I can but sayHow I do love.
I can but sayHow I do love.
I can but sayHow I do love.
The Lady.
And how?
And how?
And how?
The Maiden.
With faith and prayer.
With faith and prayer.
With faith and prayer.
The Lady.
I, too; my faith is absolute. We shareThat good in common. I believe his loveIs great as mine, and mine—oh, could I proveMy love by dying for him, far too smallThe test; I’d give my love, my soul, my all,In life, in death, in immortality,Content in hell itself (if there be hells—Which much I doubt)—content, so I could beWith him!
I, too; my faith is absolute. We shareThat good in common. I believe his loveIs great as mine, and mine—oh, could I proveMy love by dying for him, far too smallThe test; I’d give my love, my soul, my all,In life, in death, in immortality,Content in hell itself (if there be hells—Which much I doubt)—content, so I could beWith him!
I, too; my faith is absolute. We shareThat good in common. I believe his loveIs great as mine, and mine—oh, could I proveMy love by dying for him, far too smallThe test; I’d give my love, my soul, my all,In life, in death, in immortality,Content in hell itself (if there be hells—Which much I doubt)—content, so I could beWith him!
The Maiden.
Is it a woman’s tongue that tellsThis blasphemy? When I said faith, I meantA faith in God.
Is it a woman’s tongue that tellsThis blasphemy? When I said faith, I meantA faith in God.
Is it a woman’s tongue that tellsThis blasphemy? When I said faith, I meantA faith in God.
The Lady.
And God is love! He sentThis love that fills my heart. Oh, most divine—Oh, nearest to him of all earthly things,A love that passeth self—a love like mineThat passeth understanding. The bird singsBecause it is the only way he knowsTo praise his Maker; and a love that flowsLike mine is worship, too—a hymn that rollsUp to the God of Love, who gave us soulsTo love with. Then the hidden sacrifice;It formed a part of worship once, and IDo hold it now the part that deepest liesIn woman’s love, the dim sanctuaryBehind the veil, holy of holies, keptE’en from the one she loves: all told, exceptThis mystic feeling which she may not knowHow to express in words—the martyr’s glowIdealized—the wish to give him joyThrough her own suffering, and so destroyAll part that self might play—to offer pureHer love to her heart’s idol. Strange, obscure,Sacred, but mighty, is this longing; ICan feel though not define it. I would dieTo make him happy!
And God is love! He sentThis love that fills my heart. Oh, most divine—Oh, nearest to him of all earthly things,A love that passeth self—a love like mineThat passeth understanding. The bird singsBecause it is the only way he knowsTo praise his Maker; and a love that flowsLike mine is worship, too—a hymn that rollsUp to the God of Love, who gave us soulsTo love with. Then the hidden sacrifice;It formed a part of worship once, and IDo hold it now the part that deepest liesIn woman’s love, the dim sanctuaryBehind the veil, holy of holies, keptE’en from the one she loves: all told, exceptThis mystic feeling which she may not knowHow to express in words—the martyr’s glowIdealized—the wish to give him joyThrough her own suffering, and so destroyAll part that self might play—to offer pureHer love to her heart’s idol. Strange, obscure,Sacred, but mighty, is this longing; ICan feel though not define it. I would dieTo make him happy!
And God is love! He sentThis love that fills my heart. Oh, most divine—Oh, nearest to him of all earthly things,A love that passeth self—a love like mineThat passeth understanding. The bird singsBecause it is the only way he knowsTo praise his Maker; and a love that flowsLike mine is worship, too—a hymn that rollsUp to the God of Love, who gave us soulsTo love with. Then the hidden sacrifice;It formed a part of worship once, and IDo hold it now the part that deepest liesIn woman’s love, the dim sanctuaryBehind the veil, holy of holies, keptE’en from the one she loves: all told, exceptThis mystic feeling which she may not knowHow to express in words—the martyr’s glowIdealized—the wish to give him joyThrough her own suffering, and so destroyAll part that self might play—to offer pureHer love to her heart’s idol. Strange, obscure,Sacred, but mighty, is this longing; ICan feel though not define it. I would dieTo make him happy!
The Maiden.
As his happinessDepends on me, then can you do no lessThan yield him to me—if you love him thus.
As his happinessDepends on me, then can you do no lessThan yield him to me—if you love him thus.
As his happinessDepends on me, then can you do no lessThan yield him to me—if you love him thus.
The Lady(thinking).
“As,” said she? Heart, but this is fabulous,This calm security of hers!(Speaks.) Why, child,Hast never heard of passion, and its wild,Impetuous, unreasoning assaultOn souls that know not their own depths? The faultNot his: he was but young, he did not knowHimself. Might he not love me even thoughThou wert the best? Have pity! I appealTo all the woman in thee. Dost thou feelThat one touch of his hand would call the bloodOut from thy heart in an o’erwhelming floodTo meet it?
“As,” said she? Heart, but this is fabulous,This calm security of hers!(Speaks.) Why, child,Hast never heard of passion, and its wild,Impetuous, unreasoning assaultOn souls that know not their own depths? The faultNot his: he was but young, he did not knowHimself. Might he not love me even thoughThou wert the best? Have pity! I appealTo all the woman in thee. Dost thou feelThat one touch of his hand would call the bloodOut from thy heart in an o’erwhelming floodTo meet it?
“As,” said she? Heart, but this is fabulous,This calm security of hers!(Speaks.) Why, child,Hast never heard of passion, and its wild,Impetuous, unreasoning assaultOn souls that know not their own depths? The faultNot his: he was but young, he did not knowHimself. Might he not love me even thoughThou wert the best? Have pity! I appealTo all the woman in thee. Dost thou feelThat one touch of his hand would call the bloodOut from thy heart in an o’erwhelming floodTo meet it?
The Maiden.
Nay, I know not what you speak.
Nay, I know not what you speak.
Nay, I know not what you speak.
The Lady.
Thou dost not, that I see. Thy pearly cheekKeeps its fair white.Sweet child, he’s that and moreTo me. Ah, let me kneel; thus I imploreThat thou wouldst yield him to me—all the rightHis boyhood promise gave thee.
Thou dost not, that I see. Thy pearly cheekKeeps its fair white.Sweet child, he’s that and moreTo me. Ah, let me kneel; thus I imploreThat thou wouldst yield him to me—all the rightHis boyhood promise gave thee.
Thou dost not, that I see. Thy pearly cheekKeeps its fair white.Sweet child, he’s that and moreTo me. Ah, let me kneel; thus I imploreThat thou wouldst yield him to me—all the rightHis boyhood promise gave thee.
The Maiden.
In the sightOf Heaven we are betrothed; I cannot breakMy word.
In the sightOf Heaven we are betrothed; I cannot breakMy word.
In the sightOf Heaven we are betrothed; I cannot breakMy word.
The Lady.
Oh, not for mine, but forhissake!He loves me!
Oh, not for mine, but forhissake!He loves me!
Oh, not for mine, but forhissake!He loves me!
The Maiden.
Only madness, that will burnAnd die to ashes; but, the fever past,The old, pure love will steadfastly returnAnd take its rightful place.
Only madness, that will burnAnd die to ashes; but, the fever past,The old, pure love will steadfastly returnAnd take its rightful place.
Only madness, that will burnAnd die to ashes; but, the fever past,The old, pure love will steadfastly returnAnd take its rightful place.
The Lady.
But should it last,This fever-madness? should he ask your grace,And say he loved me best?
But should it last,This fever-madness? should he ask your grace,And say he loved me best?
But should it last,This fever-madness? should he ask your grace,And say he loved me best?
The Maiden.
Then, to his faceI’d answer, Never! What! leave him to sin?
Then, to his faceI’d answer, Never! What! leave him to sin?
Then, to his faceI’d answer, Never! What! leave him to sin?
The Lady.
And what the sin?
And what the sin?
And what the sin?
The Maiden.
You! you! You have no faith,No creed, that I can learn. The Bible saithAll such are evil.
You! you! You have no faith,No creed, that I can learn. The Bible saithAll such are evil.
You! you! You have no faith,No creed, that I can learn. The Bible saithAll such are evil.
The Lady(aside).
Why did I beginSuch hopeless contest?(Speaks.) Child, if he should lieBefore us now, and one said he must dieOr love me, wouldst thou yield?
Why did I beginSuch hopeless contest?(Speaks.) Child, if he should lieBefore us now, and one said he must dieOr love me, wouldst thou yield?
Why did I beginSuch hopeless contest?(Speaks.) Child, if he should lieBefore us now, and one said he must dieOr love me, wouldst thou yield?
The Maiden.
Never; as deadHe would be in God’s hands; living—
Never; as deadHe would be in God’s hands; living—
Never; as deadHe would be in God’s hands; living—
The Lady.
In mine.
In mine.
In mine.
The Maiden.
That is, in atheism.
That is, in atheism.
That is, in atheism.
The Lady.
Have I saidAught atheistical? Because my faithIs broader than its own, this conscience saithI am an atheist! Ah, child, is thineA better faith? Yet, be it what it may,Should he now lie before us here, and sayHe loved thee best, I’d yield him though my heartShould stop—though I should die. Yea, for his sake,To make him happy, I would even takeAnnihilation!—let the vital sparkCalled soul be turned to nothing.
Have I saidAught atheistical? Because my faithIs broader than its own, this conscience saithI am an atheist! Ah, child, is thineA better faith? Yet, be it what it may,Should he now lie before us here, and sayHe loved thee best, I’d yield him though my heartShould stop—though I should die. Yea, for his sake,To make him happy, I would even takeAnnihilation!—let the vital sparkCalled soul be turned to nothing.
Have I saidAught atheistical? Because my faithIs broader than its own, this conscience saithI am an atheist! Ah, child, is thineA better faith? Yet, be it what it may,Should he now lie before us here, and sayHe loved thee best, I’d yield him though my heartShould stop—though I should die. Yea, for his sake,To make him happy, I would even takeAnnihilation!—let the vital sparkCalled soul be turned to nothing.
The Maiden.
Far apartOur motives; mine is clear with duty—
Far apartOur motives; mine is clear with duty—
Far apartOur motives; mine is clear with duty—
The Lady.
DarkAnd heavy mine with love.
DarkAnd heavy mine with love.
DarkAnd heavy mine with love.
The Maiden.
You talk of deathWith frequent phrase, as though a little thing,A matter merely of the will and breath,It were to face the judgment, and the KingWho has not summoned you. Your flippant tongueRolls out its offers as a song is sung,And, both mean nothing; for the chance to dieFor one we love, that glorious gift, comes nowBut rarely in this life that you and IMust bear our part in. Thus, no empty vowDoIrepeat; and yet, I surely know,At duty’s call right calmly could I goUp the red scaffold’s stairs.
You talk of deathWith frequent phrase, as though a little thing,A matter merely of the will and breath,It were to face the judgment, and the KingWho has not summoned you. Your flippant tongueRolls out its offers as a song is sung,And, both mean nothing; for the chance to dieFor one we love, that glorious gift, comes nowBut rarely in this life that you and IMust bear our part in. Thus, no empty vowDoIrepeat; and yet, I surely know,At duty’s call right calmly could I goUp the red scaffold’s stairs.
You talk of deathWith frequent phrase, as though a little thing,A matter merely of the will and breath,It were to face the judgment, and the KingWho has not summoned you. Your flippant tongueRolls out its offers as a song is sung,And, both mean nothing; for the chance to dieFor one we love, that glorious gift, comes nowBut rarely in this life that you and IMust bear our part in. Thus, no empty vowDoIrepeat; and yet, I surely know,At duty’s call right calmly could I goUp the red scaffold’s stairs.
The Lady.
I well believeThee, steadfast maiden-voice. Nay, I conceiveMylove,thyduty, are alike—the sameSelf-sacrifice under a various nameAccording to our natures. I would yield,And thou refuse to yield, from the same love;I’d have him happy here, and thou—above.For thus we look at life.The book is sealedThat holds our fate—we may not look within;But this I know, that, be it deadly sinOr highest good, he loves me!
I well believeThee, steadfast maiden-voice. Nay, I conceiveMylove,thyduty, are alike—the sameSelf-sacrifice under a various nameAccording to our natures. I would yield,And thou refuse to yield, from the same love;I’d have him happy here, and thou—above.For thus we look at life.The book is sealedThat holds our fate—we may not look within;But this I know, that, be it deadly sinOr highest good, he loves me!
I well believeThee, steadfast maiden-voice. Nay, I conceiveMylove,thyduty, are alike—the sameSelf-sacrifice under a various nameAccording to our natures. I would yield,And thou refuse to yield, from the same love;I’d have him happy here, and thou—above.For thus we look at life.The book is sealedThat holds our fate—we may not look within;But this I know, that, be it deadly sinOr highest good, he loves me!
The Maiden.
There are loves—And loves!
There are loves—And loves!
There are loves—And loves!
The Lady.
So be it. All this word-work provesNothing. Then let it end. Though there’s a charmIn speech—but you are tired. ’Twill be no harmTo rest you on my shoulder, though its creed(Poor shoulder!) is not orthodox.
So be it. All this word-work provesNothing. Then let it end. Though there’s a charmIn speech—but you are tired. ’Twill be no harmTo rest you on my shoulder, though its creed(Poor shoulder!) is not orthodox.
So be it. All this word-work provesNothing. Then let it end. Though there’s a charmIn speech—but you are tired. ’Twill be no harmTo rest you on my shoulder, though its creed(Poor shoulder!) is not orthodox.
The Maiden.
Indeed,I need not rest.
Indeed,I need not rest.
Indeed,I need not rest.
The Lady.
Well, then, I’m half asleepMyself, and you the silent watch may keep.—(Thinking.) I’ve whiled the time away; but, thou dear God,Who made me, how with bleeding feet have trodThe toiling moments through my heart! I pray(For I believe that prayer may aid the soul,Though not the body nor the fixed controlOf Nature) that his love may hold its swayE’en as I saw him last, when, at my feet,He lavished his young heart in burning tideOf loving words. Oh, not for mine own joy,But his, I pray this prayer; do thou destroyAll my own part in it.—Ah, love, full sweetShall be our meeting. Lo! the longed-for brideComes—of her own accord. There is no bliss,Even in heaven, greater than the kissThat I do keep for thee!
Well, then, I’m half asleepMyself, and you the silent watch may keep.—(Thinking.) I’ve whiled the time away; but, thou dear God,Who made me, how with bleeding feet have trodThe toiling moments through my heart! I pray(For I believe that prayer may aid the soul,Though not the body nor the fixed controlOf Nature) that his love may hold its swayE’en as I saw him last, when, at my feet,He lavished his young heart in burning tideOf loving words. Oh, not for mine own joy,But his, I pray this prayer; do thou destroyAll my own part in it.—Ah, love, full sweetShall be our meeting. Lo! the longed-for brideComes—of her own accord. There is no bliss,Even in heaven, greater than the kissThat I do keep for thee!
Well, then, I’m half asleepMyself, and you the silent watch may keep.—(Thinking.) I’ve whiled the time away; but, thou dear God,Who made me, how with bleeding feet have trodThe toiling moments through my heart! I pray(For I believe that prayer may aid the soul,Though not the body nor the fixed controlOf Nature) that his love may hold its swayE’en as I saw him last, when, at my feet,He lavished his young heart in burning tideOf loving words. Oh, not for mine own joy,But his, I pray this prayer; do thou destroyAll my own part in it.—Ah, love, full sweetShall be our meeting. Lo! the longed-for brideComes—of her own accord. There is no bliss,Even in heaven, greater than the kissThat I do keep for thee!
The Maiden(thinking).
O God, thy willBe done—yes, first of all, be done! (Bide still,Thou wicked, rebel heart!) Yet, O Lord, grantThis grace to me, a lowly supplicant.My mind is vexèd, evil thoughts do rageWithin my soul; O Merciful, assuageThe suffering I endure!—If it is trueMy poor boy loves this woman—and what isIs ever for the best—create anewHer soul that it may surely leaven hisWith holiness. Oh, stretch Thy mighty armAnd win her to Thy fold, that she may beA godly woman, graced with piety,Turned from the error of her ways, the harmOf all her worldliness, the sinful charmOf her fair face (if it be fair, though IThink her too brown) changed by humilityTo decorous sweetness.—Lord, look in my heart;I may not know myself; search every part,And give me grace to say that I will yieldMy love to hers if Thy will stands revealedIn his swift preference.Yet, in pity, hear—Change her, Lord—make her good! [Weeps.
O God, thy willBe done—yes, first of all, be done! (Bide still,Thou wicked, rebel heart!) Yet, O Lord, grantThis grace to me, a lowly supplicant.My mind is vexèd, evil thoughts do rageWithin my soul; O Merciful, assuageThe suffering I endure!—If it is trueMy poor boy loves this woman—and what isIs ever for the best—create anewHer soul that it may surely leaven hisWith holiness. Oh, stretch Thy mighty armAnd win her to Thy fold, that she may beA godly woman, graced with piety,Turned from the error of her ways, the harmOf all her worldliness, the sinful charmOf her fair face (if it be fair, though IThink her too brown) changed by humilityTo decorous sweetness.—Lord, look in my heart;I may not know myself; search every part,And give me grace to say that I will yieldMy love to hers if Thy will stands revealedIn his swift preference.Yet, in pity, hear—Change her, Lord—make her good! [Weeps.
O God, thy willBe done—yes, first of all, be done! (Bide still,Thou wicked, rebel heart!) Yet, O Lord, grantThis grace to me, a lowly supplicant.My mind is vexèd, evil thoughts do rageWithin my soul; O Merciful, assuageThe suffering I endure!—If it is trueMy poor boy loves this woman—and what isIs ever for the best—create anewHer soul that it may surely leaven hisWith holiness. Oh, stretch Thy mighty armAnd win her to Thy fold, that she may beA godly woman, graced with piety,Turned from the error of her ways, the harmOf all her worldliness, the sinful charmOf her fair face (if it be fair, though IThink her too brown) changed by humilityTo decorous sweetness.—Lord, look in my heart;I may not know myself; search every part,And give me grace to say that I will yieldMy love to hers if Thy will stands revealedIn his swift preference.Yet, in pity, hear—Change her, Lord—make her good! [Weeps.
The Lady(thinking).
Is that a tearOn her soft cheek? She has her little griefs,Then, as the children have; their small beliefsAre sometimes brought to naught—no fairies live,And dolls are sawdust!—Love, I do forgiveYour boyish fancy, for she’s lily fair;But no more could content you now than dewCould hope to fill Niagara with its rare,Fine drops that string the grass-blade’s shining hue,Upon the brink.—Dearest, I call! Oh, seeHow all my being rushes toward thee! Wait,E’en though before thine eyes bright heaven’s gateLet out its light: angels might envy theeSuch love as I shall give thee—wait! oh, wait!
Is that a tearOn her soft cheek? She has her little griefs,Then, as the children have; their small beliefsAre sometimes brought to naught—no fairies live,And dolls are sawdust!—Love, I do forgiveYour boyish fancy, for she’s lily fair;But no more could content you now than dewCould hope to fill Niagara with its rare,Fine drops that string the grass-blade’s shining hue,Upon the brink.—Dearest, I call! Oh, seeHow all my being rushes toward thee! Wait,E’en though before thine eyes bright heaven’s gateLet out its light: angels might envy theeSuch love as I shall give thee—wait! oh, wait!
Is that a tearOn her soft cheek? She has her little griefs,Then, as the children have; their small beliefsAre sometimes brought to naught—no fairies live,And dolls are sawdust!—Love, I do forgiveYour boyish fancy, for she’s lily fair;But no more could content you now than dewCould hope to fill Niagara with its rare,Fine drops that string the grass-blade’s shining hue,Upon the brink.—Dearest, I call! Oh, seeHow all my being rushes toward thee! Wait,E’en though before thine eyes bright heaven’s gateLet out its light: angels might envy theeSuch love as I shall give thee—wait! oh, wait!
The Lady.
Thesun is setting, we have passed the millSome time; the house is near Waunona Hill,But the road smooth this way—which doth accountFor the discrepancy of names. The gleamOf the low sun shines out beneath that massOf purple thunder-cloud; when we surmountThis little swell of land, its slanting beamWill light up all the lances of the grass,The steely hue, the blue of the Blue Grass.. . . . . . . . . .That is the house off on the right; I knowBy intuition.
Thesun is setting, we have passed the millSome time; the house is near Waunona Hill,But the road smooth this way—which doth accountFor the discrepancy of names. The gleamOf the low sun shines out beneath that massOf purple thunder-cloud; when we surmountThis little swell of land, its slanting beamWill light up all the lances of the grass,The steely hue, the blue of the Blue Grass.. . . . . . . . . .That is the house off on the right; I knowBy intuition.
Thesun is setting, we have passed the millSome time; the house is near Waunona Hill,But the road smooth this way—which doth accountFor the discrepancy of names. The gleamOf the low sun shines out beneath that massOf purple thunder-cloud; when we surmountThis little swell of land, its slanting beamWill light up all the lances of the grass,The steely hue, the blue of the Blue Grass.. . . . . . . . . .That is the house off on the right; I knowBy intuition.
The Maiden.
It may hold—the worst!
It may hold—the worst!
It may hold—the worst!
The Lady.
Art faint?
Art faint?
Art faint?
The Maiden.
’Twill pass. Lady, I enter first—First and alone!
’Twill pass. Lady, I enter first—First and alone!
’Twill pass. Lady, I enter first—First and alone!
The Lady.
Child, if I thought his heartLonged for the sight of you, I’d let you go;Nay, I would make you! As it is—But no,It cannot be.
Child, if I thought his heartLonged for the sight of you, I’d let you go;Nay, I would make you! As it is—But no,It cannot be.
Child, if I thought his heartLonged for the sight of you, I’d let you go;Nay, I would make you! As it is—But no,It cannot be.
The Maiden(clasping her hands).
Lord, give me strength! I yield;Go you the first. Ah! [Sobs.
Lord, give me strength! I yield;Go you the first. Ah! [Sobs.
Lord, give me strength! I yield;Go you the first. Ah! [Sobs.
The Lady.
Yours the nobler part;Icannot yield. (And yet it is for himI hold this “cannot” firm.) What might you wieldWith that unflinching conscience-power! See, dimMine eyes—There; we will go together—thus!God help us both! [They enter the house.Yes, we have come, we two,His nearest, dearest. Is it perilous,The fever? Where—above? That stair? We go—Come, child—come, child.
Yours the nobler part;Icannot yield. (And yet it is for himI hold this “cannot” firm.) What might you wieldWith that unflinching conscience-power! See, dimMine eyes—There; we will go together—thus!God help us both! [They enter the house.Yes, we have come, we two,His nearest, dearest. Is it perilous,The fever? Where—above? That stair? We go—Come, child—come, child.
Yours the nobler part;Icannot yield. (And yet it is for himI hold this “cannot” firm.) What might you wieldWith that unflinching conscience-power! See, dimMine eyes—There; we will go together—thus!God help us both! [They enter the house.Yes, we have come, we two,His nearest, dearest. Is it perilous,The fever? Where—above? That stair? We go—Come, child—come, child.
Woman of the House.
Dear ladies, you should knowBefore—
Dear ladies, you should knowBefore—
Dear ladies, you should knowBefore—
The Lady.
Come!
Come!
Come!
Woman of the House.
He—
He—
He—
The Lady.
Child, must I wait for youHere at his door!
Child, must I wait for youHere at his door!
Child, must I wait for youHere at his door!
The Maiden.
I come; but something coldHas touched my heart.
I come; but something coldHas touched my heart.
I come; but something coldHas touched my heart.
The Lady.
Then stay, coward!
Then stay, coward!
Then stay, coward!
The Maiden.
Nay, hold;I come. [They mount the stairs together.(Crying out above.) But he is dead—my Willie!
Nay, hold;I come. [They mount the stairs together.(Crying out above.) But he is dead—my Willie!
Nay, hold;I come. [They mount the stairs together.(Crying out above.) But he is dead—my Willie!
The Lady(above).
Fate,You’ve gained the day at last! Yes, he is dead!
Fate,You’ve gained the day at last! Yes, he is dead!
Fate,You’ve gained the day at last! Yes, he is dead!
Woman of the House.
Hedied last night at three—quite easily.
Hedied last night at three—quite easily.
Hedied last night at three—quite easily.
The Lady.
Alone?
Alone?
Alone?
Woman of the House.
A surgeon from the camp was here.
A surgeon from the camp was here.
A surgeon from the camp was here.
The Lady.
Where is the man?
Where is the man?
Where is the man?
Woman of the House.
Gone back.
Gone back.
Gone back.
The Lady.
Send for him.See,Here is a trifle; though it cannot clearOur debt to you, yet take it.
Send for him.See,Here is a trifle; though it cannot clearOur debt to you, yet take it.
Send for him.See,Here is a trifle; though it cannot clearOur debt to you, yet take it.
Woman of the House.
But you giveToo much.
But you giveToo much.
But you giveToo much.
The Lady.
Keep it.
Keep it.
Keep it.
The Maiden(kneeling by the bedside).
O Willie! can I liveWithout you? Love, my love, why are you deadAnd I alive? O noble, golden head,Whose every curl I know, how still you lieOn this poor pillow, and how dreamlesslyYou sleep! But waken now; look on me, dear;Open those close-shut eyes, for I am here—Yes, here all this long way from home. Oh, speak—Speak to me, Willie.—Ah, how cold his cheek—How icy cold! O God! he’s dead, he’s dead!
O Willie! can I liveWithout you? Love, my love, why are you deadAnd I alive? O noble, golden head,Whose every curl I know, how still you lieOn this poor pillow, and how dreamlesslyYou sleep! But waken now; look on me, dear;Open those close-shut eyes, for I am here—Yes, here all this long way from home. Oh, speak—Speak to me, Willie.—Ah, how cold his cheek—How icy cold! O God! he’s dead, he’s dead!
O Willie! can I liveWithout you? Love, my love, why are you deadAnd I alive? O noble, golden head,Whose every curl I know, how still you lieOn this poor pillow, and how dreamlesslyYou sleep! But waken now; look on me, dear;Open those close-shut eyes, for I am here—Yes, here all this long way from home. Oh, speak—Speak to me, Willie.—Ah, how cold his cheek—How icy cold! O God! he’s dead, he’s dead!
Woman of the House.
Yes, he is dead, dead as King David. TruthHe was right handsome for a Yankee youth—Rode his horse well.
Yes, he is dead, dead as King David. TruthHe was right handsome for a Yankee youth—Rode his horse well.
Yes, he is dead, dead as King David. TruthHe was right handsome for a Yankee youth—Rode his horse well.
The Lady(aside).
I love you, Meredith.
I love you, Meredith.
I love you, Meredith.
The Maiden.
What’s this upon the table near his hand? [Opens the package.My picture—yes, my letters—all! HerewithI know—I know he loved me!
What’s this upon the table near his hand? [Opens the package.My picture—yes, my letters—all! HerewithI know—I know he loved me!
What’s this upon the table near his hand? [Opens the package.My picture—yes, my letters—all! HerewithI know—I know he loved me!
The Lady(thinking).
Cover worn,Creased in its folds, unopened, and forlorn—Yes, I remember it. I would not lookWithin;—unopened since that day.He tookThe poor thing forth with dying loyaltyTo send to her.
Cover worn,Creased in its folds, unopened, and forlorn—Yes, I remember it. I would not lookWithin;—unopened since that day.He tookThe poor thing forth with dying loyaltyTo send to her.
Cover worn,Creased in its folds, unopened, and forlorn—Yes, I remember it. I would not lookWithin;—unopened since that day.He tookThe poor thing forth with dying loyaltyTo send to her.
The Maiden.
O Lord, I understandThy purpose; ’twas to try my faith. I kneelTo thank thee that mercy doth revealThe whole to my poor heart. He loved me—me,Me only!
O Lord, I understandThy purpose; ’twas to try my faith. I kneelTo thank thee that mercy doth revealThe whole to my poor heart. He loved me—me,Me only!
O Lord, I understandThy purpose; ’twas to try my faith. I kneelTo thank thee that mercy doth revealThe whole to my poor heart. He loved me—me,Me only!
Woman of the House.
Would you like to see the woundHere in his arm?—Why, if she hasn’t swooned!
Would you like to see the woundHere in his arm?—Why, if she hasn’t swooned!
Would you like to see the woundHere in his arm?—Why, if she hasn’t swooned!
The Lady.
Take her below, and care for her, poor child![Exit woman, carrying the maiden in her arms.Brain, art thou wild,Distraught, that thou canst all things calmly hearAnd answer, when my pulses reel, my heartStands still, and cold through every vital partDeath breathes his icy breath?Oh, my own love!I clasp thee in my arms, come back to me!O ice-cold lips I kiss, ye are as dearAs ever! Come! Thy idol waits for thee,Waits—weeps.Dost thou not hear me there aboveWhere thou hast gone? Come back and take the brideWho nestles weeping, longing, at the sideOf thy deserted body. Oh! most fairThy earthly tenement, the golden hairCurls as when my poor fingers twined it last,Thy head upon my breast. O brownèd cheek!Can I not warm thee with mine own? Oh, speak—Speak to me, Meredith!Poor wounded arm,Dear blood; here will I hold thee close and warmUpon my heart. Dost thou not feel me now?And now? And now? Do I not hold thee fast?Hast thou not longed for me?I gave my vowTo be thine own. See! I am come. My handI lay in thine. Oh, speak to me! CommandMy every breath; full humbly I obey,The true wife longs to feel a master’s sway,Longs to do homage, so her idol proveRuler—nay, despot of her willing love.Didst thou not hear me whisper while she spake.“I love thee—oh, I love thee, Meredith?”I would not that her childish grief should breakThy peace up in thy heaven; even thereThou longest for my love, and near the stairWhere souls come up from earth thou’rt standing nowWatching for me. O darling, from thy browI catch the radiance!She is not thine,Thou art not hers. The boyish pledge wherewithShe strives to hold thee was the radiancyOf early dawn, which now the mighty sunHath swept away in fervent heat; nor theeNor her it binds. Her pretty youth will runIts swift course to some other love; FateNe’er lets such sweet maids pine, though they may try;A few months lent to tearful constancy,The next to chastened sorrow, slow declineTo resignation; then, the well-masked baitOf making some one happy, though at costOf sweet self-sacrifice, which soon is lostIn that content which, if not real love,Looks strangely like it! But why should I proveWhat thou dost know already, freed from timeAnd finite bonds, my darling?Love sublime,Art thou not God? Then let him down to meFor one short moment. See! in agonyI cling to the cold body; let him touchMe once with this dear hand; it is not muchI ask—one clasp, one word.What! nothing? ThenI call down vengeance on this God of menWho makes us at his will, and gives us heartsOnly to rend them in a hundred parts,And see them quiver—bleed! I, creature, dareTo call aloud for justice; my despairOur great far-off Creator doth arraignBefore the bar to answer for the painI suffer now. It is too much—too much!O woe! woe! woe! the human soul can suchIntensity of sorrow not withstand,But, lifting up on high its fettered hand,Can only cry aloud in agony,And blindly, wildly curse its God and die!How dare you take,You Death, my love away from me? The old,The weak, the loveless, the forlorn, were thereIn crowds, and none to miss them. But your coldAnd heartless eye did mark that he was fair,And that I loved him? From your dreadful holdI snatch my darling, and he yet shall wakeFrom out your sleep by my caresses. See,See how I love him! Ah, shall I not winHis life back with my lips, that lovinglyDo cling to his? And, though you do beginYour icy work, these arms shall keep him warm—Nay, more: my loving verily disarmE’en you, O King of Terrors! You shall turnAnd give him back to me; a heart shall burnUnder your ribs at last from very sightOf my fierce, tearless grief.—O sorry plightOf my poor darling in this barren room,Where only his gold curls do light the gloom!But we will change all that. This evening, dear,Shall be our bridal: wilt thou take me, here,And thus?—in this array—this falling hair—Crushed robes? And yet, believe me, I am fairAs ever.Love, love, love! oh, speak to me!I will not listen in my miseryIf thy heart beat—God! it is cold![Falls to the floor.
Take her below, and care for her, poor child![Exit woman, carrying the maiden in her arms.Brain, art thou wild,Distraught, that thou canst all things calmly hearAnd answer, when my pulses reel, my heartStands still, and cold through every vital partDeath breathes his icy breath?Oh, my own love!I clasp thee in my arms, come back to me!O ice-cold lips I kiss, ye are as dearAs ever! Come! Thy idol waits for thee,Waits—weeps.Dost thou not hear me there aboveWhere thou hast gone? Come back and take the brideWho nestles weeping, longing, at the sideOf thy deserted body. Oh! most fairThy earthly tenement, the golden hairCurls as when my poor fingers twined it last,Thy head upon my breast. O brownèd cheek!Can I not warm thee with mine own? Oh, speak—Speak to me, Meredith!Poor wounded arm,Dear blood; here will I hold thee close and warmUpon my heart. Dost thou not feel me now?And now? And now? Do I not hold thee fast?Hast thou not longed for me?I gave my vowTo be thine own. See! I am come. My handI lay in thine. Oh, speak to me! CommandMy every breath; full humbly I obey,The true wife longs to feel a master’s sway,Longs to do homage, so her idol proveRuler—nay, despot of her willing love.Didst thou not hear me whisper while she spake.“I love thee—oh, I love thee, Meredith?”I would not that her childish grief should breakThy peace up in thy heaven; even thereThou longest for my love, and near the stairWhere souls come up from earth thou’rt standing nowWatching for me. O darling, from thy browI catch the radiance!She is not thine,Thou art not hers. The boyish pledge wherewithShe strives to hold thee was the radiancyOf early dawn, which now the mighty sunHath swept away in fervent heat; nor theeNor her it binds. Her pretty youth will runIts swift course to some other love; FateNe’er lets such sweet maids pine, though they may try;A few months lent to tearful constancy,The next to chastened sorrow, slow declineTo resignation; then, the well-masked baitOf making some one happy, though at costOf sweet self-sacrifice, which soon is lostIn that content which, if not real love,Looks strangely like it! But why should I proveWhat thou dost know already, freed from timeAnd finite bonds, my darling?Love sublime,Art thou not God? Then let him down to meFor one short moment. See! in agonyI cling to the cold body; let him touchMe once with this dear hand; it is not muchI ask—one clasp, one word.What! nothing? ThenI call down vengeance on this God of menWho makes us at his will, and gives us heartsOnly to rend them in a hundred parts,And see them quiver—bleed! I, creature, dareTo call aloud for justice; my despairOur great far-off Creator doth arraignBefore the bar to answer for the painI suffer now. It is too much—too much!O woe! woe! woe! the human soul can suchIntensity of sorrow not withstand,But, lifting up on high its fettered hand,Can only cry aloud in agony,And blindly, wildly curse its God and die!How dare you take,You Death, my love away from me? The old,The weak, the loveless, the forlorn, were thereIn crowds, and none to miss them. But your coldAnd heartless eye did mark that he was fair,And that I loved him? From your dreadful holdI snatch my darling, and he yet shall wakeFrom out your sleep by my caresses. See,See how I love him! Ah, shall I not winHis life back with my lips, that lovinglyDo cling to his? And, though you do beginYour icy work, these arms shall keep him warm—Nay, more: my loving verily disarmE’en you, O King of Terrors! You shall turnAnd give him back to me; a heart shall burnUnder your ribs at last from very sightOf my fierce, tearless grief.—O sorry plightOf my poor darling in this barren room,Where only his gold curls do light the gloom!But we will change all that. This evening, dear,Shall be our bridal: wilt thou take me, here,And thus?—in this array—this falling hair—Crushed robes? And yet, believe me, I am fairAs ever.Love, love, love! oh, speak to me!I will not listen in my miseryIf thy heart beat—God! it is cold![Falls to the floor.
Take her below, and care for her, poor child!
[Exit woman, carrying the maiden in her arms.
Brain, art thou wild,Distraught, that thou canst all things calmly hearAnd answer, when my pulses reel, my heartStands still, and cold through every vital partDeath breathes his icy breath?Oh, my own love!I clasp thee in my arms, come back to me!O ice-cold lips I kiss, ye are as dearAs ever! Come! Thy idol waits for thee,Waits—weeps.Dost thou not hear me there aboveWhere thou hast gone? Come back and take the brideWho nestles weeping, longing, at the sideOf thy deserted body. Oh! most fairThy earthly tenement, the golden hairCurls as when my poor fingers twined it last,Thy head upon my breast. O brownèd cheek!Can I not warm thee with mine own? Oh, speak—Speak to me, Meredith!Poor wounded arm,Dear blood; here will I hold thee close and warmUpon my heart. Dost thou not feel me now?And now? And now? Do I not hold thee fast?Hast thou not longed for me?I gave my vowTo be thine own. See! I am come. My handI lay in thine. Oh, speak to me! CommandMy every breath; full humbly I obey,The true wife longs to feel a master’s sway,Longs to do homage, so her idol proveRuler—nay, despot of her willing love.Didst thou not hear me whisper while she spake.“I love thee—oh, I love thee, Meredith?”I would not that her childish grief should breakThy peace up in thy heaven; even thereThou longest for my love, and near the stairWhere souls come up from earth thou’rt standing nowWatching for me. O darling, from thy browI catch the radiance!She is not thine,Thou art not hers. The boyish pledge wherewithShe strives to hold thee was the radiancyOf early dawn, which now the mighty sunHath swept away in fervent heat; nor theeNor her it binds. Her pretty youth will runIts swift course to some other love; FateNe’er lets such sweet maids pine, though they may try;A few months lent to tearful constancy,The next to chastened sorrow, slow declineTo resignation; then, the well-masked baitOf making some one happy, though at costOf sweet self-sacrifice, which soon is lostIn that content which, if not real love,Looks strangely like it! But why should I proveWhat thou dost know already, freed from timeAnd finite bonds, my darling?Love sublime,Art thou not God? Then let him down to meFor one short moment. See! in agonyI cling to the cold body; let him touchMe once with this dear hand; it is not muchI ask—one clasp, one word.What! nothing? ThenI call down vengeance on this God of menWho makes us at his will, and gives us heartsOnly to rend them in a hundred parts,And see them quiver—bleed! I, creature, dareTo call aloud for justice; my despairOur great far-off Creator doth arraignBefore the bar to answer for the painI suffer now. It is too much—too much!O woe! woe! woe! the human soul can suchIntensity of sorrow not withstand,But, lifting up on high its fettered hand,Can only cry aloud in agony,And blindly, wildly curse its God and die!How dare you take,You Death, my love away from me? The old,The weak, the loveless, the forlorn, were thereIn crowds, and none to miss them. But your coldAnd heartless eye did mark that he was fair,And that I loved him? From your dreadful holdI snatch my darling, and he yet shall wakeFrom out your sleep by my caresses. See,See how I love him! Ah, shall I not winHis life back with my lips, that lovinglyDo cling to his? And, though you do beginYour icy work, these arms shall keep him warm—Nay, more: my loving verily disarmE’en you, O King of Terrors! You shall turnAnd give him back to me; a heart shall burnUnder your ribs at last from very sightOf my fierce, tearless grief.—O sorry plightOf my poor darling in this barren room,Where only his gold curls do light the gloom!But we will change all that. This evening, dear,Shall be our bridal: wilt thou take me, here,And thus?—in this array—this falling hair—Crushed robes? And yet, believe me, I am fairAs ever.Love, love, love! oh, speak to me!I will not listen in my miseryIf thy heart beat—God! it is cold![Falls to the floor.
Enter theSurgeon.
Surgeon.
Art ill,Madam?—
Art ill,Madam?—
Art ill,Madam?—
The Lady(rising).
Thanks, sir. But sorrow cannot kill.Would that it could! Nay, I sit by his side—Thus. Now tell all—all—all.
Thanks, sir. But sorrow cannot kill.Would that it could! Nay, I sit by his side—Thus. Now tell all—all—all.
Thanks, sir. But sorrow cannot kill.Would that it could! Nay, I sit by his side—Thus. Now tell all—all—all.
Surgeon.
You cannot hideThe deadly faintness that has paled your cheek;Let me get—
You cannot hideThe deadly faintness that has paled your cheek;Let me get—
You cannot hideThe deadly faintness that has paled your cheek;Let me get—
The Lady.
Nothing. Nothing can avail,Good sir; my very heart’s blood has turned pale.Struck by God’s lightning, do you talk to meOf faintness? Only tell your tale—speak, speak;You saw him die?
Nothing. Nothing can avail,Good sir; my very heart’s blood has turned pale.Struck by God’s lightning, do you talk to meOf faintness? Only tell your tale—speak, speak;You saw him die?
Nothing. Nothing can avail,Good sir; my very heart’s blood has turned pale.Struck by God’s lightning, do you talk to meOf faintness? Only tell your tale—speak, speak;You saw him die?
Surgeon.
I did; right tranquillyHe passed away this morning, with your nameUpon his lips—for you are Helena?
I did; right tranquillyHe passed away this morning, with your nameUpon his lips—for you are Helena?
I did; right tranquillyHe passed away this morning, with your nameUpon his lips—for you are Helena?
The Lady.
I am.
I am.
I am.
Surgeon.
I saw your picture.(Aside.) Yes, the same.Hair, eyes. What Titian tints!(Speaks.) He made me layYour letters and your picture on his heartBefore he died; he would not from them partFor e’en one moment.
I saw your picture.(Aside.) Yes, the same.Hair, eyes. What Titian tints!(Speaks.) He made me layYour letters and your picture on his heartBefore he died; he would not from them partFor e’en one moment.
I saw your picture.(Aside.) Yes, the same.Hair, eyes. What Titian tints!(Speaks.) He made me layYour letters and your picture on his heartBefore he died; he would not from them partFor e’en one moment.
The Lady.
Lift them not, they’re mine;My hand alone must touch the holy shrineOf love and death where the poor relics lie—Darling (bends, and kisses the letters), because you loved them!Let them die,Go to the grave with him, there on his breast,Where I would gladly die too—be at restForever.—And he spake of me?
Lift them not, they’re mine;My hand alone must touch the holy shrineOf love and death where the poor relics lie—Darling (bends, and kisses the letters), because you loved them!Let them die,Go to the grave with him, there on his breast,Where I would gladly die too—be at restForever.—And he spake of me?
Lift them not, they’re mine;My hand alone must touch the holy shrineOf love and death where the poor relics lie—Darling (bends, and kisses the letters), because you loved them!Let them die,Go to the grave with him, there on his breast,Where I would gladly die too—be at restForever.—And he spake of me?
Surgeon.
He saidThat you would come, for he had sent you word.
He saidThat you would come, for he had sent you word.
He saidThat you would come, for he had sent you word.
The Lady.
I ne’er received it; ’twas by chance I heard,A passing chance.
I ne’er received it; ’twas by chance I heard,A passing chance.
I ne’er received it; ’twas by chance I heard,A passing chance.
Surgeon.
The lines were down—
The lines were down—
The lines were down—
The Lady.
And mayThey never rise again that failed that day,And left him dying here! Go on; he said—
And mayThey never rise again that failed that day,And left him dying here! Go on; he said—
And mayThey never rise again that failed that day,And left him dying here! Go on; he said—
Surgeon.
That you would come, and grieved that o’er his headThe turf might close ere you could reach his sideAnd give him one last kiss.And then—he died.
That you would come, and grieved that o’er his headThe turf might close ere you could reach his sideAnd give him one last kiss.And then—he died.
That you would come, and grieved that o’er his headThe turf might close ere you could reach his sideAnd give him one last kiss.And then—he died.
The Lady.
No more?
No more?
No more?
Surgeon.
No more. Ah, yes, one other thing:Short time before, he feebly bade me bringThat package on the table—but ’tis torn—Some one has opened it! It looked well worn,In old, unbroken foldings when I broughtIt from his satchel. Who could thus have wroughtOn other’s property?
No more. Ah, yes, one other thing:Short time before, he feebly bade me bringThat package on the table—but ’tis torn—Some one has opened it! It looked well worn,In old, unbroken foldings when I broughtIt from his satchel. Who could thus have wroughtOn other’s property?
No more. Ah, yes, one other thing:Short time before, he feebly bade me bringThat package on the table—but ’tis torn—Some one has opened it! It looked well worn,In old, unbroken foldings when I broughtIt from his satchel. Who could thus have wroughtOn other’s property?
The Lady.
The owner.—ThenHe said—
The owner.—ThenHe said—
The owner.—ThenHe said—
Surgeon.
To give it you, for you would knowIts history, and where it swift should go;The name was writ within.
To give it you, for you would knowIts history, and where it swift should go;The name was writ within.
To give it you, for you would knowIts history, and where it swift should go;The name was writ within.
The Lady(aside).
Yes, love; amen!Be it according to thy wish.(Speaks.) Pray takeThis fee, good sir. I would that for his sake—Your kindness to him—I could send your nameRinging through all the West in silver fame.—At dawn, you said, the burial? Then leaveMe here alone with him. I well believeYou’ll show me further kindness. Speak no wordBeyond your doctor’s art to that poor childWho weeps below. I would not that she heardAught more of grief.[ExitSurgeon.Ah! all my passion wildHas gone; now come the softening woman tears.—Forgive me, great Creator, that I spakeIn my sharp agony. O do thou takeThe bitterness from out my soul; I knowNaught, but thou knowest all! Then let my woe,The poor blind woe we short-lived mortals bear,Be my sad plea.—I knew, through my despair,You loved me to the last. Death had no fearsFor you, my love; you met him with my name,As talisman of the undying flameThat leaps o’er the black chasm of the graveAnd mounts to heaven. But I will not rave,When you died softly.Ah! you love me thereAs well as here. God never made me fairFor nothing; now, I know the gift he gaveThat I might take my place with you at last,Equal in loveliness, though years had passedSince you first breathed the air above the skies,The beauty-giving air of paradise.Fair are you now, my love, but not like me:Mine is the goddess-bloom, the rarityOf perfect loveliness; yours, the bright charmOf strong young manhood, whose encircling armCould bend me like a reed. Oh, for one claspOf that strong arm!—Hist! was not that the haspOf the old door below? She comes; I hearHer light step on the stair.Darling, no fearNeed trouble you upon your couch; to meA sacred trust this gentle girl shall beThrough life. Did you not love her once?
Yes, love; amen!Be it according to thy wish.(Speaks.) Pray takeThis fee, good sir. I would that for his sake—Your kindness to him—I could send your nameRinging through all the West in silver fame.—At dawn, you said, the burial? Then leaveMe here alone with him. I well believeYou’ll show me further kindness. Speak no wordBeyond your doctor’s art to that poor childWho weeps below. I would not that she heardAught more of grief.[ExitSurgeon.Ah! all my passion wildHas gone; now come the softening woman tears.—Forgive me, great Creator, that I spakeIn my sharp agony. O do thou takeThe bitterness from out my soul; I knowNaught, but thou knowest all! Then let my woe,The poor blind woe we short-lived mortals bear,Be my sad plea.—I knew, through my despair,You loved me to the last. Death had no fearsFor you, my love; you met him with my name,As talisman of the undying flameThat leaps o’er the black chasm of the graveAnd mounts to heaven. But I will not rave,When you died softly.Ah! you love me thereAs well as here. God never made me fairFor nothing; now, I know the gift he gaveThat I might take my place with you at last,Equal in loveliness, though years had passedSince you first breathed the air above the skies,The beauty-giving air of paradise.Fair are you now, my love, but not like me:Mine is the goddess-bloom, the rarityOf perfect loveliness; yours, the bright charmOf strong young manhood, whose encircling armCould bend me like a reed. Oh, for one claspOf that strong arm!—Hist! was not that the haspOf the old door below? She comes; I hearHer light step on the stair.Darling, no fearNeed trouble you upon your couch; to meA sacred trust this gentle girl shall beThrough life. Did you not love her once?
Yes, love; amen!Be it according to thy wish.(Speaks.) Pray takeThis fee, good sir. I would that for his sake—Your kindness to him—I could send your nameRinging through all the West in silver fame.—At dawn, you said, the burial? Then leaveMe here alone with him. I well believeYou’ll show me further kindness. Speak no wordBeyond your doctor’s art to that poor childWho weeps below. I would not that she heardAught more of grief.[ExitSurgeon.Ah! all my passion wildHas gone; now come the softening woman tears.—Forgive me, great Creator, that I spakeIn my sharp agony. O do thou takeThe bitterness from out my soul; I knowNaught, but thou knowest all! Then let my woe,The poor blind woe we short-lived mortals bear,Be my sad plea.—I knew, through my despair,You loved me to the last. Death had no fearsFor you, my love; you met him with my name,As talisman of the undying flameThat leaps o’er the black chasm of the graveAnd mounts to heaven. But I will not rave,When you died softly.
Ah! you love me thereAs well as here. God never made me fairFor nothing; now, I know the gift he gaveThat I might take my place with you at last,Equal in loveliness, though years had passedSince you first breathed the air above the skies,The beauty-giving air of paradise.Fair are you now, my love, but not like me:Mine is the goddess-bloom, the rarityOf perfect loveliness; yours, the bright charmOf strong young manhood, whose encircling armCould bend me like a reed. Oh, for one claspOf that strong arm!—Hist! was not that the haspOf the old door below? She comes; I hearHer light step on the stair.Darling, no fearNeed trouble you upon your couch; to meA sacred trust this gentle girl shall beThrough life. Did you not love her once?
The Maiden(entering).