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diff --git a/old/52364-0.txt b/old/52364-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b50720d..0000000 --- a/old/52364-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3565 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Romance of a Princess, by Amy Redpath Roddick - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Romance of a Princess - A Comedy, and Other Poems - -Author: Amy Redpath Roddick - -Release Date: June 18, 2016 [EBook #52364] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS - A COMEDY - AND - OTHER POEMS - - - BY - - AMY REDPATH RODDICK - - Author of "The Flag and Other Poems" - "The Armistice and Other Poems" - "The Seekers, and Indian Mystery Play" - "The Birth of Montreal, a Chronicle Play, and Other Poems" - - - (_All Rights Reserved_) - - - =Montreal= - JOHN DOUGALL & SON - 1922 - - - - - CONTENTS - - - THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS, A Comedy 1 - - THE TALL PALMETTO 83 - - CHARLESTON 87 - - LAKE GEORGE 89 - - THE EVENING STAR 90 - - - - - _THE ROMANCE OF A PRINCESS_ - _A Comedy._ - - -This play is the outcome of many happy walks in the forests that border -Charlemagne's ancient capital. The writer and her husband would often -pause to view some beauty-spot; at times she would read aloud the rare -legends collected by Joseph Muller. - -She has now tried to catch some of the interest and joy of those gone by -summers to pass on to relatives and friends. If she has failed it is not -the fault of the theme. - -Let none throw doubt on Emma's reality. Who lives in myth, lives for all -time. - - A.R.R. - -Montreal -Christmas, 1922. - - - - - CHARACTERS. - - - Emma _A Daughter of Charles_ - Etta _Her Waiting-woman_ - Charles (Charlemagne) _King-Emperor_ - Eginhardt _Secretary and Director of Public Works_ - Albert _Count of the Palace_ - Hildebold _Archbishop_ - Ernst _A Charcoal-burner_ - Guta _His Wife_ - David _A Precocious Boy_ - Audulf } - Herbert } _Courtiers_ - Courtiers, Wish-maidens, Elves. - - Time: The beginning of the ninth century. - - Place: Aquisgranum, the Capital of Frankland. - - - - - ACT I. - - - _Scene.—Emma's boudoir. A door on the left leads to the palace - courtyard; another, centre back, opens into private apartments, - which have no other entrance. The room is furnished befitting the - dignity of a princess. Emma, in gala-attire, has just returned from - a great function in honour of the Calif Haroun-al-Rashid's - ambassadors. Etta helps remove her cloak. The princess then throws - herself on a couch, while Etta stands before her admiringly._ - - _Emma._ A moment's rest to gather memories - Of what this day has meant; those swarthy Eastern - Ambassadors! the gifts their king has sent. - - _Etta._ How beautiful you are! In Frankland, who - Approaches you in mind or character? - That's what the scholars say. The people though - Dwell on your loveliness. What plaudits when - You rode that bulky beast! the contrast! a Princess, - Alive with happiness. - - _Emma._ 'Twas wonderful - To mount so high, an elephant for steed, - To feel that heavy, ambling gait, to know - Such strength for mischief could be chained to work - Man's will. How kind of great Haroun to give - The King, my Father, this unwieldy proof - Of his affection; to teach such animals - Are real, not fabled monsters, as some of us - Have whispered! 'Twas tremulous that ride, up-perched - Above the marvelling throng; to feel myself, - A Frankish maid, upon that leathery - Ungainliness. An elephant in Europe! - Who'd have thought to see the day? But now - Unbind my hair. [_In a low voice._] I think he will not come - Tonight. [_A knocking is heard._] 'Tis he! but no, my Father's knock, - So tender yet so masterful. Thou may'st - Retire. I'll wait upon his royal pleasure, - Will then disrobe myself. - - [_Etta opens door on the left. - Enter Charles in ceremonial robes, wearing his crown. - Exit Etta through the door at the centre back after - making deep obeisance._] - - You come attired - In majesty. [_Courtesying._] I must acclaim you King, - Not Father. - - _Charles._ [_Pressing her against his breast._] Nay, nay, my - birdling! nestle here; - My dear Fastrada's legacy; a father's - Sweet solace; the Esther of our court. I could - Deny thee nought, unless a lover should - Address thine ears: avaunt the thought! The well - Of our fair intercourse is clear, undimmed. - As cloudless skies of sun-blessed Eastern lands. - - _Emma._ O Father! what dread shapes may lurk beneath - Those Eastern skies! each soul has got some stain, - Some hidden mystery. - - _Charles._ This day's excitement - Has tired, provoked reaction. Once a Bishop - Complained to me that nuns need long confessing. - Imagined sins are culled for penitence; - In baser lives these specks would pass unnoticed. - We'll rid such faults as thine with kisses; perchance - A wayward thought when Holy Words were spoken. - And now uncrown the King, then help remove - This cumbrous mantle.—Cautiously! I've something - Of great import. - - _Emma._ But not as great as that - Great beast, the elephant! - - _Charles._ Far weightier, - As Heaven outvies the earth, as souls are more - Than flesh. See here, my birdling, what I've brought. - - _Emma._ Some ragged silk, a joke!—It cannot be— - - _Charles._ Thine eyes have guessed; the sacred coverings! - O to-day how all have gaped, and cheered - That elephant, at most a curious - Phenomenon, distracting from rich gifts - Of sober worth. In truth now royalty - Resides in this new Western Rome, a fairer - Than earthly crown implies. Haroun, my brother, - Has raised and honoured us. - - _Emma._ Among the Scholars - I've heard some doubts expressed. - - _Charles._ Most ill-advised. - Rank heresy, as well doubt Holy Church - Herself. The proofs are clear; nor flaw, nor break. - These hallowed relics, damped with tears by him - Of Arimathaea, held in sacred trust - By his descendants, traced each step till now - They rest within our great Basilica, - Are here to stay, to gratify, as long - As Franks are true and strong. See! see! my birdling, - This rosy silk was round the cloth that held, - One time, St. John, the Baptist's bleeding head; - This white encased the Virgin's dress; this yellow, - The precious Infant's swaddling clothes; and this - That's dyed with scarlet pomp has clasped within - Its folds the loin-cloth, garment of the cross. - Yes! yes! my lips have pressed those objects, I - Am nearer God. - - _Emma._ This silk? - - _Charles._ The holy relics - Are wrapped afresh in lustrous lengths of rare - Brocade, a further gift brought by Haroun's - Ambassadors—the Church's treasury - Holds them in state. This tattered silk that age - Unfits for service still retains great virtue - From sacredness long stored. And who is pure - Enough to shelter it? I know of none - But thee, Fastrada's living image! - - _Emma._ A father's - Affectionate regard has blinded thee. - O take that stuff! 'Twould shrink to powdered dust - Did I but handle it. - - _Charles._ Nay, nay, my Emma, - There is a point where modesty doth lose - Its charm and gives affront. That point is reached; - So fetch my cloak and fasten its jeweled clasp. - Now crown the Emperor, he prays that angels - May watch thy bed. [_He kisses Emma. Exit left._] - - _Emma._ That silk! how can I keep it? - Its folds have touched what once hath touched God's Prophet, - His Mother, His very Self. O some one come - And take it hence.—Or—or is't possible - To make me worthy? e'en though hearts be crushed. - - [_A light knock is heard._] - - And so the test approaches! May I be strengthened. - - [_Emma opens the door on the left. Enter Eginhardt._] - - _Eginhardt._ It promises a blustery night. Wait Love, - Until I brush these flakes, a sudden swirl - Of snow; but here there's warmth and comfort. [_Extending his arms._] - My Emma— - - _Emma._ Not yours, a Princess speaks, a gulf has widened - Since last we met. You recognize that silk? - It heals the secret breach I've made within - A Father's confidence, it warns that you - Must leave me now and instantly. You are - The King, my Father's trusted friend. - - _Eginhardt._ O Emma! - Thy words bite deep—and yet not deep enough - To overthrow the airy castles hewn - From glowing hope. And see what thing has winged - My steps, has brought me here to-night. - - _Emma._ A ring! - It seems to draw my hand; but no, 'tis for - Some humble maid, who'll taste the happiness - My rank denies. - - _Eginhardt._ Who else can wear this ring - That Queen Fastrada prized? - - _Emma._ [_Taking the ring._] My Mother's ring! - How came it here? - - _Eginhardt._ [_Sitting on the couch._] Thou know'st the - story? - - _Emma._ [_Sitting on a stool near him._] A rumor, - Unmeant to reach the King, my Father's ears, - And so 'twas crushed. But now the ring I hold - Demands the truth. O Eginhardt, tell all, - Omitting nought, e'en though the listening hurts. - - _Eginhardt._ A lesser soul might rather seek relief - From words unsaid; but thou, with thy clear eyes, - Need'st probe beneath like— - - _Emma._ Like that Father; whose - Sweet confidence has been outwitted. - - _Eginhardt._ Rather - Betrayed unwittingly, a force outside - Ourselves. - - _Emma._ That can be crushed; but first we'll hear - Thy story. O Eginhardt, how easily - The dear familiar "thy" slips mouthwards. Let - It be, until the story's told; or as - A master, well-beloved, thou mayest speak; - Whilst I sit here, a mindful pupil. - - _Eginhardt._ Thou hast - Thy Mother's grace, her wit and understanding, - Thy soul surpasses hers. I but repeat - Archbishop Turpin's words. - - _Emma._ I thought at times - She lacked a something, a mother's tenderness; - But then her smile would reassure. - - _Eginhardt._ Her bright - Intelligence, her merry laughter, her fresh - And dazzling beauty so enthralled the King; - If she but raised her little finger, he, - The Lord of millions, hastened to obey. - And thus it went; although her wishes might - Disturb a court, a city or a kingdom; - The erst so pious Charles exalted one; - Who should have grovelled at his feet. - - _Emma._ You speak - About my Mother? - - _Eginhardt._ Whose beauty is thy dower; - Whose baser parts are long forgotten. Death - Came stealthily—the King refused belief. - For days and nights he knelt beside the couch, - His arms supporting one whose soul had fled. - "She is not dead," he cried, "She sweetly slumbers." - He waved aside, as thou rememberest, - All food and drink, became well-nigh demented, - Completely losing that serene composure, - That seemed as much himself as kingly might. - "She is not dead;" his eyes blazed wrathfully, - While honeyed murmurs passed his lips: "Thou wilt - Awaken, little one." None dared suggest - The funeral plans, nor place of burial. - At last his life seemed doomed with hers. A vague - Uneasiness had turned to fear. 'Twas whispered - His death would loosen war and misery, - The century's near-close would end Earth's cycle. - Lamenting moans were heard within the Church - And prayers of intercession. All this thou knowest. - But not what follows, the fruit of supplication. - The good Archbishop Turpin saw, one night, - Amid the Queen's long-braided tresses, the glint - Of hidden gold that shimmered through his dreams. - When daylight broke he stole beside the King - And softly slipped his hand beneath the dead - Fastrada's hair. He drew the visioned ring; - Whose magic power had slaved the mighty Charles. - Relieved, the King looked round in wonderment. - He recognized his loss—and God consoled. - - _Emma._ He never afterwards remembered, nor knew - About the ring, although the story, much - Disguised, had somewhat leaked. Please tell me further. - - _Eginhardt._ The kind Archbishop, ever the King's most trusted - Adviser, now became his closest friend. - He used his influence for good; but Saints - Become discredited when fortune strews - Her favours. Tongues wagged ill-naturedly, until - Such wordy mud was stirred the Prelate felt - Its spatterings and realized the cause— - The fatal talisman. He stood beside - Those stringing ponds that rim so pleasantly - The new-built hunting lodge. A sudden splash - The ring had vanished. - - _Emma._ My Father often sits - And broods beside the larger pond. - - _Eginhardt._ I've noticed; - So had it searched most carefully. Last night - The ring was found. Conceal it 'mid thy pearls, - Then tell the King thou lov'st his servant. He will - Refuse thee nought. - - _Emma._ Can we buy happiness - At such a price? win lasting peace and true, - Sustaining joy? [_She moves and, unnoticing, - brushes the silk from the table._] O see! the silk has - fallen. - I cannot leave it crumpled there, nor can - I touch it, while I touch this charm. I pray thee, - Take it. [_She hands him the ring, then sobbing gathers - up the silk and smooths it._] 'Tis not like thee, my Eginhardt, - To tempt with specious words. Return that ring - To watery depths. May skies reflected cleanse; - May lovers, bending o'er the forest pool, - Gain bliss that's unalloyed with earth-born slime. - - _Eginhardt._ How oft have we exchanged love's vows beside - That selfsame pool, shall we no more, my Emma, - Though others may? - - _Emma._ Suppose I took that ring; - The King, my Father, gave consent; the Church, - Reluctant blessing; how long would'st thou escape - The soot that smudged my Mother's fame, the good - Archbishop? Suppose, without that slender circlet, - We begged the King, my Father; would he not banish - Whom he calls foster-son?—his minister - Of public works, his faithful secretary, - His youngest councillor, and, summing all, - His poet-friend and mine. My fate would be - A convent cell, to meditate on mischief - That can be pushed aside. Dear Eginhardt, - Bid me adieu and when we meet thou'lt be - My teacher, who recites a nation's songs; - But dwells not on his own, nor hers who sends - Him forth. - - _Eginhardt._ O Emma, pray God that I have strength. - Our secret meetings gave fresh life, all else, - Methinks, is death. - - _Emma._ [_holding her finger up._] Hark! - - [_Distant singing is faintly heard.... Emma - opens door, left. Eginhardt throws a cloak - over her. They stand looking out._] - - _A watchman sings without._ - - Here are lodged the sacred clothes; - Bow your heads and stainless be. - Earth is draped with glistening snows, - Garbed anew with purity. - - Let each soul be undefiled, - God and man be reconciled. - Let each soul be undefiled, - God and man be reconciled.—— - - _Emma._ The watchman's song has drifted from his tower. - He steps within. O seize the moment, fly! - - _Eginhardt._ [_He makes a movement, then stops._] But Emma! that - snow—unspotted— - - _Emma._ That glitters 'neath - The moon! It seems a miracle. The day - Was pleasant, almost summer-like, then came - A sudden wind with flurries, and, though scarce - Ten minutes since thou cam'st, the court is now - Completely carpeted and all so still— - So cold—but beautiful. - - _Eginhardt._ A miracle - Whose cost will be my life and thine mayhap. - - _Emma._ Thy words must have some meaning? - - _Eginhardt._ A woeful one. - If I should dare the lightest step, that snow - Would hold its trace, would witness 'gainst this night's - Adventure; and death must be the penalty. - Death!—The chill of winter. Shut it out. - I'll spend my last few hours in warmth by thee. - - _Emma._ I can't believe——let us but think, we'll find - A passage, some how, some where. - - _Eginhardt._ But where? that is - The only path as blocked as though with walls - Of solid masonry. - - _Emma._ A loophole glints, - Nay, now a streaming light. A woman's print - Might track the court and back, 'twould raise no comment. - The Princess Emma's maid has gone betimes - Some errand, has then returned. - - _Eginhardt._ And what of that? - - _Emma._ Hast thou no inkling? Dearest Eginhardt, - I'll carry thee across the court. - - _Eginhardt._ Thou must - Be crazed, suggesting such a thought, an angel - To masquerade as beast of burden. - - _Emma._ But 'tis - Our only chance; remembering, if we - Should fail, the King, my Father, who must pass judgment, - Would suffer consequence as we. We'll seize - The chance! - - _Eginhardt._ O Emma, my sweetheart, beloved Princess, - What ills may happen thee if we should fail. - We'll take the chance. - - _Emma._ Then quickly. - - _Eginhardt._ But art thou strong - Enough to bear my weight so far? wilt thou - Not suffer strain? - - _Emma._ Must I, a Frankish maid, - Explain my strength? Have I not heroes' blood - Within my veins? Are not my sinews those - That show descent from mighty warriors, prompt - In action, swift of purpose? Would I not shame - Such lineage, did I permit myself - To slip or falter? Besides 'tis nought but child's play— - My friend, thou hast a scholar's frame. Now take - A breath! then place thine arms around my neck. - I'll bear thee as a peasant's load upon - My back. - - [_She totters for a second beneath Eginhardt's - weight._] - - _Eginhardt._ Thou stagger'st? - - _Emma._ Nay,—but breathe a prayer, - Twill help. [_She straightens herself._] - - [_Exit Emma with Eginhardt on her back. After a - time she returns, panting, and closes the door._] - - _Emma._ I've left him by the courtyard-gate - And none have seen. And O I feel such strange - Relief that dims the parting pang. Deceit - Is ended. I've freed myself to guard this silk. - May God protect! - - [_She takes up a crucifix and kneels before the silk._] - - - - - ACT II. - - - _Scene.—The same as Act I. The following morning. Emma, in her gala - attire, lies asleep on the couch, a mantle over her feet. Etta - enters abruptly through centre door. She notices the Princess and - seems relieved._ - - _Etta._ Why there she lies and fast asleep. I had - Such fright to find her bed untenanted. - The day's excitement must have tired and then - The King's late visit. I should have stayed or sent - A waiting-maid; but she insists at times - On privacy, the privilege of being - As lesser folk. I have a shrewd suspicion! - Well let it be! Her virtue's proof 'gainst fire - Itself and Master Eginhardt is old - In wisdom. Their talk is but of grammar-rules, - Of ancient days and poetry. They have - My sympathy; though scarce my understanding. - Frivolity would seem more natural, - Would better suit their youthfulness; but learning - Has set its seal on courtly fashion, till even - The cooks and pantry men discuss in terms - Of rhetoric. Well, well the King attends - The palace school and comprehends; while others, - Of weaker wit, absorb the jargon, failing - To delve for sense.——How sweet my Princess looks, - Dear soul; her dimpling smile disarms all envy, - Else might one say 'tis most unfair that she - Should have so much; while houseless beggars crowd - Our narrow streets. Pretence may smirk and strut - And poverty may wince and crawl but here - There's restfulness. A knock! - - [_The door, left, is pushed - open.... Enter Albert._] - - Hist, hist, you must - Not enter. The Princess is asleep. She's there— - Lies there upon that couch. Please slip away. - Go quietly. - - _Albert._ I have a message. You - Must waken her. - - _Etta._ Your tone is somewhat rude, - My Lord; the Princess wakens when she pleases; - And not before. - - _Albert._ The message that I bear - Forbids delay. 'Tis from the King himself, - Of utmost urgency. - - _Etta._ If you but say - The Princess sleeps, the King will pardon us. - He would not wish his bird disturbed. - - _Albert._ His bird - Must wake and spread her wings. The other bird - Has flown. An unexpected play was staged - Last night—I would that I had witnessed it— - The King alone was privileged. He liked - It not. Deep creases line his face, his eyes - Flash steel. The Princess must be wakened, yet - I dread to mar that prettiness with grief. - O why will maids forget the beauty-sleep - That wards away next morning's tears. She fell - Asleep—too late, alas! - - [_Emma wakes up, seems surprised to see her visitors, sits - up and listens unnoticed by them._] - - _Etta._ My Lord, your head - Is turned. I left her here last night 'tis true, - But with the King. To her sweet care he must - Have lent the holy silk, see there it lies - And shimmers trustfully. You have an answer. - 'Twill satisfy the King. - - _Albert._ But Charles himself - Was witness. Listen! last night another came. - Where were your eyes and ears? The King retired - Alone, he practised Greek; when suddenly - A knavish moonbeam danced its mischief through - A chink and blurred the alpha-beta. The King - Threw wide the casement hangings, and sought to wrest - An ode, a monody from night's allurement, - When lo! 'twas farce that greeted him, a farce - That failed to tap his laughter. - - _Etta._ A chill has knifed - My heart. Speak on! - - _Albert._ He clearly saw two forms - That peered; they seemed to shrink beneath the moon's - Cold gaze and then from out this very room - There came a restless prancing jennet, that stayed - Its curveting, that slid and well-nigh stumbled - Beneath the slender weight of whom indeed? - But solemn Master Eginhardt. - - _Etta._ The Princess - Has so demeaned herself! has so abused - Her rank and sex! I'll not believe a word - Of it, e'en though her pretty lips give their - Consent. - - _Emma._ He speaks the truth, dear Etta! 'Twas not - In wanton play! 'twas dire distress. We hoped - To hide our secret from the telltale snow. - But now, that all's discovered; give me the worst, - My Lord. What punishment is meted him - I love? - - _Albert._ 'Tis not so heavy, ease yourself. - - _Emma._ Not death? - - _Albert._ No, no— - - _Emma._ Then tell me all. - - _Albert._ The King - Has seen—— - - _Emma._ Of that you've said enough; but after? - - _Albert._ To-day the court has stirred betimes. A King, - Who spent a sleepless night, would not respect - Another's rest. His messengers flew back - And forth, while rumors faster sped. A council - At such unseemly hour! portending what? - And few but nurse some covert guilt. The King - Was grey with wrath—and fear disturbed. But when - He spoke, recounting all, faint titters rose - Unbidden, soon quelled beneath his iron glance. - And then, with icy voice, he hurled the question: - What judgment should be meted one who so - Forgot—I pray your pardon—her royal rank? - The councillors gazed mournfully at one - Another and then, as though a signal prompted, - They chimed together: "In love affairs we crave - Indulgence." Scarce heeding them the King continued: - "What punishment deserves that man, whom I - Have favoured? who brings my house to shame." Again - The answer came: "In love affairs we crave - Indulgence." But one dissentient voice: "Our laws - Proclaim a speedy death." 'Twas Eginhardt, - The youngest councillor, who spoke. - - _Emma._ You said— - - _Albert._ That death was not the penalty; Ay! listen! - The King replied: "My youngest councillor - Gives wiser judgment. Yes he understands - How stain can spread. Such doings, if left unpunished, - Might influence court customs, Frankish habits; - Deserving death, I pass a lighter sentence: - 'Tis banishment without repeal. Now go, - Nor trouble more mine eyes!" The King had finished, - A quivering silence reigned. Then slowly rose - The one proscribed, nor made obeisance, nor bade - Adieu, unless his footsteps echoed it. - The air was chill as though a wraith had passed. - - _Emma._ None offered him a kindly word? none gave - A friendly glance? - - _Albert._ Before the angered King, - Was't possible? Besides a favorite, - That's fallen from regard, must needs incite - A wonder seldom damped with pity's dew. - - _Emma._ Mayhap the gateman has inquired which way - He went. Etta! go question him. - - _Albert._ He spoke - To none; but strode along, nor visited - His rooms. His writing tools alone he carried, - Unless a book or so that bulged his wallet. - - _Emma._ You may depart, my Lord. Your story's told. - - _Albert._ I would it were. Why are you still? can you - Not ease the telling? Question me. Take you - No interest in your fate? - - _Emma._ 'Tis blank to-day. - - _Albert._ Then woe must color it and I must speak - Unhelped. Prepare yourself for grevious change. - When heavy steps had ceased to echo, all - Within the Council-Hall seemed moulded there - By frost of death. Then spoke the King: "My daughter"— - A moment's pause till words swelled through emotion. - They thickly came as waters that soak their way - From out a sodden, leaf-strewn ridge. "My daughter, - Let her fare forth. The fault's the same and so - The punishment!" and then he turned toward me. - His words now sharply fell as waters freed - That clang 'mid stones. "Go tell the Princess Emma, - Mine eyes must dwell on her no more. Let her - Leave home and friends, henceforth a wanderer. - Bid her begone at once, nor moan her fate - With others. Let her depart for presently - I come to seal a tomb that holds the corpse - Of erstwhile loving memory." His words - Sank deep like waters pooled, his eyelids closed - To stay the signs of grief. He blinked them back, - Then called for state affairs. I hastened here, - You may believe, unwillingly. - - _Emma._ So, finis. - I've heard your message, listened patiently. - Tell the King 'twas well delivered. Now - I pray your absence, go! - - _Albert._ To take with me - Your promise of obedience. Nay rather - To beg a Father's clemency, to wake - His fond indulgence, haply some excuse. - - _Emma._ Did Eginhardt reply? went he not forth - In silence? go! - - [_Exit Albert._] - - _Etta._ My dear, sweet Princess. O - How has it happened? where's the cure? - - _Emma._ The "how" - Is past, a vain inquiry! where's the cure? - The outlet from this coil? I see it not. - - _Etta._ Then haste! gain entrance to the Council-Hall, - Implore the King—not with that stony look. - Let tears entreat and fervent promises. - Speak loving words; those little, winging words, - That search a Father's heart. Let beauty plead, - With clinging arms; till soft embrace wears wrath - Away. My Princess! run, beg mercy! conjure - With woman's art, insist! O pray arouse - Yourself, throw off this bleak November mood, - Weep April drops, and then come singing back, - A lightsome smiling May. - - _Emma._ Impossible, - When Eginhardt has gone. Besides what would - The masses think did he, the new Augustus, - Show weakness, bend beneath a daughter's pleadings. - No Etta, the King is law, its fountain head; - If it be questioned, the nations totter. Yes - 'Tis harvest month and I have harvested. - Unfasten the stringing pearls that bind my hair, - Then help me loose this festive frock, 'tis stiff - With woven gold. A homespun hunting gown - Will better serve the time's occasion. Bring - The russet; 'twas worn that day my ankle twisted. - - [_Exit Etta, centre door.... She soon returns with the - gown. Sighing and shaking her head she helps Emma - make the change._] - - _Etta._ 'Tis torn and stained. - - _Emma._ I know, nor would I part - With it, nor have it mended. The rent will suit - My shifted fortune. Eginhardt went forth - With student's ware. I'll take my bow and arrows, - My spear and ah, this silk, 'twas given me - Last night to guard and am I different? - My place in life may be; but not myself. - So fare thee well, dear Etta, I find no words - For messages. [_She opens the door left._] - - _Etta._ But stay! You cannot go - Like this alone, to face a thieving world. - - _Emma._ What have I here to tempt? - - _Etta._ Those spangled pins, - What's more, your beauty. - - _Emma._ Pull the pins, now let - My hair fall loose; divided o'er each shoulder - It ripples to my feet. Am I not like - The strange wild-women habiting the hills? - I may draw glances; none will venture near. - - _Etta._ Then fairy-folk will seize you trespassing. - - _Emma._ O plague me not with fancied fears; but let - Remembrance follow me and now and then - A whispered prayer. [_A dove flies into the room and lights - on Emma's arm._] What's this? my dear, pet dove. - It nestles faithfully, yet I must part - With it, alas! O guard it, nurture it. - - [_She hands the dove to Etta. Exit, left, hastily. Etta - makes a movement to follow her, then stops and soothes - the bird._] - - _Etta._ Poor fluttering thing that shares unhappiness. - How far doth sorrow spread? and can I stay - Its murky flow? I'll importune the King, - The Royal family. There must be some - Recourse. - - [_Enter, left, Albert._] - - _Albert._ And has the Princess gone? - - _Etta._ But now. - Where is the King? - - _Albert._ He comes this way. He wishes - An empty cage, nor view of hapless bird. - - _Etta._ And I've one here that may remind. - - [_Exit, left, Albert. Etta seeks to soothe the bird. - Enter Charles, in ordinary Frankish attire, attended by - Albert. Etta kneels imploringly._] - - O Sire! - I beg for her. Where are the tears that flowed - Beside her Mother's bier? Do they not force - Forgiveness, if indeed what's pure requires - Such word. O send for her lest harm may come - To one so gently nurtured. - - _Charles._ [_Sitting down heavily._] Harm has come. - If more ensues it scarce can blacken what's - Already black. Begone. I've said enough. - - [_The dove escapes through doorway, left._] - - _Etta._ [_Rising._] The bird! O Sire, the bird! - - _Charles._ What's that? - - _Etta._ Her dove. - She treasured it. - - _Charles._ Then let it follow her. - Sir Count, remove the woman. Fail not to give - My message. None must speak the words proscribed, - Nor hint we had such daughter. - - [_Exuent Etta, door centre; - Albert door left.... Charles stares round moodily. A - knock is heard._] - - Who raps? Can I - The Emperor, Augustus, not have some hours - Alone to toy with grief? - - [_Enter Hildebold, left, closing the - door after him._] - - _Hildebold._ My gracious Lord, - You sent for me? - - _Charles._ And you have tarried long. - The judgment's given. Leave me here in peace. - - _Hildebold._ If peace reigned here, I'd gladly go. Methinks - A wounded soul awaits my help. I missed - You, Sire, at mass. - - _Charles._ I had excuse. You may - Have heard. Respect my sorrow. Leave me now. - - _Hildebold._ [_Sitting down._] One time, long since, you rode with - Eginhardt; - Nor stayed for pomp of retinue, your wish - Was speed, to reach a mother's side; who gasped - Your name while breath still lingered. Not a word - You spoke; but peered the gloom, as on you raced - 'Gainst death itself. The night was dark and still, - The thudding horses woke strange echoes, hark! - That tinkling bell betokens mass, though dawn - Has scarcely greyed the sky. A mother's blessing - Depends on haste and yet God's call was heeded. - You turned aside to find the forest church, - My dear, first charge; and there you humbly knelt. - At that same hour, you later heard, the Queen, - Your Mother's breath came evenly. She smiled - And seemed content to wait. Three days of sweet - Communing God allowed his servants ere - The parting came.—You raced 'gainst death that night - And won. To-day, I fear, God's face is turned, - His help rejected. - - _Charles._ [_Wearily._] My Lord Archbishop, I - Have scarcely followed, have indeed no will - To argue; granting all your premises, - Pray leave me now. - - _Hildebold._ Your rank and mine we'll set - Aside. Consider me that Hildebold - Whom you have raised to be your chosen friend, - Who comes to offer—— - - _Charles._ Not the golden coins - This time but useless words. O would that you - Had kept my largess then, nor parted with - Humility. - - _Hildebold._ [_Reminiscently._] And how surprised I was - To see those gulden left by seeming huntsmen. - I felt such gold might burn a simple monk; - Besides our chapel needed nought and so - I hailed you back and asked instead a doeskin, - Soft and pliable, to bind my mass-book, - That time had sadly ragged. - - _Charles._ Your modesty - Appealed. I sent you one deep-purple dyed - And limned with gold—'twas not enough; a ring, - A staff, a bishopric were further added, - And so a mentor saddles me. Pray take - The hint, begone! - - [_He leans on the table and sinks his head - on his arms, oblivious to everything. Hildebold - advances as though to touch him, then steps back and - sits down, casting pitying glances at him. After a - while Charles looks up._] - - My hints are lost, well stay; - A humbled man may wish an audience. - O yesterday what glory streaked my life. - Those blessed relics brought uplift, a sense - That I, above all others, was indeed - God's chosen vessel, Emperor and Chief - Of millions. Yes, I had a deeper sense - Of His abiding grace and awesome trust - Than even on that Christmas morn when vast - St. Peter's thundered forth the ancient plaudits: - "Long life and victory to Charles, the pious - Augustus, crowned by God, the great, pacific - Emperor!" while on my head there rested - The precious diadem. Ah, then I felt - Some fear, a dread that I perchance usurped - A mighty privilege. But yesterday - 'Twas peace, as though the all-pervading God - Communed with me, not as man talks with man; - But as the angels gain instruction, thought - That comes unvoiced, yet glows with warmth of knowledge. - And so, deluded, I kissed goodnight. Outside - 'Twas bleak, rough winds assailed, snow flurries pricked. - Within my chamber's solitude I sought - Relief through study; tossed my books aside; - Revulsion gripped my soul. What had I done - With power? Some cruel acts grew large and then - The future glowed uncertain. Everywhere - Dissensions rise; they say the brazen cock - That crowns our palace points the spot, so swift - Comes punishment; but age may weaken, have - My sons the force that pushes me? I see - The Northmen's snake-like galleys nosing, feel - The Saracens' sharp sword; to meet them warriors - With discipline relaxed, disordered laws, - False judges, ignorance, a church debased. - - _Hildebold._ Hold, hold, my Son, mirage is in your eyes - To-day, transforming faults to giant-size. - - _Charles._ And then I pulled the curtain back and saw - God's eye of night, the lustrous moon, that stared - Suggestive quiet. Prophet of storms, it failed - To prophesy; but shed meek rays along - Fresh-fallen, smirch-less snow, ay spotless! spotless! - My thoughts now strayed to her, my youngest daughter, - Her baby hands that clutched my beard, her soul - Developing; her proud, young ways and later - Her matchless maidenhood, her sweet accord - With all my moods, her soothing charm, ah then - A door was opened furtively, I saw— - - [_Covering his face with his hands._] - - Are we God's care or Devil's sport? - - _Hildebold._ My Son, - You saw not far enough; but thus it is - And God is blamed. Was't love of justice made - You banish her; or jealousy, or fret - That things went not to please your wishes? - - _Charles._ You'd - Excuse such conduct? - - _Hildebold._ I'd seek its cause and seek - The cure. The cause, those two so thrown together; - The cure to separate or sanction. - - _Charles._ Let winds - Draw them apart or close. They blow without. - I've said my say. And now give orders that - This room be sealed, a memory that's ended. - My Lord Archbishop, take the silk, I know - Of none else worthy. - - [_Exit, left, hastily._] - - _Hildebold._ Take the silk? I see - It not. Poor Princess! Poor Emperor! [_He opens centre - door, against which Etta has evidently been leaning._] But Etta, - Thou stumblest! Is't sympathy that holds thee near? - Well let it be. Thy reddened eyes do penance. - Now beg the Palace Count to seal this room, - That none may enter. Would the deed were done - With lowered head and lips that move in prayer. - But give me first the sacred silk. - - _Etta._ The Princess - Has taken it. - - _Hildebold._ That proves her innocence. - 'Twas but a youthful prank. I'll follow her. - A convent wall will guard her charm until - The King relents. - - [_Exit, left._] - - _Etta._ I fear his mind is set. - And what can change whom all obey?—who has - So changed himself. - - - - - ACT III. - - - _Scene.—A clearing in the forest near Aquisgranum. At the back, amid - trees, a charcoal-burner's hut and a kiln. On the left a linden and - copse leading to a grove once sacred to heathen deities; but now - feared and shunned. On the right a barricade of logs and fallen - trees so placed in one part to form steps. Ernst advances from his - kiln, looks over the barricade as though expecting some one. He is - joined by Guta who comes out of the hut._ - - _Ernst._ 'Tis mild for harvest-moon and yet the wind's - Unsettled, portending what? How strange the snow - That came so suddenly then disappeared - As some night wraith that fears clear-visioned day. - - _Guta._ The Devil must have pinched his wife she dropped - Such frozen tears. 'Tis most unfair that when - She's disciplined poor folk should feel so oft - The dripping moisture of her grief; 'tis bad - For rheumatism. - - _Ernst._ And good for forest trees. - The witch deserves to spill some tears, she has - So often damaged them; what branches crunch - And fall, when she, amount her broomstick, rides - A gale through serpent-hissing, midnight skies. - - _Guta._ And so thou'rt in the skies and never wilt - Thou heed my limping gait, that cries a life - In town, some gaiety before a coffin - Completes this stiffening. - - _Ernst._ And leave our home? - - _Guta._ That hovel! - - _Ernst._ What could I do? - - _Guta._ Thou might'st instruct - The palace school, save Master Eginhardt - These many visits here. - - _Ernst._ If I had been - A cleric, had learnt to read and write, maybe, - May be— - - _Guta._ Thou hast a head well stacked with knowledge. - Do books all boast as much? 'Tis odd that thou, - A peasant, hast such stuff within, that courtiers - Must come to pump it out then serve it for - The King. - - _Ernst._ The King loves ancient hero-tales. - A proper King! a proper Emperor! - What's more, a proper man. I wonder why - Good Master Eginhardt delays; I promised - Some verse, it quivers on my lips. That's just - The way, he comes when I am disinclined - And now he dallies. - - _Guta._ Last night I dreamt of death, - Royal mourners wailed. In fright I woke. The wind - Blew fluted dirge-like notes; but dreams are ay - Contrariwise. Most like 'twas wedding bells. - I wish good Master Eginhardt would come; - I thirst to hear Court gossip, e'en the bits - He doles with grudging tongue. And he could tell - Us of the long-nosed beast with dragon skin - That I so dread, yet wish to see. - - _Ernst._ A crackling! - Hist! but not our scholar's steed, nor yet - A wandering huntsman's. Such a footfall, quiet - And even, forewarns at least a Bishop's palfrey. - As I'm alive 'tis Father Hildebold; - Who now dismounts and ties his horse. [_He mounts the - barricade and stoops to help Hildebold up._] The steps - Are steep so have a care. We welcome you. - - [_Enter Hildebold, appearing over the barricade._] - - _Hildebold._ Thou bar'st thy citadel, good friend. - - _Ernst._ Against - Four-footed beasts, not two. Step gingerly. - I beg your Lordship's pardon. Come Guta, kneel - And kiss the ring. Our old Confessor climbs - Too high for peasant jokes; so let us help - Him down. - - [_After helping him, the peasants kneel to receive a - blessing._] - - _Hildebold._ My children, it pleases me to greet - Old friends. Receive God's blessing.—Tell me now - Has Master Eginhardt been lately here? - Or Princess Emma? - - _Ernst._ The Princess once was here, - While hunting with the King; who has himself - Broke fast with me and stayed awhile to rest. - He talked of Master Eginhardt, whom both - Call foster-son, which makes a kind of sweet - Relationship between our Lord, the King, - And me, his servant. - - _Hildebold._ And dost thou soon expect - This gifted foster-son? - - _Ernst._ Ay, surely, unless - He fails to come. - - _Hildebold._ Hark then! If he should come - Or Princess Emma, use a kind detention, - Some artifice, then steal away and bring - Me news or send a trusty messenger. - Remember as thou valuest salvation.— - Is there no easier exit? well, thy hand. - Remember! and beg thy wife to curb her tongue. - - [_Exit with Ernst who soon returns. Guta mutters - to herself._] - - _Guta._ 'Tis always thus, a woman's tongue, a woman's— - Depend upon it, some ill has chanced; my dream, - The winds have prophesied; but what indeed? - Why should the Princess visit us? There is - No reason; nor that Master Eginhardt - Should be detained; for that is what, through love - Of company, we ever strive; nor is - Their reason to inform 'gainst her or him - Or them. Canst thou, good man, make ought of this? - - _Ernst._ Why puzzle, when time brings plain solution. - Let time - Then bear the brunt and weight of ravelling riddles, - Nor goad ourselves with useless questionings. - - [_A cry for help is heard. It dies down, then comes again._] - - But hark, that erie cry! or is't the wind? - Hark! Some poor soul has missed her path and dreads - The forest loneliness. I'll succour her. - - _Guta._ Thou must not go, that cry is not from tongue - Made true through taste of Holy Sacrament. - Such shrilling gentleness is not the moan - Of fagot-picker in distress. 'Tis like - The dirge of last night's dream. I recognize; - 'Tis some wild woman of the woods that seeks - To lure a Christian soul—Nay husband, stay! - I warn thee. [_Clutching his coat, then wringing her hands. - Exit Ernst, by the steps. He soon returns supporting - Emma._] O the foolish man and worse - Than foolish—what will come of this? He brings - Her here, alas! our happiness has flown. - - _Ernst._ Quick Guta, fetch some water, haste, she faints. - - _Guta._ Then let her lie; but no; discourtesy - Might bring revenge. They say 'tis best to flatter, - To wheedle with fair words and deeds. [_She goes into the hut - and brings out some water in a horn mug._] My pretty! - A sip will freshen thee; another! See - Thy colour comes and delicate as that - Pink robe that's bundled 'neath thy mantle, frayed - And torn most like in some uproarious - Fandango, some brawling midnight junketing, - Some screech-owl revels. - - _Emma._ [_Reviving._] Thou dost forget thyself - To so address—I had forgot!—but this - Is holy silk. - - _Guta._ If I should contradict - 'Twould be for sake of bickering. The holes - Are plain enough. Thou seem'st to treasure them, - And yet the hole thou comest from is lined - With gold, they say. - - _Emma._ The woman's mad! - - _Ernst._ Thou talk'st - Too much, my wife. - - _Guta._ [_Addressing Emma._] 'Tis true. Take no affront. - But if I may not talk, who will? a silence - Is often more discourteous than words - And gives the Devil chance— - - [_The noise of some one - approaching is heard._] - - _Ernst._ To show his horns. - And thou hast said it! hush! hush— - - [_Enter Eginhardt._] - - _Emma._ Eginhardt! - O Eginhardt! - - _Guta._ The devil in disguise! - Or is't our friend in troth? I know not friend - From enemy. - - _Eginhardt._ [_Embracing Emma._] My sweetheart, how cam'st thou here? - Alone? without a following? thy hair - Unbound, a rivulet of gold! Or art - Thou but a bloodless figment, a fancy born - Of seething thought? Nay, nay, 'tis Paradise - My lagging steps have mounted unawares - And thou'rt my angel guide. - - _Emma._ [_Sinking in his arms._] O Eginhardt, - 'Tis peace at last! - - _Ernst._ [_Addressing Guta._] She seeks a younger prey - Than us old folk and one, methinks, that's more - Susceptible; but we must warn— - - _Guta._ Let us - Away, advise good Father Hildebold. - He'll exorcise with book and candle. - - _Ernst._ And while - Our backs are turned what harm may come. I'll pluck - His sleeve and warn. Dear Master Eginhardt, - I'd speak with you. - - _Eginhardt._ [_Testily._] Well! well! - - _Ernst._ Not here, but step - Aside; one moment! pray. - - _Eginhardt._ Think'st thou I'd tempt - The winds? All day they've strangely whirled. But now - The air is still, this precious burden rests - With me. If I should loose my grasp might not - Some mischievous air-current spirit her - Afar. - - _Ernst._ If only such could happen! - - _Eginhardt._ Man, - Thou must be mad to e'en suggest the thought. - Has dotage crept thus suddenly? Begone, - Let thy old wife coax reason back. - - _Emma._ A poor - Instructor! She's mad as he. - - _Guta._ O Master, you - Alone are crazed. Quick cross yourself, break loose, - Use Latin words, delve deep within your learning; - From useless lumber pluck some magic art; - Whose strength will free from love's bewitching power, - From spectral glamour. - - _Eginhardt._ Break loose from love? O Guta; - Each golden hair, that showers its wealth about - This yielding form, holds me in closer bondage - Than shackling chains of adamant. Break loose - From love? this head, that leans its gentle weight, - Impresses more than all the rolling skies - That bowed great-shouldered Atlas, steadying. - Break loose from love? 'Twould be a harsher fall, - Than Satan's fierce descent from Heaven's peace - To Hell's contentious flame. Break loose from love? - Not while there's breath to seal its troth, to pledge - Its honour. [_He kisses Emma._] - - _Guta._ [_Addressing Ernst._] Pray come! let us obey! seek - help - From Father Hildebold, lest worse should follow. - If that most sober scholar is thus enmeshed - By magic wile, what hope is there for thee? - Who spinnest love tales as others gossip. Come! - A lengthy walk! - - _Ernst._ And leave the youth? O youth! - First love! sweet raptures, mine no more—no more— - - _Guta._ Come, come away; thou moonstruck fool! white hairs - Are no safe shielding 'gainst man's foolish bent. - - [_Ernst and Guta mount the steps but as they descend - the other side they pause and look round unnoticed by - Emma and Eginhardt._] - - _Emma._ They speak of Father Hildebold, most like - The Bishop. Would that he or some poor monk - Were here to give God's blessing. - - _Eginhardt._ My Lord Archbishop - Would give such duteous advice that we, - In following, might find ourselves constrained - To cloistered cells; to hold, apart, sad vigils, - Remembering the happiness that's ours - To grasp. But I, like thee, would have God's blessing. - See Love! two lengthy sticks! we'll form them crosswise; - So notched, this silken cord will serve. [_He gathers two heavy sticks - to make a cross, using some string that bound the silk._] I'll plant - The longest end; how easily it slides! - And firm as though God truly wished it here. - And now we'll drape with this most blessed silk. - See Love, 'tis woman's work. - - [_Emma drapes the cross with the white silk._] - - _Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] A solemn rite, - And e'en a pious, stay! 'tis worth the watching. - - _Guta._ Nay, let us fly! 'tis impious, a wild - Hill-woman to hide the sign of Christendom - 'Neath tattered rags of vile debauchery. - A worn ball gown that's torn in lengths. - - _Ernst._ Whist! Silence! - - [_Some leaves of the linden rustle slightly._] - - _Emma._ A sound, a fluttering sound, and voices! no, - All's quiet. O would that we had witnesses, - Those mad-brained peasants if none else and yet - We're kindly rid of them.—The forest hush - Breathes thoughts of God. This mellowed silk was once - Around the Virgin's dress and now it decks - The marriage cross. O we have audience. - - [_Emma and Eginhardt kneel before the cross and repeat - together._] - - O Lord! be witness to our mutual vow. - - _Emma._ My husband! - - _Eginhardt._ My treasured wife! - - _Together._ Whom none may part. - - [_They kneel in silent prayer. Suddenly from the - linden tree a dove flits down and lights on Emma's - shoulder._] - - _Emma._ My dove, my own pet dove. O God has sent - This sign. - - _Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] It seems like some strange - miracle; - Yet what it is I fail to grasp; yes, yes, - We'll go to Father Hildebold. He'll straight - This tangle, if any can. - - [_Exuent Ernst and Guta._] - - _Emma._ [_Resting with Eginhardt against a log._] O Eginhardt, - To think the bird has followed us! It links - The past and present, soothes the sting, and brings - A sweet assurance. Soft, wee nestler! a bit - Of pampered yesterday; that tears with us - The veiling morrow, fearing nought for love - Encompasses. O husband of my dreams, - Thou art reality. No tempest can - Disturb—And see, look round, 'twas here those dreams - Grew strong from sudden birth. Incredible - That chance has drifted us to this same spot. - A higher agency methinks has forced - Our steps. They say this world is evil, 'tis but - A tottery stepping stone; I say 'tis wrought - Of solid bliss; whence beauty springs and all - That holds and satisfies. - - _Eginhardt._ Thou speak'st the truth, - My Emma, the world is passing good; whate'er - Its slips and fallacies some moments since. - Ay, here it was that Love surprised. Unasked - The lusty teaser flashed his bolt, exciting - The carmine to thy cheeks, a shining moist - To soft thine eyes, a shrinking tenderness - Through all thy being. - - _Emma._ But thou wert bold, my friend. - - _Eginhardt._ So saved a nasty fall. I see thee now - As then. Thou stood'st upon that fallen oak - In this same garb methinks. Thy hair neat-tucked - Within a huntsman's cap, some tendrils though - Fell gently loose, thy lips were curved to smile. - Asudden there came a stir from out the black - Of those deep woods that yonder lie, a stag - Brushed by, sprang lightly forward; ere the dogs - Caught scent or vision, an arrow whirred; thy sister, - The Princess Bertha's aim was good, beside - Thee lay the struggling beast. To end its pain - Thou raisedst thy hunting spear, but stumbling would - Have wrenched I know not what of this most dear - Anatomy, had I not seized thine arm - And righted thee. In that same flash of time - Two lives were changed, our eyes had met. Pray God - The ill averted may not lead to worse. - - _Emma._ Who speaks of ill upon his wedding day - Deserves the same. Fie, shame, my Eginhardt. - Must we not fashion plans together, "together." - Ay, a precious word! what matters else? - "Together; together"—Hark! a stir! are we - Repeating history? Another stag! - Quick! my bow. [_She shoots toward the copse, a heavy - animal falls at its entrance. She and Eginhardt walk - over and examine it._] I've brought him down. There is - No need to spear. He's dead, quite dead. See here - An ancient wound that's scabbed and healed. Indeed - The very stag. He must have 'scaped that day - But we, enamoured, had no thought to spare. - What ages since that hunting party; so - It seems, my sister's merry laughter, the King, - My Father's kind solicitude.—And now - This cruel break—but Eginhardt, I'll wink - Salt drops away, lest one should fall to splash - Our luck, to mar our wedding-day. Why is't - When joy is keenest, there lurks beneath a pool - Of woe? Well, well 'tis far beneath, we'll lid - It with a stern forgetfulness. "Together;" - That's the word, "together;" and now we'll plan - To make a wild and beautiful adventure. - - _Eginhardt._ Brave Heart, together, yes together we'll stem - The tide; but 'tis for thee I fear, for one - So gently nurtured. - - _Emma._ Remember, Eginhardt, - My ancestors: the Pepin of Landen, the Pepin - Of Herestal; iron-handed Charles who cowed - The Saracen; his son who trembled not - From royal power; and his, in turn, my Father, - Who scaled fresh heights and slipped not back when offered - Imperial pomp and dignity. Each rose - To circumstance. Shall I, who boast such race, - Grow pale, show fear, lay down my arms before - So slight a foe as seeming poverty. - For poverty, what is't? but just a nought, - A nothingness and I have thee so I - Am rich. - - _Eginhardt._ And I far richer! So let us shape - Our future. This stag will nourish us and more - Whence it has come. For shelter here's a hut - With fire, utensils—poor but clean. - - _Emma._ Could we - Not further go from those old folk? I liked - Them not! A something calls me toward the thickets, - As though the inky depth they fringe held safe - Asylum. There must be entrance where the stag - Came forth. Let us push through the coppice, search - What lies beyond. - - _Eginhardt._ 'Tis mystery, unsafe - To penetrate. The peasants say that dwarfs - Dwell there, that wild hill-women dance. They say - Some few of mortal birth have forced a way; - But what they saw none know, for none have since - Returned. - - _Emma._ Ay, peasants' talk; but e'en if true— - St. Augustine, I've heard, hath not denied - There may be other hidden agencies - Than those of scriptural warrant—yet this silk - Will serve as amulet. I have no fear. - Hast thou? - - _Eginhardt._ I'd be ashamed to so confess - And once indeed I peeped. - - _Emma._ And saw? - - _Eginhardt._ We'll let - It be for now. Thou'rt weak and famished. Rest - Thee here. I'll do some foraging. - - [_Exit through door of hut._] - - _Emma._ [_After a pause, gathering up the silk._] Yes, yes - We must go further then. A call from out - Those tangled depths comes loud, insistent. There - Solution lies. But first this precious silk - Must he repacked, the cross unwound. What's here? - A shimmering droplet, a gem that must have slipped - Its setting. Eginhardt! please come! - - [_Enter Eginhardt - with some hunks of bread and a mug of milk._] - - A jewel - Has fallen from its royal resting place. - Last night I handled the King, my Father's crown. - It lay beside the holy silk, whose folds - Have not disdained earth's wealth though they were used - To fairer things. The sun gives warmth; but this - Pale imitation chills my hand, what shall - We do with it? and how return? - - _Eginhardt._ Now eat - This bread, and drink; then we'll consider. - - [_They both eat hastily._] - - _Emma._ Listen! - For our adventure in those mazy woods, - For go we must, we need some wherewithal, - Some first provisions, some household stuff. We'll leave - This gem, and in its place take our requirements; - Reward, that's offered, would more than pay for such - Poor odds and ends as we may choose to plunder. - - _Eginhardt._ Thou'st said the word. If thou'rt refreshed, we'll make - A kindly start before the day grows late; - But I must bear this stag, so wilt thou help - As would a peasant woman? - - _Emma._ With joyous heart! - My life has seemingly begun—so free. - I'll take deep breaths. - - [_They go into the hut and come out laden._] - - _Eginhardt._ [_Laughing._] Dost think we have enough? - - _Emma._ Enough and e'en to spare! 'Tis laughable - The troubles ta'en preparing 'gainst one's wedding; - The puckered brow, the oft vexatious thought, - The wondering if this or that becomes - One most; what furnishings are suitable; - What friends invited. Well, we're saved some burdens. - Compared, this sack is light; but canst thou manage? - Then sling the stag upon thy back. Now let - Us venture? Where's my dove? Ah here still perched - Upon my shoulder, our only wedding guest; - Who shows the confidence we feel. - - _Eginhardt._ I would - 'Twere better witnessed. - - _Emma._ Tush, Eginhardt, lead on. - - _Eginhardt._ Then bend thy head, protect the bird, protect - Our confidence against recoiling twigs. - 'Twas by this linden tree I one time found - A path; but thou must stoop, be careful! Love. - - [_Exuent, the trees closing on them._] - - - - - ACT IV. - - - _Scene.—The same as Act III, six years later. It has a more deserted - appearance. Some smoke escapes the kiln. The steps of the barricade - are broken down, leaving a narrow passage, through which enter - Charles in hunting attire and Albert, whose court finery is - somewhat dishevelled._ - - _Charles._ Why, Albert, see, there's smoke, haste thee! - Inquire! - - _Albert._ [_Looks into the hut._] No sign of life within the hut, my - Lord. - Nor little else. An emptiness that weighs - Like what's inside my belt. Will you not blow - Your horn, my Lord, that baskets may be brought. - - _Charles._ My courtiers think of food, of clothes; thou'rt dressed - As for a festival and so the rest. - Indeed 'twould shock our simple ancestors - Could they but see the follies prevalent - To-day, the love of luxury, the splurge, - The flaunt of silk and jewels, the rich-piled velvets, - The pranking plumes, the strut and swagger. Yet - Methinks, on closer view, thy feathers have - A languid droop, thy coat has lost its vain - Bravado, thy ribboned finery agrees - But ill with huntsman's sport. - - _Albert._ My Lord, if I - Am privileged to speak, we dressed prepared - For Council work; but you withdrew, changed plans, - Made call for dogs and horses, spears and bows; - Gave us no time to change. - - _Charles._ Do I want fops - For Councillors? Grave work needs grave attire. - Ye came arrayed for dance and spectacle - So I was forced to holiday. The chase - Has made some spectacles, I trow. [_Laughing._] Nay stay - Thy sulks, seek now thy friends, beg them retain - This morning's lesson; hark! and come not back - Until my horn wakes echoes. - - _Albert._ [_Turns to go, then stops._] But is it wise - To leave you here alone, my Lord; this place - Is ill reputed. - - _Charles._ See that rustic cross, - Some pious pilgrim's work. Six years ago - 'Twas noticed first; since then long winters have - Unloaded snow and whipped the biting blast, - Yet there it stands assuringly. How oft, - When unsought vigils have distressed, my mind - Has flown to this same spot, has tried to pierce - Its mystery, has lingered round those branchlets, - Gleaned a strange relief; and now again - Smoke floats above the charcoal kiln. All haste, - Count Albert, comb the woods, make nearby search, - Discover him who caused that smoke, who stirs - A smouldering hope; but still my heart! the flame - May yet die down as has so oft occurred. - Haste, haste Count Albert, I would know the worst - Or best. - - [_Albert starts to go. Enter Ernst who collides with him._] - - _Ernst._ Dost wish to murder me? a bandit! - Ho! Help! - - _Albert._ [_Holding Ernst by his collar._] Didst thou cause yonder - smoke? - - _Ernst._ And if - I did, where is the crime? the kiln is mine, - Though long deserted. Unhand me pray. - - _Albert._ The King - Desires thy presence. - - _Ernst._ A fitter one I'd show, - Didst thou remove thy knuckles; though, in truth, - Thou flatterest. To hold me so presumes that I - Have still the nerve and mettle of rash youth, - His racing-wind, his wiry limbs unfettered - By time's harsh reckoning. Ay, that is better, - I breathe again. A nobleman! it seems. - I must have dreamt a cutthroat throttled me, - But, by our Lady, thy dress belongs to neither. - Gentility cast-off and mired. May be - Thou art some actor who practises his part. - - _Albert._ Thou shouldst have studied thine. Servility - Becomes a peasant's tongue. - - _Charles._ Polite to whom? - To dainty nobles who presume on birth - And wide possessions, whose love of play and sport - Bids them forget the useful arts, the work - That makes life passable, their Emperor's - Renown, the safety of the realm? No, no. - My love is for the striving man whate'er - His station be. Is not the peasants' wisdom, - His industry, the backbone of our nation? - Ah woe the day when he forgets his high - Estate and seeks to ape his so-called betters. - - _Ernst._ Great King, I kneel to you, the peasants' friend. - - _Charles._ And thou art truly Ernst whom we have sought - These many years. Tell me, where is my daughter, - The Princess Emma? My foster-son? whom we - In sport called "ours." - - _Ernst._ How should I know? - - _Charles._ Why did'st - Thou disappear? - - _Ernst._ My Guta was afraid. - - _Charles._ Afraid? Speak on! Impatience frets, afraid - Of what? - - _Ernst._ Of telling tales. - - _Charles._ Thy trade of yore; - But now I ask the simple truth unvarnished. - - _Ernst._ My Lord, 'twas truth we feared; when witchcraft plays, - A silent tongue is safest. We had seen - Too much. We slipped away. And now, alas! - Poor Guta! [_He weeps._] - - _Charles._ If she be dead I pity thee. - 'Tis heartfelt! I have drained the bitter cup. - I understand. A worthy woman! a dear - Companion! Friend Ernst thou hast my sympathy, - But grief with thee is indexed, chapter and verse, - Each last sad smile, each parting word. Thou mayst - Read slowly this remembrance, skip the next, - Avoid what is most harassing. It can't - Be changed, the book is writ; but mine is blank. - Where is my daughter? write the lines for me. - - _Ernst._ My Lord, why ask a charcoal-burner? If she - Be missing, those of higher rank will know, - Not I. - - _Charles._ But thou hast just confessed a knowledge. - Shall I stand longer here and wheedle words, - Or shall I blow my horn? Let torture bring - Some sense. - - _Ernst._ My Lord, have mercy! - - _Charles._ Then out with it! - Why did'st thou fly six years ago? nor bring - The Lord Archbishop news. - - _Ernst._ My Lord, that is - A simple question, simple as thin ice, - That skins the depth, yet holds till rudely struck. - Let us reach shallows far from here before - We test its brittleness. - - _Charles._ Nay speak, and promptly. - - _Ernst._ Then take the onus, Sire, I've warned. For me - Nought matters now, my Guta's dead. Besides - A king's hot temper may extrude more sparks - Than witch's fell bedevilment. So listen! - Six years ago a semblance, a strange wild woman, - Not of mortal birth, escaped the hills, - Came moaning here, cast amorous glances, trapping - With beauty's mesh the soul of our dear friend, - Our foster-son. Before this feeble cross, - Whose magic keeps it firm spite time's decay, - An awesome rite took place; those two exchanged - The marriage oath, scarce said the words, when skies - Blew open, a bird descended, 'twas like a dove; - But well we knew 'twas come from Odin's shoulder - To perch upon the smiling hag. - - _Charles._ Thou darest - So call my child, insulting her as me. - It was the Princess Emma. - - _Ernst._ Nay, my Lord, - Although methinks there was some likeness, still - She came without attendants, her hair dishevelled, - Her garments torn; besides I've proof. But patience! - We sought good Father Hildebold, mistook - The way, took council, agreed 'twas well to wait - Developments, so found an ancient friend - And visited the elephant, a beast - Of weirdest size, whose arm-like nose, whose trunk, - Was sucking from a bucket, then mouthwards curved - And poured the flow until we heard the water - Gushing through his mighty stomach. O— - - _Charles._ Away with rounding O's. Keep straight thy tale. - - _Ernst._ 'Twas late one night when we crept back, the place - Was still, no movement, deserted; ay and more; - The hut was vacant, our belongings gone. - A light though strangely gleamed, a moon ray or— - We plucked it, troth a goblin stone; 'twas left - As pay; but could it pay for goods endeared - By use? No, no, a thousand times. We wept; - So passed the hours till ruthless day affirmed - Our loss. Provisions, tools, utensils, all - Were gone, and e'en some garnered seeds. If such - Could happen, why not worse? Our lives? We'd find - A safe asylum, work elsewhere, poor Guta! - And now my proofs: the goblin stone, this bit - Of beldame finery, a scrap, the cross - Had kept. [_He unwraps his treasures._] - - _Charles._ Why Ernst, thou hast a royal stone. - 'Tis worth a noble's ransom, and thou dost cry - For peasant chattels, a royal stone indeed! - It must have slipped my crown that night six years - Ago. What corners have been swept for it. - What countries searched for them; who left it here. - And this frayed scrap is holy silk; I feel - Its texture. Where? O where can they have gone? - - _Ernst._ Those thickets yonder hide the secret. Fierce - Carousing, banqueting from golden plate - Or grave-yard bones, who knows? No mortal has - Retraced his steps though more than they have dared - The bosky growth. Far, far within are dwarfs, - Wild women of the hills and mystic stags - That lure to doom. O Sire, return! it is - Not safe to meddle, nor speak where trees have ears. - - [_A rustling is heard 'mid the trees._] - - What's that? a rustling breath that warns. - - _Charles._ More like - A prying zephyr. The woodman's axe will fell - This mystery. I'll give prompt orders—yet - A pause—to think, prepare myself for what? - Hope fanned afresh? or chilled to ash? So leave me - Ernst, and thou Count Albert, a moment's rest - Before we prize the lock. I would be strong. - - _Albert._ 'Tis injudicious, most unsafe, my Lord. - We've heard enough to fright the staunchest saint - Of Holy Church. - - _Charles._ And thou art far from that. - Well cross thyself, tell beads, or what thou wilt; - But leave me here. Go, quiet the horses. Hark! - They champ impatience. I must curb myself. - If kingdoms fell would I be so disturbed? - - _Albert._ Come Ernst, we'll tarry near, thou must know more, - I'd hear it all. - - [_Exuent Albert and Ernst._] - - _Charles._ I'm strangely tired, this bank - Affords repose, though peace is far. - - [_He falls asleep. The scene grows perfectly dark. After - a time the twinkling light of candles gradually discloses - three mushroom-shaped tables, on which the candles stand - among golden goblets and dishes. Around each table sits - a group of three Wish-maidens, aethereally dressed, with - long flowing locks._] - - _Wish-maidens._ - - Sisters, we quaff to the past, - When forests were thick and daylight dim. - Sisters, we quaff to the past. - Once sacred this grove, here heard Woden's hymn. - Sisters, we quaff to the past. - The past! the past! [_They drink deeply._] - - Wind-spirits are we, wild women called, - Substance of water and air, - Of fabric whence breathed the ancient scald - Verses that seize and ensnare. - - Through tempests we ride, upheaval's din, - Light as a figment of dreams, - And sometimes we flash a visioned sin, - Sometimes a virtue that gleams. - - The bubbles of thought we puff at night - Enter the soul that is cursed, - Awaking a shameless appetite, - Perfidy, shuffling, war-thirst. - - The bubbles of thought we throw from light - Enter the soul that is blessed, - Like dust of the rainbow, pearled and bright, - Singing of hope and of quest. - - But Sisters the future stores for us - Obloquy, exile, and wrong; - Already the signs grow ominous, - Seldom man hearkens to song. - - So spill from our cups—earth honouring, - Earth that will triumph one day; - Let earth play the tune round faery ring, - Twanging the strings we obey. - - [_Where the wine is spilt on the ground dwarfs spring up, - each clad in green and bearing a golden harp._] - - Clear tables away, come dwarfs, come elves - Harp for us, harp long and loud! - Let fingers that grasp the golden helves - Work strings with music endowed. - - [_The tables are pushed back. In front sit the dwarfs - who first play slow dance music, gradually quickening the - time. The Wish-maidens dance in three groups. From a - slow gliding step they arrive at a dizzy whirl. Then - suddenly they stop, break up their groups and sing - while making steps and motions to imitate weaving._] - - We dance to the past while weaving tales, - Rosy with mist of the dawn, - Astir with the mood of wilful gales, - Lightsome as leap of a fawn. - - We dance to the present, weaving fears. - Daylight strews shadows behind; - The dazzle of noon dissolves in tears, - Man is the sport of the wind. - - We dance to the future, weaving death, - Purpled with evening sky; - A knowledge has come with failing breath, - The courts of Valhalla on high. - - So round and around we faster spin, - Straightening the tangles of time; - We dance to the earth, find spirit within, - Hark! to the music sublime. - - [_They stand prettily poised listening, each with the right - forefinger raised. The scene grows quite dark again - while delightful strains of heavenly music are heard. - After a time they die away. The scene lightens, Charles is - discovered still sleeping. All trace of Wish-maidens, tables - and dwarfs have disappeared unless it be David, a little - green-clad figure, who enters from the copse, losing his - hat on a thornbush. He looks round wonderingly, then - comes and examines Charles._] - - _David._ Goliath as my name is David, Giant - Goliath. Indeed I've found adventure. Yet - I have no sling. Might I not steal his sword, - To carry home a giant's head, would not - The ancients envy me? My Father, though - A mighty hunter, has never brought such game. - Soft, soft, he sleeps. I'll lightly pull. The sword - Slips loose from out its sheath, a bolder tug; - Ah now it comes. - - [_Enter Ernst. He sees David and stands transfixed._] - - _Charles._ [_Waking._] What's that? who drags my sword. - Am I asleep? do I still dream? a dwarf, - A tiny green-clad man like those who harped - The magic tune. Have pagan times returned? - My Lord Archbishop warned me 'gainst the tales - Of ancient days. An old man's mind should steep - Itself in gospel truth; what troubles have - I brewed? And yet the sky seems natural, - The sun and trees. What art thou? elf or child? - Of goblin birth or Christian ancestry? - - David. [_Singing._] - - Pass the loving cup, - Kling, klang, klung. - Let us brightly sup, - Ting, tang, tung. - - What's disturbed by light, - Ting, tang, tung. - Let us mend at night, - Kling, klang, klung. - - _Ernst._ That song has answered you. My mother heard - It in her youth and hers before and alway - A little man like this made music. See, - Thorn-caught, there hangs the hat that blurs and hides - Its goblin wearer. Never have I seen - Such mannikin until to-day; though oft - On winter nights annoyed by raps and creaks; - Strange pranks they play, themselves invisible. - - _David._ 'Tis true, my hat was flicked away. This sword - Will help recovery. Alack the tear! - A nasty rent. - - _Charles._ Before thou fad'st in space, - Return my sword. - - _David._ Nay, nay, Goliath, we'll - Consult my mother. - - _Charles._ Thy Mother? - - _David._ Ay, my Mother. - Her favoured stag, the one she trained and petted, - Came flagging home to die, a pool of blood - Around. - - _Charles._ A wounded stag but lately 'scaped - Our dogs. - - _David._ I knew thou wert the culprit, Giant - Goliath. If thou hadst not waked, I would - Have sawed thy neck as Father saws great logs, - Then carried home thy gory head, that long - White beard would serve as handle. Instead I'll take - Thee prisoner! so follow, march. They call - Me David, a name that strikes some fear. - - _Charles._ Indeed, - My little man, it does, and some have called - Me David too and some have shrunk from me. - But I will follow thee. Lead on! - - _David._ If thou'lt - Play fair, will promise not to snatch the sword, - I'll lend my help, hold back the twigs that else - Might blind; but thou must make a giant's promise. - - _Charles._ I promise! - - _David._ And I can trust thy word for giants - Like dwarfs and elves must speak what's in their hearts. - They are all through as clear as bright spring-water. - 'Tis otherwise with man, my Father says, - His lips may smile the softest "yes" while "no" - Is boring through his heart. There's one who plucks - Thy coat. He has a baneful eye. Come shake - Him off, I wait. - - _Ernst._ [_Holding Charles' coat._] My Lord, consider, I pray you. - Remember your high station. You are the Star; - Whose rays shed peace on countless millions. O - Imperil not the light of Christendom! - My voice may crack and quiver from the strain - Of time. It carries though authority, - Thy peoples' need! - - _Charles._ [_Shaking Ernst off._] Back Ernst, my mind is set. - I'll sift the matter through, take consequence. - Lead on my boy; let briars, thorns and nettles - Prick doubt to shreds. Lead on! Give me that peace - My humblest subject craves. - - _David._ [_Parting the shrubs by the linden._] Then stoop, Goliath, - Stoop. Here is the secret entrance. Canst thou - Bend low enough? - - _Charles._ [_Stooping._] Ay low enough, God knows, - May He protect! - - [_As Charles disappears, following David, - enter Albert._] - - _Albert._ The King? - - _Ernst._ Enticed away - Like Master Eginhardt. Those woods have closed - On Majesty, ah woe the day! - - _Albert._ Ah woe - Indeed! where shall we turn? Old man, come steer - My course; the ship is rudderless, the captain - Has gone. - - _Ernst._ And so you call on me, a peasant; - Forgetting noble birth and heritage! - Go search your prized gentility, your schooling, - Your war-time prowess, your hunting skill, your pride, - Vain-glory, your anything. Leave me. I have - A friend—another friend, to mourn. When one - Is old and poorly circumstanced, good friends - Are sadly missed, alas! - - _Albert._ Thou weep'st a friend— - The surging ocean 'broils the land and thou - Dost cower above a puddle! A friend, nay, nay; - A King, an Emperor, the one strong man. - - _Ernst._ Did I not plead?—but grief digs as it will. - - _Albert._ And thou art right. Have I not cause for fear? - Who is responsible? will I be blamed? - Old man dry up thy tears, give thought, help break - This hush that tantalizes. Hark! a rumble! - The clash of horses; our friends arrive. Ho there! - Come help!—The King is lost. - - [_Enter Audulf, Herbert and other courtiers scrambling - over the barricade. Their rich attire, like Albert's, - has suffered somewhat from the chase._] - - _Audulf._ Is lost? How can - That be when you Lord Count are found? Ay hang - Your head, 'twill need explaining. Is lost? but here's - His hunting-spear. You jest, Lord Count, he can't - Be far. Is this a game? - - _Albert._ I would it were! - - _Audulf._ Then let us search; which way went he? - - _Ernst._ Where ways - Are none, whence none have yet returned. - - _Audulf._ Thou mean'st - The King is dead. Impossible! - - _Ernst._ See there - That tanglement. Could you alone, unweaponed - Pierce far? And yet those branches swung apart - As once the Red Sea waves, then swiftly closed - Upon our Charles as surged the swelling tide - O'er Egypt's host. Alas! no fiery pillar - Has guided him; there skipped before a dwarf, - Green-hued, a morsel from the nether world, - A thievish imp, an elf-enchanter. - - _Albert._ It seemed - As though the King stooped low, 'twas here he went. - - _Audulf._ I see no passage. - - _Herbert._ Let us break through with swords - And spears. - - _Ernst._ Take heed for magic dwells within. - 'Twere pity to impair those silken fabrics; - Though somewhat rent and smeared, still maids might find - Some trimmings. Your lives no doubt concern yourselves. - Who else would grieve? - - _Albert._ If we were lost or dead - Would majesty let fall a scalding tear? - The King has oft rebuked. This morning too - He led a wilful chase. Indeed our clothes - Can testify. Have we not cause for quarrel? - Upbraiding us forsooth because times change - And fashions too. Is he not Emperor? - Why prate of ancient days? of meek, out-worn, - Out-lived simplicity? Instead should we - Not rival Eastern Courts in luxury, - In pomp and ease? the trappings of success— - Success! and there's the jolt, has he not paved - Its way? whate'er his faults he must be found - And that right speedily. Will none suggest? - If we but had a charm of Baltic amber, - A phial of spittal, at least some pungent herbs. - There's Ernst, whose mind is stored with peasant-tales - Who tunes the old heroic sagas; who - Pretends a knowledge of those deities - That cradled our great race. Does he not know - Some runic sign, some spell, some heathen rite - To drown this vile uncertainty? If age - Has not undone thy wit, give us some nostrum, - Some countenance from out the crafty past. - - _Ernst._ My Lord, you sport with words, have you not said - Times change and fashions too? Has daily Mass, - The Palace School left you thus weaponless? - Must you, of this ninth century, turn back - To pagan thought to fight the power of ill? - O fie! fie! fie! a peasant must accoutre, - Must offer arms to noblemen? If help - There be, 'tis by that cross. Fall on your knees - In humble supplication, tell your beads, - Make Christian vows, invoke the Saints, wake Heaven - With moans and pleading sobs. But he, whose horse - Outstrips the rest, must foam its mouth and froth - Its flanks until good Father Hildebold - Be traced,—our Lord Archbishop. Say to him - That Ernst has sent—six years may be too late. - - [_Exit Audulf. The rest kneel round the cross._] - - - - - ACT V. - - - _Scene—The interior of a log hut. The walls are draped with rare skins - and decorated with horns and heads. The furniture is covered with - skins. There are interesting collections of curios, dried grasses - and ferns; and everywhere freshly gathered asters in horn mugs. The - whole presents a most artistic appearance. Emma sits on a couch - beside a cradle, crooning a slumber song to the infant in her arms. - Beside her sits Eginhardt, attaching feathers to his arrows. - Through the door, centre back, fruit trees are seen. Six years have - greatly changed Emma and Eginhardt. The latter has a long black - beard; both are tanned and seem stouter._ - - _Emma._ - - Little one, close fast thine eyes, - Thy guardian angel near thee flies; - Close thy rosebud-mouth, thine ears - To all want and needless fears. - - Little one, lie still and rest, - Mother holds thee at her breast, - Like a flower by lover plucked, - Kissed and in maid's kerchief tucked. - - Little one, thou'rt sweeter far - Than any petal-textured star, - Sweeter than a lover's gift; - Thou art joy that God hath whiffed. - - Little one, keep pure and true, - Let no taint thy heart bedew. - Mother's prayer is spent for thee, - Now and through eternity. - - Little one, if dreams should come, - Hurt, or aught that's troublesome, - Put thy trust in God above - As now thou lean'st on mother-love. - - Little one, thy cradle's here, - Mother stays and watches near. - Swansdown-pillowed, slumber long, - Mother ends her drowsy song. - - [_Emma gently rocks the cradle in which she has laid the - sleeping child._] - - _Emma._ O Eginhardt, he's fast asleep, nought will - Disturb. I never knew so good a child. - He's like his father, his dumpy nose upturned; - A smile that lingers through his sleep as though - His spirit babbled angel-talk. - - _Eginhardt._ Thou may'st - Revile my nose, in troth it doth admit - Plebeian birth; but what of that? when thou, - Who own'st the straightest nose in Christendom, - Art well content with it. As for my smile, - I must demur, has it not character, - When thou art cause? and yet thou liken'st it - To that which flushes this wee bit of soft Inanity. - - _Emma._ Away with thee, rude scoffer. - Nay, look again. Admire as we have done - These hundred times, the long, black silky lashes, - That fringe so restfully; a modish damsel - Would give her soul for such possession. Ay - 'Tis true the smile resembles thine, the same - Calm confidence, a hint of humour, yes, - A tryst with higher things that leaves me far - Behind. Now David's smile is like the King, - My Father's, a flash of wit or merriment - Or tender love, or pleased concern that fades - As graver thoughts come uppermost. 'Tis strange - Of late my Father's face has haunted me. - It bears a wistful look. Dost think he grieves - For us? - - _Eginhardt._ Six years should act as poppy balm, - Besides his Jove-like mind has such to grapple, - That private woes are soon reduced to pricks, - Scarce felt and then forgotten. If thou had'st kept - The magic ring—but that is long ago. - I see it now upon the frozen pond. - I could not sleep that night and so stole forth— - A walk might ease my pain. Unrealized - The hunting-lodge was reached and I had thrown - The ring. It glittered 'neath the moon, then I - Would have it back; but suddenly, a crack; - It disappeared, black water bubbled—my dream - Seemed over. - - _Emma._ To begin! dear Eginhardt! - If we, through magic, had secured the king's - Affection; courtly pomp, its undercurrents - Of jealousy and constant bickerings - Had swallowed us and what we hold most dear, - Our liberty and close companionship. - How free we are! how happy! this wondrous home - With nought superfluous to hamper; but just - Enough for daily needs—a little more - To please one's sense of beauty, and all has grown - With married life. There's not a skin that decks - Those walls; but 'tis the fruit of hardy chase, - No graceful antler, but thou hast bent the bow; - Each has its story. As for curios, - Have I not helped discover them? and David - Has rooted well. The mountain-dwarfs must scatter - Rarities to satisfy the lad, - To hear his piping notes of childish triumph, - His chubby hand tight-clutching some gay stone, - Or weathered fossil, spotted egg, or fern, - Or tufted grass for drying, or rusty lichen; - Each a worthwhile specimen. 'Tis strange - That blindfold avarice should grope in towns, - While forests are thus generous with gifts. - - _Eginhardt._ True, true, the forest is man's natural home, - And yet at times ambition stirs. Was I - Not once great Charles' youngest councillor? - Have I not planned his palaces? laid out - His gardens? supervised his public works? - The ever-famed basilica; have I - Not felt his love? He called me foster-son. - - [_He drops his head in his hands._] - - _Emma._ Weep not, dear Eginhardt, we are content. - - _Eginhardt._ Ay wife, we are content and happiness - Doth flood; still far beneath strange eddies surge, - Nay rather purl; but there they are—a vague - Uneasiness— - - _Emma._ Thou frighten'st me. - - _Eginhardt._ Then lay - Thy cheek 'gainst mine and smile, the mood has passed. - But let us talk of him whose towering genius - Projects such sparks that lesser minds are fired, - A galaxy illumes the sky, great deeds - Are done!—and we stay trifling here. The mood - I said had passed—and we are quite content. - But still we'll talk of him, our Charles, whose fame - Will ring throughout the centuries while we, - Dear Emma, are forgot or sunk to myth. - His age we've known, when fires are somewhat dimmed, - What must his ardent youth have been! surpassing - Hannibal, yea Caesar, in art of war; - Manoeuvering, until a tiny force, - Thrown here and there, has downed a mighty host. - Persistency through good, through evil fortune, - Till restive Europe feels the curb of peace, - Acknowledging its blessing. The Saxon idol - Has crumbled, the Arab-crescent stays its distance; - The Northman dares not venture. One man, one mind - Accomplishing so much! and now he seeks - To cleanse the Church, to make a roadway 'mid - The brambles of divergent laws, to wake - A nation's pride, reviving tales, rude songs - Of hero-ancestry. With pause, he would - Himself have ventured more than playful verse. - There is that vibrant hymn he wrote, asserting - The Holy Ghost comes from the Son as Father. - In truth he hath a poet's soul and that - Maybe explains! An autocrat and yet - The servant of his people; fathoming - Their needs, to satisfy or wisely guide. - - _Emma._ Some say he hath worked miracles, thou know'st - The story of the flowers. - - _Eginhardt._ Ay, but let - It fall again from thy sweet lips. - - _Emma._ The King, - My Father, had shamed the Saracen; but O - At what a cost! Archbishop Turpin, brave Roland, - And many another paladin returned - No more. O war, it is a ghastly thing! - The victor suffers as the vanquished, though pride - May not acknowledge it. Our hardy troops, - Who struggled past the Pyrenees, brought plague, - That Southern ill. It spread through Rhenish towns, - Death stalked from house to house, all nostrums failed. - The learned Doctors could but shake their heads, - Fear seized each heart—and then man turned to God. - He fasted, prayed and promised. The King, my Father, - Nor slept, nor eat, imploring constantly, - Until celestial voices spoke: "The Lord - Hath heard thy prayer. The meadow holds reply; - Ride forth, His name upon thy lips, then string - Thy bow and upward shoot." The King arose, - Nor felt the chilling dawn, a silent figure, - Upon his great black charger, he passed the gate; - His lips were mumbling prayer and so he went. - The open reached, they say, a wondrous light - Passed o'er his face as looking heavenward, - He sprung the bow. High winged the shaft as though - To pierce the firmament, then wavering fell, - And lo its blunted end had crushed the stem - Of that small golden flower, whose thistle-bloom - Has since been called "carlina," bearing thus - The King, my Father's name to blazon through - The centuries how God lent heed to prayer. - The arrow-head was damped with juice, so found - The remedy. Again was laughter heard, - As eager children gathered plants; a flush - Returned to pallid cheeks, the light of hope - To sunken eyes. And so the plague was stayed - And death slunk off disconsolate.—But where's - Our David? and this his special tale, why at - This point he likes to thrust his wooden sword - As though to stab a threatening foe. Ay youth - Can combat death; but what of age? - - _Eginhardt._ Talk'st thou - Of age? whose cheeks are soft and round. I will - Admit thou hast enough of woman's wisdom - To delve some crisscross lines or tiny crows-feet. - But none I see, not one wee crease and that - Reflects some credit on thy husband's care; - Six years! and lovers still! was ever known - Such foolish pair. [_He kisses her._] - - _Emma._ Was ever? Eginhardt. - But not of self I thought, a father's face! - That may have deeper lines because of us. - Ah, 'tis ever so, that face obtrudes— - But where has David gone? I now remember, - He asked to gather acorns—and oaks are near - The zigzag path that leads—that leads beyond - The realms of happiness, O let us search - And quickly, if harm should come— - - _David._ [_Without._] Ting, tang! - - _Emma._ His voice, - Thank God, his clear shrill treble. - - [_Enter David._] - - O David, thou - Hast frightened me! - - _David._ [_Twirling the sword._] That's nought but play-pretence; - But now thy hair shall stand on end, see what - I brandish here. - - _Emma._ My son, pray heed, take care! - A real sword! and one of consequence? - It is, it is— - - _David._ A giant's sword! O Mother! - Thy son's a dauntless hero, as those thou sing'st - About. - - _Eginhardt._ A naughty vagabond, more like, - Where hast thou been? Give me the sword. - - _David._ [_Handing the sword to Emma._] Nay, nay! - 'Tis mother's; but I've outrun the prisoner, - An honest giant, although he killed our stag. - Hi there! Goliath! - - [_Enter Charles, who stoops to pass the - doorway. He does not recognize his hosts._] - - See Mother the captive I - Have taken. Now proudly smile and call me hero. - - _Charles._ This door was never built for captive giants - But gladly I'll acknowledge, dame, thou hast - A stalwart hero! a splendid boy! - - _David._ [_Clapping his hands and dancing round._] There! there! - I said as much, a hero! a hero! a hero! - - _Emma._ - - [_Who, with Eginhardt, recognizes Charles, laying - her hand on her heart as though to still its throbbings._] - - Quiet boy! let others sing thy praise. - I welcome you, my Lord, your face, this weapon - Proclaim nobility; we are unused - To strangers here. Forgive a trembling voice. - - _Charles._ [_Looking round._] But not a peasant's voice, I swear, and - this - No peasant's hovel: such skins, so well arranged, - Such forest wealth would grace our hunting lodge. - I've never seen a room so strangely decked, - Nor one that suits me better. If magic's here, - Then let it be, I'm well content. - - [_He sits by the central table._] - - _David._ Without - Thy sword, Goliath? - - _Charles._ [_Receiving his sword._] Ay, without my sword, - And yet I'd handle it. Joyeuse! thy title - Becomes thee well to-day. Dear blade; a sweet - Adventure has wiped thee clean. Thy name is freed - From irony. Joyeuse! Joyeuse! Joyeuse— - A happy languor steals. - - _David._ O Mother, Goliath - Seems quite at home. His head is nodding sleep; - 'Tis well I did not sever it. A tame, - Old giant for playmate, how the boys in tales - Would envy me! We'll feed and treat him well. - O Mother! Father! say that I may keep - My prisoner. - - _Emma._ Indeed my son thou mayst. - If there be strength in human love, 'twill hold - Him close. [_David jumps delight._] But softly boy, thou must be more - Polite, more circumspect. O Eginhardt! - He looks so peaceful. Think you that mood will change, - That passion will distort his brow when he - Discovers? - - _Eginhardt._ He has not realized and yet - Has felt thy soothing presence. O 'twould be - Impossible to meet thy tender gaze - And then to break from it. Ay love will hold - Him here; but let the truth come leaking out, - Lest joy disturb his age. - - _Emma._ Thou hast more hope - Than I, who am his daughter. - - _David._ The giant's daughter? - - _Eginhardt._ Hush David, help bring the dishes, not one word - Until I give consent. [_Addressing Emma._] Hast thou prepared - The venison? - - _Emma._ The way he likes it, ay, - Well seasoned, with relish and proper garnishings - That blend with forest wine. I've but to serve. - - _Eginhardt._ Then haste thee, Wife, while I make search within - This precious book, "God's City," to find the place - Left off six years ago, when last I read - At meal-time. Ah, 'tis here; a tiny mark - Bears witness, blurred with tears, with frequent handling. - - [_While Emma places the venison on the table, David, - who has his eyes on Charles, drops a dish, waking the - latter._] - - _Charles._ By all the Saints, a feast! the table set - As at the palace e'en though wood and horn - Replace our silver ware. And venison - That smells like roasted meat, not boiled to shreds - As my dull doctors have prescribed. I smell - An old time flavour. Surely, Dame, thou hast - Not been at court? - - _Emma._ My Lord, some years ago - I served as kitchen-wench. The Princess Emma— - - _Charles._ Talk not of her—unless thou knowest aught. - - _Emma._ My Lord, you come from court; why question then - My ignorance? But see the venison - Awaits, we wish a kind report; we trust - Our cheer will strengthen you. - - _Charles._ Then sit ye here - And eat. Consider me a humble guest. - My lad, canst thou say grace? - - _David._ Indeed, Sir Giant, - A Latin Ave too. - - [_He mumbles an Ave Maria while all cross - themselves and sit down. Emma carves the venison, - Eginhardt opens his book. Charles stares wonderingly - round._] - - _Charles._ Such culture so far removed from influence, - In this unknown retreat is surely most - Uncommon, an element of mystery - That suits me well. I feel a living part - Of it—untrammelled, so much at home. Good people! - Ye practise kindly spells, weave on! weave on! - Nor let me wake. - - _Eginhardt._ Then taste our venison, - My Lord. [_Addressing Emma._] A goodly helping! whilst I do read - A passage as our custom—once— - - [_He reads from Chapter XII. of the Nineteenth Book of - "The City of God."_] - - "For joy and peace are desired alike of all men. The - warrior would but conquer: war's aim is nothing but a glorious peace; - what is victory but a suppression of resistants, which being done, - peace follows? So that peace is war's purpose, the scope of all - military discipline, and the limit at which all just contentions level. - All men seek peace by war, but none seek war by peace. For they that - perturb the peace they live in, do it not for hate of it, but to show - their power in alteration of it. They would not disannul it; but they - would have it as they like;"— - - _Charles._ "As they like;"—and so they suffer! but that - Is past. O Eginhardt, 'tis thee! thy voice! - Thy gesture! and Emma, my daughter Emma, I know - Thee now. Come let me feel, make certain, my dear, - Dear child, ay, ay; 'tis not a dream. O God - Is good to my old age. My pet, lean here. - These arms have ached for thee. O dearest one, - Why hast thou been so cruel? nor understood - A father's love, when time elapsed, would conquer - A moment's ire.—To hide from me, it was - Not kind, not Emma-like. My child! my child— - - _Emma._ Then Father thou dost love me still? but what - Of him who kneels imploringly, yet not - Repenting, for am I not his wife? - - _Charles._ If I - Have missed him once, 'twas every day, for six - Long years and is there more to say? The earth - Was combed for him and thee, our agents sent - To foreign courts, to seats of learning; alway - A "no" came back that pierced my heart with stabs - Of pain! 'Tis easier to face the slaps - Of life when punishment is undeserved; - When one can say at least: "'twas not my fault;" - But O the lingering torture, when one's own act - Has brought fell consequence. If only one - Could backwards turn, how different! Emma! - Eginhardt! help kill the memory - Of those six years, make glad the few that stretch - Before me. Ah my children! dear children! dear children! - - _David._ Goliath! hast thou forgotten me? - - _Charles._ Nay, nay - Brave lad. [_The baby cries._] but hark! a cry. - - _Emma._ [_Takes the baby from the cradle._] Our youngest son - Awakes, bids welcome, completes our happy group. - - _Charles._ 'Twould test an artist's brush to paint such bliss; - But let me look, a healthy child, well-formed, - Most promising; but not a David! I - Have never seen a finer lad, a braver! - Pray God, court life will keep him so, and that - Reminds there is a court and etiquette - And problems, eternal problems! well, so be! - If duty weighs, good Eginhardt, we'll lean - On younger arms; so take my horn and blow - A lusty blast, we have the heart to work; - And God will aid. - - [_Eginhardt blows the horn, while Charles turns to his - venison and Emma quiets the baby. An answering call - comes faint, then louder._] - - _Eginhardt._ Run David, run, and point - The way. [_Exit David._] I'll go a step to greet old friends, - Prepare their minds. - - [_Exit._] - - _Emma._ [_Laying the baby in his cradle._] Hush, hush— - - [_She pours some wine for Charles._] - - _Charles._ [_Drinking._] Thy health, dear Emma. - - _Emma._ [_Pointing to the holy silk that drapes an altar._] - Perhaps this holy silk has helped with thought - Beyond our daily round. See Father, I - Have guarded it—no harm has come to us - In this old pagan grove. - - _Charles._ Nor will it come, - While simple faith dwells here. I tell thee, Emma, - We'll build a castle round this shrine-like home, - Protecting it and all that love has reared - Within and here, at times, we'll seek respite. - - _Emma._ And laughter too! O Father, those first few nights. - How silently we stole without and emptied - The charcoal-burner's deserted hut; the jewel - We left reward enough for paltry stuff— - The wedding dower of Princess Emma—but hark! - - [_After a pause enter Hildebold, Eginhardt, David, - Albert, Ernst and Courtiers._] - - _Charles._ What Hildebold! our dear disheveled court, - And old man Ernst and none afraid to venture! - My Lord Archbishop, the Church has proved its strength - To lead through lanes of mystery and soon - My children here will ask its further blessing. - But later, when we are more composed and now - A hunting song to make all seem more real. - - _Courtiers._ - - Ya ho! ya ho! let Frankland ring - With daring deeds, with battles won; - Great Lords submit to Charles, our King, - As stars that fear the rising sun. - - Ya ho! ya ho! for Victory! - Now Frankland's voice is heard afar, - It trumpets peace o'er land and sea, - The War God lists and stays his car. - - Ya ho! ya ho! for huntsman's horn - Awakes once more the forest glade, - With mirth and joy that put to scorn - The battle scar, the murky blade. - - Ya ho! ya ho! the quarry's traced, - Six years of search have ended now, - The fairest doe that ere was chased, - To her we make a lowly bow. - - [_The courtiers all make obeisance to Emma._] - - _Emma._ And I do thank you, friends; my husband, - The King permitting, will speak for me. - - _Charles._ Nay I - Myself will speak. Good people, listen all, - I oft have chided, seeking the City of God - On earth, an Empire as St. Augustine - Once visioned—I have failed—but in this home, - I clearly see the germ. - - - - - THE TALL PALMETTO - and - OTHER POEMS - - - - - THE TALL PALMETTO - - - The dense live-oaks were swept with wrath, - The rubber trees swung roots in mire, - A fine-leafed cedar tittered spite, - Magnolias were flushed with ire. - - Alone within the garden pale - A tall palmetto gently swayed, - Serenely straight its feathered head - Above all else had skywards strayed, - - To catch the first, faint blush of dawn, - To linger long with sunset's glow, - To trace the moon's illusive course - From orange disc to silvery bow. - - So strove the palm and was content - To glimpse at times a furtive clue, - To pierce the haze of mystery, - Emerging thence with leaflet new. - - And as the leaf, fanlike, unfurled, - Its green was showered with radiance, - Eternal truth had shed fresh light, - Another phaze! another glance. - - And so the palm in stature grew, - In lofty thought and vision wide, - Unmindful of a carping world, - Outdistancing the trees beside. - - Nor hearkened to their small-leafed tones, - The rustling of close-quartered boughs, - Nor dreamt of murky depths beneath - Whose dark no errant sunbeam ploughs. - - An ancient oak, misshapen, knarled, - Whose prideful age man's care had crutched, - Whose groaning branches bent toward earth - Until the barren soil was touched, - - Spoke low with mirthless muttering: - "A scrub palmetto! cabbage palm! - A worthless sprout but yesterday - Disdaining us with saucy calm!" - - The rubber tree now sputtered back - While dropping rootlets scratched the dirt: - "The palm makes bold to grasp the clouds, - With gauzy forms it seeks to flirt." - - The rounded cedar, clipped and dwarfed, - Agreed with snickers scarce-repressed: - "A slender form might tempt the clouds, - But never earthlings verdure dressed." - - The richly decked magnolias, - Who boasted cultured lineage - And garden-birth in foreign climes, - Made inward flutterings of rage. - - A country yokel! cabbage palm! - To air itself in heaven's blue! - So far above their august heads, - What was this new world coming to? - - The slim palmetto gave no sign - And yet at last these murmurings - Had forced attention, drawn its thoughts - From godly height to baser things. - - It sought the reason, paused awhile; - Though skies had greyed there pearled some light; - Then flashed the truth, itself could see; - Those other trees had vision slight. - - And then the palm began to talk - And told of dawn and afterglow. - How skies touched earth with brilliancy, - It traced the seven-coloured bow. - - It spoke of rifts in frothy clouds, - Of silent lakes illumed with stars, - Of earth-mirage in misty air, - Of spirit force that light unbars. - - The trees were still and hearkened now; - But shallow cups hold little draught - And soon the weary listeners tired, - Some curled their leaves, while others laughed. - - Then beauty spilled and fell to earth - Where tiny flowers sucked up the drops. - No single thought had gone awaste, - From some there came rich harvest crops. - - Long afterward, when death had chilled, - A fallen log lay swathed in vine, - Whence sword-like cacti pushed their blades - And orchids peered 'mid tufted pine. - - Such beauteous decay still blessed - As once the wishful, dreamy palm - And trees, that erst reviled, made boast - That they had heard its twilight psalm. - - And little flowers that humbly trail, - Content to star unseen, unsought, - 'Neath grass to spread their milky-way, - Remember what the palm once taught. - -Florida, - January, 1922. - - - - - CHARLESTON. - - - I. - - An ancient house, thrice tiered its galleries - And sideways placed, its gardens tucked behind - High walls and iron gates, with taste designed, - Whence peeps are caught of palms and mossy trees; - The passion-flamed poinsettia at ease - With quiet pansy bloom, and jonquils lined - In stiff array, and rose that holds enshrined - Man's love, and English ivy trailing these. - - Within the stately home such tales unfold - As flowers and weathered brick have writ without: - Adventure, proud success, war's agony, - And now the gentle calm that cloaks the old, - That stills the heart and gives a sense devout; - So, Charleston, thou reveal'st thyself to me. - - II. - - I've wandered much through Charleston's cobbled streets - And found each corner's turn a fresh delight; - Old churches, with their memories, invite, - Their yards, grave-strewn, suggestive, calm retreats. - A court, with one-time slave annex, completes - The tale of life gone by, while gardens bright - Make known a Southern town; whose homes unite - This land with charm of English country seats. - - Gay cavaliers imprint their rank and mirth - And courage proven well; sad [1]Huguenots - Bequeath the virtue tried by terror's reign; - And Charleston folk are proud to trace their birth, - When forefathers such gracious gifts bestow; - Through changing times the days long past remain. - - III. - - Now hark! those slow-drawled cries: "Fine chucks, pecans!" - "Crabs, crabs!—live crabs!" then, "Cabage, cabagees!" - "Yes ma-am! raw shrimps, yes ma-am." Still further pleas: - "Sweet potats. I-rish´ potats!" "Banans." - And so each passing vendor stays and scans - Some friendly gate, whose ancient hinges wheeze; - There's soft-voiced bargaining 'neath spiky trees; - The turbaned cook and tempter—Africans. - - Africans! nay, nay, Americans! - Their comeliness well suits this smiling clime; - Unwilling captives once, now citizens, - Whose hearts hold scarce a trace of savage clans; - If childlike still, so be! the hand of time - Is stretched past legacies to shape and cleanse. - -Footnote 1: - - _Pronounced as in French._ - - - - - LAKE GEORGE. - - - Where cedars taper, there's a lake beyond; - Once visioned from the hill, it beckons me; - Soft-hazed with heat's grey, slumbrous canopy, - Or bright with glittering dust of diamond, - Or calmed when waning day wafts glances fond, - Or freighted with the moon's pale poesy, - Or blown till sobbing wavelets plash the lea, - Or sunk in starless night like fabled pond. - - Whate'er thy mood, O dream-kissed, mountain lake; - It lingers still, my inmost self replies; - But where's the song that plumbs the depth of thought? - The lyre has lost its strings, the words forsake. - What Art's so high; but Nature far outvies? - In silent wonderment, God's voice is caught. - - - - - THE EVENING STAR. - - - Beneath a weight of glistening snow each bough was bent, - Ice-glued the crystal cushions took strange form, - Like ghosts of prehistoric ferns whose palour blent - With earth and sky—the aftermath of storm. - - The splattering rain had stayed its noisy, windblown course - And now the padding flakes had ceased to come. - A silent world that stilled all passion and remorse, - Heart-throbbings, grief, thoughts dull and burthensome. - - And in the shanty's warmth a child lay stretched at rest, - As delicate as winter tracery. - A mother's eyes sought hers in anxious, tender quest, - Then turned with prayerful light toward western sky, - - As though to wrest the secret of the universe - From silver drapery and peeps beyond, - As though one added effort would avail to pierce - The cloaking space, that something must respond. - - A something e'en more wonderful than branchlets sprayed - In weird fantastic tire 'gainst heaven's deep; - And lo the mystic blush of evening gently rayed, - Wee cloudlets strayed from mist like flocks of sheep. - - A wind! or was't a cry? The infant gasped for breath. - Belike soft bleating lambs had wakened her, - Belike the new-born soul was lured toward lanes of death, - The rosy flush had held a messenger. - - Ah woe that Mother's heart as close she pressed her child; - Poor quivering nameless thing and O so frail - To penetrate that void—her thoughts grew fierce and wild. - An infant unbaptised, what fears assail? - - An erie wind had risen; hark its shrilling cry I - A flickering candle loosed deep shadows round - That emphasized despair and cruel misery; - The night had come, a sullen night that frowned. - - And nought remained but burning love for help was far, - Nor remedies; and grief had surged and ebbed. - Again the Mother sought the sky and lo a star - Had forced the clouds; it peered through boughs close-webbed. - - A bright and steadfast star that shot its friendly rays. - "O Evening Star," the woman softly sobbed, - "Be sponsor, shed celestial light through trackless haze." - Asudden within her heart the answer throbbed, - - Or winds had drifted: "Innocence." She hearkened, yes - "Innocence," the Star had sanctioned it: - Her baby's name! Upon its brow with fond caress - And moistened touch the crossing sign was writ. - - And Innocence looked up and smiled and caught the light - That streamed from Evening Star and breathed a sigh - That held content; a faint, sweet sigh that put to flight - A mother's fear, that hushed anxiety. - - And so the Babe was named and Innocence still cheered - The lonely hut. A father heard the tale; - How Evening Star had given aid as he had steered - Through her his homeward course, obscured by gale. - - And oft at sunset hour the parents sat and watched - Receding day with grave expectancy, - At times through lattice work of branches gaunt and notched, - At times through leafy boughs that swathed the sky. - - And when the rosy prelude, orchestra of tint, - Had dimmed; with deep, upwelling thought that strives - And gladsome awe, they faced the Evening Star; whose print - Was on their baby's brow, had marked their lives. - - Then Innocence would laugh and stretch her hands and prayer - Half-breathed would rise that happiness remain. - The Evening Star flung beams of trust and through the air - Oft "Innocence" was voiced by winds again. - - And Innocence grew tall as passed the years; but frail - At times she seemed, still more when strangers neared. - Ah then she'd seek some ferny haunt, 'mid flowerlets pale - She'd cower, nor knew what dreaded ill she feared. - - A lily-maid in homespun garb of softest white, - Her winter coat of silky rabbit skin - Or ermine brought by Indian guide. Her cheeks as white - Unless the flush to evening skies akin. - - And so time passed, the nearby settlement became - A village, then a boastful town and road - And searching railway broke the still and helped defame - Sequestered charm that God, through Grace, bestowed. - - And Innocence would shrink from noise and close her eyes - When drifting smoke showed progress near, like plant - That's sensitive, that shrivels from man's touch and lies - So piteous with tremulous leaves aslant. - - Too weak for woodland stroll, a hammock-couch was strung - 'Neath lofty pines and there the young girl lay - And watched a robin's second brood, or chipmunk swung - On sapling bent, or butterflies at play. - - One heavy night she stayed without, till Evening Star - Had blown a kiss, then dipped beneath some clouds. - A silence crept, scarce broke by owlet's hoot afar, - While mists arose like ghosts in flaunting shrouds. - - A rustling sound! but Innocence had dropped asleep; - Within her hand a dangling lily stem, - Whose cool, white bud unfolded tales that willows weep - Where broad green leaves and starry petals gem, - - Where waters pause from maddened rush to catch the calm - That slips through foliage, to rest awhile - In reedy bays as man fatigued might search for calm - 'Neath roofing church, immunity from guile. - - A rustling sound, a stealthy tread, some broken twigs, - And Guilt peeped low through scrubby briar growth, - Then pushed his ruthless way, nor cared that tender sprigs - Refused to bloom, once heard his muttered oath. - - He plucked a burr that pulled his coat askew, then brushed - Aside some pollen dust, some larva-thread; - His outward garb so sleek and glossed, with step that hushed - He fast approached—above dark clouds had spread; - - But through the gloom, the lily bud was visible, - The pallid curve of maiden's cheek; one stride, - He stood befogged, a something stayed against his will. - A something childlike, Godlike that defied. - - For Innocence had wakened now and unabashed, - Unharmed she gazed at Guilt and pity lay - Within her eyes, a pity blent with pain that lashed, - Till Guilt one blinding moment felt its play. - - He sank to earth beseeching what? He scarcely knew. - Respite? was pardon past? He felt a touch - As light as though from highest Heaven a Seraph blew - A kiss that floated downwards bringing much. - - And on his heart he pressed the flower that Innocence - Had proferred him, the lily bud that erst - Had lain on waters cool and clear. It brought from thence - Some mirrored truth that Nature's self had nursed. - - But Innocence had breathed her last, one gasp, 'twas all, - While Guilt affright, scarce pausing, fled; once more - The Evening Star shone forth, winds sobbed a lingering call, - The parents listened—useless to implore. - - The grave awoke with crimson flowers; new birth attained, - The Evening Star had guided faithfully; - For ever since no grovelling soul has been so stained - But moments come that give some chance to free. - - 'Twas long ago, in our old Province of Quebec, - This tale at evenfall was whispered me. - One spoke—and was that one alive? or but a speck - Of spirit-world, of God's Eternity? - - THE END. - - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical - errors. - 2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - 4. 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