_Dia._ [_Taking wreath from her hair_] Our flowers are far from morning.

See, these buds Are pale as they had never known the dew.

But I know where some fleecy cl.u.s.ters blow And daintily edge the stream. Like tiny birds, Green-necked and lily-winged, they are alight A hundred to a stem. I'll have a wreath Of them.

_Myr._ And I. These sad things are less bright Than locks they should adorn.

_Art._ New garlands, all!

Where grow these favors? Dianessa, lead!

[_They go off, rear left. Pyrrha waits a meditative moment, then turns to follow. A bough brushes her cheek. She puts up her hand and plucks a bunch of berries from it_]

_Pyrr._ 'Tis like his ruby. Nature loved them both With the same kiss,--the berry and the stone.

[_Fastens cl.u.s.ter to her bosom_]

"Heaven should have its sun." This sun will fade, But that I threw away had ne'er lost hue So near my heart, giving and taking fire.

[_Something thrown from the bushes falls at her feet. She gazes at it, not taking it up_]

Ah! Biades' jewel! Who.... [_Looks about guardedly_]

[_Biades comes from the woods. He is dressed as a Helot in a scant tunic of goat-skin, and wears a large cap_]

_Pyrr._ Whose slave are you, Bold Helot?

_Bia._ [_Kneeling_] Thine! [_Takes off cap, revealing his quant.i.ty of dark curls_]

_Pyrr._ Are you in love with death, That you have come to Sparta?

_Bia._ Nay, I come A banished man.

_Pyrr._ I've heard how you were plucked.

_Bia._ No feather left.

_Pyrr._ Life, sir, is yours, and you Cast it away in Lacedaemon.

_Bia._ Nay,--

_Pyrr._ You whose dark outrage made her honor bleed, Think on her burning wound to set the foot Of impudence and live?

_Bia._ I know the Spartans.

They will exalt my courage above death.

_Pyrr._ Courage that reckons so bates its own worth Till a coward might disport it. You will meet Death's mercy but no other.

_Bia._ No, the virtue Dearest in them they'll hold dear in myself.

But if not so,--blow out your candle, Fate, I'll go to bed.

_Pyrr._ Why not have fled to Persia?

She's softer mannered,--has no aching pride Your death would poultice.

_Bia._ Pyrrha lives in Sparta.

Howe'er I set my feet, love turned them here.

Which way I bent some tinged thought of thee Crept as a secret sun to every sense And made the hidden threads of being blush Like coral boughs when Aphrodite's foot Is on the wave.

_Pyrr._ Athenian, what canst hope From Stesilaus' daughter?

_Bia._ I ask naught.

But had a gem of hers that hourly cried To clasp its mistress, and to bring it thus, With Death a looker-on, I thought might make The peasant service shine so sovranly That even her royal and offended eyes Might gently entertain it.

_Pyrr._ Deck the bark Of yon s.h.a.g ilex and 'twill wear your trinket With the same grace and thanks.

_Bia._ Thy grace is hers Who walked unrobed from hands of the high G.o.ds Grown jealous of the beauty they had made.

Not this, nor any jewel may adorn it, Though swartest pebbles might grow ruby proud, And rubies throb with breath to be so worn.

And for thy thanks, I have not come this way To ask for them. Keep them for one so poor He lets his heart for hire.

[_Puts locket slowly under his tunic_]

And yet my ears Fed on a sigh when I was hidden there.

_Pyrr._ Who is so strong as never to have sighed?

That secret moment was my weakest too.

I'm now a Spartan, and my father's name Is Stesilaus. You may know it, sir, Who wert of Athens, but whose country now Is so much ground as you may beg of foes, And that, Zeus help, they'll measure without grudge.

You're not so tall your grave would scant a field, Or make a garden less.

[_Sounds of approach across bridge, lower right_]

_Bia._ Does Fate come noisy-footed?

I thought she crept, and loved the jungle-leap.

_Pyrr._ Hide, sir! I'll be as secret as these shrubs, And not reveal you sooner. With the night You may steal out of Sparta.

_Bia._ I'll go out winged With Spartan ships, and honor as a bride Shall sail with me!

_Pyrr._ Are you so mad? Then die!

[_Enter ephors and senators, all old men, followed by warriors, then youths, wives, maidens, children, and attendant slaves. Biades draws his cap down and lies slouching on the gra.s.s. The ephors and senators take seats which the Helots have prepared for them_]

_First Ephor._ What! Must we wait? Where are these merry slips?

_First Senator._ The woods are dancing yonder. By that sign They come.

[_Re-enter Dianessa, Myrta, and companions, who dance before the a.s.sembly, the figure symbolizing the capture of Persephone.

They continue dancing, the youths joining, until every maid has won a partner._]

_Ste._ [_To Archippe_] Our Pyrrha does not dance. Why's that?

_Arc._ No why at all. I'll rate her. Sulky chuff!

_Ste._ Ay, you'll be on her heels!

_Arc._ The younger maids Are chosen. She'll be left. There's Hieron With eyes like begging moons which way she goes, But she draws off,--

_Ste._ Well, well! She'll please herself.