 | Sylvia |  |
Scene V.
Two hedge-rows of sweet aubepine,
With English White-thorn, much the same
Both shrub and its Provencal name.
Yet still I think our homely word
Is much,—ay much!—to be preferr'd,—
Except it more convenient be
In rhyme, as it was now to me.
I love this racy northern Land,
And think its tongue both sweet and grand,
Though mongrel authors may abuse it,
Because they know not how to use it.
Green Albion, shake him from thy breast,
The renegade! who thinks not best
Both thee, and thine, of all the sun
Looks with his golden eye upon!
As she who gave us human birth
Is dear,—why not our parent-earth?
Shallow pronouncers may call this
Poorness of soul, and prejudice;
Why then, 'tis weak to love our mothers
Better, one whit, than those of others!
If this philosophy be sound,
By no one tie is nature bound;
All laws of kindred, blood, and name,
Like Spanish kings, despite of taunts,
Marry our nieces or our aunts,
And by the same licentious rule
Tell our grave father he's a fool,
Scoundrel, or liar,—call him out,
Or cuff him in a fistic bout,
Owing no more in such a case
Than bankers do to Henry Hase;
All home-affections are absurd,
And duty is an old-wife's word:
Who feels a brave indifference
For natural bond, or natural sense,
Is, in our modern Teucer's sight,
The only true Cosmopolite!
Nor would I, write—“Essays on Man;”
Here are some Maidens to assay,
A matter much more in my way:
With yon sweet Girl I'd rather speak
Than him the Academic Greek;
Or wander with this pensive maid,
Than Tully in his classic shade;
One smile from those dear lips, I vow,
Sylvia! would make me happy now!
For I do fear some inward ail,
Thou look'st so deadly still, and pale.
Is there no end to Misery?
Stephania.
Alas! alas! she is distract—
Jacintha.
Ay, truly: you may know it by her hands locked so; and her streaming hair; and her eye fixt upon the ground as if she were choosing her steps over a bridge not a hair's breadth. O it is a piteous condition!
Roselle.
Sweet Sylvia! Gentle maid!—Go not, we pr'ythee, towards that haunted wood: do not, we beseech thee!—She looks at me, but speaks not —O her eyes! her eyes!
Girls.
Go not, our queen! our beauteous sovereign!—We will kneel to thee, if thou wilt stay.
Stephania.
'Tis vain!—she heeds us not.
3d Girl.
She seemed to love Jacintha, because she could talk more gentlefolk than we: let Jacintha pray her not to go.
Jacintha.
[Embracing Sylvia.]
O gentle friend! by this entreating and affectionate kiss—
Sylvia.
No comfort! no!—they are ta'en! they are ta'en!
I but offend her.
Sylvia.
Is he not dead, answer me that?—Is not my mother ta'en?—Why trouble ye me thus— Forgive, but leave me!
Jacintha.
Sweetness, even in her moods and wilfulness.
Girls.
Let us fall down about her on her knees.
Sylvia.
Prevent me not, I say!—I will proceed!
[Exit.
Peasants.
'Twill make her fractious: she will go. Let us follow her to the extent we dare, and persuade her back if possible.
[Exeunt after Sylvia. | Sylvia | |