AND I PUP' '' BY CHARLES H.SERGEL & COM! 191! CORNELL • UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE PS 3547.09413"'™™"" "'''"' Addip. Madretta and other plays, 3 1924 021 734 318 Cornell University Library The original of tliis 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/cu31924021734318 ADDIO, MADRETTA AND OTHER PLAYS ADDIO, MADRETTA AND OTHER PLAYS BY STARK YOUNG Author of "Guenevere," "The Blind Man at the Window," "The Garden of Psyche," Etc CHICAGO CHARLES H. SERGEL & CO. 1912 OOPYKIGHT, 1912 BT STABK YOUNG CONTENTS Page Addio 11 Madretta 27 The Stab in the Trees 45 The Twilight Saint 71 The Dead Poet 93 The Seven Kings and the "Wind 107 The Queen of Sheba 121 ADDIO To Laura Burleson ADDIO Monkey Tom. Hakey Boyd. Fritz. SUSA. Scene. — An eating-room in Fritz* bakery and restaurant, New Orleans. A few tables; show-cases with bread and cakes; a faded palm or so, and ribands of colored paper; compose the furnishings of the place. Two screens stretch across the back; a door on the left opens into the street. [Fritz is seen putting the loa/ves into one of the cases and humming to himself a broken air. He is a German, big, easy-going, blond, with a slight accent.'\ [Harry enters, fanning himself with his hat."] Fritz. Hello, Harry ! How 's your character ? Ya, ya, ain't it hot! Harry. Fritz, how goes it? I thought I was going to be late. [He sits down by a table to the right."] I promised to meet Susa here at six. Fritz. It's that now. Harry. Just six? 11 12 ADDIO Fritz. Ya, you're all right. How is Susa? I haven't seen her in weeks. Habby. Straight and quick as ever, and full of spirit. Fritz. Susa's all right! Harry. Yes, Susa '11 come out all right, though Fritz. Is she still at the Market yet ? Harry. Yes, at her mother's stand, the second on the left as you go in. But I'm afraid business is slow for them. Fritz. Ach, a pretty girl like dat oughtn't to have no business but a husband. And how is your business? Harry. Booming, Fritz! I'm making fifty dollars a week with my teams now, clear. Fritz. Fifty dollars ! Ach himmel ! Why — den you can marry! Harry. If Susa will only say the word, I'm ready for it! She seems to love me sometimes, Fritz, and sometimes she doesn't. Fritz. Ach, dat's all right. Dey's all dat way. Sometimes dey do and dey don't and some- times dey don't and dey do. Harry. She had a sweetheart in Sicily once, and I think she remembers him sometimes; but then ADDIO 13 Fritz. Ach, nein, she's forgotten him. Habrt. You never can tell about these things, it may be [ToMASSo's hand organ is heard outside play- ing the "Merry Widow Walts."] Fritz. Pst! Listen, dere's Monkey Tom Harry. "Who ? Fritz. Monkey Tom, here he iss! [ToMASSO enters from the street, carrying by a strap his organ, which is supported from heneath by a pole.'] ToMASSO. Buon giorno, signore — ^howdy! Fritz. Well — ^hello Tom ! Don't he speak der English now? Mr. Boyd, Signor Tomasso. Harry. Howdy, how are you? [Tomasso bows.] Fritz. How iss dis for weather, Tom ? Nearly as hot as Sicily, eh? Tomasso. Sicilia, that is not hot ! Fritz. Ach, Herr Gott, dat is phere dey haf dose cool liddle volcanoes, yes. Didn' you "tell me, Tom, dat Sicily vas hot und ugly ? Tomasso. Hot and ugly—oh cielo, oh, sig- nore ! Na, na, signore, I see, signore, you make of me fun, Fritz. All right, Tom. You want your bread and the cake for Gigia, eh? 14 ADDIO Haery. Does he buy cake for the monkey ? ToMASso. How Gigia did love de cake! Fritz. Why, phere iss Gigia? Harry, you saw Gigia dance, yes ? Harry. [Shaking his head."] No, never did. ToMASSO. No, no cake today, signore. Gigia, Gigia 's dead — dieda last night — ^poor Gigia — all I had! Fritz. Ach, nein, nein, cheer up yourself, you wiU pick up less money but you wiU need less to buy. What is der brod, long or short? To- day's or yesterday's? Today's is 5 cents, yester- day's 2 cents. ToMASSO. Short, it is too mucha wivout Gigia. Fritz. Yesterday 's ? ToMASSO. Si, si, me no lika today's bread. It is too — ^too — ^hot. Fritz. Ya, ya, I see — {Laughing.]' — I see Tommie. Today's brod iss too hot, yes. Harry. How do you like America, Tom? ToMASSO. Me ? Oh, I no like America. Fast, so fasta! I say "Permesso, signore," — ^he say "Git out de way!" — [He comes down to the front.'] — and Dio ! — domenico, Sunday, no festa, no wine, no Harry. How long have you been over? ADDIO 15 ToMASso. Two year and half, Longa, sig- nore! Habhy. You've played the organ all the time, eh? Made any money? ToMASSO. Si, si, but only a little, poco, poco, signore. You see, signore, I am lame and weaka Feitz. Ach, himmel, Tom is getting rich! [J?e finds his wire brush and stands guard ovet the case of bread.'] ToMASso. Na, na! Haeet. "Why do you stay then, if you make no money? ToMASSO. Ah, signore, I didna come for money. Feitz. Ach, lieber, what den? ^Striking at a fly.] forlof? ToMASSO. [Excitedly.] Listen, signore — ^me — I — ^am lookinga for someone. Habbt. a vendetta, eh ? to kill ? ToMASSO. No, signore, not kill — ^to love. Haeet. A woman? ToMASSO. Si, justo. Feitz. Ach ! [He hits hard and gets his fly.] dese vomen! Habey. And have you found her? 16 ADDIO ToMASSO. Found her — no, signore, mai, never found. SusA. [Outside.] Eh, Pietro, ecco ! Domani arancie e cirassi [At the sound of her voice Tomasso starts violently, and, as she enters, retreats to the rear of the shop.] A Man's Voice. [From the street.] Si, si, ho capito, domani mattina a buon ora. SusA. [In the door.] Si, senza mancanza, va bene. [She enters hastily and angrily.] Hakrt. [Going towards her.] Susa ! Why I thought you had forgotten ! Susa. [Motioning him back from her.] For- gotten — io — I ? You have forgotten — ^you say you come for me by the Market — and I — [Half sob- bing.] I wait, wait till every one goes away — waita, wait, wait, and was afraid to stay longer — and so — so I came — epoi, senta, listen — ! Haery. No, no, Susa, I'm sorry. You got it wrong. I said I'd meet you here at Fritz's. [She turns her back on him.] Why, you're not mad, are you? Are you, Susa? [Tomasso meantime at the back has set down his organ against the showcase, and stares at Susa with wild, eager, large eyes.] ADDIO 17 Harry. Are you angry, Susa? ToMASSO. [Under his breath.] Susa, — oh! Harry. Susa, it wasn't my fault. Susa. Oh, basta, basta, it's a lie! Fritz. Ach Gott, dese lovers and loveresses! und dis lof e ! Gif me my of en and der furnace for mine! Come, come, don't you be scrappin' — I've got a nice supper for you — all hot. ToMASSO. \_At the back, stretching out his hands to her and speaking to himself.] Susa, Susa, Susa! Harry. [By the table on the right.] Come, Susa, you're wrong! [She stamps her foot.] Come, let's eat a bite. All right, Fritz, let's have your feast. [Susa stands with her back to him, without moving. Tomasso at the back looks steadily at Harry, studying him from head to foot, then at himself; back to Harry, then at him- self again, and down at his crippled leg; and shakes his head.] Harry. [Reminding him.] Fritz Fritz. [Going out.] All rightsky, zwei min- ute! [Fritz goes out. Tomasso puts on his hat and walks over toward the organ.] Susa. I won't eat any supper! 18 ADDIO Haery. Why, Susa, you ain't really mad, are you? Oh, come now, honest, I said I'd wait here. Susa. It's a lie — ^you dodged me — ^you lie to me — oh, I hate you! [Fritz comes in with a tray of plates."] Fritz. AU rightsky — ^waffles, crab gumbo a la — [Susa moves toward the door.\ Hello, where you goin'? Ain't you goin' to eat anythink? Susa. I'm going home. Habet. Susa, you don't mean it! Then I'll go too. Susa. No, sacramento, mai — ^never — e senta, senta, Harry, listen! Don't you come near me again— don't touch me^or — or I'll kill you, briconaccio — ^let me be ! [She thrusts him aside and starts toward the door.] Fritz. Susa. Harry. Susa ToMASSO. No, no! [He moves quickly in front of her and stands across the door, his hat still down over his eyes.] No, no, you musta not go. You too quicka Susa. Che, who are you to stop me? Let me pass ! ToMASSO. You are too quicka — ^there's no ADDIO 19 mucha love in dis world — don 'ta throw it away — don't throw it away. Pardone — ^be gentile SusA. I'll show you how to move! ToMASSO. [His manner gathering force as he stops her with his hand outstretched.'] Aspetti, wait, waita, wait till you hear SuSA. Hear what ? Fritz, he is crazy ! ToMASSO. There was a man in my country — Italia — ^who loved a woman, — anda she loved him. And one other personne made lies to them. And she taka and crede the lies — and leave him and go to America — epoi — ^and so— dey lose each Oder. Fritz. Why man ! [SuSA comes down nearer the table on the right and stands looking into space, clasping and unclasping her hands. Harry watches her anxiously.'] Fritz. [Speaking low to Tomasso.] Why, man, I see, I see — ^take her — speak ! [Tomasso looks at Harry, then at himself; then points to his crippled leg, a/nd shakes his head.] Fritz. Fight for your rights — speak up ! Tomasso. Shh ! Hush, signore, hush ! SusA. [Raising her head.] WeU? — che ha 20 ADDIO fatto? What did he do? What dida that man do? ToMASSO. What do? She go to America, and he cry and cry for her, but never, never found — SusA. And then? ToMASSO. And then the fever take him and mucha dolore, trouble SusA. [Eaxitedly.] And did he follow her? ToMASSO. Si, when he was well again, long time after — ^to America. SusA. And found? ToMASSO. [Slowly.] And never found. [Fritz makes an impatient step forward.'] SusA. [Whispering as to herself.] Ah, never! Madonna ! ToMASSO. But if she hadna been so quicka, so fast, so angry — dey had not lost each oder. SusA. No, maybe not. [Facing him.] What was his name? ToMASSO. Tomasso. [Peitz and Harry look at each other, hut re- main as they were standing.] SusA. [Taking a step toward him.] Tomasso? Tomasso. Si, Tomasso. SusA. How did you know ? Let me see your face — ^your voice is — oh, are you Tomasso ? Have ADDIO 21 you followed me thena, all this way? Oh, tell me! ToMASso. I speaka to make you not leave your man, there SusA. But you, but you, what is your name ? ToMASSo. [Slowly, with a great effort.] My name ? Luigi — ^is my name. [Haeey and Fkitz look suddenly at one an- other, hut seem unable to act. SuSA does not recognize Tomasso.J Harry. Why, why, you will not ? ToMASSo. [In a firm voice.] Luigi. SusA. But — ^how did you know the storia? ToMASSO. How did I know? I saw it in the play at — Pisa. SusA. [Leaning against the table.] Ah Dio, I was a fool to think that! I mus' have known — Tomasso, my Tomasso was straight and strong — not [Looking at Tomasso.] not Fritz. Oh, Susa! Tomasso. Not broke like me, eh? No, not like dis me. Allora — I go. Eicorda, remember the storia ! Fritz. Stay, stay. Tomas — old chap — ^and take some zupper wid me — free — I infite you ! Tomasso. No, I will not eat. I am a little sicka today. I think I '11 just taka the bread. 22 ADDIO [SusA stands on the right, looking at the floor, struggling to master herself. Tomasso raises his hat from his face and takes one long look at her. Then he goes back and puts the strap over his shoulder; and then leans suddenly against the organ and buries his face in his arms.] Fbitz. Hey, kiddo! Tomasso. [Bousing gaily and striking up the waltz.] Si, si, addio! Where's Gigia? Gooda- bye — [Outside.] — ^goodabye ! SusA. Goodbye — ^Luigi. [The organ plays farther and farther away.] Fritz. Ach, his brod! [He takes up the bread that Tomasso has left and starts after him, stops, puts the bread back on the showcase, and without turning wipes his eyes on his sleeve.] SusA. Harry Harey. Yes ? SusA. Perdonnanu — I'm sorry. [She gives him her hand. The strains of the waltz die away in a far-off street.] CURTAIN MADRETTA To William Peterfield Trent e come sare'io senza lui corsof" MADRETTA Simon, a foreman on the levee. Jean Maki, a Creole, seller of lottery tickets. Nani, a Creole, wife of Simon. [TAe scene is on the levee in Mississippi, he- low Greenville. The house is very near the river. A shack room, with a door on the left at the back. By the door is a keg cov- ered with scalloped green paper. Above it is a chromo of the Madonna of the Chair, and a crucifix; on it are some paper flowers and a candle in a bottle. To the middle right is the bed, in a diagonal position. Still further to the right is a door or window hung with a red and drab cur- tain. By the left wall is a box with a poor mirror and a few household articles. When the curtain rises, Nani is standing in a de- jected attitude on the step just outside the doorway. She has a flower in her hand, which she throws away before entering. She draws a box from under the bed, and takes out some baby toys.] 27 28 MADEETTA Nani. [Looking at the toys.] Pierre — ^petit Pierre — ^mamie. [She puts the toys back, sits in the low chair and sings.] Eockabye, baby, in the tree tops, When the wind blows, the cradle, the cradle — [She is choked with sobs.] Ah, non, non! Ca ne me fait rien — il me faut oublier. [Sings.] II pleut, bergere — ^non, I cannot — [She lights the candle in front of the crucifix and picture.] Madonna, Madonna, hear me, Ma- donna — ^you had a child too [In the distance is heard Jean Mabi's voice singing gaily. Madeetta hears. She looks quickly at the crucifix, then listens to the nearing voice. She presses her hands to her breast. Her eyes are wide with excitement.] Nani. Jesus, — Jean Mari! [She extinguishes the candle, and runs out. In a moment she returns with Jean Mari. She has the flower in her hair now. Jean Mari carries a pink paper in his hand.] Jean Mari. And you hear me sing? Nani. Yais, oh, yais, it is our song you were singing, — ^11 pleut bergere — Simon, my man, my husband, he never sings. Jean Mari. Never sing, not he, he is the Yankee, he works. Nani. Yais, Simon works, does he. At home MADEETTA 29 we never worked. Not much we worked, yais. But I think I sing more then maybe than now. Jean Mabi. New Orleans? Nani. Oui, Nouvelle Orleans, yais, before I married Simon. Jean Mabi. Oh, Nani, if I had found you then! Nani. Before, yais, before. I would not have cried so much then, because I might have stayed in Nouvelle Orleans. Jean Mari. Yes, you might have stayed in New Orleans. "We'd have been happy, Nani. Nani. Think so, — ^yais, before, before, before I married Simon — and the baby was born, and we came here, and this swamp killed my child — my lil Pierre Jean Maki. Non, non- Nani. And then I cry toujours, always. I can no thing but crying. And Simon, the man, he maybe forget soon — I don't know, he say so lil bit, so lil bit, Simon. He say "Mad- retta," that means lil mother you know, he named me that from what the Dagoes say, "Mad- retta you cry your heart out, it's na good, leave the cryin." Jean Mabi. But I was sorry for you. Nani. Yais, and sat with me in the long day- 30 MADEETTA time when Simon was gone to work with the men up yonder. You love me, hey? Jean Mabi. Love you? Ah Nani! I have brought you these bijoux, Nani. [He takes out a string of coral beads. She puts them on with deUght.] Love you, Nani Nani. But we must not talk that. Simon, he never talks of you. Jean Mabi. Simon he likes me not. Nani. I don't know — maybe — Simon, I think he is sick a lil. But he say nothing. He works hard and saves the money. Jean Maei. Miser — diable- Nani. I don't know 'bout that. He never beats me about the money as my father he used to do. Ah, non, ciel — [She catches sight of her- self in the glass.^ The flower is pretty, jolie Jean Mabi. Pretty on Nani, yes. Nani. Yais, am I pretty? I don't know. Simon told me so before we were married. Jolie? "Who is here to say that? No one is ever in the swamp to look at me. Here's noth- ing, nothing but the trees and the wind they are all. The wind in the trees makes me afraid, and when I hear the birds, when I hear them I cry for my baby. MADRETTA 31 Jean Marl Simon could tell you if he would. Do you love him, Nani? NA>n. I don't know, eiel! He is most kind, and never quarrels. He brought me the cross there, see, over the Blessed Virgin. Le's not talk "bout that. "What is the papier, Jean Mari ? Jean Mabi. The steamer, Kate Adams. Nani. Where? Jean Maei. New Orleans. Nani. Oh, non — ^Nouvelle Orleans — ^when ? Jean Mabi. In one hour. [Looking at watch.li Ten o'clock it says. [She goes to the door and looks out. Raises one hand, and drops it.'] Jean Mari. Nani Nani. Yais, Jean Mari. Jean Mari. New Orleans, Nani. Nani. Yais, I understand — ^Nouvelle Orleans. Jean Mari. Where you cry to go, Nani, and Simon will not go. Nani. Yais, he wiU not go, Simon, Jean Mari. Nani Nani. Yais- Jean Mari. [Starting toward her."] I will take you, Nani! I will take you. I love you, Nani, more than your wooden Yankee does. 32 MADEETTA Nani. IStruggling.] Non, Jean Mari, ah, non Jean Maei. Mais oui, but yes ! New Orleans — see I have the money here. Nani. Eh hien Jean Mabi. The children and the music in the street — ^the blessed mass, we '11 sing all day — ^what is there here, Nani? Nani. Here ? Jean Maki. Oui, yes, here? Nani. Simon, he is here. Jean Maei. Ah, the Yankee, he is one ox. Nani. He has been kind to me, maybe Jean Maei. Nani, the girls and boys, Su- zanne and Desiree, and the piano in the park at night. You can do it all, quick Nani. He might come back here before the hour, might Simon. He will kill me ! Jean Mari. He comes not ever back till night. You know the overflow, the levee needs him, Nani. The overflow? Jean Maei. Yes, he must be with the levee, or what may happen ! He never comes back till dark — ^he shall not come. \^She is irresolute.'] He will never find you in the city, he will not search. MADEETTA 33 Nani. Maybe he will not search — I don't know, — ^maybe he will be glad if I go. I go with you, — to Nouvelle Orleans — [He starts toward her again.] Non, non, Jean Mari, leave me to fix. Don't touch me. Leave me to fix. Jean Mari. Not long. Nani. Not long, yais. [He goes out. She closes the door, and stands a moment wide-eyed.'] Ah, Nouvelle Orleans, Nouvelle Orleans! [Sets frantically about her packing.] [Presently a halloa is heard in the direction of the river. Then a pistol shot, followed by another. Nani starts up in terror. Simon stumbles into the door, and leans against the wall.] Nani. [Running to fasten the door.] Simon ! Simon. Nani, quick. Nani. Simon, are you hurt? [He takes his hand from within his coat, and holds it palm outward. It is covered with blood.] Nani. Who? Who? Simon. Oh, I don't know. It's no matter who. Nani. God! Simon. Help me, Madretta, to the bed. [He 34 MADEETTA lies with his head to the foot.'\ Little Madretta — oh, give me some wine, woman! [^She gives him wine.] Nani. Get the doctor! Let me go for the doctor ! Simon. No, no, no, you could not get him here in time — sit hy me, Madretta. Nani. You bleed? Simon. Inside I think — ^in my breast here. It trickles and strangles sort o'. It is not long. Nani. [Giving him more wine.] You come home soon today. Simon. Yes, I ran all Nani. Ran ? Simon. Listen, Madretta — ^let me speak while I can. That lottery fellow, Jean Mari, has been selling liquor to the men — ^he's the cause of all this Nani. Are you easy now, lying so ? Simon. Raise my head — now. Nani. Oui, so. Simon. The levee is broke above — ^they say it will sweep all this place away. I could hear it comin' when I started- They say there is a boat — I came to save you Nani. Yais, to save me • Simon. Yes, to save you. And when I got MADEETTA 35 to the cattle-pen out there, somebody called and then shot. [Coughs blood.'] Nani. [Rising.] Yais, to save me, Simon. Maybe you love me then. Simon. Love you, oh, Madretta Nani. You never say so. Simon. Don't you know me yet? I never say such things, Madretta. [She falls on her knees hy the bed.] Nani. Don' die ! See, it do not bleed now ! Simon. In here, in here — ^I feel it settling. [He puts his arm about her neck.] Little Madretta, Nani — I'm so sleepy — maybe I'd bet- ter go to sleep a bit. [He dozes. She stands on her knees and looks at him. The whistle of a steamboat is heard in the distance. Simon talks in a sort of delirium.'] My little son, and little Madretta — ^that's sweet, little mother — ^my lil son is dead — ^but I must not cry — ^that would make it harder for Nani. I — I can grieve when I am working in the day. We must save money. If I have enough money to leave this damned swamp New Year, maybe in the spring that levee will burst and ruin us — New Year. New Year we'll go. I'll not tell her — ^though. Because if we didn't really go — ^why — . Nani, are you there ? 36 MADKETTA Nani. Yais, yais. Simon. [Changing his tone.'\ It's no use to cry, woman. It won't bring the baby back, nor put us in New Orleans. [Changes tone again.\ There, — ^poor lil mother! Nani, where are the candles, Nani? It's dark in this corner. Nani! Nani. Yais Simon. Madretta, light the candles. Nani. [Lighting the candles in a hlind sort of fashion.} Now you see, do you ? Simon. A little. [He is silent a while, sud- denly sits up.] Here, baby, come here. Call him, Madretta! He is afraid of the blood. Pierre ! Call him, mother. Nani. [Following his gaze, numbly.] Where ? [She comes to herself, and drops back into her seat.] Hush, Simon, hush ! [He Ues bach.] Simon. Goodnight, baby Pierre. Madretta — Nani. I hear you — ^yais Simon. Madretta, don' leave me, — ^you are all I have left — ^you are all I have. Reach me your hand. It's night now, and I am tired. [He seems to sleep.] Nani. Yais, I'm here, Simon. I won't leave you — I won't, Simon. MADEETTA 37 [There comes a knock at the door, and Jean Mari's voice outside.'] Jean Mabi. [Outside.'] Nani — ^Nani [No answer.] Jean Maei. [Knocking.] Nani — come, Nani Nani. Jean Mari Jean Maei. I shot him to keep him away. He's in the woods somewhere. You are safe, open the door. Nani. Open the door [The whistle is heard.] Jean Mari. [Shaking door.] Nani, Nani — the boat is stopping up yonder. We'll be home tomorrow — ^La New Orleans. Nani. Nouvelle Orleans. [She looks at Simon who seems to te dead. She is afraid of him. She rises. She starts toward the door, passing her open hand along the wall, as if half bUnd.] Jean Mabi. Nani — quick — ^Nani Nani. I hear you. [Suddenly her blind hand strikes the crucifix, which falls before her. She recoils from it in terror. The boat whistles twice. Bells.] Jean Mabi. Nani, don't be afraid, come 38 MADRETTA [jBeHs, She takes two steps toward the door, then a step back toward the bed. Simon stirs and tries to raise his head.^ Simon. Madretta, are you there ? You're all I have, Madretta [Jean Mari shakes the door.'\ Simon. Madretta [She stands by the bed. Her eyes Maze and her bosom heaves.] Nani. Yais, Simon. Jean Mari. [Outside.] WiU you come, Nani ? Damn you, are you coming or not? [Her hand at her breast finds the beads. She tears them from her throat and hurls them, at the door. The beads rattle over the boards.] Nani. Non, non, I will not. Simon. Madretta [The whistle and the bells are farther off. The noise of the flood, accompanied by the crack- ing of the timber, grows gradually louder.] Nani. Simon, Simon. [Shaking him.] Simon, the overflow! Simon. [Fretful and almost asleep.] Mad- retta [She comes back to the bed, walking like a MADEETTA 39 stunned thing, and falls on her knees hy him.] Simon. [Feeling for her hand.] Little Madretta Nani. I am with you. [The flood roars outside.] CURTAIN THE STAR IN THE TREES To Orlando Rouland THE STAR IN THE TREES ASTOBBI. ItYANE, his sister. Daphne. Steinx. The Night Wind, The Queen of Faerie. The Voice of the Water. The Dew. The Seven Shadows. The Voice in the Aspen Tree. Echo. Scene. — A secret wood. To the front right is a fountain thick set about with reeds and water flags. To the left at the hack the Dew lies asleep on the grass. On the left stands a laurel tree, sUm and tall; in the centre at the back an aspen tree. Shadows nestle beneath the trees. There is a faint twilight over the scene. AsTORRi enters at the back, carrying a book, amd comes down toward the front. 45 46 THE STAE IN THE TBEES Ltane. [Outside.'] Astorri ! ASTOBBI. Aye, Lyane Ltanb. Wilt thou leave me? ASTORBI. Nay, little sister, I do wait Lyane, Lyane, art thou not weary? Ltane. [Enters.] Aye, weary are my feet but not my heart. I will fare with thee to the happy wood. ASTOERI. Yea, let us go. For in my dreams have I Seen heavy grief and thick shapes crowding on, And some unrest that would unnerve my heart. To me the world is all of shadowy omens ; And never do I see a falling star That underneath the ground sinks into night, But that I mark the setting stars of fate; — Lyane. Further, yet further, have we dreamed the while. ASTOBBI. Aye, far away the vision of a song Brought to mine ear a secret wood, and showed THE STAR IN THE TBEE8 47 A covert place of freedom from the strife. Let us still seek. Lyane. Hast thou the book ? ASTORBI. Aye, here. Lyane. How mlt thou know the place? ASTORBI. Knowest thou not yet? A yellow stone is there, A laurel tree, a fountain rimmed with green, And silence — ^and in the pool Lyane. Brother Astorri, look thou! ASTOBBI. What? Lyane. Beside thee, look! — a little fountain — see — And there, the stone! ASTORBI. Keep us, O Queen of Faerie, from deceit! The fountain and the stone — ^Lyane, Lyane, Is 't not a laurel there ? Lyane, Aye, haply, then wiU I break and see. 48 THE STAE IN THE TREES ASTOEEI. Nay, break it not, Lyane ! Do thou not mar The children of the wood; who knoweth when "Within the leafy breast doth lie some grief. Some spirit frail and old unhappiness — Break thou it not! Lyane. It is a laurel by the leaf. ASTORRI. Laurel ? Lyane. What further sayeth the book ? ASTOEEI. Thou shalt unto a fountain in the wood. And rosemary and rue shalt put therein. And one frail primrose from the passing spring ; And there thy falling tears shall show thee solace. Lyane. I do remember me. ASTOEEI. Hast thou the flowers ready? Lyane. Aye, near my heart they lie. [She takes from her hosom the flowers and drops them one hy one into the pool as she speaks.'] THE STAR IN THE TBEES 49 ASTOEBI. Rosemary from the garden of the heart, And rue that grows where sadness hath her seat. And primroses that smile and die too soon. Ltane. Read on, yet how hast read in darkness? ASTOERI. My heart hath read, Lyane — and now, behold How still the water lies, like sleep. IThey kneel above the pool and watch.] ASTORRI. Seest thou naught? Ltane. Alas, naught! Brother, my heart faileth. ASTOEEI. Weep not. I see the ripple of thy tear. And now another falls, — ^weep not, dear child, — [A light flfUshes through the water of the pool.] Lo, mark thee, comes a light! — ^thou mindst the book, It is thy falling tears that loosed the spell. Lyane. Look, look, Astorri, where she sitteth there. Braiding her locks with pearls, the water sprite. The silver fishes round her feet — ^hark thou — I 50 THE STAB IN THE TEEES [The sound of the nymph singing comes from the water of the pool.^ The "Water Nymph's Forest Song Alas, I hear their voices call, Come sad and sweet, come sweet and sad, And woe is me, poor water thrall, Who mourn the joy that once I had. Lo, where they dwell within the trees. All mournfully, all mournfully. Who drinketh of this flood he sees Their misery, their misery. Weladay ! ASTORRI. Of whom sang she? Lyane. Of them that hidden dwell in wretchedness Within the mystic leafage of the wood. ASTORRI. What said the song? Lyane. That if thou drinkest there thou mayest hear The secret of the place. ASTORRI. Then wiU I drink. ASTOKRI. Lyanb. THE STAB IN THE TEEES 51 Lyanb. Stay, Brother, stay! Art thou not half adread Of some enchantment in the cup? ASTORRI. Yet will I drink. {He dips his hand into the pool and drinks.'\ Lyanb. Alas, Astorri ! Hist! What is it^ Astorri. Dost thou hear a song? And now another — drink, Drink quickly! [He gives her water with his hands rounded together.'] Lyanb. Listen, oh, listen! [The sound of sighing comes from the trees of the wood, the singing of wind, and a low music from the grass. The voice of the nymph is heard farther away.] Astorri. I see the stars blown through the sky like sparks 52 THE STAE IN THE TEEES From watchfires on the hills! [The place grows gradually lighter. Daphne appears from the laurel. The Shadows stir in their haunts, and Dew awakens on the grass.] Lyanb. Look, look, Astorri, where she lies, more fresh Than April showers at the dawn. Speak, Who art thou? Dew. Dew am I. I am Dew, daughter of Twilight And sister of the Morning. ASTOKRI. Knowest thou the secret of this place, oh say ? Dew. I know the fresh heart of the woodland green, — To wake at morn with sunlight in mine eyes, And through the day to follow shadowy glades Till twilight calls me to the fields again. Lyane. Will it be ever thus? Is it enough? Dew. Enough to lie in verdurous happiness, And be playfellow to the violet, And hawthorn whose white petals kiss my face. THE STAB IN THE TEEES 53 Lyane. Can that be all of life, this dew-fed joy? The Voice of Echo. Alas, alas! ASTORBI. Hist! Dew. Behold my leader cometh, the Night Wind ! [The Night "Wind enters. She is clothed in silver, flecked with stars and flowers and blown leaves.] Lyanb. I smell the perfume of her hair. The Voice op Echo. Alas, alas ! "Woe is my heart ! Lyane. Ah me, who waileth so in sorrow ? The Voice of Echo. Echo am I, who dwell amid the glooms. I loved the youth who turned in scorn from me, And through the weary years I call and call, And sigh myself into a voice — alas, Forever and forever. Lyane. Alas, Night "Wind, may'st thou not comfort her? 54 THE STAK IN THE TKEES The Night Wind. Echo, Echo, thou child of misery, Lo, have I borne thy sorrow round the world, And unto men whose hearts are ashes, told The burden of thy sadness and thy love. The Voice of Echo. If I might but return to flesh again, Leaving this deathless grief, and die and pass, As women do whom love hath mocked — ^alas — l^The voices of the wood increase.^ ASTOERI. How all the wood with wailing cries ! And thou. Frail Maiden in thy laurel, sure thy voice Is sweet with ancient sorrow, who art thou? Daphne. Once dwelt I in the vales of Arcady, And fed at morn the myrtles with bright dew, And homeward led my quiet flock at even — Lyanb. "What then hath changed thee ? Daphne. Chaste Dian hid me in the laurel's heart When I sought refuge from his fierce desire, Apollo of the shining head. Ah, shame. Still hear I those hot words — Stay, Daphne, stay! — THE STAR IN THE TREES 55 Still feel the burning wind upon my face, And creeping o 'er my skin the cruel bark, And my bright hair to waving leafage sprung. ASTORRI. Then Daphne art thou ! Daphne. Even 80, Daphne. Ltane. Alas, poor child ! Daphne. Far, far from life and human kind I dwell, A deathless sorrow in a deathless youth ; "Would I had died ! Lyane. Deathless seem all the sorrows of this place ; I never thought to meet such agony Hidden within the quiet wood. ASTORRI. I hear even the dead crying in the sod. Lyane. Listen, oh, listen, at the fluted reeds Uttering sweet voices in their twilight bed, To charm the ancient dusk of quietness. [A song like the notes of a flute is heard near by the pool. Syrinx rises among the reeds.'\ 56 THE STAB IN THE TEEES ASTORBI. Say, Maiden, who art thou, with the clasped hands And most sad burthen, who art thou? Lyanb. Thy most sad song like lonely shepherd's pipe. [Syrinx disappears among the reeds again, and the flute notes wail and grow softer and softer."] ASTOEBI. Gone like a star in water ! Lyanb. Alas, who is she? Daphne. Syrinx is she, whom cruel Pan desired, And Dian changed into humble reeds Whose wail alone repaid his mad embraces. ASTOHRI. Even the river marge unto the water tells Its tale of sorrow — Lyane. Alas, poor Syrinx, what is spring to thee. The flowering banks and petals on the grass, And warm young southwind stirring mid the reeds ? AU the sweet season mendeth not thy grief ! the star in the tbees 57 The Night Wind. Shall we have naught but woe? Surely I hear Enough of sadness in my wandering, Enough of crying hearts and fevered lips — Come, shall we not sing ? What, Shadows, ho ! Little brown mischiefs in your shady clefts. Out, out and dance before your master wind ! [The Seven Shadows start from under the houghs, singing and joining in a dance.} SHADOW SONG. Heigho, under the bough. Flicker and shimmer and dance and sing ! Heigho, thou leafy tree, Eustle and flutter and sway and swing ! Dance, Sister Shadows, and laughter bring, Heigho, happy be! [A horn is wound far off. The Shadows break their dance and flit back to their nestling places.'] ASTOBRI. What voice is that whose charmed minstrelsy Sends magic and enchantment through the place, Stilling the very shadows of the wood ? The Night Wind. It is the Elfland Horn 58 THE STAE IN THE TREES ASTOEBI. Look, look, Lyane, where lo, one cometh ! Lyane. Astorri, is she not fair? ASTORBI. Ah, gentle Night Wind, say, who is it cometh ? Her brow is ivy bound, her step is free, Her robe like starlight scattered over mist ! Lyane. Her eyes are haunted. [The Queen of Faerie enters.] The Night Wind. The Queen of Faerie ! Astorri. Surely our search is ended ! The Queen op Faerie. Night Wind, go wake yon Dew that dreaming lies. On the high hills my people are athirst, The upland grass is dry and sorrowful. The Night Wind. Arise and hasten, the hills await thy feet. Dew. Under the stars my fingers scatter life, THE STAB IN THE TEEES 59 And ere the hedgerow bird his matin sings, I shall await thee at the green wayside. [The Dew goes out, and The Night "Wind follows her, scattering flowers and leaves as she goes.^ The Queen of Faerie. "Who are ye and what seek ye here ? ASTORRI. Astorri I, and this, Lyane, my sister. "Who seek the woodland's heart and its deep silence. "We were aghast of life, and from the ills That loomed before, we turned our steps away And sought the land of faery. Echo. Alas, this wretched land ! The "Voice from the "Water. Ah, realm of endless doom! Astorri. Teach us to be as thou and thine, and show How we may shun the garish highway. The Queen of Faerie. The realm of faerie mocks the world's delight; Man's life is but a dewdrop on a leaf That quivers with the wind. But here we dwell 60 THE STAE IN THE TEEES In an eternity of verdant bliss ; And children of the moon and starlight be, Of flitting shadows and the sylvan streams. The loves of men, their travail and their woe, Break not the green veil of our vision ; pain Toucheth us not, death cometh not to us. And all the wailing of the world goes by As idle wind; nor are our hearts more touched Than are the hardy fibres of the trees. Lyanb. Can this be happiness, think you? ASTOEBI. I know not if it be, I only know In it there are no terrors and no dooms But armor against pain. Tell us, Queen, How we may come to thee ! Lyanb. Wilt thou forget thy people and thy blood And change thy heart, Astorri? ASTOEEI. I would forget the sorrow ! The Queen op Faerie. Dost thou not hear the horns of elfland blowing? ASTOEHI. Doth not their magic haunt the very leaves, THE STAB IN THE TREES 61 Unto the hills and dingles calling me ? Lyane. Alas, the light within thine eyes, dear brother. Thine eyes are cold and see me not! The Queen op Faerie. If thou wouldst come unto forgetfulness, To leave the weary folk and live as we, Bind thy young brows with ivy and slit thine eyes, That thou mayest think and see as doon the faerie.'-, Lyane. Alas, what wilt thou have him do? ASTOBRI. If I should follow then? The Queen op Faeeie. Thou shalt forget the world of time and grief. And tree and star shall all thy brethren be. Shadow and sunlight will encircle thee "With an unceasing dance of happy life. Thou shalt have hillside dreams and moonlit sleep. And sweet oblivious twilight in thy soul. ASTOEEI. I will go with thee ! 62 THE STAB IN THE TEEES Lyane, Astorri ! Brother ! The Queen op Faeeie. Beneath the haunted oak shalt lie and hear The reedy brook go singing in the wind, And mark the murmuring world grow less and less. Astorri. Let it be now, I pray thee ! The Queen op Faerie. Then must I blind thine eyes of all the past. Ltanb. Give not thine eyes, Brother ! The Queen of Faeeie. And nevermore shall fall a tear from them. Astorri. Quickly I pray thee, show the land of faerie ! [The Queen op Faerie takes out a slim dag- ger to sUt his eyes.] Ltane. Save him, God, show him some sign and save ! Is all the wood unto enchantment yielded ? A sign, a sign — ! [Darkness comes suddenly over the wood. With sharp cries Daphne flees to her prison THE STAB IN THE TEEES 63 again. In the aspen tree at the hack, a burning cross appears, high up among the leaves. Astorei drops on his knees before the tree, Ltanb beside him. The QuEiaj op Faerie has vanished.^ ASTORBI. "Whither, whither, O Queen? Where is Echo? Daphne. [From the laurel."] Alas, a greater woe than mine is here ! Echo. Alas, I am as naught before this pain ! The Voice pbom the Aspen Tree. Behold the cross whose sorrow blessed the world ! Turn thou unto that passion and be whole. Lyanb. Lo, how still the wood, the anguish dies ! The Voice prom the Aspen Tree. To His immortal pain theirs is as smoke. These thou hast seen are single agonies, Of men and maidens frail, whose loved delight Turned fire upon their lips and left them seared. They suffered for themselves, but He for all ; His large desire included all of man. And in His eye the vision of the race. And in His heart the tears of all the world ! 64 THE STAS IN THE TEEES ASTOKEI. Hither we came to seek out happiness And dim oblivion from life and grief, What may we do? The Voice feom the Aspen Teee. Turn back, turn back again unto thy life, And strive thou not to leave the earthly road ; And thou shalt come at last unto thy kingdom; And in kind eyes thou shalt lay down thy care, And by thy fellow's side shalt find thy rest. And in thy fellow 's love thy land of faery. [The arms of the cross dwindle to a star.] Follow the star ! ASTOEEI. Hail star of the world ! Lyane. Hail, our brother, Christ! [The star appears farther away, on the path by which Astoeei and Lyane entered. They rise from their knees and begin to follow it.J The Voic!es of the Wind and Wood. Hail Star of the World, Hail our brother Christ ! IThe star appears and reappears, further and further off, along the path; Astoeei and Lyane disappear, following its lead.] the stab in the tbees 65 The Voices. l^Further away, and following the star."] Hail, Star of the world, Hail, our brother Christ ! Hail, Hail! [Darkness falls in the wood.] THE TWIUGHT SAINT To Sarah and Frances Starks THE TWILIGHT SAINT GrUiDO, the husband, a young poet. LiSETTA, his wife. PiA, a neighbor woman. St. Francis of Assisi. In the year 1215 A. D. Scene. — A room in Guuoo's hov^e, on a side near Bevagna. It is a poor apartment clumsily kept. On the left near the front is a bed; on the floor by the bed lie scattered pages of manuscript. A table littered with manuscripts and crockery stands against the wall to the right of the door. On the right to the front is a big fireplace with copper and brass vessels. A bench sits by the fire- place and several stools about the room. On the stone flags two sheepskins are spread. Through the door rises the slope of a hill, green with spring and starred with flowers. A stream is visible through the grass and the drowsy sound of the water fills the air. The late yellow sunUght falls through a 71 72 THE TWILIGHT SAINT window over the hed and floods the hillside without. LiSETTA lies on the bed, still, her eyes closed. PiA sits on the ingle bench, shelUng peas. GuiDO sits at the table, his face to the wall, his chin on his palm. PlA. Guido, Guido, thou hast not spoke this hour, Nor read one word nor written aught. Dear Lord, ■ The lion on the palace at Assisi Sits not more still in stone. Guido, look thou. Guido. [Turning round without looking at her.'\ Yes, old Pia, good neighbor. PlA. Yes, old Pia! Guido, grieve not o'ermueh, Lisetta will be well before the spring Comes round again. Guido. Yes, she will mend belike ; 'tis not of her. There is much else, O Pia ! here am I Shut in this house from month to month a nurse. Here lies she sick, this child, and may not stir; And I, lacking due means to hire, must serve The house, while my best self, my soul, my art, THE TWILIGHT SAINT 73 Do rust. My soul is scorched with holy thirst, My temples throb, my veins run fire ; but yet, For all my dim distress and vague desire. No word written, no single song, no verse — O blessed God ! — stifled with creature needs, And hard necessity about my throat ! PlA. Thy corner is too hot, the glaring sun Is yet upon the wall. GuiDO. 'Tis not that sua that maddens me, Pia ! Can you not see me shrunk? Have you not heard That other Guido of Perugia How he is grown ? How lately at the feast That Ugolino the great cardinal Spread at Assisi Easter night, Guido Read certain of his verses and declaimed Pages of cursed sonnets to the guests. Pia. Young Guido of Perugia, thy friend? GtJIDO. Yea. And when he ended, came the Duke Down from his dais to kiss that Guido 's hand Humbly, and said that poesy was king. 74 THE TWILIGHT SAINT PlA. Madonna, kissed by the Duke ! GUIDO. And I, oh God, I might have honor too. Could I but leave this prison where I drudge. PlA. Speak low, her sleep is light. Her road is hard As weU as thine. For all this year, since thou Didst bring her from Eieto here to us, Hath she lain on her bed, broken with pain, This child that is thy wife and loveth thee. Gumo. Aye, yes, 'tis true, she loveth me, she loveth me, And I love her. 'Tis worse — add grief to care. And Poesy fares worse. PlA. And she is grown most pale and still of late. GuiDO. Look, Pia, how she lieth there like death. That far-off patience on her face. Now, now. Surely I needs must make a song ! And yet I may not ; ashes and floor-sweeping clog My soul within me. Pia. Nay, let thy poems pass. Look thou, how pale! THE TWILIGHT SAINT 75 Dear Lord, how blue her little veins do shine ! GUIDO. Thou art most kind, good neighbor, to come here Helping our house. But thou knowest not, nor canst, The poet's realm. For in my soul I hear A bell summoning me always — PlA. If I should stew in milk the peas, maybe— Dost think the child would eat of it ? GuiDO. Thy world is not my world. I will go out Alone. Pu. I have an hour yet. GUIDO. Be sure I will return unto my chores, Mine is a short tether. [He goes out. Lisetta on the hed opens her eyes.] Lisetta. Pia. PlA. Yes, dear child. Lisetta. Turn thou my pillow, I am stifled. 76 THE TWILIGHT SAINT PlA. There. Thou hast slept well? LiSETTA. I have not slept. Pu. Holy Virgin, thou hast not slept? LiSETTA. Pia, think you I did not know ? This month I scarce have slept for thinking on his lot. I read his fighting soul. Where are his songs, The great renown that waited him? Down, down. Struck by the self -same hand that shattered me. I listen night on night and hear him moan In his sleep — PlA. It is his love for thee, Lisetta. LiSETTA. The padre from the village hemmed and said That God had sent me and my sickness here For Guido's cross to bear, his scourge. They thought I slept — Pu. Thou hast dreamed this, he loveth thee — THE TWILIGHT SAINT ^^ ' LiSETTA. Yea, loveth me somewhat, but glory more ! And I would have it so. Mother of God, When wilt thou send me death? PlA. Beware, Lisetta, tempt not God ! LiSETTA. Death is the sister of all them that weep. PlA. Child, child, try thou to sleep. Lisetta. For thy sake will I try. PlA. Hist! Lisetta. What, good Pia? PlA. Footsteps — a monk! [Francis of Assisi stands on the doorstep."] Father, come in, the road is hot and weary. And thou seemst worn and faint. Feancis. I have not eaten food this day. Hast thou Somewhat that I may eat? 78 THE TWILIGHT SAINT PlA. Alas, poor brother, sit thee here. 'Tis bread And cheese and lentils, eat thy store. Poor 'tis. But given in His name. ^EANCIS. I will eat then and bless thee. PlA. Thou takest but a crust. Francis. It is enough. He that doth eat The bread of life hath little hunger in him. PlA. Sit thou and rest, poor soul. Francis. Nay, nay, I may not tarry, there is much To do that waits for me. My daughter, child, Thou sleepest not, for all thy lowered lids. Tears quiver on thy lashes, hast thou pain ? LiSETTA. The tears of women even in dreams may fafl, Good brother. Wilt thou not bide? Francis. I must fare on. LiSETTA. Aye, aye, the world lies open to thy hand. THE TWILIGHT SAINT 79 But unto me this twelvemonth is a death. The flesh is dead, and dying lies my soul, Shrunk like a flower in my fevered hand. I may not see the stars rise on the hills, Nor tend the flocks at even, nor rise to do Aught of the small sweet round of duties owed To him I love ; but lie a burden to him, Calling on death who heareth not. Francis. My life hath shown me words for thee to hear. LiSETTA. Surely thy life is peace. Francis. There is a life larger than life, that dwells Invisible from all, whose lack alone Is death. There in thy soul the stars may rise. And at the even the gentle thoughts return To flock the quiet pastures of the mind ; And in the large heart love is all thou owest For service unto God and thy Beloved. God's peace I give to you, dear friends. Fare- well. [Ee goes out. Pia stands a moment wiping her eyes, then returns to shelUng the peas. There is a silence for a while.] 80 THE TWILIGHT SAINT PlA. Why dost thou look so long upon the door? LiSETTA. How doth the spring smile on the tender grass ! Meseems the sun is brighter where he stood. PlA. 'Tis a glaring sun for twilight. LiSETTA. Nay, nay, 'twill be the gentlest of all eves. Surely God sent the brother for my need, To give His peace. PlA. Aye, and my old heart ripens at his words Like apples in the sun. 'Tis a sweet monk. LiSETTA. "Who is he, think you? PlA. One of the Little Poor Men, by his brown. They are too thin these brothers and do lack Stomach for life. Mark ! Oh, 'tis merry now To see the little beggars from their pods Popping like schoolboys from their shoes in spring ! The season hath been so fine and dry this year My peas are smaller and must have more work. THE TWILIGHT SAINT 81 Well, well, labor is good, and things made scarce Are better loved. LiSETTA. Pia, thou art a good woman. PlA. Nay, child, make me not cry. 'Tis thy pufe heart Deceives thee. Stubborn I am and full of sloth, And a wicked heart. LiSETTA. I would not grieve thee. Pia, 'twas my love That sees thy goodness better than thyself. Pia. \_Setting the kettle of peas on the coals.^ Dearie, the sky is at the chimney top. \^8he sings."] Firefly, firefly, come from the shadows, Twilight is falling over the meadows, Burn, little garden lamps, flicker and shimmer, Shine, little meadow stars, twinkle and glimmer, Firefly, firefly, shine, shine! LiSETTA. Pia. Pia. Yes. 82 THE TWILIGHT SAINT LiSETTA. Pia, come near me here. [Pu kneels hy the bed.] Can you not see How much I love ? If I could only speak To him or he to me, Guido my love I Pia. Surely he is beside thee often. LiSETTA. His hand is near, but not his heart. Pia. Nay, nay, child, 'tis his way. He speaks but little. LiSETTA. Aye, tell me not. On winter nights I lay, Hearing the tree limbs rattle there like hail, And from the corner eaves the dropping rain I/ike big dogs lapping all about — and he Spoke not to me, but sat beside his taper And never a line wrote down. Once had I words. Bright dreams that spoke through him, the same fire shone Through both, his songs were mine. PlA. Aye, thine — ^rest thee, rest thee ! THE TWILIGHT SAINT 83 LiSETTA. But more his, Pia, more his. PlA. Aye, his. Wilt thou not eat the broth? LiSETTA. Not now, good Pia, 'tis not for food I die. 'Tis not for food. Pia. Yet thou must eat. LiSETTA. Wilt thou not read one song of these to me ? Pu. Close then thine eyes and rest. [LiSETTA closes her eyes. Pia takes up at ran- dom a sheet of the manuscripts. She sighs a great sigh. Mimics Lisetta's voice.] Pia. The Ballad of the Running Water. 0, music locked amid the stones, Beside the — amid the LiSETTA. Bead on — and thou hast told me day by day Thou couldst not read. Pia. I read by hearing thee from day to day 84 THE TWILIGHT SAINT Repeat the reading. LiSETTA. Fie ! Give me the verses. [She takes the paper, hut reads without look- ing at it."] 0, music locked amid the stones, My love hath spoken like to thee, Pia, think you — Pia, do you not hear The mowers and the reapers in the fields Singing the evening song, and the twilight pipes? The twilight is the hour when hearts break ! How many lonely twilights, will there be Ere God will spare me ? Pia. ^Kneeling.'] Hush, child, hush, darling ! [LiSETTA turns her face to the window hy the bed. Pia strokes her hand and sings softly.'\ Firefly, firefly, come from the shadows — Hist! he is coming now, I hear his step Upon the gravel road. Good night, sweet child, I'll get me home. LiSETTA. Pia, goodnight once more. [GuiDO enters softly. The tunlight is gone and the moon falls through the window over THE TWILIGHT SAINT 85 the ted. The hill without is bright with moonlight.'] GuiDO. [Softly.] Asleep, Lisetta? LiSETTA. Guido ! Ah, I have need of naught, thou needst Not leave as yet the pleasant air. Gumo. Lisetta, my love, I have been long from thee. Lisetta. Let not that trouble thee, my needs are few, And Pia is most kind. Gmoo. So little I may do. Lisetta. Thou hast already served to weariness. [He kneels beside her bed.] Guido. My love, I have been long from thee, but now I leave no more. Would God these kisses might Express the flooding of my heart ! Lisetta. Guido, my love, perhaps I dream of thee ! Perhaps God sends a dream to solace me. 86 THE TWILIGHT SAINT GuiDO. Along the stream I went and where it crossed Bevagna road — ^where the chestnut grows, thou knowest — I saw him. LiSETTA. Yes, yes, I know. Whom sawest thou? GUIDO. The brother, Francis of Assisi. LiSETTA. Ah, sawest thou him ? GUIDO. Aye, him. There had he stopped to rest; being spent ; And round him came the birds, beating their wings Upon his robe and lighting on his arm. Standing unseen beyond the grassy wall I saw him smile on them and heard him speak ! "My brother birds, ye should love God who gave To you your wings and your bright songs and spread The pure wide air for you"; and stroked their necks And blessed them. And then I saw his eyes. THE TWILIGHT SAINT 87 "Father," I cried, "speak thou to me, I faint Beside my wayl" LiSETTA. Aye, and he said ? Guido, what said he ? GUIDO. "Thou art as one that lieth at the gate Of Paradise and entereth not. For God Hath given thee thy soul for its own life, And not for glory among men." LiSETTA. Guido! Guido. And from his deep kind eyes I drank, and knew How God had magnified my soul through him, And sent me peace. And I returned to thee ; For here in thee have I my glory. LiSETTA. Now comes the old spring back again, and I May speak! Guido, look through my window vines Where the stars rise. Love, I have not slept For lacking thee, and oft have seen as now The moonlight lie like sleep upon the slope, And in the garden of the sky the moon Drift like a blown rose. Yet I might not speak. 88 THE TWILIGHT SAINT GuiDO. Thou art my saint and shrine ! LiSETTA. Now shall my dream become thy song again. And the long twilight be more sweet. GUIDO. I pray thee rest thee now and sleep. Goodnight. My full heart breaks in song ; and I will sit, Hearing the blessed saints within my soul, And will not stir from thee lest thou shouldst wake When I might not be near to serve thy need. THE DEAD POET To John Leisk Tait "Tibi: namque tu solebas Meag esse aUquid putare nugas." THE DEAD POET The Father. The Mother. jATiT.KENE. The Child. Scene. — A June wood, deep in a glade, with a slope at the back, crowned hy a circle of great trees, with thickets beyond. Yellow primroses nestle at the foot of the slope, and a sUm path; cardinal flowers farther on, and the call of a whippoorwill. Somewhere the sound of a stream falling into a pool, TwiUght. The Father. At home lies work for me, to blur my grief, But for thy sake I walk this empty wood. AliLEENB. For my sake. The Mother. Aye, here is all vain wind and idle flowers. And there at home my hearth of joy and sorrow. Yet for thy sake, Alleene, I linger here. 93 94 THE DEAD POET Alleene. Yea, for my sake. I could not bear the house, His house, his garden, and the hours he loved; But here his wood also is vain and useless. The Mother. Can we not then go home ? Alleene. Aye, let us go, for here there is no promise. The primroses like little moons do shine, The taU trees spread cool shadows on the hill ; But he is dead. The Mother. Mark at my breast, these three days since he died! 'Tis Anguish knocking there but finds it numb, And all the chambers crowded with Pain's guests. The Father. 'Tis strange the child asked not to follow us. The Mother. Where is the child, the blind child my son loved, Pale child with drowsy hair, that loved my son ? The Father. Thou knowest we left him in the garden walk. He is most lonely, lonelier than death. THE DEAD POET 95 Aj, Allebnb. He is most loneli^, lonelier than life. The Father. Come, let ns go, the shadows are grown long. Our son is dead, there is no hope of solace. Alleene. Alas! [J.S they start out, the child appears among the trees.] The Father. The child! The Mother. Alas, how hast thou come ? The CHHiD. Mine eyes alone are blind and see not. The Mother. Art thou then lost ? Where hast thou been ? The Child. I have been with him. The Mother. Even so our grief hath likewise followed him. The Father. Our son is dead and our hearts are dead. The Child. Have ye not seen him ? 96 THE DEAD POET Alleene. His face is ever in my heart. The Child. Have ye not heard him speak? Alleene. Through all my dreams his voice doth call. The Mother. Nay, nay, what dost thou mean? And in thine eyes What is there speaks? Where hast thou been, oh say ? The Child. With him, with him. The Mother. Whom dost thou mean? My son that died? The Child. I know not whom thou meanest that died, dear friend ; With him that is thy son have I held speech Amidst the forest here. The Mother. Alas, poor youth, his fancy strays. Too hard This wandering hath been. Come thou with us. Alleene. Thou spakest with him ! Ah God ! Ah God ! THE DEAD POET 97 The Child. Grieve not! Alleene. thou dead youth, who in thy grand desire Took me unto thy heart, and let thy love Pall like the rain upon my face ! The Child. Have ye not heard his voice along the grass ? The trees and pasture slope are all of him, And the bright cardinal his passion wears ! The very seasons weave them with his moods : Sad winter witli his banners of gray moss ; And then — ^the stars half veiled in budding leaves, The silken rhythm of the willow boughs, Where like a glinting silk the water runs — Alleene. Aye, spring, his spring ! The Child. And then the summer — The Mother. In summer was he born to me ! The Child. Ripe summer, when the idle folk may see The whitening melons on their sea-green leaves. 98 THE DEAD POET And autumn, when beneath the hot dog-star The earth puts off her yellow hair. The Father. Once at that time I took my little boy Upon my shoulder, high above the corn. Alleene. Alas, ye break me with your words! And yet, And yet I know thou dost but dream. The Child. Then haply thou didst love but knew him not. Ah moods of girls, lighter than falling leaves. The wind and vain stream carry them away 1 Alleene. What dost thou mean then ? Speak ! The Child. He is as one with the Eternal Heart ; And in the eternal wood he takes his way, "Where no path groweth trite with human feet; And in their holy shadow bides and marks The cypresses of the Elysian hill. The vagrant clouds upon their misty track His comrades are, and in his hand he turns The wheel of night, studded with glowing stars. Alleene. The stars he loved ! THE DEAD POET 99 The Fatheb. I Tinderstand thee not. The Child. As seed restore unto the earth its own, So he unto the elements by which he lived. The Father. I understand thee not, and less and less ; And where my work awaits me I return. The Mother. I will go with thee. Father. The Child. Yea, to thy home, for there thy sorrow sits And there thy joy hath been ; and at thy hearth Awaiteth thee, woman, Grief, thy sister ! And thou, girl, that shalt a woman be, Within thy room that to the meadow answers Hide thee thy tears and in the still stars wait. Alleenb. Wait! The Child. And some day like the moon on a field of snow The festal lamp will shine for thee again. Alleenb. Never, never! The Child. And I will come again unto him here. 100 THE DEAD POET For who may know when we shall meet old Pan, Aflush with elderberries black and red ; Or in a dell the bright nymphs dancing by Among the lucid trees! The Fatheb. The gods of Greece! The ChhjD, The high gods are not dead, the gods of Greece ! Once as we walked — ah golden memory ! Before the road's end fled the fading moon, With one pale star, and overhead the wind Humming like wild bees in the oak — ^he cried, "The high gods are not dead! Is she not there, Sweet silver Artemis upon the dusk ? And in the wind the wars are come again, And great Achilles sent again to Troy!" The Mother. How thou dost speak ! The stature of thy words Hath larger grown. Alleene. Thou art his very soul ! The Father. It is the poet's fancy of my son's, And strange to mq. The Mother. Tears blind mine eyes. Thou lovest him too. THE DEAD POET IQl The Father. Poor Mother! The Mother. But still I may not follow thee. [TAe wind blows along the grass.] The Child. Canst thou not hear him move amid the grass ? AliLEENE. No, no, thou dreamest, it can not be ! [The wind rises in the trees overhead.] The Child. Mark in the tree the wind ! Lo, it is twilight. And the lone star ye have and its slim moon. And the soft south powdered with rose ! Alleenb. Thou being blind alone of us dost see. The Child. Is he not in this hour of twilight ? Allebnb. Nay, I hear nothing save the leaves that stir, And the sad bird's song. The Mother. Alas, it is all vain ! The Father. Here there is naught. We will go home, to mourn 102 THE DEAD POET And somehow to — forget. The Mother. Nay, I can not forget — Cleave me my dead ! The Father. Come thou, the night is falling. Let us go. The Child. I will return with you, and he with me. Waiting the hour when ye shall understand : Some hour of twinkling dawn, or wind and sun And sway of the soft forests of the sedge, Or yellow moon upon the azure sky, When come the voices calling him to song. [They go out. The night falls in the wood.'] THE SEVEN KINGS AND THE WIND To Madison Cawein In this play an attempt is made to express divers temperaments in their search after the divine: the optimist, the idealistic philosopher, and the materialist, the East, the West, the North and the South. For the South is classic and definite, the West militant, the North mysti- cal and tender, and the East full of dreams. THE SEVEN KINGS AND THE WIND The King of the East. The Kinq op the West. The King of the North. The King of the South. KJNG PliATON, King Astamore. King Felix. Scene. — A large chamber in a palace. At the far back of the chamber a fire burns brightly, framed in a splendid fireplace of carved marbles. To the right of the fire- place is a table, spread for a feast, loaded with flagons and platters of gold and silver and crystal, with luscious fruits piled high at intervals and banked flowers. Many tapers bum, mounted in golden candelabra, on the table and on the mantelpiece. Around the table are ranged chairs, sumptuous as thrones. Near the front on the left is a broad bow of windows. When the scene opens, the seven kings are 107 108 THE SEVEN KINGS standing motionless by the window, watch- ing. The King of the Noeth leans his brow on the pane. Behind him stand The King op the East and the other kings. Outside the window it is Mack night. The fire at the back lights dimly the front of the chamber and the robes of the kings. Their large shadows fall on the glass of the windows. The King op the North. Courage, humility and a strong heart, brother monarehs, is my prayer to you ! Here have we watched throughout the closing night, Leaving the festal joys and the glad hearth And jovial song and comfortable sleep, To watch if we may see this king. Yet longer, Longer yet, I pray ! Let us not fail of hope. King Astamoee. Is it not idle, think you, and most fond That we should linger here in a vain search. Parching our eyelids, chiUing our warm veins, The kings of visible delight ? For me Yonder repast is certain and more sweet. King Platon. "Who is this king we seek? and the wind 109 King Astamobe. 'Tis a fool's dream in his cups. King Platon. The dream must have its source. Canst thou not say, O King of the North, who told thee of this com- ing? The King op the North. Forever by the fire I lit and fed, And on the shadowed moors, there came to me The rustle of a mantle more divine Than aught I wear, though I am king ; and then Game some one calling in my chambered soul, And now with dawn he draweth unto me. The King of the East. Beyond my dreams I heard a mystic song Calling me unto peace beneath his wings. The King of the South. He will have wings then? The King op the East. Yea, pinions soft as sleep, beneath their folds Eternal twilight and oblivion. King Platon. The realms beyond this palace we know not. Haply he bringeth tidings of new thought; 110 THE SEVEN KINGS I needs must wait with patience lest by chance This be no dream, and he should come. The King op the West. Perhaps he is a king of power and glory Whose realms surpass our utmost speculation. King Platon. How if he yet is climbing to himself, Aeons and aeons of struggle to the Whole. King Astamoee. Then he is not yet bom, think you? King Platon. Bom but not yet perfect. The King op the South. I would see beauty and perfection crowned. King Felix. I know not how it be, but through the night My heart hath not grown heavy. I feast, I wait, Doubting no whit that he wiU come ; therefore I have found solace and some joy and hope. King Platon. Thy happiness hath thought for thee, thy flesh Hath cheered thee on. The King op the South. Ah nay, the saddened eye looks down, King ! AND THE WIND HI Clear vision comes of joy and a high heart. The King op the North. Did I not know, did I not know ! — ^the light Brightens and brightens and the wind hath risen. Come, brothers, to me here and know! [The kings draw near the window and watch together in silence. Slowly the dawn grows through the window and a faint light enters the room. The fire at the hack flickers and slowly dies."] The King op the North. I see a kingdom mantled with bright mist, And forms I have no words to name. King Platon. That which I cannot name I see not. The Kino op the North. Do ye not hear? King Platon. What dost thou hear? The King op the East. The music of his coming. King Platon. I hear the wind blowing on the ramparts there. The King op the North. Dimly I see the hills of my desire. 112 THE SEVEN KINGS King Platon. 'Tis thine idea's incorporeal mate, The Being of thy Becoming. The King op the East, Hollow and vain is thy philosophy At such an hour, most hollow and most vain. The King op the Nokth. I see a spirit there, a form and face Mistier than dawn and lovelier than dawn And hosts of shadowy angels clouding him! King Platon. Methought that once I saw as thou. 'Tis gone And reason speaks. It cannot be. The King op the East. His shape is in mine eyes but I am blind. His name is in my mouth but I am dumb. King Astamoee. [Coming forward.] Brothers, behold I slept and in my sleep I dreamed, and on the wind I saw a presence Hedged with fire. The King op the East. Hearken ! Speak thou, king ! King Platon. 'Twas in thy dream. AND THE WIND 113 King Astamore. And now I waken and do know my folly, For there is naught. The King op the East. Discredit not thy dream too soon. The King of the North. Alas, seest thou no light? King Astamore. I see the candles of the banquet there. King Felix. Ah, woe, our candles die down ! King Astamore. There is no other light. King Platon. There is no other light than we ourselves Have made, no other. The King op the East. blinder than the charring embers, look ! Can ye not see the splendor riding there ? There in a cloud set round with burning plumes, A heart of fire ; and to him little flames Rise up and enter his great radiance, Like men from other realms. The King op the West. What other realms, dear brother? 114 THE SEVEN KINGS King Astamorb. There be no realms but this. King Platon. Are there men within that darkness? The King op the East. I see their souls. The King of the North. Look thou, I see his form, dark, robed like us. King Platon. 'Tis thy own shadow there thou seest. King Felix. Look how our shadows fade to less and less! [The lights die down.] The King op the South. Fairer he moves than fire or any cloud; All that mine eye hath dreamed of loveliness. The mold of strength and the ideal grace, The spacious forehead and ambrosial brow! Behold his advent and the hosts about Li order and perfection ranged. The KnsTG op the North. Hearest thou the wind speak? The King op the South. I do hear naught but glory. AND THE WIND 115 EiNQ ASTAUOBE. Madmen, madmen all! The King op the "West. Perchance, king, the glass set there before us Hinders our guest. The King of the East. Nay, nay, break not the glass while burn the candles ! The King op the West. Haply we learned to scorn our candlelight. If he should come in glory. King Felix. Break not the glass. Woe, woe, woe, forever. The eternal chill is there ! The King op the North. The perfect and ideal light is there. King Platon. Beach forth thy hand and break then. The King op the North. Nay, still I dare not. King Platon. Then will I dare, for I wiU know. [He shatters the glass. The wind rushes in and the candles go out. The kings fall on 116 THE SEVEN KINGS their knees, and huddle together in a corner of the window.] KmQ ASTAMOBE. Alas, I see not either candlelight or dawn! EJNG Platon. Alas, I die and have not seen the king ! A Voice in the "Wind. He is so much as thou dost apprehend. The rest for thee is but the Universe. THE QUEEN OF SHEBA To Clayton Hamilton "In grateful remembrance of their youth and their already old affection." THE QUEEN OF SHEBA AuvEBGNE, who thinks himself to be King Solo- mon. Gawain, who thinks himself the Prince of Wales. Adbllb, who, for a time, thinks herself the Queen of Sheba. A SiSTEB, their keeper. Scene. — A Gothic chamber, spacious and shadowy, the long windows at the far end heavily curtained. Through the curtains the downs appear, broken by irocky crags. Far below is a mere, and the sound of the water in the coves mingles with the wind from the moor. The curtains move faintly with the shifting wind. It is the King's harem. The walls are fantas- tically covered with pictures of women in mnny styles. On the table and over the floor lie a number of pictures cut in two. AuvEEGNE stands on the right, dressed as King Solomon in state, with a long sweeping mantle and a crown of faded gilt. To the 121 122 THE QUEEN OF SHEBA left of the door in the rear, stands Gawain, in a servile attitude almost curlike. AUVERGNB. That thou, Wales, mayst enter here, we grant; But thou mayst not draw near unto our person. For ranged with ours, thy lineage is humble; William the Norman, thy first ancestor, Though lord of Britain, was meanwhile the son Of a low peasant woman — ^therefore thou, Not through thy fathers' nor thine own desert, Mayst look upon our face in presence here. But through our courtesy. G-AWAIN. La, la, I know well the dead leaves fall. AUVERGNE. Poor brutish knave! Go thou and bear this word: The Queen of Sheba is most welcome. [Gawain shambles out. The door is reopened and Adellb enters. She wears a torn veil and glitters with ornaments. In her hand she carries an old wreath of wax flowers and with it a cluster of faded roses. Gawain follows her and takes his former place hy the door at the back. The Sister attendant enters and stations herself near the door.] THE QUEEN OP 8HEBA 123 AUVERGNE. Who is she that looketh forth as the morning? Adelle. I am a rose of Sharon, A lily of the vaUeys. AUVERGNB. As a lily among thorns So art thou among the daughters. Adelle. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, So art thou among the sons. AUVEEGNB. There are threescore queens And fourscore concubines And virgins without number, But thou art one. Sister. Ah, blessed God, how beautiful are they! Alas, this heavy madness! Adelle. From mine own far-off realm I come, King, For marvel of thy name. Attvekgnb. Soft is thy voice as when the twilight falls On Lebanon, and the dove calls. 124 THE QUEEN OF SHEBA Adelle. Weary my feet and weary my starved eyes For sight of thee, Beloved. Sister. How the wind wails on the moorland! AXTVERQNE. Sweeter than honey from the cedar wood Thy coming is, fairer than stars thy sight: Yet unto me some twice or thrice hast thou Seemed strange — though I have half forgot. Adelle. Alas, I know not how it was. Meseemed That sudden I was not, another stood Here in my place, and looked on thee and feared ; Finding thee strange and far, and all thy glory Mocked and made hideous. Then there came fire And flame across my brain, AUVEEGNB. And then? Adelie. Then once again I saw thee as thou art, Even as thou standest here in majesty. AUVEBONE. That time I lost thee was the world to me A darkness and a night. THE QUEEN OP SHEBA 125 Adelle. Darkness and fire was it to me ! AUVEEGNB. Sit thou and rest, 'tis past. J[She seats herself near himJ] Adelle. Certain I am not well. Behind mine eyes Fire and ice succeed each other. Nay, 'Tis gone. AUVEBGNB. 'Tis not the old disease, think you? Adelle. Let me not think on it. Behold, my lord. Here have I brought thee flowers from the vale. Little blue lilies from the water brooks. And roses drowned with dew ; and mingled here Are petals all of wax, which I have done. Weaving therein the summer of my love. AUVEBGNE. Star of the South, we render thanks to thee. Adelle. Perfect are they, most perfect each to each. As are our loves. Then wilt thou not, King, Make trial of thy wisdom? Which is wax. And which the rain and sun? 126 THE QUEEN OP SHEBA [AuvEEQNB goes to the window cmd opens if.] Atjvergne. Come hither, tiny arbiters of the air, Winged seekers of God's sweetness through the world, And solve my riddle. Adellb. Look, the clouds break! The sun, King! AUVEBGNB. The sun? [Adelle stands hy the window and looks at the sun. The bees come in at the window.] Behold, they settle where the rose is sweet. Did I not know, sweetness and truth are one ? Look how the bees have judged. Alas, That in this world men know not true from false, I know it not, tho I am king. {Suddenly Adelle tears away her veil and shrieks.] Adelle. Oh, oh! AUVERGNE. What ails my queen? Hath the sun maddened thee? Adelle. That fire again ! And now a stranger walks THE QUEEN OF SHEBA 127 Within the chamber of my brain, to drive Me hence. A woman like to me but strange. Oh! — come thou not near me — ^touch me not! Help, Sister ! [She runs toward the door at the iack.] Sister. Daughter Adelle. Save me, God, save me! Sister. Nay, calm thee, calm thee, what seest thou? Adellb. I saw a cloud pass from the earth ! Look, look, Oh, am I mad, — or is it he that's mad? Is it not he, my cousin, there, Auvergne? That walks distractedly with robe and crown In mockery of state ? Is 't not Gawain, The poor fool sobbing by the door, whose face Is like a beast's? [Gawain wails as he crouches by the door.] Auvergne. Silence thy crying in our court, thou dog! Who is this woman glowering at me That rends our court with noise? Sister, Wilt thou not come with me? 128 THE QUEEN OF SHEBA Adelle. Look where his great eyes bum like stars ! Alas, Sister, I fear him. Sister. Fear not. Adelle. That veil, these rings — 0, Christ, I see at last ! I was as that, and Thou hast shriven me, horrible, most horrible! AUVEEGNB. Depart, out of my sight, give place, give place, Lest I should drive ye forth Sister. Gome Adelle. Auvergne, alas, Auvergne ! [Adelle and the Sister hasten out, and Gawain follows them, cowering with fear. Auvergne falls on his knees hy the window, beating his breast.} Auvergne. Hear, me, God, alone I turn to Thee, Let not the honor of Thy servant fail. Let not my glory nor my kingdom pass. THE QUEEN OF SHBBA 129 What is that face upon the wind, God? "Whither is my Beloved fled, oh, whither! ACT n. Seven days have passed. The windows are dark. Outside, the wind around the towers eddies and moans, and brings the sound of breakers and far-off danger hells. The flame of the candles in the chamber hums steady and straight. AuvEEGNE Ues propped on his pillow, his eyes closed. At the hack of the room, Gawain crouches against the wall, muttering to him- self. Adelle and the Sister attendant stand watching at the bedside. Adelle. Alas, he hath Iain so these seven days, Shattered and moaning, and his weary heart Stolen from him into the vales of Sheba ! Sister. How perfect is this shadow unto him. Adelle. Surely, Sister, these imaginings, These images of life, and life are one. Sister. God doeth all things well. 130 the queen of sheba Adellb. I know not easily this God of yours. The cloud He sent on me hath rendered Him Shadowy, blurred, an image like the rest. Sister. Hush, child, thou speakest rashly. Adellb. Is 't justly done, think you, that on this man Fall Doom and Death where other men escape. Sisteh. Hath he not had his joys also? For God Evens the scales of life. Adelle. Have I not told thee how, while yet a boy. He could not rein his soaring heart, but sped Like a white star, feeding upon itself. His mind was as a heaven of golden fires. And there beyond lurked darkness and the void. Wisdom he chose, the cloudy heights of thought, And following there, so snapped the chord that bound His feet to the common earth, and reason failed — Beason the traitor failed him in his need. Sister. Eeason is soonest spared. Sooner than love, THE QUEEN OF SHEBA 131 Hope, and the unfailing trust. Adelle. Wherefore pursuing wisdom he becomes Wise Solomon, and is no more Auvergne, My mother's cousin. And his kingly thought, Above the dun realities of fact. Hath seen the glory of the world and drunk The wine of dreams — ^how mid his sorry state, Hath majesty, enthroned within his thought. Made glorious the record of his days! Sister. The glory and the pomp of shadows. Adelle. The ideal grace, the unsullied Orient Are his. Sister. Have I not seen this splendor? Adelle. Yea, faithful thou hast been through all the years To him and him and — and to me, when I Grovelled and bit the dust of shame. Gawain. [At the iack.'\ Our cousin grants us leave to make our shroud. Shall not the glowworm light my chamber then ? 132 THE QUEEN OE SHEBA [Sings.li His shadow moveth to his grave, Kneel where he lies, ladie, His cold lips kiss the ear of death, Close down his eyes, ladie ! SiSTEB. Poor, poor wretch ! Adelle. God's justice toucheth not his case, this child, This thriving death, my cousin Gawain there. He hath not lived, but entered life as dead. Gawain. Let them not fall, lo, there are leaves, black leaves, Falling, down through the air upon his bed. Sister. [Touching his arm.'\ Hush, thy cousin lies dying ! Gawain. Canst thou not light more candles ? Sister. 'Tis light here. There darkness lies, beyond. Gawain. Sister, beyond the window, look, oh, look, I see the souls of men shuddering in darkness. THE QUEEN OP SHEBA 133 AUVEEGNB. Who is she that looketh forth as the morning? The rose of Sharon, the lily of the valleys? My Beloved is gone from me and hath departed. As a lUy among thorns, so was my love Among the daughters, oh, return, return, That I may look upon thee. AdELIiB. Alas, canst thou not sleep? AUVERGNB. The glory of my court is gone. Adbllb. Auvergne, Auvergne, Auvergne, thou hast but dreamed — Cousin, thou hast but dreamed. Auvergne. There are threescore queens and virgins without number, But she is one. Seest thou not there The women dead for my Beloved's sake? Adblue. I see but pictures cut in twain, Auvergne. Thou wanderest in a dream. AUVBBGNB. My Beloved is mine till the day break 134 THE QUEEN OF SHEBA And the shadows flee away. Oh, return, return that I may look upon thee. Adelle. Can naught he done? SiSTEE. Nothing. AUVEEGNE. Send me mine end, God, weary am I, Weary and most weary of my realm. ADBIiliE. Naught? SiSTEE. Naught. AUVEEGNE. Wilt thou not come again? Adellk. Spare me, God, spare me, God ! Do Thou Let me be mad again to comfort him. For I have killed him. SiSTEE. Nay, thou hast not killed him I AuVEEGNE. Day after day, and weary years are come. But not my love. THE QUEEN OF SHEBA 135 Adelle. Show me God, how I may come to him ! Sister. Perhaps the garments thou didst wear, the veil — If fhou wouldst put them on again^- — Adssslb, The garments of my shame, oh, never, never, — To wrap my flesh in madness once again And shame SiSTEH. Pray thee heed not my foolish words, my daughter. Strayed was my thought — ^to comfort him — I did Forget thine agony. AUVEBGNB. What is my sin, Lord, that thou hast sent This sorrow on me ? Adelle. Madness again, I cannot, oh, I cannot AUVEEGNB. Alas, forever and forever ADELIiE. I must, I will, though I be wrapped with flame ! Speak thou to him. Sister. I may not speak for tears. 136 THE QtJBEN OF SHEBA Adellb. King, Solomon, hear me, even now She Cometh out of Sheba. AtJVERGNE. Open the gates that she may enter in, Open the gates to my Beloved. [Adelle goes out.'\ AUVEEGNB. Look forth. Beloved, on Jerusalem, Lo, where the towers and the gilded spires Make lightnings of the moon, and the night lies Softer than sleep upon the town. A star Is in the west, sinking; but thou art mine. As the moon amid the fading stars art thou Among the daughters, Beloved! Gawain. Is the king sick unto death? SiSTEB. His eyes are glassed with death already. [Adelle enters with the veil and wreath. She falls on her knees beside him, and beats her breast."] Adelle. Here, here am I, here, here beside thee — Sheba ! Sister. His eyes move not. THE QUEEN OF SHEBA 137 AoEUiE. What have I done ? Let me be mad in truth, Madness again were better than this pain. Gawain. IBreaking into a laugh.'] Ha, ha, I see a flame upon the mere That bloweth seaward. Sister. Hush, Gawain! Gawain. The little soul flickers on the wave. Adelle. Lo, I am come, King, the Queen of Sheba ! SiSTEE. He hears thee not. Hearken the wind! AUVEEGNB. Mark how the trumpets blow around the walls, I will go out to meet my love. Adelle. Alas, that I were mad, for I have slain him ! Auvergne, Prince! King! — God — ! Sister. He hears thee not, his eyes are set. AuVEEGNB. Till the day break and the shadows flee away, Oh, return, return, that I may look upon thee.