University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Private Apartment in Eman of Macha. Enter Lavercam and Conor, in conversation.
CONOR.
But Caffa were no more to me than Pan
To Apollo, who hangs the Heavens in chains
Of harmony. The wisdom of my mind
Doth rule mankind, building up daily power,
As Orpheus caused the trees to move with song,
Arion penned the Dolphins with his Lute,
And great Amphion built the walls of Thebes.

LAVERCAM.
But was not Pan god of this world, as thou
Desirest now to be? Then, why call thyself
Apollo, when thou'rt Pan, who would make me
Thy Syrinx—play upon me too—thy Pipe?
No, Caffa is Hyperion, with his locks
Of gold, like clusters of the vine, in whose
Rich curls Cupid lies nestling, like the Dove
In her soft nest.

CONOR.
A Virginal thou art,
On whom none but thy King should play—a harp
Of a thousand strings, kept ever in tune
By Angels' hands.

LAVERCAM.
None less than Angels' hands
Shall ever touch my strings.

CONOR.
I am thy lord—
As only Kings know how to value love—
Being Images of Him who is all love.

LAVERCAM.
Great Caffa is. Arcadia is his home;
I his Erato, who respond to him,
The majesty of mountains—I his Nymph.
Where Phœbus drives his Chariot, there I ride—
Borne on by horses swift as Eagles' wings—
Whose feet strike lightning from the adamant;
Whose nostrils, trumpet-like, dilated with
Their breath, blow joy throughout the world. He feeds
On nectar.

CONOR.
So do I, hearing thee talk.
Love, you know, made Jupiter a Swan.

Lavercam
(aside).
And you a goose.

CONOR.
Thou art my Leda, love—
Could bring the gods down from their starry thrones
In Heaven.

LAVERCAM.
One did come down when Caffa came—
Pan with his primal name,—The Universe.

CONOR.
The All in One belongs alone to kings.

LAVERCAM.
Apollo being Pan—King Caffa both—
A double King—woodland melodies his songs—
Making the woods resound with melody;
Having Apollo's beauty with Pan's horns—
That is, great strength with comeliness combined.

CONOR.
Does he hear well?

LAVERCAM.
Just opposite to you—
Without your ass's ears.

CONOR.
Well, you are frank.
But anything from thy sweet lips sounds sweet
Unto my ears.

LAVERCAM.
They are so large.

CONOR.
Should be—
To take all in.

LAVERCAM.
The chain which binds my heart
Is made of love, not gold.

CONOR.
Love is of gold;
For where there is no gold, there is no love.
Like a Butterfly in the month of May,
Thou art, first, here—then, everywhere.

LAVERCAM.
Because
I am all Psyche—soul.

CONOR.
True—all my soul.
For, without thee, I have no life.

LAVERCAM.
Then thou
Art dead—for thou art without me.

CONOR.
Most true.
Soon thou shalt wear my love upon thy head,
Like a Tiara of Glory.

LAVERCAM.
True—
The glory that would tire. I am no wheel
Thus to be bound around by thy rich bands.

CONOR.
But, like the Chariot of Aminadab,
Full of pure love.

LAVERCAM.
Where thou shalt never ride.

CONOR.
This talk brings no refreshment to my soul.
I would not only climb the mountain's heights,
But dive into the bottom of the sea,
And bring up priceless pearls to deck thy brow,
But to possess thy heart.

LAVERCAM.
Thou shalt be saved
That trouble; thou mightst get drowned; then some great
Fish would eat thee—as thou dost, now, with thine
Almightiness, eat many little ones.

CONOR.
Thou art a Swan-like Ivory Lute.

LAVERCAM.
Whereon
Is written “Noli me Tangere”—touch
Me not.

CONOR.
On my heart's Altar, Cupid now
Is seen kindling his vestal fires.

LAVERCAM.
There let
It burn—the sooner thou'rt consumed the better
It'll be for me.

CONOR.
I took thee for an Angel, love!
But there is consolation none in thee!
[Exit Lavercam.
Now she is gone! Gone evermore from me—
Leaving no sun in Heaven! What shall be done?
Persuasion I will try no more—but force;
Yes, threats—peremptory threats; commands
That would make tremble stoutest knees; quail even
The mightiest hearts! This I will do. She must
Be mine. There never yet was woman born
So near my Ideal of Divine as she.
To gain her, I would give the world—yes, even
Barter my place of future life in Heaven.
Then why should I thus parley? Spend my time
Trying to coax what I have power to make?
I will persuade no more; no, she is mine.

[Exit.