Part 4

HIALTI. To-morrow I must drive the sold ewes home And lead more bedding from the bracken-fell If the storm clears--it is well stacked and dry; So we must be a-stirring by lantern-light, Since now you will not have the lass go with me To milk, but go yourself although three cows Will not let down their milk to you at all, You drag their teats so: waking-time comes soon-- Best get to bed.

THORGERD. And leave you to go to your straw's wench?

HIALTI, _taking a rushlight in his hand._ Here are enough of your unfaithful words; I'll alter this to-morrow.

THORGERD. Ay, to-morrow.

_HIALTI enters the sleeping-chamber; after watching the door close upon him, THORGERD, her hands clenched and her arms rigid, swiftly steps half way toward the outhouse; then, suddenly relaxing into a pause and smiling with tight lips as she shakes her head slightly and sharply, she turns to the table again, doffs her coif and draws her hair down, blows out the remaining rushlight, and follows HIALTI into the sleeping-chamber._

_Henceforth the cottage is only lit by the ever-dying fire. A long, empty silence ensues, broken only by the tumult of the storm and the tinkle of the sinking embers._

_Then the outhouse door opens slowly and from it BLANID steps listeningly across the house, in front of the hearth, to the door of the sleeping-chamber, remaining there for a little time with her ear against the door-boards; then she returns noiselessly across the house, behind the hearth, pausing near the house door._

BLANID, _in a hushed voice._ If day were only darkness melting down From darkness into darkness like this rain, Lost ere 'tis known, then I might always sleep And sleep and dream I was a queen once more-- She does not know I was a jewelled queen, For so I spoil her of new heights of joy In which she might for haughtiness fondle me. O, I would sleep in that old Crier's arms, Enduring silence harder than all else, A mote shut into one cold, kneaded eyelid Of the dead mere; and dream into the wind, And cling to stars lest I should slip through space; And dream I am the body of him I love, Who yields me only kindness, never love-- O me, that misery of hopeless kindness. But I'll not die and leave him to her lips; Though I can never have him she shall not; For I can use this body worn to a soul To barter with that Crier of hidden things That, if he tangles him in his chill hair, Then I will follow and follow and follow and follow, Past where the imaged stars ebb past their light And turn to water under the dark world.

_She goes out into the storm, leaving the door open behind her. Presently she is heard singing to a chant-like, ever-falling melody._

I stand in the sick night, whose hid shape is my own shape, As dazed life in the flickering hearts of old men; I think like a lean heron with bald head and frayed nape Motionlessly moulting in a flat pool of a grey fen, Whose sleep-blinked horny eyes know it can ne'er moult again.

My age-long cry droops in the hoar unseen stars that shake Until their discordant rays make darkness inside the sky; My bare cry shivers along the slimy rushes of the drowned lake-- Weariful waters, do you hear a soul's hair tingling your veiled feet nigh? I stand outside my keen body, yearning into you as I cry.

HIALTI, _within._ Is that the lass sobbing a song in sleep?

THORGERD, _within._ The wind, the wind, and so as much as she.

BLANID, _still out of doors, singing._ Old father of many waters, can you feel my soul touching yours? I know that to greet your calling leaves me no more any yea or nay; Yet I too am of kin with lost woods and sedgy shores, So come secret as your black wind and take the dark core of my heart away, Ere you beget me on death to be still-born to an unlit day. Ohey! Ohey! Ohohey!

THE VOICE. Ohohey! Ohey!

HIALTI, _within._ Is there a woman's voice inside the wind?

THORGERD, _within._ ... the unclean Crier croaking ... cover your ears ...

_BLANID re-enters the house hurriedly; she shuts and bolts the door, hardly knowing what she does; she falls on her knees with her back to the door, breathing quickly and hard, and swaying backward and forward, her face hid in her hands._

_Again and again a terrible blast of wind strains at the unyielding door._

THE VOICE, _close at hand._ Open, open; I cannot open; open. I cannot come to you unless you open.

BLANID, _muttering behind her hands._ I will not go ... I can do nothing else ... It shall not enter ... O, it is in my heart ...

_She totters fearfully to the door, after many hesitant backward glances, and opens it slowly and as if she had never known how to open it. She reels against the wall and stands there motionlessly, clutching it with flat hands and outspread arms, as a stooping figure swathed in a rain-coloured, rain-soaked cloak and deep hood enters. Wisps of white hair flutter in the mouth of the hood, and one flicker of the fire-light shows in its depths a soft, shrunken, beardless face with an almost lipless, sunken mouth._

THIS OLD STRANGE MAN, _speaking always in a low, even, mournful voice._ A spirit calling in an old, old tongue Forgotten in lost graves in lonesome places; A spirit huddled in an old, old heart Like a blind crone crouched o'er a long-dead fire; A spirit shrinking in the old, old hills, Dreading to step down water or hollow night: Some seek me dreaming one last hope of joy; Some have been made too wise by too much joy And seek me longing for deeper misery, Knowing that joy is weary in unending, Changeless and one and easy in low perfection, While misery has as many shapes as evil That all must learn, and is made new for ever By fear of pain desired for love of passion; But feel, O you who call me through the night, I bring you neither joy nor misery But only rest so slow and sad and sodden You will not know of it--you shall only rest And lose your soul in my soul evermore.

_Sounds of heavy breathing are heard from the sleeping-chamber during his speaking. He is continually reaching to BLANID with his muffled, unseen hands, but she holds them from her as continually._

BLANID, _always in an eager, suppressed voice._ I have known joy--I know not what it was, Mead-fumes that filled me cooling to one drop; I have known misery--a self-numbed sting That showed me but another joy to lose; These were too small, I will have only rest, And lose my soul in your soul evermore. But if I die into your drooping limbs I must be mingled there with him I love; You may not reach him by your hoary crying, But raise some human wail for help and light And he will come and I must follow him Past where the imaged moon shakes like a soul Pausing in death between two unknown worlds.

THE OLD MAN. A sign, a plighting, and I do your will.

BLANID, _winding her arms about his arms from one side, so that he cannot touch her, and burying her face in his hood._ Kisses. 'Hast drained my soul's blood in each kiss.

THE OLD MAN. I go, I go; make me not come again, For I am in you, you must melt to me Past where the imaged dark shuts bending lovers' Close, unseen-imaged faces within life....

_Keeping his face turned toward BLANID, he recedes to the door, where he ceases to be seen in the wind that scurries past._

THE VOICE, _immediately and far away._ Help; help; the marsh-lights 'wilder us! A light!

_BLANID shuts the door. The fire has now sunk so low that as she crosses the house she is only visible in the half-dark as a dim shape. She pauses by the hearth._

BLANID. Nay, but I touch toward my joy at last, And Christ and all His Saints go out like candles When mass is said and the priest's cup is wiped....

THE VOICE. The water laps our waists! Help, help! A light!

BLANID, _running to the sleeping-chamber door._ Master, I hear a calling....

_After an interval she strikes the door, crying loudly._

Master! Master!

HIALTI, _within._ Has the flood washed into the shippon?

BLANID. Nay; There is a pitiful shrieking in the dark.

HIALTI, _within._ It is the Crier; break sleep no more for that.

THORGERD, _within._ The ox-goad shall reward you when dawn comes ... Wake us once more and you shall waken often, Ay, very often, until you dread to sleep ...

BLANID. I heard that trailing cry like maddened fir-boughs; Now I hear words--is there a woman's wail?

THORGERD, _within._ A woman? Let her drown.

HIALTI, _within._ I come. I come. Reach down the lantern and light it, light it, light it.

_Standing on a stool, BLANID lifts a lantern from a nail in one of the beams and, carrying it to the hearth, kneels there and seeks to light it with an ember._

THORGERD, _within._ You shall not go; it is a lie of hers; You shall not go ...

_A brief struggle in the sleeping-chamber is heard._

HIALTI, _within._ So; stand you from the door. Get donned; make up the fire; have water boiling; And send the wench to lie in your warm form Ready to cherish what stiffening thing I bring.

BLANID, _to herself, lighting the lantern and smiling mischievously._ Yea, I shall cherish a stiffening thing for her. Lantern, you are as dim as a little soul, Yet the least soul can light a man to Heaven, And you might lead him home; but I am like God, Who makes souls from His aches--I will not ache, You shall not have a soul, I suck it back.

_She extinguishes the light. HIALTI hurries in half-dressed._

HIALTI. Canst find a rope?

BLANID, _pointing._ Behind the settle there. _To herself._ 'Tis a good rope and has two rotten strands; 'Twas meant to make good tinder on the morrow.

THE VOICE. Help; help! A light! Come for the woman's sake!

HIALTI, _holding out his hand for the lantern._ Hearken and haste; give me the lantern--now!

BLANID. Master, it will not light....

HIALTI. Will the storm pause?

THE VOICE. Ohohey! Ohohey!

HIALTI. Will that dark Crier linger? I must go.

_She catches his outstretched hand and kisses it ere, snatching it away, he flings the house door wide open and dashes outside. Soon the sound of his footsteps is lost in the storm._

BLANID, _relighting the lantern and starting up._ Master, Master, the light!

_Pausing and sending the lantern crashing on the hearth with both hands._

He shall not have it!

_She stands with her hands gripping her breasts, leaning forward toward the open door; her breathlessness is all that is heard; she stretches her arms to the night._

BLANID. I feel as if my long, long hands could reach Down to the water's heart to pluck him from it.

THE VOICE. Will no one ever come?

HIALTI, _out of doors._ I come; I am nigh.

BLANID. Ay, he is nigh; but soon he will be far. I dare not thus fall through the world for him. O, I shall hear him ... do not let me hear him ...

_She throws herself on her face on the floor and, covering her head with the strewn rushes and clasping her hands over them, lies there moaning._

HIALTI, _far off, shouting ever more madly._ Thorgerd, Thorgerd ... your hands ... the world slips past me ... Save ... under ... under ... under ... Aa-h ...

_The shouting ceases suddenly at its height._

BLANID, _muffled and choking._ Her name ... her name ... why did he not think my name? ... But she has lost him, and I kissed his hand ...

THORGERD, _rushing from the sleeping-chamber in her night-gear._ Where is the wench?... Make haste--another light: I heard him dying. O, this prater's breath Will blow his life out ... Kindle a light and come ...

THE VOICE. Ohey! Ohohey! Ohey!

BLANID. Nay! Nay! Nay! I dare not, I dare not ... That Crier will drown me too ...

THORGERD. That is nought to me; Get to your feet ... What, shall I seek a way To supple you?

BLANID. O, do not hurt me again ... He dies ... it is my deed ... I dare not come ...

THORGERD. You are too mean to stir his life one thought; It was the Crafty Crier--I heard that wail ...

_The fire is now wholly out, so that the cottage is absolutely dark and nothing is visible._

THE VOICE, _near at hand._ Ohohey! Ohey!

THORGERD, _fiercely._ Where are you?... O, the Crier is heaving o'er ...

_A gust of wind and rain is heard to sweep into the cottage through the open doorway, shifting the rustling floor-rushes as though feet touched them. THE OLD STRANGE MAN has entered._

BLANID, _being heard to start to her feet._ There is another breathing in the house ... He is here ... this darkness is not black enough, The darkness at light's core alone could hide me ... Grope for my hand--hold fast and take me home ...

_She is heard to sink to the floor again._

THE OLD STRANGE MAN. Sister of that old race dead in the hills, Why will you make me come to you once more? You know you must go down a long withdrawing To reach the unlit places of your heart, Which are the night within my unknown eyes Beyond all stars; so let me touch you once.

_BLANID is heard to drag her prostrate body through the rushes toward THORGERD._

BLANID. Mistress, I am your thrall; you will keep your own ... I clasp your feet, I kiss your clutching feet, I lick your feet all over with my tongue, I will tell you somewhat that will yield a vengeance For you to work; so do not let me go....

THE OLD MAN. I see you, you white terror with shaking flanks, Straining to feel me with your hard-shut eyes, But now I need you not; not yet; not yet. Your man is drowned and this is it who bargained Its death for his; will you not give it to me?

THORGERD, _laughing._ I am glad he is dead; now I may only love him, And know no more that last distress of stooping So far from me as this at my feet must be. No vengeancing could pay for thoughts of her: I will not know that such can be in life, So I will neither yield nor succour her.

_She speaks no more, nor moves._

THE OLD MAN. Give it to me; it is mine, give it to me; I cannot take it while it touches you.

_A silence._

BLANID. I have slain him and I fear to go to him ... Put out my eyes, and rope me with the dogs-- Nay, strangle me to-morrow; but save me now.

THE OLD MAN, _his voice growing fainter and fainter._ Ah, come, you daughter of an ancient earth, Come down among the folk your heart can know, You darling of the past, you long-dead queen. Your aged soul is strange among these men, As strange as it would be in Paradise; But once I knew you ere you were begot, And in the unchanging silence of my heart There waits a star for you to finish it.

_A silence._

You little trembler of a dew-drop dawn, You are as old as water that makes new dew; And when the dew falls it runs down to peace. The end of sorrow is in sorrow's heart With those who loved and knew the unknown end Of mothering you a thousand years ago. Come, then, from her who shapes new pangs for you, And rest and rest and rest for evermore.

_A silence._

One day you will awake and call to me; And I shall listen for the doubting cry Until the stars have worn the sky too thin, And I am drowned within the light beyond....

_His voice is lost in the gradual wail of a gust of wind; then it is heard outside and afar._

Ohey!

BLANID, _speaking at longer and longer intervals._ O, you have saved me from such evil things As writhed like tangled tree-roots outside space Ere God made Himself from them; and for this My Virgin shall reach down from God's two knees Whereon She sits, and kiss you for Her own. My body was yours; now you have saved my soul My soul is utterly yours to serve in living, To clothe your soul and be your very heart In love and soft, unconscious giving of life. Mother, I have done evil--punish me; Because we loved him, love me and punish me: I have sinned, I have parted lovers--be cruel to me And cleanse me that I may keep near you two... Think in how many ways you can torture me; Let me rake up the fire and heat an iron For you to have your will upon my body-- One thigh is yet unseared ... Will you not speak? ... I love him, I tell you ... I love him, I love him, I love him ... I kissed his hand; do you hear? I kissed his hand-- Our Hialti's hand ... I'll make you hurt me yet, Cold anger is shuddering down your tense thighs; Feel, this is your foot upon my upturned face, I lift it across my eyes, wide-open eyes-- Bear down and crush them full of eternal night ... Speak to me now ... O, will you never speak? You thrust me down into that Crier's bosom; For in your heart you make me be unborn Within a lonely place you never heard of, Yet if I loose your feet he will return And I must follow and follow and follow and follow Past where my imaged thoughts repeat the world, Till shattered waters break the imaged dream ... You saved me once; will you undo that greatness?... We are the tears that God wipes from His eyes: Lone thoughts will thrust me forth--save me from them ... Ah, but my lonely love can succour me: Think, if I drown, 'tis to my Hialti's arms, To cast you from his heart for ever more; He will not even know you are forgotten ... Sister ... Thorgerd....

_THORGERD draws in a long breath so sharply that it sounds to stab her repeatedly._

Ay, you will hate me as you used to do-- Will you not hate me as you used to do? I was so happy when you still could hate me.... I fear it, but you make me go.... Speak once....

_After a long silence BLANID is heard to rise and go slowly to the door._

BLANID Ohey! Ohey!

THE VOICE, _outside._ Ohohey!

_With a laugh of abandonment BLANID is heard to run into the night; there is a brief silence; then one far-off, long shriek is heard from her._

THE VOICE. Ohey! Ohohey!

_In the cottage THORGERD is heard to fall heavily to the floor._

_The curtain descends on silence and darkness._

THE RIDING TO LITHEND

_TO EDWARD THOMAS_

_HERE in the North we speak of you, And dream (and wish the dream were true) That when the evening has grown late You will appear outside our gate-- As though some Gipsy-Scholar yet Sought this far place that men forget; Or some tall hero still unknown, Out of the Mabinogion, Were seen at nightfall looking in, Passing mysteriously to win His earlier earth, his ancient mind, Where man was true and life more kind Lived with the mountains and the trees And other steadfast presences, Where large and simple passions gave The insight and the peace we crave, And he no more had nigh forgot The old high battles he had fought._

_Ah, pause to-night outside our gate And enter ere it is too late To see the garden's deep on deep And talk a little ere we sleep._

_When you were here a year ago I told you of a glorious woe, The ancient woe of Gunnar dead And its proud train of men long sped, Fit brothers to your noble thoughts; Then, as their shouts and Gunnar's shouts Went down once more undyingly And the fierce saga was put by, I told you of my old desire To light again that bygone fire, To body Hallgerd's ruinous Great hair and wrangling mouth for us, And hear her voice deny again That hair to Gunnar in his pain._

_Because your heart could understand The hopes of their primeval land, The hearts of dim heroic forms Made clear by tenderness and storms, You caught my glow and urged me on; So now the tale is once more done I turn to you, I bring my play, Longing, O friend, to hear you say I have not dwarfed those olden things Nor tarnisht by my furbishings._

_I bring my play, I turn to you And wish it might to-night be true That you would seek this old small house Twixt laurel boughs and apple boughs; Then I would give it, bravely manned, To you, and with my play my hand._

30 JUNE 1908.

I. M.

2ND LIEUT. PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS

244th Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery; killed at a forward observation post in the battle of Arras, on Easter Monday, April 9th, 1917.

PERSONS:

GUNNAR HAMUNDSSON. HALLGERD LONGCOAT, his wife. RANNVEIG, his mother. ODDNY, ASTRID, and STEINVOR, Hallgerd's house-women. ORMILD, a woman thrall. BIARTEY, JOFRID, and GUDFINN, beggar-women. GIZUR THE WHITE, MORD VALGARDSSON, THORGRIM THE EASTERLING, THORBRAND THORLEIKSSON and ASBRAND his brother, AUNUND, THORGEIR and HROALD, riders. Many other Riders and voices of Riders

In Iceland, A.D. 990.

THE RIDING TO LITHEND

_The scene is the hall of Gunnar's house at Lithend in South Iceland. The portion shewn is set on the stage diagonally, so that to the right one end is seen while, from the rear corner of this, one side runs down almost to the left front._

_The side wall is low and wainscotted with carved panelling on which hang weapons, shields, and coats of mail. In one place a panel slid aside shews a shut bed._

_In front of the panelling are two long benches with a carved high-seat between them. Across the end of the hall are similar panellings and the seats, with corresponding tables, of the women's daïs; behind these and in the gable wall is a high narrow door with a rounded top._

_A timber roof slopes down to the side wall and is upheld by cross-beams and two rows of tall pillars which make a rather narrow nave of the centre of the hall. One of these rows runs parallel to the side wall, the pair of pillars before the high-seat being carved and ended with images; of the other row only two pillars are visible at the extreme right._

_Within this nave is the space for the hearths; but the only hearth visible is the one near the women's daïs. In the roof above it there is a louvre: the fire glows and no smoke rises. The hall is lit everywhere by the firelight._

_The rafters over the women's daïs carry a floor at the level of the side walls, forming an open loft which is reached by a wide ladder fixed against the wall: a bed is seen in this loft. Low in the roof at intervals are shuttered casements, one being above the loft: all the shutters are closed._

_Near the fire a large shaggy hound is sleeping; and ORMILD, in the undyed woollen dress of a thrall, is combing wool._

_ODDNY stands spinning at the far side; near her ASTRID and STEINVOR sit stitching a robe which hangs between them._

ASTRID. NIGHT is a Winter long: and evening falls. Night, night and Winter and the heavy snow Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams, And make of loneliness an earthly place.

ORMILD. This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me Is still the fastness of a secret king Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep. He works with night, he has stolen death's tool frost That makes the breaking wave forget to fall.