able,

Alwyn:

That Tacita, in her serenity,

Is mightier than he.

Shy:

Ah, nature's quiet mood is delicate, And crushes like a flower.

Alwyn:

Faith without works is vain, the prophet saith;

So, now, while Nature muses in the

thrush,

Here let us sit this hour,

And meditate

On Tacita, till meditation. shall create

[They sit upon a log and listen. The fluting of birds sounds in the forest. Tacita appears. Alwyn beseeches her to reveal to them, through the spell of her dancing, the spirit of all birds, Ornis, the sister of their race, man. To mysterious music, Tacita treads a dance. Alwyn and Shy watch her, rapt and expectant. Suddenly, a gun sounds, shivering the music, which ceases. Through the boughs a bird falls fluttering to the earth. Tacita flees into the wood, while there enters, swift, but staggering, Ornis, a maiden garbed as a bird. On one of her wing-like sleeves blood shows.]

Ornis:

Ee-ó-lee! O-rée-o! Sanctuary! [Swaying, she falls to the ground. Alwyn and Shy spring toward her. Summoning Quercus, who sprinkles upon her healing drops from his bird-bath, they revive her. Addressing her as "Sister," Alwyn bids her have no fear, but trust them as brothers. Ornis rises, amazed.]

Ornis:

How sweet and strange! Are we indeed

awaking

From callous slumber and old wrong?

I showered His temple woods with ecstasy; When suddenly

The earth screamed thunder, and a singeing fire

Shattered my wing. I fell.

Groping in flight, my feet stuck fast
In smear of lime; swift from below
A tangling net was cast

Where, panting upward, a black hell
Of bloody mouths barked under me;
And there beside them, oh,
There watched with eyes of
wanton cruelty,

A man, bright-clothed in

many-colored plumes

Of my dead sisters! "Save me from their dooms," I cried, "O Sanctuary!"

Alwyn:

And you woke

With us, your brothers,

healed!

Ornis:

[With wonder.] Oh, have you heard. What now I spoke?

And can we answer truly, word for word?

[Curiously]

Alwyn!

Alwyn:

You know my name?

Ornis:

[Turning eagerly from one to the other.]

Shy!

Shy:

[Smiling.] No mistake!

Ornis:

Quercus!

Quercus:

Alwyn:

When have you known us?

Ornis:

Many an age and long! No syllable has bubbled in your song But I have blown it first from yonder

trees.

[To Shy.] No brooding-place of yours, but I was in the breeze.

[To Quercus.] And ever to your whistle I pipe the last note from the nearest thistle. [Tacita appears remotely.]

O beautiful my brothers!

O dryad dear, I thank you! In your dawn, How brave it is to speak with man and

faun

As mates and fellows! Quick! Fetch me still others!

[A crashing resounds in the thicket. Tacita disappears. Going curiously toward the sound, Ornis recoils with a cry of "Save me!" and flies to their protection. Quercus also scampers back fearfully, and hides. Enter Stark, in garb of a hunter. He rushes toward Ornis, passes her, oblivious, and seizes

up the fallen bird.]

Stark:

Bagged! Hold off the dogs!

[The attendants withdraw with the hounds.]

Ornis:

[As Stark grasps the bird, she clutches her own side in pain.]

Ee-ó-lo!

Stark:

A rare beauty! Bah, one wing Shot-torn! Oh, well, we 'll patch the

thing.

Wait with my dogs! I'm coming.

Ornis:

Hunt no more

With lime and net. Your love shall hold

me faster,

For I am Ornis.

Stark:

[Fascinated.] Ornis!

Ornis:

Dear my master,

Do you not know me? I am she Whom first, beneath the

dark, ancestral tree,

You rose upon your feet to hearken to.

By me you grew

To song and freedom. Round your olden feasts

You watched my circling flights, whereby your priests Proclaimed their omens and their oracles. My cranes announced your victories, my storks

Fed your hearth-fires, my silver-throated gulls

And golden hawks

Saved many your seatown from sore pestilence;

And my sweet nightbird tuned your poets' shells

To lull sad lovers in languorous asphodels,

Yet all my influence

Till now; nor paused, as now in this still wood,

To tremble and rejoice

At greeting you, my sister. I am stunned, And wait to comprehend this wonder.

Ornis:

Ah,

You never prayed before to Tacita!
Your feet have shunned

Her gracious paths, yet only she

Can lead and show my brother man to me.

Shone dimmer than my beauty; my bright plumes

Lured you to squander them, till, in the fumes

Of greed, your heart forgot to cherish

me,

And sold me unto death and slavery. Yet, master, as you will:

Lo! I am Ornis, and I love you still.

Stark:

[With altered tone of yearning.]

Yet, yet it seems I never heard your voice Till now; nor ever understood

Stark:

[Glancing at his gun.] Why, then-why have I brought this

instrument

Of murder here? What black intent Clouded my mind with blood? [Flinging it from him.]

Out of my hands! My sister, can it be That still you soar above

my sanguine flood

Of passion, and forgive? Though yet I kill,

Oh, is it true, indeed, you love me still?

Ornis:

Ha, put me to the test! Show me the field that breeds your harvest

pest

Of chinch or weevil, Where all the blossoms wither with strange evil,

Or where, in filmy tents, The hairy creepers gorge in regiments Your budding apple-boughs; Show your ancestral elms Gaunt-limbed with leprosy, which overwhelms

Their green old age in death;

Or those swift locust clouds, whose
breath

Blasts the ripe loveliness of spring!
Show these, and more

Than these, and cry on Ornis! She shall

bring

From hill and shore

And plain-her wingèd flocks and warbling broods,