University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

—The tents of Aran. A terrific tempest and thunderstorm. Enter Aran in hot haste.
ARAN.
(sol.)
The Heavens have heard our challenge, and take up
The note of our defiance. Hark! on high,
The thunderous roll of hollow-bowelled clouds
Sounds the attack. Where art thou, Noema?
The welkin moves in surly masses on
Before the march of the sky's armëd hosts,
Hidden as yet behind the dust of war.
Shortly we shall behold the embattled lines,
And Heaven and Earth be locked in wrestling grip,
And see who throws the other. Noema!
Where doth she skulk? How hisses the swift hail!
As yet they shoot their javelins from afar,
Wasting their shafts in showy bravery.
Celestial madmen! husband up your points,
Till to close quarters ye have come, for then
Ye'll need them all! Why! what weak bolts are these,
That scarce would scare the turtle to her nest?
Ha! that was better! They wax nearer now!
Welcome, ye overt enemies that thus
Announce your coming. We will meet you. Lo!
That ragged flash rent the creased rack in twain,
And yet I did not see them! How was that?
I should have caught the glimmer of their files
Through that tremendous opening. What a peal!
It was a bellow fit to shake the spheres;
And sooth the Earth did quake. But not with dread,—
Think not, with dread!—ye noisy emissaries!
Come on, and we will prove you, foot to foot,
And if we cannot shout as loud as you,
We'll strike the harder! Where is Noema?
Never at hand at need! I want my spear;
The same that, wedded to my passion, hath
In many a foray split the raging boar,
And to the jungle sent the hyæna scotched!
Now shall it dip its beak in loftier gore! [He stumbles over Noema.

Ha! there thou art! What! again sunk in swoon,
When hubbub is enough o'erhead to wake
The leaden-dreaming dead! Well, sleep thou there
Till it blows over. 'Tis a feeble heart,
Just fit to bear the note of victory,
But not the bray of battle! Louder still!
That crash must be the prelude. Ha! my spear!
And I shall be in time! They'll hold till then.
Bristles the Tower, compact, from head to foot.
Upon each circling balcony I left
A regiment all armed, and on the top
The bravest of my friends with eager edge
Await the onset. At the base are drawn
Dense cohorts in reserve, whom I will pour,
Upwards by stair and corridor, to take
The place of those hurled headlong, so that ne'er
A gap shall spoil our ranks, but they shall push
Wedgewise to Heaven!

[Enter Irad.
IRAD.
O father! what a storm!

ARAN.
Ay, boy! it is a very noble storm.
Wilt face it with me?

IRAD.
Yes, if mother wills.

ARAN.
Heed not thy mother now! This is no time
To borrow leave from women. Wilt come, my lad?
I'm going to the Tower, and thou shalt, too,
Art thou but half a man.

IRAD.
Oh! I should like!
But mother would be vexed.

ARAN.
Go to thy mother!
And whine and gab with women all thy life.
Thou art a girl disguised!

IRAD.
Then I will go, father!

ARAN.
Quick, then! for time is pricking at our heels.
Give me thy hand! Be nimble with thy limbs;
And show in every aspect of thy gait,
That Aran is thy father!

[Exeunt.