University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—The Forest.
Volupsa, alone.
VOLUPSA.

Cœlis, Volupsa.

Volupsa knows the wanderer's haunt and strays
By paths wherein she feels his heart has spoken;
And though the spell to her remain unbroken,
Not less the depth of silence may betoken
A love that but its voice delays.
No match was she, pure, simple-hearted maid,
For one whose soul must soar and cannot wade:
So when they meet, she only thinks how high
The hawk ascends through its blue hunting fields
In search of prey it finds not in the sky,
But in the hedges where the sparrow builds.
Then would she hold him in the gaze
She lifts to heaven when she prays,
And say, O Cœlis! wander here no more!
Magic arts you disavow,
Yet at false shrines you surely bow,
And spirits of the unknown world adore;
Agents of ill who would our souls decoy;
Who dark, alchemic arts employ,
And false to seeming true transmute,
Beyond the reach of reason to refute.

CŒLIS.
Is life, then, dear one, such a pleasant travel
That what is next 'twere best not to unravel,
But shut our senses lest they knowledge find
Of marvels in advance and wonders left behind?
Our fathers so let slip their will and died.

VOLUPSA.
What we resign to heaven, is sanctified.

CŒLIS.
When you speak thus all doubtful things seem true;
They take your beauty and resemble you;
Then is my boasted will of poor account.

VOLUPSA.
Into the airless void it strives to mount:
Here is it unrestrained; this pleasant throne,
Older than many kingdoms, is your own:
Suffices not a power so great? But more,—
In seats of learning where the youth dispute
None could your subtle arguments confute.
But there are wonders fruitless to explore.
What can the meaning be of secret lore
But that all things remote are hidden,
And to the scrutiny of all forbidden?

CŒLIS.
It is not man invents desire,
And what he craves he seeks, though vainly he aspire.
Somewhere is knowledge; did we only toil
At thought, as meaner labourers at the soil,
Then might we our lost strength renew,
And even the hidden wilderness subdue,
Feeding its fallow to its fullest greed
With our primeval germ, as with prolific seed.
Then should we touch the orbs divine
That in far darkness, unconceived of, shine.

VOLUPSA.
It never was so save in metaphor
Wherein your mind is rich and mine is poor:
Not truly touch them, Cœlis?

CŒLIS.
With our soul;
Which is of earth and heaven the one epitome:
A mirror that reflects the whole;
And loving eyes in it may all things see.
Ah! could you feel how there the vista brightens,
And reach with me the calm which ever heightens!

VOLUPSA.
Cœlis, I tremble; if such thoughts have worth
Like us will they enjoy a second birth
When all that we are let to wish will be
Of us a part, like things we daily see.
Our souls are like the butterfly that lives
On what the kind Creator gives;
It must not seek the flowery heaven before
Its wings are like an angel's. When we soar
Be it alone our Maker to adore!