University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

The Bridge. Reuben and Joseph.
Reuben.
What light is this? It cannot be the dawn!
No—see the moon straight up above our heads,
Her face bent earnestly down on this spot,
As full of wonderment as one that looks,
With bright enchanted eyes, into a nest.

Joseph.
A lark's nest, with two eggs, down in the grass.
But do you not see two moons? I see two!
And, by the mass, they jostle one another,
And try to get into each other's place.
Something's to happen—we have seen two moons!

Reuben.
No—only one; and she is still as Faith.
The ale has put your eyeballs out of gear;
They do not pull together. Their old bond
Of partnership dissolved, each has set up
Upon its own account; and thus your brain
Sees one moon twice at once, and thinks it twain.

Joseph.
My brain sees twice the words, and twice the trouble
That need be used to say I am seeing double.—
Well, drink works great divorcement in a man!
His eyes, which God hath join'd; it puts asunder;
His tongue becomes a traitor to the state,
Of which his head is king; his arms throw down
Industrious trades and handicrafts, and rise
In idle high rebellion; and his legs
Pay swaggering fealty, or quite throw off
All manner of allegiance; till at length
The lords are driven from their seats i' the brain,
And leave no government in all the land.
Then rocks the throne, down comes the kingly head,
Clod-hopping feet are up, and in his stead.

Reuben.
I never felt a softer light than this:
It lies about the soul like folds of silk.
Yet does it seem unearthly. See the road,
How lank and pale and like a corpse it lies!
How like two ghosts we stand upon the bridge,
And, ghost-like, cast no shadow!

Joseph.
By my brogues,
And neither do we! But I seem to stand—
Not very like a ghost—on mine own hat!

Reuben.
The bridge strides like a mammoth skeleton,
Its big bones weather-bleach'd ten thousand years.—

Joseph.
Four thousand years before the world began!

Reuben.
I think I hear the moaning of the sea!—
Though no external sound be in the ear,
Yet, if we listen, we can hear a sound
Coming from depths within. So when the earth
Is speechless, and the air has ceased to breathe,
Then in the night's vast ear the sea is heard,
Though miles and miles away. I never hear
That voice, hoarse-toned and ancient, but I feel
The embedded ages pressing on my soul.
It comes with all their burdens in its moan;
And I am crush'd into the merest grain
Of rock that tides build in a million years!—

Joseph.
Lord, how he adds and multiplies! A man,
Thus reckon'd, might be Adam's grandfather.
The earth itself but counts six thousand years—

Reuben.
Crush'd from my place in Time! But living souls
Can travel to the very brink of Time
And look a stage beyond it; and though lost,
There on the marge of the eternal gulf,
'Tis higher life to be sublimely lost
Than keep one place in Time, and stop within
The little circuit that we think we know.—
A thought can crush the soul to nothingness!
But if it be the soul that form'd the thought,
Is there not hope that it will rise again?
Mind's weakness is its strength if when it sinks,
It be beneath the weight itself creates.

Joseph.
I never knew thee worse of drink till now—
And this is sober drunkness. Thou hast ta'en
Glass after glass with me till I've been blind,
Then with another till he could not stand,
And with a third till he went mad and raved;
Yet who can say he ever saw thee drunk?

Reuben.
Not you, if you were blind. But what of that?
I could be drunk, if I liked, upon one glass,
Or sober after fifty. There is none
Of all the spirits stronger than the will.

Joseph.
It must be taken first, then—and unmix'd.—
But, come, will you go home with me to-night?
I have a butt of prime ale in the house,
And we can drink until it's time to rise.

Reuben.
Some other time I'll taste it—not to-night.
The night is past! Look, in the east, the clouds
Are shifting like the scenes upon a stage,
Preparing for the entrance of a star.
How busy all is there! And, see, the hills
Have turn'd their shining faces to the east,
And throb with expectation.

Joseph.
High in air
The two lights struggle. 'Tis a fight between
A golden eagle and a silvery snake,
And I know which will conquer.

Reuben.
So do I:
For as the snake's is borrow'd flight,
So the moon's is borrow'd light;
The sun that lends will conquer. Let us go
Before their bright blood shed on us; for soon
'Twill sparkle on the dew-tips of the grass.—
Good morning—for the morning is begun.

Joseph.
Nay, nay, good night—all's night above the sun.

[Exit.
Reuben.
The air this side the keystone is at least
A breathing nearer her. It may have play'd
About her lips in sleep, and even now
Be laden with dream kisses meant for me.
I have but parted from her and my heart
Hungers and thirsts to be with her again.
But certain hours of sleep—at least of bed—
And then a drudging day, and tasteless meals,
Stretch like a wilderness between the times
Of parting and of meeting. Thus, I find
That, when far off the object of my joy,
I pant in every limb to hunt it down.
But when within my grasp, I am content
To catch the mere idea of my joy:
I fondle it in thought, and would delay
The inexorable hour that drives me on.—
By this, sleep lies about her like a bath,
All warm and breathing round her lovely form;
And I so near her yet that, but for walls,
I could look in upon her charmèd rest,
And watch the dreaming thought upon her lip.
But like a pearl within a deep-sea shell
She lies with all her beauty to herself,
And is unconscious of it. Beauty is lost
If no soul drinks it in: and here I parch
The while it flows to loss. But as the air
Is dower'd with the beauty that earth wastes,
So my imagination is enrich'd
With that my love is wasting. The sweet air
Owes all its sweetness to the abundant earth;
And there is not a sweet thought in my brain
But comes, my love, from thee.

[Exit.