 | The coming of love |  |
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XIII
THE FIRST DUKKERIPEN OF THE STARS
(Percy on the night of his return to the encampment lingers
before calling for the ferry-boat upon the tongue of land called
Portobello, and looks down the river, where the stars are
brilliantly reflected. Rhona, who has secretly come to meet
him, appears on the opposite bank, but does not perceive him,
owing to the shadowing trees under which he stands.)
PERCY.
What sees she in the river as it flows?
Does she recall that summer night when we
Rowed here beneath the stars—the night when she,
Unconscious, then, of that within my breast
Which held me mute, murmured in loving jest,
“Our Tarno Rye, he's dreamin while he rows”?
Or is she gazing at the stars that shine
Mirrored within the stream to read their sign—
The dukkeripen
of good or evil made
By their reflections mingled with the shade
Yon pollard willow throws?
Does she recall that summer night when we
Rowed here beneath the stars—the night when she,
Unconscious, then, of that within my breast
Which held me mute, murmured in loving jest,
“Our Tarno Rye, he's dreamin while he rows”?
Or is she gazing at the stars that shine
Mirrored within the stream to read their sign—
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By their reflections mingled with the shade
Yon pollard willow throws?
That night I murmured, “Life's one joy is this,
To love, to taste the soul's divine delight
Of loving some most lovely soul or sight—
To worship still, though never an answering sign
Should come from Love asleep within the shrine.”
That night I said, “I ask no more of bliss
Than—while beneath the boat the wavelets heave—
To touch the gauds upon a gypsy's sleeve,
To see the bright nails shine on glistening fingers,
To see the throat on which the starlight lingers,
The mouth I dare not kiss.”
But that same night Love wrote around the prow
In stars! Her trembling body turned to me
In joyful fear of joy, and I could see,
Pictured in frightened eyes, the blissful things
A girl's pure soul can see when Love's young wings,
Fragrant of heaven and earth, fan first the brow.
(Rhona gives a sudden start and looks behind her.)
To love, to taste the soul's divine delight
Of loving some most lovely soul or sight—
To worship still, though never an answering sign
Should come from Love asleep within the shrine.”
That night I said, “I ask no more of bliss
Than—while beneath the boat the wavelets heave—
To touch the gauds upon a gypsy's sleeve,
To see the bright nails shine on glistening fingers,
To see the throat on which the starlight lingers,
The mouth I dare not kiss.”
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In stars! Her trembling body turned to me
In joyful fear of joy, and I could see,
Pictured in frightened eyes, the blissful things
A girl's pure soul can see when Love's young wings,
Fragrant of heaven and earth, fan first the brow.
What means that start? Why stands she there to listen?
I see her eyes that in the starlight glisten—
Her eyes—but not the thing of dread they see:
She's feeling where her knife was wont to be—
Ah, would she wore it now! (“The Scollard's” figure appears from behind the willow.)
'Tis he, my gypsy rival, by her side!
He lifts a knife. She springs, the dauntless girl,
Lithe as a leopardess! Ah! can she hurl
The giant down the bank?
(He prepares to plunge into the river in order to swim to
her, when Rhona meets the onrush of her assailant
with a blow in the mouth from her fist, which causes
him to totter and then stumble over the bank.)
I see her eyes that in the starlight glisten—
Her eyes—but not the thing of dread they see:
She's feeling where her knife was wont to be—
Ah, would she wore it now! (“The Scollard's” figure appears from behind the willow.)
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He lifts a knife. She springs, the dauntless girl,
Lithe as a leopardess! Ah! can she hurl
The giant down the bank?
He falls below,
Falls where the river's darkest waters flow!
Twice, thrice, he rises—sinks beneath the tide!
Only the stars and I have seen him fall.
Death is her doom who slays a Romany -chal
And weds a gorgio : death! But only we,
The stars and I who love the slayer, could see
The way the ruffian died. (He looks in the river, where the reflected stars make mysterious figures as the ripples twist round the bulrushes.)
'Twas only we who saw, ye starry throng!
And one white lie of mine will hide the deed
Of her who gave me love against her creed—
The Romany woman's creed of tribal duty—
Gave Rhona's wealth of love and faith and beauty.
Falls where the river's darkest waters flow!
Twice, thrice, he rises—sinks beneath the tide!
Only the stars and I have seen him fall.
Death is her doom who slays a Romany -chal
And weds a gorgio : death! But only we,
The stars and I who love the slayer, could see
The way the ruffian died. (He looks in the river, where the reflected stars make mysterious figures as the ripples twist round the bulrushes.)
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And one white lie of mine will hide the deed
Of her who gave me love against her creed—
The Romany woman's creed of tribal duty—
Gave Rhona's wealth of love and faith and beauty.
THE STARS WRITE IN THE RIVER.
Falsehood can never shield her: Truth is strong.
PERCY.
I read your rune: is there no pity, then,
In Heav'n that wove this net of life for men?
Have only Hell and Falsehood heart for ruth?
Show me, ye mirrored stars, this tyrant Truth—
King that can do no wrong!
Ah! Night seems opening! There, above the skies,
Who sits upon that central sun for throne
Round which a golden sand of worlds is strown,
Stretching right onward to an endless ocean,
Far, far away, of living dazzling motion?
Hearken, King Truth with pictures in thine eyes
Mirrored from gates beyond the furthest portal
Of infinite light, 'tis Love that stands immortal,
The King of Kings. And there on yonder bank
Stands she, and, where the accursed carrion sank,
The merry bubbles rise!
At last she sees me on this tongue of land;
She plunges through the fringe of reed and moss,
She takes the boat; she's pulling straight across,
Startling the moorhens as the dark prow brushes
Through reeds and weeds and water-flags and rushes.
In Heav'n that wove this net of life for men?
Have only Hell and Falsehood heart for ruth?
Show me, ye mirrored stars, this tyrant Truth—
King that can do no wrong!
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Who sits upon that central sun for throne
Round which a golden sand of worlds is strown,
Stretching right onward to an endless ocean,
Far, far away, of living dazzling motion?
Hearken, King Truth with pictures in thine eyes
Mirrored from gates beyond the furthest portal
Of infinite light, 'tis Love that stands immortal,
The King of Kings. And there on yonder bank
Stands she, and, where the accursed carrion sank,
The merry bubbles rise!
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She plunges through the fringe of reed and moss,
She takes the boat; she's pulling straight across,
Startling the moorhens as the dark prow brushes
Through reeds and weeds and water-flags and rushes.
Yes, yes, I saw! Is this the little hand
That slew him? How the slender fingers quiver
Against my lips! Those stars within the river
May write of how he died, but Love, my darling,
Looks straight at Doom, though wolves of Death are snarling,
And smiles: “Behold, I stand!”
That slew him? How the slender fingers quiver
Against my lips! Those stars within the river
May write of how he died, but Love, my darling,
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And smiles: “Behold, I stand!”
| The coming of love | |