University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—THE TEMPLE OF APOLLO—the veil down over the statue and altar. Loud and triumphant music.
Enter, in procession, Smith bearing the golden crown, Dunwarro, Marcella, Ferrex, Hermon, King Gorbudoc, Queen Videna, and many others, with Philander. Enter a Priest to them.
Priest.
Here pause awhile, until it please the god
Withdraw the veil from his mysterious shrine.

King.
Priest, willingly within the antefane
Our progress stays. In reverence we wait
The leisure of the gods.

[Exit Priest.
Dunwarro.
'Tis wisdom's part,
O King, to cherish prudence. Wherefore this Delay?

Videna.
'Tis but a solemn ceremonial
To make the consecration seem more sacred.

King.
Videna, seem?

Dunwarro.
Your majesty says well—
Why aught that only seems? Gods, to my soul
All fraud is adverse, even pious fraud;
Though in the undisciplined, unsuspecting youth
Of the yet schooling world, advisedly
Promoted—but with years increases caution;
And manhood scorns deception as unuseful,
And insolent withal.

King.
Wise saws are these,
Dunwarro; whereto tend the same? for, sure,
There are no pointless epigrams from thee.

Dunwarro.
I hope not, good my liege. Time well I deem
Most sacred of all powers, nor would profane
Or idly waste his gifts.

King.
Speak thy conceit.

Dunwarro.
The oracle, my Lord?

King.
I would inquire,
As I have cause for doubt, if the division
Of empire be decreed as happily
To prosper, as 'twas honestly designed.

Dunwarro.
And they may fit ambiguous responses,
Not of the god, but pleasing to the King.
Such practice hath been witnessed.

King.
Hath it so?
And are there, Heaven, who minister thy temples,
Hirelings, in thine all-hallowed name, who trade
In falsehood? Sleep thy thunders? Have the clouds
Quenched the red lightnings in their treacherous folds?
Or sits a lie on the transcendent throne?

Dunwarro.
Truth sitteth there, whereto this knee doth bend
In lowliest adoration, as beseems.
But priests are men, and men are sometimes weak,
In virtue or in courage.

King.
In this strait
What counsel wouldst thou give?

Dunwarro.
Recall the priest,
And, with such questions as the god inspires,
In his own temple, test his honesty.

King.
Page, bid the priest return into our presence.

[Exit Philander.
Videna.
With pious trust I hold this caution needless;
Yet will await the trial, calmly sure
The god will vindicate his minister.

Re-enter Priest.
King.
Priest of Apollo, weighing well thy office,
As thou wouldst answer to the god himself,
Resolve me, whether, here, we rightly seek
What anxiously we pray for?

Priest.
Rightly—if
The truth ye would inquire—not flattery.

King.
How will the god reply to our demand?

Priest.
Even from the tripod which yon veil conceals,
With his great altar and divinest image.
—We but await a vestal to ascend
The sacred seat, then in her soul the god
Will enter and reveal the will of fate.

Dunwarro.
My daughter's even as such.

King.
Most true, Dunwarro.
White as the winter's is her maiden wreath—
As free from stain, as pure from evil touch—
Nay, as the tresses of the sun-god's hair,
Or as the very essence of his eye,
In radiance unpolluted, unapproached.

Videna.
And let the Queen speak in her favour too.
Chaste as the violet in the early spring,
Yet not I hope too early, though the earliest
Be aye the chastest . . . . chaste as they are young,
The sisters of the snow-drop lately dead.

King.
The god himself shall render proof of this.
Priest of Apollo, may she serve the shrine?

Priest.
Most surely, gracious King; while, on the altar,
The crown is consecrating, there she'll sit,
Awaiting inspiration; and that done,
She'll feel the god within her, and so speak.

King.
Fairly consented. Sweet Marcella, thou
Hast heard.

Marcella.
With trembling heart, yet innocent,
But awed with this great duty, I submit—
Both to my king's appointment, and my sire's.

Videna.
Heroic maiden, blessings tend on thee.

King.
Go bravely, with thy monarch's benizon
On thy young duteous head.

Dunwarro.
Thy father's, too.
Take her, right-worthy priest, and fit her, instant,
For this religious office. Now, if ever,
A guileless prophetess may challenge faith.

[Exeunt Marcella and Priest.
Videna.
Ferrex, my son, why standest thou so rapt?
Why gazest thus on her departing form?

Ferrex.
Half of my kingdom were well lost for her.
If thus the gods decree my recompense,
I grant their equity they vindicate,
In ample retribution.

Videna.
Hush, my son,
The place is holy; be it thine to wish
Thy brother had been present at this trial,
That heaven's own fire might cleanse his jealous breast,
When all the god glows in her.
—But lo, where
The veil unfolds.

[The veil draws up, and presents the altar and image of Apollo, with Marcella seated on the tripod. All kneel.]
King
(taking the crown and approaching the altar).
O fourfold sacred power—and yet most one.
Sole source of harmony, and (being one)
Prophet divine of truth, whose freedom is
The health of all the worlds, the light, the life
Of all the suns—far-shooting, arrowy god.
Thy fourfold holy benizon we pray
Upon the golden type of royal power;
And since of nobler metal than of yore
The mystic circlet shows, be that great thing
It represents more procreant of true glory—
The truth, the peace, the plenty, of the land.

[Disposes the crown on the altar—the Priest sheds incense upon it from a censer, saying—
With fourfold blessing be this crown
Enriched. God, shed thy blessing down.
Fear let it dart, to quench all strife,
Comfort to them, who love its life—
Truth in its beams most clearly shine,
And peace dwell in it, as in thine.
Marcella (rising, as if inspired).
The gods are wroth. Be this the token—
The iron crown shall all be broken.
They keep the golden for their own,
Till peaceful it shall reign alone.

[The veil drops before the altar and crown—the image and the Prophetess. All rise in alarm.]
King
(after a pause).
Doth no one speak?

Videna.
The gods—in yon pale missive,
Who enters now.

Enter Philander.
King.
Philander,—why so wan?

Philander.
The priest did bid me watch the temple gates;
When Dordan, all in haste, and casting from him
Impertinent speech, as 'twere a slough he tired of,
Or which the time tore from him, bade me in
With sorry news, ill-fitted for a jibe.

Ferrex.
With sorry news.

Philander.
Thy brother is in arms.

King.
Porreo in arms? 'gainst whom?

Ferrex.
Against his brother.
I knew it would be so. Return, and tell him
We are prepared.

King.
Prepared? The gods, indeed,
Are wroth, are very wroth. O Ferrex! Porreo!
Lift not your stubborn hands 'gainst one another.
Ferrex, behold thy father; pity him.

Ferrex.
I MUST defend myself.
(Crossing to Smith).
Smith—mark me, sirrah;
Thy sturdy hand must change its craft once more,
And work in iron—steel—the glorious steel
That flashes, like the sun-light, vividly
In the proud hero's eye. The bright sword, smith,
Thou must make sharp; the spear-head must be keen;
The helmet and the hauberk must be true—
For war hath put the clarion to his mouth,
And blows ere long the blast.
(To Hermon)
Now, Hermon, I design to profit well
By the gods' teaching.

Hermon.
Thou wilt trust to something
More stable than thy former good intentions.

Ferrex.
I'll take the means that worldly men like thee
Give warrant for. No more I'll walk in air,
But on firm earth. Be thou assured of this,
My faithless brother—that no more I lose
Kingdom or mistress, even unto thee.

[Exeunt Ferrex, Hermon and Smith.
King.
Must? It is true. What have I done amiss?
The horses of the sun have gone stark mad,
And reel along the heavens. Old earth reels too,
And all is out of balance. Have I drunken
The cup of madness in my lusty youth,
And with a grinding rule my people swayed?
The poor have I oppressed? Or thou, dread Queen—
Hast thou been false, and brought me for thy brood
The seed of wolves? O fool; it cannot be.
I read the proud reproaches of thine eye—
Videna, pardon. No, I am royal yet,
One of the line whose privilege it is
To be more wretched than the rest of men—
A crownèd misery.

[Falls into Videna's arms, supported by Dunwarro.]