 | Callirrhoë |  |
Scene V.
—Temple of Dionysus. Before the Altar.Enter Coresus and Anaitis.
Coresus.
Gall thrown in sweetest wine will make the cup
As bitter as 'twas sweet. Throw poison in,
And it is venomous as cockatrice.
The goblet of my love holds now a draught
'Twere death to wet the lips with. She has scorned
My god, my passion, as she might refuse
A gift of oleander some light boy
Would lay in her pale bosom. So she spurned
The human gift of my man's utter love,
So great, it grew Titanic in its bulk,
With swelling sinews of immense desire,
And laid its own magnificent excess
At her feet for her to wonder at and scorn.
Woe, woe to her!
About the columns booms a shout of woe,
Responsive to my menace. 'Tis the god
Sealing my malediction. Now instead
Of that grand prostrate love, hate's feller form
Encounters her—a Herculean power
Equipped for vengeance. I will make her quail,
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Shall blanch and quiver. Dost thou think of it,
My love, Anaitis?
Anaitis.
Ay, an icy girl,
With veins that knew not summer.
Coresus.
With a heart
Colder than coldest marble in a vault.
Anaitis.
Thou hatest her?
Coresus.
As light-bereaving death.
Anaitis.
Then let me spread my hair upon her!
Coresus.
Nay.
To tear the lovely branches of her limbs
From their white trunk were suffering too small,
Too easy.
Anaitis.
Let me tear her. 'Tis enough.
I'm hungry for her.
Coresus.
Woman-tiger, nay!
Thou shalt not tear her.
Anaitis.
Let me curse her then—
Call madness, bid it plunge its scarlet brand
Within her brain to burn as stubble.
Coresus.
Nay.
On her no curse; but on her city set
Long-famished plague. That curse as flicker cast
Athwart the mourner's face from glaring pyre
That feeds on what is precious, will evoke
Worse agonies than the sharp pangs of death.
Anaitis.
My arms are lifted upward. Lift up thine.
Coresus.
I lift them to a god who can chastise.
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Speak, call, nay shout to Heaven!
Coresus.
Bacchus, hear
Thine injured priest, thou great Revenger, hear!
Throughout the city let quick murrain breed;
Drive Sleep away from his grim brother Death,
And then let Death pass single through the gates.
Let hardy limbs grow slack, crook up and fall—
Then burn and stiffen. Populate the streets
With Hades' ghosts, long, fleshless, pallid men.
Let the foul body know no laving hand;
And let no flowers touch the hideous face;
The mouth receive no coin; no bed be dressed;
No jar of water stand before the door.
Let the whole city be one house of death,
The gates its theshold, and humanity
Its single corpse. Be Vesta's flame extinct,
While ravening funereal fires leap high
Fierce from consuming corpses. Let strange fear
Flap wings unseen that beat upon the heart
Bestilling it with terror. Thus revenge!
Anaitis.
Hear!
Coresus.
Hear!
[Thunder and lightning.
Anaitis.
The lightning flares, the thunder rolls!
Coresus.
Our prayer is heard!
Anaitis.
And granted by the god.
Coresus.
Dreadful the “yes” of the omnipotent.
Anaitis.
Silence, not thunder, were a dreadful thing.
Coresus.
The tomb is wide as mouth of tragic mask.
Anaitis.
Wide for the god's and for thine enemies.
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Io triumphe! Io! for the sign!
Anaitis.
The silence is as dreadful as when corpse
With all the wailing women hath been borne
Away, and the house echoes to no step
Or voice.
Coresus.
And in this silence it may be
That Destiny receives within her womb
Plague; and ere night descend—
The rapid birth may be accomplish'd—Doom
Rent by Fulfilment, and, 'mid human shrieks,
The slaughterous child of wrath be recognised.
During the throes of the great birth, my brain
Is restless. I must rove, I cannot rest.
Anaitis.
Woe to the arms that first receive the child.
Coresus.
Woe to the city of whose life 'tis heir!
[Exeunt severally.
| Callirrhoë | |