 | The Serpent Play |  |
6
Scene I.
—The Paradise of Cœlis among the Ophidian Hills.Cœlis, alone.
CŒLIS.
‘Here, like a quiet child, while Summer plays
Around the dwelling, as in earlier days,
Purpling the vineyards, sparkling on the rills;
Gliding from flower to flower, till overflows
The perfume-breath of the full-bosomed rose,
I hail my paradise, my native hills!
Here am I still; here my lost sires repose
Under the mortal ban, that, ere their birth,
Blighted the future of this alien earth,
And in death-twilight bade their senses close.
Weak was the will that in a guardless hour
Was shackled by the Serpent's power!
Shall not some soul his subtle chain unbind
And live for ever as at first designed?
Not by the ways that sorcerous spirits choose!
But who can find the true one? The recluse
Sees promised lands beyond the grave:
He listens for the angels' voices
That say the mystic Cross shall save,
And with clasped hands he, to the last, rejoices.
Some gather in a crucible of clay
The herbs that hold earth's throeful sweat,
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And to acquit themselves of nature's debt.
But from earth's essence who shall souls renew,
Or from its flowers the life-elixir brew?
O Love, thou only way! My spirit sate
With gazing through thee: then shall it arise
To visions of a heavenly paradise,
And with them reach what seem the empty skies!
The Sun, my flaming sword, is at the gate
And waves the way I seek.’
His fathers' grave
Lay nigh, yet there the more to life he clave,
New meanings catching up from olden lore.
‘The Serpent broke man's will of yore,’
He cries, ‘and now the soul bemoans its realm
Long passed away, death left, to overwhelm
The thought that dares lost hope explore.’
He looks up towards the height; there stands
His castle o'er the triple-circling road.
He muses on his legend-haunted lands:
These were the ancient Snake's abode
In days of old romance, as told the bards;
And every gate even now the Serpent guards,
As, coiled upon a golden field,
For ages it hath lain across his father's shield.
He thinks how once a leafy parasite
It clomb the trees and with a reptile's might
Strangled their trunks, the forests all enthralling,
Till foe to man upon its belly crawling.
Lay nigh, yet there the more to life he clave,
New meanings catching up from olden lore.
‘The Serpent broke man's will of yore,’
He cries, ‘and now the soul bemoans its realm
Long passed away, death left, to overwhelm
The thought that dares lost hope explore.’
He looks up towards the height; there stands
His castle o'er the triple-circling road.
He muses on his legend-haunted lands:
These were the ancient Snake's abode
In days of old romance, as told the bards;
And every gate even now the Serpent guards,
As, coiled upon a golden field,
For ages it hath lain across his father's shield.
He thinks how once a leafy parasite
It clomb the trees and with a reptile's might
Strangled their trunks, the forests all enthralling,
Till foe to man upon its belly crawling.
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His steps now pause before a brook:
'Twas but the waters o'er the pebbles shook,
Yet seemed they spirit-voices meeting,
And nature's gossip-lore repeating.
One shrilly said: ‘Look up and see.’
One murmured low: ‘The apple-tree.’
The first then babbled: ‘It is blazing
With ruddy fruits.’
The other said: ‘It burns and shoots,
And eyes are gazing.’
And then another: ‘Have a fear,
The Snake is here.’
Then murmurs reach him through the bracken,
Of air-gusts that delight to teaze,
While fern-plumes in their stately silence shaken
Wave to and fro in concert with the breeze.
He listens as to woman's voice they listen
Who watch to see her beauty glisten
While her voice murmurs: so he yields to sleep,
Charmed by the sights and sounds that o'er him sweep.
Sultry, the air for lofty life is burning;
He dozes on, his thoughts returning;
Into green spires of flame the fern-stems leap;
Balls of hot fire the glowing apples seem:
He dares not wonder, lest his dream
Should vanish and flash down the naked stream.
The fern-flames speak with tongues that never tame,
The apples burn and utter silent flame.
The brook swells higher; hissings fierce
Through its frothy torrent pierce.
Then comes a vision of the ancient Snake,
Even as one sees by day when wide-awake;
Its head is rolling in the fern,
Its coils are round the boughs where the red apples burn.
'Twas but the waters o'er the pebbles shook,
Yet seemed they spirit-voices meeting,
And nature's gossip-lore repeating.
One shrilly said: ‘Look up and see.’
One murmured low: ‘The apple-tree.’
The first then babbled: ‘It is blazing
With ruddy fruits.’
The other said: ‘It burns and shoots,
And eyes are gazing.’
And then another: ‘Have a fear,
The Snake is here.’
Then murmurs reach him through the bracken,
Of air-gusts that delight to teaze,
While fern-plumes in their stately silence shaken
Wave to and fro in concert with the breeze.
He listens as to woman's voice they listen
Who watch to see her beauty glisten
While her voice murmurs: so he yields to sleep,
Charmed by the sights and sounds that o'er him sweep.
Sultry, the air for lofty life is burning;
He dozes on, his thoughts returning;
Into green spires of flame the fern-stems leap;
Balls of hot fire the glowing apples seem:
He dares not wonder, lest his dream
Should vanish and flash down the naked stream.
The fern-flames speak with tongues that never tame,
The apples burn and utter silent flame.
The brook swells higher; hissings fierce
Through its frothy torrent pierce.
9
Even as one sees by day when wide-awake;
Its head is rolling in the fern,
Its coils are round the boughs where the red apples burn.
Then the Snake whispers, and voices are hushed;
Into its accents the silence has rushed;
Crisp is the roll of its tongue and intense
Are the glozings it pours on voluptuous sense.
And still 'tis in whisper that seemeth to say:
‘Thy moments are weary, prolong not thy day;
Thy life-time is weary, prolong not the chase
After days without ending; from all they recede;
Of all mortals alike is fantastic the creed;
Who hope and who mock end alike in the race.
Seize on rapture while yet it is nigh; a new mortal,
Thou enterest the world through a glorious portal,
All riches to scatter, all homage possess:
Seize on love without stint and all beauty caress.’
Into its accents the silence has rushed;
Crisp is the roll of its tongue and intense
Are the glozings it pours on voluptuous sense.
And still 'tis in whisper that seemeth to say:
‘Thy moments are weary, prolong not thy day;
Thy life-time is weary, prolong not the chase
After days without ending; from all they recede;
Of all mortals alike is fantastic the creed;
Who hope and who mock end alike in the race.
Seize on rapture while yet it is nigh; a new mortal,
Thou enterest the world through a glorious portal,
All riches to scatter, all homage possess:
Seize on love without stint and all beauty caress.’
On this the dreamer sees a phantom throng
Of rosy maidens float along;
Towards him they droop their wavy arms,
Alluring him with lagging charms;
And ever with a fonder face
Comes on new beauty with its newer grace.
O frantic pleasures, soul-dissolving!
O passion that once felt endures,
And bliss for evermore assures!
The brightest stars in heaven decline,
But joys about the heart revolving
With it ascend and still their own past light out-shine!
Of rosy maidens float along;
Towards him they droop their wavy arms,
Alluring him with lagging charms;
And ever with a fonder face
Comes on new beauty with its newer grace.
O frantic pleasures, soul-dissolving!
O passion that once felt endures,
And bliss for evermore assures!
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But joys about the heart revolving
With it ascend and still their own past light out-shine!
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