Cornell University Library PR6001.L786O5 One way of love, a play. 3 1924 013 578 962 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013578962 ONE WAY OF LOVE One Way of Love A FLAY BY LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA PRIVATELY PRINTED PERSONS REPRESENTED JOSCELYN FeNTON'. ... A PoCt Deborah His Mother Cicely A Neighbour The Lady Katharine de Montford TIME ONE WAY OF LOVE Scene — The interior of Deborah Fenton's cottage. Through the door- way and embowered porch is seen a garden, a distant view of wooded hills. It is spring, and afternoon. [JoscELYN is discovered writing.] JoSCELYN. I do but ask thee leave to kiss Thy garment's hem, no more but this. More joy were on thy finger-tips Than on another maiden's lips. Nay, not quite so ; again. I do but ask thee leave to kiss Thy garment's hem, thy finger-tips. More comfort to my heart were this . . . Deborah [mtiout]. Son! Joscelyn! JosCELYN. . . . Thy finger-tip. More joy unto my heart were this. Than touch of other maiden's lip. [Eater Deborah.] Deborah. What, Joscelyn ! So deep in rhymes again ? 2 ONE WAY OF LOVE They'll be the death of thee, my gentle boy, Ay, and of me. JoscELYN. Mother? Deborah. So far away ? O, what a son have I ! He might as well Be at the wars for all I have of him. This very morning at the market-cross I said to cousin Price : " Thanks be to Heaven, My boy has never left me." JoscELYN. Nay, nor will. I'll never leave thee, mother. Deborah. Hear the lad ! Thou leav'st me every hour of the day. Each time I speak, thou'rt further out of ear-shot Than George among the cannons. What, again ? Come, Joscelyn ! JoscELYN. Mother.? Deborah. This is worse and worse. What ails thee, boy ? Can poetry alone So rob thee of thy wits ? Lay down that pen. That paper too, and speak to me. What ails thee ? What ails thee, O my son ? Joscelyn. Naught ails me, mother. Deborah. Ambitious thou wert ever, yet ambition And verse-making, albeit thy face was thin ONE WAY OF LOVE 3 And thy long limbs gave me small cause for pride. Could not alone have brought thee to this pass. I will not think it, else the fault were mine. I never stood between thee and thy fancy ; Be this the issue I must needs repent, Or stay the evil now. — Wilt please me, boy ? JoscELYN. Ay, if I can. Deborah. Pull a good draught of ale. And beat about the forest with thy dog. JoscELYN. What now? to-day .-' Deborah. Ay, and to-morrow too ; Please me one week. JoscELYN. Is there no other way? Deborah. No way so easy. JoscELYN. 'Tis not so to me, Not being framed as others are ; thou knowest I find no pleasure in gay company. In foaming cup, in jest, and dance, and song, Nor in the chase, nor any kind of sport, Pastime, or exercise that men delight in. Bear with me still ! To live my day in silence. Dreaming the hours away, and setting down My thoughts and visions thus in rhyme, is all That I am fit for, or shall ever be. Oft have I prayed thee take me as I am ; 4 ONE WAY OF LOVE That prayer I make again. Deborah. My honey boy ! I chide not at thy nature. All these truths I know too well, and more ; ay, one truth more. JoscELYN. What mean'st thou, mother ? Deborah. Ask it of thyself. Silent thou ever wert ; yet since what day Art thou grown triple mute ? Joyless thou wert ; Since when smil'st thou no more ? Rhymer thou wert ; Since when have verses ceased to be a pastime, Growing the pretext of thy day ? — Since when Hast closed thy heart's door to thy mother, boy .'' But mother's eyes need neither door nor window ; They pierce through brick and stone ; through sudden growths Of cold mistrust. JoscELYN. Nay, not that word, my mother! Silence that, fostered, grew beyond my strength. But not mistrust. See, I will tell thee all. The very pulse of the tale. Nay, not mistrust. Deborah. My Joscelyn ! JoscELYN. Thou know'st when first we met ; 'Twas in the forest, seven months ago. My Lord de Montford being new returned From foreign service. In my memory ONE WAY OF LOVE The scene stands clearly pictured still. I see The path deep strewn with autumn's spoils, the trees Lifting their barren branches to the sky, With here and there a yellow fluttering leaf To show what once had been ; between the trunks. The red horizon mottled with black clouds That floated staining Heaven's radiance ; And the air heavy with the fall's sad breath. I heard the sound of horns, the tread of hoofs, De Montford and his train traversed the wood. — I saw her come, alone and beautiful, Shining against the glory of the west ; With slackened rein, in pensive mood she rode. And, passing, touched the spare leaves with her whip : One fell on me ; she saw it, and we laughed. That night I wrote some lines, which, being good, I sent her. When another week had gone, We met by chance in the same spot again. She rein'd her horse and spoke: "Are you the poet Who wrote so well upon a withered leaf.'' It was a fair conceit." And then she thanked me And went her way. Again I wrote, again And yet again, by chance it seemed, we met ; Sometimes she smiled in passing, sometimes spoke, With gracious word inspiring my next song. 6 ONE WAY OF LOVE Maybe she has some fifty in her coffer ; And in the secret record of my life, Some fifty days whereon I saw her face, Are marked in blue and gold, the hues of Heaven. — There, mother, thou hast all. Deborah. Alas, my son ! But what's to follow .'' JoscELYN. Nothing. I shall love And she will smile ; no more. Deborah. But not for ever ? JoscELYN. For ever, mother. I shall love for ever. — Come, we have talked too long, the air is close Here in the house, I'll walk awhile. [^ voice in the distance.^ Who sings ? Deborah. 'Tis Cicely; thou surely know'st the voice .'' Cicely \_without\. Sing, bird, sing, Earth was bare, Flowers spring Everywhere. Primrose peeps. Bluebells ring, Winter sleeps, Sing, bird, sing. Joscelyn. The voice is sweet. ONE WAY OF LOVE 7 Deborah. Ay, and the girl. JoscELYN. That's true ; 'Tis a sweet girl. Good-bye. [Enter Cicely.] So, Cicely, Hast come to keep my mother company Whilst I go rambling? Cicely. Art thou going, now ? JoscELYN. Ay, now. Good-bye. Cicely. Thou'rt pale to-day. JoscELYN. And thou Art like a hedge-rose newly blown. Canst tell me Where I may find such flowers as deck thy cheeks, Such dancing eyes and rippling smiles, and steps As light as thine ? Ay, and a voice like thine ? I think thou art the spirit of the Spring, My sister Cicely ; when we were children, I too was gay at times ; now I am sad And wan and heavy-footed, — unlike thee. Cicely. I'd give thee my light heart most cheerfully. To ease thee of thy sad one. Joscelyn. 'Twere a pity To lock a sick heart in so fair a breast. And thine, dear child, within my bosom here Would pine, a skylark in a lightless cage. 8 ONE WAY OF LOVE Nay, we'll not change ; good-bye. Good-bye, my mother. [JOSCELYN goes.} Cicely. He seems more pale to-day. Deborah. Thou too art white. Cicely. I, mother Deborah ? No, why should I be.? I have nought, I, to make me pale ; besides, He said " a hedge-rose newly blown " ; that meant I was not pale. — Poor Joscelyn. Deborah [aside]. Poor child ! Cicely. My uncle has gone out, I have two hours To stay with thee. What shall I do .? — Why, first I'll hang my hood up here. Deborah [aside], I would to God That it might be. Cicely. So. Shall I pick some flowers ? Those on the sill are dead. — Why, mother Deborah, Is mine the only light heart in the world .'' Who'd think to find thee sitting, hand in lap. With such a funeral face ! Deborah. That's true, my girl. Give me my work, I left it in the window. Sadness grows like the weed upon still waters ; I never dare sit idle long. Cicely. Thou idle .? I wish thou wert more idle. When I come ONE WAY OF LOVE 9 To help thee, all is done ; and 'tis for me To sit and pull my fingers. Is there nothing That I may do ? Deborah. Nothing, my girl. Cicely. I'll sit Here by thy side and knit. — O, I forgot ! The flowers on the sill ! On rainy days Joscelyn sits there, and it may rain to-morrow. [S/>e goes into the garden.'] How fast the buds are opening ! In a week The garden will look gay. It seems a pity To pick a posy here ; then, Joscelyn Likes scented flowers best, and here are none. [Re-entering. ] I saw some lovely cowslips in the meadow ; It isn't far, I'll jump across the bank And fetch a handful, and be back quite soon. Deborah. Yes, go, my dear. [Cicely ^cw,' she sings and her voice fades.] She were the wife for him. Could he but see it ! And I dare say nothing, Lest I should put it further from his thoughts. Sing, sweet, I hear thee ; but I know thy secret. 10 ONE WAY OF LOVE And thy gay tune sounds full as sad to me As chanted dirge. \_j1 pause. There comes the sound of wheels.] A Voice [without]. Stop, Rupert, there's the gate ! The lane's so narrow here, you'll have to drive Another mile before you turn the coach. I shall be ready, girls, when you return ; If not, why, you can play at hide and seek, Or carve your lovers' names upon the trees. Farewell ! [A sound of girlish laughter.] Deborah. Strange voices here, what can it mean.-* \_Enter, at the doorway, the Lady Katharine de Montford.] Katharine. Good-day. Are you the mistress of this house .'' Deborah. Your servant, madam. Katharine. Nay, good madam, yours. May I come in .? I think one Joscelyn Fenton Lives here, a poet. Deborah. And my son. Katharine. Your son .^ 'Tis plainly written, — he has just that turn Of the eyelid ! You are like him, — you are lucky, Good madam, to call him your son ; his verse ONE WAY OF LOVE ii Wilt long outlive our gravestones. Nay, 'tis so, Shake not your head ; I know that you are proud Of such a son. Deborah. More proud perhaps than happy. My son is not at home, your ladyship ; What is your will ? Katharine. You know me.? Deborah. Yes, by instinct. You are the Lady Katharine de Montford ; His mother must needs feel it. Katharine. I am glad You knew me, madam. You and I, methinks, Should not have met as strangers, — you, his mother. And I, his friend. You say he is from home .'' Deborah. The honour of your ladyship's kind visit Shall be made known to him on his return ; Also the reason of it. Katharine. Ah, — the reason ! 'Tis now some days since last I saw your son ; It seemed uncertain we should meet again Within the week, else this had not been needful. But, time is short ; it is my brother's birthday In fourteen days ; we would perform a masque. I came to ask your son if he would write Some hundred lines. No matter, time is short, 12 ONE WAY OF LOVE I'll think it over. Deborah. As you will, my Lady. Is there no further message .'' Katharine. None, I think. You have a lovely garden, madam. Deborah. Small, And neat, I hope, your ladyship, no more. Katharine. It pleases me. Our garden at the castle Is much too large and prim ; I often wonder How flowers deign to grow in such a place, All side by side, symmetrically set Where they may never spread at their sweet pleasure. But lo ! there comes the gardener with his shears, And clips and snips. — That is how we are, madam, We folk, we poor Court-flowers. Each has his place And there must grow, aloft on the bleak terrace Where all the cold winds blow ; and if we stray This way or that, up comes the gardener Custom, With Etiquette and Fashion at his heels. And trims us into shape. I often envy The cottage flowers ; — see, where that daisy grows. So snug with all its little leaves about it. I would I were that daisy ! — Now, you think I talk too much, I see it in your face ! You wish me to be gone, good Madam Fenton, ONE WAY OF LOVE 13 And I've a mind to stay ; — what's to be done ? Forgive me ! This is very like a play ; We'll call it " The Unwelcome Guest." — You hate me ; Your eye is all too honest, yes, you hate me ; You'd give the world to have me gone. Deborah. That's true. You're a strange lady. Katharine. No ; not strange, but used To two things which it seems I lack here : Welcome, And Love ! So used, that, being now denied, I needs must help myself. — " Sweet Lady Katharine, I prithee sit ! " — " Most willingly." — And now I bid you. Madam Mother, sit by me ; Yes here, just here, held by my hated hand ; Nor shall you be released, till this same hate Have turned to love. So. Do you know I like you For your dislike, and never had more mind To win a heart ? — You smile ? Then 'tis no hard one. Tell me how I may win it ! Deborah. Easily, And nobly, lady. 'Tis half won already. You carry with you some mysterious grace. That conquers prejudice, and bids me speak Frankly and clearly, not as humble woman To high-born lady, but as woman to woman. 14 ONE WAY OF LOVE And place a human being's destiny Into your hands, believing you are just. Katharine. Speak, madam, speak ; andjust I'll seek to be, Although it suits me better to be swift. And free, and fanciful, than deep of thought. Yet speak ; I'll sit as grave as any judge. Since judge I needs must be. I am ready, madam. To hear your tale, and judge. Deborah. My tale ? — My tale ! — There was a lady ; she was fair, and rich In wealth as in affection ; her own mistress And still protected by a brother's care And universal homage. At her gates There lived a man, a widow's only son. To whom high Heaven had vouchsafed all gifts Save gold and titles. Free he was, and proud. Simple in his desires, and though his nature Forbade him to be gay, happy he was. Calmly content. The man beheld the lady, And dared to love her. Katharine. Dared.'' Deborah. Yes, lady, dared. Was she not placed above him ? Katharine. No! O no ! Love is the king o' the world ; riches and rank ONE WAY OF LOVE 15 Owe fealty to him. Deborah. These are pretty words, But hearts have broken uttering them. This man Lost all he had, his simple good content ; His mother too lost all, he being all The reason of her life, his joy her joy. Katharine. Poor mother ! Yes, of course, thus it began. Love is a dear purchase, sighs it costs, And tears, and grievous doubts ; and yet 'tis worth. Ah yes, 'tis worth the price. Deborah. No, gentle lady. The price is all too dear. Such love as this. Unduly fostered, eats into the flesh, Leaving a life-long scar. Katharine. It may be so. That 'tis not worth the purchase ; yet, dear madam. Those best can tell who can behold the end. Deborah. What means your ladyship .'' Katharine. Can you not guess .-' Perhaps the lady — you yourself have said She was own mistress of her fate — perhaps — The lady loved the man. Deborah. Now God forbid ! Take back your words, my Lady Katharine ; 1 6 ONE WAY OF LOVE Tell me, perhaps his verses moved her heart With pleasant pride, wherefore she smiled and favoured. Not thinking, in her thoughtless maidenhood. That what was play to her, was life to him ! This only tell me, save you tell me too That, coming to his humble door one day, Seeing the hopeless havoc she had wrought, She turned her face from him for ever. Katharine. Stay! Deborah. For there are sunbeams, lady, whose bright rays May scorch where they intend to bless with light. Look at this cottage, at this narrow door — Cicely [witiout]. Primrose peeps, Bluebells ring, Winter sleeps, Sing, bird, sing. Deborah. That little path was meant for humbler steps. [Enter Cicely, aiiti cowslips in her hand.'] Katharine. Ay, so it seems. Cicely. Didst think me lost .'' See here ! Deborah. Stay here, my child. Katharine. Who is the maiden, mother .^ Deborah. 'Tis Cicely, whose love makes me forget I have no daughter. ONE WAY OF LOVE 17 Katharine. Come, sweet Cicely, And speak to me. You cannot be afraid. Cicely. No, madam, Katharine. Why, that's right. Your simple frock And my smart gown give us a different air ; Yet have we more in common than you think. How old are you ? Cicely. Just seventeen. Katharine. How nice To be just seventeen ! I am quite old. Seven years older. Cicely. Seventeen and seven. That's twenty-four — O, that's not old at all. That's Joscelyn's age. Katharine. Who's — Joscelyn.'' Cicely. Don't you know ? He lives here. Katharine. 'Tis a strange name, Joscelyn. What sort of man is he ? Cicely. I cannot tell, I've known him all my life, he seems to me Just Joscelyn. Katharine. And is he kind to you ? Cicely. Yes, very kind; ask mother Deborah, She'll tell you he is kind, to every one. 1 8 ONE WAY OF LOVE Katharine. What does he do all day, this Joscelyn? Cicely. He sits alone and dreams, he is a poet. His poetries are read in London town, A little bookful. When I was a child He used to read them to me ; now he sits Alone, out in the woods ; or, if it rains, There at the window. — Are these cowslips sweet ? Katharine. O wondrously ! Are they for Joscelyn .? Cicely. Why no, not quite, and yet perhaps they are. He loves sweet flowers, on the window-sill I put a nosegay now and then. Katharine. So you And Joscelyn are friends ? Cicely. Yes, quite good friends. Ask. mother Deborah ; he has no sister, I do instead. Katharine. And he instead of brother.'' Cicely. That's how it is. Katharine. I see, that's how it is. You must be very happy. Cicely. Cicely. Of course I am. Katharine. You never cry, I think .^ Cicely. Hardly at all. Katharine. And you are always gay. And sing, and look as fresh as a hedge-rose ? ONE WAY OF LOVE 19 Cicely. How strange ! Why, Joscelyn said that to-day! Katharine. Did he say that ? — I hke you, Cicely ; I want a little maiden just like you To sing to me, and pick fresh flowers for me, And comb my hair when I am very tired. Will you come with me ? Cicely. With you.? I? Katharine. Yes, you. With me. My name is Katharine de Montford, And I am going soon to live in France. You must not listen, mother Deborah ! These things are secrets. Deborah. You ? to live in France ? Katharine. It is not yet announced, and you must keep My secret. Cicely, until you hear it Afloat on other lips. I am betrothed To my Lord Bute, the French ambassador. 'Twill be made public very soon, and then Will you come with me. Cicely, to France ? Cicely. My Lady, you are very kind. Katharine. Ono! 'Tis just my fancy. You shall walk with me. And sew and read with me, and play with me. For I myself am often merry too. We'll sing and dance, and you shall wear smart clothes 20 ONE WAY OF LOVE And see the Court ! Deborah. My Lady Katharine, What can you mean ? Katharine. Now, mother, that's not fair ! I said these things were secrets.— Yes, who knows, Perchance we'll find a handsome husband there. Wilt come with me, dear little Cicely ? Cicely. O, you are very kind, but I — O no ! I cannot go to France. It is so far. Katharine. Thy father and thy mother might allow it. Cicely. I have no parents, lady, that's not why, But I am only used to country ways, I cannot go to France. Katharine. Thou wilt not then .? Cicely. Forgive me, O, I cannot ! Katharine. Cicely, I must know why. Come, look me in the face. No no, not so, straight in the eyes. Now tell me. Wilt not .'' — Ah, poor sweet child ! Ah, I am cruel To tease thee so. Nay, weep not, thou hast told me All I would know. Now, let me dry thine eyes And kiss them too. All's well. I'll go to France Alone, and thou shalt stay — seest thou, I know it — With Joscelyn ! Deborah. My Lady ! ONE WAY OF LOVE 21 Katharine. Go, child, go— I can't bear crying, and thy pretty tears Undo me quite. Go, little Cicely, Run home, sweet child, and weep no more. [Cicely goes.] Deborah. My Lady, I cannot see your drift. Katharine. Nor I myself! Yet in my course of life I have observed There is an angel lights upon the helm Of all frail vessels, set by sudden gales Adrift upon the waters of deep doubt. In him I trust, and thou shalt trust him too. Deborah. I think that I may do so. Katharine. I must wait And see thy son. Deborah. My son.'' In mercy, lady ! There is still time, I pray you, not my son ! Katharine. It must be, mother. [Enter Joscelyn ; a pause.] JoscELYN. Lady Katharine ! This is the most unlooked-for of all honours. Katharine. I came, sir, on a matter of some weight, To beg a favour. I would speak with you Alone. 22 ONE WAY OF LOVE JoscELYN. You know how much I am your servant. Katharine. Your mother here and I have whiled away A pleasant hour, telhng tales of wonder. Have we not, madam .-' Deborah. Tales of wonder truly, I am still dazed. Katharine. Farewell. I must entreat Your absence now. — I thank you from my heart For your good welcome. If we meet again I'll tell you a new tale : about a woman Whose thoughts were fixed upon a star. She touched it, There lies the strangeness of my tale, — ay, held it Fast for a moment in her hand, and then She let it go ! I don't myself know why ; Perhaps it was just fancy. — Now, farewell. Deborah. Farewell, most noble lady. [Deborah goes ; a pause.] Katharine. Now, Sir Poet, A word with you. Joscelyn. I pray you, wait awhile. You know me, how I love you ; my poor heart Is not accustomed to this joy, your presence. Is this a dream .? Katharine. No, it is very real. I pray you look at me. What do you see ? ONE WAY OF LOVE 25 JoscELYN. A woman perfect in her loveliness, Soul of my being, and my heart of hearts. Katharine. That's very pretty ! You must set it down When I am gone. But 'tis not with the poet I have to deal. I pray you now forget All rhymes and fancy tricks of poesy, And be the man. JoscELYN. My Lady ? Katharine. With the poet I have no quarrel ; but with Joscelyn Fenton, Plain gentleman, I am most sorely grieved. Do you not see some anger in my face .'' Joscelyn. I can see none, and yet must needs believe you. Nor seems it possible that I, whose life, Poised against your dear pleasure would lack weight To turn the scale a measurable atom. Should have incurred the torment of your anger. And yet I must believe you. Let me know Your cause of grief. Katharine. Sir, you have writ me verses At divers times, which I was pleased to read ; And proud am I to think that I inspired So fair a muse. It does not need much love To kindle verses ; words of love flow lightly, 24 ONE WAY OF LOVE And those who read must take them at their worth. I did so. JoscELYN. Now, by Heaven ! my offence, Whate'er it be, is not the one you deem. I am a poet, and have sometimes penned Words of the brain's inditing, counterfeits, Cold images of passion ; but if ever I sent you one false line, one not engendered Here in my breast, and writ with my heart's blood May I ne'er see Salvation ! Katharine. Softly, poet ; Your words accuse you, for, if this be true, You stand there guilty of the whole offence With which I charge you. JoscELYN. These are riddles, lady, I cannot guess. What is it that you mean ? Katharine. I mean that you have dared to love me, poet. JoscELYN. Indeed 'tis true. Katharine. You should not have done so. JoscELYN. Poets ere now have dared to love a queen. Katharine. Yes, in their verse; and little cause there was For finding fault, sir, when your love was bound By rondel and by sonnet. But it reached ONE WAY OF LOVE 25 My wondering ears to-day that you had dared To love me as a woman, and not merely As some cold idol, purposely set up For inspiration ; dared, sir, to grow pale. And leave your food, and sigh for love of me. This you may do for any neighbour-girl ; Not for the Lady Katharine de Montford. It is to tell you so that I am here. JoscELYN. This is some jest ; lady, you play with me ; Or was I dreaming when, a week ago. You met me by the lake ? That day at least You did not doubt my love or rate me for it. Was it a dream ? Or did it come to pass That, as you left me at the water's edge. You spoke these words — perhaps it was a dream, But in mine ear there rings your voice that said . . . Katharine. Hush, not one word ! No matter what I said! 'Tis getting late, and ere we part to-day, 'Tis needful we should understand each other. — You may not love me. JoscELYN. May not? Bid me go To some far land where I shall see thee never, Nor hear thy voice, nor touch thy hand again — Bid me go hence and die, since die I must 26 ONE WAY OF LOVE In exile from thee ! All that man may do To show obedience, that I'll do for thee, Save kill my love : myself, ay, that v^ere easy. But not my love ! Thou canst not bid me do it. Nor thou, nor God upon His throne in Heaven ! Art silent, lady ? What, dost clasp thy hands Upon thine eyes and cry alas ? — I knew it ! 'Tis some strange jest, thou art not here to chide, Thou dost not hate me for my love ! Katharine. No, no, I do not hate thee, nor I am not angry. No, that was jest ! — But I am grieved, O deeply. To see what I have done. I should have checked This love more early ; not, in vanity And girlish pleasure at your tuneful wooing. Have suffered you to foster hopes as vain As ever man yet nursed. I love you not. JoscELYN. And I, my Lady, never thought you did. Perhaps I hoped it, — love is made of hope — And yet I do not think I hoped it. Katharine. Not.? Then you just loved .? Just loved and nothing more ? JoscELYN. I think so. Katharine. Shall I let you see the future As it must be ? You here, and I in France ? ONE WAY OF LOVE 27 JoscELYN. In France? Katharine. Yes, I must go there very soon. I am betrothed to my Lord Bute. — Ah God ! Joscelyn ! JoscELYN. Nay, 'tis nothing ... I am well. — ! what a web of falsehood here is torn ! 1 thank you, mistress, you have shown me all, All my deceit. I lied to you, I lied. Yet not to you alone ; I know it now. I saw another vision in the future ; I had some hope ; I saw our lives as one. Do you say nothing ? Are you angered, lady ? Katharine. Not so, I seek to see thy vision, poet. — I see thee as a courtier, thy straight neck Bowed to capricious yoke ; thy freeman's foot That once trod the good earth, hollowing the footsteps Of worthless men ; thy lungs, once daily filled With Heaven's breath, inhaling false perfumes ; Thy tongue a lie-monger, thine honest muse Sold basely to the puppets of the hour ; And in thy heart a deeply-rooted hate Of her who lured thee from thy liberty To palace walls. — Was this thy vision .'' Joscelyn. No. Katharine. I see another. Here in gingham gown, 2 8 ONE WAY OF LOVE With sleeve upturned sit I. My hands are rough, Tears fall upon the work I seek to do And cannot. Like some hothouse flower set In earth where marigolds and pansies thrive, So fade I here ; thou cursest the lost beauty That made thee link thy life to mine, and mar In the transplanting all that once showed fair. Leaving thee only as indifferent housewife. Was this thy vision, poet ? JoscELYN. No, nor that. Katharine. One or the other it must needs have been. If we had linked our sundered destinies ! Thou art too good to climb unto my height ; And I am, not too good, but too far drawn Into the whirlpool of unnatural life, To live as other happier women may. I may not sit, I, in that lowly porch Beneath broad Heaven, and with thoughtful eye Watch the white clouds, the sun behind the hill, The birds returning to their new-built nest. Some other maid shall lay her hand in thine And walk beside thee on thy peaceflil path ; Whilst I must sit in my Lord Bute's carrosse, Whirling at rattling pace along life's road. JoscELYN. I must believe thee, for thy sight is clear, ONE WAY OF LOVE 29 Unblinded by the love that hoods my vision. Thou coldly seest the truth ; I could not see it ; Love, like a rainbow, stood 'twixt me and it, Colouring all things with a fantastic hue. I saw nor court nor cottage, neither time Nor place nor any solid definite thing ; The world was as a mist in which we stood. Thou Katharine, I Joscelyn, — thou above, But through the elevation of my worship, Not earthly rank. We stood there, we alone. There were no other figures in my vision ; We stood there and we loved, — it was enough. — 'Twas mad, maybe. I am a poet, lady. No need for such as I to grasp at straws Of stern reality wherewith to build On aerial bowers, for we spread our pinions And soar beyond the ken of things that are, Beholding shadows of a fairer world. 'Tis only when at length, with wearied wing. We would alight upon some pinnacle. That we discover all the full extent Of our phantasy ; and, as we fall To the hard earth, the golden cities vanish, The rainbow clouds are changed into gray mist. — I have fallen fi-om the heights : you must forgive me 30 ONE WAY OF LOVE If I am stunned ; my spirit soared so high. — You cannot know it, you who never loved ; I pray you take my word for't. Katharine. I do so. I can imagine, though, as thou say'st truly, I have not loved. Perchance 'tis as the waking From some sweet dream ; a looking out o' window At the cold earth ; it rains, and the dull wind Sighs through the leafless trees. — 'Twere little good To lay thee down again ! Thou wilt not sleep. Sir Poet, nor the same dream will not come. JoscELYN. I know it. [//if takes papers from his breast and tears them.'] Katharine. Why do this .'' JoscELYN. I do but tear The record of my dream. Katharine. What's written there .? JoscELYN. Words that I wrote to thee this afternoon. This afternoon ^ My God ! — ten years ago ! I shall never write again. Katharine. No, not to me. But to another. Do not laugh so strangely. The garden-flower may not now be yours ; Wait but a little : in a few short weeks ONE WAY OF LOVE 31 There will be roses blooming in the hedge. JoscELYN. Hedge-roses? Katharine. Yes. Farewell. JoscELYN. Is this the end ? Katharine. Not quite ; there is a favour I would ask. Prithee fulfil it, in kind memory Of thy dead love. JoscELYN. It is not dead! Katharine. But shall be. I met a maiden here this afternoon, The sweetest ever seen. I made her weep Unwittingly, and now would send some gift. Partly for sorrow, partly in remembrance. I prithee go to her this evening. Her name is Cicely ; and place this ring Upon her finger, and my blessing with it. JoscELYN. Who? Cicely? Katharine. Why, yes. And now, farewell. JoscELYN. Farewell — must we part thus? Katharine. I think so, poet ; There's but one way. JoscELYN. We may not meet again ! Katharine. That's very true. We shall not meet again. — Here, take my hand ! I give thee leave to kiss it. 32 ONE WAY OF LOVE Once, in remembrance. Wilt not ? [He does soP[ There — farewell ! Farewell, Sir Poet — stay, not one step nearer ! [At the porch she turns, and plucks a sprig from the creeper ?\ Wait, I have found thee something, — take it ! [She throws it to where he stands, motionless. '\ JoscELYN. This? Katharine. What seest thou .'' JoscELYN. Thorns! Katharine. What else ."^ JoscELYN. A little bud. Katharine. A Hedge-Rose, poet ! [She goes, closing the door behind her.'] THE END Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh. gfa^S^M