University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Private Apartment in the Palace of the King of Duntrone. Enter King and Darthula, his daughter.
DARTHULA.
Oh! God! dear father! let me kneel to thee!
Have mercy on me! do not have me slain!
But pity me! have mercy on my soul!
I am your child—your first-born, only child!
Blood of your blood—bone of your bone—whose life
You have the power to take away from me,
But will not, I do trust in God in Heaven!

KING.
Trust not—thy life is forfeited! for thou
Hast done a deed worthy of death!

DARTHULA.
Oh! no,
Dear father! loving cannot be the deed
Of death, but living. I should live for that!
As it was love which made you put her there,
So, it was love which made me set her free.

KING.
You said you loved your father better far—
Why did you do it then?

DARTHULA.
Partly for love
Of her, because she was Naisa's wife—
(Knowing how I had thanked her for the same)—
And partly that I loved his brother so.

KING.
Whose brother?

DARTHULA.
Ardan—one of Usna's Sons.

KING.
Ah! now I see it all. Then you do tower
Far out of sight—above all power of thought—
In wickedness! Where saw you Usna's Son?

DARTHULA.
Here, at my own dear home.

KING.
Vile traitress!
Did you not know they were my enemies?

DARTHULA.
No, but true friends—thy truest friends.

KING.
My friends?
Who told you so?

DARTHULA.
The youngest—Ardan called.
They are the enemies of Ulster's King—
Thine enemy—usurper of their throne;
For they are Kings—Sons of a King by birth—
All having sworn never to rest again,
Till they have wrested from his hands their crown.
I tell thee, father! they are friends to thee—
Would join thee here, this day, against thy foe,
Wouldst thou but say the word.

KING.
How know you this?

DARTHULA.
From Ardan's lips—who never spoke but truth.

KING.
Confirm these words by sending them to me,
Where I can hear them from their own proud lips,
And I revoke the sentence of thy death!

DARTHULA.
I will—I pledge my life that he will tell
You what I say—perform what he will pledge—
And all for my sole sake, if nothing more.

KING.
Then you are pardoned. Bring him here this night,
And all my former love returns again;
But if you fail, you are no child of mine.

DARTHULA.
If I do not perform, I would not be.

KING.
Then I am thy dear father still.

DARTHULA.
Thank God!
As mountains were uplifted from the Vales
By God's great will—leaving the Vales behind;
So does this towering Tree of Good spring up
From evil soil.

KING.
I sowed the seeds—you reaped
The golden fruit.

DARTHULA.
A Diamond crop—great Usna's Son.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Private Apartment in the Palace of the Queen of Connaught. Enter Ainli to the Queen.
AINLI.
Most noble Queen! we come to ask your aid
Against the foul usurper of our throne—
Who perjured his foul soul in sight of Heaven,
By forfeiting his solemn guarantee,
Pledged unto Fergus for our safe return.

QUEEN.
Were you not exiled to the Isle of Skye?

AINLI.
We were, great Queen! where we had stayed, had not
The noble Fergus come to bring us back,
Promising our safe return.

QUEEN.
But you did come—
For you are here.

AINLI.
Came under Conor's oath,
That we should live untramelled on return;
Instead, no sooner had we landed there,
Than troops were sent to tear the Red Branch down,
Or brave Naisa's wife delivered up to him.
They came—we fought—the Red Branch set on fire—
Making the day in night by which we fought—
Leaving his troops by thousands dead on field!

QUEEN.
Where are your brothers now?

AINLI.
Waiting for my
Return, to make another onslaught on
The remnant who now guard the Lion's Den.

QUEEN.
But where is Conor?

AINLI.
Housed at home—the fiend
Mustering his Myrmidons to strike new death
Into the heart of glorious Liberty,
Waiting with anxious expectation now
At Eman for his final overthrow.

QUEEN.
This hope achieved, who is to be your King?

AINLI.
Naisa, Son of Usna.

QUEEN.
None more fit.
Who of Naisa's troops were slain?

AINLI.
Brave souls;
Illan the Fair was one.

QUEEN.
Is Illan dead?

AINLI.
Illan the Fair is dead! his righteous soul
Ascending into Heaven through the great wound
Made in his heart by Conal Carnach's sword!

QUEEN.
By Conal Carnach's sword? Why, they were friends!

AINLI.
True friends—one by the other slain!

QUEEN.
Alas!

AINLI.
Upon his heaving body, prone on earth,
It sate awhile, doubting to fly, or not,
As on Christ's shoulder sat the Holy Ghost,
Sounding the Bath Kol of the opening Heavens!
When, like some snow-white Dove, frightened from earth,
From the green pyramid of some tall Pine,
Now prostrate on the earth, blown down by storms,
Never to sprout again—so soared his soul—
His God-like soul—out of his body there,
Exultant in the embrace of the Heavens;
While Ministering Angels, clothed in robes of fire,
Came pressing downward through the opening Gates,
Ready to convey him, with shouts, to God!

QUEEN.
If no one else had died, your loss had been,
Indeed, irreparable!

AINLI.
Truly so—
It cannot be repaired; for he was one
Who had no brother in this world.

QUEEN.
Yes, yes—
Buini was his brother. Where is he?

AINLI.
Dead! gone to Hell, where all such traitors go!
Drowned in the District changed into a Sea,
Which Conor gave him for his treachery—
Drowned on the very night he gave it him,
By God's Almighty wrath, sent down from Heaven!
Caffa the Druid naming it Buini's Moor—
Thus to be called through all eternity!

QUEEN.
Most righteous Heaven! an awful doom indeed!
What do you wish?

AINLI.
The aid of all your troops,
Until the tyrant reaps his just reward,
When we will seat Naisa on the throne.

QUEEN.
But what will you repay me for this aid?

AINLI.
My hand—in whose soft palm my gracious heart
Lies panting with celestial joy to know
That you cannot refuse the proffered boon;
But, by the interchange, reap mutual joys.

QUEEN.
But you bestow unasked.

AINLI.
The only gift
Worth having; real gifts are thus bestowed—
All others being false—or given for gain.
True love is always given unasked—because,
It being the Image of God's love in Heaven,
Flows down just like his bounty—free as rain.
So let mine moisten this immortal flower.

QUEEN.
My troops are thine. My hand—that is mine own,
Which I will give to whom I please—no one
Except the one I love—the one who clasps it now.

AINLI.
Embracing now, clasped in each other's arms,
To emblem our eternal love in Heaven—
Where we shall meet again in marriage after death.

QUEEN.
You echo but the voice of mine own soul.
Thou art my Husband-King!

AINLI.
Thou my Queen-wife!
I cannot magnify my mode of utterance
Into the embrace of my boundless love!

QUEEN.
That you deserve the reverence of the Gods,
With Godlike speech you woo your worshipper.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Private Apartment in the Palace of the King of Duntrone. Enter Ardan, to the King.
ARDAN.
We come to ask assistance of your troops
Against the foul Usurper of our throne.

KING.
The tyrant Conor?

ARDAN.
Conor, gracious King.

KING.
But after his dethronement, who will sit
On Ulster's throne?

ARDAN.
The Sons of Usna will—
Three brothers—jointly reigning—thus to rule.

KING.
Of whose fraternal Trinity you will
Be one?

ARDAN.
I will; three Scions of a King,
We should know how to rule—having the power.

KING.
But who will be thy Queen? there should be three—
An equal number with the Kings.

ARDAN.
There should;
Thy daughter, fair Darthula, being mine.

KING.
My troops are thine—my daughter too. I will
Be there to lead them on. Come on.

ARDAN.
I will.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An Apartment in the Palace of Eman of Macha. Enter Barach to Conor.
BARACH.
I have come most sorrowful news to tell!

CONOR.
What news is that? More traitors in the camp?

BARACH.
Ulster is dead!

CONOR.
What! Ulster dead?

BARACH.
Dead—dead,
Great King!

CONOR.
Then we have cause to weep indeed;
For he was truly great—great in all things,
Except the full fruition of his hopes.
He was a mighty builder of great thoughts,
Whose monumental majesty did loom
Like mountains of pure Beauty up to Heaven—
Valhalla-halls piled up by God's great hands
For Heroes' souls—not mortal men like us!
But they lived ideal only in his soul—
Not having realized them in rich works.
He had all that could make a man a Man,
Except this one—he was no King—no King.
A Prince he was of Princes; but no King.
He wanted action—action was his want—
A life of use proportioned to his thoughts!
A living, acting, working day of works—
Moving majestic like some mighty stream;
Then would his goings forth have been like songs
Of thunder from the Sun, whose tones are fire—
Thrilling the high-uplifted stars with storms of joy.
But for this want, he would have been to me
The mightiest man that ever lived on earth.
So, having realized no Ideals here,
He now is gone to realize in Heaven—
Where he can build proportioned to his thoughts.

BARACH.
He was too mighty for this world; there was
Not ground enough for him to build upon.

CONOR.
No; for his Ideal covered all the world—
Continents, Kingdoms, everything in space.

BARACH.
Eternity was in his eyes. I saw them,
Like two living wells of heavenly truth,
Unfathomable as night, but full of day—
When Usna's Sons Daidra bore away—
Weep pearls that might have purchased suns—
Springs from the peerless Amber of his soul—
In which there were no grains but purest gold.

CONOR.
Yet, he is gone! Then let us mourn for him!
But this were worthless work for such great souls—
An argument that we believe him dead,
When he does live—a God among the Gods.
It were impossible for him to die.

BARACH.
Then let us sorrow not, nor weep, nor pine,
For who would sorrow for the blest in Heaven?
I do not think, myself, that he could die,
But was translated out of time to Heaven,
Like Enoch or Elijah was.

CONOR.
He lives!
There are some men were never born to die,
But are projected out of time to Heaven—
Exalted (as they first came down on earth)
In the rapt trance-swoons of ecstatic bliss—
Sublimed to glory through victorious love—
As though a man should grow into a God,
And there stand Apotheosized, God-crowned—
Another Sun—blotting the first from Heaven.

Enter Servitor.
SERVITOR.
Great King! I have most sorrowful news to tell!
Your royal beast is dead!

CONOR.
My Lion dead?

SERVITOR.
He is, great King! He died last night. They say
An Eagle, flying over Eman's plain,
Was, yesterday, brought down to earth, by some
One hunting on your grounds; its wings, when stretched,
Wanting three inches, spread three yards in length.

CONOR.
Go—bury, then, the royal beast. Dig deep
His Grave—an Emblem of great Ulster's soul.
[Exit Servitor.
A royal beast should have a royal grave.
For Royalty to die, methinks the Sun
In Heaven should put on sackcloth—feel as we do now—
A royal sorrow, far too deep for tears!
Therefore we will not weep for him; for tears
Are woman's weeds; but smile, that our great loss
Is his eternal gain. So do the Heavens
When some new Star is born; filling the sky
With thunders of melodious joy, as we
Should at his Apotheosis in Heaven.

BARACH.
Ay, as he died, so let us live—in smiles.

CONOR.
Did he die smiling?

BARACH.
So they say, great King.

CONOR.
A presage that our life is to be sad.
For we are told the Grecian Painter drew
The mourning Agamemnon veiled, because
The royal face of Grief disdained his Art—
Being above the mightiest Pencil's reach.

BARACH.
Let us not venture, then, to mourn for him,
Lest we abuse our sorrow, as he did
His Art, aspiring to be what we were
Not made to be,—the Painters of our Loss.

CONOR.
The theme is far above our reach; as well
Attempt to add new glory to the Sun,
Now bursting with the plenitudes of Heaven.
Although we speak the universal voice,
Yet we should smile, not weep; for it were wise
To leave that unattempted which it were
Impossible to do.

BARACH.
Most true, great King.

CONOR.
But, as by losing one of our two eyes,
The other is enriched with greater power,
So let us, by this loss, more strongly grow.

BARACH.
The poorest mourners shed the richest tears.
Then, from this bounty of our love, will we
Enrich Eternity with endless smiles—
That New Baptism, unknown to baser souls,
Consecrating him to immortal life.

CONOR.
His life was seven whole Heavens above the lives
Of other men, by which we measure our
Great loss, above the reach of mortal words;
For, as the Eagle over other birds,
So did his Angel-soul transcend, in thought,
The Buzzard-flight of meaner men.

BARACH.
He did.
But let us on. Come, go with me.

CONOR.
I will.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Druidical Grove. Caffa, Fergus, and Cuchullan discovered in conversation.
CAFFA.
He is of royal blood; silent of tongue;
Yet, speaking, clamorous for the Truth;
Given to much inquiry; loving to hear,
Where hearing profits him for the time gone.
Steady of understanding; firm in his
Resolves, either to grant or to deny.
Industrious in his business, little given
To pleasure, except when spent with the one
He loves—then it becomes connubial bliss.
He is temperate in all things, save in
His daily charities—being frugal in
The management of his fortune—except
On great occasions—then he is bountiful
Of his revenue. Of so great a soul—
His heart being always on the side of Truth—
That he longs for glory as he does for Heaven—
His ambition to grow great being the fire
That kindles all his actions—walking so
High, at the same time, in his lofty pride,
That he would not stoop to enter any door
Less high, though it should lead him into Heaven.
A man, who, through his virtues, void of vice,
Would rather serve his Country than to ride
To Glory on the back of her servitude.

FERGUS.
Then he is just the man we want, to steer
Our ship safe through the raging Sea of Storm.

CUCHULLAN.
Just such a man—no other—we will have—
Although Conor would rather have his Court
A little farther off.

CAFFA.
Then let us make
Him King, for all we want is our own will.

FERGUS.
Then we shall want no longer—for we will.

CAFFA.
A mere King by accident of birth—
Not by the free suffrage of the People;
By bloody hands of feudal Lords set up:
Covered with purple robes at our expense,
To blaze like Comets till they burst with their
Own fires—the brightest bursting first—when Night,
Through all her solitudes, rings with the shouts
Of the exultant stars, clapping their hands
In triumph at its downfall from the sky,
Molesting their Seraphic reign. So dies
Out of the memories of the good, the thought
Of ostentatious greatness; disappear
The ambitious Tyrants of the world;
When the down-trodden Millions lift their hands
And voices up to Heaven in hallelujah-shouts
For his damned death! Pageants then disappear.
Royal Hosannahs then are silenced by
Rebellious curses, which fill highest Heaven
With acclamations! Nations then grow strong—
Feeling great earthquakes crawl beneath their feet,
Ready to tumble Mountains in the Sea!

CUCHULLAN.
So may this faithful Nathan of our love,
Rebuke that guilty David on his throne,
Breaking God's iron lash deep in his soul!

CAFFA.
For He who rides triumphant on the wings
Of Cherubim—holding, within his hands,
Orion's band,—holding the Pleiades—
Walking amidst his treasures of great snows,
And hoary frosts of Heaven—swears, in His wrath,
That Vengeance, iron-winged, with sword of fire,
Shall sweep down Conor's harvest-field of men,
To be garnered in the hungry grave of Death!

CUCHULLAN.
Thou art, indeed, a good Historian.

CAFFA.
Not only is he our ablest Warrior,
But the Champion of our religion too.
These rare qualities, springs of his royal heart,
Do make his manly brow the noblest one
That ever wore a Crown; for while the Crown
Doth tower upon his brow, his soul doth crown
His Crown—his glorious deeds crowning them both.

CUCHULLAN.
The trumpet that should speak his praise should be
Of virgin gold.

FERGUS.
A nobler theme was never sung.

CAFFA.
The morning that shall dawn upon his reign,
Will find the happiest evening that the Sun
Ever left behind him after his most
Glorious setting.

FERGUS.
Truly spoken truth.

CAFFA.
After the first fair Morning of his reign,
What a most glorious plenitude of Stars
Will people Heaven to glorify the Night—
Making an image in the Heavens above
Of our dear joys on earth.

CUCHULLAN.
Then let him shine.
Such a bright Sun as Usna's noble Son,
Would chase the clouds of centuries away.

CAFFA.
God send the hour that makes him Ulster's King.

FERGUS.
Amen to that, I pray.

CUCHULLAN.
I say so too.

CAFFA.
Such is the earnest prayer of this whole land,
That Ulster's diadem shall wave upon
The brow of none but Usna's noble Son—
Weighing too heavily now upon the brow
Of old man Conor!

CUCHULLAN.
Truly said; no man
Could wear it with more Apollian grace—
Walking beneath it on the Emerald Hills
Of Erin, like young Mercury, fresh-winged
For Godsent business to the Olympian Mount.

CAFFA.
This would, indeed, give universal joy
To all the Nation, groaning now beneath
The oppressive Serpent's deadly venomous coil!
But then he needs no trumpet such as mine
To speak his praise—but one whose fiery blast
Should emulate the Clarion of the Skies—
Mustering the Nations of the whole great Earth
To do melodious homage!

CUCHULLAN.
Sounding now.

CAFFA.
How irrepressible will be the joy
Of that bright day when he is crowned our King—
Adding new triumphs to that glorious hour—
A never-dying Trophy to his name,
Whose blazing record, written here, shall make
His memory fragrant to the end of time.

FERGUS.
He talks like a God.

CAFFA.
Did not Plato call
The Elean stranger a God? All men
Are gods who do aspire to be like God,
Or like-partakers of the heavenly bliss.

Enter Ainli.
CUCHULLAN.
I love to drink the white wine of your speech.

CAFFA.
So Jacob, after wrestling all the night
With Angels, was made strong to talk with God.

[Exit.
AINLI.
So will I drink till I am drowned in love;
For nothing now can satiate my soul,
But wrestling with that heavenly Angel's love—
More beautiful than Jacob ever saw.

CUCHULLAN.
He means the Angel of Connaught. He is
The Queen's St. Peter—holds the only key
That can unlock the Cabinet of her rare charms.

AINLI.
And find therein a Pearl of richest price.

CUCHULLAN.
A perfect gem—valuing all precious stones
Worthless compared with yours.

AINLI.
A perfect charm—
Whose Talismanic beauty lures my soul
As Sirens did the Seamen.

CUCHULLAN.
Not to death?

AINLI.
No, but to life eternal in the skies.
As once Prometheus brought down fire from Heaven,
So did she every perfect grace from God—
Clothing herself therewith, till Angels even
Did envy her.

CUCHULLAN.
The tire becomes her well.

AINLI.
Nay, she becomes the tire—as thou shalt see—
As some queen's brow the fairest Diadem—
Making more beautiful the Beautiful.

CUCHULLAN.
The Paradise your Adam wants to live in.

AINLI.
As sweet perfume lies hidden in some flower,
So does Divinity in her fair form.
Not all the richest fretwork ever woven
By the fair Nereids of the Sea, though laced
With richest jewels shipwrecked there, could match
The Cestus that adorns her form—which shows,
The more she tries to hide, of that rich store
Of heavenly grace, which there lies hidden—there
Revealed.

CUCHULLAN.
Indeed, you speak her praises well.

AINLI.
Not all those blessed souls, by the inspired souls
Of noblest Poets sainted, could compare
With her—she being, on earth, more than the best
In Heaven.

CUCHULLAN.
The Siren charms him well.

AINLI.
She is more modest than the meek-eyed Moon—
As if some Vestal Virgin should remain
A Nun after her marriage, yet, fulfil
All her rich nuptial rites with wantonness.

CUCHULLAN.
Cynthia has Hyperion by the curls.
The Siren sings so sweetly, if you do
Not stop your ears, the first place you will find
Yourself will be in the bottom of the Sea.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE VI.

A Private Apartment in Eman. Enter Caffa and Conor, in hasty conversation.
CAFFA.
Lift up thine eyes to where the clear blue sky
Bastions the glory of the bending Heavens,
And muse here with me on the myriad years
Since God first laid the corner-stone of earth,
And built the mighty Delta of the Sea.
Roam through the dark abysses of the Past,
Into those sky-throned nebular realms of space,
Where the great Sun, Apollo of the Heavens,
Sweeps from his thunder-harp of fire, great seas
Of everlasting song, whose golden tones
Make joy throughout the world!

CONOR.
I do! I do!
And hear the Choral thunders of the years
Die into echoes in the far-off Heavens—
Filling Eternity with music. Now,
The chain which binds me to the world,
Is woven of three strands,—Truth—Liberty—Love—
Which I defy even Destiny to break!

CAFFA.
But I will draw the lightnings down from Heaven!
The dead stir in their coffins in their graves!
The voice of Liberty comes down through Heaven,
Precipitous, like a falling star, with shouts,
Tearing the adamantine Gates of Hell—
Awake! Arise!

CONOR.
So let it come! I hear.
But the dead do not wake! They sleep there still—
The everlasting sleep of death, no more
To wake! The Devils do not rush from Hell,
As loth to leave their Monarch there so soon!
There is no power in earth or Hell I fear
Can shake the firm foundation of my throne.

CAFFA.
From out the Old Eternities, far sounding,
I hear the Primal God-voice mutely roar—
Withering the pestilential shades of Night
With its far-reaching thunders! Now it comes,
Down through the abysmal depths of space,
Shearing off, with its two-edged sword of fire,
The rotten limbs from the foul Upas tree of Hell!
The Tyrtean trumpet-blast rings now through Heaven,
Proclaiming to the world thy speedy death!

CONOR.
I live to give thy Trumpet-blast the lie!
The old Gods' Battle-cry dies on my lips,—
“Victory, or death!”

CAFFA.
So cry the Eternal Years,
Answering the screaming Eagles from the East,
Coming to meet the Eagles from the West,
At their last supper on the flesh of Kings,
Spread out on Eman's plains.

CONOR.
So let them come;
There is an Eagle here will meet them there!
Buzzards, you know, like Carrion Crows, fly low;
This Eagle's Eyrie is the Sun—high up
Above the flight of meaner birds; too high
For any but an Angel's gaze! He is
A Phœnix who can never die—sole bird,
Who has no fellow in this world—but lives
In solitary majesty above the earth—
The Emperor of Kings—invulnerable!
Whose ashes do contain the germ of Kings,
Each equal to himself—immortal—born
Above the possibility of death!

CAFFA.
Thy blasphemy shall be th [illeg.] 't will lay
Thee low! Thy doom is sealed—sealed by thyself!

CONOR.
Be my Death-warrant-bearer to the Gods!

CAFFA.
Speak low! for fear the Clarion-voice of Truth
Will draw the Avalanche of Vengeance down
From the Alpine peaks of Heaven, where sits enthroned
Eternal Liberty crowned with the crown
Of immortality.

CONOR.
Then let it come.

CAFFA.
But a Unicorn's Horn on a beast's head
Were hurtful, because he might butt; but on
A wise man's, comely—like those radiant Horns
Which adorned the brow of Moses, when he
Went up on the Mountain to talk with God.

CONOR.
Were Titans created to conquer Gods?

CAFFA.
But he who rows against a raging stream,
Losing one stroke, will fall back farther than
Before had gained by many.

CONOR.
Let it rage!
May the Devil make a Cup of his skull
For the damned Fiends to drink Lethe out of!

CAFFA.
Better make it a Chalice for the blest
Spirits in Heaven to drink nectar out of—
Wherefrom you took so many draughts in life.

CONOR.
May the Hyenas tear him from his grave,
And surfeit on his corse!

CAFFA.
The day will come
When his proud soul shall feast here with the Kings
Of all the world—he King of all these Kings.
Out of his Elysium, where he now reigns,
God of the Gods, he laughs to bitter scorn
Your weak impiety—for he is far
Above all mutabilities of power.

CONOR.
May the triple-mouthed Bandogs of Hell
Bark at his soul in torment ever more!

CAFFA.
Living, he was the Pillar of our hope;
Now, dead, he is the Sun of many Stars,
Clothed in the garments of celestial light—
King of the immortal Harmonies of Heaven!
As those Myrrhine Fabrics of old did hoard
The perfume of the spirit they contained,
Long after it was gone—filling the heart
With shadows of its former joys—so does
His Alabaster body here, to-day,
Smell sweetly of the memory of his soul.
Now, that our Sun is set, we look for night;
Summer being ended, Winter must come!
But Winter only makes the Spring more sweet;
Night, day more lovely; honey after gall—
Manna dropping from the Windows of Heaven;
Health after sickness; wealth after poverty;
Pleasure after pain (the ordeal of our souls);
Plenary riches after infinite want.
Farewell! God will protect the just!
[Exit Caffa.

CONOR.
Farewell!
Enter Barach.
What news?

BARACH.
Most direful news! The Plain
Is covered with the King of Scotland's host
Joined in the fiery Legions of Connaught.

CONOR.
The King of Scotland here?—Mevia too?

BARACH.
They are, great King; against whose forces ours
Were as one Lake compared with the whole Sea!

CONOR.
What! are they married, that they thus unite
Their forces on the field against one man?

BARACH.
So it would seem—in military power.

CONOR.
Are they preparing to attack our force?

BARACH.
They are, great King. The Camp-fires burned, last night,
On Eman's Plain, as far as eye could see,
In emulation of the Host of Heaven—
Like legions of the fiery Cherubim
Descended on the earth, or they to Heaven!

CONOR.
Two mighty powers arrayed against one power?
Come Heaven to them, let Hell unite with us!
What do they want? my throne?

BARACH.
Thy throne, great King!
A prize they know well worth the fighting for.
Not only that, but they desire revenge
Against you for the death of Usna's Sons.

CONOR.
But what were Usna's Sons to them?

BARACH.
Why, nought—
Only as an excuse to gain your crown.

CONOR.
Then let them come! Would Scotland's King were here,
That I might teach him what it is to tempt
A Monarch's power! Oh! but for one short hour
With him alone on Eman's Plain—high Heaven
Our Umpire—we would see who would be King,
Erin or Alba!—Let them come! At dawn,
Before the lusty Night gives birth to Day,
Now laboring with her fair-haired Son of Morn—
In silence, without sound of trump or drum—
(The camp-fires burning still upon the field)—
Muster our soldiers ready for the fight;
For by the time Aurora brings the news,
We will surprise them in their Sackcloth Tents!
Close not thine eyes in sleep, but watch all night;
Waking shall be my sleep, until I sleep
That everlasting sleep—no more to wake!

BARACH.
I go to do your bidding; but, must say,
Without assistance from some other source,
It will be most disastrous to our cause!

CONOR.
There is no other hope! We have no friends—
They being our foes—united now against
Our peace, determined to secure our crown.
We have our own—they theirs; with these we now
Must either win or lose—must live or die!
This we must do, or sell ourselves for slaves
To our own vassals—which we will not do.
Then we must fight, though they have two to one—
My sole regret being, that Scotland's King
Is not here now, ready to fight with me—
Leaving the crown to him who longest lives.
But go—muster the Soldiers in due time;
I will be there to lead them on the field.
[Exit Barach.
The King of Scotland comes with Connaught's Queen,
Pitching their constellated fires on Eman's Plain,
That seem another Heaven come down on earth,
To rule the greater with the lesser light—
As though there were no King on Ulster's throne!
Were Titans created to conquer Gods?
Shall Alba's King be King of Ulster's King?
As well may Night attempt to rise to Day—
Hell, from her dark abyss, ascend to Heaven—
And, with tyrannic impudence, smut out the Sun!

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

The Battle-Field. Enter Conor, meeting Barach.
CONOR.
What news!

BARACH.
Most direful news! the day is lost!
Our men not slain are routed from the field—
Escaping from the unequal odds for life!

CONOR.
Can you not rally them again?

BARACH.
I have
Already tried; but all in vain! They fled
Precipitately from the field for life;
Nor would they be recalled again to death!

CONOR.
Then all is lost! But we still live to fight;
And, living, we can fight until we die!

BARACH.
We can—and will!

CONOR.
Then let us do our best.
Here will we part to meet no more on earth,
Until we meet again on Eman's throne.
If we do fail to rally our lost men,
Then all is over with us in this world;
But if we do, then—there is hope. Farewell!

BARACH.
Farewell! But let us recollect one thing,—
The loss of earth is but the gain of Heaven.
[Exit Barach.

CONOR.
Oh! my Daidra! Angel of my heart!
Is this the cruel death that I must die?
I who am one of God's peculiar race—
Who took you from among a world of woes,
And made you here the darling of my heart—
Hoping that you would lead me from all storm,
Into the Halcyon Haven of pure peace!
Instead of this, you mocked me like a Fiend!
You mocked me, like a Devil, to my face!
Leading me after you on thorny paths,
Into this dismal shadowy Vale of Death!
Oh! God! where is my comfort now? gone! gone!
But were you true—but halfway true to me—
I could forgive you now! But, you are not!
Oh! cruel word! far bitterer than death!
God! God! how I did build upon you once!
A beautiful milkwhite Temple, in whose soul
The Heaven-descended Muses might have come
And taken up their abode, as in the skies!
What bright Elysian dreams I had of life!
What paths I then cut out from earth to Heaven!
(Like Jacob's Ladder seen from Bethel's Plain)—
Bright as the luminous wake made by the Sun's
Swift Chariot, when he wheels the Summer Sea!
Which seemed to reach up to the Gates of God!
Then Night came down! dark Night, that brought no Day!
I now look up—around—above—but see
No Star! no Pharos for my soul, but Night—
Eternal Night that has no morn beyond!
Then the Winds roared! the midnight Demons howled!
The Tempests raged! the lightnings flashed! the rains
Came down in thundering torrents on my soul!
Then, my beautiful, blue-eyed barque was wrecked—
Flindered forever on the Rock of Hell!
Then all went down together in dark death!
Oh! God! I am so sick, I cannot live!
My head is now on fire! my heart! my soul!
Oh! God! have mercy on me! I must die!
There! hold me! hold! hold! help me! help! help! help!

[Falls on the ground.
Re-enter Barach.
BARACH.
What! Conor on the ground?

CONOR.
Help, Barach! help!

BARACH.
What is the matter? wounded? are you slain?

CONOR.
Yes—slain forever more!

BARACH.
I see no wound—
Come—rise! we must not tarry here! They come!
The bloodhounds are upon thy track! they thirst
To drink the last drop from thy royal heart!

CONOR.
Alas! I cannot rise! help, Barach! help!

BARACH.
What! have you swooned here for a silly girl?
Conor become the vassal of himself?
Conquer thyself! thou art thy greatest foe!
Come—let me help you up!
[Raises him up.
Now, come away!

CONOR.
Where is the foe? Show me but Scotland's King,
And I will give you Ulster's starry throne!
Show him to me, that I may hew him up
In little pieces for the Dogs of Hell!

BARACH.
Come on!
I hear them now, coming to take thy life!

CONOR.
What! Scotland's King?

BARACH.
Ay, Scotland's King!

CONOR.
Thank Heaven!
Then I will go to meet him on the way!
My thirsting soul shall never more find rest,
Till quenched to death in blood of Scotland's King!
[Shouts without.
So let them shout till they grow hoarse!
[Shouts repeated.
Again!
The Fiends are drunk with victory!

BARACH.
They come!
Let us not tarry here—inglorious Death
Staring us in the face! No! we must fly!

CONOR.
I will—to meet them on the way!

[Exit.
BARACH.
Farewell!

[Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Another part of the Field. Enter Conor, meeting Caffa.
CAFFA.
Thy Judas-Star doth culminate in Heaven,
Only to sink the lower into Hell!
I hear God's thunder-gong tolling in Heaven
For thy damned soul! Prepare for death! for here,
With this right hand, will I unroll for thee
The iron Scroll of thy dark destiny!
'Tis written with an iron Pen in blood!
Read it, if thy weak eyes can bear such light,
And not be struck stone blind! Methinks thy ears
Should be as deaf as thou art blind to hear
Thy damning sentence read!

CONOR.
But I am not!

CAFFA.
False man! let not thy disbelief in God
Make thee believe that he is dead! He lives!
And he will raise Naisa up from death,
And His two other Sons, to make them live—
Whose living shall be daily death to thee!
This thou shalt see, if thou dost live! If not,
Then thou shalt see them after death, from Hell,
As Dives did Lazarus in Heaven! Ah! weep!
And tremble at my power!

CONOR.
Who told thee this?
Tell me who told thee this! speak out the truth!

CAFFA.
A Voice from out the Past, whose living tones
Vibrate through all the Future—reaching far
Away into the Sunless Night of Time,
Like rays shot from Apollo's golden bow,
Down through the abysmal depths of space,
Breaking into reverberant echoes round
The bleeding world!

CONOR.
So cry the Future Years!
Startling the Ear of Time, upturned to hear
God's lightning-curses rolling down through Heaven
In thunders—shivering in fiery splinters in
My soul!

CAFFA.
Now the last iron lash of God's
Great indignation is broken in thy soul!

CONOR.
I bear the thunder that no soul can hear,
But one like mine—crying aloud to me—
“Prepare to meet thy God!” The Gates of Hell,
Flung open wide, now wait for thy damned soul!

CAFFA.
That was the Bath Kol of thy doom! Thine eyes—
Like thy deaf ears so long unstopped to sounds
Of heavenly truth—shall soon be couched, to see
Visions unseen by mortal man before!
The fiery fingers of the Fiends of Hell,
Snatching at thy lost soul, shall drag thee down
Where lightning-chains shall clank around thy form
In thunderous splinters, manacling thy limbs
In serpentinious folds—seething into thy flesh
With fire unquenchable, fierce as the hiss
Of those immortal, ravenous snakes, whose tongues,
Of poisonous fire, shall lap forever thy black blood,
While Scorpions red are burrowing in thy bones!
Hell's Bandogs, louder than the direful clang
Of twice ten thousand shields by Titans hurled—
(Gog against Magog, fighting for the World)—
Shall pile obstreperous thunders round thy soul,—
High as Olympus! Thou shalt writhe beneath
The impending weight, like Titans when the Gods,
To keep them down from Heaven, hurled mountains on
Their prostrate forms—whose wrestlings underneath
Made earthquakes in the world!

CONOR.
Poor bleeding Stag!
I hear the Hellhounds barking for me now—
Following my bloody track—close on my heels!
Is there no Covert for the stricken deer?
No hope for my despair? Is there no God?
No Christ? No Heaven? No Hell?

CAFFA.
Yes, there is Hell!
There you will find your God—your Christ—your Heaven!

CONOR.
Then come to my release! Wishing to know
The worst, I long to rush into the arms
Of my desire! Then open wide thy doors!
For, feeling now unworthy of the world,
I long to be where I can feel at home!
For any place were better now than this,
Where I am most unfit to be! Oh! God!
Oh! Death! who art my God! my Christ! my Heaven!—
Because my Saviour from this life of sin!—
Come down to me!—If thou art up, come down!
If down—come up! redeem me from this death,
Which is my life, by ending of my death;
That, dying, I may be redeemed from death!
If that be life which is to come of death!—
The death that I may die!—Come down to me!
If that thou art an Angel in the Heavens—
Come—minister to my despair! If not,
Come up, from where thou art, to my release!
They say thou art the twin of Sleep! then come,
My gentle Geminus! rock me to rest,—
For I am weary of the world! Show me
Thy skeleton form—thine eyeless orbs of stone—
That I may hug thee in mine arms of flesh,
And warm thee with the joy that burns for thee,—
Since my crushed heart is cold to all besides!
Daidra will not have me now—poor, lost,
Dethronéd King! She will not have me now!
She, who refused me while I lived, will not
Be mine now I am dead! She, who refused
Me on my throne, will not sit by me now,
Here in this wormy grave! Oh! God! is this
Not hard? harder than Hell itself to bear?
It is! Then let me go to Hell! Come forth,
Oh! Death! come forth! for this damned life is worse,
Ten thousand times, than Hell!

CAFFA.
Thy Lord is here!
Behold thy King! thy Comforter is come!
Prepare to die!

Enter Naisa, Ainli, and Ardan, whom he supposes to be dead.
CONOR.
My Lord! my God! my Heaven!
What now! who comes? What's there! my friends, or foes?
My foes! my Hells! three Hells in shape of Heaven!
Alive, or dead? dead, or alive? Alive!—
An Incubus, far mightier than Death,
Weighs on my heart, pressing my soul from out
My body in the air—colder than ice!
My hair is changed to strands of piercing wire!
My heart has ceased to beat! my lips are dumb!
My blood crawls through my limbs like frozen snakes,
In hibernation of eternal death!
Speak! that my soul may know its doom! Speak out!
Let me not die in ignorance of my fate!
If I am doomed to Hell, why, tell me so!
No word? no answer yet? They will not speak!
But are as dumb as Death!—perhaps as deaf!
Oh! God! their silence louder speaks than words!
Thundering my doom! They tell me I am damned!
Enter Daidra.
But look! behold! she comes! 'tis she! 'tis she!
The Angel of my soul! my life! my Heaven!
Are they not dead? were they not killed?—they were!
But yet they live!—or else they could not come
To me in this bright armor of their lives—
Brighter than when they lived!—Speak to my soul!
By my eternal God! this silence is too long—
Shattering my soul to deafness with its shouts
Of adamantine thunder! You must speak!
My soul cannot endure this rack of pain—
This speech that looks so loud, but will not speak!
Are they the spirits of the dead? they are!
Then, God! no wonder they are dumb! for why
Should an immortal to a mortal speak?
Then, my Daidra! Angel of my heart!
A Lily fresh-blown from the Fields of Heaven!
Being now freed from every earthly taint,
But no more of an Angel than when first
I knew thy heavenly love! let me kneel down
And worship thee once more before I die!
Oh! God! she waives me not to kneel! Then—then—
She is not dead, but lives! yet, will not speak!
Mute as the Sons of Usna are! What does
This mean? have they come here to torture me?
Surely they have! for this is worse than Hell!
Speak! that my soul may know its doom! Speak out!
I charge thee, by the God of Heaven! to speak!
By all the Devils in Hell! I charge thee, speak!
By all that one man owes another, speak!
Have you no tongue, nor ears? Have ye no souls?
Are ye alive, or dead? Speak to my soul!
[Naisa points downwards.
Avaunt! begone out of my sight! to Hell
Thyself! down—down with Devils damned! Avaunt,
I say! Is there no God in Heaven!
[Naisa points upwards.
Then why
Permit me to be tortured thus? Who did
I ever torture thus?
[Naisa first points to himself, then to Daidra.
When did I this?

[Naisa answers by pantomime.
Liar! it was not I who did this thing—
But you, who tore her from my heart—which now
Lies bleeding at her feet! For this there is
No hope for thee in life—or death! For that—
Not for premeditated wrong—I sold
Thy soul to Hell! This was the reason why
I falsified my guarantee! Which sin
Was greater, yours or mine?—for you to steal
My wife, or me to scorn my guarantee?
The God of Heaven will answer for us both,
When we do meet together at his Bar,
Where each shall know his doom!
[Naisa points downwards again.
Begone from me!—
Oh! my Daidra! cruel, cruel child!
How can you treat me so? Speak, my dear Queen!
Speak to my soul, but one soft word, before
I die, that thy dear voice may cheer me in
My exile, whether I go to Heaven or Hell?

CAFFA.
“He who speaks, sows; but he who keeps silence, reaps.
Speech is silvern; silence is golden.”

CONOR.
True—
Silence never yet was written down. “Who says
What he likes, shall hear what he does not like.”

CAFFA.
Then, does the Fox thrive best who is most curst?
Enter the Spirit of Illan the Fair.
Nemesis is awake! She sleeps no more!
But with the lightning-lash of God now walks
The world to scourge the Offender down to Hell!

CONOR.
Who is it that I see before me now;
In form of one that was not long since dead?
Is it a Phantom conjured by the brain
By too long laboring with unhealthy thoughts;
Or is it a bold reality? It is
No Phantom, but a bold reality!
Whither shall I fly? Behind is Hell!
Before me, that which doth appal me more
Than legions of black Devils hot from Hell!
For in the lightning-wake of thy dread form,
Clad like the resurrection of the just—
I see the long funeral train of all
My buried years coming up from the Past,
Like some invincible army, to besiege
Again this trembling City of my life!
Avaunt! or tell me why you come to me
In more than mortal make—larger in death
Than in the mightiest manhood of your life!
Spreading this mildew of dark death
Over the iron mail of all my soul!
Speak out! or vanish from my sight again,
Into the grave, less dismal than thy form!
Your silence appals me more than even your sight—
Striking me dumber with your speechless speech,
Than could ten thousand thunders sent from Hell!
Open those speechless, eloquent, speaking lips,
And take this horrible Nightmare from my soul,
Causing my heart, like some impetuous sea,
Stormed into tempests by the roaring winds,
To beat with thunderous surgings in my breast—
Washing away the sands beneath my house of life—
Tottering where I now stand, ready to fall!—
Is this Naisa's spirit that I see?
If so, then God has sent him here to take
Revenge upon my life! Can I escape
The death that God determines I shall die?
Now do I know that the dead live again!—
Are you alive or dead? If you were dead,
You could not walk with such majestic life!
But the dead are dead! But if the dead should live,
It is not Death that lives, but life, which is
From God—God being the God not of the dead,
But of the living! Then he is not from Hell,
But Heaven! Then God has sent him here to wreak
Swift vengeance on my soul! If this be so,
Should I thus tamely stand? submit to him?
No! I will fight with him until the last
Drop leaves my heart! for, in the strife, my soul
Will harden itself against his sword,
Which else would cut deep pangs through all my life;
So that the strife will harden my heart to die
Without the pangs that yielding now would give!
Come on! if you have come to take my life,
The sooner done the better! After this—
Seeing what I now see—this life could be
Nothing but living death! for never will this
Foul Apparition leave my sight! Come on!

NAISA.
The chain of silence which so long has lain
Upon my soul, is broken—broken as
I mean to break thy rotten bones! Know, then,
That this same sword by which I fell, was charmed—
Seeming to kill, but not yet dead!—I live!
A Phœnix newly risen! By this same sword,
Will I now cut thy thread of life in twain!
The life that you inherit is from Hell—
Mine is from Heaven! Therefore, the difference in
Our destiny! For you, life has no charm,
Because your life had never any charm!

CONOR.
This is a bitter fate! but only makes
My soul harder to bear the ills of time!
My heart is now hard as the Rock of Hell!
No charmed sword, made of celestial steel,
Forged in the fires of Heaven—then tempered in
The cold waves of the Celtiberian brook,
Can pierce this adamantine mail which sight
Of thee has woven around my soul! Come on!
My soul is diamond—not to be cut
By anything less hard!

NAISA.
Your soul is clay—
Crumbling, as your vile body is, to dust!
There is no light for you in Sun or Moon!
But all the world is dark—dark as your soul—
Which is the fountain of your life, wherein
Your thoughts, like midnight devils, drown themselves
In strangling wretchedness.

CONOR.
Your words are truth,
But do not mend my case! Speak that which will
Inspire some hope, or speak no more! I will
Not hear you tell what I already know!
If there is no medicine can cure this grief,
Then help the disease to be my cure in death!

NAISA.
Know you not that the soul, by doing ill,
Will drag itself down from Heaven into Hell?

CONOR.
I know—by which I lose two thrones,—the one
On earth—the other, brighter one, in Heaven!
Farewell to both! since she is gone who made
Them so!

NAISA.
You mean Daidra?

CONOR.
Name her not!
Since she is gone from me forever more!
When you went down to Hell, she went to Heaven.

NAISA.
Then Heaven went into Heaven—where you
Will never go.

CONOR.
I do not want to go.
Unless she could be mine, it were no Heaven—
But Hell.

NAISA.
For how could Heaven unite with Hell?

CONOR.
As readily as I with thee. We have
A mutual repulsion!

NAISA.
There you wish to speak
Your own foul praise, but lie in doing so;
For present hate does argue previous love—
I never had for thee.

CONOR.
Nor I for thee.
Therefore, there being no hate between us two,
Let us depart in peace—you to your home—
Me back to mine.

NAISA.
Then down to Hell—where now
The Devil waits to crown thee King! My home
Is here on Eman's throne.

CONOR.
Liar! that is
My throne! for petty King of Ullad thou
Shalt never be—unless a ghost can reign—
Or now discrown her lawful King! Come on!

NAISA.
I make you bold touching your earthly love;
But know the only heir to that proud throne,
Stands here before you now, as Usna's Son.

CONOR.
You must discrown me first—which I defy
A ghost to do! for never shall my throne
Be filled by one of Usna's Sons—who stole
My kingdom when they stole my wife away!

NAISA.
Liar! she never was thy wife! she would
Not stoop to hate so foul a fiend!

CONOR.
But she
Could die—as did her impious lover here!
Thereby inheriting the hate of all
Posterity—the burning fires of Hell!

NAISA.
But I have only parleyed here this long
To make your death more terrible to you!
Your life is forfeited! you have to die!
Had you a thousand thrones to give for life,
You could not live an hour!

CONOR.
Who put my life
Into your hands? Who made you Executioner?
A Sheriff needs more mortal bones than yours!
But the mere sight of him who once was dead,
But lives again—knowing that this is not
From him, but God—has made my soul, that once
Was soft with fear—harder than adamant!—
You may now hack me all to pieces, but this
Terrible fear, that now appals my soul,
Has so hardened my heart, that I can die
And feel no pang! Come on, Infernal Ghost!
And he who conquers shall be Ullad's King
Forever more in Eman! Now, come on!
For fear that I may rally again to life,
And die in tortures! Draw, I say! Come on!
For with this trusty sword, tempered in Hell,
I'll hew my pathway through thy spectral form
Up to my throne in Heaven—or down to Hell.

[They fight desperately.—Conor falls.
NAISA.
Now does the iron chain of silence lie
Heavy upon thy lying tongue! But, hark!
I hear the Devils coming up from Hell,
To rivet fiery chains around thy soul!

CONOR.
Liar! it is not silence—for I speak!
Although the chain lies heavy, yet, I speak—
Telling thee to thy face, thou art no ghost,
But flesh and blood, as I am now—for nought
But flesh and blood could so contend against
Far better blood—bringing me down to death!

NAISA.
Where is thy throne now, little man? the chain
Of silence is around thy tongue! Open thy lips
And speak to me! Come up from thy foul grave,
And speak again as I do now to thee!

CONOR.
Oh! Barach! Barach! do revenge my death!
Let not this Son of Usna steal my throne!
Poison him in the night! Fergus has played
Me false! Then Caffa's dread Enchantments have
Been fatal to my life! Oh! damn his soul!
Take double vengeance on them all—all—all!
Oh! God! God! God! his sword was cold as ice!
But hot as fire! Hell's flames were in the blade!
I hear it hissing in my heart! I feel
It seething in my soul! Oh! damnéd fiend!
Away! begone! my heart—my head—my soul—
Are all on fire! Some water! fire! fire! fire!

[Dies.
CAFFA.
Poor Conor! thy false heart has ceased to beat!
Thy blood is stagnant! cold as ice! Death! death!
And thine immortal spirit gone to God!
Oh! what an awful sight is this!—to see
God's Angel, called the God of Death, turn out
A tenant from his body-house, because
He had refused the heavenly Landlord rent!
Gods! how he voiced away his agony!
In shrieks that would have torn his own hard heart,
Had he been auditor! But he is gone—
Gone to the dismal Shades below, where voice
Of mourning cannot come!—Farewell! farewell!

[Exeunt omnes. Scene closes.

SCENE IX.

The Plain before Eman. Enter Conal Carnach meeting Barach.
CONAL CARNACH.
Stand, Conor! stand!

BARACH.
Barach, not Conor, stands!
But who commands the King!

CONAL CARNACH.
Then, Barach, stand!
Who is another Conor—Semi-King!

BARACH.
What! Conal Carnach?

CONAL CARNACH.
Conal Carnach calls.
Thou, Barach, bottlewasher to the King,
Who once made Fergus feast against his will,
For Conor's treachery, against great Usna's Sons—
Shalt now be carved up, by this trusty sword,
Into small rations for the worms of Death!
Thou who didst cook false suppers for the King,
Shalt now be roasted in the fires of Hell,
For the Symposium of the damned! Come on!
I mean to hew thee so, the Devil's dogs
Can eat thee without crunching thy damned bones!

BARACH.
Bold Conal Carnach! thou art mad! be calm!
For Barach never injured thee, nor thine!

CONAL CARNACH.
Base liar; wert thou not false to Usna's Sons,
For Conor's sake, who are my kin?

BARACH.
No! no!
I was not false to them, though Conor's friend;
And hurl the lie back in thy throat again!
I feasted Fergus—would have feasted them—
Invited them to feast—but they refused.

CONAL CARNACH.
Thereby detaining Fergus at the feast,
Against his solemn guarantee to see
That Usna's Sons were safe returned again
Back into Eman's Halls!

BARACH.
They did return—
Refused with Fergus to partake the feast.

CONAL CARNACH.
As you well knew they would before you asked—
Fergus had vowed not to refuse a feast.

BARACH.
Then he should not have made the vow.

CONAL CARNACH.
False rogue!
To take advantage of that vow, to steal
The opportunity, for Conor's sake,
To separate them from their dearest friend,
And throw them in his power against his oath—
Becoming accessory to their death!
Vile dog! licker of Conor's putrid sores!
For this thou hast to die!

BARACH.
I have to die—
As all men have—but not for this. Thy words
Are all as false as Hell—sons like their sire!
As faithful to my King, as thou art false—
For he is kin to me, as they to thee!

CONAL CARNACH.
Kin not only in blood, but bloody deeds!
Then thou shouldst follow him where he is gone—
To Hell! where all such traitors go!

BARACH.
Where all
Such liars as thou art sure to go!

CONAL CARNACH.
Come on,
Foul Judas! Let the Heavens now be our Judge—
Pronouncing, by your death, or mine, who speaks
The truth, or false—who now is right, or wrong!
Come on! I will not parley any more,
But dialogue of swords shall end our strife—
This iron tongue telling to all the world—
Known now in Heaven—that thou art false as Hell!

BARACH.
False Conal Carnach! if thou lovest thy life
Better than sudden death—depart from me!
I did not seek thy life—nor wish thy death!
But if thou tempt me farther than thou hast,
By my immortal soul! thou shalt not live!
For never yet did mortal man stand up
Before me, sword in hand, as thou dost now,
And, afterwards, confronting me, to live!

CONAL CARNACH.
Let Heaven now be our Judge who ought to die!
The one who falls proclaiming who is false!

BARACH.
Then, by my God! If thou wilt fight—come on!
This day shall be thy last!

CONAL CARNACH.
Come on! All time shall know—
What dread Eternity shall tongue in Heaven—
The thunderous plunge of Barach down to Hell!

BARACH.
Then come! thy fate is sealed! Come forth, my sword!
[They fight.—Barach falls.
Oh! Conal! Carnach! thou wert armed from Heaven!
Lightning was in thy steel!—for I am slain!
Barach, who never did thee wrong—must die!
For I now hear the thunder-trump of Heaven
Sounding my doom through all the world!—I die!

[Dies.
[Exit Conal Carnach.—Scene closes.

SCENE X.

Another part of the Field. Enter Caffa attended by Lucifer.
LUCIFER.
By Hell! I tell thee I have taught thee much!
So, baffle me no more! Give me the Scroll!

CAFFA.
You have—I thank thee for it. You have taught
Me how to arm my human soul against
Thy Superhuman Arts. For this, I thank
Thee much; but not enough to give the Scroll
To thee.

LUCIFER.
By Hell! the Scroll is mine! Give it,
Or I will wrench it from thy puny grasp,
And dash thee down to Hell!

CAFFA.
To Hell thyself!
Where you belong! or I will call on God
To thunderbolt thee back, as He did once
From off the crystal Battlements of Heaven—
His mercy following after thee in floods
Of penal fire—while Angels' tears dropt on
Thee from above. Down into Hell, I say!

LUCIFER.
By Hell! the Scroll is mine!—Angels of wrath!
And fierce revenge! cohabitants of Hell!
Rise from thy fiery night of lasting pain,—
Where ye have suffered Heaven's decree unscathed—
And here confront with me great Caffa's soul!—
I hear the cymbal-sound of their great wings
Scourging the darkness as they climb the steep,
Precipitous, adamantine sides of Hell,
In rumbling thunder!

CAFFA.
God! I call on thee!

LUCIFER.
They come! they come! Give me the Scroll,
And I will shout them back to Hell again!

CAFFA.
No—let them come! It was an Angel's gift!
I trust in God! What can they do against
His power? Call up the Fiends! let them appear!
Since they delight in torture, they shall have
Enough of Earth-rejoicing pleasure, soon to be
Re-lightning-tortured back to Hell again!
Instead of Fiends, proud Lucifer, behold!
An Angel comes! Astarte! Queen of Heaven!

[An Angel appears in Heaven, from whose down-turned palm a thunderbolt descends, opening a Cavern in the earth, through which Lucifer descends into Hell.—Exit Caffa.

SCENE XI.

Before Eman. Shouts without. Enter Cuchullan, Fergus, and Conal Carnach, attended by Soldiers marching to triumphant music, bearing trophies.
CONAL CARNACH.
Victory! Victory! from the great Sea of souls,
Rolls, crumbling into thunders as it rolls
On the far-distant Hills that stand to hear,
Redoubling back the shouts with echoes loud—
Till the whole bending Heavens seem filled with clouds
Of stormy joy!

CUCHULLAN.
Let us respond to them!
[They shout.
From having charged victorious on the foe,
We now return triumphant home again,
To see the Sons of Usna crowned our Kings—
Jointly to reign as they have jointly fought—
Winning their glory, side by side, with blood,
The noblest ever shed on Eman's Plains—
Baptizing them, before the face of Heaven,
The noblest Champions of immortal fame!
Now let us on to see them crowned! On—on!

[Exeunt omnes to martial music.

SCENE XII.

The Throne Room in Eman of Macha.—The Nobles assembled.—Heraldic music.—Enter Naisa, Ainli, and Ardan, leading in Daidra, Darthula, and Mevia, Queen of Connaught, attended by Fergus, Cuchullan, Conal Carnach, the King of Duntrone, and the Sons of Dura.—Enter Caffa the Druid.
CAFFA.
From the low Valley-lands, where all was night,
We reach this Mountain-top of joyful day,
Where all is cloudless, everlasting peace—
The realization of our brightest hopes.
For Usna's Sons shall now be jointly crowned
To reign three Kings, as one, on Eman's throne—
Darthula with Daidra, Mevia, reign
The three fair Queens of these three peerless Kings.
These Bridal Chaplets now shall crown them Queens,
While with these crowns I crown their husbands Kings.
[Caffa first places the three Crowns on the heads of the Sons of Usna; then the three Bridal Chaplets on the heads of the three Queens. Enter Lavercam.—Celestial music attending her.
Welcome forever more!

LAVERCAM.
The Angels wait,
In golden Chariots, at the Gates of Heaven,
To crown thee with their branches of pure palm,
The immortal Son of God! Thy fame
Shall outlive Time! thy days are as the years of God!

CAFFA.
For like some new-born thought, unborn before,
Rising, in luminous beauty, from the depths
Of some great Poet's soul, sublime, to Heaven—
Turning the Night of Ages into Day,
Until the World drinks gladness from its beams;
So thou dost come, translucent from the Past,
To make the present pregnant with new joys—
Filling my soul with bliss forever more!

LAVERCAM.
Showing what value God doth place upon
That soul in time who can transmute the things
Of earth into their Prototypes in Heaven—
Echoing the golden voices of the Gods!
Thy soul is so completely stored with all
The infinite riches of the skies, that even
The universe were nought compared with thee.
This comes from wandering, all day long, amid
Those aboriginal flowery groves which make
Sweet Edens of the Meadowy Seas of God.

CAFFA.
Oh! as the Rainbow canopies the earth
With its prismatic arms, so does my soul,
With its Cherubic wings, thy nestling love!

LAVERCAM.
Thy words are sweeter far to me than songs;
More eloquent than the Nuncio of the Gods—
(Adumbrative smile of the weeping Heavens)—
Risus plorantis Olympi—for it is
An Emblem of our covenant of hope.
Here have I been these eighteen tedious years,
Waiting for thy dear soul—praying to God
That he might lift thee up to Heaven to make
It Paradise indeed; but thou hast still stayed here,
Striving for knowledge, how to find me there,
Sinless, though tempted. Faithful to the last,
And true in all things—thou shalt long no more,
But be rewarded with those endless joys
That God has laid up for thee in the Heavens.
I am Slessama—Lavercam—thy wife!

CAFFA.
Oh! my Slessama! Lavercam! my wife!
[Embraces her.
I hear the Angels' voices from on high,
Pouring sweet benediction on thy soul!

LAVERCAM.
They come to welcome thee to bliss in Heaven!

CAFFA.
Oh! beautiful Vision of the Heaven of Heavens!
[Celestial music heard.
I hear the Angels' voices singing now—
Overflowing the earth with melody!
Was ever song so sweet to me as that?
It seems to bind my soul in golden chains—
Lifting me captive into God's own arms!
Oh! I am rapt above all earthly things,
And made partaker of celestial joys!
Their voices sound like bliss—but sadder far
Than voices of the Pleiades waiting for their
Lost Sister at the Gates of Heaven! They come!
Blest triumph of my consummated will!
Most glorious victory of supernal Power!
As I have lived, so will I die, for God!
Walking the world, from Age to Age, with Christ,
Teaching the harmonies of Truth to man.

LAVERCAM.
Thus Genius is arrested in his flight
Of Apollonian victory over Hell,
And smothered in the embrace of Angels, sent
To bear him Godward through the opening Heavens,
Which seem to bend down to receive his soul!

CAFFA.
Thus will I walk, like Hercules, all power,
Forever striving, in immortal youth!
Crowned now the Real of my Ideal here,
Practised what I believe—sowed, reaped the truth—
I now am ready to lie down with Christ,
And slumber three days in the grave of Hell;
Then soar with him to Heaven, no more to die.
My star of life will soon go down on earth,
Never to reillume its light in time;
But to burn on again above the Sun,
Brighter than Constellations of great Suns!

LAVERCAM.
What binds thee now on earth!

CAFFA.
Nothing, my love!
My soul is ready now to go with thee!
The Trumpet of the Lord is sounding now!
I see the Angels on the eternal Hills,
Gathering the immortal branches of pure palm,
Waving me now to come aloft to them—
Up to the eternal supper of the Gods!
And I must go! The morning star is mine!
Victory! Victory! Heaven opens for my soul!
[Celestial music heard in Heaven.
How sweet it is to die for one we love—
Exhaling our pure souls away to Heaven,
Like perfume when it dies out of the Rose—
Wafted away in bliss, as I am now!
Oh! Lavercam! Slessama! my dear wife!

LAVERCAM.
Silence can only tell my speechless love—
The unutterable rapture of my heart!
The void that we now leave behind, shall be the tongue
To tell Posterity our living joys—
Making melodious all the after years,
Till rapt Eternity grows vocal with our praise.

CAFFA.
Oh! my Slessama! Lavercam! my wife!

[Caffa, during his Apotheosization, is wafted, gently, by Angels, in company with Slessama, his wife, as if borne on an atmosphere of music, into Heaven.
Curtain Falls.