University of Virginia Library

Medius—Archedice
ARCHEDICE
I would Orestes had not gone alone.
You should have hung, ay Medius, on his hand,
Fought back refusal, run thro' all degrees
Of subtle-voiced entreaty. Are you sure
He would not have you with him? O ill pride
That will not halve its dangers with a friend.

MEDIUS
I was importunate enough, my sweet,
But with a sad brow he put back my hand,
Saying, “The taint of fate is heavy on me:
I charge thee leave me this small joy in woe,
That I have dragged down these steep fateful ways
No soul I loved: lo, I entreat this joy:
Ah, friend, suppose a flock in fair crisp fields
Feeding among the flowers, by the cool beat
Of some hill fountain; and of these god's curse
Searches one out and singles him for death:
He will no longer feed with those he loves;
But some great instinct, higher than he knows,
Urges him out to creep to some lone place,
Far from the bleatings and low chiming bells,
And die there lest his taint infect the rest.
Wilt thou have man more selfish than the beast?
If my vague fears mean nothing, then I need
No escort; but, if otherwise, this tree
Is touchwood, branded for the hewer long,
And only spared, lest crashing down it tear
Some healthier sapling's branches under it.”

ARCHEDICE
Ah, Medius, if I dared unveil to thee
One corner of a secret vague and deadly,
Which came to me unsought, and made my breath
Catch with the terror of it newly found—
And I must tell no man, not even thee—
These are no vague fears of my lord Orestes,
But they have root deep, wide, and intricate.
And I, weak girl, must hear these things and fold
My useless hands, and close my trembling lips.

MEDIUS
And thee alone Orestes told this dread?

ARCHEDICE
I may not even say who told it me:
In pity do not question any more.

MEDIUS
It was Orestes: great and chiefly blest,
Ay, tho' he walk to death in this same hour,
Having thy love. My doubt breaks up, ah sweet,
Altho' I never doubted, never gave
My weakest idiot wish an hour to dwell
Beyond the thought but that this must be so—
I pray you let me speak a little while
Any mad treason to my friend and king,
And then I will hold peace for evermore,
Against the only brother of my love;
Whom I will love still, spite of this mean god,
This demon selfish Eros, that would strain
Brothers asunder: O forgive me, dear,
But I was burying all my hope so deep,
And taking one last glance at its fair face;
That in my hour of weakness, I forgot
And raved a little at its funeral
A few mad raving words, unworthy of all
The sacred love between my prince and me.
Ah; you will not believe me noble more,
And I have cursed myself to your pure eyes
With this mean selfish babble: dear heart and wise
And tender, this concede me at the least,
That till this hour, when some fierce shameful fiend
Tore me within and mastered me to speak,—
I saw the flower of all his nobleness
Expand beneath thy beauty and thy breath.
I saw thee with his love more beautiful,
I saw him with thy presence strengthened, sweet,
As roses feed on light of intense air.
I saw this thing, loving and blessing both;
And then I had nobility enough—
I fallen since so meanly may boast this—
That till this hour no breath of treason-love,
Broke in on this sweet music. Now, ay me,
Sweet trust is ended for me with you both.

ARCHEDICE
Indeed, indeed, O Medius, you are gone
Upon wide ways of speech most wide astray—
I cannot tell, indeed I hardly keep
My reeling brain, such changes, strange and new
Leap out upon me. I, who lived so still,
And all these things crowd on me in a day.
You have forced me into speaking, lest all harm
Ensue, these things unspoken. O, indeed,
I cannot speak these matters: you are cruel
Mistaking thus: will you not see? Orestes
Has never loved me with the love you mean,
Gentle to all, more gentle to a girl
And his old play-mate: but for other thought,
He sits a prince among the clouds insphered
Out of my reach, almost a god; and I,
Loving in this regard, have given him long
Obedience, admiration, and all love
Except the love of lovers. I would sear
My hand to the bone in serving him, and yet
If he should kiss me for some service done,
'Twould be as tho' I kissed Apollo's feet,
As he stands marble in my father's temple.
Or give the image life and godlike ways,
And let him walk among us many years,
Give me to know him as I know Orestes,
Think you, I'd love him, Medius, as you mean?
Without equality no love can grow,
This must men find or, finding not, imagine:
Hence has love root, nor without this endures.

MEDIUS
I have been strangely clouded by this error:
Now is my sky right suddenly fair beyond,
And all my baseness to my friend is made
Suddenly nothing, like a great black cloud
Split by a heap of flying light and crumbled.
I breathe in joy, like a large rushing air:
O best and tender, thou may'st hear me now,
Hear me, and find no falsehood on my lips
To him our king to whom we twain will bind
Our chiefest service; and that we may serve him
Together, there is sweetness in the word,
Dear, let me bind thee with the dearest bond
That this earth owns. O, I have shivered long
In that chill shadow laid beyond the rays
Of thy white presence. Like a burning light
Thou movest intense morning with a sound
Of breezes in among my days: O great
Dawning of gold and rose: I love thee, love thee;
Yea, I will clothe thee round with glorious love,
Clothe thee and hide thee from out all gods' eyes,
Lest thou allure them from their barren clouds;
I'd set thee in the deepest heaven a star
For manifold adoring—I would spread
My hungry arms all night to thee in prayer,
Thy beam should touch me only on the earth,
The waters should not take thy glitterings,
The crisp firs should not silver under thee.
Forgive me, if I soar up like a lark
In ardours, and in fancies, and the wild
Exuberance of light, that breaks my words
Like clouds in pieces wildly—O love, love,
According to thy sweetness take thou me
Not to mine undeserving: rightly mine,
Have we not been together many years
As children use: so let thy hand lie there;
There is a fire comes from it soft and sleek.
You were a little maiden, I remember,
And I remember how you wet your feet
Wading for Iris, and leaning you could only
Touch the creased silky curtains of one bloom
That tore and snapped off short upon the head;
And you would have me dry your feet in grass,
And seeing the gold anther dust among
Your hair, I kissed it—as I may, my sweet,
Now, may I not? But thy ripe blossom of lips
Draws down my face like that old flower you brought me.

ARCHEDICE
Ah, Medius, God has made this day for me
Tender and bright and gracious in all joy.
I will not tremble any more, dear heart,
Let me look straight now into thy true eyes
And tell thee nothing shaming all my soul.
Love is not love which has to the loved one shame,
I will not fear to tell you everything;
That I have wondered, ah, these many days,
If Medius cared for such poor maid as I.
And sometimes when I saw you glad to come,
As the sun fell, and make me leave my weaving
And walk among the vineyards, and look out
To Pindus crushing in his crags among
A rosy crumble of the clouds; each leaf
Around us seemed to live with the low voice
Of the infinite insect whisper, and I used
To think then that indeed we loved each other;
And yet you said no word of love to me.

MEDIUS
The glory of my life has massed itself
Into this moment; all succeeding years
Be fed with rosy rays from this one point,
When you and I gave each the other, and made
One crowning life and perfect fruit of time:
One, one, for ever: dost thou understand,
Nor shudder at that dim and mighty ‘always,’
Where linking thy sweet arm in mine, we go
Unknowing, but, with me, an inseparate life?
As when two children the first time we went
To school together, 'twas an unknown journey,
Some poor half furlong, yet how vague it seemed
And terrible; we went out hand in hand—
We are but children now in God's high way:
But with me thou wilt fear not: and I seal
This sacred compact the old lover's way:
Ah, dear, thy lips have filled me like the morning
With dew and perfume.

ARCHEDICE
Dear, my hair has fallen:
Now let me put it back. O wonder of love:
Yet is not happiness a selfish thing,
I had forgot—Orestes and his danger?
O, I foretell, he will be glad of this,
So the fair heavens preserve him safely home,
Which all gods grant. We'll make him guess, my Medius,
What has befallen: nay—you shall not; come.