Part 30 (1/2)

Oh, earth! pleasant earth! have we hanker'd To gather thy flowers and thy fruits?

The roses are wither'd, and canker'd The lilies, and barren the roots Of the fig-tree, the vine, the wild olive, Sharp thorns and sad thistles that yield Fierce harvest--so WE live, and SO live The peris.h.i.+ng beasts of the field.

And withal we are conscious of evil And good--of the spirit and the clod, Of the power in our hearts of a devil, Of the power in our souls of a G.o.d, Whose commandments are graven in no cypher, But clear as His sun--from our youth One at least we have cherished--”An eye for An eye, and a tooth for a tooth.”

Oh, man! of thy Maker the image; To pa.s.sion, to pride, or to wealth, Sworn bondsman, from dull youth to dim age, Thy portion the fire or the filth, Dross seeking, dead pleasure's death rattle Thy memories' happiest song, And thy highest hope--scarce a drawn battle With dark desperation. How long?

Roar louder! leap higher! ye surf-beds, And sprinkle your foam on the furze; Bring the dreams that brought sleep to our turf-beds, To camps of our long ago years, With the flas.h.i.+ng and sparkling of broadswords, With the tossing of banners and spears, With the trampling of hard hoofs on hard swards, With the mingling of trumpets and cheers.

The gale has gone down; yet outlasting The gale, raging waves of the sea, Casting up their own foam, ever casting Their leprosy up with wild glee, Still storm; so in rashness and rudeness Man storms through the days of his grace; Yet man cannot fathom G.o.d's goodness, Exceeding G.o.d's infinite s.p.a.ce.

And coldly and calmly and purely Grey rock and green hillock lie white In star-s.h.i.+ne dream-laden--so surely Night cometh--so cometh the night When we, too, at peace with our neighbour, May sleep where G.o.d's hillocks are piled, Thanking HIM for a rest from day's labour, And a sleep like the sleep of a child!

SCENE--The Castle in Normandy.

THORA working at embroidery, ELSPETH spinning.

Thora (sings): We severed in autumn early, Ere the earth was torn by the plough; The wheat and the oats and the barley Are ripe for the harvest now.

We sunder'd one misty morning, Ere the hills were dimm'd by the rain, Through the flowers those hills adorning-- Thou comest not back again.

My heart is heavy and weary With the weight of a weary soul; The mid-day glare grows dreary, And dreary the midnight scroll.

The corn-stalks sigh for the sickle, 'Neath the load of the golden grain; I sigh for a mate more fickle-- Thou comest not back again.

The warm sun riseth and setteth, The night bringeth moistening dew, But the soul that longeth forgetteth The warmth and the moisture too; In the hot sun rising and setting There is naught save feverish pain; There are tears in the night-dews wetting-- Thou comest not back again.

Thy voice in mine ear still mingles With the voices of whisp'ring trees; Thy kiss on my cheek still tingles At each kiss of the summer breeze; While dreams of the past are thronging For substance of shades in vain, I am waiting, watching, and longing-- Thou comest not back again.

Waiting and watching ever, Longing and lingering yet, Leaves rustle and corn-stalks quiver, Winds murmur and waters fret; No answer they bring, no greeting, No speech save that sad refrain, Nor voice, save an echo repeating-- He cometh not back again.

Elspeth: Thine eldest sister is wedded to Max; With Biorn, Hilda hath cast her lot.

If the husbands vanish'd, and left no tracks, Would the wives have cause for sorrow, I wot?

Thora: How well I remember that dreary ride; How I sigh'd for the lands of ice and snow, In the trackless wastes of the desert wide, With the sun o'erhead and the sand below; 'Neath the scanty shades of the feathery palms, How I sigh'd for the forest of sheltering firs, Whose shadows environ'd the Danish farms, Where I sang and sported in childish years.

On the fourteenth day of our pilgrimage We stayed at the foot of a sandhill high; Our fever'd thirst we could scarce a.s.suage At the brackish well that was nearly dry,

And the hot sun rose, and the hot sun set, And we rode all the day through a desert land, And we camp'd where the lake and the river met, On sedge and s.h.i.+ngle and s.h.i.+ning sand: Enfolded in Hugo's cloak I slept, Or watch'd the stars while I lay awake; And close to our feet the staghound crept, And the horses were grazing beside the lake; Now we own castles and serving men, Lands and revenues. What of that?

Hugo the Norman was kinder then, And happier was Thora of Armorat.

Elspeth: Nay, I warn'd thee, with Norman sails unfurl'd Above our heads, when we wished thee joy, That men are the same all over the world, They will wors.h.i.+p only the newest toy; Yet Hugo is kind and constant too, Though somewhat given to studies of late; Biorn is sottish, and Max untrue, And worse than thine is thy sisters' fate.

But a shadow darkens the chamber door.

Enter THURSTON.

Thurston: 'Tis I, Lady Thora; our lord is near.

My horse being fresher, I rode before; Both he and Eric will soon be here.

Thora: Good Thurston, give me your hand. You are Most welcome. What has delayed you thus?