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Gal. Is sin so pleasant ? If to sit and Pyg.
What did she say As we are sitting, be indeed a sin,
When last she left thee ? Why, I could sin all day! But tell me,
Humph ! Well, let me see : love,
Oh! true, she gave thee to me as my Is this great fault, that I'm committing wife, now,
Her solitary representative; The kind of fault that only serves to show She fear'd I should be lonely till she came, That thou and I are of one common kin ? And counselld me, if thoughts of love Pyg. Indeed, I'm very much afraid it
should come, is.
To speak those thoughts to thee, as I am Gal. And dost thou love me better for
wont such fault ?
To speak to her. Pyg. Where is the mortal that could Gal. That's right. answer No"?
But when she spoke Gal. Why, then I'm satisfied, Pygma- Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and
blood, Thy wife and I can start on equal terms. Which makes a difference ! She loves thee ?
It 's a strange world! Pyg.
A woman loves her husband very much, Gal.
I am glad of that. And cannot brook that I should love him, I like thy wife.
too ! Pyg. And why?
She fears he will be lonely till she comes, Gal.
Our tastes agree.
And will not let me cheer his loneliness! We love Pygmalion well, and, what is more, She bids him breathe his love to senseless Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife ;
stone, I'm sure we shall agree.
And, when that stone is brought to life, be Pyg. [Aside.] I doubt it much !
dumb ! Gal. Is she within ?
It's a strange world - I cannot fathom it ! No, she is not within. Pyg. [Aside.] Let me be brave, and Gal. But she 'll come back ?
put an end to this. Oh, yes, she will come back. [Aloud.] Come, Galatea — till my wife Gal. How pleas’d she'll be to know,
returns, when she returns,
My sister shall provide thee with a home; That there was some one here to fill her Her house is close at hand. place!
Gal. [Astonished and alarmed.] Send Pyg. [Dryly.] Yes, I should say she'd me not hence, be extremely pleas’d.
Pygmalion — let me stay.
not be. voice which says
Come, Galatea, we shall meet again. That thou art jesting! Is it possible
Gal. [Resignedly.) Do with me as thou To say one thing and mean another ?
wilt, Pygmalion ! Pyg.
Yes, But we shall meet again ? - and very soon? It's sometimes done.
Pyg. Yes, very soon.
And when thy wife returns, So clever!
She 'll let me stay with thee ? Pug. And so very useful.
I do not know. Gal.
Yes. [Aside.] Why should I hide the truth from Teach me the art.
her ? [Aloud.] Alas ! Pyg. The art will come in time. I
may not see thee then. My wife will not be pleas’d; there that's Gal.
Pygmalion ! the truth.
What fearful words are these ? Gal. I do not think that I shall like thy
The bitter truth. wife.
I may not love thee - I must send thee Tell me more of her.
Gal. Recall those words, Pygmalion, That Heaven has sent me here to be with
thee ! Was it for this that Heaven gave me life? Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife, Pygmalion, have mercy on me ; see, Of vows that thou wilt love but her. Alas! I am thy work, thou hast created me ; I do not know these things I only know The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine, That Heaven, who sent me here, has given Thine ! only and unalterably thine ! This is the thought with which my soul is One all-absorbing duty to discharge charged.
To love thee, and to make thee love again! Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love,
[During this speech PYGMALION has shown That thou hast love for her alone. Alas !
symptoms of irresolution; at its conclusion I do not know these things — I only know he takes her in his arms, and embraces her.
England, stand fast ; let hand and heart be
steady ; Be thy first word thy last,
- Ready, ay,
We've Nelsons yet unknown ;
Beat on through Wellington.
Strong foe and steadfast friend,
Defy not, but defend.
steady ; Be thy first word thy last, —- Ready, ay,
Men said our blood was cold,
The clarion-note of old ;
The sleeping lion's den,
To life with armed men.
steady ; Be thy first word thy last, – Ready, ay,
Thaisa fair, under the cold sea lying, Sleeps the long sleep denied to her by
Earth; We, adding sighs unto the wild winds' sigh
ing, With all our mourning under-mourn her
worth : The white waves toss their crested plumes
above her, Round sorrowing faces with the salt spray
wet ; All are her lovers that once learn'd to love
her, And never may remember to forget ; Shells for her pillow Amphitrite bring
eth, And sad nymphs of the dank weed weave
her shroud ; Old Triton's horn her dirge to Ocean sing
eth, Whose misty caverns
swell the echo loud ; And, while the tides rock to and fro her
bier, What was Thaisa lies entombed here.
SONGS FROM DRAMAS
NEWS TO THE KING
“What of my husband ? ” quoth the
bride, The corn is trodden, the river runs
red. “Comes he to-morrow ? how long will be
bide ?” “ Put off thy bridegear, busk thee in
black; Walter Wendulph will never come back.”
And the dying lie with the dead.
“News to the king, good news for all,”
The corn is trodden, the river runs red. “ News of the battle,” the heralds call, “We have won the field ; we have taken
the town ; We have beaten the rebels and crush'd
And the dying lie with the dead. “Who was my bravest ?” quoth the king,
The corn is trodden, the river runs red. “ Whom shall I honor for this great thing ?” “ Threescore were best, where none were
worst ; But Walter Wendulph was aye the first.”
And the dying lie with the dead.
'TWEEN EARTH AND SKY
SEEDS with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, flying ;
THE DEATHS OF MYRON AND
FROM “IN A DAY”
Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling ;
Those that reach the right soil get birth ; None of the rest have liv'd at all.
Whose voice is calling — “ Here is soil for wing'd seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing, Where they shall root and burgeon and
spread. Lacking the heart-room the song lies
dead: Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing”?
DAY IS DEAD
Day is dead, and let us sleep,
Sleep a while or sleep for aye ; 'T were the best if we unknew
While to-morrow dawn’d and grew; It may bring us time to weep:
We were glad to-day. Joy for a little while is won, Joy is ending while begun; Then the setting of the sun;
Afterwards is long to rue.
SCENE. — A lighted Hall. Soft music playing
without A Bed placed in an alcove among
flowers. Enter MYRON, OLYMNIOS, Rufus, LYSIS,
and others. Myr. Move me that jasmine further
from the bed : The perfume's sweetest coming faint
through air. That's well. And shut the nearest case
ment close : The oreeze is almost chill. Throw that
one wide : Let waking stars peep at their mimics here. Now, Rufus, art thou ready? Ruf.
"Tis, Art thou ? Myr. Give me the cup, good Lysis.
Pure wine first. I drink to the Good Genius [drinks], whom,
perchance, I shall know presently by some nearer name. Now, Lysis, that blent wine whose name is Sleep.
[Drinks. [To Rufus.] So, thou hast seen me drink,
and know'st what draught, Who saw'st it mix'd ; no need methinks to
watch. Go, prithee, try again my vintage wine : I doubt thou wilt not ask to taste this brew. Ruf. No, 'faith! my thirst can wait a
wholesomer tap. I am sorry for thee, too. Myr.
Well, go, my man ; Thou canst come by-and-by and see 't was
TELL ME NOT OF MORROWS, SWEET
TELL me not of morrows, sweet ;
Thine and mine ;
Neither speak of yesterdays;
Lose not Now with backward gaze,
Mine and thine,
Nay, but speak of morrows, sweet ; Lest to-day seem loss of ours,
Thine and mine, Leaving nought to come again.
Nay, but speak of yesterdays,
Lest, forgetting trodden ways,
Mine and thine,
[Exeunt all but MYRON, OLYMNIOS, and
'T is most strange How death that is of all we know most sure, Of all we know seems most impossible. I shall not live an hour; my inind grants
that, But grants it as a stage of argument, Gives it but such belief as when, being told “So many fathomless miles to reach that
star," We learn the count unquestioning it for true, But cannot shape conception of its reach.
poor child i
I cannot, quick life still within my veins,
Enter Lysis. I cannot feel a faith that presently My cold oblivious body shall lie there, Lys. Klydone, sir, Klydone - [Stops.
, – Võid of the soul, an ended nothingness. Myr.
Comes she not ? Olymn. Thou art too young, and death Tell her to make more speed, for I grow unnatural.
heavy. Myr. Klydone thinks all death unnatu- Lys. She comes ; she bade them carry ral.
; she's half dead. Olymn. If nature stood for perfectness, Myr. I am awake, I think. Say it again. it were.
Half dead ? And therein is the better after-hope :
Lys. She took the poison at due time; For perfectness must be, since we conceive She said 't was at due time by thine owu it,
count; And, not being here, 't is in some second She said thou shouldst have call'd her in life.
an hour, Myr. I'll think my soul shall, like the And she was ready then : but 't was too sunward swallows,
long, Having known but summer here, renew it More than an hour, and so she must go first there.
That did but mean to follow thee afterKlydone comes not.
wards. Olymn. That's for want of wings. Olymn. Well, 't is her right. Myr. I would she had them, to flee Myr.
Is it a message, boy? hence and rest.
Lys. She said it by gasps ; then bade 'Tis a wild, long journey. Ah, poor child, me, if she died,
Tell it thee for her, and thou 'dst know and May the gods send her happy.
If they will ; She is coming Pray rather they may send her as is best. Myr. She go first! Klydone die ! Myr. Let her not brood upon my death Olymnios, hast thou heard ? too much,
I blame her not ; And most of all persuade her from re- Nor weep her going with thee. 'Tis the morse ;
best. Tell her 't was destin'd, had she never Myr. I would have had her live : she spoken ;
hated death, Hush her from her own blame till, by-and- But we go hand in hand, husband and wife. by,
Lysis, go bid them hasten, lest she sleep, It takes the strangeness of unworded Or I, past waking, ere she come to me.
thoughts That fade like bodiless ghosts beyond our
Enter Servants carrying KLYDONE on a ken.
couch. Olymn. No, Myron.
Self-blame 's a A Servant. 'T is over. She still breath'd shrewd counsellor ;
a minute since ; I will not help Klydone from that good.
But now 't is over. Myr. She is such a woman as some
Second Serv. 'T was but just “ Too griefs could kill.
soon!” Olymn. Better to die by an ennobling As if she sigh'd in sleep ; then only breath’d, grief
And now 't is over. Than to live cheerful in too low content. Myr.
Oh, how fair she lies ! Myr. But spare her, if it be but for She should have kept that smile to look on
me. Olymn. Whom dost thou ask? I spare Sweet, canst thou see me still? How fair not nor chastise ;
she is! That 's God's to do, who makes our self bis Smile on, Klydone, death has wedded us.
Wife, wilt thou love me there, whither we Her sorrowing or her comfort lie in her.