University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Same hour. The tents of Noema.
NOEMA
(sol.)
It seems like yesternight that I sate here,
And saw him first. Same spot, same hour, and see!
The self-same face of Heaven! How beautiful!
How still! How motionless! How dreadly steeped
In deep ambiguous solemnity!
Yet in all else how utterly unlike
That then from now! Oh! I am terrified!
My fences are uprooted, and I stand
Open to every trespass, who was once
By close and thorny borders hedgëd in.
Why did I so ephemeral a bar
Place 'twixt me and his coming? And 'tis sure
That he will come! He never failed me yet.
What, if he did! Oh! I should call for him,
And leave the sky no quiet till he came!
For I must thank him,—him who from the edge
Of my despairing madness snatched me back,
And showed me Irad. O poor sophistry!
How flimsy is thy curtain! For behind
This cold dead screen of gratitude, there hide
The warm and living characters of love,
Which only wait his coming to enact
The part so oft rehearsed! There! it is out!
But come not, all the same! Yet if he came,
What fervour could anneal and weld in one
Spirit and flesh? Impossible! Ay, though
He loved me, flesh, with all a Spirit's force,
I loved him, Spirit, with all my body's strength,
And both should work together! . . . Is that the moon
Whose keen bright edge the blue horizon cleaves?
It is! For see, its golden-curving rim
Soars slowly crescent, and before my heart
Moves on afresh, will shine an unshorn disc.
Halt! halt one moment, O thou gentle moon,
Who carriëst all my fortunes in thy pace,
And leave me time to think!

IRAD.
(from within).
Ho! mother! mother!

NOEMA
(rushing into the tent, and making for his crib).
What is it, Irad? Art thou not asleep?

IRAD.
I was; but I was wakened by a dream.

NOEMA.
Then sleep again, my child, and dream no more.
See, I will sit by thee.

IRAD.
Oh, but such a dream!
I dreamed that I was plucked again aloft
By him who saved me at the Tower, and borne
Swift through the air, but higher much than then;
And when we had got, ever so far from earth,
That then he dropped me, and I fell—fell—fell,—
And still was falling, when I woke and called
To you for help. Well, I will turn and sleep.
But, mother, do you think that he will come
Ever again? For I should like to thank him.
And then, perhaps, he'd lift me up afresh,
And ride me in the air. How I should like it!

NOEMA.
We'll talk of it to-morrow. But now, sleep!
Or thou wilt find thee, when to-morrow comes,
Still wearied with the sports of yesterday.
Kiss me and close thine eyelids!

[Irad kisses his mother, and composes himself to sleep. The moment he slumbers she steals out silently, and returns to the exterior of the tents.