University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

—The Earth. The tents of Aran.
AFRAEL.
Behold! in safety thou hast lit.

NOEMA.
Yes! 'tis the solid ground on which we stand.
Thanks, O most dexterous Spirit! for nor air,
Nor earth, hath ever seen so true a guide.
But spare me now, nor me ungracious deem,
If straight I haste to see how Irad sleeps.

AFRAEL.
So thou return, I would not wish thee nay.

[Noema enters the chief tent, and hurries to the spot where she left Irad sleeping.
NOEMA.
My boy! my boy! Art safe within thy crib,
Or have the dark divinities of air
Pilfered my earthly treasure, to amerce
My unpermitted trespass on their fields?
No! there he lies, all coiled into himself,
A heap of rosy sleep; one chubby hand
Dimpling the pillow, while his unkempt curls
Over the delicate sinless temples stray,
And a warm moisture dews his round, soft cheeks.
Oh! thou art fairer to thy mother's eye
Than brightest constellation, and her choice
Would be to sit enslaved to thy small wants,
Rather than sweep the skies from end to end
Upon the pinions of sublime desire!

[She snatches him up, and kisses him tenderly.
IRAD.
(waking).
What is it, mother?

NOEMA.
Nothing, my sweet boy,
Save that I love thee, and did yearn to fold
Thy form within my arms! Now, sleep again,
And the light wings of unseen angels be
Thy curtain, and their hymns thy lullaby!

[Exit from the tent, and returns to the open air.
AFRAEL.
I wager thou didst find him fast asleep:
We have been gone so shortly.

NOEMA.
Yes, he slept.

AFRAEL.
His name I know, for I have heard thee say it,
But even now am ignorant of thine,
Though thee I know so throughly. Tell it me.

NOEMA.
They call me Noema.

AFRAEL.
What a sweet name!
Liquid as dew, and fanciful as light!
Dear Noema!

NOEMA.
Are Spirits signified
By sounding appellations, like ourselves?

AFRAEL.
I in my star as Afrael am known.

NOEMA.
Then to thy star, O Afrael, return,
For we must part!

AFRAEL.
And when to meet again?

NOEMA.
When Heaven and Earth shall meet, but not before!

AFRAEL.
They have met now, for they have met in thee.

NOEMA.
Only because thy phantasy projects
Thyself in me, no otherwise.

AFRAEL.
Not so.
It is not thou, in sooth, whom I would mend
By any flimsy attribute of mine,
But I who would this shadowy framework fill
With thy substantial shape. O Noema!
I feel a want I never felt before,—
A want to be like thee! to own thy form,
Thy flesh, thy strange, resisting properties.
For now I cannot touch thee as I would;
And as I strain to fold my wings around
Thy body beautiful, I fail to clutch
Its definite perfections, and they seem
Still to escape, whilst my own being thrills
With purposeless strong motions, like a wind
That blows, and blows, with nought to blow against!

NOEMA.
Why dost talk thus? For language so intense
Doubles my fearsome doubts. Thou art a Spirit,
But seem'st to have caught contagion from the flesh;
And I can only bid thee swift return
Up to yon pure and passionless domicile,
That is to thee and thine indigenous,
And leave this squalid tenement, this me,
To its degraded inmates, whose defect
It is to grovel on their native ground,
Nor feed on aught beyond!

AFRAEL.
Why, thou didst feed
With a most eager appetite on air,
As though it were thy natural provender!
Hast thou forgot so soon what lofty joy
Thy lightened senses took in upper worlds?
Look! I will talk no more to thee of Earth,
Nor of the new affections it hath bred
Within my bosom, but my constant speech,
Like to myself, shall to the skies revert,
So thou again be my companion.
Come with me now, or come when next thou wilt,
But yield me this assurance, that henceforth
My heavenly tent of blue, no winds uproot,
Shall be thy residence, or that at least
Thou there wilt choose thy home, and make below
But rare and hasty sojourn, borne by me
Backwards and forwards, but with me alway!

NOEMA.
How fatuous is love! Dost deem, since once
'Twas granted us together safe to scale,
Then plunge from, the sheer precipice of Heaven,
That I, poor worm, for ever could discard
This crawling coat and prone defect of flesh,
And fledged with lightness, flit from star to star,
Or, an I might, that their invaded fires
Would not resent my wings, and I should drop,
A shrivelled nauseous cinder, back to Earth?
Already like a dream the memory floats
Of that outrageous journey, and I shudder,
Thinking of such a venture safe surpassed.

AFRAEL.
Make it once more with me, then wilt thou know
It is no dream, and nought to shudder at.

NOEMA.
O no! no! no! In gardens of the air
I an exotic were, and quick should pine
For the moist soil of Earth! My roots are here,
And, moved, my leaves were withered soon in Heaven.
But never could I make thee understand,
Though I exhausted all the craft of speech,
And left unused no last hyperbole,
How literal, tame, yet tyrannous are the links
Which tie me to the ground, and these, nor love,
Nor virtue any, e'er could overcome.
I will not name them; I should talk a tongue
To Spirits happily unknown. One bond,
One will I indicate, which, though it stood
Singly, would hold me fast. Thou canst not guess
Maternity's sweet servitude, nor know
How tightly mothers hug their self-wrought chains.
Here, 'fore thy wings, I fling myself, and crave
Thy pity, and thy pardon!

AFRAEL.
Nay, rise, rise!
Thou must not kneel to me! 'Twere to invert
All order, instinct, honour, decency.

NOEMA.
Then hear me thus erect, yet humbled quite!
It were a wasteful exercise of words
To praise thee, or to thank. Thou art too high
For me to extol, too kindly to repay.
But count me not to comeliness all blind,
Nor unto gentle deeds insensible,
Cold, calculating, stony, all that's base,
If I from thee and heavenly glimpses turn,
To clutch the cradle where my Irad sleeps.
Thou hast been good to me, too good, too kind,
Too condescending; but, O glorious Spirit!
I could not leave him e'en to lodge with thee!
Were there no other hindrance, this one bar
Would stand betwixt complete communion.
And 'mid the splendid vastness of the skies,
Charmed by thy voice, charmed by the planets' song,
And my dwarf nature magnified by thine,
My ears would listen for his little shout,
My lips grow drouthy for his April kiss,
And all my heart feel empty, because drained
Of the sweet freshening waters which he struck
Straight from this arid desert rock, when first
I felt him struggling feebly in my womb!
Leave me! nay, leave me! and return to Heaven!

AFRAEL.
Return to Heaven! That were impossible,
Save thou come too! Thou hast unheavened the Heavens.
And better pluck the sun from his high throne,
Than leave that empty which awaits thy light!
But dost thou, then, love Irad;—him alone?

NOEMA.
I said not so.

AFRAEL.
But thou dost love him more
Than—all; than anything?

NOEMA.
Nay, press me not!
Enough! I could not leave him.

AFRAEL.
Let him come.
Thou him canst bear, and I will bear you both.
For he would love to ride upon the air,
Gambol among the soft unhurtful clouds,
And make his playmates of the wandering winds,
As childish and unpurposed as himself.
Let me interrogate his will, and know
Would he not gladly bear us company.

NOEMA.
O, thou art mad! Love ever warped the brain,
And did the stoutest judgment safe distort.

AFRAEL.
Because Love is the only one thing straight,
And seeks its course direct; twisting and snapping
The shifty thoughts that block its honest path.
Let drop this hesitation to the ground!
Rid of its cumbrous folds, thou wilt ascend,
Easier than erst, up to thy proper home.

NOEMA.
I do not hesitate: I am resolved.

AFRAEL.
Resolved to banish me! to make my wings
But exiles in their native territory,
And in the very air where I was fledged,
Doom me to roam a stranger!

NOEMA.
Even so,
If so it even must be. Now, farewell!
The Night begins to waver in her sleep,
And dream uneasily; she soon will wake.
Didst thou not hear a shiver in the trees?
'Twas an outriding skirmisher of Morn,
That scared them, and has now hied back to bid
Day's glittering legions bodily to advance.

AFRAEL.
O no! that was a sentry of the Night
Pacing his rounds. Dark yet has nought to fear,
But from its covert frowns impregnable.
Drive me away not yet!

NOEMA.
I must! I must!
For though the night held out, it would not shield
My fears 'gainst other, dreader enemies.
The parley at the Tower must now be closed,
And Aran even now be on his way.

AFRAEL.
May I not linger till he comes?

NOEMA.
O no!
No! For that were— Indeed thou must not stay!
I see a something moving through the gloom.
It will be he. Didst thou not hear a step?

AFRAEL.
Nor hear nor see I aught, but only thee.
When first I was thy guest, thou bad'st me bide
Till Aran's coming. Why may I not bide now?

NOEMA.
Oh! then 'twas different. But—but—rend me not
With these excruciating probes! but go!
Go, as thou lov'st me!

AFRAEL.
Ah! then, go I must,
Since thou dost turn my weapons 'gainst myself,
And love confound'st with love's own arguments.
O unfair shaft! But when may I return?

NOEMA.
Not soon; no, nor for long: I fain would say,
Never! but cannot say it! Go, go now!
I hear his footstep: I am sure 'tis he!
I must go in, and leave thee.

AFRAEL.
Then, farewell!
[He folds his wings widely around her.
Farewell, but not for ever!

[He unfolds his wings, ascends into the air, gazing back, but silent, and disappears.
NOEMA
(sol.)
Gone! He is gone!
And I it was that sent him! O, come back!
Come back, and fold me in thy plumes once more,
And kiss me, not at one particular point,
But, as it seemed, with all thy wings at once!
'Tis well he cannot hear me. 'Chance, he doth,
And that the faithless dark unto the night
Betrays my madness. It were better hushed!
I will go in. How giddy I do feel!
Those wings! Those wings! . . . This is the way, I think,
And this . . . what an embrace! . . . this, this the spot
Where Irad—Irad. . . . Come to me, my boy!

[She swoons against the crib where Irad soundly sleeps.