University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FIRST.

A secluded spot in a wood, with a cottage on one side, and a little river running under the trees in the background. A kind of twilight is in the air. Enter three Shepherds, looking cautiously about, and listening.
1st Shep.
It's wander'd somewhere else:—every thing's quiet.

2d Shep.
Hush! Was not that it?

1st Shep.
No; there's not a breath:
I think it turn'd among the willows there.

3d Shep.
Most likely: sound delights itself in water,
As I have noticed often:—let's pursue it.

1st Shep.
No, better not; remember what a road
It led us yester eve;—'twill play no more.
These spirits, bad or good (by what I've heard
From my old grandam, and have read in books),
Seem to delight in playing tricks with us,
As if they made them merry with the awkwardness
And grave mistakes of our inferior nature.
Besides, the stream, you know, runs through the grounds
Of fine old Eunomus, who used to set
So rare a lesson to the former court,
But now shuts up his sorrows in this corner;
And 'twere amiss to startle his grey head
E'en with a footstep.

2d Shep.
'Twere so: yet methinks
He might be pleased to hear of this new sound,
The first, of any comfortable breath,
Our wood has heard for years. I know not why,
But there is such a sweetness in the touch
Of this mysterious pipe that's come among us,
Something so full of trilling gladsomeness,
As if the heart were at the lip that fill'd it.
Or went a rippling to the fingers' ends,
That it forebodes, to me, some blessed change.
There!

All.
There!

(A flourish of a small pipe heard.)
3d Shep.
'Tis overhead—I heard it plainly.

1st Shep.
It comes no more.

2d Shep.
But it was louder then
Than it has ever been;—'twas curious too,
It should return just as I spoke of change.

1st Shep.
I think, with you, there must be something in it.
Feel you no alteration?

2d Shep.
What? In the air?
'Tis lighter,—fresher;—I perceived it yesterday.
Oh, my dear friends, what if this gloomy weight,
That sick and dim, like a disease of nature,
Has visited so long our weary land,
Should at the last be going? Nay,—to speak it,
What if this cursed Enchanter—

3d Shep.
Hush! Be cautious;
You know what ears he has in every corner.

2d Shep.
I care not:—who is there, among us, cares?
Has not he robb'd us all of something dear,
Some father, brother, son, to go and do
His devilish work in countries of all climate,
In fainting heats, and powerless, cramping colds,
Wasting away in one, stiff'ning in t'other
With horrid sleep, besides a world of toils,
Of sore and starting bones, fevers, and frenzies,
Sharp swords from hands unlook'd for, all the while,
Glancing about their ears, and killing thousands?
Look at old Eunomus—from first to last
A lover of us all both high and low,
And one that would have all live well together,
The high in rank, the low in liberty,
Gracing each other like the trees in spring,
The tufted by the tall:—how has he suffer'd?
Both his sons gone,—the first one by his death
Breaking the mother's heart, the second now
Torn from his bride, and dead too as they say,—
She only left him to perform all parts,
And keep back her own tears to save him his.
Let's tell him of this pipe; I do believe,
It brings us comfort.

1st Shep.
Heaven send it may!
At all events, 'twere well perhaps to tell him;
For now I recollect, I have heard often,
These hovering spirits may not keep their secret
From unpolluted men; but when they're by,
And the occasion's good, will yield their voices
To the still air. I'll knock directly, shall I?

All.
Do, do.

(Goes to knock at the cottage door.)
Enter Eunomus with Myrtilla.
Eun.
How now, my friends? I saw you stop
With hush'd and anxious gestures, and was coming
To learn your news. Heard ye this sound in the air
My daughter speaks of? for of late, my ear
Seems closing up to every sound but her's.

2d Shep.
We came, Sir, to inform you of it,
Since from it's strange delightfulness, and something
Of a new freshness in the air about us,
We thought it boded good.

Myrt.
The very things,
Dear father, that I told you.

Eun.
Is it then
So very sweet? for my Myrtilla here
Has a young fancy, and will convert the sound
Of common breath to something exquisite,
If evening silence and the trees be round her.

1st Shep.
Sir, when I heard it first, and that was yesterday,
Standing and looking down the floating stream
With oft-returning lapse of distanced eyes,
I felt my cheek change colour, it awoke
So fairy-like at once; and when it rose
A second time, which was near fall of night,
As I was lingering at my open door,
Fix'd as the calm, the tears came in my eyes
Starting for sweetness.

3d Shep.
We have heard, Sir, nothing
At all resembling it, since fair Myrtilla
Sang upon evenings to your—

Myrt.
(Interrupting him, and making side gestures of caution.)
Have you all
Perceived it then?

1st Shep.
All of us,—some alone,
And some together.

2d Shep.
But so close to us
Never till now; and so, we have remember'd
What in sage books is told of reverend men,
And of their power to hear celestial things,
And voices of the sky; and now you're here,—
Pardon us, Sir,—we think that if you spoke to it,
It might give utterance, and disclose it's purpose.

Eun.
I fear, my friends, you think too potently
Of an old man, whose heart is yearning still,
Not for celestial, but for earthly voices:—
But those are past,—and in the hope some day
To hear them yet again with other ears,
I have not fallen into so much bitterness
With my humanity, or such resentment
At ill's apparent wonders, as to shut
My fancy up in a dull downward sleep,
And never think of fair invisible things
Or good intended towards us,—good perhaps
Brought out and better'd from the taste of woe.
If spirit unearthly ever went beyond
It's dumb communication with such thoughts,
Breaking air's vacancy with shape or sound,
Though we, my friends, may not be men to ask it,
This is a time when wonders are abroad,
And such things might be.

(A louder and longer flourish of sweet music than before.)
3d Shep.
'Twas upon the trees there.

2d Shep.
'Tis, Sir, as we supposed, pray speak to it—

1st. Shep.
Hush! to the left.

(The music shifts to the left with a different strain, and then makes a sudden stop.)
Eun.
Myrtilla, my sweet child,
Frame you a prayer out of your innocent thoughts,
And speak for all, something of heav'n is near us.

(He takes off his cap, the rest doing it after him.)
Myrtilla sings.

Spirit sings.

Two Echoes.
Rejoice! Rejoice!

RECITATIVE.
'Tis my brethren of the sky,
Couriers we of Liberty,
Coming hither, one by one,
Like the streaks before the sun.
She herself is now not far,
But has pass'd the morning-star,
And if ye would wish to see
What shall help to set ye free,
From the greenwood start ye forth,
And turn your eyes from south to north. (A symphony of pipes mingles in; and the Spirit sings again.)

Elsewhere now I take my voice;
Locks of grey!
And lips of May!
And shepherds all, rejoice, rejoice!

Echoes dying off.
Rejoice! Rejoice!

Myrt.
This is deliciousness!—Our friends will go,
And bring us word, dear father, of this sight:
You must in-doors, and rest your spirit awhile.

(Exeunt severally.)