Anonymous

“ These rosy-hued thro' Coan garment seen,
These frankly white but for their ivy-crown,
These wreathing verdant clusters of the vine,
Purple and amber twined with trailing green,—
With clash of cymbal and with sobbing flute
Divide the darkness with opposing song
Of rousing rapture, or a low lament;
But now you serve some stern ascetic God,
You seem to count it shame that a form be fair,
And muffle you like vestals!
Hermes:
Nakedness
In the palaistra or among the vines
Bathed of the dew, and sunshine-sanctified,
Was God-like once that Beast-like is to-day! ”

“ Perchance this night may find thy empire cease,
Fire in the brain, fire in the heart, fire in the eye,
The blood new coursing thro' my wither'd veins,
This old, ill, life all done with.—
Lenore.— (Aside) :
⁠He's prepared
⁠ (To Sylvester.)
At least to die,— aye, it may not be long
Ere Time smooth out the tangled, twisted thread,
The clew that leads us hostel-wards, at night,
To rest at that inevitable inn,
Where Death is heedless and unhasting host.
Sylvester:
Who speaks of Death? ”

“ As passing to the wizard woods you find
A philtre in the drenching of the dew;
And ever waking or sleeping you shall hear
A soft wind blowing from behind the moon,
From past the sunset, from beyond the stars,
Whispering you remembrance and regret,
—A sweet regret, a poignant memory—
That once you met with Beauty face to face,
And that She pass'd from you upon Her way!
But what blows hither as the night-wind wakes? ”

“ An Alien Pilot boards him, in the night,
Steering the luckless vessel to his will!
Sylvester:
Conscience must overboard, his specious plea
Of Pity and Mercy poisons, else, our lives!
Pity and Mercy are man's enemies,
And I look forward till, in years to be,
Arise a Conqueror, compassionless,
With soul self-centred, trusting in his star,
'Will turn old Europe to one trampled field,
Wading thro' blood and wrack of shatter'd thrones
Until his utmost purpose be accomplish'd. ”

“ Theonöe.— (Throwing herself on to the body of Ion) :
Ah, tarry, tarry, Ion, wait for me,
Who weary of this strange bewild'ring world;
You have escap'd from prison and shall I stay.
⁠ (Rises.)
Ion is dead, and Julian is dead,
Ion has flitted, moth-like, from the world,
And Julian, disdainful of the dust
That men call Empire, gold, or power here,
Wings in a strong flight up the burning blue,
A Roman eagle hungry for the sky
To gaze for ever on the Sovereign Sun. ”

“ Opora ever was a lover of love!
Pass in a good hour under a lucky star,
How happy were I but for one short day,
To be again the girl Melissa is!
Sysis:
She is but promise, you fulfilment are.
Opora:
She is the blossom'd branch, and I the tree
Full-fruited, Autumn sets his seal upon.
Lysis:
Aye, the sweet fruit of prime maturity
The Summer sun made perfect.
Opora:
⁠Nay, our life
Unlike the tree's, one only Autumn knows,
Instant on which the dreary Winter waits
That breaks no more to spring-time. ”

“ Either the Gods are weary of the world
Or angry with their children.
Libanius:
⁠Pray you, leave
To Jew and Galilean jealous Gods.
No angry God may ever work man ill,
Anger is contrary to the mind Divine,
But man's misunderstanding of the Gods
Himself may injure. Souls in fear of God
Are souls from Him by their own default estrang'd,
Thereby enduring worst of punishment,
The God is not in need of any man.
The wise man is in need of God alone.
Voices:
Fain would I find the God, but He is far.
Damis:
Veil'd is the vision that in youth was clear. ”

“ Lenore:
When all is done, Sylvester? Nay, alas!
All is not done, our term of living sped,
There is a Judgment still to be endured,
And endless dolour or gladness yet to be.
Sylvester:
Your God may rule His heaven, but here on earth
I know two Gods, two dull unheeding Gods,
Invidious Time and cruel Circumstance,
Who ride the poor man with a double spur
Desire and Hunger, and the rich man drive
With pointed goad of dull Satiety,
Or longing for things unattainable.
To rule those Gods one must be young and strong. ”

“ The shining happy palaces of Island Fortunate.
———
We pass'd a convoy guarded fleet in sunset waters rock'd
The careful coasters cried to us, the men of battle mock'd
As half regretfully we gazed where floating fair and free
The pennons of the fighting ships dipp'd silken to the sea.
We know not how their traffic throve, nor how the battle sped
But these we left to count their pelf, and these to tell their dead.
As vain their dream of petty gain, as theirs of martial state
To us who sought the wide world through for Island Fortunate.
———
What waits us, once our goal attain'd? ”

“ Opora:
Once more the dawn's recurrent miracle!
Cloudless, save for one little cloud that seems
A rout of rose leaves blown across the sky,
Above the vineyards of Mount Silpius.
The world, dawn-dewy, is a world made new,
And Beauty's self seems rising from the sea,
Born from the Sun's caressing of the wave.
Whilst, as the light strikes thwart across his fane
The shadow of the Golden God withdraws. ”

“ Then thro' a grey night laced with silver showers
Gliding by green gradations, Spring was here,
Whelming the world with fragrance, as the guests
At flowery feasts of the Imperial Fool
Were drowned in roses by their fitful host.
Lysis:
(Theonöe enters during first words of speech, right.)
Aye, youth was pleasant, though we lived too late
Who never knew the noontide day of Rome.
Our afternoon was bright and warm the hour
Lit by the westering sun, now soon to set.
Winter is hard upon us, and a night
Heavy with cloud, and ominous of storm. ”

“ Set in a sea of sempiternal Spring.
Follow me, find me, thro' the ivory gate
Lies the way thither, to the happy land,
The fortunate isle where the dearest dream comes true!
Gilles:
The Moon is far, here's for the moon-flower!
(As Peregrina and Hermes retire up the stage a song is heard from the ship.) —————
ISLAND FORTUNATE.
Fare fortunately mariners! who steer neath Summer skys
To nearer ports, for surer gain, full freighted argosies.
Your trafficking unhinder'd be by harms the Fates inflict
The blind oncoming of the berg, or galley derelict. ”

“ Breathe in the soft wind, pulse in the sea wave,
Stir in the blood and beacon from the eye,
Reigns, and shall reign the Universal Pan,
Who is not dead, who never died at all,
Nor ever can die whilst the world endure!
Peregrina:
(To the group in foreground.) ”

“ God's good to women, that they never mark
Their long desir'd beauty's slow decay!
Once lovely still is lovely, to the eyes
That peer into the mirror at herself,
And shall be, till the dim eyes see no more.
Her new sheep's teeth more even than her own,
Whiteleaded, raddled, she'll outblush her prime,
And still her latest tête becomes her best.
Content tho' she may bloat like Jonah's gourd,
Or shrivel like a hemlock in the frost.
'I was a may-pole in my girl-hood raw,
But how improved in hips and bosom since,'
The monster titters, whilst the bag-of-bones
Bethinks her ”

“ Sylvester:
I ask no advocate to plead for me
But for myself will answer—there, Lenore,
We will not talk of dying, but of life—
Our life that shall be in the years to come.
A happy life in Europe! ”

“ How should she heed—that stony sphynx—
The tiny flame which lights our years?
Our puny heart that throbs and bleeds?
She counts the throbbing of the spheres,—
The fount of fire that springs and sinks
From worlds aflame—not us—she heeds.
⁠———
Ah! seek no longer with Fate to war!
Lay passion by, since strife is vain;
Who dares his destiny to brave
Has such reward for all his pain
As his, who slings against a star,
Or aims an arrow to wound the wave.
⁠—————
(Isias passes up the Temple steps as Narcissus and Melissa come down them.) ”

“ Who leave the world that roars beside their gate
To listen in an echo-breathing shell
How murmur dreamy memories of the sea.
Who mourn the bud when full the blossom blows
The blossom as the fruit succeeds the flower,
And, all too late, the fruit when boughs are bare! ”

“ Faring together thro' unending storm,
Twin wither'd leaves upon the wind of Hell——
Sylvester:
Yet having this of heav'n that still they love?
2nd Masque:
Nay, there's no love in Hell! Your craving lips,
Your asking eyes would meet blank unresponse,
Your hand that fain would clasp, meet hand that clench'd,
For Haggard Hate glows in our burning eyes,
And all despair our hollow heart fulfils
In an equality of joyless years—
For none grow old, tho' each has lost her youth,
We pass our endless hours, insatiate. ”

“ Peregrina:
O single-hearted, seek!
What though the quest should seem as vain as his,
Who strives to trace the sources of the Nile,
Yet sometime it has chanc'd clear vision'd men
Have almost found the very Beauty's fount,
As Spring-diviners with their speaking staves,
Threading the forest light on hidden wells.
Sculptor, musician, painter, poet, aye—
The poet chiefly maybe, as he leans
To catch the echo of Her flying feet,
To mark the flutter of Her waving veil,
Still seeking Beauty as a blind man light,
A babe the breast, seaman the pilot star. ”

“ Come forth into the sunlight from the dusk,
And find how fair are flowers of the earth!
(Peregrina, smiling, joins hands of Gilles and Colette.)
Ombrage.— (To Peregrina) :
Lady, or Goddess, for you seem to me
Fairer than mortal, come from very far,
Those glens and glades where Mænads dance and dwell
You told us lately of. Are those your home?
'Ere you shall pass as strangely as you came,
Leave us some message for our comfort. ”

“ Much that is lovely, little to be lov'd,
Friends who are fickle, women who are false
And planets unpropitious.
Sylvie:
O, have done,
You are the world's eternal malcontent,
You nurse a grudge 'gainst all humanity! ”

“ The woodland shrine is fell'd, we lov'd so well of yore,
Poor pilgrims dis-possess'd, we'll to the woods no more.
———
Ah fall'n, fall'n low, the pillars of our fane!
Whose leaf-enwoven walls may rise no more again.
From high pil'd roof of boughs, from shadow-dappl'd floor,
Passionate pilgrims pass! We'll to the woods no more! ”

“ Melody passing sirens' song, in Island Fortunate.
———
Young-hearted as at setting forth—grey-headed, say the churls?
'Tis that the sea-spray dusts with white our salt-encumber'd curls.
Still in a wild and wintry waste we fare upon our quest
Not elsewhere can we find a home, nor otherwhere a rest.
To catch what wind of Heaven may blow, our sails are still unfurl'd,
We sail the vast uncharted deep, the wondrous water-world
Somewhere to find, somewhere to see, somehow to win, though late
The fair far haven in the sea of Island Fortunate. ”

“ And Mirage-mock'd, the cast-away, scanning a sail-less sea
Leaps headlong down the glassy deep in meadow green to be;
It turns the wasted wilderness to water'd paradise
Last vision, as the sandstorm blinds the dying pilgrim's eyes.
Our life is ruled by Mirages, and just beyond the gate
Whether of Horn or Ivory lies Island Fortunate. ”

“ Above the Mistress City of the World.
Poor brambles, jealous of the cedar tree,
Beneath whose shade their puny briar sprung.
These weeds wind-borne within our marble fane,
Will work insidious their destructive way
Forcing the fair well-jointed blocks apart,
Rejoicing in the ruin they have wrought
As Colonnade and cornice nod and fall.
Themistius.— (Looks up from a scroll he is reading) :
May we not pity their insanity?
Whom factious Jews despise, deride, for us
Were worthy pity.
Theonöe.— (Scornfully) :
⁠Nay, such pity is pityless!
Pity's for women, not for Gods or men. ”

“ Tho' yellow ruffs with Mistress Turner died,
I wager we shall see them spring again.
Avis:
I go to lay the supper against to-night
Who knows what guests may gather round the board?
⁠ (She retires laughing, right.)
⁠ (Sylvester enters from Garden.)
Madam Pomeroy:
Give you good morrow Master Sylvester!
How goes the great work? Still the furnace burns.
You, if a man may, should th' elixir find,
And yet the years go by, it 'scapes you still,
But Age comes on you, and the fire burns low!
Sylvester:
Aye, 'Vita Ignis, Corpus Lignum Est.'
Life is the fire and the fuel are we! ”

“ The utter realising of his every dearest dream.
I think that as our wave-worn ship drops anchor in that bay
A honey-colour'd harvest-moon will mock the paler day
Lighting the league-long gardens up, whose hidden hollows hold
The ruddy glow of oranges, the citron's paler gold,
Whilst,—sunder'd half a life-time long by some untoward fate
Lost lovers wait to welcome us to Island Fortunate.
———
Our company grows still the less, for certain of our train
A seeming Eldorado once gleam'd golden from the main,
I think that on that barren reef some specious magic burn'd ”

“ The delicate dusk that deck'd a downy wing,
—So evanescent, so ephemeral—
Out of the dark emerging, into the dark
Returning.
Father Bernadine:
Let him only love the light,
And seek it earnestly, all will be well!
Peregrina:
Who is this gentle, placid, kind old man
Whose long white locks frame so serene a face? ”

“ Your lodging score unpaid is? They'll sell to pay your pall,
⁠With each small high-heel'd shoe,
⁠That such stony footpaths knew—
⁠Did your heart ache sometimes, too?
⁠Gay Ladies.
⁠———
⁠Nor the puppet show, nor play
⁠May tempt you forth to-day,
⁠Gay Ladies,
For the latest play outplay'd is, the puppets laid away.
⁠Watched by a wither'd crone,
⁠Cold as marble, still as stone,
⁠At length you sleep alone
⁠Gay Ladies. ”