--O Son, is it sleep that upon thee is fallen?

Not death, O my dear one!--speak yet but a little!

KING PHARAMOND (_raising himself again_)

O be glad, foster-father! and those troubles past over,-- Be thou thereby when once more I remember And sit with my maiden and tell her the story, And we pity our past selves as a poet may pity The poor folk he tells of amid plentiful weeping.

Hush now! as faint noise of bells over water A sweet sound floats towards me, and blesses my slumber: If I wake never more I shall dream and shall see her. [_Sleeps._

MASTER OLIVER

Is it swooning or sleeping? in what wise shall he waken?

--Nay, no sound I hear save the forest wind wailing.

Who shall help us to-day save our yoke-fellow Death?

Yet fain would I die mid the sun and the flowers; For a tomb seems this yew-wood ere yet we are dead.

And its wailing wind chilleth my yearning for time past, And my love groweth cold in this dusk of the daytime.

What will be? is worse than death drawing anear us?

Flit past, dreary day! come, night-tide and resting!

Come, to-morrow's uprising with light and new tidings!

--Lo, Lord, I have borne all with no bright love before me; Wilt thou break all I had and then give me no blessing?

THE MUSIC

_LOVE IS ENOUGH: through the trouble and tangle From yesterdays dawning to yesterday's night I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle, Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.

O great was my joy, though no rest was around me, Though mid wastes of the world were we twain all alone, For methought that I conquered and he knelt and he crowned me, And the driving rain ceased, and the wind ceased to moan, And through clefts of the clouds her planet outshone.

O through clefts of the clouds 'gan the world to awaken, And the bitter wind piped, and down drifted the rain, And I was alone--and yet not forsaken, For the gra.s.s was untrodden except by my pain: With a Shadow of the Night had I wrestled in vain.

And the Shadow of the Night and not Love was departed; I was sore, I was weary, yet Love lived to seek; So I scaled the dark mountains, and wandered sad-hearted Over wearier wastes, where e'en sunlight was bleak, With no rest of the night for my soul waxen weak._

_With no rest of the night; for I waked mid a story Of a land wherein Love is the light and the lord, Where my tale shall be heard, and my wounds gain a glory, And my tears be a treasure to add to the h.o.a.rd Of pleasure laid up for his people's reward.

Ah, pleasure laid up! haste thou onward and listen, For the wind of the waste has no music like this, And not thus do the rocks of the wilderness glisten: With the host of his faithful through sorrow and bliss My Lord goeth forth now, and knows me for his._

_Enter before the curtain LOVE, with a cup of bitter drink and his hands b.l.o.o.d.y_.

LOVE

O Pharamond, I knew thee brave and strong, And yet how might'st thou live to bear this wrong?

--A wandering-tide of three long bitter years, Solaced at whiles by languor of soft tears, By dreams self-wrought of night and sleep and sorrow, Holpen by hope of tears to be to-morrow: Yet all, alas, but wavering memories; No vision of her hands, her lips, her eyes, Has blessed him since he seemed to see her weep, No wandering feet of hers beset his sleep.

Woe's me then! am I cruel, or am I grown The scourge of Fate, lest men forget to moan?

What!--is there blood upon these hands of mine?

Is venomed anguish mingled with my wine?

--Blood there may be, and venom in the cup; But see, Beloved, how the tears well up From my grieved heart my blinded eyes to grieve, And in the kindness of old days believe!

So after all then we must weep to-day-- --We, who behold at ending of the way, These lovers tread a bower they may not miss Whose door my servant keepeth, Earthly Bliss: There in a little while shall they abide, Nor each from each their wounds of wandering hide, But kiss them, each on each, and find it sweet, That wounded so the world they may not meet.

--Ah, truly mine! since this your tears may move, The very sweetness of rewarded love!

Ah, truly mine, that tremble as ye hear The speech of loving lips grown close and dear; --Lest other sounds from other doors ye hearken, Doors that the wings of Earthly Anguish darken.

_Scene: On a Highway in a Valley near the last, with a Mist over all things._

_KING PHARAMOND, MASTER OLIVER_.

KING PHARAMOND

Hold a while, Oliver! my limbs are grown weaker Than when in the wood I first rose to my feet.

There was hope in my heart then, and now nought but sickness; There was sight in my eyes then, and now nought but blindness.

Good art thou, hope, while the life yet tormenteth, But a better help now have I gained than thy goading.

Farewell, O life, wherein once I was merry!

O dream of the world, I depart now, and leave thee A little tale added to thy long-drawn-out story.

Cruel wert thou, O Love, yet have thou and I conquered.

--Come nearer, O fosterer, come nearer and kiss me, Bid farewell to thy fosterling while the life yet is in me, For this farewell to thee is my last word meseemeth.

[_He lies down and sleeps_.

MASTER OLIVER

O my king, O my son! Ah, woe's me for my kindness, For the day when thou drew'st me and I let thee be drawn Into toils I knew deadly, into death thou desiredst!

And woe's me that I die not! for my body made hardy By the battles of old days to bear every anguish!

--Speak a word and forgive me, for who knows how long yet Are the days of my life, and the hours of my loathing!

He speaks not, he moves not; yet he draweth breath softly: I have seen men a-dying, and not thus did the end come.

Surely G.o.d who made all forgets not love's rewarding, Forgets not the faithful, the guileless who fear not.

Oh, might there be help yet, and some new life's beginning!

--Lo, lighter the mist grows: there come sounds through its dulness, The lowing of kine, or the whoop of a shepherd, The bell-wether's tinkle, or clatter of horse-hoofs.

A homestead is nigh us: I will fare down the highway And seek for some helping: folk said simple people Abode in this valley, and these may avail us-- If aught it avail us to live for a little.

--Yea, give it us, G.o.d!--all the fame and the glory We fought for and gained once; the life of well-doing, Fair deed thrusting on deed, and no day forgotten; And due worship of folk that his great heart had holpen;-- All I prayed for him once now no longer I pray for.

Let it all pa.s.s away as my warm breath now pa.s.seth In the chill of the morning mist wherewith thou hidest Fair vale and grey mountain of the land we are come to!

Let it all pa.s.s away! but some peace and some pleasure I pray for him yet, and that I may behold it.

A prayer little and lowly,--and we in the old time When the world lay before us, were we hard to the lowly?

Thou know'st we were kind, howso hard to be beaten; Wilt thou help us this last time? or what hast thou hidden We know not, we name not, some crown for our striving?

--O body and soul of my son, may G.o.d keep thee!

For, as lone as thou liest in a land that we see not When the world loseth thee, what is left for its losing?

[_Exit_ OLIVER.

THE MUSIC