University of Virginia Library

Scene 1.

The garden of Winthrop's house.
Enter Mary and James Forrester.
MARY.
And so you never heard of the flower-angels?

JAMES.
Never! Are you one of them?

MARY.
Oh! you are mocking me.

JAMES.
Believe me, no; but, for whene'er I see you,
Be 't morn or eve, mid noon or starry night,
A flower still hangs on your breast or in your hand:
I thought perhaps you were a flower-angel.

MARY.
No, truly; but they're always near about me.

JAMES.
What are they?

MARY.
Happy sprites, whose charge it is
To walk unseen about all garden paths,
And live in the fragrant neighbourhood of flowers.
No bud or blossom but hath such a keeper;
In dim, damp wood, or on wide windy common,
By loneliest marsh, where'er a flower may blow,
Nursed in close gardens of man's fashioning,
Or sown by that wandering seedsman, the free air,
These angels haunt: the maid that on her casement
Sets a flower-pot, hath one still watching there,
And she that wears a blossom in her vest
Keeps a good spirit hovering o'er her breast.
I make you smile: this is not city talk.

JAMES.
Give me that rose you wear—for I believe
Partly in what you say—so give it me,
That I may have an angel near to me.

MARY.
So you take mine from me—well, 'tis no matter.

JAMES.
Alas! you do not need such guardianship.
But when this fades, then whither goes the sprite?

MARY.
I do not know; I ne'er did think of that—
Perchance to some new-blown bud of the same kind.

JAMES.
My angel then will leave me. I could wish
To have some flower growing ever near me,
That should live as long as I did—some sweet flower
Whose loveliness and bloom should last my days,
And whose good angel should be mine till death.
Know you of any such?

MARY.
No, sir, of none.
The dews begin to fall,—'tis growing evening.
Shall we go in?

JAMES.
Oh! 'tis not evening yet:
The air is warm and balmy, and the light
Is bright on all the tree stems yet, dear Mary.

MARY.
Nay, but look yonder, how the sober sky
Hath suited all itself in modest grey;
And see, where the moon uplifts her pearly brow
Over that soft brown cloud.

JAMES.
Ay, but look yonder,
On my side of the garden, gentle mistress;
The western heaven is full of rosy light,
And on yon slope where the fallow deer stand grazing,
How red the sunset falls!

MARY.
Look at the shadows:
They are very long.

JAMES.
They will grow longer, Mary,
And night will come, and after it to-morrow,
When I must go from hence.

MARY.
Shall we go in?

JAMES.
One moment stand beneath this blossoming tree,
That drops its snowy stars upon thy head,
And let me, while I yet am at thy side,
Gaze on this happy place that I must leave.

MARY.
Nay, speak not thus: these melancholy words,
And the stealing twilight, fill my heart with sadness.
Must you indeed begone?

JAMES.
I must indeed.
The business I came hither to despatch
Is all accomplished, all things quite cleared up:
One blessed week has passed like one short day,
And all is over.

MARY.
I am sorry.

JAMES.
What?
What are you sorry for?

MARY.
That you must go.
Shall you never come again?

JAMES.
Will you give me leave
To come again?

MARY.
Oh yes, most gladly!

JAMES.
Mary,
We are not speaking to each other truly.
The words that from thy innocent lips I draw
Might seem to some men warrant of a hope
Which yet I have not; for I know thy thought
Touches not mine.

MARY.
I do not understand you.
I'm very sorry you must go—I would
Your cause had been much harder to unravel.
Then you had stayed here longer; I'd have shown you,
Then, other walks and favourite paths of mine,
And we should have seen the roses bloom together.
What is the matter that you cover your eyes
And sigh so?—have I vexed you, Master Forrester?

JAMES.
Hush, hush, thou fairy! this is all too much!
Oh, lay this little hand upon my breast,
And feel the tempest thou hast wrought in me.

MARY.
You frighten me! Oh, pray let go my hand!
'Tis evening now, quite evening—let's go in.

JAMES.
Mary, my heart's bursting, I must speak it all.
Mary, I love you—O maiden, words can't utter
How much I love you! Oh no, do not leave me!
Don't tremble: dost thou fear me, I who'd give
My soul to save thee from the smallest harm?

MARY.
Let me go to my brother! Sir, this is not well;
You—you—you should not have said this to me.
I can scarce breathe or stand.

JAMES.
Oh, sit down here!
I will not breathe another word of love;
Forgive me, but for pity's sake stay here.
Don't fear; I will not touch thy hand, I will not
E'en sit beside thee. May I stand here, Mary?

MARY.
Yes, sir.

JAMES.
The moonlight shines into your eyes,
And makes them look like two soft streams of light.
Listen! far down in the dusk, from yonder thickets,
What sound is that?

MARY.
It is the nightingale:
Is it not sweet?

JAMES.
Most melancholy sweet!
Yet oh! not half so sweet as thy sweet voice.

MARY.
I'm better now, so pray let us go in.

JAMES.
Shall your brother know of all this secret talk?
Shall I tell it him, and ask him if he'll give you
To me to be my wife? Speak Mary, shall I?

MARY.
Ask what thou wilt; I will stay here no longer.

[Exit.
JAMES.
For mercy's sake don't leave me! She is gone;
Like some light vision of unearthly beauty,
She's vanished! but the charm she shed around
Remains. O blessed sward her feet have pressed,
Be ever green! Thou happy, happy mound
That didst receive her beauteous form, may flowers
Cover thee sweetly all the live-long summer!
And thou, delicious curtain of fresh blossoms,
May the autumn crown thee with a glorious bearing!
Ye lovely ministrants to man's delight,
That seem so full of kindly sympathy
With human joy, a lover's blessing on ye!
And be this place for ever hallowed ground,
First left by winter, by the summer's sun first found!

[Exit.