University of Virginia Library

Count Julian, Or The Virgin of the First Fond Love.

A Tragedy, In Five Acts By T. H. Chivers, M.D.

Dramatis Personae

• Men
• Count Julian, betrothed to Ianthe.
• Lamorah, the Mico, or High Priest, of the Seminoles.
• Ostinee, Lamorah's son.
• Ensenore, a Seminolean Warrior, called the Thunderbolt of War.
• Esnah, a Seminolean Warrior, called the Captain of the Sons of Night.
• Tehoah, a Seminolean Warrior, called the Captain of the Brave.
• Fifty Warriors who celebrate the Banqueting of Souls.
• Women
• Ianthe, the Virgin of the First Fond Love (also called Celuta),
• Endea, an orphan, the adopted daughter of Lamorah.
• Canondah, the wife of Lamorah.
• The Ten Fair Virgins of the Isle of Founts.

Act 1.

Scene 1.

The Margin of the Lake between the Oakmulgee and Flint was from which the river St. Mary has its source, near which a boat is lying on the water. Lamorah is discovered sitting on the ground close by underneath an Oak. Enter Count Julian, bearing his hoop, draped in the garments of Yanassa, Lamorah's son, whom he supposes to be dead, attended by Lamorah.
Count Julian
Beneath an aged Oak, whose hundred arms are
lifted up, as in mute prayer, to God, Silvered
with many hundred years, whose locks
Of Argent moss hang waving to the ground—
Alone on the silver sand, the last of all
His Tribe, Lamorah leans alone! But now
Upon his back the well-stored quiver hangs.
His great Herculean form is clad with skins
Fantastically fringed with down of Swans,
And ornamented with the rarest beads.
His feet are sandaled with red Moccassins;
His Wampun-belt is fastened round his waist;
An Eagle-plume, cresting his head, now waves
Aloft, swayed by the odorous winds which come
Laden with perfume from the Isle of Flowers—
An emblem of his mighty heart now free.
Close to his ear in his right hand, he holds
A rose-lipped shell which sings mysterious songs,
And soothes his weary soul to peace; for in
Its soft Aeolian cadences it seems
The soul of his Yanassa, his dead son,
Come back to lead him to the Land of Souls.
Rapt with the sense of its sweet melody,
He has forgotten all things in the world,
Remembering nothing but his own deep joy,
Born of his Memory of the Olden Time,
In days gone by when he was in his prime,
And Young Yanassa was his son on earth.

Lamorah rises from his seat, approaches Count Julian, and gives him his hand.
Lamorah
Let us sit down upon this log of wood,
Or on this mossy-mouthed Rock. My heart
Is full of sorrow! Look behold I see
An eagle sleeping on his wing half way
To Heaven!

Count Julian
Thine eyes are good to see so far!

Lamorah
Three Moons ago I lost three arrows at
That bird. They fell afar off in yon Lake.
Though he soars high, as if he scorned the earth,
Yet I will bring him down or lose the fourth.

Count Julian
Nay, it is vanity to shoot. He looks
No larger than thy hand. He pauses on
His wings as if he looked from his high world
With joy upon his image in the Lake.
I see the shadow of his wings stretched out
Upon its liquid mirror now.

Lamorah
My brave
Old locust bow! Can you not bring him down?
Thrice, with this arrow, hast thou pierced, as far,
The Roe-buck leaping on the Sunny Hills.

Count Julian
Tis vain to shoot. Your arrow will be lost,
For see! he has ascended higher still!
As if some unseen hand had lifted him
Half way to Heaven from mortal sight! His form
Has sunk up in the azure Sea of Space!
He is an emblem of thy soul, great Chief!
I now feel restless to be where he is.

Lamorah
I never knew him fly so high before.
I will not shoot—my arrow may be lost.

Count Julian
This attitude is fearful to the eye.
I wish I was where he is now.

Lamorah
Sit down,
And tell me of thy Dream. I, too, have dreams.

Count Julian
What is thine age?

Lamorah
It has been fifty years,
With four moons more, since I first came on earth.

Count Julian
Where are thy children? Hast thou any wife?

Lamorah
I have a son—the Eagle of his Tribe
Who dwells afar off with his mother on
An Island in the middle of this Lake.

Count Julian
Have you an Island in this Lake?

Lamorah
I have—
The bottom of whose streams are sands of gold.
More Swans are there than days in all your life.

Count Julian
But tell me how you came on it? Are there
No people there but yours?

Lamorah
None but my own.
When I was young—about your age—I heard
My father talk about this Blessed Isle,
Where there was Springtime all the year—as bright
As is Manitoline—that Spirit-land—
Where Souls reside soon after death—where rests
My young Yanassa, Eagle of my heart!
Whose bright Inhabitants are just as much
More beautiful than any of our race,
As spirits are more beautiful than men.
For three long years I sought this Blessed Isle.
One morning when I rowed out from the shore—
Just as the Big Lights fired the Hills of Heaven
I saw it rise up from the peaceful Lake,
Greened with the freshness of immortal Spring.
Ah! Then my heart beat loud within my breast!
A sound as swift as runs the Roe-buck on
The Hills, until I reached the Blessed Spot;
When, leaping from my Boat upon the shore,
I made the forest woodlands ring with my
Ferocious yell, until the frightened birds
Fled screaming to the Inland Hills! Then did
I walk on it, free as that Bird now soars
Through Heaven!

Count Julian
How far is it from this?

Lamorah
It takes
All night to reach to it.

Count Julian
But did you find
The lovely beings there of whom you spoke?

Lamorah
I saw nothing but birds, and speckled Fawns,
And Roe-bucks leaping on the Sunny Hills.

Count Julian
How long till you returned?

Lamorah
Three days. Sad days!
When I returned, the White-Man had destroyed
My Wigwam—driven my wife away
To seek her shelter on the ground! Hell burned
Within my heart to be revenged! So, from
That fatal hour I swore never again
To smoke the Calumets of Peace with Man!
The Tommahawk, that had been in his grave
A hundred years, was now dug up again,
To rest no more beneath the Tree of Peace!
So, on to Cuscovilla's Vale we went
Against great Simighan, my father's foe,
Panting, like Hell-hounds, for the White-Man's blood.
We fought—our Tribe was slain—slain only
Except my son Yanassa—he alone
Escaped—was taken captive in the fight—
Bound fast in chains—borne from the field
Back to the White-Man's tents, where he had slain
The innocent children—where he lay confined
In heavy chains, waiting his awful doom!

Count Julian
So, old Lamorah, to avenge his death—

Lamorah
Went at the midnight hour, with torch in hand,
And fired the old man's house—

Count Julian
That good old Man!

Lamorah
And as he fled, escaping from the flames,
I caught his young Moon-daughter in my arms,
And bore her swift away with me!

Count Julian
Away
To some far distant land unknown to Man—
For never tidings came of where she went—
Leaving young Julian mourning for her loss—
Mourning that he could never more behold
The beauty of her Angel-face, nor drink
Delight again out of her heavenly smiles,
Wherein his soul had sunned itself to peace.

Lamorah
She was the Virgin of the First Fond Love
Who lay upon his bosom like the Swan
Upon clear water, while his soul grew white
To image back her form—the very first
That made him see the young Hind in his dreams.

Count Julian
This old Lamorah had two sons—both brave—
But his Yanessa, Eagle of his heart
The elder loved he better of the two
Because he was the White-Man's bitter foe;
For many times, Lamorah in his ire,
Would fling the White-Man's children in the air,
And catch them, falling, on his pointed knife.
One day, when he was doing this, he saw one smile,
With his blue laughing eyes, right in his face;
And from that fatal hour he never smiled!

Lamorah,
much astonished
How know you this? What is thy name?

Count Julian
And now,
At early falling of the leaf, the old man comes
From some far distant land unknown to Man,
Like Spirit from the dead to those they love,
To strew rich Coral on his fathers' graves,
And pray beside them while he weeps—for long
Has he been waiting here today to see
Some stranger in the person of his son.

Lamorah,
still more surprised
How know you this? Tell me thy name? Thy name?
I know thee not—yet, thou hast told me all.

Count Julian
But she, the Virgin of the First Fond Love,
You took away with you—how old was she?

Lamorah
Just fifteen fallings of the leaf, with four
Moons more.

Count Julian
Her name?

Lamorah
Celuta is her name.

Count Julian
The fairest Maid in all the sunny South—
The Summer South—where there are many fair—
The only Damsel of her father's house—
A Farmer's daughter, beautiful as pure,
Living in all the rich simplicity
Of cottage life alone among the flowers—
A fairer Flower herself—called by her Sire,
Ianthe, Lily of the Land of Love.
For she was milder than the new-born Moon
Sitting, in Silence, on the Hills of Heaven,
When, some cloudless night, when all is clear.—
Her father's name?

Lamorah
Was Gordon.

Count Julian
Brave old Chief!
My dream is told.

Lamorah
Thy dream? What is thy dream?
Thy name? I know thee not!

Count Julian
I am thy son—
Yanassa from the Land of Souls.

Lamorah,
much astonished
My son?
My son? Yanassa? Is it thou, my son?
Art thou returned from death—the Land of Souls?
Thy face is pale! Thou hast the White-Man's face!
Yanassa! is it thou? can Death do this?
Or has Manito sent thee here to mock
My soul by giving thee the White-Man's face?
I hate thy face—hate it as I do hell!
Speak to my soul, Yanassa, speak, my son!

Count Julian
Father! I am thy son—thy only son!
All souls are paleface in the Land of Souls!
Where is my mother? brother Ostenee?
Celuta! that young Dove! the White-Man's child?
The Lily that Yanassa loves so well?

Lamorah,
with much tenderness
Art thou my son? This is his Wampum-belt!
This is his Bow! This is his quiver here!
These are the garments he wore when slain!

Count Julian
Father! I am thy son—thy very son!
All souls are pale-face in the Land of Souls.

Lamorah,
falling on his breast
This is my son! my Eagle-boy! my Dove!
Yanassa from the Land of Souls! Come home!

They enter the boat when Lamorah rows off from the shore.

Scene II

(A beautiful flower-gemmed Bower on the Island. Ianthe is discovered playing with her fawns. Enter Ostenee, bearing in his hand flowers, shells and Swan Down, unobserved by her.)
Ostenee
Celuta!

Celuta
How you frightened me!

Ostenee
Here are
Some shells, my love! I found them on the shore
Beside the Lake. Just put this to your ears
Does it not sing?

Celuta
Just like my Dreams last night.

Ostenee
Its breath is like your sighs, Celuta! Songs
Of birds are sweet, but this is sweeter far.
It speaks as you did when you spoke to me
The White-Man's speech. Oh, speak to me again!
I think my brother's soul lives in this Shell!

Celuta,
offering it to him
Here—there is magic in the sound! Its sound
Is like the memory of departed joys!
Here—take it, Ostenee—it makes me sad!

Ostenee
No, it is thine, Celuta. Here's some fruit,
As yellow as the White-Man's gold. See how
The honey-drops ooze from its pores, like dew
Upon fresh flowers. Its sweetness makes me think
Of thee!

Celuta,
offering it again
Here—take the Shell—I cannot have
It any more! It makes me think of home—
Of one I dreamed about last night.

Ostenee
Will you
Not keep the cradle of my brother's soul,
While it is rocked to peace?

Celuta
No, take it back—
I cannot keep it now. Nay, do not frown;
But take it back. Take back the Shell—the flowers—
And be not angry with your friend.

Ostenee
My friend?
Are you my friend? Then keep the Shell—the flowers—
And take the Swan-Down that I bring to thee.

Celuta
But if I take them you will call me yours.

Ostenee
I will—you are my love—my life—my Heaven!
Then take them all. I love you as my soul!

Celuta
No, Ostenee! You keep them all for me—
Keep them yourself.

Ostenee
Then you are not my friend?
Celuta! Can you lie?

Celuta
I cannot lie;
But would, were I to take your Shells. So, keep
Them all to prove Celuta cannot lie.

Ostenee
By Hell! You love me not! You hate me now!
My father gave you unto me!

Celuta
I dreamed
Last night your brother's soul came down from Heaven!

Ostenee
What! from the Land of Souls?

Celuta
The Land of Souls!
His face was white as snow!

Ostenee
As snow? His face
Was dark. He would not have the White-Man's face!
I have been looking for Yanassa long.
What said he in thy dream? spoke he of me?
Was he not happy with his friends, the dead?

Celuta
He was not happy with his friends, the dead—
But bade me tell you he must come again,
Lest Ostenee should do me wrong.

Ostenee
What! said he so?
When he will come again to claim my love!
Thou art my wife, Celuta! but take not
The Shell! It was soul that spoke to thee!
For often have the souls of mighty men
Come back at midnight to their native land,
To rest by moonlight in the Ruby-bells.
It was no dream! Was he not beautiful,
If he had thus the White-Man's face?

Celuta
His soul
Was brighter than the Morning Star!

Ostenee
As bright
As thine?

Celuta
More beautiful than aught on earth!

Ostenee
If thou canst bring my brother's soul from Heaven;
Canst thou not bring my father back from death?

Celuta
I can—he will be here tomorrow morn.
I think thy brother will return with him.

Ostenee
My soul will love thee then as it does now.
The Shell I brought thee in my love has broke
My heart! How knew the Shell of this? I hear—
It speaks not so to me. There—lie on earth!
I—though I love Yanassa as my life,
Yet, he shall never have Celuta's love.
No—he must go back home again without
That heavenly being's love—ay, that he must!
For none but spirits should with spirits dwell.
Celuta! will you be Yanassa's wife?

Celuta
The Great High Spirit says it must be so!

Ostenee,
in rage
Then, by deep Hell! though he be white as snow—
Swifter than Roe-buck on the Sunny Hills—
Stronger than mighty thunder—he shall die!

Celuta
Brave Ostenee! his spirit cannot die.
A spirit has the strength of many men!
Yanassa's arm could kill a thousand such!

Ostenee
Then he must kill! Where is my locust-bow?
My quiver? knife? It must be ground. I have
A Spirit from the Land of Souls to fight!
I knew his strength before he died. He was
The mightiest warriour of my father's tribe!
He comes tomorrow morn! My father comes
With him. I must be ready for him then.
Celuta! Thou art mine! You know you are!
And, by yon Big Light in the sky I swear
Never shalt thou be made Yanassa's wife
(Exit Ostenee)

Scene III

(The shore of the Beautiful Island. Lamorah's cottage in the distance. He and Count Julian discovered in the boat approaching the shore. Canondah, Lamorah's wife, runs from the cottage to meet them. They land.
Canondah,
embracing Lamorah.
Brave Eagle of my heart! I looked for thee!
Celuta said some one would come with you.
Come to my arms, my love! hear how the birds
Sing but to welcome you on shore again!
My heart is full!

Lamorah
Fond dove! Know you this boy?
Bride of Lamorah's soul! this is our son—
Yanassa from the Land of Souls.

Canondah,
much astonished
My son?

Lamorah
Thy Spirit-Son come from the Land of Souls.
Welcome him home again! Kiss him my love!

Canondah
The White-Man's son, you mean?

Lamorah
He is thy son.

Canondah
You mock me, brave Lamorah! he was dark.
Yanassa was not born the White-Man's child.
These features are not his. I know my son.

Count Julian
I see, dear mother! that you know me not.
I am thy son—come from the Land of Souls.
All souls are pale-face in the Land of Souls.

Canondah
Ah! it is so? the Indian made the White-Man's child?
Why did the Great High Spirit change thy face?
But, if thou art my son, come to my arms!
Thou art my Eagle-boy! Here on this Isle,
Where White Man's foot shall never come—here, will
We spend our days in peace. Celuta said
Some one would come with you.

Count Julian
She did?
Then our two souls have been together, though
Our bodies have been far apart! Bright Soul!
But where is Ostenee?

Canondah
At home. Alas!
Our Eagle-Boy has seen some Evil-One!
Last night he saw a Star fall down from Heaven,
And kiss Celuta while she slept!

Lamorah
Fond dove!
It was Yanassa from the Land of Souls
She must not see Yanassa's spirit-face
Nor Morning Star of love—as white as hers—
For she would love him from her very soul—
And Ostenee would take his life! So, you
Must keep her far away from him, until
I paint his face, when he may call her sister—
Until we send him far away from us,
When she can leap into his arms with joy,
And be his wife.—Now kiss our Spirit-Boy.

(They enter the Cottage)
Curtain falls

Act II

Scene I

(Celuta's Bower of Bliss. Enter Count Julian in Yanassa's garb with his face painted red.)
Count Julian
Here on this Isle are trees of every sort.
The Lemon, Orange, Lentiek, Poplar, Pine.
Large Orange trees, that blossom while they bear,
Burthened with fruit of pure deliciousness,
Like globes of vegetable gold on boughs
Of lustrous emerald growing, flourish here—
Fruit of Ambrosial richness fit for Gods.

(Count Julian pauses, entranced, listening to distant, though delightful, music, which presently rises up out of the bosom of the stream.)
The Naiad's Song
In the sky blue zone that bound her
She came skipping to my brink,
While the flowers grew up around her,
As she knelt her down to drink.
Then she fondled with my willows,
While her snowy flesh lay in
The bright bosom of my billows,
Where no other form had been.
Then she whispered words if spoken
Unto mortal ears, would seem
As the bright, the heavenly token
Of her heart in Love's Young Dream.
But, believe me, mortal lover!
I would never trust her more;
For she told me, oftimes
That she never loved before.
And, that, never more, in Summer,
She may bathe her limbs in me,
Is the cause of this sad murmur,
As I hasten to the sea!

Count Julian
Is this some Naiad singing in her stream
Whose solemn cadences fall on my soul,
Little mournful memories of departed days?
Or, is it some sweet song spinn'd off, in beams,
From some bright star, new-born in Heaven in its
First cycle round the Sun above? Or, is
It one of Phoebus' Swans, fresh from the skies,
Carolling the language of Heaven on earth,
The music of the happenings in Heaven?
It floats in crystal echoes down the stream,
Like some sweet golden flow of rich perfumes
From twice ten thousand urns of fragrant flowers,
Flooding my soul with odorous melody!
(Distant music heard again.)
I hear sweet song again! It nicely comes
From Heaven, or some blest place where all is pure;
For it is sweeter than the Naiad's song
Which I believed descended from the skies
Most worthy to be born of Angels' tongues!
For here, in this enchanted Bower, it seems,
Angels, invisible to all beside,
In shining garments, minister to me!
(Distant music again)
It comes again! There must be Spirits here!
No mortal ere sung such song as that—
Sweeter than Syren ever sang! For now
The freshening dew of golden melody
Falls on my more than ravished soul, like dew
Upon parched flowers—or tidings of great joy
To him who has been strickened by the world!
I know that Voice—it beckons me to come—
And I must go—On! on, rapt Julian! on!
It is prophetic of what is to be!

(Exit)

Scene II

(The beautiful Lake of Swans in the distance. Ianthe is discovered bathing in the Lake, while the most delightful music is heard rising up out of the bosom of the Lake around her form. Enter Count Julian. Count Julian in raptures)
Behold! Ianthe, like the Crescent Moon
Cloudless in Heaven, in her own beauty clad,
As glorious to the Isles, as she to Night—
Swimming about through all the placid Lake,
Drawn by two silver Swans together yoked,
Like some fair Naid in her native stream!
While through the emerald alleys crowned with flowers
A liquid music comes from all the streams,
Like the pathetic light formed from the Moon
Upon some cloudless night when all is clear
Rising up, odor-like, around the form,
Soothing her sighing soul to heavenly peace!
It is the music of Celestial Love,
Speaking, in mystic language, to her soul—
Sweet as the Choral Symphonies of Stars,
As heavenly harmony of the Pleiades!
(Exit Ianthe in haste)
Now she has gone into her Bower of Bliss,
Where, all alone, seen only by the Flowers,
That kiss with their delicious, odorous lips
Her more delicious, heavenly, odorous form!
This Flower of Paradise reclothes herself—
Or, rather, she is by the Graces clad!
(The same music, attending her, is heard in the distance.)
Impatient now to gaze once more on Heaven,
On whose bright threshold I now seem to stand,
And hear the songs of Seraphim within—
(Like him who, little ere his death, did hear A strain of music in the air—)
I go
To follow her to her sweet Hiding place!

(Exit.)

Scene III

(The Bower of Bliss, as in Scene First, Ianthe is discovered sitting on a mossclad rock combing her hair. Enter Count Julian.)
Count Julian
I am Yanassa from the Land of Souls.
Who came to you last night in that
Most heavenly dream, wherein you seemed to see
The Great High Spirit say must be
Your husband in this world. Come, thou art mine!

Ianthe
(rising)
Not in this world—nor in the World To Come!
I will be Julian's bride, or none at all!
I pledged myself to him in youth—gave him
My heart, my soul, my life, my love—my all!
What have I, then, to give to you? Although
You woo me with the same sweet breath—(with such
Sweet, heavenly eloquence you seem the same—)
Yet, I am his—I gave my heart to him,
And cannot take it back to give to you,
Or any one besides—because it is
Not mine to give! Therefore, implore me not—
For, know, the more you speak to me in his
Sweet eloquence (for well I know he taught
You thus to speak) the more you plead for him—
The closer do you bind my soul to his—
The farther do you separate that soul
From all on earth!—for I am his alone!

Count Julian
But he is dead!

Ianthe
Dead? Is my Julian dead?
Oh! tell me—Is he dead?

Count Julian
I saw him die!
There is the letter that you sent to him—
Confided, on his deathbed to my care.
These were his dying words: Go, my poor soul!
To that bright Isle, where she now waits for me
And take her to your heart—make her your wife—
And tell her we shall meet again in Heaven!

Ianthe
Ah! that we will! there we shall meet again!
My dream is now interpreted to me.
That was the night he died! There he was on
His way to Heaven! But, then, he told me we
Should meet again on earth. This was my dream.
It cannot be that be that we must part so soon—
That he has gone forever more from me—
Never to see me in this world again!
Oh! God! look down upon my wretched soul,
And save me from this trying world of sin!
No, I will not despair—I yet will hope
That we may meet again—meet here on earth
And be united as we were of yore—
When he was all the Heaven I wished on earth,
And I was his dear Angel in this Heaven!
This is the only solace that I have
To comfort me on earth; this side of Heaven!
Which is enough to keep me true to him,
True to the latest moment of my life!

Count Julian
Why should you live here all alone, beset
By Ostenee, from day to day, who tempts
You only to betray—rather than wed
With him whom Julian loved even as his soul?
Who gave you on his deathbed to my care,
As his own soul's most sacred legacy?

Ianthe
Poor Ostenee! he tempts me not! But know,
Since you have failed to win me from myself—
From more than mine own soul—(for well I know
He taught you how to speak such heavenly words)
How can he hope to gain my love? It is
More vain than even for you to try—which is
The very soul of vanity itself!
I will be Julian's bride alone—his wife—
Or die the maid I am!

Count Julian
These are wild words!
Will you affirm that you are true to him,
And yet, deny his dying wish to me?
The last fond words that came from out his soul,
And did to him announce on his trembling tongue?

Ianthe
Were he so false as to request such thing,
I am not false enough to grant it him.

Count Julian
Then, by Manito! If you will not grant
This dying wish to me—(seeing that you
Are false to him—) it will be nothing more
Than right for me to force you to obey!
For there can be no joy to him in Heaven,
Who knows his Heaven on earth is false to him.
Therefore, to glad his soul in Heaven, you must
Be made, this day, Yanassa's bride on earth.

Ianthe
Never on earth, nor in the World to Come
Therefore, implore me never more! Before
I will be any thing but what I am—
(If he be dead)—I will go up to him
In Heaven, sent by this right hand to dwell
Forever more—there I will be at peace!

Count Julian
But I would snatch the weapon from your hand,
And make you mine in spite of you!

Ianthe
Alas!
Would you, Yanassa, from the Land of Souls,
There all good things reside—where Angels dwell—
Arrayed in shining robes of lightning-fire—
Would you betray the trust reposed in you,
By him who is an Angel now in Heaven?
When he requested you to be my friend,
Long after he was dead, on earth?

Count Julian
His last
Request was not that I should be your friend,
But husband.

Ianthe
Husband be you, then, to me.
By being what you ought to be—my friend!
Then will you husband me from all things vile—
Preserve me, safely, for your friend in Heaven,
Where I now hope to meet him soon in joy,
And thank you, with an Angel's lips of fire,
In words melodious to your grateful soul,
And God reward you for your kindness done
To me on earth! Will you not do this thing?
I know you will! Yanassa is too good
At heart, too noble-souled—to injure one
Who never did him wrong—not even in thought!
Say you will not compel me thus to die
Before my time—before I have begun
To live!—'gainst Nature—God's most holy Law—
And I will live to bless you here on earth,
Or, dying, curse you in this world—the world
To come! Speak! that my soul may know its doom!

Count Julian
Ianthe! virgin Dian of this Isle!
Most worthy to be queen of all the world!
Fairest of all the fair ones ever born
My Morning Star! my ever new Delight!
My joy on earth! my hopes of bliss in Heaven!
Behold! it is your Julian clasps you now!

Ianthe
What! Julian? Julian! is this you? Oh! God!
Such deep Angelic love now fills my soul,
It cannot be expressed but by the aid
Of Sorrow, Christian sister of pure Joy—
As if an Angel now should roup because
She woo in Heaven—had too much heavenly bliss!

Count Julian
But Beauty looks most beautiful in tears
Oh! my Ianthe! Dayspring of my life!
Is not this rapturous ravishment of joy,
Born of the melting of two souls in one—
The bright Apocalypse of Heaven on earth?

Ianthe
A perfect Apotheosis of Love!
Oh! wonderous Miracle of Truth on earth!
Thou Paragon of man! where all are false!
But how could you be any thing but true?
Rapt with the sinless plenitudes of bliss,
My soul seems soaring now on Angel's wings,
Up to the Sapphire shining Mount of God!

Count Julian
A joy prophetic of your future fate.
For he who pants for immortality—
Who searches after good for its own sake—
Who loves the Beautiful Natural Truth—
Wherein an Angel stands, in robes of light
Calling his raptured spirit home to God—
As when Correggio saw, in his last sleep,
Great Palestrina standing at the Gates
Of Heaven, waiting to welcome him to bliss!
Now that the rapture of divine delight
Has settled to the calmness of sweet peace—
The quick short breathing of deep joy merged in
The slow, sad sighings of content—here let
Us mingle our impassioned souls in one—

Ianthe
No, that can never be until we wed!
We are not wedded yet, nor can be, till
We go back home again.

Count Julian
Back home again?
How can that be, when old Lamorah has
The only key that locks the Boat-chain round
The Willow tree? Should we attempt to leave
This blessed Isle, we would be both condemned
To die by fire! No, let us here remain,
And love each other in connubial bliss.

Ianthe
No, love! although I love you as my life
More than my own dear soul.
Who loves the Beautiful in Natural Truth,
Because it is the Essence of all good
That man ascends to Heaven before he dies—
Beholds the gates of Glory opened wide,
Whom an Angel stowes, in robes of light.
Because God wedded Adam to Eve
In Paradise. So let us be, that we
May be like they were ere the fall.

Count Julian
We will
And it shall be as thou hast said it is.
Now, by that most mysterious Law of Love,
Born of the God of Love—are our two souls
United into one! Now must we use
The utmost cunning of our souls, that we
May best elude Lamorah's watchful eyes,
Until such time as we can make our safe
Retreat back home again, where we will live,
And love each other in connubial bliss.

(Exeunt)
Curtain Falls

Act III

Scene I

(The Bower of Bliss. Count Julian is discovered lying on a mosscovered rock asleep. Enter Endea who gazes on him with delightful astonishment.)
Endea
Is this some Angel God has sent to me
From Heaven to recompense me for my love,
And for the Orphan-life that I have lived?
For surely he was never born on earth!
Such beauty never walked this world before!
I feel entranced—rapt with delight—to see
Such heavenly beauty lying here on earth,
The very soul that I have seen in dreams,
Smiling upon me from the Bowers of Heaven—
Whom I have called my husband in my sleep!

(She approaches him, kneels down by him, combs back his locks with her fingers, when he wakes.)
Count Julian
(taking her hand)
Why, who is this, so beautiful, I pray,
Whom I now grasp so fondly by the hand?
I thought it was Celuta by my side!
Art thou some Angel sent to me from Heaven
To minister to my delight? or some
Fair Naiad, Nymph, or Dian of this Isle,
Sent here in absence of Celuta's face?
For surely there was never one more fair,
Or beautiful than thou art now! A bright
New Moon about the Folding Story of Love
Bright as that glorious Goddess of pure day, its joy,
Fresh from the Fauna upon the Cyprian Isle!
So that my soul could love you as it does
Celuta, were Celuta not my soul!
Tell me, fair Angel! what is thy sweet name?

Endea
(with tender emotion)
My name is Endea—Orphan of the House
Of old Lamorah, who is called my sire.
My real father's name was Simighan—
A bold Castillian from the Land of Spain,
Who married old Lamorah's sister—slain
By Outalissa, son of Miscou, Chief
In Cuscovilla's Valley near the sea,
Where rolls the mighty river of Mobile.
The Angels called him Lopez—but the name
My mother called him by, was Simighan.
My mother died to see my father die!

(She weeps. Enter Celuta on the outside of the Bower, who stops and watches them.)
Count Julian
Nay, do not weep! Why do you weep, my love?
I will be father, mother, friend to you,
And you shall never want for any thing!
Come, dry those dove-like eyes! You must not weep!
Though Beauty looks most beautiful in tears!

Endea
Alas! how can you be my husband here,
And love Celuta so? My heart is broke!

Count Julian
Fair One! it hurts my heart to see you weep!
Come—you shall never want for any thing!

Endea
Alas! how can you do all this for me,
And love Celuta so? My heart is broke!

Count Julian
Why, Endea? Would you have me cast away
Celuta from my soul, who is my soul?

Endea
Do as you please—you cannot love us both!
Alas! I am an orphan here on earth!
My parents both are dead! My God! my God!
How can I ever call you mine, when you
Do love Celuta so? My heart is broke!

Count Julian
Come Endea! do not weep! but smile, my love!
And I will love you from my very soul!

Endea
No! Take Celuta! Take her to your heart!
You say she is your wife—your very soul—
You never can be mine! All hope is gone!
And I can only die! So, fare-you-well!

(Starting away.)
Count Julian
Why, Endea! is it possible you mean
To leave me so abruptly? Do not go!
But sit here by me on this mossy rock,
And let me tell you all my love. Come back!
And you shall be the queen of half my heart!

(She returns.)
Endea
You mock me when you say you love me so!
You do—you do! You never can be mine!
How can you, when you love Celuta so?

Count Julian
No, by my soul! I love you as my life!
Come—you must go to where Celuta is,
And there remain until I come to you.
She has a thousand things to say to you,
Of which you little dream. Say, will you go?

Endea
I will; for I have many things to say
To her.

Count Julian
Farewell! Kiss her as I kiss thee!

(He kisses her and she goes.)
(Enter Celuta)
Celuta
What have I done to make you treat me so?
Alas! there is no truth this side of Heaven!
Far better had it been for me that you
Had never seen my face, than treat me so!

Count Julian
By heaven! You wrong me! that you do my love!

Celuta
She was my friend—has been for three long years—
Is this the way that she requites my love?
By trying to seduce my soul from me?
But why should I blame her for being false,
When you, the Jewel of my heart, have been?
How frail I was to think that you were true!
I never will be so deceived again!
You have forgotten what you said to her
You swore that you would love her while you lived!
What more could you have said to her than this?
This was the promise that you made to me!
How can you love us both? From this time forth,
A fire is to be kindled in my heart—
A raging fire—which Time shall never quench!
We cannot live together in one place!
If she remain, I will desert this Bower!
What peace can I now see with Endea here,
Who once was dearer to me than my life?

Count Julian
By Heaven! I never loved but you alone!
I told fair Endea that I never did!
Come, my Celuta! Come into my arms!
Like fair Egeria to her Numa's soul!
And lifting up thy deep blue eyes to mine,
And swimming with unshed throes of pure delight,
Throw thy soft tapering arms around my neck
White as fresh lilies from the Fields of Heaven—
As if by all the Graces moulded thus—
Shaming perfection with their perfectness—
And after sealing they deep, newawakened love
To the lips pure—let fall thy languid head
In blissful cose, upon my panting breast!
(Reenter Endea, who, perceiving them, retraces her steps.)
Go, my Celuta! call her back again!
(Exit Celuta)
Poor Endea! she is ready now to die!
For she has lived just long enough to love,
Which is life's prelude unto Death to all
Who have not been requited with the same;
For we have but two minuits here to live—
The first one is to love—the next to die!
This is the language of the great Jean-Paul.
In Endea's case it is the sacred truth

(Reenter Celuta attended by Endea. Celuta retires with Count Julian into the interior of the bower, where they converse unheard.)
Endea
Who can this be? this Julian so divine?
Is this the lover that she told me of?
It must be so from what he says of her—
Whom I believed descended from the skies.
My God! am I not wretched in this world?
Am I not doubly orphaned here on earth?
Surely I am—for I have lost all here!
What shall I do? he is Celuta's love!
I know he is! Celuta is his wife!
He is the one to whom the Dove was sent.
I saw the letter he returned to her,
He has been long expected on this Isle.
If this be so, he never can be mine!
And never to be mine—how can I live?
Oh! when I look upon his face, I feel
As if I were in Heaven—all full of light—
But when I turn my eyes away from him,
I then see nothing but the darkest night,
And his Celuta standing in the dark!
And, yet, I have not known him for an hour!
But what of that? he is my soul! the rich
Embodiment of all my Dreams of Heaven!
And losing him—I have no hope but—Hell!
But when did he arrive? how came he here?
Lamorah says that no one ever came
Upon this Isle without his knowing it.
A thought now strikes me. Is he not disguised
As young Yanassa from the Land of Souls?
It must be so, that is the reason why
He will not seek Lamorah's house again.
I know I should not have Celuta's love—
But, yet, I cannot live unless I do.
One only hope is left me now on earth—
A heritage which no one can deprive
Me of—the privilege bequeathed to all
Mankind by Heaven—the privilege to die!
I know, to lose him, will be living death!
Therefore, to die, will be to live again—
Free from the living death that I now die!

Count Julian
(coming forward with Celuta)
These were the pure outpourings of her heart,
In its most sinless moment, full of love,
And in the burning bliss that love inspires.

Celuta
The soul that loves is filled with part of God—
Thereby, possessing riches in the skies;
For when you lay your hand upon her form—
A Virgin whose pure heart is full of love—
You lay your hand upon high Heaven on earth!
(approaching Endea)
Come, Endea! take Count Julian's arm;
We have consulted what is best to do.
We are now going from this Bower of Bliss
This Daphnian Grove of Joy—into our Cave,
Where, banqueting upon the nectared Sweets
That thy Celuta has prepared for thee,
We will converse about the days that were,
When, on the morning-side of youth, we played
Beneath the fragrant Orange Grove at noon,
Beside the living Palm-tree Wells, in joy,
Before the Night of Sorrow had come down
To chase the golden sunshine from our hearts.

Endea
Ah! with poor Endea Joy can never dwell!
Not through the vistas of long, trying years—
Nor through the desert-waste of this dark life—
Can hie pure Memory now one single joy—
No bright Elysian Fields of Happiness,
Where have gathered flowers in infancy—
Drinking pure pleasure from the cup of bliss—
Pass in review to make her sad soul glad!
But all is barrenness—before—behind—
An ocean boundless of Saharian sand—
Which threatens now to overwhelm her soul!

(Exeunt omnes.)

Scene III

(A magnificent cave. Enter Count Julian, attended by Celuta and Endea.)
Count Julian
Within this Temple's grand, magnificent nave,
Studding with ever variant hues the dome—
Myriads of crystals blaze, like diamond flowers,
All newly blown, immortal in their blaze—
A petrified Parterre, bright as the Palace-home
Of Genie in the realms of Fairy-land.
Columns of glittering granite-pillars high
Of Crimson Porphyre, like Trophies torn
From mighty things in battle for the world.
Such is the splendor of the place when seen.
By torch-light, blazing high in glory bright
Like fragments of pure Beauty torn from out
The burning stars—forever burning here!
More beautiful than that Corycian cave,
The residence of all the Nymphs of Pan.
Or that delightful cave we read of in
The Hesperian Land, where Saturn with
His people spent the Golden Age in peace.
For, in this subterranean Vatican,
Of Nature's most superior workmanship—
The rich embodiment of myriad thought—
Exprest in crystals, far surpassing all
The richest Statuary in the world—
As if they were the leisure thoughts of Gods,
In emulation of some Work Divine
Done by the Maker of the world in Heaven.

(Exeunt into the interior of the cave.)

Scene IV

(Lamorah's Cottage. Lamorah and Canondah are discovered on the outside as in conversation. Enter Ostenee in haste.)
Ostenee
Father! they have escaped!

Lamorah
Escaped? What now?

Ostenee
Your son Yanassa, from the Land of Souls,
Has taken Celuta—Endea—all with him!
Why did my brother take my love away?
Celuta said, before he came, she was
To be his bride! But why take Endea too?
She was my Playmate—jewel of my heart—
The first that I did ever love in life!
Celuta was my last—more beautiful—
More rosy-white than Endea, whose divine
Complexion was pure olive, clear as Heaven!
One was the Evening—one, the Morning Star!
Dear Endea! She was timid as the Dove—
Wild as the Partridge that was never tamed—
So timid that she trembled at herself,
And feared the shadow of her own pure form.
I loved her though she would not love me back,
And, would have given the Stars for her—all worlds
For fair Celuta!—now they both are gone!—
By yonder Big-Light in the sky! if they
Are on this Isle, I yet will find them out,
And take revenge upon Yanassa's soul,
For this great thing that he has done to me!

(Starting away)
Lamorah
Where go you now?

Ostenee
I go to seek my soul,
And yours, Yanassa from the Land of Souls.

Lamorah
Lend me your dagger then; I want to kill
A Roe-buck ere you come again.

Ostenee
(handing him the dagger)
Farewell!
I go again to find them—or to die!
(Exit Ostenee)

Lamorah
(to Canondah)
While wandering through the woods, the other day,
I saw two persons near the Lake of Swans,
Walking together towards the Bower of Bliss—
Celuta with Yanassa, arm in arm.
I watched them till they both went in the Bower;
Then, sitting down beneath an aged Oak,
I heard such blissful music from the Bower
Rolling in rivers of Celestial Song—
That all the Isle seemed overflowed with joy!
Such deep Seraphic rapture tranced my soul,
That I seemed led away in golden chains
Into the Fields of Immortality,
Where came the Good Departed of the world,
With open arms to welcome me to bliss—
Bidding me join them in the happy Chase!
So, that, I lost all memory of all things,
Except my father's love which then came back
To me with all its pristine purity,
Till all that once was pleasant to my soul—
The pleasures of the Chase—the sound of streams,
The smell of woods—the Banqueting of Souls—
And all the bright things of the living world—
Came floating down the river of that song,
As floats some mighty Ship upon the sea,
When all the ocean boils like liquid fire
This was the song that young Yanassa sung
When he was in the Land of Souls, beside
The throne of Ataensic, where now sing,
The Great Departed of the world in bliss!
Such song was never sung on earth before!
He never used to sing before his death—
Nor was his song melodious to my ear.

Canondah
Cause, in the Land of Souls, they know all things.

Lamorah
In what he learnt by going up to God—
More than the greatest Man could ever know
Were he to live on earth ten thousand years!
I thank the White-Man that he killed my son
They thought that they had broke my heart
By driving his pure soul above the stars—
(Damning their own foul souls to injure mine!—)
But they were wrong, as they have ever been!
Although I fell to pieces for awhile,
Yet, it was all made whole again by that
Sweet Song! I think that I shall never more,
On earth, this side of Bright Manitoline, hear such
Another song, so sweet to me as that!
So now, you go into the Bower of Bliss,
And see Yanassa—tell him to beware,
Or he will die again—if die he can—
Who has been once, twice, in the Land of Souls—
For Ostenee, his brother, seeks his life.
Then back return to me again with both
My daughters, when I will unfold to him
How he may best escape his brother's wrath.
If he will not return, bring Endea home
With you. She shall obey if he will not.

(Exit Canondah as Lamorah enters the cottage)

Scene V

(The Bower of Bliss. Count Julian is discovered sitting alone reading. Enter Canondah.)
Canondah
My son! Yanassa from the Land of Souls!
Your brother Ostenee is mad with you,
And means, if you can die, to take your life!
Lamorah says: Return into his House,
And bring with you Celuta—Endea, too.

Count Julian
Well, he is welcome to as much of it
As he can take. Go, mother! tell him so.
Tell my old father I will not return.

(Exit Canondah. Count Julian falls asleep. Enter Ostenee with cautious steps. Count Julian wakes.)
Count Julian
(sitting up)
Who are you, going at me so, with eyes
As red as Hell? What business have you here?

Ostenee
(indignantly)
Why, from the garb you wear, you ought to know.

Count Julian
I know you not—nor do I care to know.

Ostenee
(sarcastically)
They tell me that you are my father's son—
His young Yanassa from the Land of Souls!
But, then, you seem to me far too pale
To be my brother, or my father's son!

Count Julian
All souls are pale face in the Land of Souls!

Ostenee
But you are not now on the Land of Souls!

Count Julian
I should dispute with you were you not here.

Ostenee
Where is Celuta?—tell me where she is!—
My brother has been most unkind to me—
To take Celuta—Endea from me too!
Do they have traitors in the Land of Souls?
Do they make liars in Manitoline?
For, if they do, may Ataensic's arm
Forever save me from that cursed place!
Where is my Endea? Tell me where she is!
Or, by Manito! I will take your life!

Count Julian
(springing on his feet)
What mean you by such angry words as these?
What mean you by such words, you copper snake?
You talk as though you were the Lord of life,
And had all power to take mine when you please!
But know, Yanassa cannot die by you!
If any one must die, you are the Man!

Ostenee
Then give me Endea! tell me where she is,
Or I must die!

Count Julian
Then you must die, indeed,
For I shall never tell. So, go your way.

Ostenee
Give me my Endea! tell me where she is—
Or I will tear your heart out with my hands,
And dash it to the dogs! You know, too well.
She was my Playmate—sister of my heart—
And cousin of my soul!—Give me my wife!

(Enter Ianthe rushing into Count Julian's arms)
Ianthe
Oh, Julian! Julian! This is Ostenee!
Beware of him! he comes to take your life!

Ostenee
Ah! “Julian! Julian,” did she say? She did!
It is—“Julian!” By Hell's everlasting King!
I thought you were my father's oldest son—
His young Yanassa from the Land of Souls!
Instead of that—you are the White-Man's child!
The murderer of Yanassa for his clothes!
This was his dress. I know Yanassa's clothes.
But “Julian!”—that was not my brother's name.
Now I see the serpent in your eye!
Now can I take revenge upon you good!
But by Hell's most infernal King! I know
Not how to muster up sufficient words,
Red hot from Hell, to curse thy damned soul!
What! murder my own brother for his clothes?
Then cheat my father in them to his face?
Coming upon this Isle to steal my wife!
This is the White-Man's game! this is his sport!
You cannot play this game on me! You fooled
My father—but you cannot fool his son!
No, “Julian!” pale face chicken hearted brat!
You cannot fool my father's son! Come on!

(Exit Ianthe in affright. Ostenee seizes Count Julian. They fight manfully for some time. Count Julian, grasping him by the throat, at length conquers him, leaving him lying on the ground as if dead, from which, after a little, he springs up and runs for his life. Reenter Ianthe).
Ianthe
Oh! Julian! Julian! Are you hurt my love?

Count Julian
No! Let us follow him. See how he runs—
Leaving a blue streak after him in flight!

Ianthe
No, let us go into our cave. Come, love!

(Exeunt)

Scene VI

(Lamorah's cottage as before. Lamorah and Canondah are sitting as in conversation.)
Lamorah
Then, by Manito! He may meet his doom!
Whatever fate may fall on him—may fall!
He never shall be warned by me again!
I am an old man now—too full of years
To trouble my old hand about such dogs!
Where is Celuta? saw you Endea there?

Canondah
He would not tell me where Celuta was
Nor where the young Fawn of my heart was hid—
Whether among the Valley Reeds alone,
Or with Celuta, fairest of the fair,
The milk white beauty of the Isle of Founts,
Feeding her cygnets by the Lake of Swans,
Or lived afar off in some mighty Oak;
But treated me with bitter, cold disdain,
As young Yanassa never did in life.
He looks not like Yanassa now—nor is—
But only wears the garb Yanassa wore.
The paint you put upon his face is gone.

Lamorah
The Great High Spirit knows that he is false—
False to the father that he seemed to love!
It was not so before he died—not so!
Have they false children in the Land of Souls?
Sure Ataensic would not suffer this.
For how can disobedience dwell in Heaven?
And how can disobedience dwell in him
Who sang so sweetly in the Bower of Bliss?
If he prove false to me, in whom my soul
Was so wrapped up—there is no rest on earth!
(Enter Ostenee in haste.)
What! are you shunning death, or flying from
The Devil, that you run so swiftly home?
When you have breath enough to speak, speak out!
And tell me what great Wonder you have seen!

Ostenee
A Wonder you may say!

Lamorah
So it appears!

Ostenee
A hellish, fiendish Devil called your son—
The young Yanassa from the Land of Souls!
Who murdered your Yanassa for his clothes—
Cheating you in them to your very face—
Coming upon this Isle to steal my wife!
For know, the traitor that you call your son,
Was never dead, nor in the Land of Souls—
(Would to the great Manito that he were!)
But is a White Man! “Julian” is his name!
He is Celuta's husband—curse his soul!
Who came within an inch of murdering me—
I only saving life by swiftest flight!

Lamorah
What do I hear? Who told you of this thing?

Ostenee
Celuta did—that Dove of Heaven—who called
Him “Julian”—called!him by his proper name!
I tell you that his face is white as snow!
Think you Yanassa from the Land of Souls,
Or Hell, would not remember Ostenee?
This villian knew me not, nor cared to know!
I tell you he is “Julian” in disguise—
After killing your son to cheat you in his clothes!
Oh! father! if you value your own life,
Or love the life of any one on earth—
Shew forth the thunder of your vengeance now!
For no one ever knew this Isle before,
But our own family! Now he is here!
A few short months will roll around in Heaven,
When he will bring ten thousand White Men here
To sweep us from the Earth! This Isle was ours;
But it will never more be ours again!

Lamorah
You say you fought?

Ostenee
We did for one whole hour!

Lamorah
And, from your flight, he foiled you in the fight?

Ostenee
He did by choking me—which no one could
Have helped!

Lamorah
But are you sure he's not my son?
Say, are you sure of it?

Ostenee
I know he's not!
I know Yanassa's garb too well! Thy son!
He is the White Man come to take this Isle!

Lamorah
Where is Manito that He will not hear?
In what sulphurous lair of cloud, afar
Off in the mighty realms of space, now sleep
The Eternal Thunderbolts of God, that they
Do not descend in lightnings on his head?—
Come, Ostenee go quickly—take this key—
Unlock the Boat chain from the Willow tree—
Get in the Boat—fly swiftly through the Lake—
Rowing as mortal never rowed before—
Until you reach the farthest shore! Then go—
Walk not—but run, as runs the Roebuck on
The Hills, when goaded on to swiftest flight
By Hounds with open mouths, whose eager cries
Tell how they long to drink his pure heart's blood—
To Ouithlacoochee's Isle of Founts—bring back
With you great Ensenore, the Man of men!
Areskou's mighty thunderbolt of War!
And Esnah, Captain of the Sons of Night;
And old Tekoah, Captain of the Brave—
Bloody Avengers of their father's slain!
Bring fifty warriors—ten fair Virgins pure—
To celebrate the Banqueting of Souls!
For on that night that foul traitor's soul—
Translated in a Chariot of Fire—
Amid the shouts of his exultant foes
Go back again into the Land of Souls!—

Act IV

Scene I

(The Bower of Bliss. Count Julian is discovered alone reading. Loud yells are heard without. Enter Ostenee attended by ten warriors, who seize upon him.)
Count Julian
(with great indignation)
Back Cowards! Traitors! villians that you are!
What! ten foul beaten dogs against one Man!
Ten famishing Wolves to gnaw out one Man's heart!
Oh! be ashamed! blush all your cheeks to ire!
Burn them to cinders with repentant shame!
Foul, painted Devils hot from burning Hell!
Who sent you here? What villian brought you here?
This coward Ostenee? This valiant whipt
Dog leader of his hang tail brother Dogs!
I see the choking that I gave him here
The other day, has left him rather hoarse!
How dare you come again to me, who ran
So swiftly home from me, the other day?
Untie these hands—you know their iron grasp—
And I will make you run again—whip all
These famished bloodhounds till they break their necks
Back into Hell again, where they belong!

Ostenee
(to the warriors)
Away with him! the Council shall decide
His fate!—Rejoice! for thou shalt die tonight!

Count Julian
May Hell's eternal Serpents gnaw thy soul!

(Exeunt omnes)

Scene II

(Night. The Valley of Violets. Enter Endea in search of Count Julian.)
Endea
(falling on her knees and praying to the Moon.)
Daughter of Heaven! bright Angel of the Night!
Have ye no Julian in the realms of light,
In whose bright presence ye can bask in joy?
Oh! if ye have, look down upon me now,
And from that Land where Julian says is God,
Send me some token in your hallowed beams,
How thou dost live continuing still to love—
Pale—pale with ever looking on his face—
Sister! for thine is unrequited love!
And let thy vigils teach me how to wait!
I knew that he must stand, ere long, before
The Ten fair Virgins of the Purple Hills,
And there give out his dying soul to God!
Oh! thou fair Moon! image of that sweet peace
Which never more can come to this sad heart!
Come through the Orange-scented groves of Night,
Dewy with Nature's tears—beaded with thine—
(For now I feel them falling on my cheeks—
My palid cheeks—palid as thine—more pale—)
And pour upon my heart thy healing!
Shed down from thy pale face of mild silence,
Part of the peace which thy pure heart doth know
And make my weary soul as calm as thine!
Melt from the Heaven of my poor soul, oh, Moon,
The sorrow—clouds which hang about it now,
Hiding from it the face divine of Joy—
That blue-eyed Dove of Immortality
Which flew down out of God's great Golden Throne,
And in the tender roseleaves of my heart
When Love first haunted me in heavenly Dreams,
There built its nest, until the Vulture—griefs
That nestle there, made it their inocent prey!
Or, if not melt, gild them with thy pure beams,
That I may have light, once more on my soul,
Before I go down to the narrow grave
From whence I never more shall come again!
Oh! Julian! Julian! how my heart doth beat,
Shaking my lips like roseleaves in the air,
Until I bend like Willows in the storm—
Nearly uprooted all my tree of life—
Merely to mention thy sweet, heavenly name!—
Oh! Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
Subdue this stormy sorrow of my soul!
If there is any Medicine in Heaven,
Oh! bring it down to me in thy sweet beams—
For thy mild splendor is the aid I want!
That is the Aegis that my soul requires!
For Julian says the Sun of Righteousness
Descends from Heaven with healing in its beam!
Be thou my sun of Righteousness, Oh! Moon!
Make mild this deathless fever of my heart—
Subdue this tender tumult of my soul—
With which I die—by which I love—my life—
My living death! Oh, I shall surely die!
For if it leaves me without being cured,
I shall be cold in death when it abates!
Then help, oh, Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
I go—thine eyes are weeping on me now!
My locks are wet—wet with thine own pure tears!
And all the stars seem mourning for me now!

(Exit)

Scene III

(Night. The Indian Council discovered. The four great Kings are sitting on their Beaver-mantled thrones. The ten fair Virgins crowned with beautiful Rosettes, with pendants of pure pearl in their ears, and the richest Coral around their necks, are seated on their Swan-down mantled thrones in the same circle with the Kings, having on flowing robes tipt with the down of Swans. In the center is the Council Fire, around which are seated the fifty Warriours, painted red for war, crowned with Catamount's heads, with Tiger tails hanging down their backs, all having tomahawks in their hands. Count Julian is standing on the right hand fastened to a tree, guarded by Ostenee.
Ensenore
(rising and standing on his throne)
Great Warriours! You may now begin the dance.
You know we have no Warriour here tonight,
To stretch upon the Cypress-Bier in death—
None having died—therefore, rejoice the more—
For so Areskou wills it from above.
Then we begin the Banqueting of souls,
An anual Festival we celebrate,
Commemorative of our father's deeds,
Which shall not perish to the latest time.

(Ensenore resumes his seat, when two Virgins of the Beautiful Ten, heralded by wild and joyful music, descend from their Swan-down moulted thrones, holding over their heads between their fingers, an Ossier bough, with which they dance to the front of the stage, causing the Roses, as they embrace, to meet on their bosoms, and after looking timidly between them on the Council, retire to their thrones amid shouts of applause, when two others descend and dance as they have done, until the whole ten have danced. The Warriours then arise with most exultant shouts, hopping, dancing, tumbling round the fire, until Lamorah rises from his Beaver-mantled throne, and waves his right hand over them, when they all sink down in silence on the ground again. Then the four great Kings and the ten fair Virgins sing a rapturous Paean for their own souls.)
Paean
Lord of the Stars of Night, thy love
Is ever beaming from above!
Thy name is written in the sky—
In the bright Spirit Land on high!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord! have mercy on our souls!
They are appointed to be bright,
And to make glad the Halls of Night;
And from the Chambers of the West
To beacon us away to rest!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord! have mercy on our souls!
Oh! in the fulness of thy power,
Pour on the Offering of this hour
The healing incense of thy love,
And lift our Sacrifice above!
Then Shepherd us to thy rich folds,
And, Lord, have mercy on our souls!

Ensenore
(rising)
Brave Warriours! you may cease the War Dance now,
And, in the Temple of the Night, sit still,
Looking, at intervals, up at the stars,
That your High Heaven, while listening to the mute lips—
(Thanking Manito that you are not white)
To hear the trial of this faithless Dog—
Rejoice, young Man! for thou shalt die tonight!
The Dead came to me in their windingsheets
Last night, crying, “The Calumet is gone!
The Tomahawk has been dug up again,
To rust no more beneath the Tree of Peace!
Rise up, my Ensenore, avenge my wrongs!”
I rose. The pale face of my murdered friend
Stood at my door! “Speak not!” said he—
The door of Hell shall be unlocked—yes, wide!
The White-Man shall not chain me there! No-no!
The hands that thou didst chain a few short hours
Ago, will drag thee to the Desert, where
The Wolf shall fatten on thy cursed corpse—
And hungry Vultures peck thy damned eyes!

Lamorah
(rising)
When old Lamorah's father lived, he had
A daughter whom he loved above all things—
For he had made her Queen of all his Tribe.
One day, when he was gone, the White Man came,
And, throwing in the Lake of Swans, some pearls
Of magic he had brought with him—she fled—
And from that fatal hour was never seen!
The Chief of Cuscovilla's Vale returned.
The Flower of Cuscovilla's Vale was gone!
He visited the Fountain of Green Isles
Thinking that she was drowned—but she was not—
And when he prayed to Micabou, the God
Of Nature, to restore him back his child,
He said, the Wakon-bird had killed his dove,
And borne her spirit to the Land of Souls!
And he who talked like Outalissa's friend,
Mustered his mighty host upon the hills,
And laid the tall heads of our Warriors low!
Just so has “Julian” with Celuta's love!
Now, Sachems! Warriours! listen to my voice:
Before three Moons shall roll around in Heaven,
The snorting War horse will be see upon
This Isle trampling the Desert Flowers to dust!
Before, Manito, who now rules above,
This Concha—shell shall be the only sign
Of what I wish—that he shall die tonight!

(He dashes the Concha-shell down on the ground, and resumes his seat amid shouts of applause).
Ensenore
(rising as before)
A thousand years had rolled round the Oak,
And it was still the Monarch of the Woods.
It lifted its green head above the storms,
And braved the lightning's flash—the thunder's roar!
The Whirlwinds played among its cloudy moss,
Little Endea fondling with the locks of Love.
I sat beneath its shadow in my youth
When manhood's sorrow was not in my soul!
The golden birds were singing in the boughs!
I saw a little vine spring from its root,
And gently raise itself from bough to bough.
The old Oak seemed to love it as his child.
A hundred Moons had passed away in Heaven.
I saw that Oak again. But it was changed.
Its limbs began to die!—Its leaves were dead!
Autumn had come before its time! It seemed
To hang its stately glory out to die!
The little vine, that had been weaker than
The Fawn, was now the Monarch of the woods!
It twisted its insidious folds around
That tree, until it prest the life blood from
Its mighty heart! I watched the serpent vine,
And, as it hugged its Monarch with deceit
I took my tomahawk and cut it loose!
The old Oak lived! It stood again beneath
The thunderclouds of Heaven the same; and now
It wears the greeness of enduring youth!
I cannot speak the White Man's speech. I speak
Not with my tongue. I have no music in
My soul. I speak the language of my heart.
The Red Man is the Oak; the White Man is
The Vine!

Lamorah
(raising sad face)
Great Ensenore has spoken truth
Will not a drop of water taste so sweet
To one born blind as unto one who sees?
But if the White Man give him gall to drink,
Will that taste sweet as honey from my hands?
Oh, that the White Man had the Red Man's eyes!
The blood that fills Lamorah's veins is just
As dear to him as blood to other men.
I feel the same thing that the White Man feels.
I eat, sleep, live, love, hate—and have to die!
The children that I love are just as dear.
And yet the White Man does not think it so.
He acts as though all things were made for him—
The Heavens, the Earth—even Hell itself were his—
And no one lived upon the land but him!
Oh! that the White Man had the Red Man's eyes!

(Enter Ianthe running to Count Julian's arms.)
Ianthe
Oh! Julian! Julian! Are you here? But why?
Why are you here? What is the matter now?
What have you done? Why are these people here?
It cannot be that you are bound? Oh! God!
I have forebodings of what they will do!
Why are these people waiting here? Oh speak!

Count Julian
While I was sitting in our Bower today—
Reading the Sacred Oracles of Old—
Thinking no evil—fearing none from Aban—
Ten cowards came with colored Ostenee,
And rushing on me, made me fast in chains.
And bore me, captive, to this place you see.
At which they celebrate their father's deeds,
And no doubt wish to banquet on my soul.
But fools! they are as ignorant as dirt!
They know not of the Mighty Power's love!
The body they may kill—but not the soul!

Ianthe
Oh! Julian! Julian! then you have to die!
Hope not from them! They came to take your life!
How can you be so calm? Oh! cruel Fate!
A few short hours ago we were in bliss—
Now Sorrow treads upon the heels of Joy!
Why did you not stay with me in the cave?
Had you been there, you would not now be here!
Our Bower of Bliss is changed to one of wo!
Oh! God! it cannot be that you must die!
To die for what? What have you done? What crime
Have you committed, that you have to die?

Count Julian
This serpent-armor which now panoplies
These brazen Fiends from head to heel, which they
Believe make them invulnerable, I will
Inpierce with Truth's bright arrows left in Heaven
And make them vulnerable as Turtle Doves.

Ianthe
(approaching and kneeling before Lamorah)
Oh! good Lamorah! father! you can tell—
Why is my Julian doomed to die? Save! save!
Here, at your feet—here, will I kneel till death,
Until I hear you say that he shall live!
What has he done that he is doomed to die?
He would not injure you—now any one!
He is as free from guilt as Heaven from Sin!
Then tell me, father! what has Julian done?
Oh! tell me, why is he condemned to die?

Lamorah
(rising)
Well, I will tell you why he has to die.
It is the custom with our Tribe that when
A White Man has deceived us, he must die!
We have not cut the Roebuck on his thigh,
That he should make himself like one of us.
Besides, he has deceived me to my face,
And he tho puny pale-face all the while!
For this he has to die! Hear you his doom?

Ianthe
But you had done the same, had you been in
His place. This your Canondah knows right well.
It was his own Celuta brought him here!
Who is to him what she is now to you!
When she was taken captive by the Whites,
Did you not rescue her at dead of night?
You know you did, for she has told me so.
You jeopurdid your own to save her life,
Because it was more dear to you than yours!
Must Julian die for what you would have done?
This is unnatural—unjust—unwise—
A sin that good Lamorah cannot do.
He who would set his captives free in peace,
Will not in peace, make captive one to die!
No, good Lamorah cannot do this sin!

Lamorah
A full blood Indian never changed his mind,
So, put they one hand into both of mine,
And take back to your “Julian” a broken heart
And tell him that the streams run down the hills.

(Ianthe rises, returns to Julian, and hiding her face in his bosom, weeps.)
Count Julian
Look up, Ianthe! do not weep, my love!
The Moon shines brightest in the darkest night.
It nearly kills me thus to see you weep!
It hurts me more than any fear of death!
Look up, that I may look down in thine eyes—
Two crystalline wells of love reflecting Heaven—
And drink delight out of their soul-lit depths!
For they are beautiful to me tonight
As any other eyes could be by day.
Think you that if I were now doomed to die—
To be burnt up by faggots at this stake—
That you could brave the element of fire
And, like the Hindoo woman on the pyre
Of the dead husband, die with me?

Ianthe
Ay, that I could—brave all the elements
Of Heaven—which I will do to die with thee!
Should they condemn thee unto death tonight,
Which I believe they will—nay, know they will—
I cannot live! for I would rather die
A death by fire, than live a living death
Without thy more than, precious heavenly love!
For, like the Palm trees, we can only live
By growing side by side—apart—we die!

Count Julian
(very affectionately)
My Dian-luta! Hebe of my heart!
Pale, saintly Lily from the Bowers of God!
How you do make me hate the thoughts of death!
Thy very being makes me long to live.

(Enter Endea)
Endea
What! Sachems! Warriours! Virgins! are you here!
Lamorah! thou are calling down upon
Thy head the wrath of Him who never sleeps!
What! know you not that if you wound the Swan
That she will stain the waters with her blood?
So, if you touch one hair upon his head,
The Seminolian falls to rise no more!
A Dream came to me in my sleep last night,
And showed me many things to come to pass!
How Manito walking on thick clouds
In steps of thunder! Death was in his eyes
And as he passed, he seemed to say to me,
The little light that shines upon you now,
Will roll out fifty times through Heaven, when all
In Quttalaerockee's Vale shall pass away!

(Endea falls upon the earth like stone. Ostenee rushes up and bears her out.)
Lamorah
(rising as before)
Rejoice, Celuta, he shall die tonight!
Warriours! prepare the faggots for the fire!
And he who sang so sweetly in the Bower,
May now begin his own Death-song! Prepare!
(The warriours begin to pile the wood around his form.)

Ianthe
What! Warriours! have you lost your souls?
Why do ye tarry here? have ye no thought
That it is Banqueting of Souls tonight—
On which ye cannot sentence Man to death?
Look to your wives—your children—to your homes—
For lo! the Seminolian's hour is nigh!

Ensenore
(rising as before)
Great Chief! It is most true—we have no right
To sentence any Man to death upon
The Sacred Night of Banqueting of Souls!
It is against our custom—cannot be!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
What, has it come to this? no law? no right?
Shall he who braved the elements of Heaven—
Who lived for forty summers in the storms,
And passed as many Winters in the waste—
Who kissed the footsteps of his Mighty God
Walking upon the midnight storm unscared—
Suffer the puny pale-face to be lord
Above his children, while the Slave, who sings
His Cornsong, walks upon his father's bones?
No! never shall the Indian come to this,
While this proud heart within my bosom beats,
And knows that it is old Lamorah's heart!

Ensenore
(rising as before)
You know, great General! that we have no law
By which to sentence any man to death
Upon the Night of Banqueting of Souls!
It is against our custom—cannot be!
Our fathers never had nor can we have.
But that we may not differ in this thing,
Let all our votes be taken—those who love
His life, vote for his life—Who loves his death,
Vote for his death.

Lamorah
(rising as before)
(They vote, while the Virgins chant, in a wildly plaintive strain, the following supplication for his soul).
Supplication

Ensenore
There is an equal number of both kinds—
The Virgins having voted for his life;
Nor is there any one to turn the scale,
Save Endea, who was taken out for dead!

Ianthe
Yes, good Lamorah! let poor Endea vote—
Lean to the side of Mercy—let her vote!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
Talk not to me of Mercy now! Away!

Ianthe
No, by the right which I have now to speak—
Born of these very votes—I tell you, Man!
You cannot take his life upon a tie!
So, let him go, Lamorah! Let him go!
He that's not condemned is free to go!

Lamorah
(rising as before)
No; though not sentenced, yet he is not free.
He has Yanassa's garb upon his back.
How came he by that robe? Who pulled it off!
When did he take it off? Not in this life!
Therefore, he must have done it after death!
He is the murderer of Yanassa then!
A murderer cannot live! So, he must die!
Bring forth Yanassa—then he shall be free!
I give him till tomorrow morn to tell.
If, at that hour, he does not tell—he dies!—
Where is Yanassa? Julian! thou canst tell!

Count Julian
Lamorah! Where is Simighan?

Lamorah
In Hell!

Esnah
(rising, aside to Lamorah)
Let icy words hang on thy lips, even while
The fires of Hell do burn in thy heart!
The Lion steps the softest just before
He kills the Fawn! Then shake him by the hand
And smile! The Day must pass! The Night will come!
And this great Watchfire shall not blaze in vain!

(Reenter Endea)
Endea
Talk not to me of love! Oh talk not so!
What love was equal to mother's love?
She who first pillowed me upon her breast,
There, in three Desert Cones, among the flowers,
Whence came the music of the soft-tongued Winds,
To lull me into sweet repose! Alas!
How my rapt soul could love her, did she live,
Seeing it loves her so now she is dead!

Count Julian
Lamorah! look upon this orphaned girl!
For say whose infant cradle once was made
The Wind-locked branches of the flowery Beech—
Has missed father, mother—none but thee,
And great Manito! Press her to thy heart,
For Simighan is dead! Oh! generous Man!
Whose hand was big enough to slay that Man?

Lamorah
(rising as before)
My father slew him! Outalissa! son
Of Miscou! Chief in Cuscovilla's Vale,
Where rolls the mighty river of Mobile—
For so Areskou willed it from above!

Count Julian
Yes! Outalissa killed poor Simighan!
But what were his last dying words to me?
These—“Save my Endea from the savage foe,
And, after she is saved, revenge my death!”
So, last night, his blest soul came down to me,
And in the voice of the departed said,
“Remember Julian! to avenge my death!
The faithless shall receive no joy in Heaven!
And for my Endea's sake—my dear lost child!
Let vengeance fall upon Lamorah's head!”
By all the ties that bind me to this world!
By all the ties that bind me to the dead!
I swore to sacrifice my life to her!

Lamorah
What! taunt me with the curse of one in Hell?
That base Castillian from the land of Spain
Who stole my sister from the Lake of Pearls—
The fairest flower in Cuscovilla's Vale—
Now, he dares come to haunt me from the grave—
Coming to seek—Outalissa's son!
Pile up the faggots that the dog may burn—
For when the Chickaconee comes to sound
The Banqueting of Souls thou shalt behold
Thy brother Simighan in Hell!—Prepare!

Endea
Yes! when the Chickaconee comes to sound
The Banqueting of Souls thou shalt behold
God's golden Angel coming down from Heaven
To take revenge upon you all! Prepare!

Lamorah
Talk not to me of Mercy now! Away
Base traitor! thou hast spoken of my father
But if the tribe of old Lamorah falls,
The Boy, that made you tell me so, shalt die!
Prepare! she is the bride of Ostenee!

Ostenee
(approaching Endea)
Sweet Endea! thou hast heard my father's voice?

Endea
What of his mercy? What said he of the Chase?

Ostenee
The Chase—the War Dance—both are over now.
The Banqueting of Souls will soon begin—
When Julian's soul will go above the stars!

Endea
Whence thine will never go!

Ostenee
Thou didst not hear?
Lamorah says thou art the Forest Beacon.

Endea
Who did he say should have this Forest Beacon?

Ostenee
The Eagle—Ostenee—Lamorah's son.
Thou art my sister—playmate of my heart—
Who made my first tracks in the sand with me.
Thou shalt remember in an evil hour,
When the lank wolf was howling on the shore,
That being overtaken by the Night,
Wandering alone amid the Desert Caves,
Where long reed blades made music in the winds,
Responsive to the Wolf's obstreperous howl—
A furious Tiger, maddened by the Chase,
Grinned horribly in thy love-beaming eyes,
And, crouching closely to the earth, had torn
Thy lovely form in pieces, had this arm
Not laid him helpless, bleeding at thy feet!

Endea
I recollect I broke your eggs this morn—
Lying beside the threshhold of my door—
Spurning them with my foot into the dust!
I told you then, I hated you as sin!
And, now I tell you that I hate you more!
So, never pester me again! Go, mope
About through all this Isle, until the hour
Arrives when you shall be swept from earth!
But I am sorry that I broke your eggs—
Not for the owner's sake—but for the eggs—
For I have always loved the Wood Dove wild,
And would not harm her egglings for the world!

Lamorah
Where is Yanassa? Tell me where he is!

Count Julian
(insultingly)
I am Yanassa from the Land of Souls!

Lamorah
Where is my son? how came you by his garb?

Count Julian
I am Yanassa wearing my own garb!

Lamorah
(in great rage)
Pile up the faggots for his speedy death!
The villian shall not live on this Isle. Prepare!

(The Warriours pile up the faggots around his form.)
Ianthe
(sighing to him)
Tell him, dear Julian! tell him where he is!
If you do know, oh! tell him where he is!
But if you do not know, what will be done?
You cannot lie! see how they bring the wood
Piling it round your precious form to burn
You up in ashes! Oh! my God! my God!
And still you seem regardless of your fate!
What! are you so eager to go with ugly Death?
That life is loveless—hateful to your rights!
You say that your Celuta is your life—
Will you destroy your life by your own death?
Oh! my dear Julian! let me bring your Harp!
Play—sing—they cannot kill you if you sing!
And I will sing with your our Hymns to God,
And that great Resurrection Hymn of yours,
In which you speak so sweetly of our Lord—
How he was glorified, not on the Mount,
But at the Tomb of Joseph when He rose!
And that sweet heavenly Hymn, so soft, sweet,
Built on the dying words of Christ—“I thirst!”
You sang in our great Temple in the Cave—
The Church of Adonai—House of God—
There nights ago, to hear your golden voice
Roll through the labyrinthine aisles afar,
The caverns echoing—still rich and long—
Long after you had ceased to utter song—
Are hearing now—will ever who hears—
Perpetuating still the heavenly strains—
Because God will not let his praises die!
Oh! my dear Julian, let me bring your harp
And we will sing the songs that we love best,
And pray to God that he may love them too,
And they shall be our life songs—not our death!
What say you, Julian? Shall I bring your harp?

Count Julian
They would not understand us should we sing.

Ianthe
Oh! yes they will. They cannot help but hear;
And, hearing, cannot help but melt to tears;
And, melting into tears, they cannot kill!
For music is the language of the skies,
The eloquence of Heaven's High Seraphims;
The golden tongue by which they talk to God—
The silver chain that binds us unto Heaven!

Count Julian
My harp! bring it my dearest love,
Binding my raptured soul in golden chains!

Ianthe
But they will kill you ere I come again!
Behold! Behold! the Avenging Angel comes!
The Angel of poor Endea's dream! He comes! he comes!
To sweep these sinners clear from the earth!
The bright Aerial Car, vermillion toned
Like that in which Elijah rode to God,
High in the zenith, right above this Isle,
Is now descending through Heaven's Ether-sea,
Resplendent—glorious as the setting sun—
Or, like the Moon, ful-faced, just rising up;
Or, like the Morning Star, let down from Heaven
By Angels' hands!

Lamorah
(as if thunderstruck)
He comes! he comes! look up!
Look there!

Ensenore
Fly, Warriours! fly! fly for your lives!

(They all fly in utter confusion, leaving the Ten Fair Virgins, dumb with astonishment, clinging around Count Julian for protection, as the Aerial Car descends upon the Island near them. Ianthe unbinds Count Julian and embraces him with joy).
Endea
(lifting up her hands)
Thank God! thank God! now I can die in peace!

Curtain falls

Act V

Scene I

(The interior of Lamorah's cottage. Count Julian, Ianthe, and the Ten Fair Virgins are examining the riches that he has left behind him).
Count Julian
These, too, are ones—the richest costliest furs,
Of infinite variety of hue,
From milky white to lustrous glossy black—
All damasked with the down of forest Birds.
Richer than those bright Birds of Paradise,
Which, at the Nutmeg Season, fly away
To fruitful India from the Summer Isles—
More gorgeous than those radiant, feathered skins
Brought from the Guinea Isles to the Malays;
Some golden-plumaged in the Tropics dyed—
Others with paler hues dyed in the North—
All intermingled with Mosaic Words—
The life-time work of old Canondah's hands
After Lamorah had prepared the skins.
This did he with some simple Art unknown
To any but himself—born to die
With him.

Ianthe
But here are other untold gems—
Great chests of purest Virgin Gold—
The richest Plate that ever eyes beheld—
Which, from the Names, engraved upon each one,
Show that they were not wrought by Savage hands,
But are the wealth of Spanish Kings, brought by
The Spanish Buccaneers, in days gone by—
The Pirates of the Southern Seas—in Ships
To Florida, in Saint Louis' Fort,
(The Spanish Coffer of Freebooter's wealth—)
They long remained amassed, with Precious Stones,
Until the Savage Myrmadons came down,
In one great human deluge from the North,
Slaughtering them so they were compelled to fly
Leaving these riches in the Indians' hands!
Great Outalissa, son of Miscou, Chief
In Cuscovilla's Valley near the sea—
Was Wood-born Sythean of this mighty host,
Who claimed the treasures as his own. So, when
He died, these fell into Lamorah's hands.

Count Julian
Come, my Celuta! bring the Virgins Ten,
And let us gaze on this rich Barque of Heaven—
The Angel of such terror—such delight—
So beautiful—beyond compare—the work
Of Angels' hands, although not made in Heaven.

(Exeunt omnes).

Scene II

(The Lake of Swans in the background. The Beautiful Car is discovered lying on the shore. Enter Count Julian, Ianthe, and the Virgin Ten).
Count Julian
This car, of Swan-like shape or Crescent Moon,
Was sent by some great Artisan who knew
Well how to fashion things of beauteous shape
Out of the strongest, yet the softest, wood—
Susceptible of polish fine as glass;
For on its varnished sides we can behold
Our faces mirrored back most perfectly
Each, so being represented with Designs
Original—most beautiful—the work
Of some genius too, done in purest gold.
On this side is this beautiful Design;
Eros with Psyche in delusion.
Here, on this other side, is this Design;
Earth pointing Virtue out the way to Heaven.
Bands of attendant Angels hovering nigh.
Within the center of the Car, there is
A large, diaphanous hollow globe of glass,
Rich, crimson-tinged, whirling snow burns into light.
Bright as the noonday sun, pure, vital gas,
Which gives such Moon-like splendor to the globe.
This was the play thing of some Prince or King!
Let loose in some far distant land to fly—
Wafted by God's own breath at this dread hour,
Like an Avenging Angel to destroy,
Bringing glad tidings of great joy to those
Who had been so rebuked in inocence—
Who were God's chosen People, because pure.
Come, let us launch it on the Lake of Swans.
Evora, queen of all the Virgin Ten,
She, being mistress of the light Canoe
At home upon the Fountain of Green Isles,
Where she is called the Queen of Micabou—
Shall make the first voyage in the queenly Barque.
Thus shall Celuta sail out every day,
Wafted in joyful dalliance to the port
Of odorous breezes coming through the Isle,
Shaded at noontime by the Princely Palms
Must canopy the margent of the Lake,
With verdant twilight soothing to the soul.
(They launch the bark upon the lake).
Now let us go into the Bower of Bliss
And seek fair Endea, Prophetess of life.
The Ten Fair Virgins are our captives now—
Sweet Wood-Nymphs of this Dian of the Isle!
Their task is now to minister delight
To you in every possible way they can.
To gather Roses daily in the Bower,
To make the Atar-Gul for your perfumes,
(Wherewith you are to bathe your lily limbs;)
Attend the cygnets in the Valley Reeds;
Gather the Swans' eggs laid upon the Isle;
Make Cymars for themselves of down of Swans,
And Mantilletts of dappled skins of Fawns,
Damasked with prismy down of Humming birds,
Of multicoloured dyes, caught in the Bower;
To fabricate rich articles of dress,
Such as would be an ornament to queens—
Which only queens could buy, (for they are free—
And everything that is theirs—not slaves'—)
Which duties, when imposed, shall be to them
Like loading the purer air with Atar-Gul
From out the Bowers of Heaven.

Ianthe
How glad I am
That all this Island—all this wealth is yours!

Count Julian
But yet t'is like poverty to me
Compared with that inestimable wealth
Shrined in the Casket of Celuta's heart—
(My soul's incarnate Heaven—) pure, virtuous love—
Come let us seek fair Endea in the Bower.

(Exeunt omnes).

Scene III

(The Bower of Bliss. Endea is discovered lying on Count Julian's couch asleep. Enter Count Julian, Ianthe, and the Virgin Ten).
Count Julian
See how her lily-form lies on my couch,
Beneath the healing drugs of balmy sleep,
All odorous with the aeros divine of love—
Breathing out fragrance from her lips of rose,
Which makes the place as cloudy with perfume
As if Celestial Roses filled the Bower—
So softly, meekly, melancholy pale,
She seems an Angel newly made for Heaven!
Love—unrequited love—is killing her!

Ianthe
Ah! nothing earthly yet was ever known
To last, except the changeable in change,
Which is the everlasting round of things!
She is the cloud upon our Heaven of bliss!
At first, it was not larger than her hand;
But now, like Ahab's, it makes dark the sun!

Count Julian
Far as the autumn trees drop leaves of gold—
The frail Mimosa withers at our night—
So sheds she from her soul all hopes of joy,
But in the World to Come—where she shall hear
The Choral Symphonies—God—loving Psalms—
In Cherubimical outpourings burst
From Angel's lips of fire, singing aloud
In myriad Choir of mightiest Songs,
The sweet Evangels of Celestial love.

Endea
(waking)
Oh! Julian! had you loved Celuta less,
And Endea more—she had not died so soon!
For when we lose our precious Heaven on earth
What other world have we to lose but Heaven?
I tell you, I have lost my Heaven on earth!
And, without this, how can my body live?
My body cannot live without this Heaven!
You see it fading—fading day by day!
Still growing nearer to the grave each hour!
Growing each hour more reconciled to death!
For, as the full-robed Moon now wanes in Heaven,
But only to be made the same sweet Moon;
So, in the Eternal Cycles, shall my soul
Revolve upon itself, forever full—
Forever growing to be fuller still—
But never getting full of boundless bliss.
Soon I shall drink of that Lethean Stream.
Which rolls in silence through the Vale of Death—
(The only Fountain of Perpetual Youth
Unto the good—of death to all the bad).
Which Ponce de Leon sought on earth through life,
And never found till death—which all must find—
Then will my sorrows here on earth find rest!
Oh! Julian! put your hand upon my heart!
Feel how it beats! My life is ebbing fast!
It beats too fast for me to live an hour!
Oh! Julian! I have died before my time!
But as my body faints my soul grows strong
Eating the fruit of that Igdrasil
Whose roots are anchored in the depths of Hell!
But whose great gorgeous boughs reach up to Heaven
Spreading umbrageously among the Stars
Bending with Golden Fruit—Ambrosial Fruit—
Such as the Angels feed on in the skies
Watered by that crystalline well of Heaven,
Called Miner, flowing from the Throne of God—
Which is so precious to the human soul,
That he who eats thereof shall never die!

Count Julian
This tree is watered by their great Times,
Called Norms, Giants of Eternity!
Whose Names on forth are Present, Future, Past—
To whom the power is given to comprehend
All things—to conquer all things under Heaven—
Whose task it is to guard this Tree of Life
From Sin's great axe—the slave of Death—who strives
To cut it down that with its ponderous crash
It may destroy the World!

Endea
God grant they may!
For like the blinded Nightingale that sings
All day, thinking that it is the night—all night,
Not knowing that it is not the day—because
His eyes are out—making one live-long night
Of all his life—one endless song of all
This night!—lifting his soul—uplifting song
Out of this world into the faroff skies,
Where God now sits on his sapphire throne,
Arrayed in robes of lightning-fire, above
Th' Empyreal thunder-roll, listening to hear
The Angels pour their rivers of deep song
Down through Heaven's Aromatic Ether Sea,
Honoring the spheric symphony of stars—
In rapturous union—so is my soul
Burthened with sorrow in this Vale of Tears—
Doomed in Grief's night forever more to pine—
Mourning in strains, that instead ring in Heaven,
For days that are denied me here on earth!
He, if the blinded nightingale could see,
He would not sing by day, but in the night—
Making an endless night of all his life—
Through which he sings forever more his grief—
(Coeval—coeternal with his night—)
Until, like my poor soul, he sings his way
Out of this world into the far off skies!
For now the seals are taken from mine eyes—
Couched now to see unutterable things!
Mine eyes are opened to the blissful sounds
Of Angels' songs, sung up in glory now!
The rapturous melodies of ransomed souls
Singing in concert with the Seraphims!
I feel as if I were all spirit now!
And though, upon thy breast, were still in Heaven!
For when shall I see Heaven so dear to me?
Oh! come in death—the death that I now die—
Is it not more than Heaven to be with this?
Here—here—where I could lie forever more!
Oh! Julian! hear me now—When I am dead—
A Willow tree cut down by Death's cold axe!
Your poor, dear Endea, dying for your love!
Cold, lying in the casket of the grave!
Let not the Tree of Memory perish to;
But keep its roots, now growing in your heart,
Watered with Pity's everlasting tears!
Hope shall not perish in the grave, but grow,
Immortal as the soul itself, in Heaven!

Count Julian
The Tree of Memory doth defy the grave,
It is so firmly rooted in my soul,
That, if Death's icy axe should cut it down,
Out of its deathless roots would spring
Another Tree whose boughs should reach to Heaven—
Bearing Ambrosial Fruit—the nectared food
Of Angels—mightier than that Mighty Tree
The Chaldean saw in Visions of the night!

ENDEA
Plant thou th' immortal Myrtle on grave—
The emblem of the soul that cannot die—
To image how you love Celuta now!
I see Faith pointing me the way to Heaven,
Drest in white robes, as white as her own soul—
Bands of Attending Angels hovering nigh!
While yonder come True Minstrels of Peace,
All flying, arm in arm, from out of Heaven
To take me home to God—Now I must die!
Raise up my head, dear Julian! let me die
Upon your breast! There—bold me so awhile!
This bosom could have saved me from the grave!
But then it might have sent Celuta there!
And it would rather send me there than her!
Soft couch on which my head could ever rest
Softer than any that Celuta makes—
Or ever made—or ever will be made!
How strong your heart beats! tolling in your breast,
The knell of your destiny—of mine!
For every life-pulse brings you nearer God—
And, therefore, nearer unto me in Heaven!
For I shall soon be cold—cold in the grave!
Here—lay your hand upon mine now—weak weak!
Does it not weakly toll the death of Hope!
Oh! my Celuta! be not jealous now,
To see me lying on his precious breast!
It is not done to win him from your heart—
I lay me here to die! Here, let me lie—
Pillowed upon his breast—close by his heart—
Until it rocks me into endless rest!
The only time I was taken sick,
That I have felt the least desire to live—
For soon it will be pillowed in the grave!
He cannot love me now—not loving me
In life, he will not love me after death!
Who loves the living cannot love the dead!
Give me some water—cool my parching lips!
For they are dry with icy death! Oh! God!
I see my mother at the Gates of Heaven!
Is she not waiting there for me? I know
She is—drest in rich robes of lightning-fire!
Oh! how she shines! calling me home to God!
Saying, “Come home, my wounded Dove! come home!
For who can pull that arrow from thy heart,
But God? Come home to thine celestial rest!”
And now, dear Julian! I must die! Farewell!

(She dies).
Count Julian
Oh! God! Celuta! look here! look here, love!
Poor Endea faints! give me some water—quick!
For she is dying! Give the cup to me!
Hold up her head! hold up her precious head!
My God! she cannot drink! her eyes are set!
See how they quiver in her head! how bright!
How more than bright! filled with the light of Heaven!

Celuta
She breathes!

Count Julian
No, it was one long easeful sigh
Breathed out—(the last that she will ever breathe—)
To ease her dying heart weighed down by grief!

Celuta
Yes—she is dead! How beautiful in death!
Ten thousand times more beautiful than life!
How placid—how serene—here countenance!
As if her spirit, now in heaven, were here!
As if Heaven's body there were lying here!

Count Julian
See how the clammy sweat beads her pale brow,
Like dewdrops on some withered lily leaf—
By Death's new baptism sealed to endless life!
Pale purple tinging her pure fingers' ends—
Smiting the roseate from its proper place—
The lily-pale usurping of the Rose!
My God! have we not seen an Angel die?
Does she not look as if she were in Heaven?
I never knew before how bright one's eyes
Could look in death! This is enough to make
Us all in love with Death—desire to die!
All Mystery—all Pity—all deep Love—
Divinest in the soul of Man—come here,
And gaze, with mutual awe, most eloquent—most mute—
And let your hearts break over her in grief!
What calmness rests upon her peaceful brow!
What meekness—pity—on her precious lips!
How mutely eloquent—how loudly mute!
Filling in silence more than tongue can tell!
Heaven's Halo radiant round her peaceful brow!

Celuta
This is the place where she beheld you first—
The place whereon she said she wished to die!
Here where she lies, shrined in her milkd-white shroud,
Fair as the crescent Moon, supine in Heaven,
Half hidden by her own self-silvered clouds—
Sweet, saintly image of her soul in Heaven!
Fragrant with flowers that blossomed when she died!
The Ten Fair Virgins gather round to weep—
Weeping aloud—(for they know how to weep!)
For like the falling of pure snow on earth,
Were her last dying words to us around—
We saw her lips move, but we heard no sound!

Count Julian
For in the Temple of her virgin form—
God's holy Temple—full of holiest thoughts—
Her soul dwelt like an Angel dwells in Heaven;
Looking abroad upon the world, with eyes
Dewy with Pity's pensive tenderness!
Pale, saintly lily not yet opened quite,
Whose fragrance still lies folded in the bud,
Troubled by the amorous World all leave
With Pity's tears—lives that must evil flow—
That beauty such as hers must ever die—
Plucked in its freshness by the hands of Death!

Ianthe
Far as the twilight sinks into the arms
Of Night, losing itself in the embrace—
Both blending into one—all darkly still—
Leaving the World in darkness—till the Moon,
Fullfaced, rising in Heaven, rains down her beams,
And Night is overflowed—so did she sink—
Pale—softly silent—in the arms of Death—
Leaving the friends who mourn for her alone—
God's blissful glory bursting on her soul!

Count Julian
Come, my Celuta! wipe away your tears!
This sorrow is too much! (It hurts me so
To see you weep, I cannot help but weep!)
Thawing away our heart in fruitless tears—
Although it is our instinct thus to weep—
(For weeping will not bring her back again—)
But teach our disposition more to weep;
For Sorrow is our teacher how to mourn!
Come, my Celuta, wipe those violet-eyes,
Too much bedewed with Sorrow's thaw—and let
Us sing an Elegy upon her death—
Pouring our souls away in song, not tears—
Until we gladden her pure soul in Heaven!

Ianthe
Write you the Elegy. Give me the harp;
And then accompany me with your sweet voice,
While in sweet alternations of deep grief,
I shake melodious music from the strings,
Singing with my own voice in unison.
Now, my dear Julian, write the Elegy—
Write it with your heart's blood upon your hand,
While beside her, while she lies in death,
With eyes swimming with unshed tears—
Calling it after her sweet name in Heaven,
Where she now dwells—the lily-bell of Love.

Requiem
Now the Voyager has landed
From th' Eternal Light—sea deep,
While her body here has stranded
In the grave no more to weep!

(chorus of Angels)
No more to weep!

God-inspired she heard the silence
Of the Angels' voices say,
In the bright Empyreal Islands
Of the stars—“Love! come away!”

(chorus of Angels)
Love! come away!

To the Pure Earth of the Angels,
Sought by Plato—Blest Abode!
Where the Spheres' Divine Evangels
Wash against the feet of God!

(chorus of Angels)
The feet of God!

Count Julian
Now as she lies here shrouded in purest white,
So let us lift her on her Swan-down bier,
And bear her softly to the Cave, where in
A Vault made by the hands of God—not Men—
Upon a marble slab of Tablet height,
There let us lay her out again to rest—
Where, with these Virgin Ten to help, you can
Embalm her body with the Oil of Rose,
Till, by the Alchemy of your fair hands,
She may become transmuted into life.
Then after kissing her, strew her again
With flowers—the ones that blossomed when she died!

(Exeunt omnes, bearing her out. Reenter Count Julian. He sings to his harp.
Count Julian
(singing)
What is it that makes the maiden
So like Christ in Heaven above?
Or, like heavenly Eve in Aiden
Meeting Adam blushing?—love—
Love, love, love!
What is it that makes the murmur
Of the plaintive Turtle Dove
Fill our hearts with so much Summer
Till they melt to passion?—love—
Love, love, love!
Nothing else but love!
See the Rose unfold her bosom
To the amorous Sun above—
Bursting into fragrant blossom
At his sight—what is it?—love—
Love, love, love!
All the Christian Constellations
Choiring through the realms above,
Soon would cease their ministrations,
Were it not for thee, oh, love!
Love, love, love!
(Exit Count Julian)

Scene IV

(The interior of the Cave. Ianthe and the Virgin Ten are discovered kneeling before the flower-strewn body of Endea. Enter Count Julian).
Ianthe
(rising and embracing Julian)
Oh! Julian! Julian! never wonder more!
In reverential awe bow down before
This faired image of the Lamb of God!
For, oh! the change! the change! the wondrous change!

Count Julian
Have you embalmed her faired form?

Ianthe
We have—
And strewn her corse with flowers—but, oh, the change!
Her form has changed from perishable flesh
To rich, immortal marble—Parian-pure!

Count Julian
Does she retain the outlines of her form?

Ianthe
In all its pure Angelic loveliness—
The oval contour of her lily limbs—
Her Angel-fore, just as we laid her out—
Her fingers perfect, clasped upon her breast—
Her every part, still virgin, all entire—
Fixed to the marble slab on which she lies,
As fresh as if just sculptured from the rock—
A perfect Proxitelian Dream of all
That is most meek, most gentle, most Divine
The rich embodiment of all your Dreams
Of Infinite Perfection, when most rapt,
Of Beauty sleeping in the Arms of Peace!
Come, gaze upon her with your own pure eyes,
And lay your hand upon her brow
And judge then for yourself!

Count Julian
It is most true!
And not less wonderful than true! This is
The Climax of all wonders ever known!
So perfect is the transmutation here—
Done by the Alchemy of God in Heaven—
The integration of her flesh by stone—
By which the molecules have places changed.
This model sculpture—modeled out the stone
That we could not fashion it with our eyes
Did we not lay our hands upon her form
And by two lofty senses prove its time!
Now, so hither it was Grief that did all this,
Or the intenseness of her deathless love,
That so could send her spirits up to God
And stamp Eternity upon her form—
As Niobe was changed to living stone
By her great grief for her dear children's loss—
Smitten by Great Apollo's golden bow—
Pouring his arrows on their heads from Heaven.
While from her eyes eddy everlasting tears—
T' is never than I, or any man, can tell
For what we hear about her being changed
To stone by her unending grief for Thebes—
Is not all fable—but eternal fact!
Suffice it that she lies eternal here—
Coeternal with her beauty is the bloom
Her soul now wears beside God's throne in Heaven
There to perpetuate her virtues here.
And begins the living the reward,
That God was always apt to store for those who love,
And loving dies by love, rather than sin
For here she lies in her immortal state,
As living sculpture written in pure stone,
Revealing in meetest wonder, of the Good,
The Innocent, the Beautiful, the Pure—
For her terrestrial was celestial Life;
Everlastingly filled with too much light from Heaven—
That when she died, she died as Christians die,
Full of the radiant hope of endless rest.

Curtain Falls