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George MacDonald - Within and Without: Part IV: A Dramatic Poem
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And should the twilight darken into night,
And sorrow grow to anguish, be thou strong;
Thou art in God, and nothing can go wrong
Which a fresh life-pulse cannot set aright.
That thou dost know the darkness, proves the light.
Weep if thou wilt, but weep not all too long;
Or weep and work, for work will lead to song.
But search thy heart, if, hid from all thy sight,
There lies no cause for beauty`s slow decay;
If for completeness and diviner youth,
And not for very love, thou seek`st the truth;
If thou hast learned to give thyself away
For love`s own self, not for thyself, I say:
Were God`s love less, the world were lost, in sooth!


SCENE I.—Summer. Julian`s room. JULIAN is reading out of a book of
poems.


Love me, beloved; the thick clouds lower;
A sleepiness filleth the earth and air;
The rain has been falling for many an hour;
A weary look the summer doth wear:
Beautiful things that cannot be so;
Loveliness clad in the garments of woe.

Love me, beloved; I hear the birds;
The clouds are lighter; I see the blue;
The wind in the leaves is like gentle words
Quietly passing `twixt me and you;
The evening air will bathe the buds
With the soothing coolness of summer floods.

Love me, beloved; for, many a day,
Will the mist of the morning pass away;
Many a day will the brightness of noon
Lead to a night that hath lost her moon;
And in joy or in sadness, in autumn or spring,
Thy love to my soul is a needful thing.

Love me, beloved; for thou mayest lie
Dead in my sight, `neath the same blue sky;
Love me, O love me, and let me know
The love that within thee moves to and fro;
That many a form of thy love may be
Gathered around thy memory.

Love me, beloved; for I may lie
Dead in thy sight, `neath the same blue sky;
The more thou hast loved me, the less thy pain,
The stronger thy hope till we meet again;
And forth on the pathway we do not know,
With a load of love, my soul would go.

Love me, beloved; for one must lie
Motionless, lifeless, beneath the sky;
The pale stiff lips return no kiss
To the lips that never brought love amiss;
And the dark brown earth be heaped above
The head that lay on the bosom of love.

Love me, beloved; for both must lie
Under the earth and beneath the sky;
The world be the same when we are gone;
The leaves and the waters all sound on;
The spring come forth, and the wild flowers live,
Gifts for the poor man`s love to give;
The sea, the lordly, the gentle sea,
Tell the same tales to others than thee;
And joys, that flush with an inward morn,
Irradiate hearts that are yet unborn;
A youthful race call our earth their own,
And gaze on its wonders from thought`s high throne;
Embraced by fair Nature, the youth will embrace.
The maid beside him, his queen of the race;
When thou and I shall have passed away
Like the foam-flake thou looked`st on yesterday.

Love me, beloved; for both must tread
On the threshold of Hades, the house of the dead;
Where now but in thinkings strange we roam,
We shall live and think, and shall be at home;
The sights and the sounds of the spirit land
No stranger to us than the white sea-sand,
Than the voice of the waves, and the eye of the moon,
Than the crowded street in the sunlit noon.
I pray thee to love me, belov`d of my heart;
If we love not truly, at death we part;
And how would it be with our souls to find
That love, like a body, was left behind!

Love me, beloved; Hades and Death
Shall vanish away like a frosty breath;
These hands, that now are at home in thine,
Shall clasp thee again, if thou still art mine;
And thou shall be mine, my spirit`s bride,
In the ceaseless flow of eternity`s tide,
If the truest love that thy heart can know
Meet the truest love that from mine can flow.
Pray God, beloved, for thee and me,
That our souls may be wedded eternally.

[He closes the book, and is silent for some moments.]

Ah me, O Poet! did thy love last out
The common life together every hour?
The slumber side by side with wondrousness
Each night after a day of fog and rain?
Did thy love glory o`er the empty purse,
And the poor meal sometimes the poet`s lot?
Is she dead, Poet? Is thy love awake?

Alas! and is it come to this with me?
I might have written that! where am I now?
Yet let me think: I love less passionately,
But not less truly; I would die for her—
A little thing, but all a man can do.
O my beloved, where the answering love?
Love me, beloved. Whither art thou gone?

^ ^ ^ ^ ^

SCENE II.—Lilia`s room. LILIA.

Lilia.
He grows more moody still, more self-withdrawn.
Were it not better that I went away,
And left him with the child; for she alone
Can bring the sunshine on his cloudy face?
Alas, he used to say to me, my child!
Some convent would receive me in my land,
Where I might weep unseen, unquestioned;
And pray that God in whom he seems to dwell,
To take me likewise in, beside him there.

Had I not better make one trial first
To win again his love to compass me?
Might I not kneel, lie down before his feet,
And beg and pray for love as for my life?
Clasping his knees, look up to that stern heaven,
That broods above his eyes, and pray for smiles?
What if endurance were my only meed?
He would not turn away, but speak forced words,
Soothing with kindness me who thirst for love,
And giving service where I wanted smiles;
Till by degrees all had gone back again
To where it was, a slow dull misery.
No. `Tis the best thing I can do for him—
And that I will do—free him from my sight.
In love I gave myself away to him;
And now in love I take myself again.
He will not miss me; I am nothing now.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^

SCENE III.—Lord Seaford`s garden. LILIA; LORD SEAFORD.

Lord S.
How the white roses cluster on the trellis!
They look in the dim light as if they floated
Within the fluid dusk that bathes them round.
One could believe that those far distant tones
Of scarce-heard music, rose with the faint scent,
Breathed odorous from the heart of the pale flowers,
As the low rushing from a river-bed,
Or the continuous bubbling of a spring
In deep woods, turning over its own joy
In its own heart luxuriously, alone.
`Twas on such nights, after such sunny days,
The poets of old Greece saw beauteous shapes
Sighed forth from out the rooted, earth-fast trees,
With likeness undefinable retained
In higher human form to their tree-homes,
Which fainting let them forth into the air,
And lived a life in death till they returned.
The large-limbed, sweepy-curved, smooth-rounded beech
Gave forth the perfect woman to the night;
From the pale birch, breeze-bent and waving, stole
The graceful, slight-curved maiden, scarcely grown.
The hidden well gave forth its hidden charm,
The Naiad with the hair that flowed like streams,
And arms that gleamed like moonshine on wet sands.
The broad-browed oak, the stately elm, gave forth
Their inner life in shapes of ecstasy.
All varied, loveliest forms of womanhood
Dawned out in twilight, and athwart the grass
Half danced with cool and naked feet, half floated
Borne on winds dense enough for them to swim.
O what a life they lived! in poet`s brain—
Not on this earth, alas!—But you are sad;
You do not speak, dear lady.

Lilia.
Pardon me.
If such words make me sad, I am to blame.

Lord S.
Ah, no! I spoke of lovely, beauteous things:
Beauty and sadness always go together.
Nature thought Beauty too golden to go forth
Upon the earth without a meet alloy.
If Beauty had been born the twin of Gladness,
Poets had never needed this dream-life;
Each blessed man had but to look beside him,
And be more blest. How easily could God
Have made our life one consciousness of joy!
It is denied us. Beauty flung around
Most lavishly, to teach our longing hearts
To worship her; then when the soul is full
Of lovely shapes, and all sweet sounds that breathe,
And colours that bring tears into the eyes—
Steeped until saturated with her essence;
And, faint with longing, gasps for some one thing
More beautiful than all, containing all,
Essential Beauty`s self, that it may say:
"Thou art my Queen—I dare not think to crown thee,
For thou art crowned already, every part,
With thy perfection; but I kneel to thee,
The utterance of the beauty of the earth,
As of the trees the Hamadryades;
I worship thee, intense of loveliness!
Not sea-born only; sprung from Earth, Air, Ocean,
Star-Fire; all elements and forms commingling
To give thee birth, to utter each its thought
Of beauty held in many forms diverse,
In one form, holding all, a living Love,
Their far-surpassing child, their chosen queen
By virtue of thy dignities combined!"—
And when in some great hour of wild surprise,
She floats into his sight; and, rapt, entranced,
At last he gazes, as I gaze on thee,
And, breathless, his full heart stands still for joy,
And his soul thinks not, having lost itself
In her, pervaded with her being; strayed
Out from his eyes, and gathered round her form,
Clothing her with the only beauty yet
That could be added, ownness unto him;—
Then falls the stern, cold No with thunder-tone.
Think, lady,—the poor unresisting soul
Clear-burnished to a crystalline abyss
To house in central deep the ideal form;
Led then to Beauty, and one glance allowed,
From heart of hungry, vacant, waiting shrine,
To set it on the Pisgah of desire;—
Then the black rain! low-slanting, sweeping rain!
Stormy confusions! far gray distances!
And the dim rush of countless years behind!

[He sinks at her feet.]

Yet for this moment, let me worship thee!

Lilia
(agitated).
Rise, rise, my lord; this cannot be, indeed.
I pray you, cease; I will not listen to you.
Indeed it must not, cannot, must not be!

[Moving as to go.]

Lord S.
(rising).
Forgive me, madam. Let me cast myself
On your good thoughts. I had been thinking thus,
All the bright morning, as I walked alone;
And when you came, my thoughts flowed forth in words.
It is a weakness with me from my boyhood,
That if I act a part in any play,
Or follow, merely intellectually,
A passion or a motive—ere I know,
My being is absorbed, my brain on fire;
I am possessed with something not myself,
And live and move and speak in foreign forms.
Pity my weakness, madam; and forgive
My rudeness with your gentleness and truth.
That you are beautiful is simple fact;
And when I once began to speak my thoughts,
The wheels of speech ran on, till they took fire,
And in your face flung foolish sparks and dust.
I am ashamed; and but for dread of shame,
I should be kneeling now to beg forgiveness.

Lilia.
Think nothing more of it, my lord, I pray.
—What is this purple flower with the black spot
In its deep heart? I never saw it before.


SCENE IV.—Julian`s room. The dusk of evening. JULIAN standing
with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the floor.

Julian.
I see her as I saw her then. She sat
On a low chair, the child upon her knees,
Not six months old. Radiant with motherhood,
Her full face beamed upon the face below,
Bent over it, as with love to ripen love;
Till its intensity, like summer heat,
Gathered a mist across her heaven of eyes,
Which grew until it dropt in large slow tears,
The earthly outcome of the heavenly thing!
[He walks toward the window, seats himself at a
little table, and writes.]

THE FATHER`S HYMN FOR THE MOTHER TO SING.

My child is lying on my knees;
The signs of heaven she reads:
My face is all the heaven she sees,
Is all the heaven she needs.

And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss,
If heaven is in my face—
Behind it, all is tenderness,
And truthfulness and grace.

I mean her well so earnestly.
Unchanged in changing mood;
My life would go without a sigh
To bring her something good.

I also am a child, and I
Am ignorant and weak;
I gaze upon the starry sky,
And then I must not speak;

For all behind the starry sky,
Behind the world so broad,
Behind men`s hearts and souls doth lie
The Infinite of God.

If true to her, though troubled sore,
I cannot choose but be;
Thou, who art peace for evermore,
Art very true to me.

If I am low and sinful, bring
More love where need is rife;
Thou knowest what an awful thing
It is to be a life.

Hast thou not wisdom to enwrap
My waywardness about,
In doubting safety on the lap
Of Love that knows no doubt?

Lo! Lord, I sit in thy wide space,
My child upon my knee;
She looketh up unto my face,
And I look up to thee.


SCENE V.—Lord Seaford`s house; Lady Gertrude`s room. LADY
GERTRUDE lying on a couch; LILIA seated beside her, with the
girl`s hand in both hers.


Lady Gertrude.
How kind of you to come! And you will stay
And be my beautiful nurse till I grow well?
I am better since you came. You look so sweet,
It brings all summer back into my heart.

Lilia.
I am very glad to come. Indeed, I felt
No one could nurse you quite so well as I.

Lady Gertrude.
How kind of you! Do call me sweet names now;
And put your white cool hands upon my head;
And let me lie and look in your great eyes:
`Twill do me good; your very eyes are healing.

Lilia.
I must not let you talk too much, dear child.

Lady Gertrude.
Well, as I cannot have my music-lesson,
And must not speak much, will you sing to me?
Sing that strange ballad you sang once before;
`Twill keep me quiet.

Lilia.
What was it, child?

Lady Gertrude.
It was
Something about a race—Death and a lady—

Lilia.
Oh! I remember. I would rather sing
Some other, though.

Lady Gertrude.
No, no, I want that one.
Its ghost walks up and down inside my head,
But won`t stand long enough to show itself.
You must talk Latin to it—sing it away,
Or when I`m ill, `twill haunt me.

Lilia.
Well, I`ll sing it.


SONG.

Death and a lady rode in the wind,
In a starry midnight pale;
Death on a bony horse behind,
With no footfall upon the gale.

The lady sat a wild-eyed steed;
Eastward he tore to the morn.
But ever the sense of a noiseless speed,
And the sound of reaping corn!

All the night through, the headlong race
Sped to the morning gray;
The dew gleamed cold on her cold white face—
From Death or the morning? say.

Her steed`s wide knees began to shake,
As he flung the road behind;
The lady sat still, but her heart did quake,
And a cold breath came down the wind.

When, Lo! a fleet bay horse beside,
With a silver mane and tail;
A knight, bareheaded, the horse did ride,
With never a coat of mail.

He never lifted his hand to Death,
And he never couched a spear;
But the lady felt another breath,
And a voice was in her ear.

He looked her weary eyes through and through,
With his eyes so strong in faith:
Her bridle-hand the lady drew,
And she turned and laughed at Death.

And away through the mist of the morning gray,
The spectre and horse rode wide;
The dawn came up the old bright way,
And the lady never died.


Lord Seaford
(who has entered during the song).
Delightful! Why, my little pining Gertrude,
With such charm-music you will soon be well.
Madam, I know not how to speak the thanks
I owe you for your kindness to my daughter:
She looks as different from yesterday
As sunrise from a fog.

Lilia.
I am but too happy
To be of use to one I love so much.


SCENE VI.—A rainy day. LORD SEAFORD walking up and down his room,
murmuring to himself.


Oh, my love is like a wind of death,
That turns me to a stone!
Oh, my love is like a desert breath,
That burns me to the bone!

Oh, my love is a flower with a purple glow,
And a purple scent all day!
But a black spot lies at the heart below,
And smells all night of clay.

Oh, my love is like the poison sweet
That lurks in the hooded cell!
One flash in the eyes, one bounding beat,
And then the passing bell!

Oh, my love she`s like a white, white rose!
And I am the canker-worm:
Never the bud to a blossom blows;
It falls in the rainy storm.


SCENE VII.—JULIAN reading in his room.

"And yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me."

[He closes the book and kneels.]


SCENE VIII.—Lord Seaford`s room. LILIA and LORD SEAFORD.
Her hand lies in his.

Lilia.
It may be true. I am bewildered, though.
I know not what to answer.

Lord S.
Let me answer:—
You would it were so—you would love me then?

[A sudden crash of music from a brass band in the street,
melting away in a low cadence.]

Lilia
(starting up).
Let me go, my lord!

Lord S.
(retaining her hand).
Why, sweetest! what is this?

Lilia
(vehemently, and disengaging her hand).
Let me go. My husband! Oh, my white child!

[She hurries to the door, but falls.]

Lord S.
(raising her).
I thought you trusted me, yes, loved me, Lilia!

Lilia.
Peace! that name is his! Speak it again—I rave.
He thought I loved him—and I did—I do.
Open the door, my lord!

[He hesitates. She draws herself up erect, with flashing eyes.]

Once more, my lord—

Open the door, I say.

[He still hesitates. She walks swiftly to the window, flings it
wide, and is throwing herself out.]

Lord S.
Stop, madam! I will.

[He opens the door. She leaves the window, and walks slowly
out. He hears the house-door open and shut, flings himself
on the couch, and hides his face.]

Enter LADY GERTRUDE.

Lady Gertrude.
Dear father, are you ill? I knocked
three times; You did not speak.

Lord S.
I did not hear you, child.
My head aches rather; else I am quite well.

Lady Gertrude.
Where is the countess?

Lord S.
She is gone. She had
An urgent message to go home at once.
But, Gertrude, now you seem so well, why not
Set out to-morrow? You can travel now;
And for your sake the sooner that we breathe
Italian air the better.

Lady Gertrude.
This is sudden!
I scarcely can be ready by to-morrow.

Lord S.
It will oblige me, child. Do what you can.
Just go and order everything you want.
I will go with you. Ring the bell, my love;
I have a reason for my haste. We`ll have
The horses to at once. Come, Gertrude, dear.


SCENE IX.—Evening. Hampstead Heath. LILIA seated.

Lilia.
The first pale star! braving the rear of Day!
And all heaven waiting till the sun has drawn
His long train after him! then half creation
Will follow its queen-leader from the depths.
O harbinger of hope! O star of love!
Thou hast gone down in me, gone down for ever;
And left my soul in such a starless night,
It has not love enough to weep thy loss.
O fool! to know thee once, and, after years,
To take a gleaming marsh-light for thy lamp!
How could I for one moment hear him speak!
O Julian! for my last love-gift I thought
To bring that love itself, bound and resigned,
And offering it a sacrifice to thee,
Lead it away into the wilderness;
But one vile spot hath tainted this my lamb;
Unoffered it must go, footsore and weary,
Not flattering itself to die for thee.
And yet, thank God, it was one moment only,
That, lapt in darkness and the loss of thee,
Sun of my soul, and half my senses dead
Through very weariness and lack of love,
My heart throbbed once responsive to a ray
That glimmered through its gloom from other eyes,
And seemed to promise rest and hope again.
My presence shall not grieve thee any more,
My Julian, my husband. I will find
A quiet place where I will seek thy God.
And—in my heart it wakens like a voice
From him—the Saviour—there are other worlds
Where all gone wrong in this may be set right;
Where I, made pure, may find thee, purer still,
And thou wilt love the love that kneels to thee.
I`ll write and tell him I have gone, and why.
But what to say about my late offence,
That he may understand just what it was?
For I must tell him, if I write at all.
I fear he would discover where I was;
Pitiful duty would not let him rest
Until he found me; and I fain would free
From all the weight of mine, that heart of his.

[Sound of a coach-horn.]

It calls me to rise up and go to him,
Leading me further from him and away.
The earth is round; God`s thoughts return again;
And I will go in hope. Help me, my God!


SCENE X.—Julian`s room. JULIAN reading. A letter is brought in.
He reads it, turns deadly pale, and leans his arms and head on the
table, almost fainting. This lasts some time; then starting up, he
paces through the room, his shoulders slightly shrugged, his arms
rigid by his sides, and his hands clenched hard, as if a net of pain
were drawn tight around his frame. At length he breathes deep, draws
himself up, and walks erect, his chest swelling, but his teeth set.


Julian.
Me! My wife! Insect, didst thou say my wife?

[Hurriedly turning the letter on the table to see the address.]

Why, if she love him more than me, why then
Let her go with him!—Gone to Italy!
Pursue, says he? Revenge?—Let the corpse crush
The slimy maggot with its pulpy fingers!—
What if I stabbed—

[Taking his dagger, and feeling its point.]

Whom? Her—what then?—Or him—
What yet? Would that give back the life to me?
There is one more—myself! Oh, peace! to feel
The earthworms crawling through my mouldering brain!—
But to be driven along the windy wastes—
To hear the tempests, raving as they turn,
Howl Lilia, Lilia—to be tossed about
Beneath the stars that range themselves for ever
Into the burning letters of her name—
`Twere better creep the earth down here than that,
For pain`s excess here sometimes deadens pain.

[He throws the dagger on the floor.]

Have I deserved this? Have I earned it? I?
A pride of innocence darts through my veins.
I stand erect. Shame cannot touch me. Ha!
I laugh at insult. I? I am myself—

Why starest thou at me? Well, stare thy fill;
When devils mock, the angels lend their wings:—
But what their wings? I have nowhere to fly.
Lilia! my worship of thy purity!
Hast thou forgotten—ah! thou didst not know
How, watching by thee in thy fever-pain,
When thy white neck and bosom were laid bare,
I turned my eyes away, and turning drew
With trembling hand white darkness over thee,
Because I knew not thou didst love me then.
Love me! O God in heaven! Is love a thing
That can die thus? Love me! Would, for thy penance,
Thou saw`st but once the heart which thou hast torn—
Shaped all about thy image set within!
But that were fearful! What rage would not, love
Must then do for thee—in mercy I would kill thee,
To save thee from the hell-fire of remorse.
If blood would make thee clean, then blood should flow;
Eager, unwilling, this hand should make thee bleed,
Till, drop by drop, the taint should drop away.
Clean! said I? fit to lie by me in sleep,
My hand upon thy heart!—not fit to lie,
For all thy bleeding, by me in the grave!


[His eye falls on that likeness of Jesus said to be copied from an
emerald engraved for Tiberius. He gazes, drops on his knees, and
covers his face; remains motionless a long time; then rises very pale,
his lips compressed, his eyes filled with tears.]


O my poor Lilia! my bewildered child!
How shall I win thee, save thee, make thee mine?
Where art thou wandering? What words in thine ears?
God, can she never more be clean? no more,
Through all the terrible years? Hast thou no well
In all thy heaven, in all thyself, that can
Wash her soul clean? Her body will go down
Into the friendly earth—would it were lying
There in my arms! for there thy rains will come,
Fresh from the sky, slow sinking through the sod,
Summer and winter; and we two should lie
Mouldering away together, gently washed
Into the heart of earth; and part would float
Forth on the sunny breezes that bear clouds
Through the thin air. But her stained soul, my God!
Canst thou not cleanse it? Then should we, when death
Was gone, creep into heaven at last, and sit
In some still place together, glory-shadowed.
None would ask questions there. And I should be
Content to sorrow a little, so I might
But see her with the darling on her knees,
And know that must be pure that dwelt within
The circle of thy glory. Lilia! Lilia!
I scorn the shame rushing from head to foot;
I would endure it endlessly, to save
One thought of thine from his polluting touch;
Saying ever to myself: this is a part
Of my own Lilia; and the world to me
Is nothing since I lost the smiles of her:
Somehow, I know not how, she faded from me,
And this is all that`s left of her. My wife!
Soul of my soul! my oneness with myself!
Come back to me; I will be all to thee:
Back to my heart; and we will weep together,
And pray to God together every hour,
That he would show how strong he is to save.
The one that made is able to renew—
I know not how.—I`ll hold thy heart to mine,
So close that the defilement needs must go.
My love shall ray thee round, and, strong as fire,
Dart through and through thy soul, till it be cleansed.—
But if she love him? Oh my heart—beat! beat!
Grow not so sick with misery and life,
For fainting will not save thee.—Oh no! no!
She cannot love him as she must love me.
Then if she love him not—oh horrible!—oh God!

[He stands in a stupor for some minutes.]

What devil whispered that vile word, unclean?
I care not—loving more than that can touch.
Let me be shamed, ay, perish in my shame,
As men call perishing, so she be saved.
Saved! my beloved! my Lilia!—Alas,
Would she were here! oh, I would make her weep,
Till her soul wept itself to purity!
Far, far away! where my love cannot reach.
No, no; she is not gone!

[Starting and facing wildly through the room.]

It is a lie—
Deluding blind revenge, not keen-eyed love.
I must do something.—

[Enter LILY.]

Ah! there`s the precious thing
That shall entice her back.

[Kneeling and clasping the child to his heart.]

My little Lily,
I have lost your mother.

Lily.
Oh!

[Beginning to weep.]

She was so pretty,
Somebody has stolen her.

Julian.
Will you go with me,
And help me look for her?

Lily.
O yes, I will.

[Clasping him round the neck.]

But my head aches so! Will you carry me?

Julian.
Yes, my own darling. Come, we`ll get your bonnet.

Lily.
Oh! you`ve been crying, father. You`re so white!

[Putting her finger to his cheek.]


SCENE XI.—A table in a club-room. Several Gentlemen seated round
it. To them enter another.

1st Gentleman.
Why, Bernard, you look heated! what`s the matter?

Bernard.
Hot work, as looked at; cool enough, as done.

2nd G.
A good antithesis, as usual, Bernard,
But a shell too hard for the vulgar teeth
Of our impatient curiosity.

Bernard.
Most unexpectedly I found myself
Spectator of a scene in a home-drama
Worth all stage-tragedies I ever saw.

All.
What was it? Tell us then. Here, take this seat.

[He sits at the table, and pours out a glass of wine.]

Bernard.
I went to call on Seaford, and was told
He had gone to town. So I, as privileged,
Went to his cabinet to write a note;
Which finished, I came down, and called his valet.
Just as I crossed the hall I heard a voice—
"The Countess Lamballa—is she here to-day?"
And looking toward the door, I caught a glimpse
Of a tall figure, gaunt and stooping, drest
In a blue shabby frock down to his knees,
And on his left arm sat a little child.
The porter gave short answer, with the door
For period to the same; when, like a flash,
It flew wide open, and the serving man
Went reeling, staggering backward to the stairs,
`Gainst which he fell, and, rolling down, lay stunned.
In walked the visitor; but in the moment
Just measured by the closing of the door,
Heavens, what a change! He walked erect, as if
Heading a column, with an eye and face
As if a fountain-shaft of blood had shot
Up suddenly within his wasted frame.
The child sat on his arm quite still and pale,
But with a look of triumph in her eyes.
He glanced in each room opening from the hall,
Set his face for the stair, and came right on—
In every motion calm as glacier`s flow,
Save, now and then, a movement, sudden, quick,
Of his right hand across to his left side:
`Twas plain he had been used to carry arms.

3rd G.
Did no one stop him?

Bernard.
Stop him? I`d as soon
Have faced a tiger with bare hands. `Tis easy
In passion to meet passion; but it is
A daunting thing to look on, when the blood
Is going its wonted pace through your own veins.
Besides, this man had something in his face,
With its live eyes, close lips, nostrils distended,
A self-reliance, and a self-command,
That would go right up to its goal, in spite
Of any no from any man. I would
As soon have stopped a cannon-ball as him.
Over the porter, lying where he fell,
He strode, and up the stairs. I heard him go—
I listened as it were a ghost that walked
With pallid spectre-child upon its arm—
Along the corridors, from door to door,
Opening and shutting. But at last a sting
Of sudden fear lest he should find the lady,
And mischief follow, shot me up the stairs.
I met him at the top, quiet as at first;
The fire had faded from his eyes; the child
Held in her tiny hand a lady`s glove
Of delicate primrose. When he reached the hall,
He turned him to the porter, who had scarce
Recovered what poor wits he had, and saying,
"The count Lamballa waited on lord Seaford,"
Turned him again, and strode into the street.

1st G.
Have you learned anything of what it meant?

Bernard.
Of course he had suspicions of his wife:
For all the gifts a woman has to give,
I would not rouse such blood. And yet to see
The gentle fairy child fall kissing him,
And, with her little arms grasping his neck,
Peep anxious round into his shaggy face,
As they went down the street!—it almost made
A fool of me.—I`d marry for such a child!


SCENE XII.—A by-street. JULIAN walking home very weary. The
child in his arms, her head lying on his shoulder. An Organ-boy
with a monkey, sitting on a door-step. He sings in a low voice.

Julian.
Look at the monkey, Lily.

Lily.
No, dear father;
I do not like monkeys.

Julian.
Hear the poor boy sing.

[They listen. He sings.]

SONG.

Wenn ich hoere dich mir nah`,
Stimmen in den Blaettern da;
Wenn ich fuehl` dich weit und breit,
Vater, das ist Seligkeit.

Nun die Sonne liebend scheint,
Mich mit dir und All vereint;
Biene zu den Blumen fliegt,
Seel` an Lieb` sich liebend schmiegt.

So mich voellig lieb du hast,
Daseyn ist nicht eine Last;
Wenn ich seh` und hoere dich,
Das genuegt mir inniglich.

Lily.
It sounds so curious. What is he saying, father?

Julian.
My boy, you are not German?

Boy.
No; my mother
Came from those parts. She used to sing the song.
I do not understand it well myself,
For I was born in Genoa.—Ah! my mother!

[Weeps.]

Julian.
My mother was a German, my poor boy;
My father was Italian: I am like you.

[Giving him money.]

You sing of leaves and sunshine, flowers and bees,
Poor child, upon a stone in the dark street!

Boy.
My mother sings it in her grave; and I
Will sing it everywhere, until I die.


SCENE XIII.—LILIA`S room. JULIAN enters with the child;
undresses her, and puts her to bed.

Lily.
Father does all things for his little Lily.

Julian.
My own dear Lily! Go to sleep, my pet.

[Sitting by her.]

"Wenn ich seh` und hoere dich,
Das genuegt mir inniglich."

[Falling on his knees.]

I come to thee, and, lying on thy breast,
Father of me, I tell thee in thine ear,
Half-shrinking from the sound, yet speaking free,
That thou art not enough for me, my God.
Oh, dearly do I love thee! Look: no fear
Lest thou shouldst be offended, touches me.
Herein I know thy love: mine casts out fear.
O give me back my wife; thou without her
Canst never make me blessed to the full.

[Silence.]

O yes; thou art enough for me, my God;
Part of thyself she is, else never mine.
Source
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