University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Another part of the Grove. Enter Naisa and Lavercam in conversation.
LAVERCAM.
But in the lustrous glances of her eyes,
There is an artless innocence of love,
Whose irresistible Art outcharms all
Studied ingenuity of artfulness;
Taking the soul all captive in its arms,
Binding in golden chains, that never gall,
The willing captive. But her deep blue eyes,
They follow not the steps of men—for where
She ought to go, she looks, but nowhere else.
Her cheeks are roses dyed in hues of health;
Not shame. Her face is milder than the Moon,
But radiant as the cloudless Sun at noon—
Through which the white snow of her soul is seen,
Clothing her form with saintly tenderness.
Her voice is softer than the Dorian Flute,
Heard at the midnight when all else is still,
And all the Heavens above are full of stars.

NAISA.
Has she been baptized?

LAVERCAM.
Baptized.

NAISA.
Who was
Her God-father?

LAVERCAM.
God.

NAISA.
Who baptized her?

LAVERCAM.
Christ.

NAISA.
Then she is safe; there is no danger now—
Being above all loss.

LAVERCAM.
Above all law.
Being above law, she is freed from sin;
Freed thus from sin, above the power of Death;
Therefore, immortal—for how can Heaven die?

NAISA.
I love Heaven loving her.

LAVERCAM.
A Christian true.
Her virtues, growing with her years, have borne
Upon her bosom every heavenly grace—
The rose-bud of her beauty having blown
Into the perfect Rose of womanhood;
So that the Casket which enshrines her soul,
Is not inferior to the soul itself;
But, like the purest gems, betrays its worth
By the rich light that it reveals—the Stars
In Heaven not differing from each other more,
In true glory, than she from all her sex.
For, as some crystal Vase reveals, at once,
The priceless treasure it contains, so does
Her peerless form the saintly soul it hides.

NAISA.
Oh! heavenly Sweetness! Charming Charm! She's so
Entirely rich in every perfect grace,
God must have emptied Heaven of all His best
To make this bright Original—wherein all
The world might seek for something rich for each.

LAVERCAM.
But more, to climax these, she has the wit
That graces Grace; so mild in every mood,
In Summer she seems Spring—as if the Dove
Of Womanhood lived in the Halcyon Nest
Of Youth, new-born.

NAISA.
Star of my love! shine on!
Thus does God build her up, from day today,
To be the admiration of the world—
From her Cherubic Childhood to the heights
Of her Angelic Womanhood—a sight
More beautiful than Pyramids of Pearl,
Higher than Babel; so much does the soul
Of virtuous grace transcend all earthly things.

LAVERCAM.
The Crown she wears is garnished not with pearls,
Or Diamonds, dug from out the mines of earth,
But Jewels gathered from the Isles of Heaven—
Those fadeless lustres of immortal life
Found only on the sunny shores of God.
A single sprig plucked from the Tree of Life,
She values more than Forests of Green Bay.
Thus do the noble deeds of virtuous grace
Transcend all earthly jewels worn in crowns—
Crowning the bright possessor Heaven's own Queen.
Her condescension to her inferiors
Is not meanness, but familiar charity—
Just like Christ's coming down from Heaven to earth;
For when she sells herself for nothing to do good,
The price she asks is far too high for earth;
So, she remains unsold—except to Heaven;
For when she seeks the Valley with the low,
She still stays on the Hilltop with the rich—
But needs no titulars now to blazon her,
Any more than the Evening Star does light
To make it shine more bright—already full—
Drinking forever out of the crystalline Wells
Of God, the light by which it is relumed;
So does she from the life of God her life.

NAISA.
To speak of one divine, both need the like
Historian—as you now prove yourself to be.
The Trumpet that you blow is made of gold.

LAVERCAM.
My breath is not divine enough to speak
Her heavenly praise.

NAISA.
Indeed she seems to be
A matchless Theme—transcending human tongues.

LAVERCAM.
She is her own fair Theatre, where none
But Angels sit as Auditors of her Acts;
And, seeing, stay there to applaud—her whole
Life being but one continual Play
Of Piety!

NAISA.
Indeed you speak her well.

LAVERCAM.
Her merits, far above my Gothic Pen,
Let Angels' quills pronounce; for none but Heaven,
With those from Cherub's wings, can write her praise.
It were a sin for me to try to add
New lustre to her Diadem—as well
Attempt to give new lustre to the stars,
Already bursting with the plenitudes
Of Heaven.

NAISA.
Now do I see her matchless worth.

LAVERCAM.
Her name is written in the Book of Life,
Beauty may fade—Honor's Green Bays lie withered—
But true godliness is an undeciduous tree,
Whose roots are anchored in the Heart of God—
Out of whose emerald leaves the Angels weave
Garlands of Glory for the Just in Heaven.
There is no Evening to her Morn—her life
Being like the Angels', subject no to time—
Division dying in Eternity.

NAISA.
Where shall I meet her?

LAVERCAM.
In the Bower of Bards,
Beside the brook that feeds the Lake of Swans.
Farewell!

NAISA.
Farewell! I shall be there anon.

[Exit.
Enter Conor.
CONOR.
Come hither, Lavercam. What is the news?

LAVERCAM.
That question had been better asked by me,
As there is nothing new under the sun.

CONOR.
How fares Daidra?

LAVERCAM.
She is well, great king.
The same old news, as she is always well.

CONOR.
Old things become new when spoken of her;
For the sweetest news that was ever told
Is the ancient news that can never grow old.

LAVERCAM.
The Beautiful remains forever new.

CONOR.
What does she study now? Does she still play,
As she was won't to do in days gone by?

LAVERCAM.
She does, great king—excelling all the queens
That ever reigned in Ullad, or the world.

CONOR.
You shall be rich as any queen for this—
Sitting as near my throne as she my heart.

LAVERCAM.
I thank your Highness gratefully. She is
The fairest flower that ever bloomed on earth.

CONOR.
Was ever man so fortunate as I am now—
Having so fine a Poetess for her nurse?
Have you composed her any songs of late?

LAVERCAM.
I have, great Sovereign, several—which she sings
Most admirably. Angel never lived
In Heaven more like this Angel here on earth.

CONOR.
You use an Angel's tongue in saying so.
Teach her to emulate herself—for on
The night my Nobles come to sup with me,
In the great Banqueting Hall of Eman here,
I want her here to sing for us.

LAVERCAM.
She shall—
To crown the entertainment with new songs;
Most admirably will she acquit herself—
Showing herself thy queen as well as bride.

CONOR.
This is the joy that I have longed to see.
But think not you shall be forgotten here—
No, by my soul! that day shall never come;
But everything that can be, shall be done,
To recompense you for your love.

LAVERCAM.
The joy
Of loving her, is recompense enough;
Although I thank you for your many gifts.

CONOR.
This I do know from things already past—
Having survived the hot, refining fires
Of eighteen tedious years, proving thyself
Of purest gold.

LAVERCAM.
Your praise tastes sweet as dew
To the parched traveller in his hour of thirst—
Making my old soul young again.

CONOR.
Indeed,
You are a good old child; but, then, the soul
Never grows old; but ever young, is still
The same in old age as in youth—a child.

LAVERCAM.
I feel now on my heart of hearts that what
You say of my old childish soul, is true.
Being a child, why may not I be made
King Conor's heir?

CONOR.
Indeed you shall be so.
She is the Oil of Mercy to my heart—
A dreamless rest of repose for my soul!
That heavenly tree whose branches reach above
The stars, bearing ambrosial fruit, whereon
The milk-white doves of Heaven do build their nests,
Cooing celestial music for my soul.

LAVERCAM.
May Heaven's sweet dews rest ever on its leaves,
Enriching her pure soil, while other lands
Are dry.

CONOR.
As there is but one Sun in Heaven,
So there is one Daidra here on earth.
Her words are like the honey of fresh flowers,
That has no bitter in it—goldenly pure—
Nourishing as sweet.

LAVERCAM.
Indeed, she has no peer.

CONOR.
Oh! when she speaks, it is above all songs:
But when she sings, she brings down Heaven on earth;
But when she ceases song, or speech, she leaves
A silence in the world deeper than Love
Or Death! You know she owes her life to me.
When Feidlim's, son of Delas, wife lay in
With her, Caffa, the Druid, prophesied
That she would bring destruction on the land—
Calling her name Daidra, which doth mean
Alarm—that Morning Star of heavenly love,
Whose rising brings monition to the world.
But I said, “No, she shall not die, but live,
And, after she is grown, shall be my wife.”
Which will be now but in a few short days.
Poor fools! they did not know that I had power
To prophesy as well as they. For she
Has been here eighteen glorious summers, yet
Has brought no sorrow on the land. Had she
Been slain, my present joy will show how much
My sorrow would have been. Be kind to her,
And I will raise you from your present low
Estate of nurse, into that loftier one
Of Foster-mother to the Queen.

LAVERCAM.
For which
I never shall forget to give you thanks.

[Exeunt.