University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The islet of Onesimarchus.
Atalantis, Nea.
Atal.
This islet hath no quality of joy,
Fair to the sight, or fragrant to the sense,—
No beauty that upon its surface glows,
No treasure that within its bosom sleeps;—
It is the foul'st deception—all is gross,
And tainted with that sinborn leprousness
That marks the soul who will'd it into birth,
And raised its treacherous rocks along the deep.
No innocent beast hath dwelling in this clime,
No valley blooms with verdure. Not a flower
Gems the bleak sands, that, barrenly spread out,
Pain the unsatisfied and wandering eye,
That, seeing naught else, grows weary. Not a bird,
But, as he flies above, subdues his voice,
And, panting in his silence, quickens his wing,
Having a nameless terror. The foul taint
That poisons all things in this tyrant's sway,
Takes from them all their virtue. Not a shrub
Breathes fragrance to the breeze, whose whisper'd plaint
Would woo it still to fondness. Not an air
Enters these bounds, but flags and settles down
Clumsy and wingless; and the very stars
Do seem to leave their places in the heavens,
Looking down on it. Even we, who are
Of a tenacious temper, yielding naught,—
If that our hearts be pure and souls be firm
To the capricious influence,—we lose
Something of that refined and subtler sense,
Which gives us power to meet and match the sway
Of his low cunning and detested art.
How heavy is this silence! What a spell
Comes with the sullen muttering of the winds,
Now sweeping from the waters; and, how sad
Are the faint murmurs of yon moaning sea,
In the far distance chiding, as in grief,
For some new stroke of sorrow! All things yield—
So it would seem—a something to the spell,
That makes his power, and keeps us captive here;
Wrapping us in a circle, not to move,
Or strive, lest it undoes us. The shrill scream
Of one poor gull, that, o'er the whiten'd foam,
Hung with gray wing suspended, breaks no more
Fitfully on the ear;—and all of life
Seems resolute to pay its offering now
To that dread silence, which, in human sense,
Makes up the all of death!

Nea.
Even as thou say'st!—
'Tis a sad spot, fair mistress; sad for us,
That have been wont, in finer element,
To drink the nurture of a better lot.
Ah! how unlike the sweet life of the light,
Blessing the fair dominion thou hast lost;—
Lost for a season only,—yet too long,
Since such a dwelling as we find perforce,
Subdues the heart to sorrows not its own,
Which still must bide in memory. I feel
How dreary is the labor of restraint,
This watching, waiting,—when my wonted use,
Would have me winging an unlicensed flight,
Now in the embracing air, now through the deeps,
Disparting their white billows night and morn,
With no more pause than to adjust my plumes,
Ruffled by zephyrs; then, with fresh device,
Soaring in wilder progress,—sea and sky,
Our ample field, and the delighted tribes,
Their habitants, come forth to share the chase.

Atal.
And lack'st thou now all wonted qualities—
Thy dance, thy song, whose melodies can make
The mad seas sleep when wildest, while the winds
Fold up their cloudy vans to hear thy lay?
Hast thou no strain to fit these drowsy hours
With wings of light and fragrance, while the thought
Grows wanton and forgetful of the grief
That burden'd it with gloom? Methinks, my girl,
'Twere in thy happy spells of verse to find
Some carol of our own domain, to take
The impatient soul, and in delicious dews
Steep the fine sense to sweet forgetfulness.
Sing me some ditty from our Mergevan,
While every flower, in gardens of the past,
Our hands have ever gather'd, the young page,
Whose name is Memory, faithful to his task,
Shall bring anew to joy us in our need.
Give me the song the Flower-Spirit once framed,
When through our gardens, far beneath the sea,
Wall'd in by wildest waters, we pursued,
For the first time, the summer festival.

SONG OF THE FLOWER-SPIRIT.

Atal.
The ocean hath no calm like what is here—
And, if the waters might unfold to us,
There hath been fearful strife upon their waves.
Here come its tokens. These are broken spars
From some tall ship, that lately sped along,
As oft-times I have seen them, with a grace
And majesty becoming in a queen
Ruling a thousand seas. It is a game
Onesimarch delights in, to destroy
The goodly creatures that do dwell in them—
Shaped like ourselves, though little taught to cope
In knowledge with ourselves. Inferior things
Of lower grade, who, when we have become
The tenants and possessors of a realm
Now far beyond our state, shall rise to ours,
As we enjoy it now. But what is here,
Grasping a shaft, and lifelessly spread out?

[Seeing the body of Leon.
Nea.
One of the creatures of that goodly barque,—
Perchance, the only one of many men,
That, from their distant homes, went forth in her,
And here have perish'd.

Atal.
There is life in him;—
His bosom swells, methinks, beneath my hand,—
With fitful pulse—most faint—now here—now gone!
Alas! I fear it may not come again.
How very young he is—how beautiful!—
Made with a matchless sense of what is true
In manly grace and mortal elegance;
And features, rounded in as soft a mould
As our own, Nea.

Nea.
His eye unfolds.

Atal.
Ah!
Stand aside, girl, and let me look on him.
I see not that he wakes.

Nea.
But now he did.

Atal.
Alas! he sleeps in death! How pitiful
That one so young, and princely in his port,
Should fall so soon a victim. He hath been,
I doubt not, a great noble with his people.
How should it be that such a form as this,
So lovely and commanding in its aspect,
Should rank below the people of our race?
Methinks he is a creature, that, in life,
Might stand compared with any of our chiefs.

Nea.
At least, in outward seeming.

Atal.
And this speaks,—
Where still the brow is lofty, and the form
Familiar, in erect and graceful carriage,—
For that which guides within.

Nea.
He looks well;—
Yet may he be a thing of seeming only,
Wanting in all that higher sense of soul,
Which makes the virtue of true excellence.

Atal.
Oh! I am sure there is no want in him;
The spirit must be true, the sense supreme,
The soul as far ascending, strong and bright,
As is the form they do inhabit in.
Breathe on him, Nea; fan him with thy wing
And rouse him, if thou canst. Oh! could I bring
The life into his cheek. Stay, yet awhile;—
Now, while his senses sleep, I'll place my lip
Upon his own—it is so beautiful!
Such lips should give forth music—such a sweet
Should have been got in heaven,—the produce there,
Of never-blighted gardens.

[Kisses him.
Leon,
[starts.]
Cling to me—
Am I not with thee now, my Isabel!

[Swoons again.
Atal.
Oh, gentle sounds—how sweetly did they fall,
In broken murmurs, like a melody,
From lips, that waiting long on loving hearts,
Had learn'd to murmur like them. Wake again,
Sweet stranger! If my lips have wrought this spell,
And won thee back to life, though but to sigh,
And sleep again in death,—they shall, once more,
Wake and restore thee.

Nea.
You arouse him not.

Atal.
Alas! should life's string, overstrain'd, be crack'd,
No more to be reknit, I forfeit peace
Forever,—never more to hope for joy
In any life that follows.

Nea.
Oh! my mistress,
This passion of grief—

Atal.
Nea, now at last,
I feel that I do love! The sudden fire
Kindles at last, where never yet before
Its spark found nurture. If it be in vain!—
I, that had scorn'd the suppliant before,
I too, must be the suppliant for a love
That's born without a hope. The lesson comes
Too late, and I have but to weep o'er dreams
That have no waking promise for the heart,
And leave it but to tears. Alas! Alas!

[Throws herself upon Leon.
Nea.
Oh! yield not thus, my mistress, to a passion
That never can be blest. The best of love
Still teaches sorrow as his natural gift,
More sure than precious.

Atal.
Know you aught of Love?

Nea.
As of a power that's best esteemed in fancy,
In which he more abides than in the heart.
Love's but an artful tyrant. He first wins
By the most servile flatteries. He can stoop
The better to ascend; and pliant grows,
When most the secret purpose in his soul,
Makes him unyielding. Pleasant is his prayer;—
He will discourse you in the dove's own note,
Cooing and plaining, with such murmur'd sweets,
That pity learns to take the place of doubt,
And paves the way for trust. But, wait awhile,
And soon his habit changes. He grows apt,—
Learns the new lesson his condition makes,
As readily as the old; and, sure of power,
Firm, with free footing walks, where late he crept.
Then, see you heed the master;—who will now
Claim, for his right, that which he lately sued,
As the poor meed of charity; and thus
Step by step upward, with insidious art,
And cunning most unequall'd, doth he rise,
Until you find your neck beneath his foot,
And you become his slave, who once was yours.

Atal.
Oh! terrible,—where heard you this of Love?

Nea.
From many teachers.

Atal.
Did they know him well?
They slander him, methinks.

Nea.
They suffer'd first!
Our minstrels note him thus!—Our maidens, taught
By many a hapless lesson, thus describe
His art and empire. They do further tell,
Beyond his tyrant habits, that his sweets
Are few and failing. Painful, do they say,
Are even the creature's pleasures, since they wake
Such doubts and dread misgiving for their loss,
As even their joys can't equal. The sick soul,
That grieves with Love's delusions, evermore dreams
Dreading its losses. It forever makes
A sombre cloud to gather in the sky,
And glooms the spirit. Looking far beyond
The glory in its gaze, it sadly sees
Countless privations, and far-coming storms,
Shrinking from what it conjures. Let them say
Green youth and greener maidens, as they may,
Of Love and of his raptures:—for my part,
I hold him a disease—a very ache,
And ague-fever, sore and troublesome;
Apt caller forth of tears, and wails, and plaints,
And then of colds, and heats, and fantasies—
Realities most mournful, and, forsooth,
Imaginings, whose strange complexions be
Not a whit kinder. Love's a sorry slave,
And a sad master. As a slave, he steals
The jewel of our nature, and its lights,—
The heart and its affections;—which, having got,
He straight assumes the master:—they, in turn,
Being his willing instruments and doom'd,
When that the tyrant of his play grows sick,
To be the creature's victims at the last.

Atal.
I cannot think this truly said of Love!—
The minstrels do belie him, much, methinks,
For envy of his conquests; and, the maids—
They only do complain, whom he doth slight.
They never knew his nature. They, perchance—
Since what is winning still hath counterfeits—
Have seen some subtle semblance of his form,
His true spirit all being wanting; and were made,
Haply, the victims of some wanton art,
That hath betray'd them. It were wisdom poor,
And a most sad philosophy, to scorn
The blessing, as in nature's exigence,
It might grow forfeit. Better, with this rule,
Not live, since in the end we all must die.
Though there be doubts that love may yet be lost,
Still let me love;—the very doubt but shows
The worth of the possession. Not for me
The sway of kingdoms only. In my heart
There still hath been a void—a vacant place,
That ever seem'd to crave some image there,
Set up for worship. Till this happy hour,
The shrine hath been unoccupied and cold;
Now doth the warmth of a divinity
Suffuse the reluctant nature, and I glow
In the superior consciousness of hopes
That fill me with devotion. Here is one
Might teach me wherefore this.

Nea.
He breathes again;
There's life within him yet.—His lips, they part
In murmurs:—he will live. Shall we now leave him?

Atal.
Leave him, dost thou ask? alas! my Nea,
I cannot if I would. His image takes
Possession of the waste place in my soul,
And fills me with himself. Whether I go,
Or stay,—the fates forbid that we should part;—
And known, perchance, and loved too late, he still
Hath grown to such a presence in my thought,
That, though I lose him in the hour that finds,
I lose him not from love. Now, let us call
The life into his cheek. Some water bring,
Scoop'd out from yonder fountain near the sea.
There, fan him with thy pinions. See, his lips,—
Again they part, how sweetly!—and again,
I stoop to press them with my own that burn
With a strange fervor never felt before.
He wakes!—Ah me, he wakes! His eyes unclose
With a dim beauty. As they open, mine
Sink to the sands. I feel his glances now,
Stealing and searching through my throbbing heart,
Until it hath no secret. Doth he speak?
What says he, my sweet Nea?

Leon,
[struggling to his feet.]
Nay,—no more!—
Ah! sister, is it thou? That terrible thought
That thou wert swallow'd in the ravenous sea,
And the waves over thee! I saw thee sink—
Beheld thy outstretch'd arms—heard thy wild cry
For succor, that I strove in vain to give,—
And, struggling in the surf, 'gainst cruel hands,
That kept me from thee in the fearful hour,
I yielded thee as lost.—I have thee now—
We shall not part again.

[Embracing Atalantis.
Atal.
Ah!—

Leon,
[discovering her.]
Who art thou?
Where is my sister—give her to my arms;
Why dost thou keep her from me when I call?

Atal.
Oh! look not thus upon me, gentle youth:
I have not done thee wrong.

Leon.
My sister?

Atal.
She—
I know not.—

Leon.
Alas! alas! for me!—I am alone.

Atal.
Oh! not alone, for though we know not her,
The sister thou hast lost, we'll seek for her,
And strive to bring her to thy love again.
We too will love thee, if thou'lt suffer us,
And claim thy love in turn.

Leon.
Where am I then?
Oh! tell me, noble lady, tell me true,
What is the shore we stand on—where the ship
That bore us—the old master, and the men,—
And over all of these, the precious maid,
My sister, whom I swore to save from harm,
While strength was in my arms to strive for her.
Alas! that I am here, with life and strength,
And she—thou look'st as thou hadst love and truth,—
Spare me these pangs—withhold her not from me,—
I shall not sink into an agony,
Joy-troubled at her sight. I'm strong to bear
This happiness, if thou hast it to bestow,
And take my blessing for it. Give her me!

Atal.
Alas! thou plead'st to me, dear youth, in vain;
I know not of the gentle maid you seek.
Thou only, of the creatures of the ship,
Hast found the refuge of the shore.

Leon.
She's gone,—
And I survive her! How can I survive?
With what a terror she entreated me,
Never to leave her; and I pledged my soul,
If I had power to save, she should not sink,
Or I should share her fate. My Isabel!
I could not save, and cannot now survive;—
I come to thee,—I come!

[Rushes towards the sea.
Atal.
Forbear! Forbear!
Oh! be not thus the murderer of thyself,
When heaven's own voice hath order'd thee to live.
For my sake as for thine! I kneel to thee.
Do not this wrong unto thyself, I pray,
Nor to the memory of the maid thou griev'st,
Who, if she loved thee, never could be blest,
At this, thy woeful sacrifice. Oh! hear!
Let me implore. Thy sister yet may live,
Cast on some other isle, as thou on this.
We'll seek her hence together, with a hope
That we may find her on the yellow sands,
And win her back to life.

Leon.
Oh! sweet thy words!
I will believe thee, lady, with a hope
That comes on golden pinions; for thine eye
Tells of a true sense prompting thee to speak,
In mercy, with a blessing won from truth;
While in thy voice a delicate music lies,
Spelling all sympathies that fill the heart.
Say, who art thou?

Atal.
My name is Atalantis.
I am a Princess of the ocean waste,
But now a prisoner on this cruel isle,
Which, raised by magic from the hidden deep,
Wreck'd thee and fetters me. I have the sway
Of a large ocean empire which, in sight,
Extends beyond the sight, and far beneath
In winding ways and valleys of the sea.
I keep no state, but, as a captive, pine
In sight of my own kingdom, in the power
Of a dread monarch of the demon race,
A mighty potentate who keeps me here,
Seeking my love.

Leon.
How fell you in his power?

Atal.
'Twere a long speech to tell you of our realms,
The sway that's mine and his respectively,
And the slight space betwixt us; or to dwell
On the opposing powers we each possess:
It is enough, sweet youth, that yestermorn,
I and this maiden, o'er the quiet sea,
Idly disporting in our innocence,
Pass'd from our own dominions into his;
When, straightway he,—being ever on the watch,
And all unmatch'd for cunning—raised this isle,
At once, beneath us. In this sudden strait,
Frighted, I cast aside my magic wand,
Without which, I am nothing; and, with joy,
Knowing its powers, this monster seized it then,
And keeps me now his captive, close fenced in
By thickest spells, which, circling all this isle,
And having with our fine sense deadly hate,
We may not pass, unless he wills it so,
Or I regain my wand. Could that be done,
Its power is such that I could sink this isle,
And, with one stroke in air, undo the spells
Of his foul-brew'd enchantment.

Leon.
It is strange!
Methinks I wander in the Arabian tale,
And wear the enchanted ring.—This demon king—
Where is his castle where he harbors now?
I would behold him, and do battle for you.
I am a knight of Spain, well known in arms,
And wear the honors of the noblest courts,
Shining in Christendie.

Atal.
The arms you wield,
In fight with such as he, would nothing serve:
He deals in subtlest magic, and receives
Spells from gigantic spirits. 'Twas his power
Aroused the storm that overthrew your bark;
And now, on like employment bent, he speeds
Afar upon the ocean, with a host
Of most malignant followers in his train,
Rank for destruction. Could I get my wand,
In which a power of mightiest strength abides,
I'd battle him myself, and drive him back,
And whelm the barren isle which keeps us now!
Nay, more than this,—if that thy sister sleeps
Beneath the waters,—though I may not win
Her spirit back to life—with that same wand,
We both may penetrate the tumbling waves,
Without or hurt or harm,—with vision free,
To find her gentle beauties where they rest
On quiet beds of flowers beneath the deep.
There, with our magic art may we enwrap
Her fragile beauty in protecting spells,
That still her eyes shall shine as when in life,
Her cheeks still glow with love's own red,—her lips,
Though they no more with many a tone of joy,
Made soft by feeling, whisper in your ears,—
Still look the sweetness they have ever worn,
Keeping the wonted freshness that they knew,—
When first they grew to thine. This shall we do,
And more, that nothing that thy sense may seek
Shall lack to make her lovely.

Leon.
Gentle Queen,
If this be so,—do with me as thou wilt,—
I am thy slave,—thy slave!

Atal.
Rather I thine!
If thou wilt love me, this will I perform;
Nay, though thou love me not, I still will do it,
For love I have for thee.

Nea,
[aside.]
No more a Queen!
How doth she yield herself unto this power,
Forgetting her dominion.

Leon.
Gentle Princess,
Shall we not get possession of this wand?
Methinks that I could do 't. But let me hear;
Teach me the way!—I shall not fear to meet
This monster, though with magic panoplied
And all foul arts. Trust then the toil with me,
I am a soldier of the holy cross,
And do defy the fiend and all his works.

Atal.
'Tis a brave spirit, but here can little do,
Save to adventure.—This, indeed, is much!—
Magic must baffle magic. 'Tis for thee,
Still to procure this wand, which thou canst win,
When I have arm'd thee with some little power;
Thou being of earthly essence, with no fear
From contact with the all-infectious spell
Girdling the island round. Within yon rock,
That hangs precipitous above the deep—
That should be far beneath it—by him raised,
With sudden conjuration, at a word—
Seal'd in with spells, and in a curious vase,
Itself a spell, the treasure lies enshrined.
These charms, to me, were naught, could I but reach
The chambers where they lie; for, with this ring,
Which now upon thy hand I place from mine,
I may command all seals, and bid them break.
Onesimarch knows this, and trusts them not;
But placing an earthborn taint upon the air,
He doth restrain my footstep.

Leon.
Let me go—
I will achieve the adventure, or will die.

Atal.
Not yet—it were in vain that you would pass,
With your enfeebled strength, the threatening gulfs
Of leaping waters, that, between this isle,
And the high rocks you aim at, spread themselves.
We must seek other aid—and, what are these,
Auspiciously, that gather on the sands,
In the fine haze of moonlight?

Nea.
Fairy tribes,
That, sporting in the moonbeams, saw below
This new creation of Onesimarch,
And straight came down, still glad in what is new,
To keep their revels on it.

Leon,
[aside.]
Wonders grow,
Fruitful as things of nature.

Atal.
[To Nea.]
This is well;—
Meet to our purpose, at the needful hour,
When they might succor us. We must persuade
The aid and office they will scarce deny
To one who holds them of a kindred race,
Though of another element. Away!
Seek their chief, Nea. Show him all our strait,—
Declare our want, and for his service now,
Pledge our good office at another time.
We wait thee here. [Exit Nea.]
Alas! sweet youth, thou look'st
With such a sadness on me!

Leon.
Not on thee;—
'Tis on my fate I look!

Atal.
I am thy fate!
And thou wilt hate me for it! Oh! forgive!—
If I have won thee now against thy will,
To this wild venture, I do free thee from 't;—
I would not have my freedom, did it bring
A moment's grief to thee.

Leon.
Thou little know'st,
Sweet Princess, of the lessons of my youth,
The training of my people, and the laws
Which make it still our duty as our pride,
To stake the issues all, of life and death,—
All that we pleasure and can peril most,—
In cause of love and beauty. I rejoice
That it is mine to combat thy mishap.
This is a venture of my heart's own choice,
Too precious to be yielded,—and, forgive,—
But little know'st thou of Spain's chivalry,
When thou believest that its valor shrinks
From any odds with fortune. 'Tis with me
A pride to seek for peril; and we hold,
Taught in our schools of faith and courtesie,
That, to the soul, no life is worth a care,
Lock'd up from noble deeds, lapsing away
Like a scant brook, beneath a sunny sky,
Scarce murmuring as it wanders to be lost,
In the embrace of the o'erwhelming sea.

Atal.
Oh! noble, brave philosophy!

Leon.
We fight,
That insolence should meet check and overthrow,
The weak find succor, and the innocent
Be always sure of shelter from the base;—
And, when the peril is sought for one so fair,
Then do our masters teach us, it is one
On which the heavens look down approvingly
And the bright angels cheer.

Atal.
And yet thou griev'st;—
The sorrow grows to dews upon thy lids,
Even while thine eyes flash fire.

Leon.
My grief, alas!
Mark'd in my face, is from the wretched fear,
Now coursing through my brain, that she I seek,
The gentle girl, companion of my youth,
Bland as the moonlight, wooing as the shade,
And sweet as fairy music, deeply lies
Buried in these wild waters—never more,
To bless me with the music of her voice—
The magic of her smile—the calm delight
Of her not troublesome, devoted love!

Atal.
Oh! I have tears to share with thee for her!—
I may not give her back to thee, nor bid
The voice to that young lip, where, like a bird,
That had its life in music with the flowers,
It lapsed in long and loving melodies;
But I will toil in thy service, glad to be,
For thy bereavéd heart and fever'd brain,
Most like to her thou grievest. I will strive,
That thou shalt so esteem me. Not a tone,
Fashion'd by love's own mood, and most like hers,
But I shall teach my language;—not a look,
Worn by her gentlest features, but shall mine
Skilfully take from summer skies and flowers,
Requiting thy sad heart.

Leon.
Oh, sweetest maid—
Thy form is kindred to thy purposes,
And half restores me.

Atal.
All will I restore—
All thou hast lost,—and more. Believe me then—
And stay thy sorrows. I will all replace,
Of thy fond fancies, and, with love as true,
Coupled with better power to serve its hope,
I'll be to thee far more than she thou grievest,
Though her affection, from the innocent hour
Of thy confiding childhood and pure dreams,
Boundless as ocean, like the Mexique waves,
Knew but one course, and ever ran to thee.
Believe me, dearest, thou shalt nothing lose
Of the known raptures. Thou shalt many win,
Not in thy wealth before. Thou shalt not think,
Ere I shall know and satisfy thy thought.

Leon.
Too generous maid.

Atal.
And,—hear me, gentle prince!—
If to thy sleepless, striving memory,
There be some marks, some moods, some images,
Some sweet tone, some fond action, some dear song
Of childhood, or some innocent prank you've known
Together, roving amid natural bowers,—
Teach me the trick of it all;—teach me the tone,
The dear song, the fond action, the gay prank,
Known to thy happiest childhood;—show me the art,
That nothing may be wanting—that I may take
A presence like to hers upon thy sight,
And make thee rich again, possessing her.

Leon.
Thy words are queenliest, like thyself, sweet maid,
And balsam my deep wound,—if not to cure,
To soothe and stay its throbbing. Thou hast said,
In sweet tones, sweetest words, that soften much
The temper of my sorrows.

Atal.
I am glad,
To offer to thy aid, to chide thy grief,—

Leon.
Yet, for this sweet and undeservéd love,
If I look coldly, unbecomingly,—
As feeling not its ministry, nor yet,
Beholding my own lack that makes it dear—
Impute it not, I pray, a crime in me.
I am not cold because my hope is so,
Nor yet ungrateful that I do not joy;—
I shall learn better to requite thy love,
In warmest language, when the pang is gone
Of this sad trial—if it ever goes.

Atal.
What do they call thee?

Leon.
Leon is my name.

Atal.
I'll call thee Leon;—call me Atalant,—
Thy Atalant,—for shall I not be thine?
Ah me! no longer may I be mine own!

Leon.
Beautiful Atalant!—

Atal.
But here they come,
Nea, and with her all the tricksy tribe,
That ride on beams, and travel with the stars;
And sing in place of speech; and fly to walk;
Now here, now gone; garb'd cunningly with flowers,
They know to seem at pleasure; and still bless'd,
With that which were our sorrow—constant change.

SCENE II.

—The Same.
Enter Nea with Fairies. They circle the Princess and Leon singing.
CHORUS OF FAIRIES.

Atal.
Oh! ye are glad to-night, ye merry ones,
With a fresh spirit, methinks. What pleasant hap,
New privilege, or wild inheritance,
Works on your wings such fine delirium?
I somewhat marvel at your happiness,
Though happy always; yet your wont is dull
To the extravagant rapture of your mirth,
And your free song to-night.

Nanita.
Extravagant!
Our mirth, fair Queen, is very soberness;
We are the modestest fairies of the wild,
The gravest, quietest, best of little bodies,
That ever made mischief in a neighbor's fold,
And laugh'd to find our own. Why, people call us
The very prudes of faerydom. We shake
Our heads with gravity o'er state affairs,
And sit in council with old Oberon,
Who, when Titania wakes his jealousy,
Will straight prefer our wisdom to his own;—
As, at such times, indeed, he wisely may.

Atal.
Oh! pray you then forgive me! Now I see
That you are sober and quiet as you claim,
Having but little mirth, and, at no season,
Extravagant in its utterance. Your excess
Lay only in my sadness. 'Twas my grief
That made your joy extreme. Your mood,
Thus born of freedom, little sorts with mine,
That grows with my captivity, and glooms
With the dread aspect of my prison-house.

Loline.
Yet is there much to gladden us to-night.
Have we not newly added to our realms
A goodly island, gracious in extent,
Whose beauteous sands, drawn out in lavish scope,
Persuades the moon's best smile upon our revels.

Atal.
If you knew all,—the story of this isle!—
Yet is there something more, or I mistake ye,
For which ye joy to-night.

Careta.
There is! There is!
Rightly you spoke, fair Princess, when you deem'd
Our joy unwonted. We are bless'd to-night,
Beyond our usual measure. You shall hear.
Perchance you know Zelina,—of our tribe,
The sweetest, merriest creature—full of fun,—
But glad to serve, and, with the happiest art,
To make the service pleasant as the will,
That prompts it to compliance. She is here—
Just freed from a captivity like yours;
Since in her sport, by some undreampt mischance,
She smote Titania's favorite nonpareil,
And broke its gossamer wing. The angry Queen,
For this, our little sister's innocent deed,
Doom'd her a prisoner in the zephyr's shell,
Till the first flowers that blossom in the spring
Should speak her into freedom. Till this time
Her fate was pitiful:—to use no wing,
Murmur no more, and mingle not, in song—
See none to comfort—hear no voice of love—
Dance no capricious revel on the sands,
But, with an unresisting sense, to float
On the tumultuous billows, night and morn,
Until the birth of that same flower of spring!
Found on the pleasantest shore beneath the sun,
Where first he soars in brightness from the seas,
We hail'd its presence, and have set her free;
And, from her prison, with delighted wing,
She soars with us to-night.

Lol.
Nor is this all—
Another captive hath to-night been freed,
We had deem'd lost forever to our sports.
This wanton fairy, sporting in the breeze,
Last moon, alone, was taken prisoner
By that same tyrant-king, Onesimarch,
That locks you in; and, 'twere a fit revenge,
That we should join with you, for these same wrongs,
To punish him in turn. Within yon rock,
He seal'd her up in crystal. By some chance,
Not yet discover'd, all her bonds were broke,
And she is here with us. Tinina!—here!
Behold the maiden. Princess. She knows all
The secrets of this tyrant's ocean-towers,
And, for your wand's recovery, will do
Aught that will seem most needful.

Atal.
[To Tinina.]
Fit a barque,
And make thy wing its sail, to waft this Prince
To the same rock that was thy prison late.
Himself will do the rest. 'Tis there, I learn,
My sceptre is sealed up.

Tinina.
The barque is here,
Even with a whisper, and my wing is ready;
Will 't please you go, my Prince?

Atal.
[timidly.]
Wilt thou go, Leon?

Leon.
'Twill please and make me proud.

Lol.
Tinina, hence!
I give thee winds, and waters, and a star,—
I spell thee with a talisman of safety,—
And crown thee with a will and wing of strength;
Go hence in courage, and be bless'd in service;
And when thy task is done, regain our course,
Which now we take toward the Hundred Isles,
That smile in the Southern Cross. We wait thee there.
Princess, we gladden that our offices
Seem worth thy tasking, and shall find delight,
If that they prosper 'neath thy hope and ours.
Wings, be ye up and wheeling—up, I say!

FLIGHT OF FAIRIES, AND CHORUS.
We are they who fly by night,
When the maiden moon is bright,
And the silver beach is spread,
Out on ocean like a thread,
Meetly for a fairy's tread:
When the air of heaven is balm,
When the ocean waves are calm,
And the flowers of earth grow bright,—
We are they who fly by night!

[Exeunt Fairies.
Atal.
Now, Leon, if the task before thee seem
Unsuited to thy human strength,—

Leon.
No more!
Hold me, I pray thee, Princess, as a man
That better loves the struggle that proves manhood,
Than the base sleep that stagnates all his soul.
I seek the adventure.

Atal.
Then, this sylph will guide;—
Will bear thee safely o'er these tumbling gulfs,
To yon tall rock, now beetling black and vast
Above the whiten'd billows. Boldly speed,
Nothing misdoubting, howsoever strange
The thing that rises threatening in thy path.
The mystic ring that wraps thy finger round,
Hath, in itself, a wondrous faculty,
To shield the wearer from the unlicensed power
Of spirits of evil.

Leon.
Atalant, I go,
Having a better talisman of safety,
In service which is noble, and in prayer
To him who checks and may subdue all spirits,
Than in this hoop of magic. See, this cross,
Which crowns the mortal weapon that I wear,
As life is over death!—this is my shield,
As, in the blade, I find my ample sword;
With these I go unfearing.

Atal.
Would thou went'st
With brow serene—with happier thought than now.

Leon.
Heed not the mood of this most heavy heart,
That clouds the brow thou look'st on. Some few days
Will hush the impatient grief that murmuring cries,
Seeking a loved one lost. When I return,
And thou hast led me where my sister lies,
Though she beholds not as I weep beside her,
Still will I strive to thank thee with a blessing,
Whose eyes shall look but love!

Atal.
Till then I live not!

Tinina
sings.
The wind is on the wave, and the billow rolls away,
And the star that is the guide to the voyager is bright,
But the fickle wind may change, should the voyager delay,
And the star beneath the demon cloud may perish from the sight.
The will, and the wing, are both ready while I sing—
And the service that makes music as for love it labors still,
Hath no murmur for the ear, though it whispers still of care,
And implores that the season be not forfeit to the will.
Then away, then away, ere we meet the coming day,
For the dewy haze is rising like a curtain o'er the sea;—
I have winds and waves and star, but they serve us not in war,
And the present bears the flower that's most precious unto me.

Leon.
The delicate song is sung in my behalf,
A counsel spoke in sweetness, as should be
All counsel for the loved one;—fairy, thanks!—
I'm with thee!—sweetest princess, fare thee well!

Atal.
I dare not bid thee go, but if thou wilt,
My heart has but one bidding—soon return.

[Exeunt Leon and Tinina.
Nea.
Sweet mistress!—

Atal.
Come with me to ocean's edge,—
That we may soonest hail his coming back,
Made happy in his safety.

Nea.
This is love!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Rock and Tower of Onesimarchus. Ogré chained at the base.
Ogré.
Shall I not have revenge—shall he not feel,
This wanton wrong that he hath put on me,
In his unmeasured wrath? Must I submit
To wear the chains about my limbs, as now;
Still fearing, that, for every erring deed,
I may not 'scape the villain penalty,
But bend my shrinking back to meet the scourge,
When 't suits a fellow-slave to place it there!
I'll be revenged.—Already have I done
Something towards it; for, throughout the hour,
When that his storms were raging o'er my limbs,
Chafed into madness, the dismember'd rocks
I hurl'd into his secret halls above,
And the repeated crash gave token sure
Of a wild mischief—and I rest not here!
He cannot punish me more than he has done,
And, let the tyrant will it so or not,
I leave his service when my limbs are free.
Ha! What are these? How now! What seek you here?
Enter Leon and Tinina.
What is it that you lack? Speak, ere I strike,
And hurl you into pieces with this rock.

Leon.
Thou monstrous slave, what is it that thou sayst?
Dost threaten too? Stand by, and let me pass,
Or thus, I thrust my weapon to thy heart.

Tinina.
Forbear! Thou wert an infant in his grasp,
And he would crush thee at a single stroke.
Show him thy spell of power—but lift thy ring!
See, now, he trembles: keep it thus in sight,
And we shall pass. No strength is in his arm,—
He cannot hurt us now.

[They ascend and enter the rock.
Ogré.
Terrible power!
How has it fetter'd me, and taken away
Each nerve once strung for action. Lo! they come,
And bearing off my master's instruments.—
Well, let them go! I glad me he hath wrong!
I would that he were fetter'd in my place,
And I were free and had no master then;
How would I revel in all goodly things!—
What lusts would I delight in,—food and drink,
Until my senses swim, and sleep i' the sun,
Doing no service more! Ah! here they come.

Enter Leon and Tinina.
Leon.
Slave, wouldst thou have thy freedom, and escape
The tyranny that tramples in this wise,
Loading thy limbs with chains, while the salt sea,
Enflames the galling tortures of the scourge?

Ogré.
That would I, mighty prince.

Leon.
Thou hast it then.
Throw by the chain thou wear'st and follow me.

Ogré.
I'll fling it in the sea. Shall I do more?
Bid me upheave this rocky battlement,
Wherein he keeps his magic, I'll not pause;—
Do thou but say the word.

Leon.
Nay, heed it not!
If she I serve do thus decree, thou mayst,—
Not else.

Ogré.
How now! you are no monarch then?
Whom serve you?

Leon.
The fair princess, Atalantis.

Ogré.
I do remember that she spoke for me,
And would have saved me from this scourge and rock.
A goodly princess—I will worship her.

Tinina
sings.
The bark is on the sea, and the breeze is in the sail,
And the star to guide us onward is now gleaming o'er the steep;
We have won the prize we sought, and the whisper of the gale
Would counsel us, the treasure, we have haply won, to keep.
Then away, then away, ere the tyrant seeks his prey,—
There's a murmur of the ocean that's unfriendly to our flight;
And the cricket at mine ear has a chirrup full of fear,
That but lately sung in music of a confident delight.

Leon.
Even as thou wilt, sweet maiden; let us hence
To her who waits in hope and innocence.

SCENE IV.

The Ocean between the rocks and the Islet.
Atalantis, Leon, and Nea. Onesimarchus approaching with his Legions.
Onesi.
Ha! what is here—what fearful change is this?—
The rock of spells o'erthrown, and Atalant,
Again with wand restored, and, at her side,
The lowly instrument of her release.
I did not guard against a thing of earth,
And he hath wrought this ruin of my hopes.
She smiles upon him too—perchance she loves—
Hell!—that I cannot blast her with a look,
And him, the minion, that hath won her love!—
He shall not live, to triumph in that love,
Enjoying raptures still denied to me.
Rise waters—lift your heads—mount up and soar,
Engulfing all that may not ride upon ye;
And thou, dismember'd shore, again descend,
Down to the oozy depths from whence thou cam'st—
I need thee nothing farther—sink, I say.

[He waves his wand and the island descends.
Atal.
Now, Leon, place thy hand within mine own;
Fear not the billows—hearken not their roar,—
They cannot harm thee, thus accompanied.

Leon.
And ye, fair skies, farewell. Thou fatal isle,
Which robb'd me of my best beloved, farewell!
I sorrow not to see thee downward go,
Troubling no mariner hence. One long last look,
Ye bright clouds, that remind me of my home—
My country, all, farewell. Oh, never more
Shall my eyes gladden with your glimpse again.
Now Isabel, I come!

Atal.
Thou hast no fear,
Dear Leon, from this danger?

Leon.
Little now,
Since, in the wonders that are shown to me,
I yield me to the fullest faith in all
That thou hast promised me.

Atal.
Thou soon shalt see,
How, as to me, these waters shall become
Familiar to thy nature. Thou wilt glide
Unharm'd between their billows, which shall lift
Thy form, with friendly succor, as thou will'st,
Making their arms thy servants.

Leon.
I believe,—
And round thy waist, sweet Atalant, I twine,
Fearless, my confident arm and murmur not.
I would not look upon the skies again,
That witness'd my late ruin; and the seas,
That wrought it all, beget no terrors now.—
We do not sink.

Atal.
Not yet!—Behold afar,
Where, gathering, grow vast legions—angry forms,
Gigantic, that in masses, or alone,
Dart onward, with a glittering panoply
That flames the crests of ocean far and wide,
While roll the constant thunders of the gong,
That calls them still to rise.

Leon.
I see! I see!

Atal.
These are the armies of my own domain,
Led by my gallant brothers. They go forth,
To fight and conquer this Onesimarch,
Who, strong in trick and artifice alone,
Will never meet them in the open field.
Already, see, he shrinks;—his hosts retire,
And his fierce rule departs.

Leon.
The land is gone!

Atal.
Yes, down we sink, and thou art all mine own:
I bear thee on the waters, for a while,
To prove the power I have to succor thee.
Now for the calm retreat, by ocean girt,
And stormy waves protected—now with me!
There in the sunny hours that lapse away,
Like angel messengers, and leave no pain,
Thy heart shall grow to gladness. Life shall be
A sweet, rich, gracious time,—a pure estate,
Beyond the strifes that trouble it with man:—
Free from controlling crowds—free from the jar,
The heat, the noise, the dust of human care.
Nature shall blight thee never, nor disease
Bind thee in loathsome sheets; nor tempests rise
To blasts thy fields, dispute thy fondest hope,
And, from thy wearied and exhausted heart,
Drink the sweet life-blood of thy innocent joy.
The breeze shall rather soothe thee with a breath,
Robb'd from celestial gardens. The blue waves,
Shall roll their tribute honors to thy feet;
Upon their bosom, many an offering placed,
Of fruits, fresh wafted from far Indian isles
Wooing thee with their fragrance. In the air,
Nature shall cast her odors, and thine eye
Shall never ope but to behold some new
And most luxuriant freshness in her form;
And, I shall love thee too, and toil untired
To give thee back the maiden whom thou seek'st.

Leon.
Ah! if thou couldst!—but no! The hope is vain,
And the wish idle. Yet the love thou givest,
Might well compensate, to this baffled heart,
The loss which still it weeps.

Atal.
Oh! do not weep.
I'll love thee in all fortunes. At the morn,
I'll lead thee through our waters, 'mid our caves,
Where, in unconscious brightness, cluster gems
Had set your world on fire. There shall you mark
Glad sea-maids that, attending on our steps,
Fill their deep shells with song; and, when the sun
Shines burningly at noon, in coral groves,
Thy head well pillow'd on my happy breast,
I'll sit and watch thy slumbers, blest to soothe
Thy ever beating pulse, and kiss thy lips,
When, murmuring in thy sleep, thou speak'st the name,
Of her thou still hast loved.

Leon.
No more of her.
I go with thee, sweet Atalant.—We sink!

Chorus of Sea-Nymphs as the island descends.