LIBRARY OF CONGRESS? 
 
 i^ap. ©npi^rigli '^n, — 
 
 Shelf. .^.-......34 
 
 ^ ^n^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
SEBASTIAN 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM 
 
 \ 
 
 /. 
 
 'X 
 
 BUFFALO /^^O ^ 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 1894 
 
 f 
 
 N- 
 
7^3^ 
 
 ^3 
 
 r 
 
 ^^ 
 
 of^ ,?^^ 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 PoLYCARP, an old man, husband to Lalage. 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 Felix, 
 
 Orosius, ) 
 
 _, [ Professors in the University. 
 
 Petronius, j -^ 
 
 A Priest. 
 
 I Friends to Sebastian. 
 
SEBASTIAN. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Sebastian Alone. Enter Priest. 
 Priest. 
 Good morning, son. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Good morning, holy father, pray 
 Be seated. 
 
 Priest. « 
 
 How is my son to-day ? 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Why, well, your reverence, well as one can be 
 Wrapped in the shadow of so great a grief 
 
 Priest. 
 I would, my son, point out the one relief 
 There is but One who can give consolation, 
 There is but One with power to lift us up, 
 Sweetening the contents of the bitter cup, 
 And bringing peace to those in desolation. 
 Hast thou sought aid from him ? 
 
6 Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 I have, my father, but the cup of woe 
 Is full even to the brim. 
 And peace I have not found. 
 
 Priest. 
 Dispair not, son, the Holy One was crowned 
 With thorns, and bent beneath the cruel blow; 
 Yea, perished on the cross that we might gain 
 Our soul's salvation. Shall we then complain, 
 We who have suffered so much less than He ? 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Oh ! father, father, I recall so well 
 My days of childhood, when I sought God's shrine 
 With my poor sainted mother, and when we 
 Knelt down in prayer together. Then was mine 
 The ecstacy of faith. The deep toned-bell 
 Rang from the lofty spire as an appeal 
 Of God to men, and at each mighty stroke 
 New raptures in my thrilling breast awoke. 
 The incense floated on the mystic air. 
 And music seemed from heaven itself to steal 
 In scarce heard accents, then to swell and swell, 
 Resounding through the aisles, dim lighted, vast, 
 And through the pointed arches far above. 
 My soul was filled with ecstacy of prayer, 
 And seemed to float away on wings of love 
 Even till the bounds of this poor earth were passed, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 And I could almost see the gates of heaven. 
 
 And when amid the perfumed clouds that curled 
 
 From swinging censers and the awful hush 
 
 Of kneeling worshipers was lifted up 
 
 The blood of Him whose life for us was given 
 
 I felt my soul borne upward from this world; 
 
 And gazing fervently upon the cup 
 
 Of blood-changed wine I felt the burning gush 
 
 Of tears that flowed from my rapt upturned eyes 
 
 In gratitude to Him who Paradise 
 
 And all its joys had left to save my soul. 
 
 Then Faith dwelt undisturbed within my breast, 
 
 But later Doubt a furtive entrance stole, 
 
 And now hath almost pushed her from the nest. 
 
 When in the sacred shrine I stand again 
 
 And hear again the organ's awful roll. 
 
 The ancient impulse doth again return. 
 
 And for the spirit-life again I yearn. 
 
 But Doubt comes back, and with a leaden chain 
 
 Doth check my spirit's flight. My soul aspires 
 
 To the Ideal, to bright realms above 
 
 Bathed in the radiance of celestial love. 
 
 At times I seem to hear the angel quires 
 
 Singing the praise of Him to whom the earth 
 
 Is but a footstool, but the song expires 
 
 In slowly fading accents. Since the woe 
 
 Tbat robbed me of the man who gave me birth, 
 
 I strive in vain to hear the heavenly song; 
 
8 Sebastian. 
 
 My feeble soul has sunk beneath the blow, 
 All vanished from my sight the Seraph throng. 
 
 Priest. 
 My son, to the ideal ever cling. 
 That only keeps the soul above the mire 
 Of common earth. Still let thy soul aspire, 
 Soaring toward heaven on wide-extended wing. 
 The part of man that lifts him from the brutes. 
 That makes him worthily the son of God, 
 Till he can comprehend God's attributes, 
 Can follow where the blest apostles trod. 
 It is the soul, the love of the ideal, 
 The love of something better than the real, 
 The aspiration toward a higher sphere 
 Than is vouchsafed to man while dwelling here. 
 Cling still to that, my son, and when thou feelest 
 The light within grow faint, kneel down in prayer. 
 And He to whom in vain thou ne' er appealest 
 In thy dim lighted closet will be there. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Father, last night I watched beside the bier 
 Of him I loved so well. Upon my knees. 
 In agony of grief, with many a tear, 
 I turned to God with supplicating pleas. 
 Praying most earnestly for the repose 
 Of his great soul, and that I might not be 
 Unworthy of his virtues. Then I arose 
 
A Dramatic Poem. g 
 
 As the gray dawn was breaking, but I found 
 
 No angel band had come to comfort me, 
 
 No peace within the chambers of my breast 
 
 But only sorrow, bitter and profound, 
 
 My soul dragged down to earth and sore oppressed. 
 
 My spirit soared not heavenward on the wings 
 
 Of that long, tortured prayer, but dull as lead, 
 
 To earthly pain and grief alone it clings. 
 
 To hopeless mourning for the noble dead. 
 
 Priest. 
 My son, 'tis often thus. Man's soul is weak, 
 And often sinks beneath the weight of pain; 
 But God still reigns, and if His throne we seek 
 With steadfast purpose it is found again. 
 Be not discouraged; turn again to Him, 
 He is not deaf, thy prayer will yet be heard; 
 And He will take away, oh, trust His word. 
 The bitter cup now full unto the brim. 
 But now, my son, I must perforce depart; 
 God's blessing rest with thee, His peace be in thy heart. 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 Sebastiaji. Enter Orosius and Petronius. 
 Sebastian. 
 Why, enter, learned sirs, in truth I deem 
 Myself much honored by your presence here. 
 
lo Sebastian. 
 
 Orosius. 
 
 Thy father was a friend held ever dear, 
 And one of highest ranks in our esteem. 
 We therefore haste to call upon his son 
 And to express our sorrow for thy loss. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I thank you honored sirs, most kindly it is done. 
 
 When man's weak spirit bends beneath the cross 
 
 The sympathy of others buoys him up. 
 
 And helps him bear his burden. Deeply then 
 
 I thank you for a kindness rare in men 
 
 Of such distinction. 'Tis the hour to sup, 
 
 And I entreat you, come into the hall 
 
 Now left so desolate since he is gone. 
 
 And there I trust ye gently will recall 
 
 His many virtues, and will tell me all 
 
 Ye can of him. 
 
 Orosius. 
 
 To this we both are drawn 
 By loving recollection of the days 
 Of close companionship. To speak the praise 
 Of those whose souls have passed beyond the reach 
 Of mortal envy is a pleasing thing 
 Even to the jealous. Gladly then our speech 
 Will turn to him, for pleasing memories spring 
 At slightest thought of him. 
 
A Dramatic Poem, ii 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Be seated, sirs, and let this ancient wine 
 In which so oft your friendship he has pledged. 
 Pressed in his boyhood from the purple vine. 
 Be poured, a sad libation to his shade. 
 I do esteem myself most privileged 
 To speak of him with you. 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 And 'tis to us a pleasure 
 
 To talk with thee, who, now that he is laid 
 
 In lasting sleep, dost hold his honored place. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 But so unworthily. I know the measure 
 Of his high virtues I can never fill. 
 He was so calm, of such unbending will, 
 So self contained, of such majestic grace, 
 While I am ever weakly passionate. 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 Thou only comprehendest him when he 
 Was well advanced in honors and in years. 
 When through experience and bitter tears 
 He had acquired the strength to dominate 
 His bosom's weakness. But 'tis long that we 
 Were his companions, and in days of youth 
 He was much as thou seemest now, in truth. 
 He then was passionate and overbold, 
 
1 2 Sebastian. 
 
 Loving intensely, somewhat quick to anger, 
 A spirit much too strong to be controlled. 
 Fervid in action, yielding then to languor. 
 And loving dalliance when the task was done. 
 In short, he then was young, and he was one 
 To lead in all things, whether good or ill. 
 'Twas years perfected him ; the flight of time, 
 Labor, endurance, sorrow, even sin. 
 Had raised him up unto those heights sublime 
 Where man his highest mission may fulfill. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Sin ! what meanest thou ? 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 'Twas sin I meant. 
 He was no painted saint upon a wall. 
 He was a man ; he proudly entered in, 
 And plucked the fruit of knowledge with resolve 
 To be in all a man, to know it all. 
 And drain the cup of mortal bliss and pain. 
 And know, young man, that, sad as 'tis to say, 
 Sin is a path by which we oft attain 
 That knowledge of ourselves that points the way 
 To self-control and wisdom which absolve 
 By noble deeds the errors of the past. 
 Think' st thou that Adam ere he was out cast 
 From Paradise was much above the brute ? 
 At most he was a child whose innocence 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 Was want of knowledge, guiltless of offence 
 But as a soulless creature. When the fruit 
 Forbidden he had plucked he then became 
 A man, he comprehended right from wrong. 
 And when towards noble ends with spirit strong 
 And earnest love of good and steadfast aim 
 He struggled on, he first became divine. 
 Such was thy father. In his youth's hot glow 
 He plucked forbidden fruit, and largely drank 
 Of all the pleasures nature can bestow. 
 And drained unto the lees life's ruddy wine. 
 But though he sinned, his spirit never sank, 
 Never became contaminate and vile, 
 And knowing all, he chose the better part. 
 Cleaving to that with great and steadfast heart. 
 
 Orosius. 
 
 Too much thou dost exalt the power for good 
 That sometimes lies in sin. When men defile 
 Their souls with sinning, they instead but find 
 That they have lost the ardent, lofty mind 
 Bearing them upward, that it drags them down 
 Into the mire, till when at length they would 
 Yet save themselves they find the effort vain 
 And in the slough of vice dishonored drown. 
 'Tis true that knowledge is a gem of price. 
 But woe to him who seeketh it in vice. 
 
 13 
 
14 Sebastian, 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 'Twas sin I said, not vice, and I admit 
 That they are few who are not wrecked by it ; 
 But they the noblest are of all our race 
 Who have looked earth's temptations in the face, 
 Have view«d the vales of sweetest dalliance, 
 Then turned their backs, determined to advance 
 Upon the upward path. They have a force, 
 A comprehension of all mortal things. 
 Enabling them to move upon their course 
 With more majestic stride than he who clings 
 Too much to thoughts of timid purity. 
 I do not mean your father had committed 
 Faults worthy lasting blame, but benefited 
 By close acquaintance with all human things 
 He had attained a grand maturity 
 That fitted him to be the surest guide 
 Through all the perils that in life betide. 
 
 Orosius. 
 
 I deem thee still at fault, nor can believe 
 That sin can aid man's true development. 
 *Tis sorrow bringeth strength, self-government 
 And deep reflection. Not in vain we grieve. 
 Repentance sometimes follows after sin, 
 And with it sorrow, and we thus may gain 
 Some good from guilt, but vaster far the loss. 
 
A Dramatic Poem, 15 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 Knowledge of life and sorrow are the things 
 
 Essential to man's greatness. These sin brings 
 
 To those repenting deeply. When the dross 
 
 Is melted all away, the metal shines 
 
 Far brighter than when virgin from the mines. 
 
 If in the crucible we cast coarse stone, 
 
 It cracks and bursts and crumbles into dust. 
 
 But if instead auriferous ore is thrown 
 
 The pure gold issues undefiled by rust. 
 
 So 'tis with men; temptation wrecks the base, 
 
 But elevates the noble. 
 
 Orosius. 
 
 Still I think 
 Thou art in error. We receive the soul 
 Pure from its Maker. It should ever shrink 
 From all contamination, lest the trace 
 Be left upon its garments. So they taught, 
 The mighty ones of old who deeply thought, 
 Teaching the wisdom of true self-control. 
 And now, Sebastian, let me say to thee 
 That in this time of sorrow thou wilt find 
 Much in the ancient writings to console 
 The grief that prays upon thy troubled mind. 
 And three especially I recommend: 
 The bondman Epictetus who beneath 
 The slave's coarse garments and the bloody lash 
 
1 6 Sebastian. 
 
 Maintained a lofty soul that would not bend, 
 
 A spirit still erect and grandly free; 
 
 And him who sadly wore the victor's wreath, 
 
 And knew of empire nothing but its cares, 
 
 The student passing life amid the clash 
 
 Of hostile armies and perfidious snares, 
 
 The last, the purest, noblest Antonine 
 
 Whose death marked the beginning of decline 
 
 For the bright glory of imperial Rome; 
 
 Then Seneca, whose prosperous life was spent 
 
 In wealth and office, but who met his fate 
 
 With dauntless courage when the tyrant sent 
 
 The messenger of death. Now cultivate 
 
 Acquaintance with these three. The ancient tome 
 
 Take from the shelf, and thou wilt find relief 
 
 Within its pages in this hour of grief 
 
 From them who, whether on the dizzy throne 
 
 To which the supplicating nations bowed, 
 
 Or fed along with dogs upon a bone, 
 
 A slave unnoticed mid the servile crowd. 
 
 Maintained the spotless candor of the soul 
 
 Thou wilt find much to strengthen and console. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 These have I noticed on my father's shelves, 
 And somewhat through their pages I have glanced, 
 Reading how men should fortify themselves 
 By inward calm against external wrong. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 17 
 
 Yet in this hour of grief I have not chanced 
 To think of them; but now at thy suggestion 
 I will go seek them, and I make no question 
 They will assist me to be calm and strong. 
 
 Petronius. 
 
 There are no nobler writers than those three, 
 
 None who in moments of adversity 
 
 Bring truer comfort to the troubled soul. 
 
 And thou wilt find in them much consolation; 
 
 But when thou hast recovered self-control, 
 
 Thou wouldst do well to seek for recreation 
 
 In other reading. While the stoic school 
 
 Surpasses all in teaching man to rule 
 
 His inner weakness, yet 'tis suited better 
 
 To those who suffer than to those who act. 
 
 When Roman tyrants sought men's minds to fetter 
 
 As they had bound their bodies to the rack, 
 
 The stoic shone supremely, proudly great. 
 
 But for the time of action 'tis not fit. 
 
 The Epicurean Caesar far surpassed 
 
 Cato in power to wreck or save the state. 
 
 The stoic thinks too much about the last 
 
 Sad hour of life to view the rest aright. 
 
 He scorns too much our short but keen delight. 
 
 In black for him the book of life is writ. 
 
 Too much the stoic broods; he can not mingle 
 
 Well with the world, and shape it to his ends. 
 
1 8 Sebastian. 
 
 Not in seclusion does a man attain 
 
 His full development. When he contends 
 
 In life's fierce conflict, then it is his brain 
 
 Acquires a disciplined and supple force 
 
 Impossible to him who dwelleth single, 
 
 Nor mixes with his fellows. Life should be 
 
 Active and vigilant. The sad recluse 
 
 Whose days are spent in striving to maintain 
 
 His own soul's purity from contact coarse 
 
 With men of baser nature is not he 
 
 Who best fulfils man's mission. Ships that rest 
 
 Forever in the haven may be clean, 
 
 But are of little use; while those that breast 
 
 The foaming billows of the raging main, 
 
 Struggling with desperate courage 'gainst tlie storm, 
 
 Though they with shattered rigging may careen 
 
 Before the tempest's fury yet conform 
 
 To their true purpose. For the hour of sorrow 
 
 The stoic's sad philosophy is best. 
 
 From its stern tenets we the strength may borrow 
 
 To meet the worst; but 'tis not well to choose 
 
 That system for the guidance of our lives. 
 
 To suffer well is much, but he who strives 
 
 With earnest resolution is the man 
 
 Who doth discharge his duties best. In action 
 
 Should life be passed, and not in vain abstraction. 
 
 Orosius. 
 Again we differ, and it seem we can 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 19 
 
 In naught agree. To me it seemeth clear 
 The stoic with his constant fortitude 
 And self-dominion, of a mind imbued 
 With earnest principles, for a career 
 Of active effort is the best prepared. 
 
 Petronius. 
 The trouble is the stoics have not cared 
 Sufficiently for life to pass it so. 
 
 Orosius. 
 Well, now 'tis growing late; 'tis time to go. 
 Bend not Sebastian, 'neath the weight of woe. 
 Within brief space we shall again be here; 
 Well in the meantime mayest thou have fared. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Sebastia7i alone in the library. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 My books, ye mock me as ye there are ranged 
 In comely order on the painted shelves, 
 Purple and red and green and funeral black. 
 What is your lesson ? I have read and read 
 Until my soul was sick, my eyes were seared. 
 And I have seen the wretchedness of man 
 Even from the day when first to earth he came, 
 Struggling for life with monsters that are dead. 
 
20 Sebastian. 
 
 Until this hour, when, polished, civilized, 
 He strolls through palaces and marble halls. 
 Yea, I have read and poured into your depths. 
 But ye are powerless to satisfy 
 The craving for I know not what that burns 
 Ceaseless within my soul, the discontent, 
 The restless weariness of mortal things, 
 The aspiration toward an unknown goal, 
 The unnamed longings that disturb my peace. 
 And there are times when I would bum you all. 
 And wander, Cain like, through the desert waste, 
 Free from the trammels of our modern life, 
 A savage with my hand 'gainst every man. 
 Seeking in blood and conflicts and in wild 
 Indulgence of all passions to forget 
 The emptiness of life. And there are times 
 When I do love you as my children fair, 
 Turning your pages with intense delight. 
 Finding each craving satisfied in you. 
 And then the mood is changed, and ye but mock 
 The restlessness that grows within my breast. 
 When even the mighty poets can not bring. 
 With all their beauty, passion, and distress. 
 Content to me who read. Oh happy they 
 Who are not tortured by this ceaseless strife, 
 This fondness for all learning, and this love 
 For that which learning never can supply. 
 And now to-night ye mock me bitterly. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 21 
 
 Ye have no message for my troubled soul. 
 Ye can not satisfy the wild desires, 
 The yearnings for a something all unknown, 
 For life more passionate and more intense, 
 For pleasure fierce and agonizing pain, 
 That struggle in my heart. Ye mock me now, 
 And I would leave you and would wander forth 
 I know not where — alas, I know not where. 
 
 A knock. Come in! 
 
 Enter Antonio and Felix. 
 
 Why, can it be ? 
 Why, I am truly glad to see 
 You once again my worthy friends. 
 
 Antonio. 
 But just returned, we visit you 
 Whom we are told now make amends 
 In constant study for the days 
 Once spent in very different ways. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 That I have greatly changed is true. 
 The awful loss I have sustained 
 Has altered me. But whence come you ? 
 
 Antonio. 
 Felix from Rome, from Paris I. 
 Five years at Rome has he remained 
 
22 Sebastian. 
 
 In constant study of his art, 
 While I have lived right merrily 
 In Paris, Mammon's matchless mart. 
 With deepest sorrow we have learned 
 Of your affliction. Scarce returned. 
 We come with friendly sympathy 
 To clasp your hand and to express 
 Our sorrow at your deep distress. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I thank you, friends; you understand 
 How great my grief, because you knew 
 My father and how kind and true 
 He ever was. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 Most truly grand; 
 Thoughtful and proud, he seemed to spurn 
 Men's weaknesses; a little stern 
 His countenance until he smiled. 
 And then it beamed so sweet and mild, 
 He seemed transfigured. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 I remember 
 Only the smile. When I was poor 
 I sat one day in bleak December 
 In my bare room with immature, 
 Uncertain efforts to give form 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 23 
 
 To my conceptions. Fierce the storm 
 
 Outside was raging. Hungry, cold, 
 
 My fingers numb, I strove in vain 
 
 To give them shape, and from my hold 
 
 The pencil slipped. In blank dispair 
 
 I sat while through my dizzy brain 
 
 Visions of penury and pain 
 
 Were floating Then upon the stair 
 
 There was a step, and he came in. 
 
 I only knew him as a man 
 
 Of highest place, and when within 
 
 My garret I beheld him, I 
 
 Was scared. He spoke, and then began 
 
 My poor unfinished sketch to scan. 
 
 Long looked he, then he laid it by 
 
 To see my pictures on the wall. 
 
 Right closely he examined all, 
 
 Then turned and said, " These plainly show 
 
 That you have talent, but you need 
 
 Instruction. You must learn to know 
 
 The masters' works, and to succeed 
 
 The technic skill you must acquire. 
 
 To-morrow morning come and see 
 
 My pictures, and they will inspire 
 
 A just ambition, and then we 
 
 Will talk about your future. I 
 
 Meanwhile this Magdalen will buy." 
 
 And then he laid upon the table 
 
^4 Sebastian, 
 
 A little pile of coined gold, 
 The picture's price a thousand fold. 
 All overcome, I scarce was able 
 To speak and earnestly protest 
 Against such payment, but he pressed 
 My hand and said, ' * Just now perhaps 
 The picture is not worth the sum, 
 But when the fleeting years shall lapse, 
 And days of honored fame shall come, 
 It will be precious." Saying so, 
 He kindly smiled and turned to go. 
 
 Next morning I myself presented 
 All awed and timid at his door. 
 The rich-carved pannels studying o'er; 
 And of my boldness near repented 
 When I was led through lofty halls 
 With richest hangings on the walls. 
 At length I stood abashed before 
 Your father, but he welcomed me 
 As one that he was glad to see. 
 He led me to his gallery 
 Where there were many pictures wrought 
 By master hands. I had not thought 
 Such things existed, had not dreamed 
 Of beauty such as on me beamed 
 In that enchanted shrine. My soul 
 Was filled with ecstacy. I gazed 
 In rapt attention, all amazed, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 25 
 
 And free among those gems to stroll. 
 When I had looked till I was drunk 
 With beauty, he conducted me 
 Into the dining hall. I shrunk 
 From such magnificence, but he 
 Bade me be seated. Then he planned 
 My course of study, and declared 
 The means should be at my command. 
 Now all I am, all I may be 
 Is due to him. He has not spared 
 Money, kind wishes nor advice. 
 Judge then my agony of woe 
 To learn his death. Beneath the blow 
 My spirit sank. I knew his price, 
 And knew full well I never should 
 Another .see so great and good. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I knew not this. Since we were boys, 
 And shared our little pains and joys 
 I only knew you had devoted 
 Yourself to art, that you were noted 
 For pictures in the sacred vein 
 Which, as men say, almost attain 
 To Raphael's heavenly purity. 
 But every day I hear of deeds 
 Of kindness by my father done, 
 And oft I know he planted seeds 
 
26 Sebastian. 
 
 That later blossomed in the sun 
 
 To flowers of sweetest rarity. 
 
 He was indeed a noble tree 
 
 That sheltered many 'neath its shade. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 From what I learn you seem to be 
 
 Absorbed in study. I'm afraid 
 
 These musty books will not console. 
 
 For something sweeter pines the soul. 
 
 Art only brings unto the heart 
 
 A comfort that will not depart. 
 
 Come with me back to Rome, to Florence come, 
 
 And you will stand transfixed and dumb 
 
 Before their treasures. ' Tis the land 
 
 Of Italy that bringeth balm 
 
 To troubled hearts and rest and calm. 
 
 Come, let us seek its golden strand. 
 
 Comfort is in its balsamed air 
 
 And in its scenes so soft and fair, 
 
 Its landscapes bathed in mellow light. 
 
 Its azure skies serenely bright, 
 
 The gentle contours of its hills, 
 
 Its verdant vales where rippling rills 
 
 Allure to peaceful meditation 
 
 And whisper sweetest consolation. 
 
 Come, we will visit churches old 
 
 Encrusted all with gleaming gold. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 27 
 
 With grand old pictures on the walls 
 
 Whose beauty every sense enthralls. 
 
 Giotto is there, a genius fresh 
 
 As morning breezes, wholesome, strong 
 
 In faith, with sympathetic brush 
 
 Painting alike the angel throng 
 
 And gentle creatures of the fields. 
 
 And Fra Angelico, who wields 
 
 A pencil dipped in heavens own light, 
 
 Showing in colors fair and bright 
 
 The very scenes of Paradise, 
 
 His faces wrapped in ecstacy. 
 
 With softly beaming upturned eyes, 
 
 Adoring God's sweet majesty. 
 
 And Perugino's charming faces 
 
 Where sweetness glows with piety, 
 
 And loving soft humility; 
 
 And Botticelli's subtle graces, 
 
 Bartolomeo's earnest art; 
 
 And he, the prince without a peer. 
 
 Whose greatness has no counterpart. 
 
 Surpassing sweet, yet grand, sublime. 
 
 The chiefest master of all time, 
 
 In all his glory will appear. 
 
 To Italy, oh, come with me, 
 
 'Tis there from grief you will be free. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Since boyhood's days my soul has yearned 
 
g Sebastian. 
 
 For that fair land and in my breast 
 The wish to visit it has burned, 
 And robbed me often of my rest. 
 I will not longer now delay, 
 But soon together we'll away. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Felix is right. It is distraction 
 That most you need, and great attraction 
 
 Has Italy for all of those 
 
 Who seek instruction or repose. 
 
 But Fehx' views are far from mine 
 
 On that which Italy contains 
 
 Deserving of our care and pains. 
 
 'Tis true I do not like her wme, 
 
 But she has women passing fair 
 
 Possessed of forms of perfect mould. 
 
 Worthy the goddesses of old, 
 
 With rounded limbs and bosoms rare 
 Would make St. Anthony's self grow bold. 
 Forms so voluptuous scarce are seen 
 Outside that land, of earth the queen. 
 And as for art, those vapid samts 
 Angelico or Giotto paints. 
 Who 'neath their garments have no limbs. 
 And can do nothing but sing hyms, ^ 
 Mere putty dolls that know not passion, 
 And simper in a saintly fashion. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 29 
 
 The true Renaissance they are not. 
 
 That was the gladsome strong upheaval 
 
 Of men rejoicing in the light, 
 
 Escaping from the bitter night 
 
 Of long, sad ages mediaeval, 
 
 And wakening to a happier lot. 
 
 It was a re-discovery 
 
 Of man's essential dignity 
 
 And of the beauty of this earth. 
 
 Its love and hope, its joy and mirth. 
 
 It was a wakening to the bliss 
 
 Of carnal life, of amorous kiss, 
 
 Of woman's rich voluptuous charms, 
 
 Of plastic limbs and snowy arms, 
 
 A glad return to ancient ways, 
 
 A yearning for the joyous days 
 
 When earth was young and men were glad, 
 
 Nor fear of hell had made them sad, 
 
 When men lived blithely 'neath the sun, 
 
 Loving earth's beauty and its pleasure, 
 
 Rejoicing in abundant measure. 
 
 Nor deeming joy and sin were one. 
 
 Such the Renaissance. Those you name, 
 
 Save only Raphael are in soul 
 
 Still of the Middle Age; the same 
 
 Blind piety, although control 
 
 Of skill artistic they've acquired 
 
 In some degree; they remnants are 
 
30 Sebastian. 
 
 Of darker ages, and they jar 
 Upon the gay Renaissance life. 
 By other dreams they are inspired, 
 And with its spirit are at strife. 
 The things that Italy contains 
 Most worthy of our care and pains 
 Are works in which the human form 
 Stands forth before us fresh and warm, 
 Painted by Titian or Veronese, 
 Tintoret or Palma Vecchio, 
 Or other master hands; yes, these, 
 And those bright relics of the time 
 Of Grecian life which clearly show 
 How fair her art and how sublime. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Too much the outward you esteem, 
 
 The truer life is that within; 
 
 And in those upturned faces beam. 
 
 Pure gentle souls that know not sin. 
 
 As to the soul the body yields 
 
 In dignity, so he who paints 
 
 The souls of sinners or of saints. 
 
 Yea, of the woodlands and the fields, 
 
 Is the true artist, and not he 
 
 Who reproduces faithfully 
 
 The outward form, but can not give 
 
 Our souls, which only truly live. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 31 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 Oh Felix, we can ne'er agree 
 
 On art. Perhaps the fauh's with me. 
 
 I love fair, rounded, plastic shapes, 
 
 The subtile soul from me escapes. 
 
 I love this world too much to yearn 
 
 For saintly dreams to which you turn. 
 
 With Epicurus the divine 
 
 I am content when bright eyes shine, 
 
 And snowy arms about me twine. 
 
 And now, Sebastian, let me say 
 The Lady Lalage to-night 
 Receives her friends, and bids me pray 
 Her invitation you'll not slight. 
 You now have mourned beyond a year, 
 And in the world should re-appear. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 'Twere best to go. In solitude 
 At first our forces are renewed; 
 But if too long we dwell alone 
 Morbid we grow and inward brood 
 Until the spirit's health is gone. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 The Lady Lalage, — I recall 
 That once I met her at a ball, 
 A lady handsome, rather tall, 
 
32 Sebastian. 
 
 With rounded and voluptuous form 
 And great black eyes and raven hair, 
 A woman dazzling, strangely fair. 
 But yesternight however warm 
 The invitation, I'd declined; 
 But now quite different is my mind. 
 I am all weary of these books, 
 And fain would see how woman looks. 
 I gladly will attend you there. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A Street. Sebastian and Antonio leaving 
 Lalage^s House. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 The Lady Lalage is strangely fair. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 Be not entangled in the snare 
 
 Of that most wondrous raven hair. 
 
 Many have languished in their pain. 
 
 Adoring her, but all in vain. 
 
 She seemeth proof against their arts, 
 
 And coldly smiles at breaking hearts. 
 
 You'll idly seek from virtue's ways 
 
 Her to seduce — She never strays. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 33 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Much you mistake. I do not nurture 
 The least design against her virtue. 
 I would not, friend, to save my life 
 Seek to mislead our host's fair wife. 
 
 Antonio. 
 All that does very well to say. 
 I have known others talk that way 
 Who yet have ended otherwise. 
 There is a charm in woman's eyes 
 That plays sad havoc with our morals 
 When cheeks are pink and lips are corals. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I fear your long sojourn in France 
 Has robbed you of your little chance 
 To be a saint. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 I sometimes think 
 The Frenchman's views of life correct. 
 We have in youth a brief romance, 
 Then marry, settle down and sink 
 Into the humdrum commonplace, 
 Nor further joys of love expect. 
 Far different with the Gallic race. 
 Long as they live the dulcet game 
 Of love they play with subtle art. 
 
24 Sebastian. 
 
 And age itself can scarcely tame 
 The fire that burns their amorous heart. 
 'Tis most immoral, you will say, 
 But when they all are in the play 
 None can complain, and surely life 
 Is sweetened by the tender strife. 
 Nor is it wise to be too strict. 
 The world forgives with ready ease 
 A sinner's sin— 'tis what's expected; 
 But when the virtuous are detected 
 At fault, men buzz like angry bees. 
 Rejoiced their venom to inflict. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 You say that many men have courted 
 Fair Lalage ? 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 So 'tis reported; 
 You know that I have absent been. 
 And truly 'tis no heinous sin 
 To love a woman fair as she. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 And all you say have loved in vain ? 
 
 Antonio. 
 She has been heedless of their pain, 
 So all aver the fact to be. 
 And yet I own it seems to me 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 35 
 
 She should not be beyond all reach; 
 She seems from Lilith to descend. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 What would you say, my worthy friend ? 
 
 Antonio. 
 You know that Adam, as they teach, 
 Possessed an earlier wife than Eve. 
 We thus two female types receive, 
 Both needful for man's happiness. 
 Eve's daughter wnth her chaste caress 
 Consoles us in our heart's distress, 
 And doth our home with children bless. 
 The other lures to love's delights, 
 To lawless passion, sleepless nights, 
 To kisses fierce that burn the soul, 
 To joys that brook no law's control. 
 And with her passionate seduction 
 Allures us oft to our destruction. 
 But also brings a bliss intense 
 So keen 'tis worth the consequence. 
 Man needs them both, and incomplete 
 His life unless he both has tried. 
 One born to be a blushing bride. 
 For lawless joys the other meet. 
 Sometimes it happens, sad to say, 
 Eve's gentle daughters tread the way 
 Of Lilith' s children. All unfit. 
 
36 Sebastian. 
 
 With faltering steps they follow it, 
 Their souls revolting 'gainst their shame, 
 And grieving for their sullied fame. 
 And sometimes Lilith's daughters take 
 The place of Eve's, and so become 
 Mothers and wives, but most succumb 
 To their own instincts, forced to slake 
 Their burning thirst for wanton joy. 
 Not well our Lilith's we employ. 
 The Greeks much better comprehend 
 Their value. Helen was decended 
 From Lilith; so the lovely Thais, 
 Phryne, Aspasia, charming Lais. 
 They were adored in that bright era 
 By all who worshiped at the shrine 
 Of Aphrodite the divine. 
 Beside the wife stood the hetaera. 
 Both honored in their separate spheres; 
 The one the angel of the home 
 Whose chaste affections did not roam, 
 The other tending on the fires 
 Of Aphrodite Panderhos, 
 Goddess of uncontrolled desires, 
 With her wild infant Himeros, 
 Who hovering by her side appears. 
 Possessed of both, man was content. 
 His every wish was satisfied; 
 But now all honor is denied 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 37 
 
 To those of Lilith's fair descent 
 
 Unless they imitate the carriage 
 
 Of Eve's chaste daughters, and consent 
 
 To wear the heavy chain of marriage. 
 
 So, many who were born to be 
 
 Hetserae passionate and free 
 
 Bow all unsuited to the yoke 
 
 Till time and circumstance provoke 
 
 Them to rebellion. Such to me 
 
 Appears the Lady Lalage. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 No, No, my friend, 'tis plain you err, 
 And gross injustice do to her 
 In this opinion. That she's pure 
 Although much courted, you assure. 
 A woman in her richest prime 
 Wedded to one bowed down by time, 
 Who yet maintains her fame untarnished 
 Is not a mere hetaera varnished. 
 Your types sometimes in one combined 
 Present to us the perfect woman. 
 With fascinations superhuman. 
 Ardent and passionate and kind. 
 Fitted for love's supreme delight. 
 Yet pure as in the silver light 
 Of chastest moons; and such to me 
 Appears the Lady Lalage. 
 
3^ Sebastian. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 You are, I see, caught in the snare 
 Oi that luxuriant raven hair. 
 Do you suppose I did not see 
 Your doting o'er her bosom's charms, 
 The snowy neck, the tapered arms. 
 Her face that Helen's well might be? 
 All through the evening I observed 
 How humbly at her feet you served. 
 What burning glances you directed 
 On charms by finest lace protected. 
 Already I perceive you break 
 The tenth commandment for her sake. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I covet not my neighbor's wife. 
 Although her charms I may admire 
 Pure admiration they inspire, 
 Nor waken love's tumultuous strife. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 'Tis well; and yet I do not see 
 
 Why you should not accepted be. 
 
 You are of splendid family, 
 
 Oi comely person, courteous manners, 
 
 And once fought well 'neath Cupid's banners; 
 
 And she, in rich maturity 
 
 Is of the age when women are 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 39 
 
 Most v/orthy to be wooed and won. 
 Sweeter than girlish love by far, 
 Sweetest of all beneath the sun, 
 Is that of woman in her prime. 
 When full development the mind 
 And body have alike attained. 
 Then she is best, then is the time 
 To win her love. Then she is kind 
 And strong and passionate and sweet; 
 Then is her witchery complete. 
 The Lady Lalage has gained 
 That happy age, and if you win 
 Her love, the joy were worth the sin. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Then why not claim her for your own ? 
 
 Antonio. 
 Because 'twere vain; but she has shown 
 To you more favors than to all 
 Who yet have bowed beneath her thrall. 
 Besides, she is too much for me. 
 An Epicurean, I sip 
 The wine of love with sapient lip, 
 And wish no Phaedra such as she. 
 I but aspire to facile loves, 
 To women soft as cooing doves; 
 I wish alone love's wanton joy, 
 And not fierce passions that destroy. 
 
40 Sebastian. 
 
 Barbarians when they seize on wine 
 
 Swill it as greedily as swine 
 
 Until, like brutes, all overcome 
 
 They lie stretched out inert and dumb; 
 
 While men of culture fill the glasses, 
 
 Inhale its perfume, sip it slowly, 
 
 Appreciate its flavor wholly. 
 
 And taste each rudy drop that passes. 
 
 Seeking alone exhiliration. 
 
 Nor yielding to intoxication. 
 
 So 'tis with love; the prudent man 
 
 Pursues it as a pleasing game. 
 
 Draws from it all the joy he can. 
 
 But flies its desolating flame. 
 
 The kind of love that bringeth pleasure 
 
 Is love in just sufficient measure 
 
 To wake desire, not love that burns, 
 
 And which too oft to anguish turns. 
 
 If I mistake not, Lalage 
 
 Has in her blood volcanic fire. 
 
 To tigress loves I don't aspire, 
 
 The frailer ones suffice for me 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I care not for your light amours. 
 If I must love I want the the stres^ 
 Of real passion, and a bliss 
 So keen it borders on distress, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 41 
 
 The burning joy of frenzied kiss, 
 The wildly passionate embrace 
 Of arms that ding and interlace; 
 'Tis love like that my soul allures. 
 
 Antonio. 
 
 'Tis plain you do not comprehend 
 The art of living pleasantly. 
 Instead of hurrying to the end 
 We long should Hnger by the way, 
 Enjoying love's delicious play. 
 As men become more civilized 
 Less is the mere possession prized, 
 And mxore the pleasure of pursuit. 
 The man who fishes with a net 
 Knows nothing of the joy of angling. 
 More quickly he the fish may get, 
 Them basely in the mesh entangling; 
 But that is worthy of a brute. 
 Not so the cultured angler fishes; 
 A fragile reed alone he wishes; 
 With this he hooks the largest trout, 
 And plays him with infinite skill. 
 Letting him first dart all about, 
 Now here, now there, just as he will, 
 Forcing the hook deep in his gill. 
 Until his strength is wearied out; 
 And when at length the sport is o'er 
 
42 Sebastian. 
 
 He pulls him gently to the shore. 
 The art of love is just the same, 
 ' Tis thus the artist plays the game. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 I must confess I have no wish 
 The ladies to confound with fish. 
 If I should love 'twould be sincere, 
 And would not end with mere possession. 
 'Twould be inflamed by each concession, 
 And would increase from year to year. 
 'Tis therefore not worth while to waste 
 Such sage advice on me, I fear. 
 
 Antonio. 
 You have one virtue very great 
 In one who would o' ercome the fair. 
 Smoking has kept more women chaste 
 Than virtue has, beyond compare. 
 When ready to capitulate 
 And give the kiss whence follows all, 
 How oft their nostrils are offended. 
 The spell is broken, all is ended, 
 And he knows not what caused his fall. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Again you do exaggerate. 
 True love resideth in the soul, 
 Nor on tobacco hangs its fate. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 43 
 
 Antonio. 
 It is the senses that control. 
 If not, why don't you love profess 
 For one that's ugly, old and wrinkled, 
 Whose scanty locks with gray are sprinkled. 
 But who all virtues doth possess ? 
 A man's a pig in gilded sty, 
 And she who understands the art 
 To rouse and then to satisfy 
 His appetite will rule his heart. 
 The chaste, cold wife oft wanders why 
 She is forsook for one less fair. 
 Nor comprehends she should employ 
 Her luscious charms for amorous joy 
 To bind him firmly in love's snare. 
 The women who have conquered men, 
 And ruled as tyrants o'er their hearts, 
 The Circes who by magic arts 
 Have changed them back to beasts again, 
 The Cleopatras for whose smiles 
 Kingdoms are lost without regret, 
 Are those who by seductive wiles 
 Men's appetites for pleasure whet 
 Until, all frenzied by desire. 
 They burn with a consuming fire. 
 And there are those whose kiss has power 
 To sear the soul as with a flame. 
 Making it blind to every aim 
 
A A Sebastian. 
 
 Save passion from that fatal hour. 
 'Twas such that lured the angels down 
 From heaven to dwell upon the earth, 
 Forgetting their celestial birth 
 And casting off their starry crown. 
 Love is a hunger for the charms 
 Of handsome face and dimpled arms, 
 Of bosom round and firm and white, 
 Of all that tempts to love's delight. 
 'Tis in excitement of the senses 
 Most frequently that it commences. 
 It is a singular compound 
 Of friendship and of sensual passion 
 Blended together in such fashion 
 That hard it is to trace the bound. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 You are not half correct, my friend. 
 Love is a true affinity 
 Between two souls that strongly tend 
 To join together and to blend 
 In sweet and perfect unity. 
 Love is the purest, noblest feeling 
 That man can know. It Hft us up, 
 Sweetening the contents of life's cup. 
 The joys of paradise revealing. 
 Do not endeavor to degrade 
 The purest thing that God has made. 
 Nature createth nothing single, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 But every thing has each its mate, 
 Toward which its longings gravitate, 
 With which it yearns to meet and mingle. 
 Nothing is in itself complete; 
 All yearns to find its counterpart. 
 When loving heart is joined to heart, 
 Then 'tis we live, then life is sweet. 
 True bliss is only found in love; 
 And much I think the Christians err 
 Forbidding marriage ties with her 
 Without whose presence heaven above 
 Would loose its charm. For womanhood 
 The heart of man must ever yearn; 
 And God declared it was not good 
 Man should alone on earth sojourn, 
 And for his wife created Eve. 
 Man's love for woman is so strong 
 That I confess I can't conceive 
 A heaven where marriage don't belong. 
 I do not wish the Moslem heaven 
 With seventy black -eyed houris given. 
 I long for love, love sweet and pure, 
 'Tis that that doth my soul allure. 
 What you call love is but caprice. 
 Mere sensual joy you long to taste, 
 And move tow^ard that with brutal haste, 
 And when 'tis won, all longings cease. 
 True love is humble, worshiping 
 
 45 
 
46 Sebastian, 
 
 Its object as a sacred thing. 
 
 The lover scarce dares Hft his eyes 
 
 To her, an angel from the skies. 
 
 A look, a pressure of the hand, 
 
 Fills him with transport, and he thinks 
 
 That in a smile heaven's joy he drinks. 
 
 Upon a height she seems to stand, 
 
 Where he can never hope to reach. 
 
 He worships humbly from afar 
 
 Until at length he dares beseech 
 
 Her love, as one might pray a star. 
 
 You look on woman as the spider 
 
 Looks on the fly it seeks to capture. 
 
 You'd first degrade and then deride Jier. 
 
 Nothing you know of love's true rapture. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Love is the war between the sexes. 
 'Tis woman's to resist aggression 
 Until at length she comes to fall. 
 And then to bind him 'neath her thrall. 
 Men's part is to attain possession, 
 And yet to keep his freedom all. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 You cynicism somewhat perplexes. 
 But well you know that love is not 
 A state of war, but one of peace. 
 The sweetest known to mortal lot. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 47 
 
 Love you confound with mere caprice 
 But let this cynic mocking cease. 
 And now that we have reached your gate, 
 Good night, my friend, 'tis very late. 
 
 Antonio. 
 Good night, Sebastian; through your sleep 
 Seductive dreams of her will creep. 
 And friend, to-morrow you'll go see 
 The charming Lady Lalage. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Felix and Sebastian. 
 Felix. 
 My dear Sebastian, I must beg of you 
 No longer our departure to delay. 
 Great danger threatens should we longer stay. 
 Without solicitude I can not view 
 Your growing love for Lady Lalage. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 'Twere needless to deny I feel the charm 
 Of her great beauty, but for your alarm 
 There is no just occasion that I see. 
 
 Felix. 
 You love her more, Sebastian, than you own; 
 Else long ago to Italy we'd flown. 
 
48 Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I must admit that her society 
 
 I find most pleasing. She is passing fair, 
 
 And with her charm and grace can none compare. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Sebastian, I beseech you to beware. 
 Think who she is — she is another's wife. 
 Through degradation and through shame alone 
 Can you e'er hope to claim her as your own. 
 Would you polute her bright and spotless life ? 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Not for the world. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Then come away with me. 
 In such a case the brave are those who flee. 
 Be not too confident. Love is a power 
 That creeps upon us in the unguarded hour. 
 At first we smile such puny chains to see, 
 And let him wind them round us as he will, 
 Nor fearing aught of such weak bonds until 
 It is too late, and then we strive in vain 
 To break his slender, adamantine chain. 
 You can to-day part from her, but to-morrow 
 May be too late, and endless shame and sorrow. 
 Yea, death itself, may punish your delay. 
 
A Dramatic Poem, 49 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Felix, there Is no cause for this dismay. 
 The Lady Lalage Is far above 
 The thought of yielding to a guilty love; 
 And you should know that I shall ne'er offend 
 Against the rules of honor, my good friend. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Trust not too much to honor. When the fire 
 Of passion burns, when love and hot desire 
 Seethe in the bosom, honor's voice, unheard, 
 Serves only to reproach us when we've erred 
 Beyond redemption. Love's a malady 
 That prays upon the soul insidiously. 
 It creeps upon us as a pleasing langour, 
 And we are lost ere danger we suspect. 
 The Greeks were wise who saw it in the anger 
 Of Gods who men on seas of passion wrecked, 
 To punish their offending. 
 
 Sebastian, 
 
 If 'tis sent 
 By wrathful gods on men as punishment. 
 The deities must bear the blame of sin. 
 So thought the Greeks, nor Helen did destoy. 
 But gladly brought her back from burning Troy, 
 And Menelaus led her proudly in 
 To reign again as queen In Sparta's halls. 
 
CQ Sebastian. 
 
 Felix. 
 But we know better. Love legitimate 
 Is pure and chaste, nor comes it from the hate 
 Of envious gods, and when its chain enthralls. 
 Leading us on through flowery paths to where 
 Stands Hymen's alter, we may follow on 
 Rejoicing, by the tender impulse drawn. 
 But when we find another's wife too fair. 
 We know at once the guilt of our desire, 
 And sternly should repress the nascent fire. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 And yet for both the passion is the same. 
 Though one meets your approval, one your blame. 
 Love is a passion planted in the breast 
 By heaven to make man's earthly sojourn blest. 
 Gende and sweet the thoughts that it instills. 
 Binding two hearts together till each thrills 
 In unison of bliss. When two souls meet 
 Born to be mates, instinctivly they greet 
 Each other — love awakes by God's decree. 
 And yet you say that when some man has given 
 A woman to another, she must be 
 Forever his, and from her true love flee. 
 Thus placing man's decrees above the laws of heaven, 
 
 Felix. 
 'Tis not Sabastian's soul that speaketh thus, 
 But that wild passion that o'ermasters it. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 None better knows that human edicts writ 
 ' Gainst such amours but serve to ratify 
 The laws which God himself ordained for us. 
 And dread the consequence if you defy 
 God's laws and man's. I do not speak of you, 
 For you I know impervious are to fear; 
 But think of her to whom you fondly sue, 
 Whom you would die for, rather than a tear 
 Should dim the melting lustre of her eye. 
 If she should fall, all hope of joy were gone. 
 She never could be happy with the sense 
 Of guilt upon her soul. You'd lead her on 
 To secret sin, but public shame would follow; 
 Her ruin and your own the consequence. 
 So do not yield to reasoning so hollow. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Fehx, you're right, but, pray you, do not think 
 
 That ever I have thought of loving her 
 
 Save with a chaste affection that would shrink 
 
 From the bare thought of leading her to err. 
 
 And if I were inclined, she has not shown 
 
 The slightest sign that could encourage me 
 
 To venture aught against a purity 
 
 Spotless as snow by mountain breezes blown. 
 
 This eve, however, I will bid adieu, 
 
 And then to-morrow I'll away with you. 
 
 51 
 
52 Sebastian. 
 
 Felix. 
 'Twere better if your farewell you would send 
 By letter as we started. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 No, my friend, 
 'Twere most discourteous. I will go and say 
 Farewell, and then to Italy away. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Sebastian and Lalage in gardens of Lalage' s house. 
 NIGHT, 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Thou art so beautiful, temptingly beautiful. 
 Kiss me once, kiss me once ere I depart, 
 
 Long have I waited, love, humble and dutiful, 
 Hiding the passion consuming my heart. 
 
 Deep in the breast of the mountain is burning 
 Fire that is hidden there far from our sight, 
 
 Seething and surging with passionate yearning. 
 Striving to issue forth into the light. 
 
 Long by the strength of the mountain subjected, 
 Writhing and twisting, it struggles in vain; 
 
 Fiercer the strength that it yet has collected, 
 Bursting at length like a wolf from its chain. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 53 
 
 So from its fetters my passion has broken, 
 
 Bearing me on to distruction and sin; 
 Words I should perish before they were spoken 
 
 Rush to my Hps, and will not be held in. 
 
 Lead us, oh, lead us not into temptation, 
 Such is the prayer that alone is worth all. 
 
 Cruel was He that at Eden's creation 
 
 Planted the Knowledge Tree causing the fall. 
 
 Ever unconsciously, sweet, thou has tempted me. 
 Tempted me past my endurance to bear; 
 
 God from man's weakness has never exempted me, 
 And thou wert ever too temptingly fair. 
 
 Thou art so beautiful, temptingly beautiful, 
 
 I can no longer my passion control, 
 I can no longer be humble and dutiful, 
 
 Kiss me but once though the price be my soul. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 Sebastian, Sebastian, be silent I pray, 
 Oh, seek not, oh, seek not to lead me astray. 
 If truly thou lovest, thou wishest me pure, 
 Then into temptation, oh, do not allure. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Ah! half thou confessest my love is returned; 
 The fire that so long in my bosom has burned 
 
54 Sebastian. 
 
 Hath wakened an answering flame in thy heart, 
 Oh, kiss me then, kiss me then ere I depart. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 Sebastian, Sebastian, 'twere vain to deny- 
 That often in secret I've stifled a sigh. 
 I own that I love thee, but oh, I implore, 
 Accept this confession, demanding no more. 
 
 Sebastian. (6Vz>/;2^ her in his arms.) 
 
 Oh, speak to the river that rolls to the sea, 
 To the lion that wooeth his terrible mate. 
 To the hurricane driving the ship to its fate, 
 And bid them be quiet, but speak not to me. 
 Thou lovest me, lovest me, then thou art mine, 
 And nothing shall part us as long as life lasts. 
 And when at the day of the judgment divine 
 The earth from her bosom her children outcasts, 
 Around thee mine arms I shall lovingly twine. 
 And smile at the blare of the trumpeter's blasts. 
 
 "Lklag^. {Disengaging herself.') 
 
 'Tis thou who has wished it, but dost thou conceive 
 The force of the passion that thou dost invoke ? 
 As long as life lasts unto thee I shall cleave; 
 I am thine, thou art mine, till the day when the stroke 
 Of the scythe of the reaper shall part us in twain. 
 In my breast evermore thou as master shalt reign; 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 55 
 
 When thou ceasest to love me, Sebastian, I die — 
 From the depths of my bosom thou hearest my cry. 
 
 {She throws herself into his arms.) 
 Sabastian. 
 Oh, speak not of ceasing to love thee, my sweet; 
 Till the borders of time and eternity meet 
 I am thine, my beloved, and even in death 
 I shall murmer thy name with my last fleeting breath. 
 
 (He kisses her.) 
 
 How sweet, oh how sweet is a kiss from thy lips! 
 The bee that on Hybla the honey-dew sips 
 Knows nothing of sweetness, knows nothing of bliss, 
 They only are found in thy "ravishing kiss. 
 
 {He kisses her again. ) 
 Lalage. 
 Oh, do not despise me because I thus yield. 
 Against thee my bosom I could not have steeled. 
 I have loved thee in silence since first thou wert known. 
 Deal gently with one so completely thine own. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Despise thee, my darling! I worship the spot 
 That is touched by thy feet, and I envy the lot 
 Of the grass that is pressed by thy delicate tread. 
 Speak not of despising, I worship instead. 
 The evening when first to thy mansion I came 
 
56 Sebastian. 
 
 There awoke in my bosom a passionate flame 
 Which shall burn ever brighter as time shall roll on, 
 And reign in my breast at eternity's dawn. 
 Couldst thou teach me to love the Creator on high 
 With a love as devout as the passionate sigh 
 That I breathe at thy feet, then a saint I should be 
 Like the saints that once wandered by blue Gallilee. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 Then wilt thou forsake me, oh, wilt thou depart ? 
 Oh, now it is thine wilt thou shatter my heart ? 
 I know that the land where thou goest is fair 
 With a beauty denied to the land of thy birth, 
 That the blossoming oranges perfume the air. 
 And the songs of the angels are heard on the earth. 
 I know that our palaces are but as sties 
 Compared with its mansions of marble and gold, 
 Where the glitter of jewels doth dazzle the eyes 
 And the glories of art as the sands are untold. 
 I know that its women have charms never given 
 To those that are born in our homelier clime, 
 Recalling the peris that wandered from heaven 
 To mingle with men in the world's lusty prime. 
 But a heart that will love with devotion as true 
 As the one that now burns in my passionate breast 
 In vain wilt thou seek 'neath that firmament blue, 
 In those mansions that seem the abodes of the blest. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 57 
 
 Sebastian. 
 From the peaks of the Alps to Calabria's cape, 
 From the temples of Rome to the blue Appenine, 
 There is nought that in beauty can distantly ape 
 The least of thy charms, oh, my angel divine. 
 
 Lalage. 
 And yet thou wilt leave me and wander afar 
 To the land where the olive and vine interlace, 
 Where soon thou wilt worship a lovelier star, 
 Forgetting my grief for a handsomer face. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Should Venus in person descend from above 
 In all of her beauty, imploring my love, 
 I should tell her a goddess still fairer than she 
 Had promised the queen of my bosom to be. 
 
 Lalage. 
 And yet wilt thou leave me, and, wandering forth. 
 Wilt seek the delights of that beautiful clime; 
 While I pine for thy love in the gloom of the north, 
 In that land of the sun thou wilt reck not the time. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 If the wealth of the Indies were offered to me 
 With all of the gems in the caves of the sea. 
 If the crown of the Caesars my guerdon should be, 
 I would not one moment be parted from thee. 
 
58 Sebasiimi. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 Oh, blest be the lips which that promise have spoken! 
 It has flooded my bosom with raptuous bliss. 
 I know that thy pledges will never be broken, 
 And I seal thee as mine with this passionate kiss. 
 
 (^Kisses him passionately. Then starts back.) 
 
 But what wilt thou think of a woman who thus 
 Surrenders herself when thy love is scarce told ? 
 Such frankness in passion becometh not us, 
 Who to lovers' appeals should be modesdy cold. 
 
 Sebastian. {Clasping her in his arms,') 
 
 Oh, speak not of modesty; that but begins 
 Where love terminates, and the lover who wins 
 The heart of his mistress finds nothing of that 
 In the path to the goal of his hopes to combat. 
 But hark, they are seeking thee, we must return, 
 And I must surrender thee back to the crowd. 
 Oh, kiss me again, yet again. How I yearn 
 To hold thee as mine with a passion avowed. 
 
 Lalage. 
 
 Oh, scarcely I've found thee! So soon must we part? 
 Then press me again, yet again to thy heart, 
 And know that though absent I seemingly be. 
 My spirit forever shall hover by thee. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 59 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Another — another — a last partmg kiss! 
 Ah, almost I swoon with excess of my bliss. 
 But now my belov'd, I must bid thee farewell 
 Though the word in my bosom doth sound as a knell. 
 Then adieu to thee, darling, adieu to thee, sweet. 
 
 Lalage. 
 Farewell, my Sebastian, till soon we shall meet. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Lalage alone i7i her chamber. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Lalage. 
 Sebastian comes to-night, yet I am sad. 
 I wonder to what end this love will lead ? 
 I care not if it ever be with him, 
 Feastijig upon the kisses of his mouth 
 As on the nectar of the blessed gods. 
 I fear 'twill be my ruin, but if I 
 Can sweep through Hades locked in his embrace, 
 Even as Francesca in old Dante's song, 
 My fate will be most happy. Oh, the love 
 I bear him! Naught I knew of happiness 
 Till pressed against his heart! 'Tis half an hour 
 Before he comes. My harp is here, I'll sing an ancient 
 
 song 
 To cheat the lagging moments while I wait. 
 
6o Sebastian. 
 
 SINGS. 
 
 I sailed upon a river, 
 It sparkled in the light, 
 
 Its crystal waters rippled 
 
 With laughter pure and bright. 
 
 I drifted down the river, 
 And still it smiled to me, 
 
 And sweeter grew its beauty 
 As it bore me toward the sea. 
 
 And I had no thought of danger 
 As I watched the lovely stream 
 
 On which the sun was resting 
 With fond caressing beam. 
 
 I saw the current quicken, 
 
 But I would not seek the shore; 
 
 The river was so charming 
 
 That I loved it more and more, 
 
 And ever swifter flowed it. 
 But still I looked and smiled. 
 
 For I loved that beauteous river . 
 Whose charms my soul beguiled. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 6i 
 
 And now I hear the cataract 
 
 That plunges into gloom; 
 ' Tis now too late to struggle, 
 
 I can not 'scape my doom. 
 
 Oh, river, I have loved thee 
 
 With a passion deep and strong, 
 
 With a love that perhaps was guilty. 
 But it seemed too sweet for wrong. 
 
 And now thou bearest me onward 
 
 To the dark and cruel grave. 
 And still I love so madly 
 
 My life I would not save. 
 
 Upon thy breast I am happy. 
 
 Though thou whilrest me down to the tomb. 
 And gazing upon thy bosom 
 
 I smilingly meet my doom. 
 
 Nov/ louder grows the tumult, 
 
 I near the awful brink; 
 Oh, kiss me lovely river. 
 
 Oh, kiss me ere I sink. 
 
 'Tis a sad old song, and makes me sadder still. 
 I wonder why Sebastian loves it so ? 
 Would he were here. My heart is sore oppressed, 
 And I'm afraid. A chill creeps over me. 
 
62 Sebastian, 
 
 I wish that rat would stop his knawing there, 
 It grates upon my nerves; and how the owls 
 Are hooting in the fir trees! Now one laughs, 
 A cruel laugh that makes my blood run cold. 
 How weak I am, I who was once so brave. 
 The faintest sound of the uncanny night 
 Doth make me start. And now that cat! 
 There's something strangely human in their cry 
 Like the long wail of souls in agony. 
 Was that a footstep yonder in the hall ? 
 No, 'twas the wind, and yet I tremble so! 
 
 {Poly carp rushes m.) 
 
 POLYCARP. 
 
 Thou cursed harlot, thou dost wait for him ! 
 Die, die! (Stabs her.) 
 
 Lalage. 
 Oh, murder! thou hast killed me! Oh, 
 Sebastian ! {Dies. ) 
 
 (A long pause. Poly carp stands looking at 
 the body. At last Sebastian enters by the window. ) 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Oh, God! oh, God! 
 
 PoLYCARP. {insane.) 
 Ha, Ha, come in and share the wedding feast! 
 Come, come, and dance, it is a joyous night! 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 63 
 
 Ha, come and dance, young master, come and dance! 
 
 Dost not thou not hear the fiddles and the harp ? 
 
 Come in, and we will sup right merrily. 
 
 Come in, come in! They say that I am old. 
 
 But I will show them that I still am young. 
 
 Ha, thou shalt see me dancing with the bride. 
 
 Ha ha, they say she married me to save 
 
 Her father from distruction. Foolish tongues! 
 
 Thou soon shalt witness how she dotes on me. 
 
 Is she not lovely ? Look, the coral there 
 
 Upon her bosom. Some fools call it blood, 
 
 But it is coral, coral for the bride. 
 
 Come dance, my friend, come dance, and we will drain 
 
 A bumper to her health. Is she not fair ? 
 
 And she will soon be mine, yea, mine, mine, mine! 
 
 Ha ha, I laugh at those sleek young gallants 
 
 Who pine away for hunger of her charms. 
 
 Ha ha, come, come, we will away to revel! 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Oh, my God, my God! 
 
 (Sinks swooning on the body.) 
 
64 Sebastian. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Sebastian aiid Felix crossing the Alps dressed 
 as wandering scholars with scrip and staff. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Look at the storm fiends 
 Yonder below us 
 Mustering their legions 
 O'er the abyss. 
 
 See their black pinions 
 Beating together, 
 Hear how they mutter, 
 Hear how they hiss. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Fiercely the tempest 
 Rages below us, 
 But up above us 
 Bright is the sky. 
 
 Glorious, majestic 
 Round us the mountains 
 Lift their white summits 
 Gleaming on high. 
 
A Dramatic Poem, 65 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 See how the demons 
 Gather together 
 Forming their phalanx 
 For the assault. 
 
 Demons of darkness 
 Crowding in legions 
 Ready to escalade 
 Heaven's blue vault. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Gaze not thus fixedly 
 Into the chasm 
 Lest, growing dizzy, 
 Downward thou fall. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Hark how they mutter! 
 Now they behold me 
 See how they beckon! 
 On me they call! 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Bend thy glance upward 
 Into the heavens, 
 Dread the abyss' 
 Desperate charm. 
 
66 Sebastian. 
 
 Strange how the perilous 
 Depths will attract us, 
 Luring us wonderfully 
 Down to our harm. 
 
 Stars in the firmament, 
 Weary of shining. 
 Dash themselves franticly 
 Down from their height. 
 
 Women of purity 
 Spotless as angels. 
 Lured by the precipice. 
 Plunge into night. 
 
 Look flot thus fixedly 
 Into the chasm. 
 Tread not thus recklessly 
 Close to its brink. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 See they are rising 
 Rapidly toward us! 
 Some through the fir trees 
 Cautiously slink, 
 
 Others more boldly 
 Straight through the ether 
 On their broad pinions 
 Toward us advance. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 67 
 
 Hark to the tumult! 
 Each one is mounting, 
 Shaking his terrible 
 Far-flashing lance. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Swiftly the tempest 
 Upward is rolling. 
 Seek we a shelter 
 Under this rock. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Hark to the horrible 
 Roar of the storm-iiends! 
 Even the mountains 
 Quake at the shock. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Upward the hurricane 
 Toward us is rushing; 
 Plant thy feet firmly, 
 Cling with thy hands. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 See how the storm-fiends 
 Splinter the fir trees; 
 Nothing their passionate 
 Fury withstands. 
 
68 Sebastian. 
 
 Look, they are mounting, 
 Countless in numbers. 
 Coming to dash us 
 Down to the grave. 
 
 Still they are mounting, 
 Greater their fury, 
 Hear how they mutter. 
 Hear how they rave. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Great is the danger! 
 Seize this projection 
 Of the firm adamant! 
 Desperately cling! 
 
 Sebastian, 
 
 Bounding so frightfully 
 Through the scared ether, 
 Ever advancing. 
 Upward they spring. 
 
 Felix 
 
 Steady! it reaches us; 
 O'er us it surges. 
 Now up above us 
 Passeth the storm. 
 
A Dramatic Poem, 69 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Look at the storm-fiends! 
 Where are they bearing 
 On their black pinions 
 Lalage's form? 
 
 See her long tresses 
 Tossed by the whirlwind, 
 See how they flutter, 
 See how they flow! 
 
 Loose me! I'll follow 
 Upward to heaven, 
 Or to hell's caverns 
 Yawning below. 
 
 Loose me, I tell thee. 
 See, she is weeping, 
 See, she is stretching 
 Toward me her arms! 
 
 Felix. 
 Ne'er will I loose thee! 
 'Tis but a phantom, 
 Born of thy passionate 
 Sorrow, that charms. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Loose me, I tell thee. 
 See how she beckons ! 
 
70 Sebastimi. 
 
 Oh, they are bearing her 
 Far from my sight! 
 
 Felix. 
 Thou art distracted. 
 Ne'er will I suffer thee 
 Deathward to dash thyself 
 Down from this height. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Loose me, I beg of you! 
 See, they are bearing her 
 Over the mountains 
 Swiftly away! 
 
 See she is beckoning! 
 Quick must I fly to her. 
 Oh, I am dizzy! 
 Loose me, I pray. 
 
 {Sinks fainting upon the ground.) 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 Sebastiayi and Felix among the Appenines. 
 Felix. 
 See the wondrous beauty of this region, 
 Bathed in radiance by the rising sun, 
 See the gilded mists below us mounting 
 Like blest souls whose work of love in done. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 71 
 
 Rising from the plains outstretched beneath us 
 Where the vineyards alternate with fields, 
 And where Nature with unfailing kindness 
 Hundredfold the bounteous harvest yields. 
 
 See, above, the awful mountain standing, 
 Lifting in the blue its silver crest, 
 While below, it folds the storm cloud proudly 
 As a sable mantle round its breast. 
 
 Here 'mid nature's beauty and her grandeur 
 Man's vexed soul may find an hour of peace 
 As a weary child upon the bosom 
 Of its mother feels its troubles cease. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Nature is a stepdame to her children, 
 Not a mother tender, kind and true. 
 What cares she although we all should perish, 
 What cares she how black our sorrow's hue? 
 
 Even when she smiles in sweetest beauty 
 Death she sows with a remorseless hand. 
 Yonder lovely mist that toward us rises 
 Hath left fever stalking through the land. 
 
 Not a gentle mother who protects us. 
 Not a just one punishing the wrong; 
 Guilt and innocence alike are stricken 
 As she drives her blood-stained car along. 
 
72 Sebastian. 
 
 From the mighty monsters that have vanished 
 To the weaklings of the present hour 
 Nature doth create but for destruction, 
 Bearing children only to devour. 
 
 Call not her a mother who afflicts us 
 Needlessly with sorrow and with pain, 
 Who, all careless of our guilt or virtue, 
 Deals to us our happiness or bane. 
 
 Felix. 
 Great the mystery of earth's creation. 
 And 'tis not for us poor creeping things 
 To pass judgment on the power almighty 
 At whose beck the universe upsprings. 
 
 Yonder sun that in his glory rises, 
 Bearing light and joy to wakening earth. 
 To a power beneficent as mighty 
 Owes the awful splendor of his birth. 
 
 Canst thou doubt the firmament above us 
 With its countless multitude of stars 
 Sweeping each in its predestined orbit. 
 Ruled by laws which discord never mars, 
 
 Was by God for noble ends created ? 
 
 Why call forth this wondrous whole from naught ? 
 
 If it be not for a worthy purpose 
 
 God had not so great a marvel wrought. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 73 
 
 We are but an atom of the Cosmos, 
 Nor can comprehend the mighty whole, 
 Feeble ants in darkness ever crawling, 
 While above our heads the planets roll. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Vast the Cosmos, and we judge it only 
 By the fragment to our sight revealed, 
 And we find it cruel, cold, remorseless. 
 To man's cry for mercy ever steeled. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Man offending 'gainst the laws of Nature 
 Bears the punishment of his offence, 
 But on those her righteous laws obeying 
 She bestows a bounteous recompense. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Nature hath her laws, but all their bounty 
 To the cunning or the strong is paid. 
 And to her the innocent and gende 
 Call in vain for mercy or for aid. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Without struggle there is no improving, 
 Life's a conflict, but it is the best, 
 Yea, the noblest, strongest and most worthy 
 Who emerge with victory's wreath possessed. 
 
74 Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 So Achilles and great Hector perished 
 On the vulture-haunted plains of Troy, 
 While the coward rabble homeward sailing 
 Greeted wives and native land with joy. 
 
 Those surviving in life's bitter struggle 
 Are the ones best fitted to survive 
 In a world where fraud and force still triumph, 
 Where the wicked as the bay tree thrive. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Not the wicked but the wise and prudent 
 Are the victors in the war of life. 
 Thus doth Nature teach to man her wisdom, 
 Forcing him to gird him for the strife. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Nature careth naught for guilt or virtue, 
 But the rain doth fall on both alike, 
 And the wicked, by no scruples hampered. 
 May the blow with greater freedom strike. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Oft it doth appear the wicked triumph, 
 Justice overtakes them yet at last. 
 Just is Nature, and her vengeance cometh 
 Surest when we think the danger past. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 75 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Oftener is innocence afflicted 
 Than is guilt, for Nature careth not. 
 Man must rise above her to be noble, 
 Man must better be than is his lot. 
 
 Cruel she, therefore he must show mercy. 
 Careless she, therefore he must be just; 
 He must ever seek to make her better, 
 Struggle with her evil powers he must. 
 
 War against the Cosmos is man's duty, 
 Planting wheat where Nature soweth tares, 
 Striving ever to be good and noble. 
 Though of virtue's triumph he despairs. 
 
 No, my Felix, speak not thus in folly 
 Nature knoweth neither good nor ill. 
 Nor can give instruction in our duty 
 Right to follow with unflinching will. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Yet must thou confess in times of sorrow 
 On the breast of Nature peace is found, 
 Which we vainly seek in crowded cities 
 Where the tumults of man's life resound. 
 
76 Sebastian. 
 
 In her placid hours there is a calmness 
 Bringing peace to the afflicted soul, 
 In her wrath her trouble is so mighty 
 We forget our petty human dole. 
 
 Who can look on yonder verdant meadows 
 Where the mild-eyed oxen freely browse, 
 Or in pairs beneath the yoke subjected 
 Draw with patient tread the fruitful plows; 
 
 Who can look on yonder mountain summit, 
 Calm, majestic in its robe of snow, 
 Nor perceive the balm which Nature only 
 Can upon the bleeding heart bestow ? 
 
 Nature is the one supreme consoler; 
 
 Unto her we fly when grief-oppressed. 
 
 And upon our wounds she spreadeth ointment. 
 
 Lulling sorrow with her songs to rest. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 True it is that Nature bringeth calmness 
 To the soul tossed on the sea of life, 
 Weary of its never ending surging. 
 Weary of its tumult and its strife. 
 
 Then we fly from man's vexed petty passions 
 To the far-off" mountain's gloomy pride. 
 To the vale where brooklets softly purling 
 Lure us on to linger by their side. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 'j'j 
 
 There the fever of our life forsakes us, 
 Peace descends into the troubled breast, 
 Lost is every sound of life's commotion, 
 And we find the sacred boon of rest. 
 
 So it was in former days, good Felix, 
 And when weary of the life of men 
 I would wander forth among the mountains, 
 By the babbling brook or reedy ien) 
 
 Sweet repose for weary brain and spirit 
 
 In the forest's silent depths I found, 
 
 And returned each time refreshed and strengthened, 
 
 As Antaeus springing from the ground. 
 
 But the vulture now my heart is gnawing 
 As it gnawed the Titan on the peak, 
 And no more repose I find in Nature 
 Than Prometheus 'neath the vulture's beak. 
 
 Felix. 
 
 Peace will yet come to thy troubled bosom, 
 Time alone can soften sorrow's sting. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 No, I do not seek surcease of sorrow. 
 To my grief with all my soul I cling. 
 
78 Sebastiaji. 
 
 Felix. 
 There are sorrows which we fondly cherish, 
 Yet in time they slowly slip away; 
 All in vain we press them to our bosom, 
 All in vain — we can not force their stay. 
 
 Every year the form beloved grows dimmer, 
 Seen through mists that rise before our gaze 
 And regretfully we look upon it, 
 Noting with remorse the gathering haze. 
 
 Sorrows come so bitter that it seemeth 
 We shall bear them with us to the tomb, 
 Yet with self-reproach we see them leaving 
 And our heart emerging from its gloom. 
 
 It is sad we would in vain be constant 
 
 To the grief so bitter and so dear; 
 
 But 'tis best the wound should not bleed always, 
 
 Nor should life be passed beside a bier. 
 
 'Tis not well the stricken soul should languish 
 Endlessly in unavailing pain, 
 Nor the past with its remorse should hold us, 
 Living duties should our thoughts enchain. 
 
 Who performs each day his daily duty, 
 Whether high or low his lot be cast. 
 Making earth the brighter for his presence. 
 Expiates the errors of his past. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 79 
 
 See, Sebastian, see, the sun is mounting, 
 Let us mount with him to yonder height. 
 And behold the prospect vast and lovely 
 That will be unrolled before our sight. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Sebastian and Felix. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Well, Felix, last night in the darkness reflecting, 
 
 I determined to leave for my far distant home. 
 
 Too long have I wandered, my duties neglecting, 
 
 From Venice to Naples, from Florence to Rome. 
 
 I have strolled by the shores of the blue Adriatic, 
 
 And have gazed o'er its glistening wavelets to where 
 
 Bright Venice appeared as a vision ecstatic, 
 
 A city suspended twixt ocean and air. 
 
 I have sailed in my gondola over its waters 
 
 Beneath pallid Luna's transfiguring light 
 
 Till the city seemed built by the sea for his daughters 
 
 Whose singing I heard in the hush of the night. 
 
 Sweet Naples, voluptuous queen of the South, 
 
 Who reclines in her beauty upon her green hills, 
 
 And smiles at Vesuvius' fiery mouth, 
 
 At the torrents of lava descending like rills; 
 
 And Milan's cathedral so wondrously wrought, 
 
8o Sebastian, 
 
 The dream of an artist embodied in stone, 
 
 So fair that it seems a creation of thought, 
 
 Nor built by the hands of mere mortals alone; 
 
 And Florence, proud monarch of Tuscany' s land. 
 
 And Genoa seated o'er-looking the sea. 
 
 And Rome, ever first of the mighty and grand, 
 
 The ancient of days — have been traversed by me. 
 
 I have wandered through all with a heart heavy laden 
 
 With grief and remorse for the things of the past. 
 
 With a trouble which not all the pleasures of Aiden 
 
 Could make me forget ere the judgment day blast. 
 
 Yet much do I owe to this land of the sun, 
 
 But mostly, my noble friend Felix, to thee; 
 
 Ye have saved me from madness, whose work was 
 
 begun. 
 And which would have left me a wreck on life's sea. 
 When first from that horrible trance I awoke. 
 Overwhelmed by my sorrow, my reason I cursed; 
 Oblivion in madness I fain would invoke. 
 Nor look on the woes of the future I durst. 
 But now I am calmer and stronger of soul. 
 And I thank thee, good Felix, for what thou hast done, 
 Though naught for the things of the past can console, 
 And the woof of my life all of black I have spun. 
 Most bitterly, friend, do I crave expiation 
 For the sins which so heavily weigh on my heart; 
 The joy of this land to my soul's desolation 
 A mockery seems, and for home I depart. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 8i 
 
 Felix. 
 Thy purpose is noble and worthy, my friend, 
 But still with regret I should see thee set forth 
 Thus burdened with grief for the sorrowful north. 
 Through this land of the olive and vine let us wend 
 Our way for a while. There are marvelous things 
 To whose recollection the memory clings, 
 There are wonders of beauty, of grandeur and gloom 
 That will haunt thee in dreams till thou sleepst in 
 
 the tomb. 
 They wait for us yet in this land of the sun, 
 The search for whose charms we have scarcely begun. 
 Each hamlet secluded among the blue hills, 
 Where water is purling in crystaline rills, 
 Each village high-perched on the verdure-clad steep 
 Or gazing out over the amethyst deep, 
 Hath something of beauty delighting the eye, 
 Some belfry uplifting its form to the sky. 
 Some statue a world-famous sculptor hath wrought. 
 Some canvas where gloweth a heavenly thought, 
 A church where some vision of beauty is shrined. 
 And the worships of art and of God are combined. 
 And landscapes it offers as restful and fair 
 As those that were painted by Claude's magic hand. 
 Where the peace of the gods seem to gladden the land, 
 And the songs of the Muses to float on the air. 
 Oh, come my Sebastian, and let us explore 
 These regions so famous in classical lore. 
 
S2 Sebastian. 
 
 From Como to ruined Tarentum we'll wander, 
 And over the wrecks of its greatness will ponder. 
 Campagna's green fields on which buffaloes browse 
 Where oppulent cities once stood in their pride; 
 Abbruzzi's wild paths where our footsteps arouse 
 The eagles that scream on the mountain's steep side; 
 The shore of the ocean, where Circe once dwelt, 
 And left to her daughters a part of her charms, 
 The full rounded bosom and tapering arms, 
 The witchery even Odysseus felt — 
 Through all we will stroll from the north to the south. 
 From the region of snow to the region of drouth, 
 Enjoying the marvels before us unrolled. 
 Then Sicily lures with her temples of old 
 The white of whose stones is now melted to gold. 
 With her delicate art which the Saracens taught, 
 And her plains where the Romans with Carthage once 
 
 fought 
 For the world's domination, and Etna's proud crest 
 Where we hear the fierce groans of the earth's tortured 
 
 breast. 
 All beckon us onward. Come, friend, let us go, 
 This land on thy spirit its calm will bestow. 
 When its rest and its peace on thy soul have descended 
 Thou canst to the home of thy childhood return. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 No, Felix, e'en here have my journeyings ended, 
 For the home of my fathers my bosom doth yearn. 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 83 
 
 No more in this land of all gladness I linger, 
 It suits not the gloom that envelopes my heart. 
 Last night as I slept, in a vision God's finger 
 Appeared, sternly pointing, and bade me depart. 
 I awoke and perceived that my soul's absolution 
 For the sins of the past I should never receive 
 Till I turned to my duty with fixed resolution 
 To lessen the number of mortals who grieve. 
 I would that the cross on my shoulder attaching 
 I might seek with Crusaders the Saracen shore. 
 My sword 'gainst the infidel's scimitar matching, 
 And expiate all in a torrent of gore. 
 I would that I might as an anchorite sainted 
 Go dwell in the desert in fasting and prayer, 
 Devoted to Him who with grief was acquainted, 
 And lashing my flesh in my frantic despair. 
 But harder the task that confronts us at present, 
 To live in the world and to act as we should, 
 Discharging our duties however unpleasant. 
 Determined toward all to be helpful and good. 
 So fearfully dashed on the reefs of life's ocean, 
 In the harbor of death I would moulder away. 
 No longer disturbed by its fevered commotion, 
 Untossed by its billows, undrenched by its spray. 
 But though for the peace of the grave I am yearning, 
 And gladly would lay me to sleep in the tomb. 
 Yet now to the land of my fathers returning. 
 My place in the world I shall sadly resume. 
 
84 Sebastian. 
 
 And there in the rigid performance of duty 
 I shall look for repose to my desolate heart, 
 Which vainly seeks comfort in Italy's beauty, 
 The blue of her skies and her marvels of art. 
 
 Felix. 
 Then go, my Sebastian, I would not delay thee, 
 Thou hast found the true balm for the wound in thy 
 
 breast. 
 For the good that thou doest may heaven repay thee 
 By filling thy soul with the peace of the blest. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 The Cathedral where Sebastian's Father and Lalage 
 are buried. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian. {Approaching Lalage' s grave. ^ 
 
 I come, my love, in agony to lay 
 This wreath upon thy long neglected tomb. 
 Oh, why shouldst thou for my offending pay. 
 Thus stricken down in all thy beauty's bloom ? 
 I would that I might lay me down instead 
 Where thou dost slumber there beneath the sod. 
 Why did I not precede thee to the dead, 
 And for my guilt to thee respond to God ? 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 85 
 
 For love of me thou hast been doomed to death, 
 
 And I have seen it, yet I have not died. 
 
 I was not there to cheer thy dying breath, 
 
 Nor have I followed thee, my angel bride. 
 
 Thy soul, I know, doth wander through the blue, 
 
 Waiting for mine to join it in the sky: 
 
 In mine own blood this hand I would imbue 
 
 And fly to meet thy spirit there on high. 
 
 But, oh, I feel to thy celestial sphere 
 
 I can not mount with my sin-laden soul. 
 
 And that I must in anguish linger here 
 
 Till less unworthy of that heavenly goal. 
 
 Oh, sweetest Lalage thou wert my all. 
 
 My heaven on earth, my first, my only love. 
 
 And art thou gone forever ? Hear my call, 
 
 Have pity on my grief, though throned above. 
 
 In life thou wert the empress of my heart. 
 
 In death thou art the lodestar of my hope; 
 
 The bliss of paradise thou didst impart, 
 
 Its pearly gates thy soul to mine will ope. 
 
 Not that I merit there with thee to dwell. 
 
 But thou, I know, wilt intercede for me. 
 
 I could not drag thy spirit down to hell. 
 
 But thou, sweet love, canst draw me up to thee. 
 
 And thou wilt do it, for to mine thy soul 
 
 Is linked by an indissoluble bond, 
 
 Which hath united us in earthly dole, 
 
 And will unite us in the veiled beyond. 
 
86 Sebastian. 
 
 Thou wert by God to mortals lent awhile 
 To teach the beauty of the heavenly choir, 
 The sweet enchantment of the perfect smile, 
 The tender glance that sets the soul on fire. 
 To teach them how the heavenly throng excel 
 All found below in loveliness and worth, 
 To show them charms they could not else foretell, 
 And wean them from the baser things of earth. 
 Oh, Lalage, my bride, I bend me here 
 In agony of grief above thy grave, 
 Upon the marble shed the scalding tear, 
 And bowed by woe thy pardon humbly crave. 
 
 And now, my father, unto thee I turn, 
 
 And lay this wreath upon thy honored tomb. 
 
 Oh, father, how my tortured heart doth yearn 
 
 The old sweet converse with thee to resume. 
 
 Unworthy thy example was the life 
 
 I led in headstrong and unstable youth, 
 
 In careless revel or ignoble strife, 
 
 While scarcely heeded was thy lessons' truth. 
 
 But now, my father, doth my stricken soul 
 
 Recall with joy thy wisdom's sligthest word. 
 
 Which still avails to strengthen and console. 
 
 So priceless now, so little prized when heard. 
 
 The teachings that upon me then seemed lost 
 
 Now wake to life within my tortured breast; 
 
 Upon the sea of life by passion tossed, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. > 87 
 
 I turn to thee Tor counsel and for rest. 
 
 Thou v/ho in calmness and in wisdom soared 
 
 Above the frailties of my weaker heart, 
 
 Thy mighty mind with deepest knowledge stored, 
 
 A little of thy loftiness impart. 
 
 Teach me thy justice and thy self-control, 
 
 Thy resolution to be good and great, 
 
 Thy changeless magnanimity of soul. 
 
 Thy constancy beneath the blows of fate. 
 
 Teach me life's burden so to bear that when 
 
 Upon the further shore of time we meet, 
 
 Thou mayst not blush to look on me again. 
 
 But mayst a son not all unworthy greet. 
 
 Ejiter Priest. 
 Priest. 
 My son, I am rejoiced to see 
 Thou art returned, and most to find 
 That first thou hast betaken thee 
 To where God's worship is enshrined. 
 Rarely in times gone by didst thou 
 The knee in church or chapel bow. 
 And much it pleases me that now 
 To holier ways thou seemst inclined. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Returning from my long exile 
 I first have sought the blessed dead, 
 Reposing 'neath this sacred pile, 
 
88 Sebastian. 
 
 The two bright stars whose life was shed 
 Upon my path — the one my sire, 
 Of whom I need not boast the worth, 
 And who hath trained me from my birth 
 In virtue's ways, though oft I've strayed, 
 And that sweet beam of heavenly fire, 
 That emanation from above 
 Who taught me all the bliss of love — 
 I've come to weep where they are laid. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Thy filial piety, my son, 
 Deserves the highest praise, and I 
 Commend thy grief for loss of one 
 In worth so great, in blood so nigh. 
 But it afflicts me to perceive 
 That this unholy love of thine, 
 Like poison vipers, still doth twine 
 About thy soul. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Thou needst not grieve. 
 That love in paradise was born. 
 And if in death all is not ended 
 (Though oft I doubt 
 
 If life is not a flame that death blows out, 
 A flickering spark 
 That gleams awhile, to vanish in the dark) 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 89 
 
 Then on the resurection morn 
 Her arms to me will be extended, 
 Striving to lift me up to where 
 In heaven she stands, supremely fair. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Oh, speak not thus, full well thou knowest 
 How great the sin to lead astray 
 Another's wife. The seed thou so west, 
 In anguish wilt thou reap that day 
 Unless a true repentance win 
 Remission of thy grievous sin. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Is love a sin ? The holiest feeling 
 The heart of man can know, revealing 
 The joys of paradise above. 
 How is't a sin when God is love ? 
 
 Priest, 
 My son, 'tis not such love as thine 
 That dwelleth in the breast divine. 
 Adulterate passion only draws 
 Man down to Hell's expanded jaws. 
 Open old Dante's book and read 
 Francesca's wail, and thence take heed. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Francesca is not Lalage. 
 My sainted Beatrice she'll be. 
 
90 Sebastia7i. 
 
 My grosser spirit upward lifting, 
 
 To where on clouds of purple drifting, 
 
 The heavenly chorus float and sing. 
 
 That Beatrice to whom we cling 
 
 As purity personified, 
 
 She was another's lawful bride. 
 
 All love is holy; great my guilt 
 
 In yielding to it if thou wilt, 
 
 But now by death 'tis sanctified, 
 
 Priest. 
 No, no, my son, thy guilty passion 
 Do not defend in guiltier fashion. 
 The urgent need dost thou not feel 
 To expiate the ruin brought 
 Upon her house, the havoc wrought ^ 
 By thy mad folly ? Let us kneel 
 Here at God's altar and implore 
 Forgivness for thy sins of yore. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 Most gladly, father, would I pray with thee, 
 Could I believe that God would answer me. 
 That child-like faith has vanished from my heart, 
 And Doubt sits there, nor will it thence depart. 
 Its sits enthroned within my troubled breast. 
 And rocketh to and fro, nor will it rest. 
 But bitterly, my father, do I yearn 
 For expiation — expiation stern; 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 91 
 
 I long to feci the scorpion scourge 
 
 Of torture from my bosom purge 
 
 My sin, so that, all worn and broken, 
 
 Shattered by pains no tongue hath spoken, 
 
 With guiltless soul I may emerge 
 
 As when I played, a little child, 
 
 And kissed my mother as she smiled. 
 
 I would with fierce crusading bands 
 
 Invade the burning Paynim lands. 
 
 And shed my blood on parching sands. 
 
 Or else a hermit I would be 
 
 Beside some stormy northern sea, 
 
 And feed like beasts upon the roots 
 
 Fd gather there and bitter fruits, 
 
 Praying for death to set me free 
 
 From life's enduring agony. 
 
 And if I could believe that so. 
 
 In living like the olden saints, 
 
 1 could wash off the guilt that taints 
 
 My soul, I forth would gladly go. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 My son, those saints obtained remission 
 Of sin, who fasted, wept and prayed. 
 Lashing their backs in deep contrition, 
 God's mercy seeking and His aid. 
 Penance is holy, and the yearning 
 So fiercely in thy bosom burning 
 
92 Sebastian. 
 
 God plants to teach thee how to win 
 Forgiveness for thy grievous sin. 
 
 Sebastian. 
 
 I would, my father, I might share 
 Thy faith, but that long since is past. 
 How gladly would I pray and fast 
 Could I believe forgiveness there. 
 No, not in useless penance shall I find 
 The balm for my distracted mind. 
 If right the voice of conscience speaks, 
 'Tis not the selfish saint who seeks 
 Alone his own salvation who 
 The path of duty doth pursue. 
 Not through the desert doth it lie. 
 But through the busy haunts of men, 
 Where we must walk with pitying eye. 
 Prepared to lend assistance when 
 We hear the voice of sorrow call. 
 Not in the shade of cloister wall. 
 Trying to save our souls alone 
 For errors past do we atone. 
 'Tis in the tumult and the strife. 
 The agony of human life, 
 Doing our duty unto all, 
 Fighting the battles of the weak. 
 Wiping the tear from Sorrow's cheek. 
 Warring for right against the wrong, 
 
A Dramatic Poem. 93 
 
 'Tis thus we should our pardon seek. 
 
 Such was the Hfe my father led, 
 
 And in his steps I'll feebly tread. 
 
 And here between the honored dead, 
 
 The one so fair, the one so strong — 
 
 The one who beckons me to heaven, 
 
 Who heaven's own bliss to me has given. 
 
 The other who has shown me where 
 
 The path of human duty leads — 
 
 Even here I dedicate my life 
 
 To comforting the heart that bleeds, 
 
 To raising souls from their despair, 
 
 To duty's path of pain and strife. 
 
 The way is long, but when I falter 
 
 I'll turn to those who slumber here, 
 
 And kneeling as beside an altar, 
 
 Fresh strength I'll find my heart to cheer. 
 
 Priest. 
 My son, I mourn thy want of faith, 
 But follow on in Virtue's path. 
 And God the phials of His wrath 
 May still withhold, and ere thy death 
 Thou mayst His blessed mercy feel, 
 And at His shrine repentant kneel. 
 Then will the peace no tongue can tell 
 Abide with thee. My son, farewell. 
 
mmmmit