to im- part, Malinche ; You have told me all your travels, but the key To this— this vivid colouring of your cheek You have not given me. Mar. Must I give you that ? I doubt if the key to that is in my keeping. Tec. Never have we kept anything from each other. I have told you all my heart — won't you tell me Yours .'' for I am most sure you are in love. Mar. Be not too sure, Tecuichpo !— a woman's heart. Does 't ever know the substance from the shadow ? How many times have you told me that you loved. And how do I know your — I dare not call it love — Your passion for this firebrand, Guatemozin, Is the all-final surrender of yourself .>' 370 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Tec. O mock me not, my friend ! for well you know I never loved a man as I love this man. Mar. And if I loved, dear, — only if\ loved, — I could not talk of it as you do — lightly : It were something too great to speak about. Tec. Then from your own mouth are you now convicted. How know you that this something — is too great _ To speak about? wherelearnt you thisn^ii; knowledge? You are not my friend, if you refuse to tell me ! Mar. Tecuichpo, I am more your friend than ever ; For, if yon love, and if I love, — as you say — These loves of ours must draw us closer yet By a common bond of sympathy in love. Tec. Child, you are most provoking ! Can't you trust me ? When have I been other than friend to you f Is then this love of yours so frail a thing That but to breathe it — even to my ears — Must dissipate its fine air ? Fie on your friendship ! not for this you drew my confidence ! Mar. It is too early yet to speak of love : 'Tis such a fleeting essence ! Tec. Hear me, then ! This love of yours may be beset with danger, And I — well, I am still your friend, Malinche, 1 would not break your heart, if I could save him- Mar. I know't, Tecuichpo J but why speak you of danger? 371 DONNA MARINA [act in. Hath not your royal father pledged his word For the safety of these strangers ? Tec. To pledge is easy : To fulfil — he may find more difficult ! Mar. What mean you ? Tec. That if you love (as I now think you do) One of these strangers, you must declare your love j Otherwise I'll not answer for his life. Mar. His life — his life — dear God ! \Faints. Enter Montezuma, Guatemozin, Pilpatoe, Teutile, Mexican nobles, etc. Mont. Little Malinche ! And deathly pale ! Tec. {fanning her^. She will revive presently. The heat and the excitement of her story Have been too much for her. Mont. She was not wont to faint. (Caressing her forehead) Have they used thee, my poor child, so harshly, that The mere recital of thy brief adventure Amongst these white men can o'ercome thee thus ? This also will I add to the day of reckoning : They shall account to me for all--/or all I Mar. (reviving). O, how foolish of me ! I am so sorry 372 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA To occasion this disturbance, my good lord. Mont. Speak not of it, my child, — we are too glad To see the ebbing tide upon the turn, And watch the rosy wavelets mount once more This strand (^smoothing her cheek), that tingles with the summer's warmth. "Take her upon the balcony, Tecuichpo. There's a cooler breath upon the thund'rous air — Pray God a cleaving storm of wind and rain. To lift this doom-surcharged atmosphere ! [Tecuichpo and Marina retire. [Trumpets. Enter Herald. Her. The envoys from the Eastern Monarch, sire. Enter Cortes, Ordaz, Olid, De Leon and tivo other officers. Mont. Teutile, Pilpatoe, Guatemozin, — withdraw. These are our friends : we bid them welcome here. [Mexican nobles retire. Mont, {embracing Cortes, and hanging a chain of gold about his neck). In honouring you, great captain, we desire To express our admiration for Don Carlos And all your noble countrymen. May these links Rivet yet closer the alliance of our Crowns ! 373 DONNA MARINA [act hi. Spain and Mexico — Mexico and Spain ! For severally we hold the East and West, United there's no Power on earth can shock us ! Cort. Sire, I accept with all befitting reverence This token of your goodwill, for methought A cloud had come betwixt your love and us — A little cloud yet with a lowering aspect — And, if I ask to see your glory shine Undimm'd again, — you'll pardon me, my lord ! Mont, {taking his seat on throne). What is't, my friend, that thus obscures your sight ? Cort. The cloud I speak of casts a heavy shadow Upon our spirits, and — till it is removed, This treaty now in progress 'twixt our Crowns Cannot be ratified. Mont. Is't so dark as that ? Cort. My lord, we're here to ask for satisfaction For the actions of your general, Quauhpopoca, And the Aztec forces under his command. Cantoned upon the frontiers of Zempoala, Who,^ — after pillaging the native villages. Committing deeds of vile licentiousness. And ravaging the country far and wide, — Have taken arms against the Totonacs And others of our allies and confederates. In violation of the existing Peace. 374 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Whereby my late commander, Juan de Escalante, And seven of his small but gallant band Have lost their lives. Moreover, I am informed That in this action several of our men Were taken prisoners — and now are in Tour hands. Mont. 'Tis false ! too false for refutation ! Quauhpopoca shall answer for his acts. If they are as you relate. [Princess Tecuichpo and Donna Marina here rejoin Montezuma, and stand near the throne. Cort. My lord, O king, 'Tis best that we be frank with one another : Quauhpopoca had never dared so much Without the royal authority. Mont. This then's The subject matter of your conference ? Cort. My lord, I cannot think that one of so great mind Could stoop to such low baseness — to our face A Prince full of humanity ! to our backs — Ah no, I must refuse to credit it. Such perfidy were inconceivable ! [Montezuma moves uneasily on his throne. Ord. {to Cortes). Pardon, my lord, but may I bring to your mind 375 DONNA MARINA [act hi. The insolent reply sent by Quauhpopoca In answer to the challenge of Escalante, Who, like yourself, refused to believe Treachery from this haught Prince ? Thus Quauhpopoca, " I well know how to execute the orders Of my Prince, which are to chastise these rebels." Mont, (quaking). A subtle, damned lie ! I never gave Such orders. Ho, there ! Enter Attendant. {Giving him ring). My signet for Quauhpopoca, Bid him report himself at once — despatch ! {Aside to attendant) Double the guard ! [Exit attendant. Olid {aside to Cortes). Mark you that, my lord, Cort. {in a low -voice). Ay, Mont. I will confront you with the man himself. Cort. My lord, no fronting can recall the facts. You have broken the peace, and we require Redress. Mont. Redress"^ What would you have of me? Cort. Some act of special clemency and goodwill That shall disprove at once blood-guiltiness. Mont. Blood-guiltiness ? Dare you insinuate ? 376 SCENE ii.J DONNA MARINA Cort. Sire, I insinuate nothing. I aver Facts ! Mont, {laughing uneasily). Ha ! Enter Sandoval, ivho gives a letter to Cortes : he is accom- panied by two soldiers. Sand, (aside to Cortes). My lord, you had best be prepared. Guatemozin hath stirr'd up the populace. Mont, (to Marina). What says he to his chief? Mar. That the contents Premise grave news. Cort. (aside to Sandoval). Guard thou the balcony. \_Sandoval strolls up stage, and later beckons the tnvo soldiers to join him. Cort. (changing his tone). My lord, 'tis time that you threw off the mask. I have it on the surest testimony That one of these same Spanish prisoners Has been done to death — and that his headless trunk Is even now immured within these walls. Mont. Threaten you me ? Cort. My lord, if you are innocent Of this offence, you cannot hesitate To grant the satisfaction that we ask. Mont. I had no part or share in this man's death. 377 DONNA MARINA [act hi. Cort. That do I readily believe ; but others, After this declaration by your general. May view the matter differently — at least The affair now calls for some uncommon proof Of probity, if you would wish to efface The impression of so foul a calumny, Whereby your honour suffers an eclipse. Wherefore, my lord, O king, I now appeal Unto your sovereign dignity and manhood, That, acting as it were of your own free choice. And without stir or tumult, you now consent To grace our quarters with your royal presence. Until this charge shall have been throughly sifted, Which, while it still remains upon the head Of your own general, may be easily met, But resting on your shoulders, e'er so lightly. Becomes a menace and a provocation. \_A pause, showing Montezuma dazed and be- ivildered at the boldness of this proposal. I pledge my word, and that of my allies. To shield and to safeguard your Majesty, And here avouch — that, if't be possible, You shall receive from us even more respect Than at the hands of your own feudatories. For what we most desire is your goodwill, And that your honour stand immaculate. 378 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Mont, (rousing himself). My honour ! I should have small honour left. If I should let myself be duped in this. When was it ever heard that an Aztec Monarch Endured — in his own halls — so great an affront .'' You must be mad to think I would consent To suffer such a needless degradation ! For clearly now I see what you intend. And think you that my subjects would permit it, Even if I should so far forget myself As to comply with your so base proposal ? Cort. My lord, you misinterpret our intentions : You but remove from this palace to that — And what more natural .'' for thus you honour Yourself — establishing your own good faith — And us who would but serve you more devoutly. Mont. Cease to discuss it !■ — 'tis impossible. Cort. Impossible ? It is imperative That the imperial mind of my great master Be swiftly disabused of this foul murder. Mont. Take then my son as hostage ; and, if this Be not enough to reassure you, — then Take my beloved daughters with you also. So shall I go down to posterity As a riven pine upon some windy hill, Stript of all majesty, all warmth, all power 379 DONNA MARINA [act hi. To shelter those who bide beneath my shadow. If I deceive your monarch of his due. De Leon (menacingly). "Why waste we words on this Barbarian ? Take him by force, my lord ! if he refuse us, We'll plunge our swords in his accursed body. Mont. What is't, little Malinche, that he says ? His looks import some sinister design. Mar. My lord, I am first of all your loyal subject. And, grievously as 't pains me to declare it. These men are now your masters, and will kill you Should you refuse to humour them in this. Their resolution and oft-proven valour You are not ignorant of — need I recount The supernatural powers these strangers wield ? No man, howe'er so brave, may dare the gods ! I pray you — nay, I do beseech you, sire. That you now go with them as of free grace, For so you shall be treated with the respect Due to so great a Prince — Refuse, and you endanger all our lives. Mont, (aside to Marina). I — I'll summon my guards ! Cort. (aside) Keep thou that door, De Leon. [Pointing right. Mar. (aside^ My lord, if you but raise your voice — you die! 380 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Mont. Let me at least die as becomes a king. My guards there, ho ! Within there, ho, my guards ! Enter Alvarado (left) : he draws his siuord and stands across the threshold, supported by a guard of Spanish soldiers. Mont. A prisoner forsooth in my own palace ! [Alarums. Enter from balcony, Guatemozin with Mexican Jorces, driving Sandoval and Spaniards before him. Guat. {making obeisance before Montezuma). Lord, — my lord, — great lord, — thy faithful vassal ever ! Mar. {aside to Montezuma). O trust him not, my lord, — he would betray you ! Mont, {recovering himself, and not unmindful of his dignity). We have no need of your service, Guatemozin. We are free to act as doth become ourself. In whom is knit the puissance of the West And the allegiant might of Mexico. In timely grace is majesty best known. And, seeing that our general, Quauhpopoca, In's treacherous attack upon these strangers. Has broken the peace which we ourself have made, 381 DONNA MARINA [act iii. It now concerns our dignity and honour To offer these noble guests fit reparation For this so dastard deed. Wherefore, my friends, To show how great's the esteem in which we hold them. Our horror at this unprovoked assault. We go to pay them a visit of goodwill, Which shall redound to our credit and advantage. Know all of you, our loyal subjects, here, — We do command you straightway to disperse. Keep ye the peace, even as ye now respect Our will and our authority. My chair, there ! [Murmurs ^ dissatisfaction Jrom Mexicans. Guat. Better to die a king, than live a slave ! [Offers to stab Montezuma, but is frustrated by Tecuichpo. Tec. You'd lift your hand against the king — my father ? Sir ! I had never thought to prefer this charge. Tou the would-be assassin of my peace ! Henceforth you are nothing to me. Guat. (entreatingly). Tecuichpo ! Mont. Bravely spoken, girl ! (To Guatemozin) Traitor begone ! and Take heed all you {addressing Mexicans), that whoso breaks the peace. Or raises cry, or stirs up any tumult, 382 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Does so on pain of death ! Guat. {retiring). We have no king ! First Mex. We shall raise up another ! 8ec. Mex. Guatemozin Shall be our king ! Mexs. Guatemozin ! Gautemozin ! \M.exicans retire sullenly. Mont, (to Spaniards). You see, my friends, what a pass you have brought me to ! ACT IV. Scene I. — A room in the Spanish Quarters in Mexico. Cortes seated •with despatches spread bejore him. Cort. So Fortune veers and shifts. Now that I have My prize secure, and the West lies at my feet. The horizon suddenly darkens in the East. Eighteen sail of the line off Port St Ulua, By my conscience, a redoubtable Armada ! Puertocarrero and my trusted envoys 383 DONNA MARINA [act iv. Could not so soon have brought relief from Spain. No, no, these ships are the pursuing wrath Of Cuba's balk'd and disillusion'd lord, Who thought to find me pliant, ductile, easy : Who finds instead — one purposeful and firm. One that is master of himself and Fate, And resolute to rule. Well, well, I'll meet him, Importune him for an accommodation, Or, failing terms, I'll teach him the respect Due to the Conqueror of Mexico. Yet how to hold the wan king in subjection My arm withdrawn ? This meagre garrison. Too scant already for the task imposed, I must make further drafts upon, if I am To substantiate my claim on my arch foe. Whose prows e'en now grate on the Eastern shore. If Montezuma should pluck heart from this — ! 'Sdeath ! but one course presents itself — I must Crush out the last faint spark of kingly fire, Force him to lean upon the Stranger's arm, By branding him a coward in the sight Of his proud and arrogant nobility. So shall he hesitate to cast away From our support. Necessity knows no law, And this harsh act my Fortune puts me to Is justified, God wot, by our dire need. SCENE I.J DONNA MARINA Enter Marina (unobserved). Mar. {placing her hand on his shoulder). My lord, my noble lord. Spare him at least this last indignity, As all unworthy of your own true self ! Cort. Where sentiment and expedience conflict, There sentiment must yield precedence, love. Mar. Need they conflict .'' For if Quauhpopoca Devised himself this most atrocious murder, Then Montezuma must be innocent. Conversely, if he acted under orders, 'Tis unmeet that he should die. Hear me, my lord ! Cort. {going). Your casuistry does credit to your heart. But not to your understanding. {Freeing himself) Away, Hinder me not in my clear path of duty. [Exit Cortes. Mar. O cruel ! cruel ! Blindly must I follow This man whose acts my very soul abhors. What is it doth compel me 'gainst myself To minister to such cold-blooded vengeance. Or serve in schemes so wantonly malign .'' 2B 385 DONNA MARESTA [act iv. Enter Montezuma, attended in state. Mont. What, little friend, close rapt in reverie ? Hath this new life turn'd thee philosopher ? Mar. The old life was the best life, good my lord. My fancy takes me back but one short year — I miss the innocence of those sweet days. The fragrance and the zest of quiet living. This life embitters with its ceaseless whirl Of heart-corroding passions. Mont. Say not that : All life is holy, if we make it so. And this of yours has many compensations. To do one's duty is itself a joy. Past all the measure of our brief content, — More blessed in that it renews the soul For fiercer struggles. \_Bell tolls at intervals. What doth that bell forebode ? Mnr. My lord, it sounds the doom of a brave man — Ouauhpopoca, your general. Mont, (overcome). Must he die. To save me from yet further degradation .'' How sunk already ! Would I had ne'er been born ! Courtier {aside). There are a many who would echo that. 386 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Enter Cortes nvith a party of soldiers, one bearing fetters. Cort. Monarchs, my lord, like men should respect the law A life for a life we have it in our land : Your general pays the blood-debt, but yourself. The true contriver of this dastard deed. Must suffer as accessory to the crime. Soldier, you know your duty. [Manacles are fastened on Monte- zuma s hands and feet. Mar. {kneeling to Cortes^ Sir, have pity ! [Montezuma, speechless -with mortification, stares vacantly before him, "whilst Cortes, turning his back on the Monarch, strides haughtily from his presence. First Cour. The abject king girds not against the yoke. Sec. Cour. His sovereignty is dead within his breast. Third Cour. 'Tis a reproach to look on one so base. Fourth Cour. Profits it not to serve the shameless monarch. [Courtiers -withdranv in disgust. Manent, Montezuma, Marina and attendants. Mar. (endeavouring to insert her mantle betnveen the iron and his flesh). O that myself could bear these cruel gyves ! Mont. Not there the wound — the iron barbs my soul. "Would that the traitor's dagger had gone home, 387 DONNA MARINA [act iv. I had been spared this Jast ! Mar. My heart bleeds freely With these poor tortured and abraded lirr.hs. Mont. O let me not go mad with grief and rage ! How terrible a thing live anger is, Only those chaln'd to inaction ever know — More terrible when it consumes itself, And finds no channel wide enough for vengeance ! 'Tis the repression of one's wrath that kills. Mar. What can I say to quiet you, my lord ? Mont, (half suspiciously). Such sympathy as yours is rare indeed — More loyal, the less my claim on loyalty. Yet you despise me in your heart .'' Mar. My lord, I never loved you half so much as now — A King — in chains. Mont, {softening). Your little hands bring healing. Your presence doth transfuse a happiness Even in my dire misery. Mar. And yet I — My love it was that help'd to bring you low — My passion for this man, whom Pity knows not. 'Tis that that breaks my heart ! Mont. Speak not of it : No man is ruin'd save it be by himself ! 388 SCENE I.] DONNA MARINA Grievous as are the wrongs here wrought upon me, More grievous still the wrong I did to myself. The Gods were bountiful in my behoof. And how have I repaid their generous gifts ? — By a life of senseless, self-indulgent ease. Thinking in brutish and degrading joys To still the higher workings of the spirit : — Health, — that is never treasured till 'tis lost, I, too, with others, utterly misprized ; Strength, — I exerted mine as a fell tyrant, To enslave and subject all men to my will ; Affluence, — the richer, so the meaner I, Grinding the poor to death with my exactions ; Fame, — I regarded as my sovereign due. Until I deem'd myself almost divine ; Love, — that completes my sum of benefits, I desecrated daily at its source. Defiling this pure temple of the body : Of small concern to me the lives of others. So that my carnal wants went satisfied ; Desire became my sovereign and my guide. Thus, falsely led, I probed the heights aad depths, And left no pathway of dark sin untraversed. Doubt you, then, that I lost the pilotage of my soul. And knew not whither my poor barque was driving ? So on to shipwreck and the goring rocks — 389 DONNA MARINA [act iv. A few brief hours of breaking, crashing doom, Then over all there swirls the engulfing sea ! Re-enter Cortes, Officers, etc. Cort. I much regret, my lord, the stern compulsion That hath imposed on me this painful duty. Justice is satisfied : now let me make amends. [Cortes kneels and unclasps his fetters. Mont. Free me not, unless you can free my soul. Your dagger there — it gleams deliverance ! waste DO pity on me, for I am Sunk in irreparable, blinding shame ! Cort. Rise, sire, and banish from your mind such thoughts. You shall yet rule the stronger for this act Of bitter self-abasement. Talk not of death. Who have a long and glorious reign before you. Mont, {embracing Cortes). What ! can it be that you are still my friend .'' Cort. your friend ? say brother more than friend, after This signal proof of your devotion. This Time will show. Now, with your leave, my lord, 1 will advance the measures for my journey. Mont, You are leaving Mexico ? 39° SCENE n,] DONNA MARINA Cort. Forthwith : that is — You're faint, my lord : lean on me. (Aside) So propt, we stand ! [Exeunt. Scene II. — Evening. Ramparts of the Spanish Quarters in Mexico. On the terrace, facing the audience, a small table (with fruit, •wine,Jloivers, etc.), at -which are seated Princess Tecuichpo, Donna Marina and Don Diego de Ordaz. Ord. (fingering his guitar). Now, Donna, to comply with your request — A love song .'' passionate and intense ? Mar. (•wistfully). As intense As this still eve. Tec. (putting her hand in Marina's). And passion-full, Malinche, As your sweet radiant self — those luminous eyes Should swell his throat as 'twere the nightingale's. Ord. Ah no. Princess, there song and speech must fail. Love, silent love, alone interprets them, — And he, the busy God of smiles and tears. Only in fitful whisperings at the heart ; He dare not breathe it to a wider ear, — His words are looks and sighs his oracles. Tec. And they are eloquent — and full of daring ' DONNA MARINA [act iv. Mar. Their eloquence and daring naught avail. Ord. That speech should then instruct my heart to sing, And from the stoniest bosom pity wring : — Song I Without your love, life has no hope for me. For I would rather cease to be. Than be — without your love. II Without your love, the day and night were one. For daylight sickens in the sun. And sinks — without your love. Ill Without your love, the tender flowers must fade. The rose in ashy bed be laid. Scentless — without your love. IV Without your love, the stars grow faint and dim. Uneven comes the nightjar's hymn, And shrill — without your love. v Without your love, — O agony of sight ! How can I blot you from the light. And live — without your love .? SCENE ii.J DONNA MARINA [^Scarcely has the song died away, -when a terrific explosion is heard, followed by great tongues of fire that search the upper heavens ; the whole sky is no-w lit up by an immense conflagration. Distant shouting, mingled with lamentation, becomes audible, and these cries momentarily increase. Tec. {moving to the ramparts and peering out into the night). O high-piled horror ! See, see the riven dark ! The Temple of Mexitli is in flames ! Who can have wrought this woful sacrilege ? Ord. That madcap Alvarado — 'Sdeath, who but he ! Tec. This will incense the populace ! Already Their hardly-to-be-smother'd wrath burnt red Beneath the baleful fuel of their hate — Who shall restrain it now ? To Montezuma ! He — he alone can still this hurtling storm. Ord. No man can still it — least of all your father ! You but send him to his death. Tec. {going). And to his duty. [Exit princess. Ord. {aside) Beckons my fate ! — the very stars fight for me ! [Temple drums heard in the distance. Mar. The temple drums are summoning to battle. That tragic sound bodeth no good to us. Ord. Madam, allay your fears — to you small danger. 393 DONNA MARINA [act iv. This peril was foreseen by our great Captain, When he entrusted to my charge — your person. Mar. You — you ! of all men in this city, you ! Ord. Restrain your scorn till you have heard my speech. Such your lord's last command. As for this night. And Alvarado's share in this debacle — O blinded bigot ! him nothing would suffice, Save toppling down these gods from their high altars, And trampling in the dust this heathen people. But one result could issue from this folly — The entire destruction of the Spanish force In Mexico — and the hour finds me prepared ! Mar. "What mean you, Don Diego .'' Ord. Madam, I mean That the fleetest steeds in this ensanguined land Stand girth'd for our departure. Mar. You'd tempt me To fly with you, and leave these men to perish ? Ord. As an alternative to dying with them. 'Tis for you to choose. [Loud bursts "without. Mar. And can you doubt my answer ^ Ord. You doom both to death ? — then you shall hear me speak. Mar. No, no — not that ! Ord. {seizing her ivrist). Malinche, I love you ! How passionately, let my death declare ! 394 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA Mar. Release me, sir ! This is unmanly of you. Ord. No : not till you have heard me out — this Cortes, This man you so adore is an impostor ! He has deceived you even in his love. For he's already married — Ha, you start ! — One, Donna Catalina, claims his duty. You are but his Mar. Cease, cease, for pity cease ! Ord. As he deserted her, so will he you. You're but a pawn in his great scheme of conquest, And valued at the value of a pawn. Mar. Why then should his last thought have been for me ? Ord. That was a fiction — / it is would save you ! Mar. Liar and trickster both ! — Tou save me ? Ord. Yes— I ! Come ! lay aside this supercilious role. His love is a dishonour, mine is not ; His love will cast you out, mine will endure ; His love is but for lust, mine is for you — Tou who can so infect this soul of me Mar. O cease your suit, for it can never prevail ! Ord. O God ! Thou never hadst created love, Or planted such a passion in my breast. To cast me down into this nethermost hell. It cannot be ! no, no, it cannot be That love like mine went ever unrequited ! 395 DONNA MARESTA [act iv. Ah, God were not so cruel ! Mar. Peace ! I love you not. Ord. Nay, nay, I'll not believe 't ! for it would stun me. Hide not your face from me, or I am lost, EngulPd in the wild waters of despair ! O turn again ! Give me but one ray of hope ! Malinche, O my fate, li you reject me ! Mar. I have rejected you now and for all time. Ord. I cannot — will not — dare not — so believe it ! For love is ever sanguine unto death. trust yourself to me, you shall not rue it ! Mar. Can a traitor to his friend be true to me ? Ord. If I am true to him, I'm false to you. And either way I am forsworn to one. 1 search my heart for guidance, and it tells me — Be true to her who hath most need of truth. [Uproar increases. We must not tarry ! Mar. Fly thou ! my place is here. Ord. What ! Your eyes not open yet .? Behold your monarch. In his fate mark your own — the fate of all Who ever listed Don Hernando's vows. Give up this man. Come, come, we may not lirger ! Mar. Give up this man I no, not till death us part. And lightly will the Angel touch my brow, 396 SCENE II.] DONNA MARINA So that I die loyal to his least wish. Ord. {using violence). Then I, perforce, must take you 'gainst your wish. I cannot see you sacrifice your life For such a man ! Mar. You despicable coward ! Know that I would much rather die his mistress, Than live the all-honour'd wife of Don Diego ! Enter Alvarado {breathless). Alv. What ! Violence on a woman ! Don Diego ! {Drawing) Madam, my sword shall right you. Ord. Have at you, then ! [AJeiv passes. Ordaz falls ivaunded. Alv. Lady, retire. Mar. My thanks, sir, for this service. \Exit Marina. Enter Officers, Sabiot and Soldiers. Alv. {to Sabiot). Draw him aside, and staunch this flowing wound. Some Mexican no doubt ! Sab. {aside) This was no Aztec thrust ! Alv. Now to the walls, my men ! Close up the breach, 397 DONNA MARINA [act iv. And let them only enter o'er our dead ! [Fighting resumed, the Mexicans under Guatemozin, force an entrance at the end of the terrace (R), and drive Spaniards before them. Guat. {to Al-uarado). Proud Spaniard, yield thee ! Alv. That word is all unknown to Spanish hearts ! Rally, men ! rally ! St James to our aid ! [The Mexicans in turn are driven slonvly back, leaving a number of their slain on the terrace. Alv. {to Officer). A moment's truce. Go, hasten Montezuma ; Maybe his presence will restrain their wrath. [Exit Officer. [Spanish bugles heard in the distance. Alv. Cortes at last ! To St James then be our thanks ! [Scene changes to Scene III. Scene III. — Banqueting Hall of the Spanish Quarters in Mexico. Attendants fixing chain hauberk on Montezuma. Princess Tecuichpo, Donna Marina, Pilpatoe and Teutile present. Mont. Gird me as for a ruddy harvesting ! No man hath ever wrested fame from me, SCENE iii.J DONNA MARINA Nor pluck'd the honours from this plumed helm, In open combat, none ! I cannot doubt, When they shall see their war-renowned lord. Their leader in a hundred deathless fights. Whose falchion never flamed but to subdue Teut. Whose laugh rang out above the battle's din Like the wild laughter of the ocean waves When hurl'd in fiery onset at the shore, Joyous and jubilant it smote the air And kindled where it fell. Mont, (draiving his hand over his broiv). Thou dost revive Old memories, Teutile. Then I was a King — now — God of my fathers ! guard and stay me, lest I falter in this difficult path of duty. YLoud clamour ivithout. Children of Anahuac ! Is it for me That you, like galled lions, rage without .'' O that I might but satisfy your hunger ! Teut. My lord, than this what better opportunity .? Pilp. A promise given under dire compulsion Transmits no obligation. Mont. Tempt me not : My wrongs are clamour'd from a million throats — 'Tis perilous to listen ! I am a monarch, As such I must abide by my sworn word. (Aside) O that I could but trust this Guatemozin ! 399 DONNA MARINA [act iv. -Mar. My lord. The mind that alternates 'twixt two opinions For ever fluctuates in a sea of dread, And ebbs and flows like driftweed on the ocean, Sway'd hither and thither by each sequent tide. Be loyal to those whom thou hast sworn to succour ! Mont, (to Tecuichpo). O felt you not the fanning of chUl wings ? A dark foreboding as of death assails me. Tec. Dear father, ofttimes I have heard thee say — He, who anticipates a trouble to come. Provokes the evil that he fain would fly. As clouds surcharged will long hang in suspense. And presently disperse before the sun. Unless deliberately we draw them down. Mont. Yet all obey the ordinance of Fate. (Kissing her) This journey is the last that I shall take. Tec. (clinging to him). O say not so, my father, for I fear To let thee from these arms ! Enter Officer. Off. My lord, O King, Hardly have we sustain'd their last assault. Don Alvarado bids you arm with speed. Your presence on the ramparts may now quiet them. 400 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA Mont. Go, tell my people Montezuma comes. [Exit Officer. This strap a little tighter. So. My sword. \_He takes it lovingly from attendants. {Going) I scarcely know which I distrust the most, Cortes or Guatemozin. Then welcome Fate ! \_Exit Montezuma nvith attendants. Pilp. {To Teutile). And with him goes the last hope of our country ! We, too, had better league with Guatemozin, For he at least is worthy our allegiance. Teut. Enough of this inert and nerveless King ! [Exeunt Teutile and Pilpatoe. Tec. When the rats quit, they say that doom impends. Mar. O heed them not ! courtiers and weathercocks Serve but one common end — to point the wind. God grant the noble countenance of the King May calm his disloyal subjects, and recall them To their obedience ! Tec. Too late, too late ! No longer do they reverence his authority. Enter Officer. Off. {To Marina). Don Cortes is return'd, and now requests 20 401 DONNA MARINA [act iv- Your presence, lady {bo-wing). Permit me to conduct you. [Exeunt Marina and Officer, Enter {from terrace) Guatemozin in the cloak of a Spanish Officer. Tec. {in amazement). Guatemozin ! Guat. Raise not your voice, Tecuichpo, as you — love me. Tec. Be brief: great is your peril. Guat. Greater yours ! And therefore am I come : one dear to you Lies stricken — unto death. Tec. My father fallen .? Gaut. A kinsman strove to save him from dishonour — O better death a thousand times than this ! [Indicating guards. Tec. (looking closely into his face). Your eyes shrink from me ! Tour hand it was ! O horror ! {trying to steady herself). Guat. Say rather that the State slew him — not I. In me behold the arm of Mexico, The vengeance due to her dishonour'd Gods ! Tec. O get you hence, ere my blind fury slay you ! I — I'll not answer for your safety ! Beware Me, that is all ! O God— God ! 402 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA Guat. Calm yourself, Princess ; A million spears encircle this fair city. I hold our foes i' the hollow of this hand, And I can crush them — so. Tec. Boast not till after. Guat. O not a Spaniard shall survive this night ! The causeways are all cut, the foe secure. We but await the signal — to destroy. Then haste to the close shelter of these arms ! Tec. Never ! This heart is shut to you for aye. Guat. He little loves who can believe in "never" ! For all eternity is yours and mine. O not so lightly dispossess we Love ! Once more, Princess, I urge you to depart. [Shouts of Conflict -without. Tec. In vain you plead. Gaut. {going). Yet I will win forgiveness, Tho' I must snatch it from the mouth of Hell. I'll rescue you this night upon the causeway : Till then farewell. {Exit Guatemozin. Tec. O heavenly powers ! deem me not undutiful. In that my heart refused to deliver This regicide to thine avenging will. \Sinks down in abandonment of grief . 2C* 403 DONNA MARINA [act iv. Enter Sabiot and a number of soldiers, bearing treasure. Sab. This way, my lads, discharge your burdens here. Halt not upon your steps — no pilfering there. 'Twere better to destroy the glittering lure, Than let its blandishment ensnare your souls. This magnet cannot draw an old campaigner. He travels safest who doth travel lightest On such a night as this. First Sold, (^lovingly fingering bars of gold). Leave these behind .'' Man, this it was gave danger half her zest. And heart to our high enterprise ! Sec. Sold. "What think you. That we adventured here for idle glory ^ Third Sold. Thus far for Cortes' pleasure — nowfor our own. [Filling his pockets. Sab. About your duty — afterwards for self: Yet wisest he who at this hour refrains. [The room is filled -with soldiers, coming and going, ivho pile up treasure of every description. Sab. (observing Princess). Lady, I'd not intrude upon your sorrow ; Were it not fitter that you now retire ? Pray you, comply {offering to conduct her). 404 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA Tec. Heed me not, brave soldier. When the soul labours in a sea of grief, We are insensible to small vexations. Sab. It wrings my heart, lady, to see you thus. Tec. Care not for me — your vigilance lies elsewhere. [Soldiers are noiv seen to be quite out of hand; amid the turmoil and confusion, Montezuma is carried in dying. Father Olmedo in attendance. Tec. Speak, father, speak ! you recognise your daughter ? Mont. Where am I, child ? a film doth glaze mine eyes. Tec. You are with those you love, and those who love you. Mont. It cannot be : for love and loyalty Are long since dead in Mexico. I'm slain By one whose hand should first have succour'd me. I am a zany king without authority, Disprinced, disprized, dispeopled, dispossessed. How those derisive shouts still follow me ! O bury me out of sound of their disdain ! Tec. {soothing him). Believe it not : this is a nightmare, father ; Your sleep is restless, and your mind disturbed. To-morrow you will be yourself. Mont. To-morroiv ? O not to-morrow shall I see the East Kindle and flame with the reviving day ! Nor yet to-morrow's morrow — 'tis with the past APS DONNA MARINA [act iv. That I am now for evermore concerned. Lean over me and kiss me. Scarcely I feel. So swiftly my spirit ebbs. Olm. Ere it depart, Embrace with faith this symbol of Redemption. {Presenting crucifix) Son, let thine eyes close on the atoning Cross, So shall they ope in Paradise. Mont. Father, My thoughts wander — are there — Spaniards in Heaven ^ Olm. (aside). Poor labouring brain that now reverts to childhood. {Aloud) All true and faithful sons of Holy Church In Heaven find their last Home. Mont. Spaniards — too ^ Olm. Surely. Spain hath her true and faithful servitors Of the All-living Presence, called " The Christ." Mont, {raising himself, and looking round upon a scene of •wild co'uetousness and confusion). The Christ 1 Alas, I know not where to find Him! Olm. Judge not by these, for such disgrace The Faith ! Mont. How can the uninitiated learn Of Christ, except it be by the acts of those His followers .'' This Man-God you have told me was 406 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA All gentleness, all mercy, all compassion — Are these the attributes of his adherents ? Doth cruelty find no place in your austere creed ? Where may you see such ruthless persecution As in the name of Christ ? where less Charity Than in the hearts of those who here profess Him ? Sweet Charity ! thou fount of all religion, Up-welling from the very heart of God, Thou canst not flow in such inhuman breasts ! Olm. My son, thou art not far from Christ His Kingdom ! Endanger not thy soul at this last hour. Mont. Save me from that same Kingdom ! No heaven for me Where I might chance on this accursed race ! Olm. My son, reject not thou the living God ! Mont. No, no, you lie ! (tears off his bandages^ I tell you that you lie ! You live and thrive by lies, you holy men ! False to yourselves, and falser to humanity, You are the dread-most scourge of every land ! Thus then I spurn your symbol of Redemption. \&naps the crucifix in two, andfiings it on the floor. Olm. O Christ, let his most grievous wrongs still plead for him ! Mont, (sinking). Now, now I pass upon my long, last journey — 407 DONNA MARINA [act iv. Nature has taken all her need of me ; Better to die with bird and beast and flower, Than drag out, drone-like, unprofitable days ! {Beatifically) Come, thou wan spectre, dreaded of all mortals ! Come thou thrice-welcome visitant to me ! [Dies. Tec. (^Kneeling and kissing his hands). Never was father tenderer than thou wert ! Never was monarch so traduced as thou ! O merciful Death ! thy stroke is kind indeed. When such a soul as this doth inly bleed. [Attendants cover the body nvith fioixiers. Alarums. Enter Cortes, Marina, Oficers, etc. Cort. The King is dead : leave we him here in state. His countrymen will perform the needful rites. And bury with fit honours the mightily fallen. Now for the living — Friends, I would persuade you To cast aside this soul-ensnaring dross. [Murmurs of dissatisfaction from soldiers. This has no value, if you value life — And never were yours set at such a hazard As in the immanence of this retreat. He fighteth best who fighteth unencumber'd. 408 SCENE III.] DONNA MARINA My veterans will, I know, resist this lure — You whom I have never called upon in vain. [" Ay, ay, sir" from veterans. As for you others, I will not reason with you ; If you survive the experience of this night, You'll not so tardily respond in future ! \_A breach is made in the •walls and quantities of siones, darts and other missiles thrvwn in upon the Spaniards, many of •whom fall. The retreat sounded. Cort. To your posts ! and quit you like true sons of the Cross. If not to-day, to-morrow Spain's bright banner Shall float in peace above these storm-swept towers. [^Exeunt, bearing •wounded. \The lights are lo^wered Jor a brief pause, and then slo'wly raised, revealing "wide breaches in the ■walls of the banqueting chamber. In the distance gleam the broken cause^ways, receding like •white bands to the Tlacopan shore. The moon momentarily shines out •with great brilliance, and the lake is seen to be covered •with the canoes of the Aztecs. On the nearer portions of the bridges •which still stand, the Spanish forces are discovered huddled together in inextricable confusion, some leaping into the 409 '9°4- DONNA MARINA [act iv. gulf, others grappling with the natives in their canoes, artillery and baggage alike toppled into the churning ivaters, in -which Spaniards and Mexicans are fighting -waist-deep over the bodies of the fallen. Distant shouting, -which gradually dies a-way as ^hiack night again envelops all. [Curtain. 410