 | The Serpent Play |  |
Scene V.
—The Paradise of Cœlis.Cœlis, Hayus.
Along the plain, where seem to grow
Tree-shadows, feeding on the grass below,
Cœlis and Hayus wander, brooding still
O'er serpent-myths and man's mysterious will.
The floods are gone, the brooks are shallow;
Fields of lilies white and yellow,
That blossomed on the waters' surf,
Have dropped their refuse on the turf.
Spring presses upwards through the grass
That now by sprouting blades is thickened;
Crisp stems a wealth of flowers amass
'Mid drooping leaves by winter sickened.
‘Here,’ then said Cœlis, ‘act your pleasant play,
And let the morrow be a gala-day.’
HAYUS.
It shall be such a day as few
Can through a life-time see again.
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When shepherds ruled as rich a plain.
CŒLIS.
Volupsa loved a pastoral:
May this her early joys recal.
Then Vivia it must needs enrapture:
When her young eyes with pleasure glow
They might a hundred lovers capture.
HAYUS.
The villagers,—
CŒLIS.
Let all attend the show.
A pastoral is the prelude, then,
What follows?
HAYUS.
Rustic games, when armèd men
Come stealthily as fain to join
Our feast, but would our flocks purloin;
And while they drive away the cattle
Sound their bugles as for battle.
Our shepherds with their crooks pursue;
Brief is the struggle, made in vain;
That day not many do recal; for few
Escape and many a maid and youth is slain.
CŒLIS.
How ends the play?
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All for the best,
Though still borne on by passion, deep and strong.
I cannot now describe the rest;—
All nobly meet the cruel wrong.
Strange seems this answer when you deign to ask
A player how shall end his mimic task;
But ever has it been our fashion
To yield the climax up to human passion.
Our actors are so gifted that a plot,
Against the impulse of the hour, would fail,
And, as the fury raged, would be forgot:
For genius must o'er all our acts prevail.
How true to nature this! In many wars
Have served the thoughtful troubadours,
To find in battle's mighty crash
No soldier waits the last command:
Swift inspirations o'er him flash,
And lift his arm and guide his hand.
So is it with our mimic play:
How that may end can no man say.
When once our actors realize their part
The living impulse, only, rules o'er art,
And in their conflicts, soul to Soul,
The first strong act moves onward through the whole.
And well is the spectator pleased:
To guess the plot in vain he tries:
His wonder never is appeased
Till comes the startling end in all its grand surprise.
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And now the heart of Hayus torn
By secret pangs beyond itself is borne
Into new anguish, stricken at the thought
That on a friend must vengeance soon be wrought.
Too soon for penitence, too late;
It cannot bargain 'gainst the rush of fate.
They part, the avenger in the valley stays
Watching, unseen, with ever-deepening gaze
The youth who now ascends the steep and prays.
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