Sylvia or, The May Queen. A Lyrical Drama. By George Darley |
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Scene III.
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 | Sylvia |  |
Scene III.
Strew'd with its own sweet flowers pale;
And made by steep surrounding hill
More lonely, yet more lovely still.
Cross-crown'd, a tomb, itself alone,—
Were ev'n the very thing I say:
Were two green willows bending o'er
A stone, and seeming to deplore,
Proof that a slumberer lay beneath
Clasped to the icy cheek of Death,—
I'd think yon willows surely wept
Some one in that cold dalliance kept:
Were garlands white, on willows hung,
Sign that one died, and died too young,
Changing the light robe for the pall,
The bridal for the funeral,—
Yon pallid wreaths would make me fear
Some Flower of Youth lay buried here:
Were yews, green-darkling in their bloom,
Sentinels only of the tomb,—
Were cypress-mourners standing round
Ling'rers alone on holy ground,—
Yon trees, as sullen as they seem,
Would tell too plain a tale I deem.
White garland, yew, and cypress meet,
As here,—what should the group betoken?—
Speak, Lover!—though thy heart be broken!
Romanzo.
Hither they bend them slowly. On this stone,
Green with the antique moss of many a year,
I think they mean to lay her; and perform
The simple rites which country-people love
Around her gentle earth, ere it be borne
To consecrated ground. Young heralds twain
Have deckt the place already.—I'll retire:
My presence might disturb the holy scene,
And I would be at peace as well as she!
My storm of life at length, I hope, is o'er;
A stillness is upon me, like the pause
That ushers in eternity!—'Tis well!
[Retires.
The Procession enters. Six Maidens strewing flowers. The Dirgers. Then four Youths with a bier, on which Sylvia is laid beneath a virgin pall. Agatha supported by Stephania and Roselle. Geronymo, Jacintha, and Peasants following.
DIRGE.
Wail! wail ye o'er the dead!Wail! wail ye o'er her!
Youth's ta'en, and Beauty's fled,
O then deplore her!
Sweet flowers, and fairest!
Pale rose, and pansy blue,
Lily the rarest!
On her moss pillow,
While we our foreheads crown
With the sad willow!
Youths, to her honour!
Fresh leaves, and blossoms throw,
Virgins, upon her!
Where she lies sleeping,
On every turf a tear,
Let us go weeping!
Cease!—we must bear her on. 'Tis a long way to the village, and she must lie there a time before the priest will give her viaticum. Take up the bier!
Should we leave the crown upon her thus?
Peasants.
Ay! ay! she was our May-Queen, and shall go to the grave with all her honours about her, like the greatest prince in Christendom. Come away!
Enter Andrea.
Andrea.
As I'm a person, my old acquaintances!—Beauteous Mistress Stephania, your servant! Lovely Mistress Roselle, yours!—Ladies, one and all, I am your most devoted—
Peasants.
The fiend! the fiend!—Away!
[They all run off except Agatha.
Agatha.
Come twenty fiends I'll stay by thee, my child!
Andrea.
What a-vengeance do the people see in me to frighten them?—Alack! I forgot that I was a prodigy! a lusum naturum!—Yet, after all, I do not know that a pair of neatly-twisted antlers are such a run-away matter; unless I threatened to butt with them! Then as to cloven feet,—why it is but having four toes instead of ten, and make the most of it! The 'longation of my ears, indeed, I consider as a manifest improvement—an “accession,” as we elegantly term it. So that, upon the whole, although I should be loth to flatter myself, I think I am a very personable-looking—Tizzy, Master
[Approaching the bier.
Romanzo.
(Darting forward.)
Miscreant, forbear! Hold off thy impious hands!
Andrea.
(Falling on his knees.)
O lud! the ghost of my unfortunate master!
Romanzo.
Slave that denied'st me! Ingrate!
Scorn of man!
Thou kneel'st for sacrifice at this pure altar,
And from the deep pollution of thy touch
Shalt cleanse it with thy blood!
Agatha.
(Holding his arm.)
Stay!—stay!—no blood—
Let there be none spill'd here. In death as life
Her bed be stainless!—O profane it not
With aught unsacred, or her cheek will grow
More pale with horror still!
Andrea.
'Slife! I must not let the old lady lose the fruits of her eloquence! While she talks, I'll walk: he may catch me if he can, but at least I will show him a fair pair of heels for it—
[Runs away.O youth! dead Beauty's soldier! pardon me!
The widow's, the unchilded mother's thanks,
Attend thee ever!—let this act of thine
Make thy last pillow softer than the babe's
That smiling goes to Heaven!—O I have done ye
Most cruel wrong!
Romanzo.
Speak not of it, I pray you.
Let us stand here, on either side the shrine,
And weep in silence o'er her.
Enter Floretta.
Here is a little mourner come to join
Its sparkly tears with ours!
That I have not found her?—
Out, alas! this is not she
With a shroud around her?
Let me smell it—pah! pah!
Well I know its deadly power—
Come, unloose ye!—hah! hah!
Long hast thou slumber'd—Awake thee! awake thee!
Eyes, to your lustre! and cheeks, to your bloom!
Lips, to your sweet smiling-office betake ye!
Life and sense returning;
Now she opes her pretty eyes
Making a new morning!
Draws the sleepy fair-one:
Like a daystar rises now—
Is she not a rare one?
With her shroud around her,
Like a primrose in the snow
When the Spring has found her!
Is breathing, and blooming, and smiling again!
Caress her, and bless her,
The sweet Maiden-Rose! the Sun's Darling!
(Above.)
Away! come away!
Osme.
(Above.)
We have springes to lay,
While thou 'rt chattering here—
Nephon.
(Above.)
Like a starling!
Floretta.
Then fare thee well,
My bonnibel!
I would thou wert indeed a flower;
Thy breast should be
My canopy,
And I a queen in that sweet bower!
[Vanishes.
Agatha.
I did not hope such joy this side the grave:
O could my bosom clasp thee all—close!—close!
Romanzo.
This hand's enough for me.
Sylvia.
Dear Mother!—Friend!—
Anon I'll say how much I love ye both:
I'm faint as yet, and wandering; lead me in.
[Exeunt.
Enter Nephon with a suit like Andrea's.
Nephon.
Now shall my disguise
Cheat the spinster's eyes,
Cheat the demons' too.
But I first must grow
Some five feet or so,
And swell out my span
To the size of man.
[Takes the shape of Andrea, and assumes his dress.
Mortals, blame us not
For the tricks we play;
Were ye fairies, what
Would ye do, I pray?
I would lay a crum,
Could ye change your shapes,
Ye would all become
Mischievous as apes.
Troth I think at present
In the tricking trade,—
Though not quite as pleasant,—
Ye are just as bad! (Peasants without.)
A miracle! a miracle!
Nephon.
Here the loobies come
Pat as A, B, C.
So behind the tomb
I will nestle me.
[Hides himself.
All.
'Tis true, 'tis certain, 'tis a fact to be chronicled in tradition. Here she lay; here is her crown. She is alive again! Let us go, and welcome her back from darkness.to daylight. Huzza!
[As they go out, Nephon twitches Roselle by the skirt.
Nephon.
Mistress Roselle! What, never a word for your old friend and bottle-companion, Andrea?
Roselle.
Andrea!—I vow he is himself again! Turn about: let me see all your points, lest I be jockeyed. What have you done with your headgear? Have you been using the infallible corn-and-horn-rubber of little Beppo, the pedlar, that you have gotten rid of your monstrosities?
Nephon.
Pooh! 'twas only a disguise to see if you had love enough to remember me.—Ah! Mistress Roselle, you know by mine eloquent eye in what a situation my heart is.
Roselle.
Why, as I guess, just under your left breast.
Nephon.
No, gypsy! but just under yours; there you have it, close prisoner, like a kernel in a filbert.—Hear me now: do you see this crown?
Roselle.
Ay; why do you untangle it?
Nephon.
It makes me mad to see that pale-faced
Roselle.
Why, as to that, indeed, I do not know for certain, but I think, as it were, that, mayhap, I shall look quite as well in it as my fine lady there. But, if the plaguy thing wont fit me—
Nephon.
Try it: I have taken out that twig, and if it does not fit you now, why cap never fitted a felon. Only try it.
Roselle.
(Putting it on.)
By our ladykin, so it does!—O beautiful!—What do you think, friend Andrea? Am I a Venus in dimity, or not?
Nephon.
You are the most exquisite,
incomparable, incomprehensible princess, that ever made her
appearance in wooden clogs and stuff petticoats.—
(Aside.)
Going!—going!—how she searches about
for the pillow!
Roselle.
Stephania! pull off my shoes—untie my sash—now!—now!—Where have you hidden the pillow?—I'm as sleepy to-night as a hedgehog.
Nephon.
And shall lie as hard. Hooh! what pig-iron creatures these mortals are! even the lightest o' the species! I should not like to be the miller, your father, pretty maiden, if all my sacks were so weighty.
[Lays her upon the stone.Now, ye malicious couple! spend your spite upon this. I have had a hint of your doings.
kist
By the matin ray,
Or a shade
frayed,
Thus I wane away!
Enter Grumiel and Momiel.
Momiel.
Ha! here she lies—Quick! up with her, thou log!—
Let not the imp fry catch us.
Grumiel.
Wasps!
Momiel.
That blockhead!
He should have had no profit by success.
But, having served us, worn our livery still
Which he so hated: now shall he assume
What will dislike him more,—a brutish tail,
The most ridiculous badge to smooth mankind.
Thus prosper they who covenant with the fiends!
[Exeunt, bearing off Roselle.
| Sylvia | |