The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ VI.—A rainy day. LORD SEAFORD walking up and down his room, murmuring to himself.

      Oh, my love is like a wind of death,

       That turns me to a stone!

       Oh, my love is like a desert breath,

       That burns me to the bone!

      Oh, my love is a flower with a purple glow,

       And a purple scent all day!

       But a black spot lies at the heart below,

       And smells all night of clay.

      Oh, my love is like the poison sweet

       That lurks in the hooded cell!

       One flash in the eyes, one bounding beat,

       And then the passing bell!

      Oh, my love she's like a white, white rose!

       And I am the canker-worm:

       Never the bud to a blossom blows;

       It falls in the rainy storm.

      SCENE VII.—JULIAN reading in his room.

      "And yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me."

      [He closes the book and kneels.]

      SCENE VIII.—Lord Seaford's room. LILIA and LORD SEAFORD. Her hand lies in his.

      Lilia. It may be true. I am bewildered, though. I know not what to answer.

      Lord S. Let me answer:— You would it were so—you would love me then?

      [A sudden crash of music from a brass band in the street, melting away in a low cadence.]

      Lilia (starting up). Let me go, my lord!

      Lord S. (retaining her hand). Why, sweetest! what is this?

      Lilia (vehemently, and disengaging her hand). Let me go. My husband! Oh, my white child!

      [She hurries to the door, but falls.]

      Lord S. (raising her). I thought you trusted me, yes, loved me, Lilia!

      Lilia. Peace! that name is his! Speak it again—I rave. He thought I loved him—and I did—I do. Open the door, my lord!

      [He hesitates. She draws herself up erect, with flashing eyes.]

      Once more, my lord—

      Open the door, I say.

      [He still hesitates. She walks swiftly to the window, flings it wide, and is throwing herself out.]

      Lord S. Stop, madam! I will.

      [He opens the door. She leaves the window, and walks slowly out. He hears the house-door open and shut, flings himself on the couch, and hides his face.]

      Enter LADY GERTRUDE.

      Lady Gertrude. Dear father, are you ill? I knocked three times; You did not speak.

      Lord S. I did not hear you, child. My head aches rather; else I am quite well.

      Lady Gertrude. Where is the countess?

      Lord S. She is gone. She had An urgent message to go home at once. But, Gertrude, now you seem so well, why not Set out to-morrow? You can travel now; And for your sake the sooner that we breathe Italian air the better.

      Lady Gertrude. This is sudden! I scarcely can be ready by to-morrow.

      Lord S. It will oblige me, child. Do what you can. Just go and order everything you want. I will go with you. Ring the bell, my love; I have a reason for my haste. We'll have The horses to at once. Come, Gertrude, dear.

      SCENE IX.—Evening. Hampstead Heath. LILIA seated.

      Lilia. The first pale star! braving the rear of Day! And all heaven waiting till the sun has drawn His long train after him! then half creation Will follow its queen-leader from the depths. O harbinger of hope! O star of love! Thou hast gone down in me, gone down for ever; And left my soul in such a starless night, It has not love enough to weep thy loss. O fool! to know thee once, and, after years, To take a gleaming marsh-light for thy lamp! How could I for one moment hear him speak! O Julian! for my last love-gift I thought To bring that love itself, bound and resigned, And offering it a sacrifice to thee, Lead it away into the wilderness; But one vile spot hath tainted this my lamb; Unoffered it must go, footsore and weary, Not flattering itself to die for thee. And yet, thank God, it was one moment only, That, lapt in darkness and the loss of thee, Sun of my soul, and half my senses dead Through very weariness and lack of love, My heart throbbed once responsive to a ray That glimmered through its gloom from other eyes, And seemed to promise rest and hope again. My presence shall not grieve thee any more, My Julian, my husband. I will find A quiet place where I will seek thy God. And—in my heart it wakens like a voice From him—the Saviour—there are other worlds Where all gone wrong in this may be set right; Where I, made pure, may find thee, purer still, And thou wilt love the love that kneels to thee. I'll write and tell him I have gone, and why. But what to say about my late offence, That he may understand just what it was? For I must tell him, if I write at all. I fear he would discover where I was; Pitiful duty would not let him rest Until he found me; and I fain would free From all the weight of mine, that heart of his.

      [Sound of a coach-horn.]

      It calls me to rise up and go to him,

       Leading me further from him and away.

       The earth is round; God's thoughts return again;

       And I will go in hope. Help me, my God!

      SCENE X.—Julian's room. JULIAN reading. A letter is brought in. He reads it, turns deadly pale, and leans his arms and head on the table, almost fainting. This lasts some time; then starting up, he paces through the room, his shoulders slightly shrugged, his arms rigid by his sides, and his hands clenched hard, as if a net of pain were drawn tight around his frame. At length he breathes deep, draws himself up, and walks erect, his chest swelling, but his teeth set.

      Julian. Me! My wife! Insect, didst thou say my wife?

      [Hurriedly turning the letter on the table to see the address.]

      Why, if she love him more than me, why then

       Let her go with him!—Gone to Italy!

       Pursue, says he? Revenge?—Let the corpse crush The slimy maggot with its pulpy fingers!— What if I stabbed—

      [Taking СКАЧАТЬ