Volume II Part 8 (1/2)
Nay, let me dream at least.
That far-off bell, it may be took for viol at a feast: I only walk among the fields, beneath the autumn-sun, With my dead father, hand in hand, as I have often done.
_Evil Spirit._
Forbear that dream--forbear that dream!
_Onora (in sleep)._
Nay, sweet fiend, let me go: I never more can walk with _him_, oh, never more but so!
For they have tied my father's feet beneath the kirk-yard stone, Oh, deep and straight! oh, very straight! they move at nights alone: And then he calleth through my dreams, he calleth tenderly, ”Come forth, my daughter, my beloved, and walk the fields with me!”
_Evil Spirit._
Forbear that dream, or else disprove its pureness by a sign.
_Onora (in sleep)._
Speak on, thou shalt be satisfied, my word shall answer thine.
I heard a bird which used to sing when I a child was praying, I see the poppies in the corn I used to sport away in: What shall I do--tread down the dew and pull the blossoms blowing?
Or clap my wicked hands to fright the finches from the rowan?
_Evil Spirit._
Thou shalt do something harder still. Stand up where thou dost stand Among the fields of Dreamland with thy father hand in hand, And clear and slow repeat the vow, declare its cause and kind, Which not to break, in sleep or wake thou bearest on thy mind.
_Onora (in sleep)._
I bear a vow of sinful kind, a vow for mournful cause; I vowed it deep, I vowed it strong, the spirits laughed applause: The spirits trailed along the pines low laughter like a breeze, While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze.
_Evil Spirit._
More calm and free, speak out to me why such a vow was made.
_Onora (in sleep)._
Because that G.o.d decreed my death and I shrank back afraid.
Have patience, O dead father mine! I did not fear to die-- I wish I were a young dead child and had thy company!
I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child, And wearing only a kiss of thine upon my lips that smiled!
The linden-tree that covers thee might so have shadowed twain, For death itself I did not fear--'t is love that makes the pain: Love feareth death. I was no child, I was betrothed that day; I wore a troth-kiss on my lips I could not give away.
How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone, And feel mine own betrothed go by--alas! no more mine own-- Go leading by in wedding pomp some lovely lady brave, With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were white in grave?
How could I bear to sit in heaven, on e'er so high a throne, And hear him say to her--to _her_! that else he loveth none?
Though e'er so high I sate above, though e'er so low he spake, As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take, That hers, forsooth, were heavenly eyes--ah me, while very dim Some heavenly eyes (indeed of heaven!) would darken down to _him_!
_Evil Spirit._
Who told thee thou wast called to death?
_Onora (in sleep)._