SCENE XI.

_Night._--WALTER, _standing alone in his garden._

WALTER.

Summer hath murmured with her leafy lips Around my home, and I have heard her not; I've missed the process of three several years, From shaking wind-flowers to the tarnished gold That rustles sere on Autumn's aged boughs. I went three years ago, and now return, As stag sore-hunted a long summer day Creeps in the eve to its deep forest-home. [_A pause._ This is my home again! Once more I hail The dear old gables and the creaking vanes. It stands all flecked with shadows in the moon, Patient, and white, and woeful. 'Tis so still, It seems to brood upon its youthful years, When children sported on its ringing floors, And music trembled through its happy rooms. 'Twas here I spent my youth, as far removed From the great heavings, hopes, and fears of man, As unknown isle asleep in unknown seas. Gone my pure heart, and with it happy days; No manna falls around me from on high, Barely from off the desert of my life I gather patience and severe content. God is a worker. He has thickly strewn Infinity with grandeur. God is Love; He yet will wipe away Creation's tears, And all the worlds shall summer in His smile. Why work I not? The veriest mote that sports Its one-day life within the sunny beam Has its stern duties. Wherefore have I none? I will throw off this dead and useless past, As a strong runner, straining for his life, Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. A mighty purpose rises large and slow From out the fluctuations of my soul, As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea Starts the completed moon. [_Another pause._ I have a heart to dare, And spirit-thews to work my daring out; I'll cleave the world as a swimmer cleaves the sea, Breaking the sleek green billows into froth, With tilting full-blown chest, and scattering With scornful breath the kissing, flattering foam, That leaps and dallies with his dipping lip. Thou'rt distant, now, O World! I hear thee not; No pallid fringes of thy fires to-night Droop round the large horizon. Yet, O World! I have thee in my power, and as a man By some mysterious influence can sway Another's mind, making him laugh and weep, Shudder or thrill, such power have I on thee. Much have I suffered, both from thee and thine; Thou shalt not 'scape me, World! I'll make thee weep; I'll make my lone thought cross thee like a spirit, And blanch thy braggart cheeks, lift up thy hair, And make thy great knees tremble; I will send Across thy soul dark herds of demon dreams, And make thee toss and moan in troubled sleep; And, waking, I will fill thy forlorn heart With pure and happy thoughts, as summer woods Are full of singing-birds. I come from far, I'll rest myself, O World! awhile on thee, And half in earnest, half in jest, I'll cut My name upon thee, pass the arch of Death, Then on a stair of stars go up to God.