 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Scene IX.—Ecbatana.
Arsinoe(On a balcony of Drypetris' Palace).
She sleeps. Thou blessed sleep that most dost bless us
When we in thy great gift forget the gift,
Oh, call us not ingrate! She sleeps: there's nought
Like sleep to help a heavy heart; not music;
That brings her back the memory of old times;
Not love like mine; that whispers of another's;
Not flowers nor song of birds, nor airs sweet-laden:
If these poor flatteries force a smile upon her,
Brief infidelity how soon avenged,
The unwonted apparition leaves her dim;
And those sad eyes make inquest without words,
“Shall we no more behold him?”
When we in thy great gift forget the gift,
Oh, call us not ingrate! She sleeps: there's nought
Like sleep to help a heavy heart; not music;
That brings her back the memory of old times;
Not love like mine; that whispers of another's;
Not flowers nor song of birds, nor airs sweet-laden:
If these poor flatteries force a smile upon her,
Brief infidelity how soon avenged,
The unwonted apparition leaves her dim;
And those sad eyes make inquest without words,
“Shall we no more behold him?”
153
Silent stars
That flash from yonder firmament serene,
Ye have no portion in these pangs of earth;
Ye mock not man with infirm sympathy:
I thank you for your clear, unpitying brightness
That freezes Time's deceits. The Lord of Light
Sternly in you hath writ his four great Names
Truth, Justice, Wisdom, Order. Ye endure:
Our storms sweep o'er you but they shake you not:
Darkness, your foe, but brings your hour of triumph:
Your teaching is—to bear.
That flash from yonder firmament serene,
Ye have no portion in these pangs of earth;
Ye mock not man with infirm sympathy:
I thank you for your clear, unpitying brightness
That freezes Time's deceits. The Lord of Light
Sternly in you hath writ his four great Names
Truth, Justice, Wisdom, Order. Ye endure:
Our storms sweep o'er you but they shake you not:
Darkness, your foe, but brings your hour of triumph:
Your teaching is—to bear.
The Lord of Light—
Is it a woman's weakness that would wish him
Another, tenderer name, the Lord of Love?
A love that out of love created all things;
A love that, warring ever, willeth peace;
A patient love, from ill educing good;
A conquering love, triumphant over death?
Ah me! No land there is that clasps this Faith!
To hold it were to feel from heaven a hand
Laid on the aching breast of human kind,
Laid on our own, and softer than the kiss
Of some imagined babe. Come quickly, Death!
Beyond thy gate is Truth.
Is it a woman's weakness that would wish him
Another, tenderer name, the Lord of Love?
A love that out of love created all things;
A love that, warring ever, willeth peace;
A patient love, from ill educing good;
A conquering love, triumphant over death?
Ah me! No land there is that clasps this Faith!
To hold it were to feel from heaven a hand
Laid on the aching breast of human kind,
Laid on our own, and softer than the kiss
Of some imagined babe. Come quickly, Death!
Beyond thy gate is Truth.
A Lady
(entering).
Madam, but now
Your sister woke, and gently breathed your name,
But slept ere I could answer.
Ars.
Watch beside her:
When next she moves, make sign.
When next she moves, make sign.
Eternal Truth,
Why has our Persia missed you? Truth she loved:
She trained her sons in valour and in truth:
And yet in vain for you our Magians strained
Their night-dividing eyes! From sceptred watchers
Turned she her all-pure countenance to reward
More late some humbler vigil? It must be!
The unceasing longing cannot be in vain:
The agony of virtue crownless here,
And great love sorrow-crowned. If earth can find,
Indeed, no answer to her children's cry,
Wandering from yon bright host a star will lead
The lowliest of her wanderers, lowly and wise,
In age still faithful to their childhood's longing,
To where in some obscurest spot lies hid
The saviour-soul of self-subsistent Truth,
Some great world-conquering, world-delivering Might,
The future's cradled Hope.
Why has our Persia missed you? Truth she loved:
She trained her sons in valour and in truth:
And yet in vain for you our Magians strained
Their night-dividing eyes! From sceptred watchers
154
More late some humbler vigil? It must be!
The unceasing longing cannot be in vain:
The agony of virtue crownless here,
And great love sorrow-crowned. If earth can find,
Indeed, no answer to her children's cry,
Wandering from yon bright host a star will lead
The lowliest of her wanderers, lowly and wise,
In age still faithful to their childhood's longing,
To where in some obscurest spot lies hid
The saviour-soul of self-subsistent Truth,
Some great world-conquering, world-delivering Might,
The future's cradled Hope.
The Lady
(re-entering).
Madam, she wakes.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |