God of the bold who rideWith song o'er their deadWhose unsown graves wait wide,The singers' bed,—Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!The sirens are on their rocks;Like a piercèd moonWeeping her gold, their locksTo the waters run.Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!Fleet are the foam-toothed houndsThat hunt unfed,With hunger that aches like wounds,And ships their bread.Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!
God of the bold who rideWith song o'er their deadWhose unsown graves wait wide,The singers' bed,—Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!
The sirens are on their rocks;Like a piercèd moonWeeping her gold, their locksTo the waters run.Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!
Fleet are the foam-toothed houndsThat hunt unfed,With hunger that aches like wounds,And ships their bread.Poseidon, befriend, befriend,And the good wind send!
[Enter Lysander]
Pyrr.Lysander! You? Is 't battle?
Lys.At dawn we moveUpon the Athenian ships.
Pyrr.They've come from harbor?
Lys.Nay, lurking still, fear-cabled to the land,Like weanlings round a skirt.
Pyrr.At last a battle!And Biades is true. The watch is done.I'm sick of spying, hanging on him likeA doubt with teeth. He leaves this galley then?
Lys.Commands from theIno, now so brave repairedShe sits her place as though the sea and airDebated who should claim her, and she no moreAdorns both elements than herself's adornedBy our young admiral.
Pyrr.He is gone? So soon?
Lys.Went, but is here again, and here must stayThese next three hours or more.
Pyrr.Why so, Lysander?
Lys.We sacrifice aboard Thrasyllus' ship,Where now the captains gather, and the handOf one who leads the foe to his fathers' hearthWould cloud the omen. He must keep apart.
Pyrr.You've told him that?
Lys.We have not dared.
Pyrr.Not dared?Way, Spartan lions, for the Athenian puppy!
Lys.He's tender with his honor.
Pyrr.His honor!
Lys.Soft!We shunt all danger if you mew him hereUnwitting of our hand.
Pyrr.I do not wearAthene's ægis on my jerkin, friend.
Lys.You can divinely drug his vanityWithout immortal aid. Attach him by 't,For free he'll chafe. Drift with him in such wiseHe'll not suspect our rudder.
Pyrr.Ay, more lies.
Lys.Truth is no absolute virtue. 'Tis a viceIf 't takes a screw from safety.
Pyrr.There is lawHigher than Sparta utters. If not so,What mean our altars, and a kneeling world?
Lys.Hmm! I delay the sacrifice. Dost knowI take my Dianessa? A virgin's handMust weave the victim's garland.
Pyrr.Ah, the moonOf Artemis! A virgin's hand. They askNot mine?
Lys.You are a bride in Sparta's eyes.Would Truth might speak it too! For BiadesHas won all love but yours.
Pyrr.I'll wed no traitor.
Lys.What? He is false?
Pyrr.Ay, false to Athens.
Lys.Phut!
[Enter Hieron]
Hie.How like you this, sir? Biades has strippedThe galley of its rowers,—sent them allTo his gildedIno,—every boat in charterTo bear his trappings,—parchments, maps, and giftsFrom Phernes,—curtains, instruments——
Lys.The stuffGoes with the admiral, and what other wayThan by the boats? Say naught of 't.
Hie.This a timeTo spend a feathering!
Lys.Nay——
Hie.And why send all?A half—a third—had answered. There's not leftAn oarsman on the galley save the menWho brought you from theThetis.
Lys.You've the guard,—Yourself its head. Give Biades his wayWhen prudence pays no cost. We've hedged and hemmedHis wrestling will until his pride is brashedTo the rebel quick——
Hie.Sst! He is here.
[Biades stands in door]
Bia.Lysander,They hail you from Thrasyllus' ship. You stayThe rites.
Lys.[Troubled] But is it time——
Bia.Full time.
Lys.My boat——
Bia.Is waiting.
Lys.I—you, sir——
Bia.You'll bear my graceTo our priestly captains?
Lys.You stay here?
Bia.I shall,If you'll not press me other. As you prayFor clearer omen and a morning battle,Let only those whose land holds them untaintedStand in the holy ring.
Lys.Above our prayersThis act will speak to Heaven in Sparta's nameAnd make her gods your own.
Bia.If that might be,Lysander! To have no altars is a fateMan can not bear for long.
Hie.The rowers, sir!How soon do they return?
Bia.They've leave to seeThe midnight toward with their fellow crewOn theIno.
Hie.Midnight!
Bia.Loyal beggars, all.They're sad to lose their captain, and I payTheir grieving flattery with this stinted leaseFrom duty here. They'll use 't in prayerful rite——
Hie.Not prayer! The casks will drip too free for that.If any prayers come from the heart to throat,They'll downward wash again, not out and fly.Say'st midnight, sir?
Bia.I do. They will returnIn time to set the galley from the castOf morning danger.
Hie.Move again? The shipIs now to rearward, by some rods.
Bia.She is.And shall go farther. Here's no fighting deck.
Hie.Ay, these soft cabins, Corinth-modelled asA prince, would make a floating holiday,Put soldiers from their place.
Bia.The ship must lieFull east, on th' safest wave. We've treasure 'neathThese sails that make their weathered woof more dearThan threaded gold of Hera's mantle.
Hie.Ah,You mean the women.
Bia.No,—a woman. Come,Lysander.
Lys.Sir, what time wilt take your placeAboard theIno?
Bia.Give me till the midnight,I'll from that moment be your admiral.But for these gentle hours that lie between,I would as merest man use their light wingsTo chase a hope through heaven.
Lys.[With a glance at Pyrrha] And bring it down,My lord!
[Exeunt Lysander, Biades, and Hieron]
Pyrr.Now, Impudence, no more's to do!Go up and take thy crown. Before my eyesHe teaches them he wooes me, and my prideMutely abets his guile. [Holds up the dagger]My fine defence,Thou'rt warder to a bosom unbesieged.In Biades' contempt I have a guardThat saves thine office. Go, you glittering mock![In a passion of resolution she throws the dagger through the door]That's done. No matter. He does not look at me,Or looks as though his eyes begged pardon of him,For their chance stop on nothing.
[Re-enter Biades, the dagger in his hand]
Bia.Here's a toyCaught from the rigging. Yours, I think.[Offers it to her. She does not take it]It must be dear. I've seen you fondle it.Is it not yours?
Pyrr.It was.
Bia.Then is. And worthYour keeping. A good blade, though Spartan plain.
Pyrr.I'm weary of it. In Athens I shall findAnother pattern.
Bia.[Testing blade] Fine and strong. Will wearA hundred years, then make a door for death.[Turns it against his heart. She starts]You'll take it, Pyrrha. To throw it to the seaWere waste for an Athenian.
Pyrr.Keep it then.
Bia.You give this blade to me?
Pyrr.I care not. KeepWhat you have praised.
Bia.[Pressing it against his cheek]A gentle weapon,—butI've somewhat 'gainst it.[Goes to door and throws it far into the sea]Kiss the waves, my friend![Returns to Pyrrha and sits by her]
Bia.[Softly] I leave the ship to-night.
Pyrr.[Uneasy]And time you ledThe fleet to battle. You've excused delayTill palling breath became the shroud of action,And yet refused it funeral.
Bia.I knowHow you have doubted. O, this soul of Sparta,That can not trust! It peeps from every eye,Deepest where kindest. Tags each friendly wordWith its unspoken dread,—and comradeship,That strives to wrap it in a gala cloak,Strains vainly round the huge, dun doubt, agapeIn dreary revelation.
Pyrr.You are freeTo leave us.
Bia.Free? Five Spartan nobles watchBeside me, move with every step, for soThe admiral must be honored! HieronForegoes his place at sacrifice to serveMy dignity. Not for his gods he'll putA furlong 'tween us.
Pyrr.He's the ship's good eye.And all the men except the lords of guardAre, by your grace, a-neighboring. Would you leaveThe galley without watch?
Bia.No, Pyrrha, sweet.But I would woo you with no ear at the door.
Pyrr.[Rising] My lord!
Bia.[Indifferent] Nay, then. I can't oppose the sexOf Aphrodite. My one frailty.
Pyrr.One!
Bia.What? I have more?
Pyrr.The moments of your lifeAre not so many!
Bia.Gods be thanked, I'm young!How may I change to please a Spartan scold?
Pyrr.Be anything you're not.
Bia.You have not heardI am the admiral of the Spartan fleet,With Persian Phernes yonder at my beck,Broad-winged with all Phoenicia? You know notI am a general?
Pyrr.Oh, to be that name,Not make 't thy bauble! What dost knowOf secret, sleepless hours, and delving thoughtThat nations may lie safe? By what grave rightWear you the title? What deep sacrifice?
Bia.Leave sacrifice to fools and women! Ay,More lies are huddled in that saintly wordThan ever smirked outside it. The strong soulLow bowing there, lies to his god,—the weakLies to the world behind a holy shieldThat turns the spear of justice. Pallas, hear!A general makes himself a master, lestThe State make him a servant.
Pyrr.True inAthens!But you've another name. I've heard you calledThe young philosopher. Play you at that.'Twill tire naught but the tongue. Yours will go far.
Bia.Nay, spare me toil of spirit searching throughEarth, sea, and sky for phrases magicalTo wrap creation in, as 'twere a babeEach man might call his own could he but findSome good-wife fancy to deliver it.No other hope?
Pyrr.They name you poet, too.Build round your spirit an Elysian cheatAnd buzz it through upon a golden wing.Is that not idle enough?
Bia.You touch me nowWith flattery's gold point. I wince and loveThe pain. Yet I'd not be a frolic breathAt play with Spring and florets in the dew,Or move in rhymèd courtesies beforeThe smile or frown of gods. Trick my dear soulIn May-day rags to catch a languid eye.Babble of moods and minds, how some think this,Some that, and some have never thought. Drone howOn such a day one struck another down,Or led a fleet, or laid a city wall.
Pyrr.What would you sing then, pray?
Bia.I would not sing.Was there not poetry before men spake?I'd go behind the broidered veil we've wroughtBefore the face of one that we loved muchAnd then forgot for beauty of the shroud.The old lere's lost, the new but irks our dream.We listen to ourselves, while round us everAre worlds that vainly pluck us to their doors,Giving us sign in lightning, heat, and wave,In flake of snow, flint-spark, and crystal rock,In stones that make the iron creep, and color,Fair flag and challenge to our shuttered minds.
Pyrr.[Moving nearer] Oh!
Bia.[Seeming to forget her]Round our lives is life whose destinyIs that frontier no word of ours has crossed,But man to come shall plant and harvest there,Where his soul sets the plough.
Pyrr.[Softly] You know that too?
Bia.That life shall warm his barest common wayOf in and out. In field and market-place,He'll lay his cheek 'gainst its unbodied loveAnd flush translations of its silent touch.Then will be poets! Thought that now must failIn bird-wing flight, shall from a violet's eyeO'erlook the sun. Till then I will not sing.
Pyrr.Not fight, philosophize, or sing!What's left for an Athenian?
Bia.[Remembering her] Love, fair Pyrrha!You know the tale how Chaos once uncurledHer laboring bulk from round a fire-leafed roseAnd sent its petals drifting down to fieldsWhere mortals foot with chance? Whoso they touchAre lovers always, and one came to me.
Pyrr.Now here's ambition! And you live for that?
Bia.Ay there's the charm contents me with dull earth,And puts a rainbow in my listless hand.The way is pleasant if the road be love's,And I'd not shorten it by one maid's eye.To be a lover,—that's the graceful thing.Then one moves velvetly, forgets no curve,And lives his picture, line and color true.
Pyrr.That rôle's struck from your play, you'll find, my lord.Maidens will smile, but scorn will set the lip,And women's eyes be warm, but hate their fireFor you, the traitor.
Bia.Traitor?
Pyrr.[In the door] See the gleamOn Athens, yours no more. The softest breastWithin her walls is steel when you are named.
Bia.But there are maids in Sparta.
Pyrr.Not for you,A traitor to the soil that gave you life.
Bia.That soil first cast me off.
Pyrr.A mother strikesHer child, but should the child return the blowGods would droop eyes and blush.
Bia.But were I trueTo my own land, I should be false to yours.
Pyrr.A virtue that. A maid might love you then.
Bia.A Spartan maid?
Pyrr.A Spartan maid. But nowWe hold you as no more than loathèd baitTo capture Athens. Used as a stuck flyTo hook a chub!
[Enter Hieron]
Bia.What saucy fury sportsWith Hieron? His even smile's unfixedAs the middle of two minds.
Hie.Sir, Phernes sendsSix maidens from his ship to dance before you.The noble Persian chooses time most fitFor wantoning,—the hour of sacrificeAnd battle prayer.
Bia.You're justly kindled. WhatThough it be royal custom in his East,—A grace from king to king,—to garnish dangerWith frillet of relief that makes death seemThe last-dropped toy, we'll dare to let him knowThat we are Greeks, and walk the edge of gravesWith eyes upon the gods. Go, pack them off!
Hie.Why,—so I meant. The act struck rudely onOur ritual hour. But if his Eastern mindPaints it a courtesy——
Bia.A sovereign honor.
Hie.He is of haughty blood,—burns at rebuff——
Bia.Ay, like a hornet blind. A thousand timesI've eased his fret and run his humor's mouldLike summer wax, lest he should break from SpartaThat stood in rigid ruin. Now I leave it!His anger can be put to gentlest sleep,But 'tis no babe when stirred. Choose as you will.
Hie.The honor is to you. Be yours the answer.
Bia.I'm worn with him. Three hours to-day I playedHis vanity, while chance touched either side,Waiting the word that should cut through suspenseAnd seal him ours for battle.
Hie.To huff his pride'Tween this and dawn would poorly soothe our ownAt an uncertain cost. But let him leerI' the oracles' face....
Bia.He has not sent Alissa?
Hie.There's one so calls herself. Spoke out the nameAs we should fall before it.
Bia.She's most freeIn Phernes' heart. Knows all the honey-waysTo his secret soul, and what is said to herHe'll hear ere morn. As you love victory,I hope you met her gently.
Hie.If surpriseMade greeting harsh, I will undo that harmWith softer welcome. And beseech you, sir,To suffer this mistimed civilityFor Sparta's sake.
Bia.I will, dear Hieron,Since 'tis your suit.
Hie.Thanks, thanks, my lord.
Bia.Let them come in. I'll see their briefest dance,And give Alissa one commending word,Which straight as faithful bee she'll hiveIn Phernes' ear.[Exit Hieron]What think you of it, Pyrrha?You do approve me?
Pyrr.Approve your wits, my friend.Had they been Spartan trained, you'd bring them off,Untarnished still, from argument with Zeus.
Bia.When Pallas praises, bow.
Pyrr.Poor HieronIs now the sweating agent of your willTo see these callets dance.
Bia.Unpitiful!I'd touch my lips to Lethe, and you'd snatchThe oblivious drop from me! You know how dearThe bond that shall be cut with sword of dawn,—So close no seer may tell which shall bleed most,Athens or her lost son.
Pyrr.Art low at last?
Bia.Dun, dun, my Pyrrha, as a Barbary pigeon!So low not all my pride can vaunt me up.Then let me have my wine,—the draught of eyes,Of music and of smiles, till I be drunkAnd sleep.
[Enter six Athenian youths, led by Clearchus, all disguised as Persian dancers. As they dance before Biades his pleasure quickens to abandonment]
Bia.Ah, Pyrrha, you've denied my heartAll noble love, but here's a pleasure left.Soft eyes and gentle bosoms may be mineWhere scorn is taught to sleep and never sting.... That is Alissa. We must honor her.
[He signals Clearchus, and the others pass out, leaving him to dance alone. As he ventures more flirtatiously about Biades, Pyrrha's disgust increases and she retreats. Clearchus, dancing mockingly, follows her to door, and when she has passed through audaciously closes it]
Bia.Now! Quick! In name of Zeus! The senatorsReceived my message?
Clea.[Darting to Biades] Ay, the answer's here![Gives him a parchment]Full pardon! Athens will lay down her wallsTo make your entry proud! Her gates are small,For honor she intends you!
Bia.[Glances at parchment and sobs]My Athens! Mine! Though she should take my life,And my bruised body fling unburied forth,Yet would my shade drop kisses on her soilAnd weep to leave it for Elysium! [With sudden control]What of my plan?
Clea.Adopted, in each item.Soon as the dropping moon is in the sea,The Athenian rowers, coming as your own,Will board this galley and bear her a birdTo th' harbor nest.
Bia.They've force to meet the guards?
Clea.Thrice measured, sir. TheTheia——
Bia.My own ship!
Clea.Your own—will meet you, every sailor trueAs when he wept your banishment. And Phaon,Critias, Pelagon, Antiganor,With twenty senators and men of name,Wait on her deck in welcome.
Bia.Back, ye tears!The rowers know my signal?
Clea.Yes, my lord.Three cressets on the left,—set here in thisEmbrasure. They will watch, near as they dare,And instantly as darts your triple gleamTheir oars will sweep you answer.
[A commotion without]
Bia.Hist! What's wrong?
[Enter Hieron and Pyrrha. Hieron goes to Clearchus and tears off his veil and head-dress]
Clea.O, pardon! I'll confess!
Hie.'Tis you, my lord,I now unmask, not this bought wretch.
Bia.What, sir?
Hie.Your Persian dancers are Athenian boys,All slim as lizards. We o'er-eyed their steps,And on suspicion gave them such a pinchThe truth flew out.
Bia.Their guilt does not prove mine.Is it my crime that Athens touched me nearWith bribe of pardon?
Pyrr.Hear the boy. You areClearchus? And of Athens?
Clea.I am.
Pyrr.You broughtHis pardon. Did he welcome it?
Clea.He did.
Bia.He lies! The coward lies!
Clea.He did agreeThat Phernes should draw off his fleet and joinWith Athens.
Bia.Oh! Where are the Olympian thundersThat they now let you live?
Hie.Draw off his fleetTo-night?
Clea.Ere dawn.
Bia.That such an atom—suchA trifle of a body could encloseSo great a lie!
Clea.The Persian is at watch,Waiting the signal——
Bia.Toad!
Clea.If pardon came,Two cressets set——
Bia.I'll shred him!
Clea.At the left——Just here, my lord, would start the Persian shipsFor Athens.
Bia.Oh!
Clea.But if three cressets burnt,Then he would hold to Sparta.
Hie.Three?
Clea.Three, sir.Look in his bosom if you'd read the proof.His pardon's there.
Bia.By the altars I have lost,By Sparta's yet unwon, I swear he lies!
[Pyrrha snatches the parchment from his bosom]
Bia.You bat—you mole—you cur-born flea——
Clea.[To Hieron]O, sir,Your mercy! Save me from him!
Hie.Wait without.
Pyrr.Full pardon! Bring the irons! We are sold!Irons for Biades!
Bia.[Accepting defeat] Ay, let me wearMy honor's livery. Every foe-locked gyveWill be my country's kiss, and make my bloodFlow proud beneath it. Irons! Load me down,Now that you know me man, and not the thrallOf vilest fear that buys suspected breathWith a mother-city's doom.
Pyrr.I'll grant you, sir,That by this act you do no longer lieIn the unconsidered trash of estimation,But have crept up in my surprisèd mindTo where I keep my jewels of regard.That is soon said,—but for the rest, you die.And more than die, for we shall hurl your nameA palsy over Athens.
Bia.You'll not fightAthens and Persia!
Pyrr.Persia is not lost.Your signal is unlit.
Hie.But we'll light ours!Three cressets——
Pyrr.[Stopping him] Wait! The event's too greatTo helve with such slight word. That snivelling blabMay've lied, or crossed the signals, for the youngAre easiest dyed in craft, and take its hueAs natively as innocence doth wearIts smile in sleep.
Hie.What then?
Pyrr.You'll go to Phernes.
Hie.There are no boats.
Pyrr.Tut, take the boats that broughtThose purfled cymlings here. Their rowers too.Ah, Biades, you'll serve us still. And thoughtTo trap all Sparta with this tip-toe bait!We have a saying. "Wit against the world,—"And there's another too, "The last lie wins."Hast heard it, Biades? We'll bear your wordTo Phernes that with dawn you move with himUpon the Athenian sails.
Bia.He'll hear no wordFrom Spartan mouth. So 'twas agreed between us,To annul such move as this if chance should stripMy bent of cover. I alone may reachHis ear with Sparta's prayer.
Pyrr.We'll cast for proofOf that. If true, we shall remember, sir,That Sparta has won cities with no aidFrom Persia.
Bia.You'll not go alone to meetThe strength of Athens?
Pyrr.Your far-wingèd nameAnd sea-born battle-skill shall go with us.Your single arm's no loss, but in your fame,Yet ours to use, the Spartan strengthIs doubled. Ha! They call us landmen,—sayWe must have feet on ground ere we can fight.But you they fear, bred to the wave, and firstOf their commanders.
Bia.Let me die, but leaveMy name unmurdered.
Pyrr.It shall be outflungIn challenge to the Athenians. They know wellThe sailor rabble loves you, and will opposeBut half a heart to Biades. Some too,Of higher place, believe you wronged, and fearThe angered gods will station on your side.By spearman Ares, you shall keep the oathGreat-sworn on Sparta's ground, to set her lanceThrough Athens' triple shield! Ay, though you lieIn irons waiting death.
Bia.The sunken soulsOf deepest, damnèd Dis have never borneSo vile a sting! You can not mean it, Pyrrha.Cast on my soul what Pluto would disbarFrom his fire-vaulted hell? I'll proudly dieFor treachery to you, but clear my nameTo Athens. Take not life and honor too!
Pyrr.One you may save,—your life.
Bia.What do you say?
Pyrr.Draw Phernes back to us, and you shall live.
Bia.You offer me but death, knowing I could not liveA traitor.
Pyrr.You choose to die as one?
Bia.Oh, Zeus,All-giver, hear!
Pyrr.What gain is death to youIf reputation dies eternallyIn Athens' hate? Sparta will do as muchAs spare your life.
Bia.Nay——
Pyrr.She shall nothing knowOf this hour's lapse——
Bia.O, bitter stars! O, DeathPast fatal!—reaching o'er thy charnel boundTo usurp the immortal garden! Die a traitor!Never will dew from a forgiving eyeFall on my grave!
Pyrr.Nor will the upbraiding gazeOf Heaven be more tender. For you choseTo risk your country's life on turn of chance,Having no surety that drawn to dangerYou then could pluck her out. Ah, made her fateYour stake at dice, because, escaped the hazard,You'd toss with her to fortune! And your guiltIs heavy in her fall as though your handBore down her last defence and fierce untrussedHer heart to th' wolvish air.
Bia.Oh, Pyrrha, Pyrrha!
Pyrr.Then why haste on to death? The noblest shadesWill make no room for you where'er they walk.Why rush through the first gate to meet their coldImmortal scorn?
Bia.But life with honor gone!
Pyrr.If death could buy it, then 'twere wiseTo buy so goldenly. But that's too late.Choose life,—with honor such as Sparta laysOn those who serve but her. This treacheryThat we've by hap unbagged in 'ts eanling hourShall be safe snugged again. And cherished too!For in my eyes it is the one brave flowerOf your most barren being. None shall know it,And Sparta, as she will, may laurels weaveAbout your faith.
Bia.But Hieron?
Pyrr.[To Hieron] You'll swear with me? [He hesitates]In Sparta's name? [Takes his hand] And mine?
Bia.No, no!
Hie.I'll swear.
Bia.Oh, not that price! No, till the endO' the world!
Pyrr.Life, Biades, life!
Bia.I will not do it!Athens may singly conquer!
Pyrr.Then you dieBy Sparta's hand, and Athens holds your nameAccursed through time. The irons, Hieron.
[Biades hunches despairingly, his face hidden]
Pyrr.[Apart] Gods! He will yield!
Bia.[Looking up] I'll do it,—dare to live,—And Attica may call me what she will.A traitor breathes, and feels the blessed sun.He's ne'er so poor but can his housing findIn alms-lapped Nature. Her unchoosing airsAsk not his name before they touch his browAnd tell him when 'tis spring. He yet may dreamIn unrebuking shades, and birds will singAs liquidly as though he were not by.Food is yet food, and wine is ever wine.I will not die. [Rises] By Maia's son, I'll live!What is my country but the bit of earthWhere chance did spawn me? 'Tis no treachery.We're traitors unto love, not hate,—to trust,Not doubt and slander such as Athens pouredUpon me guiltless.
Pyrr.[Crossing to him] So you've found a wayTo save both life and honor!
Bia.May a wormNot creep to cleaner dust? Pyrrha, be kind.Spare me the trampling foot.
Pyrr.We've lost an hour.You'll send to Phernes?
Bia.First we'll signal him.He may be setting off. We must despatch,For if he saw no sign he meant to drawHis fleet from doubtful waters and give aidTo neither side. [Taking up a light]Three cressets—that was true.When once these lights have spoken, he'll receiveYour envoy as myself. Then HieronMay bear confirming word to him, and bringAssurance back.
Hie.[To Pyrrha] You do not doubt?
Pyrr.Doubt now?Nay, Hieron. I'll trust him with hislife.
Hie.But——
Bia.[Trembling] O, ye gazing gods, must it be done?In Athens' living heart set up the torchThat leaves her a charred blotch where she lay white'Neath heaven and smiled up to sister stars!
Pyrr.Come, Biades!
Bia.Shall not the earth be lostTo God's own eye when Athens, quenched, no moreMarks where we wander? I can not do it!
Pyrr.[Taking the cresset] Too late,My lord!
[Fixes light in the open embrasure, then places two others. Biades falls back, mantling his face]
Hie.To Phernes now! We must not boggle this!
Pyrr.If you've a doubt, sir, look on that. [Points to Biades]
Hie.I'll hasten back to you.
Bia.But note our light.The galley rowers may return ere you,And move us to the east.
Hie.I shall not lose you.
Bia.What escort will you take? A noble oneWill best please Phernes.
Hie.Mirador and AgisShall go with me. Meanthes shall remainTo be your watch.
Bia.You'll tell them nothing?
Hie.Sir,I've sworn. I shall say naught but this. That AthensProffered you pardon, and you hold to Sparta.
[Exit Hieron. Pyrrha watches from the door until the boats put off. The sea is now dark. Biades takes up a harp and strums it]
Pyrr.[Turning] You can do that? And I—I held my heartAt halt, there at the door, nor turned my headLest pity should emburn my eyes to tears. [Crosses to him]Dost know that all the juniper in the world,Burnt in thy house of honor, would not cleanseIts doors of stench? [Throws the harp aside]And you can use that airFor breath of song!
Bia.Those are the bitterest wordsThat ever dropped me gall, but I can findA crushèd balsam in them,—for they sayYou might have loved me, Pyrrha.
Pyrr.I might.
Bia.You did.The moment that I cast my Spartan maskAnd showed me true to Athens, you were mine.That instant there was joy-fall on your heartThat swept its icy sentinels with fire,And they were down. Oh, had I then proved staunch,Ta'en helmet off to death and bade him strike,You would have closed my eyes with kisses warmAs rose-drift on a tomb——
Pyrr.Nay, I'd have keptThose eyes to be my light on earth, not starElysian skies. Had fought for you againstMy mother Sparta. Fought as woman fightsFor her one love,—with wit and armèd tongue,And cunning that throws puzzle on the gods.Fought till subduèd Death had knelt to FateAnd prayed your life for me!
Bia.Have I lost that?
Pyrr.You yielded—sank—unlustred even your soulFor a poor pinch of time——
Bia.But if some touchOf heaven could make me true again——
Pyrr.Look onThose lights, that you with single breath could turnTo weeping smoke,—they've lit a quenchless wreckThat all your sighs blow vain against,—a flameUngovernable to remorse. Not furrowing windsThat split the watery fields to Thetis' bed,And make a foamy Ural of her shore,Can sweep it out. Ay, groan and shake,And draw your mantle up! Behind a coverThick as Taygetus' sides, I'd see you limnedIn shame!
Bia.[Springing up] What's shame to love? To love fire-sprungFrom instant meeting of fore-strangered eyes?And such was ours, there in that Athens' grove.Imperial of itself, it asks no loanOf subject virtue's smock to drape it royal.As fen-born vapors seem to nest the stars,Yet far below them do but thatch the worldWhen they look down, the vassal qualitiesMay lift no touch to love, that yet must wear,To earth's unvantaged eyes, their reek and hue.
Pyrr.Aerial love is but an earthling still,It must come down for food or mortal die,And what but virtues feed it?
Bia.Nay, you speakOf a fair, lesser thing,—a grace not litFrom thurible in uncreated Hand,But coaxed from clay to a persuaded life.Garbed as the days,—patched, plastered, hung with dearPossessive vanities, it serves to makeContentment's bed, and cook a patient mealOn comfort's hearth,—even snuggles in the voidThat else might ache, sings low, and makesCompanioned feet tread bravely to the grave.It has a thousand names, but never oneIs love. Be thine that white, ungendered spark,And naught can feed it, naught can make it less.Virtue and vice, nobility and shame,Are rags that drop away, while you sweep on,Stripped as a flame, with arms about your star.
[Pyrrha is silent. Both start at sound of a noise on the water]
Pyrr.What sound is that?
Bia.The rowers are returning.
Pyrr.So quietly?
Bia.[Goes to door and closes it]The world shall not come inOn me and you. Be mine this broken hour,And Hieron may flute through after-timeAt secret doors where you lock up your favors.For you will go with him.
Pyrr.A prophet too?
Bia.You'll make his home, but I shall come and goThe unseen master there.
Pyrr.Now for the vision!
Bia.You'll watch your door,—the unheard step is mine,—And rock the babe born of a dream of me.And I, far-wandered, lost unto myself,Shall never lose you, Pyrrha. As the lightWrapping the wave reveals its silver dance,My being shall exult through shade and wearThe chlamys of your gleam. Your voice behindThe wind shall draw me lover-lipped to meetAdventure's breath. You'll lie upon the hushThat girdles evening,—be the thrill withinThe throstle's note, and silence whenHis song is done.
Pyrr.Nay, it will speak of Phania,Of Sybaris.——
Bia.Ay, and a hundred moreIn whom I've sought for thee, my Pyrrha, always thee!'Twill speak of them as statues speak of shardsAbout their feet,—the sculptor's broken dreamsThat made the perfect one.
[The ship rocks]
Pyrr.We're moving!
Bia.Yes,You know,—to safer waters. Listen, Pyrrha,To me—tome!
Pyrr.Those sounds——
Bia.[Kneels] Hearme! My headI'll votive lay till you may set your feetLike tangled roses in my curls——
[Pyrrha springs toward the door, but Biades is before her. The noises increase. Groans, blows, shouts]
Pyrr.Aside!I'll pass!
Bia.O, save our bones. I am the stronger.You know 't.
Pyrr.You! I'll wind you like a thread!
Bia.You didn't.
Pyrr.Didn't....
Bia.When we wrestled.
Pyrr.When....Oh,then! My arm was lame. Come, I will pass!
Bia.Nay, 'twas your heart that spared me!
Pyrr.Ay, like this!
[Throws him aside. He staggers against the wall for support. She opens door. Two soldiers in armor silently oppose spears to her passage. She slowly closes the door]
Pyrr.Where are we going?
Bia.You love me. What an arm!'Twas never lame!
Pyrr.Come! Tell me what's our port,Then I shall know one place we donotgo.
Bia.Tut, love! Pry into men's affairs?Be calm——
Pyrr.What does this mean? [Advancing] I'll know!
Bia.[Retreating] You shall! It means"The last lie wins." We go to harbor.
Pyrr.Ah!...Those rowers....
Bia.Faithful and fleet as ever boreAn Athenian general home. They came uponYour signal——
Pyrr.Mine?
Bia.They lay at watch, not Phernes.Look on those lights! O, trinal star, set highBy my beloved! My honor's flaming hedge——
Pyrr.You fly,But in a net! The Spartans heard those shouts.They are in chase—you'll see——
Bia.They're unprepared.The captains off their ships, the guards in doubt,And oarsmen half asleep. But let them comeFar as they dare, and if they dare too farFrom Persia's shelter, the Athenian fleetWill close like jaws about them.
Pyrr.[Sits, with sudden hopelessness] You have won,My lord.
Bia.I have.
Pyrr.What will you do with me?
Bia.I'll wed thee, sweet.
Pyrr.I'll not——
Bia.Yes, love, you will.There is a dagger hangs in Phelas' shop,Shall be your bridal gift. A prizèd bladeOf coppered gold, hued like a battle morning.Smooth-cheeked as Artemis, although inlaidWith pictured tale. A captured Amazon,Wrought palely in alloy,—a silvered fearOn th' bronzen flush of courage,—bows beforeHer conqueror, a knight who gently bendsAs I do now——
Pyrr.[Thrusting him off] No! Never! I'll not trustYour dolphin nature! Long as fish have finsYou'll sport in every sea! Go—go to Phania!
Bia.[Turns angrily from her] Ay, by my gods that I have found again,I shall wed none but an Athenian maid![Pyrrha swoons. He rushes to her]Her heart is still. O, curse my double-tongue!She's dead—she's dead! She takes the Spartan way—To die, not yield! Oh, Pyrrha, Pyrrha, Pyrrha! [Rushes about distractedly]I will not live! I'll leap into the sea!
Pyrr.[On her elbow, as he reaches door]You might catch cold. [He stares at her. She sits up]Is this your grace in love?Your pictured ease, with no dissuasive line?
Bia.O, Pyrrha, peace! Let us be done with cheatAnd mockery!
Pyrr.[Rising] My heart on that, my lord!
Bia.Own thou art mine! My world when sunsets die!My breath of meadows lying past the moon!Compassionate this earth, and in my soulFix thee its centre. Say thou'lt come!
Pyrr.My lord,Could I be sure....
Bia.Ah, Pyrrha, there's no lightFalls from thine eye that does not sway me likeA bee in rose wind-shaken. I am thine.There'll be no battle, but a nuptial feastWith three great armies for our brothered guests.Your land and mine are one. Give me your hand.
Pyrr.I will. For Sparta's sake.
Bia.And love's!
Pyrr.[Giving her hand] And love's.
[Curtain]
Scene:The garden of Pelagon, as in first act. Enter youths and maidens dancing about Pyrrha and Biades. They sing: