University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Midwinter in a certain little island abroad. A pretty room with opened windows overlooking a lovely garden, and a still lovelier prospect beyond. Time.—A few years afterwards, towards sunset, and only a few days before Edgar's death. Edgar and Alethea.
Edgar.
Truly a grand, a noble thing is life—
This most I feel when I am passing from it;
And life is fair, whatever cynics say.
But yesterday I lay upon my couch
And looked upon the clear wide-stretching bay,
Far, far beneath me shimmering in the sun.
I saw th' exquisite azure of the sky,
The dainty outlines of palm-branches shown
More clearly by the strong light showered upon them,
The countless clustering vines and varied trees
In all the gentle ever-pleasing glow
Of vegetation almost tropical,
Which makes each cultivated garden here
Appear a paradise. Banana-trees
I saw with all their load of luscious fruit
The graceful guava-trees with light-green leaves
The loquats with their deeper verdant tints,—
The little plant they call ‘Brazilian cherry,’
With bright green leaves, and fruit of strawberry size,—
The stately yam-tree with its blossoms white
And lily-like;—fair to the eye indeed,
A tree whose oval leaves afford good shade
In summer. Surely it is strangely sweet
To loiter in such gardens when cool Night
Has conquered the fierce ardour of the day,—
And see the meek moon rise o'er azure seas,—
And view the tranquil heavens don their jewels,
And hear machêtes swift tingling forth an air
Of music,—haply a soft mazy dance.
Yet, dear Alethea, it is decreed
That I must leave you, darling, but although
'Tis sad to leave you and this beauteous world,
'Tis sweet to die amid such loveliness.
And daily I thank God that He hath not
Condemned me to this sickness slow and sure
Immured in one close room from day to day,
Through the long, lagging, weary winter-time,
But given me the means wherewith to dwell
In climate such as this where balmy air
And sunshine even in winter, are not wanting;
A climate where the invalid can pass,
However languid, many happy hours
Communing with God's fair earth out of doors.
Do you remember, dear, some years ago
You told me if fond love and sympathy
Could soothe me that I surely should be cheered?
And you have kept your word: I have been cheered,
And comforted, and though no marriage-bond
Has been between us as we once had hoped,
Our souls have been as one. Take my poor thanks
For coming thus to sojourn where I dwelt
And giving me your loving tireless care
'Mid all my pain and suffering, made less hard
To bear by your kind presence.

Alethea.
I am glad
It was my lot to render you this service,—
A service small indeed compared with love
Such as I bear you, darling.

Edgar.
When I die,
Let me be buried in my native land,
Not here, although I love this sea-girt shore,
Where graveyards are embowered mid beauteous trees,
And overlook mayhap light rippling waves
As blue as the deep azure heavens above them,
Round whose rude tombs the scented roses cling.
And still bloom on throughout the sunny year.
But let me rather lie where chilling rain
And bitter sleet shall in the winter-time
Beat on my resting-place. For what care I
Though placid snows spread o'er my quiet grave
Their spotless mantle, though wild wintry winds
Sweep o'er it, be it only undisturbed.
And if 'twere here, perchance it would not be
For ever left in pcace. Alethea,
For Time we shall be separated soon,
But do not grieve o'ermuch. For me 'twill be
A glad release from pain, and you and I
Shall meet in yon pure Home of Love at last.