Sunday afternoon. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen are drinking coffee on the verandah. Several of the guests appear through the open glass door in the garden-room; the following song is heard from within.
CHORUS.
Welcome, welcome, new plighted pair
To the merry ranks of the plighted!
Now you may revel as free as air,
Caress without stint and kiss without care,—
No longer of footfall affrighted.
Now you are licensed, wherever you go,
To rapture of cooing and billing;
Now you have leisure love's seed to sow,
Water, and tend it, and make it grow;—
Let us see you've a talent for tilling!
MISS JAY [within].
Ah Lind, if I only had chanced to hear,
I would have teased you!
A LADY [within].
How vexatious though!
ANOTHER LADY [in the doorway].
Dear Anna, did he ask in writing?
AN AUNT.
No!
Mine did.
A LADY [on the verandah].
How long has it been secret, dear?
[Runs into the room.
MISS JAY.
To-morrow there will be the ring to choose.
LADIES [eagerly].
We'll take his measure!
MISS JAY.
Nay; that she must do.
MRS. STRAWMAN [on the verandah, to a lady who is busy with embroidery]. What kind of knitting-needles do you use?
A SERVANT [in the door with a coffee-pot].
More coffee, madam?
A LADY.
Thanks, a drop or two.
MISS JAY [to ANNA].
How fortunate you've got your new manteau
Next week to go your round of visits in!
AN ELDERLY LADY [at the window].
When shall we go and order the trousseau?
MRS. STRAWMAN.
How are they selling cotton-bombasine?
A GENTLEMAN [to some ladies on the verandah].
Just look at Lind and Anna; what's his sport?
LADIES [with shrill ecstasy].
Gracious, he kissed her glove!
OTHERS [similarly, springing up].
No! Kiss'd it! Really?
LIND [appears, red and embarrassed, in the doorway].
O, stuff and nonsense! [Disappears.
MISS JAY.
Yes, I saw it clearly.
STIVER [in the door, with a coffee-cup in one hand and
a biscuit in the other].
The witnesses must not mislead the court;
I here make affidavit, they're in error.
MISS JAY [within].
Come forward, Anna; stand before this mirror!
SOME LADIES [calling].
You, too, Lind!
MISS JAY.
Back to back! A little nearer!
LADIES.
Come, let us see by how much she is short.
[All run into the garden-room; laughter and shrill
talk are heard for a while from within.
[FALK, who during the preceding scene has been
walking about in the garden, advances into the
foreground, stops and looks in until the noise
has somewhat abated.
FALK.
There love's romance is being done to death.—
The butcher once who boggled at the slaughter,
Prolonging needlessly the ox's breath,—
He got his twenty days of bread and water;
But these—these butchers yonder—they go free.
[Clenches his fist.
I could be tempted—; hold, words have no worth,
I've sworn it, action only from henceforth!
LIND [coming hastily but cautiously out].
Thank God, they're talking fashions; now's my chance
To slip away—
FALK.
Ha, Lind, you've drawn the prize
Of luck,—congratulations buzz and dance
All day about you, like a swarm of flies.
LIND.
They're all at heart so kindly and so nice;
But rather fewer clients would suffice.
Their helping hands begin to gall and fret me;
I'll get a moment's respite, if they'll let me.
[Going out to the right.
FALK.
Wither away?
LIND.
Our den;—it has a lock;
In case you find the oak is sported, knock.
FALK.
But shall I not fetch Anna to you?
LIND.
No—
If she wants anything, she'll let me know.
Last night we were discussing until late;
We've settled almost everything of weight;
Besides I think it scarcely goes with piety
To have too much of one's beloved's society.
FALK.
Yes, you are right; for daily food we need
A simple diet.
LIND.
Pray, excuse me, friend.
I want a whiff of reason and the weed;
I haven't smoked for three whole days on end.
My blood was pulsing in such agitation,
I trembled for rejection all the time—
FALK.
Yes, you may well desire recuperation—
LIND.
And won't tobacco's flavour be sublime!
[Goes out to the right. MISS JAY and some other
LADIES come out of the garden-room.
MISS JAY [to FALK].
That was he surely?
FALK.
Yes, your hunted deer.
LADIES.
To run away from us!
OTHERS.
For shame! For shame!
FALK.
'Tis a bit shy at present, but, no fear,
A week of servitude will make him tame.
MISS JAY [looking round].
Where is he hid?
FALK.
His present hiding-place
Is in the garden loft, our common lair;
[Blandly.
But let me beg you not to seek him there;
Give him a breathing time!
MISS JAY.
Well, good: the grace
Will not be long, tho'.
FALK.
Nay, be generous!
Ten minutes,—then begin the game again.
He has an English sermon on the brain.
MISS JAY.
An English—?
LADIES.
O you laugh! You're fooling us!
FALK.
I'm in grim earnest. 'Tis his fixed intention
To take a charge among the emigrants,
And therefore—
MISS JAY [with horror].
Heavens, he had the face to mention
That mad idea? [To the ladies.
O quick—fetch all the aunts!
Anna, her mother, Mrs. Strawman too.
LADIES [agitated].
This must be stopped!
ALL.
We'll make a great ado!
MISS JAY.
Thank God, they're coming.
[To ANNA, who comes from the garden-room with STRAWMAN,
his wife and children, STIVER, GULDSTAD, MRS. HALM and
the other guests.
MISS JAY.
Do you know what Lind
Has secretly determined in his mind?
To go as missionary—
ANNA.
Yes, I know.
MRS. HALM.
And you've agreed—!
ANNA [embarrassed].
That I will also go.
MISS JAY [indignant].
He's talked this stuff to you!
LADIES [clasping their hands together].
What tyranny!
FALK.
But think, his Call that would not be denied—!
MISS JAY.
Tut, that's what people follow when they're free:
A bridegroom follows nothing but his bride.—
No, my sweet Anna, ponder, I entreat:
You, reared in comfort from your earliest breath—?
FALK.
Yet, sure, to suffer for the faith is sweet!
MISS JAY.
Is one to suffer for one's bridegroom's faith?
That is a rather novel point of view.
[To the ladies.
Ladies, attend!
[Takes ANNA's arm.
Now listen; then repeat
For his instruction what he has to do.
[They go into the background and out to the right
in eager talk with several of the ladies; the
other guests disperse in Groups about the garden.
FALK stops STRAWMAN, whose wife and children keep
close to him. GULDSTAD goes to and fro during
the following conversation.
FALK.
Come, pastor, help young fervour in its fight,
Before they lure Miss Anna from her vows.
STRAWMAN [in clerical cadence].
The wife must be submissive to the spouse;—
[Reflecting.
But if I apprehended him aright,
His Call's a problematical affair,
The offering altogether in the air—
FALK.
Pray do not judge so rashly. I can give
You absolute assurance, as I live,
His Call is definite and incontestable—
STRAWMAN [seeing it in a new light].
Ah—if there's something fixed—investable—
Per annum—then I've nothing more to say.
FALK [impatiently].
You think the most of what I count the least;
I mean the inspiration,—to the pay!
STRAWMAN [with an unctuous smile].
Pay is the first condition of a priest
In Asia, Africa, America,
Or where you will. Ah yes, if he were free,
My dear young friend, I willingly agree,
The thing might pass; but, being pledged and bound,
He'll scarcely find the venture very sound.
Reflect, he's young and vigorous, sure to found
A little family in time; assume his will
To be the very best on earth—but still
The means, my friend—? 'Build not upon the sand,'
Says Scripture. If, upon the other hand,
The Offering—
FALK.
That's no trifle, I'm aware.
STRAWMAN.
Ah, come—that wholly alters the affair.
When men are zealous in their Offering,
And liberal—
FALK.
There he far surpasses most.
STRAWMAN.
"He" say you? How? In virtue of his post
The Offering is not what he has to bring
But what he has to get.
MRS. STRAWMAN [looking towards the background].
They're sitting there.
FALK [after staring a moment in amazement suddenly
understands and bursts out laughing.].
Hurrah for Offerings—the ones that caper
And strut—on Holy-days—in bulging paper!
STRAWMAN.
All the year round the curb and bit we bear,
But Whitsuntide and Christmas make things square.
FALK [gaily].
Why then, provided only there's enough of it,
Even family-founders will obey their Calls.
STRAWMAN.
Of course; a man assured the quantum suff of it
Will preach the Gospel to the cannibals.
[Sotto voce.
Now I must see if she cannot be led,
[To one of the little girls.
My little Mattie, fetch me out my head—
My pipe-head I should say, my little dear—
[Feels in his coat-tail pocket.
Nay, wait a moment tho': I have it here.
[Goes across and fills his pipe, followed by his
wife and children.
GULDSTAD [approaching].
You seem to play the part of serpent in
This paradise of lovers.
FALK.
O, the pips
Upon the tree of knowledge are too green
To be a lure for anybody's lips.
[To LIND, who comes in from the right.
Ha, Lind!
LIND.
In heaven's name, who's been ravaging
Our sanctum? There the lamp lies dashed
To pieces, curtain dragged to floor, pen smashed,
And on the mantelpiece the ink pot splashed—
FALK [clapping him on the shoulder].
This wreck's the first announcement of my spring;
No more behind drawn curtains I will sit,
Making pen poetry with lamp alit;
My dull domestic poetising's done,
I'll walk by day, and glory in the sun:
My spring is come, my soul has broken free,
Action henceforth shall be my poetry.
LIND.
Make poetry of what you please for me;
But how if Mrs. Halm should take amiss
Your breaking of her furniture to pieces?
FALK.
What!—she, who lays her daughters and her nieces
Upon the altar of her boarders' bliss,—
She frown at such a bagatelle as this?
LIND [angrily].
It's utterly outrageous and unfair,
And compromises me as well as you!
But that's her business, settle it with her.
The lamp was mine, tho', shade and burner too—
FALK.
Tut, on that head, I've no account to render;
You have God's summer sunshine in its splendour,—
What would you with the lamp?
LIND.
You are grotesque;
You utterly forget that summer passes;
If I'm to make a figure in my classes
At Christmas I must buckle to my desk.
FALK [staring at him].
What, you look forward?
LIND.
To be sure I do,
The examination's amply worth it too.
FALK.
Ah but—you 'only sit and live'—remember!
Drunk with the moment, you demand no more—
Not even a modest third-class next December.
You've caught the bird of Fortune fair and fleet,
You feel as if the world with all its store
Were scattered in profusion at your feet.
LIND.
Those were my words; they must be understood,
Of course, cum grano salis—
FALK.
Very good!
LIND.
In the forenoons I well enjoy my bliss;
That I am quite resolved on—
FALK.
Daring man!
LIND.
I have my round of visits to the clan;
Time will run anyhow to waste in this;
But any further dislocation of
My study-plan I strongly disapprove.
FALK.
A week ago, however, you were bent
On going out into God's world with song.
LIND.
Yes, but I thought the tour a little long;
The fourteen days might well be better spent.
FALK.
Nay, but you had another argument
For staying; how the lovely dale for you
Was mountain air and winged warble too.
LIND.
Yes, to be sure, this air is unalloyed;
But all its benefits may be enjoyed
Over one's book without the slightest bar.
FALK.
But it was just the Book which failed, you see,
As Jacob's ladder—
LIND.
How perverse you are!
That is what people say when they are free—
FALK [looking at him and folding his hands in silent
amazement].
Thou also, Brutus!
LIND [with a shade of confusion and annoyance].
Pray remember, do!
That I have other duties now than you;
I have my fiancee. Every plighted pair,
Those of prolonged experience not excepted,—
Whose evidence you would not wish rejected,—
Will tell you, that if two are bound to fare
Through life together, they must—
FALK.
Prithee spare
The comment; who supplied it?
LIND.
Well, we'll say
Stiver, he's honest surely; and Miss Jay,
Who has such very great experience here,
She says—
FALK.
Well, but the Parson and his—dear?
LIND.
Yes, they're remarkable. There broods above
Them such placidity, such quietude,—
Conceive, she can't remember being wooed,
Has quite forgotten what is meant by love.
FALK.
Ah yes, when one has slumber'd over long,
The birds of memory refuse their song.
[Laying his hand on LIND's shoulder, with an
ironical look.
You, Lind, slept sound last night, I guarantee?
LIND.
And long. I went to bed in such depression,
And yet with such a fever in my brain,
I almost doubted if I could be sane.
FALK.
Ah yes, a sort of witchery, you see.
LIND.
Thank God I woke in perfect self-possession.
[During the foregoing scene STRAWMAN has been seen
from time to time walking in the background in
lively conversation with ANNA; MRS. STRAWMAN and
the children follow. MISS JAY now appears also,
and with her MRS. HALM and other ladies.
MISS JAY [before she enters].
Ah, Mr. Lind.
LIND [to FALK].
They're after me again!
Come, let us go.
MISS JAY.
Nay, nay, you must remain,
Let us make speedy end of the division
That has crept in between your love and you.
LIND.
Are we divided?
MISS JAY [pointing to ANNA, who is standing further
off in the garden].
Gather the decision
From yon red eyes. The foreign mission drew
Those tears.
LIND.
But heavens, she was glad to go—
MISS JAY [scoffing].
Yes, to be sure, one would imagine so!
No, my dear Lind, you'll take another view
When you have heard the whole affair discussed.
LIND.
But then this warfare for the faith, you know,
Is my most cherished dream!
MISS JAY.
O who would build
On dreaming in this century of light?
Why, Stiver had a dream the other night;
There came a letter singularly sealed—
MRS. STRAWMAN.
It's treasure such a dream prognosticates.
MISS JAY [nodding].
Yes, and next day they sued him for the rates.
[The ladies make a circle round LIND and go in
conversation with him into the garden.
STRAWMAN [continuing, to ANNA, who faintly tries to escape].
From these considerations, daughter mine,
From these considerations, buttressed all
With reason, morals, and the Word Divine,
You now perceive that to desert your Call
Were absolutely inexcusable.
ANNA [half crying].
Oh! I'm so young—
STRAWMAN.
And it is natural,
I own, that one should tremble to essay
These perils, dare the lures that there waylay;
But from doubt's tangle you must now break free,—
Be of good cheer and follow Moll and me!
MRS. STRAWMAN.
Yes, your dear mother tells me that I too
Was just as inconsolable as you
When we received our Call—
STRAWMAN.
And for like cause—
The fascination of the town—it was;
But when a little money had come in,
And the first pairs of infants, twin by twin,
She quite got over it.
FALK [sotto voce to STRAWMAN].
Bravo, you able
Persuader.
STRAWMAN [nodding to him and turning again to ANNA].
Now you've promised me, be stable.
Shall man renounce his work? Falk says the Call
Is not so very slender after all.
Did you not, Falk?
FALK.
Nay, pastor—
STRAWMAN.
To be sure—!
[To ANNA.
Of something then at least you are secure.
What's gained by giving up, if that is so?
Look back into the ages long ago,
See, Adam, Eve—the Ark, see, pair by pair,
Birds in the field—the lilies in the air,
The little birds—the little birds—the fishes—
[Continues in a lower tone, as he withdraws with
ANNA.
[MISS JAY and the AUNTS return with LIND.
FALK.
Hurrah! Here come the veterans in array;
The old guard charging to retrieve the day!
MISS JAY.
Ah, in exact accordance with out wishes!
[Aside.
We have him, Falk!—Now let us tackle her!
[Approaches ANNA.
STRAWMAN [with a deprecating motion].
She needs no secular solicitation;
The Spirit has spoken, what can Earth bestead—?
[Modestly.
If in some small degree my words have sped,
Power was vouchsafed me—!
MRS. HALM.
Come, no more evasion,
Bring them together!
AUNTS [with emotion].
Ah, how exquisite.
STRAWMAN.
Yes, can there be a heart so dull and dead
As not to be entranced at such a sight!
It is so thrilling and so penetrating,
So lacerating, so exhilarating,
To see an innocent babe devoutly lay
Its offering on Duty's altar.
MRS. HALM.
Nay,
Her family have also done their part.
MISS JAY.
I and the Aunts—I should imagine so.
You, Lind, may have the key to Anna's heart,
[Presses his hand.
But we possess a picklock, you must know,
Able to open where the key avails not.
And if in years to come, cares throng and thwart,
Only apply to us, our friendship fails not.
MRS. HALM.
Yes, we shall hover round you all your life,—
MISS JAY.
And shield you from the fiend of wedded strife.
STRAWMAN.
Enchanting group! Love, friendship, hour of gladness,
Yet so pathetically touched with sadness.
[Turning to LIND.
But now, young man, pray make an end of this.
[Leading ANNA to him.
Take thy betrothed—receive her—with a kiss!
LIND [giving his hand to ANNA].
I stay at home!
ANNA [at the same moment].
I go with you!
ANNA [amazed].
You stay?
LIND [equally so].
You go with me?
ANNA [with a helpless glance at the company].
Why, then, we are divided as before!
LIND.
What's this?
THE LADIES.
What now?
MISS JAY [excitedly].
Our wills are at war—
STRAWMAN.
She gave her solemn word to cross the sea
With him!
MISS JAY.
And he gave his to stay ashore
With her!
FALK [laughing].
They both complied; what would you more!
STRAWMAN.
These complications are too much for me.
[Goes toward the background.
AUNTS [to one another].
How in the world came they to disagree?
MRS. HALM
[To GULDSTAD and STIVER, who have been walking
in the garden and now approach.
The spirit of discord's in possession of her.
[Talks aside to them.
MRS. STRAWMAN
[To MISS JAY, noticing that the table is
being laid.
There comes the tea.
MISS JAY [curtly].
Thank heaven.
FALK.
Hurrah! a cheer
For love and friendship, maiden aunts and tea!
STIVER.
But if the case stands thus, the whole proceeding
May easily be ended with a laugh;
All turns upon a single paragraph,
Which bids the wife attend the spouse. No pleading
Can wrest an ordinance so clearly stated—
MISS JAY.
Doubtless, but does that help us to agree?
STRAWMAN.
She must obey a law that heaven dictated.
STIVER.
But Lind can circumvent that law, you see.
[To LIND.
Put off your journey, and then—budge no jot.
AUNTS [delighted].
Yes, that's the way!
MRS HALM.
Agreed!
MISS JAY.
That cuts the knot.
[SVANHILD and the maids have meantime laid the
tea-table beside the verandah steps. At MRS. HALM's
invitation the ladies sit down. The rest of the
company take their places, partly on the verandah
and in the summer-house, partly in the garden.
FALK sits on the verandah. During the following
scene they drink tea.
MRS. HALM [smiling].
And so our little storm is overblown.
Such summer showers do good when they are gone;
The sunshine greets us with a double boon,
And promises a cloudless afternoon.
MISS JAY.
Ah yes, Love's blossom without rainy skies
Would never thrive according to our wishes.
FALK.
In dry land set it, and it forthwith dies;
For in so far the flowers are like the fishes—
SVANHILD.
Nay, for Love lives, you know, upon the air—
MISS JAY.
Which is the death of fishes—
FALK.
So I say.
MISS JAY.
Aha, we've put a bridle on you there!
MRS. STRAWMAN.
The tea is good, one knows by the bouquet.
FALK.
Well, let us keep the simile you chose.
Love is a flower; for if heaven's blessed rain
Fall short, it all but pines to death— [Pauses.
MISS JAY.
What then?
FALK [with a gallant bow].
Then come the aunts with the reviving hose.—
But poets have this simile employed,
And men for scores of centuries enjoyed,—
Yet hardly one its secret sense has hit;
For flowers are manifold and infinite.
Say, then, what flower is love? Name me, who knows,
The flower most like it?
MISS JAY.
Why, it is the rose;
Good gracious, that's exceedingly well known;—
Love, all agree, lends life a rosy tone.
A YOUNG LADY.
It is the snowdrop; growing, snow enfurled;
Till it peer forth, undreamt of by the world.
AN AUNT.
It is the dandelion,—made robust
By dint of human heel and horse hoof thrust;
Nay, shooting forth afresh when it is smitten,
As Pedersen so charmingly has written.
LIND.
It is the bluebell,—ringing in for all
Young hearts life's joyous Whitsun festival.
MRS. HALM.
No, 'tis an evergreen,—as fresh and gay
In desolate December as in May.
GULDSTAD.
No, Iceland moss, dry gathered,—far the best
Cure for young ladies with a wounded breast.
A GENTLEMAN.
No, the wild chestnut tree,—high repute
For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit.
SVANHILD.
No, a camellia; at our balls, 'tis said,
The chief adornment of a lady's head.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;—
Stay now—a blue one, no, it was a white one—
What is it's name—? Dear me—the one I met—;
Well it is singular how I forget!
STIVER.
None of these flower similitudes will run.
The flowerpot is a likelier candidate.
There's only room in it, at once, for one;
But by progressive stages it holds eight.
STRAWMAN [with his little girls round him].
No, love's a pear tree; in the spring like snow
With myriad blossoms, which in summer grow
To pearlets; in the parent's sap each shares;—
And with God's help they'll all alike prove pears.
FALK.
So many heads, so many sentences!
No, you all grope and blunder off the line.
Each simile's at fault; I'll tell you mine;—
You're free to turn and wrest it as you please.
[Rises as if to make a speech.
In the remotest east there grows a plant;(4)
And the sun's cousin's garden is its haunt—
THE LADIES.
Ah, it's the tea-plant!
FALK.
Yes.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
His voice is so
Like Strawman's when he—
STRAWMAN.
Don't disturb his flow.
FALK.
It has its home in fabled lands serene;
Thousands of miles of desert lie between;—
Fill up, Lind!—So.—Now in a tea-oration,
I'll show of tea and Love the true relation.
[The guests cluster round him.
It has its home in the romantic land;
Alas, Love's home is also in Romance,
Only the Sun's descendants understand
The herb's right cultivation and advance.
With Love it is not otherwise than so.
Blood of the Sun along the veins must flow
If Love indeed therein is to strike root,
And burgeon into blossom, into fruit.
MISS JAY.
But China is an ancient land; you hold
In consequence that tea is very old—
STRAWMAN.
Past question antecedent to Jerusalem.
FALK.
Yes, 'twas already famous when Methusalem
His picture-books and rattles tore and flung—
MISS JAY [triumphantly].
And love is in its very nature young!
To find a likeness there is pretty bold.
FALK.
No; Love, in truth, is also very old;
That principle we here no more dispute
Than do the folks of Rio or Beyrout.
Nay, there are those from Cayenne to Caithness,
Who stand upon its everlastingness;—
Well, that may be slight exaggeration,
But old it is beyond all estimation.
MISS JAY.
But Love is all alike; whereas we see
Both good and bad and middling kinds of tea!
MRS. STRAWMAN.
Yes, they sell tea of many qualities.
ANNA.
The green spring shoots I count the very first—
SVANHILD.
Those serve to quench celestial daughter's thirst.
A YOUNG LADY.
Witching as ether fumes they say it is—
ANOTHER.
Balmy as lotus, sweet as almond, clear—
GULDSTAD.
That's not an article we deal in here.
FALK [who has meanwhile come down from the verandah].
Ah, ladies, every mortal has a small
Private celestial empire in his heart.
There bud such shoots in thousands, kept apart
By Shyness's soon shatter'd Chinese Wall.
But in her dim fantastic temple bower
The little Chinese puppet sits and sighs,
A dream of far-off wonders in her eyes—
And in her hand a golden tulip flower.
For her the tender firstling tendrils grew;—
Rich crop or meagre, what is that to you?
Instead of it we get an after crop
They kick the tree for, dust and stalk and stem,—
As hemp to silk beside what goes to them—
GULDSTAD.
That is black tea.
FALK [nodding].
That's what fills the shop.
A GENTLEMAN.
There's beef tea too, that Holberg says a word of—
MISS JAY [sharply].
To modern taste entirely out of date.
FALK.
And a beef love has equally been heard of,
Wont—in romances—to brow-beat its mate,
And still they say its trace may be detected
Amongst the henpecked of the married state.
In short there's likeness where 'twas least expected.
So, as you know, an ancient proverb tells,
That something ever passes from the tea
Of the bouquet that lodges in its cells,
If it be carried hither over the sea.
It must across the desert and the hills,—
Pay toll to Cossack and to Russian tills;—
It gets their stamp and licence, that's enough,
We buy it as the true and genuine stuff.
But has not Love the self-same path to fare?
Across Life's desert? How the world would rave
And shriek if you or I should boldly bear
Our Love by way of Freedom's ocean wave!
"Good heavens, his moral savour's passed away,
And quite dispersed Legality's bouquet!"—
STRAWMAN [rising].
Yes, happily,—in every moral land
Such wares continue to be contraband!
FALK.
Yes, to pass current here, Love must have cross'd
The great Siberian waste of regulations,
Fann'd by no breath of ocean to its cost;
It must produce official attestations
From friend and kindred, devils of relations,
From church curators, organist and clerk,
And other fine folks—over and above
The primal licence which God gave to Love.—
And then the last great point of likeness;—mark
How heavily the hand of culture weighs
Upon that far Celestial domain;
Its power is shatter'd, and its wall decays,
The last true Mandarin's strangled; hands profane
Already are put forth to share the spoil;
Soon the Sun's realm will be a legend vain,
An idle tale incredible to sense;
The world is gray in gray—we've flung the soil
On buried Faery,—then where can Love be found?
Alas, Love also is departed hence!
[Lifts his cup.
Well let him go, since so the times decree;—
A health to Amor, late of Earth,—in tea!
[He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst
the company.
MISS JAY.
A very odd expression! "Dead" indeed!
THE LADIES.
To say that Love is dead—!
STRAWMAN.
Why, here you see
Him sitting, rosy, round and sound, at tea,
In all conditions! Here in her sable weed
The widow—
MISS JAY.
Here a couple, true and tried,—
STIVER.
With many ample pledges fortified.
GULDSTAD.
The Love's light cavalry, of maid and man,
The plighted pairs in order—
STRAWMAN.
In the van
The veterans, whose troth has laughed to scorn
The tooth of Time—
MISS JAY [hastily interrupting].
And then the babes new-born—
The little novices of yester-morn—
STRAWMAN.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, in a word,
Are here; the truth is patent, past all doubt,
It can be clutched and handled, seen and heard,—
FALK.
What then?
MISS JAY.
And yet you want to thrust it out!
FALK.
Madam, you quite mistake. In all I spoke
I cast no doubt on anything you claim;
But I would fain remind you that, from smoke,
We cannot logically argue flame.
That men are married, and have children, I
Have no desire whatever to deny;
Nor do I dream of doubting that such things
Are in the world as troth and wedding-rings;
The billets-doux some tender hands indite
And seal with pairs of turtle doves that—fight;
That sweethearts swarm in cottage and in hall,
That chocolate reward the wedding call;
That usage and convention have decreed,
In every point, how "Lovers" shall proceed:—
But, heavens! We've majors also by the score,
Arsenals heaped with muniments of war,
With spurs and howitzers and drums and shot,
But what does that permit us to infer?
That we have men who dangle swords, but not
That they will wield the weapons that they wear.
Tho' all the plain with gleaming tents you crowd,
Does that make heroes of the men they shroud?
