 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
I.
(The Queen and Blondival.)THE QUEEN.
'Tis dear to think that in this isle I rule
The people's loyalty should steadfast bide
As yonder heaven that curves one cloudless blue
Above the crags and myrtles of my shores.
BLONDIVAL.
They love you for your father's martial name;
They love you for your grandsire's arts of peace;
They love you—Shall I count the ancestries,
King, queen, prince, duke, that make them love you so?
THE QUEEN.
Is that then all?
BLONDIVAL.
Nay, since they worship you
For your immaculate self.
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Immaculate?
Those words ring mockery, husband. Pray recall
How I had sworn to wed no man, but stay
Sovereign yet virgin, ere we met and loved.
BLONDIVAL
(kissing her hand).
Your people are dumbly ware such love as ours
May scale the stars, nor keep one touch of earth.
THE QUEEN.
Are they so wise, my people?
BLONDIVAL.
Ay, Majesty,
With you for sweet instructress!
THE QUEEN.
Nay, my lord,
Humility and not majesty for thee!
Have I not given thee all, my Blondival?
Has not my soul to thine been bee to flower?
Oh, there are times when I turn sick for loss
Of passionate prodigalities my love
Would heap on thy dear life! This Blondival
154
Are trivial to the scope of his true meed.
What fresh choice dainty on what rare golden dish
May I, his eager handmaid, serve him next?
How thwart satiety with new zest and tang
Of delicate savor? Would that I might mix
Taste, music, perfume, color, charm of touch
Into one ecstacy of sense for him!
Yet no; I am powerless to delight him more;
I can but stand his vassal, though his queen.
BLONDIVAL.
One thing thou couldst give yet thou wilt not give!
THE QUEEN.
Oh, Blondival! Again that piteous plaint!
BLONDIVAL.
Piteous, and yet unpitied! Were thy love
The self-surrender thou assertest it,
Thou couldst not overbrow me day by day.
THE QUEEN.
I overbrow thee! I that am thy slave!
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Splendid inded a servitude like thine!
Humbly thou cringest that with nod of head
Couldst fling me seaward from thy steepest cliffs!
THE QUEEN.
My royal consort!
BLONDIVAL.
Phrase that emptier sounds
Than scream of gull or crackle of autumn leaf!
I royal consort, whom thy furthest kin
Waive and precede at every public pomp!
Why, even the common oaf that plows and plants,
Lord of his own hearth, my superior looms.
Keep thou thy crown; give me thy woman's robes,
Don these of manlier make; and so attired,
Prove me thy “royal consort” in good faith!
SYLVIA
(singing outside, with lute).
O the ways of love, O the ways of love,
They are stern, yet soft as dew!
O the days of love, O the days of love,
They are light, yet darkness too!
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(Less light than darkness, bird-throat, as I live!)
Look, Blondival, I have given thee all save this
Obvious co-rulership; yet such void boon
Still dost thou crave, though barriers built by law,
As oft I have told thee, crowd upon thy wish.
BLONDIVAL.
Barriers the state has wrought.
THE QUEEN.
Hence all their might.
BLONDIVAL.
The state is thou.
THE QUEEN.
Three centuries ere I breathed,
Our canons barred the sovereign of this isle,
Woman or man, from vesting in a mate,
Though even of kingly blood, equality.
BLONDIVAL.
Bad governance grows brittle enough to break
After three centuries have aged it so.
Snap such mere rottenness by one bold wrench
Of the wrist, and stamp it to oblivious dust.
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If thou, dear love, shouldst bid me die for thee
In testimony of passion, I believe
All nature, from her star of utmost bourne
To her least meadow-flower, did I rebel,
Would seem to taunt and pierce me with rebuke.
Yet this entreaty of thine doth none the less
Break futile on that faith heredity
Hath seared and melted into mind and soul.
My life I am free to give, but not my throne,
Bastioned and hedged with sanctity of trust.
BLONDIVAL.
So be it. I shall not plead with thee again,
But strive to make the husband in me chime
Harmonious with the lacquey!
THE QUEEN.
Blondival!
I thought thy love would wiselier school itself
To patience with my one dissentient mood.
But mark: for thee, so worshipfully held,
I waver in compromise, and grant this grace:
Till three moons hence thou rulest in my stead,
From sole to finger-nail a regnant king.
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Through just that term of days, which once being fled,
Again thou shalt become Duke Blondival,
My king, yet not my nation's. Dost consent?
BLONDIVAL.
Regent for three months...
THE QUEEN.
Nay, king absolute,
With me for subject. Here's my royal hand.
Ere fall of sun the isle shall ring with it,
And he that dares deny King Blondival
May bow in heartier homage to cold steel.
BLONDIVAL.
I do consent. (Three months of reinless power!
Oh, Sylvia, how I long to tell it thee!)
SYLVIA
(entering, abashed).
The Queen ... Duke Blondival?..
THE QUEEN.
Nay, Sylvia mine,
History has altered since we saw thee last.
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Than thou, with that fine glory of gold silk hair.
And here's our King. Come, do him reverence.
Kiss thou his hand first; I will follow thee.
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |