Orval, or The Fool of Time And Other Imitations and Paraphrases. By Robert Lytton |
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 | Orval, or The Fool of Time |  |
Scene V.—Early morning. Valley and Woodland in the domain of Orval.
Orval.
Through the deep quietness of these old woods
I walk unwelcomed. The offended flowers
Look on me, like the faces of lost friends.
Yet there is nothing I have won from life,
Nor anything I yet may hope to win,
That's worth to me what in the winning it
I have flung away—the friendship of such things!
The Voice of Muriel
(singing from the heart of the wood).
The ivy hangs and the violet blows
Above and beneath in the bright June weather.
I breathe the breath of the bramble rose,
And I and the sweet birds sing together.
Orval.
O all that's left my of lost youth! How like
The music of the dirge of my dead heart
Sounds thy glad matin song to these sad ears!
The Voice of Muriel
(singing).
Sing, happy bird, and rebuke the world
For its foolish cares and its empty deeds,
And its gods of clay and of gold, whose curl'd
Hot incense Tophet with darkness feeds.
Orval.
Blind! and I pitied, who now envy him!
The Voice of Muriel.
Mine eyes are shut: but my heart is not.
And my spirit feels what your eyes see merely,
The mighty mirth of our mother Earth,
When the glory of God on her face shines clearly.
Orval.
Poor flower, thou know'st not thou art perishing!
O you inexorable unjust Powers
That mock us with your seeming leave to choose
The paths on which you thrust us headlong, why,
Why have you ever whirl'd my life away
From all love's holding-places?
The Guardian Angel
(above).
Foolish child!
Chide not the nursing hand that stole away,
To save for Love, the toys Love else had broken.
Orval.
What hath Love been to me? The Impossible.
And still for ever, The Impossible!
What was it that my vain youth loved? a dream,
A phantom, ever beckoning me away
To deserts, where it left me lone ...
The Voice.
The Past.
Orval.
And now, life's journey well nigh o'er; when, tired,
I can scarce further fare, and fain would rest,
What's left for love to linger on? a child:
A life for ever beyond mine ...
The Voice.
The Future.
Orval.
What, then, am I?
The Voice.
The Present.
Orval.
Mystic Voice,
That dost mine inmost questionings answer thus,
Yet further answer, What art thou?
The Voice.
The hour,
Orval, is not far off when thou shalt know.
Orval.
Through the deep quietness of these old woods
I walk unwelcomed. The offended flowers
Look on me, like the faces of lost friends.
Yet there is nothing I have won from life,
Nor anything I yet may hope to win,
That's worth to me what in the winning it
I have flung away—the friendship of such things!
The Voice of Muriel
(singing from the heart of the wood).
The ivy hangs and the violet blows
Above and beneath in the bright June weather.
I breathe the breath of the bramble rose,
And I and the sweet birds sing together.
209
O all that's left my of lost youth! How like
The music of the dirge of my dead heart
Sounds thy glad matin song to these sad ears!
The Voice of Muriel
(singing).
Sing, happy bird, and rebuke the world
For its foolish cares and its empty deeds,
And its gods of clay and of gold, whose curl'd
Hot incense Tophet with darkness feeds.
Orval.
Blind! and I pitied, who now envy him!
The Voice of Muriel.
Mine eyes are shut: but my heart is not.
And my spirit feels what your eyes see merely,
The mighty mirth of our mother Earth,
When the glory of God on her face shines clearly.
Orval.
Poor flower, thou know'st not thou art perishing!
O you inexorable unjust Powers
That mock us with your seeming leave to choose
The paths on which you thrust us headlong, why,
Why have you ever whirl'd my life away
From all love's holding-places?
The Guardian Angel
(above).
Foolish child!
Chide not the nursing hand that stole away,
To save for Love, the toys Love else had broken.
210
What hath Love been to me? The Impossible.
And still for ever, The Impossible!
What was it that my vain youth loved? a dream,
A phantom, ever beckoning me away
To deserts, where it left me lone ...
The Voice.
The Past.
Orval.
And now, life's journey well nigh o'er; when, tired,
I can scarce further fare, and fain would rest,
What's left for love to linger on? a child:
A life for ever beyond mine ...
The Voice.
The Future.
Orval.
What, then, am I?
The Voice.
The Present.
Orval.
Mystic Voice,
That dost mine inmost questionings answer thus,
Yet further answer, What art thou?
The Voice.
The hour,
Orval, is not far off when thou shalt know.
| Orval, or The Fool of Time | |