SCENE I.—_Before the mountain. CIPRIANO.

_Cipriano._ Now that at last in his eternal round Hyperion, after skirting either pole, Of his own race has set the flaming goal In heaven of my probation under-ground: Up from the mighty Titan with his feet Touching the centre, and his forest-hair Entangling with the stars; whose middle womb Of two self-buried lives has been the tomb; At last, my year’s apprenticeship complete, I rise to try my cunning, and as one Arm’d in the dark who challenges the sun. You heavens, for me your azure brows with cloud Contract, or to your inmost depth unshroud: Thou sapphire-floating counterpart below, Obsequious of my moon-like magic flow: For me you mountains fall, you valleys rise, With all your brooks and fountains far withdrawn; You forests shudder underneath my sighs; And whatsoever breathes in earth and skies; You birds that on the bough salute the dawn; And you wild creatures that through wood and glen Do fly the hunter, or the hunter flies; Yea, man himself, most terrible to men; Troop to my word, about my footstep fawn; Yea, ev’n you spirits that by viewless springs Move and perplex the tangled web of things, Wherever in the darkest crypt you lurk Of nature, nature to my purpose work; That not the dead material element, But complicated with the life beyond Up to pure spirit, shall my charm resent, And take the motion of my magic wand; And, once more shaken on her ancient throne, In me old nature a new master own.

_Lucifer._ But how is this, Cipriano, that misled By hasty passion you affront the day Ere master of the art of darkness?

_Cipr._ Nay, By that same blazing witness overhead Standing in heaven to mark the time foretold, Since first imprison’d in this mountain-hold My magic so preluded with the dread Preliminary kingdom of the dead, That not alone the womb of general earth Which Death has crowded thick with second birth, But monuments with marble lips composed To dream till doomsday, suddenly disclosed, And woke their sleepers centuries too soon To stare upon the old remember’d moon. Wearied of darkness, I will see the day: Sick of the dead, the living will assay: And if the ghastly year I have gone through Bear half its promised harvest, will requite With a too warm good-morrow the long night That one cold living heart consign’d me to.

_Luc._ Justina!

_Cipr._ Ay, Justina: now no more Obsequiously sighing at the door That never open’d, nor the heart of stone On which so long I vainly broke my own; But of her soul and body, when and how I will, I claim the forfeit here and now.

_Luc._ Enough: the hour is come; do thou design The earth with circle, pentagram, and trine, The wandering airs with incantation twine; While through her sleep-enchanted sense I shake The virgin constancy I cannot break.

(_Clouds roll before the mountain, hiding CIPRIANO._)

Thou nether realm of darkness and despair, Whose fire-enthronèd emperor am I; Where many-knotted till the word they lie, Your subtlest spirits at the word untie, And breathe them softly to this upper air; With subtle soft insinuation fair Of foul result encompass and attaint The chastity of the rebellious saint Who dares the Spirit of this world defy. Spirits that do shapeless float In darkness as in light the mote, At my summons straightway take Likeness of the fairest make, And, her sleeping sense about Seal’d from all the world without, Through the bolted eyelids creep; Entheatre the walls of sleep With an Eden where the sheen Of the leaf and flower between All is freshest, yet with Eve’s Apple peeping through the leaves; Through whose magic mazes may Melancholy fancy stray Till she lose herself, or into Softer passion melt away: While the scent-seducing rose Gazing at her as she goes With her turning as she turns, Into her his passion burns; While the wind among the boughs Whispers half-remember’d vows; Nightingale interpreters Into their passion translate hers; And the murmurs of a stream Down one current draw the dream. While for hidden chorus, I At her dreaming ear supply Such a comment as her own Heart to nature’s shall atone: Till the secret influence Of the genial season even Holy blood that sets to heaven Draws into the lower sense; Till array’d in angel guise Earthly memories surprise Ev’n the virgin soul, and win Holy pity’s self to sin.

(_The clouds roll away, and discover JUSTINA asleep in her chamber._)

_Lucifer_ (_at her ear_). Come forth, come forth, Justina, come; for scared Winter is vanish’d, and victorious Spring Has hung her garland on the boughs he bared: Come forth; there is a time for everything.

_Justina_ (_in her sleep_). That was my father’s voice—come, Livia— My mantle—oh, not want it?—well then, come.

_Luc._ Ay, come abroad, Justina; it is Spring; The world is not with sunshine and with leaf Renew’d to be the tomb of ceaseless grief; Come forth: there is a time for everything.

_Just._ How strange it is— I think the garden never look’d so gay As since my father died.

_Luc._ Ev’n so: for now, Returning with the summer wind, the hours Dipp’d in the sun re-dress the grave with flowers, And make new wreaths for the survivor’s brow; Whose spirit not to share were to refuse The power that all creating, all renews With self-diffusive warmth, that, with the sun’s, At this due season through creation runs, Nor in the first creation more express’d Than by the singing builder of the nest That waves on this year’s leaf, or by the rose That underneath them in his glory glows; Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without whose giving Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living.

_Chorus of Voices._ Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without whose giving Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living.

_Song._

Who that in his hour of glory Walks the kingdom of the rose, And misapprehends the story Which through all the garden blows; Which the southern air who brings It touches, and the leafy strings Lightly to the touch respond; And nightingale to nightingale Answering a bough beyond—

_Chorus._

Nightingale to nightingale Answering a bough beyond.

_Just._ These serenaders—singing their old songs Under one’s window—

_Luc._ Ay, and if nature must decay or cease Without it; what of nature’s masterpiece? Not in her outward lustre only, but Ev’n in the soul within the jewel shut; What but a fruitless blossom; or a lute Without the hand to touch it music-mute: Incense that will not rise to heaven unfired; By that same vernal spirit uninspired That sends the blood up from the heart, and speaks In the rekindled lustre of the cheeks?

_Chorus._ Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without whose giving Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living.

_Song._

Lo the golden Girasolé, That to him by whom she burns, Over heaven slowly, slowly, As he travels ever turns; And beneath the wat’ry main When he sinks, would follow fain, Follow fain from west to east, And then from east to west again.

_Chorus._

Follow would from west to east, And then from east to west again.

_Just._ He beckon’d us, and then again was gone; Oh look! under the tree there, Livia— Where he sits—reading—scholar-like indeed!— With the dark hair that was so white upon His shoulder—but how deadly pale his face!— And, statue-still-like, the quaint evergreen Up and about him creeps, as one has seen Round some old marble in a lonely place.

_Luc._ Ay, look on that—for, as the story runs, Ages ago, when all the world was young, That ivy was a nymph of Latium, Whose name was Hedera: so passing fair That all who saw fell doting on her; but Herself so icy-cruel, that her heart Froze dead all those her eyes had set on fire. Whom the just God who walk’d that early world, By right-revenging metamorphosis Changed to a thing so abject-amorous, She grovels on the ground to catch at any Wither’d old trunk or sapling, in her way: So little loved as loathed, for strangling those Whom once her deadly-deathless arms enclose.

_Song._

So for her who having lighted In another heart the fire, Then shall leave it unrequited In its ashes to expire: After her that sacrifice Through the garden burns and cries; In the sultry breathing air: In the flowers that turn and stare— ‘What has she to do among us, Falsely wise and frozen fair?’

_Luc._ Listen, Justina, listen and beware.

_Just._ Again! That voice too?—But you know my father Is ill—is in his chamber— How sultry ’tis—the street is full and close— Let us get home—why do they stare at us? And murmur something—‘Cipriano?—Where Is Cipriano?—lost to us—some say, And to himself,—self-slain—mad——Where is he?’ Alas, alas, I know not—

_Luc._ Come and see—

_Justina_ (_waking_). Mercy upon me! Who is this?

_Luc._ Justina, your good angel, Who, moved by your relenting to the sighs Of one who lost himself for your disdain, Will lead you to the cavern where he lies Subsisting on the memory of your eyes—

_Just._ ’Twas all a dream!—

_Luc._ That dreaming you fulfil.

_Just._ Oh, no, with all my waking soul renounce.

_Luc._ But, dreaming or awake, the soul is one, And the deed purposed in Heaven’s eyes is done.

_Just._ Oh Christ! I cannot argue—I can pray, Christ Jesus, oh, my Saviour, Jesu Christ! Let not hell snatch away from Thee the soul Thou gavest Thy life to save!—Livia!—Livia!

_Enter LIVIA._

Where is my father? where am I? Oh, I know— In my own chamber—and my father—oh!— But, Livia, who was it that but now Was here—here in my very chamber—

_Livia._ Madam?

_Just._ You let none in? oh, no! I know it—but Some one there was—here—now—as I cried out— A dark, strange figure—

_Livia._ My child, compose yourself; No one has come, or gone, since you were laid In your noon-slumber. This was but a dream. The air is heavy; and the melancholy You live alone with since your father’s death—

_Just._ A dream, a dream indeed—oh Livia, That leaves his pressure yet upon my arm— And that without the immediate help of God I had not overcome—Oh, but the soul, The soul must be unsteady in the faith, So to be shaken even by a dream. Oh, were my father here! But he’s at rest— I know he is—upon his Saviour’s breast; And—who knows!—may have carried up my cries Ev’n to His ear upon whose breast he lies! Give me my mantle, Livia; I’ll to the church; Where if but two or three are met in prayer Together, He has promised to be there— And I shall find Him.

_Livia._ Oh, take care, take care! You know the danger—in broad daylight too— Or take me with you.

_Just._ And endanger two? Best serve us both by keeping close at home, Praying for me as I will pray for you.

[_Exeunt._