And its necessities. [Lies down] That fellow took My cloak. Good luck to him. Philosophy, Thou art the only sail no wind may drive Into misfortune's port. How still the world! The silence like a great Accuser stares, Full of dumb curses looking from large eyes. [Rises and walks] ... I will not see her more. O, quickly come, Ye stoic angels wont to wait on me, And with the cords of resolution stout Bind ye my purpose to the throne of Zeus That it may shake but with Olympus' self! ... Will she not think me harsh to leave her so? She who is made of all earth's gentle things— The scent of morn, the first green on the bough, The valley dews where infant blossoms drink, The going light with rose heart yearning back,— Yet brave, and like a new Hippolita Might wear the belt of Mars. O, flower of heaven, Yet wrapped in soft and strange delirium Of odors once Elysian! Naught to me, Who will not see her more. Now is she dead, And I know but a grave. I'll sleep ... sleep ... sleep. [Lies still. Enter Aratea. She is veiled, and her unbound hair falls about her form] Ara. [Drawing inner bolt to door] I scarce could bribe the guard to let me pass! [Looks about room and sees Aristocles] Asleep? [Crosses to him. Unveils] Rise, friend! Aris. [Starting] My dream. Ara. Aristocles! Aris. [Rising] You? you? Ara. I, friend. Aris. 'Tis you—and yet 'tis not. A stranger soul, disordered and unknown, Looks from your eyes. Ara. My brother's false to thee. This castle's murder's trap, and you are caught in 't! Aris. I've had some thought 'twas so. I die to-night? Ara. No, no! dear Heaven! See! [Opens door, left] This inner room. It has a hidden stairway to the sea Where waits a boat will bear you to a sail New-spread for Greece, with crew that know the wave As though begot of mermaids. Aris. No! To make Presumptuous end of life is an offence To Heaven, but gracious gods may offer death For honorable choice—as they do now— And here I choose it. Ara. Thy choice then must be mine. My hope was you would fly and hasten Dion To my deliverance. For I am sold. The cords of bondage cut in very flesh. But ask not now of this. This letter here Will tell my lord what I have spared you. Go, Or I've no hope, and then—by this bright blade— [showing a dagger] I die. Aris. Ah, what you will! Command me. Ara. [Moving left] Come! Into this chamber! [Exeunt, and in a moment re-enter] O, the door new-sealed! Apollo help us now!... Did you not see The narrow window in that chamber? Aris. Ay, The stars looked on us as we passed, as though They smiled to see how man would measure time With periods clept death. Ara. [Fearfully] If you—could leap—— Aris. I will. Ara. Tis not far down—but O, the rocks Jut up like monsters. No! You shall not do it. 'Twere death with treble pain. Aris. Then I'll die here. To go from your fair presence to the gods Is hardly change. Ara. 'Twould change the world that lost thee. Then would this isle uncrown herself of joy, And palsying shake beauty from her lap. The flowers would die in pain, and every leaf Fast wither, fade and fall, as those that moan O'er Thracian Phyllis' grave. I will not stay Without my friend. Ah no, 'twould not be life. Aris. The longest days are breaths, quick-drawn and short, The longest life a day to be forgot. Thou soon wouldst come. Ara. I could not find the way. 'Tis with your eyes, not mine, I catch the light Unalterable upon immortal brows And keep my course. Aris. Nay, thou'st no need of guide. Shine out, bright soul, and dim thy troubling stars. Ara. [Turns aside, weeping] You do not know! Aris. Be true unto the calm Of Heaven in you set. Who trust to aught That's of their souls externe but give themselves As feathers to the wind. Ara. [Slowly] My lord, this night, By Dionysius' force, my hand was given In marriage to Ocrastes. Dost thou hear? Ocrastes sails this hour for Italy. Ere he returns—— Aris. Thou'st whirled away my soul! O stroke of Dis! O faithless Heaven! He? Not he! Such mid-hell treachery is out Of mortal meaning! |
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