Part 2

His gait is strange. Look, child, What ails him? Is he drunk? Oh, oh, ’tis Gorm. I know him by his breathing.

(ICELIN _leaves_ DANSBERG _and goes to_ GORM. _They whisper together._ DANSBERG _sits trembling_.)

_Icelin._ You’re late.

_Gorm._ I have run.

_Icelin._ We shall be miss’d.

_Gorm._ It is not done?

_Icelin._ Not done! No; but to be done.

_Gorm._ I hoped to find it done.

_Icelin._ Ye gods! what I alone?

_Gorm._ Why not? ’tis easy.

_Icelin._ Are you so pale?

_Gorm._ Pale? me!

_Icelin._ A man like you!

_Gorm._ Like who?

_Icelin._ Are you a man and pale?

_Gorm._ I’m not. It is the twilight.

_Icelin._ Do you stagger too? Are you afraid?

_Gorm._ I, Gorm, afraid! A soldier!

_Icelin._ A soldier and my love.

_Gorm._ Your love indeed!

_Icelin._ You think I am too young to be your love?

_Gorm._ You are divine!

_Icelin._ What shall we do with him?

_Gorm._ Aye, what?

_Icelin._ The thing I told you—tie him here.

_Gorm._ What, all night long?

_Icelin._ No matter.

_Gorm._ He will die.

_Icelin._ I’m sick of walking with him. And besides He will not let me wear my mother’s clothes That are in lavender.

_Gorm._ Tush!

_Icelin._ Her jewels, too.

_Gorm._ I thought that you’d have done it; and I came To end the jest and win his thanks—and you.

_Icelin._ I want his wealth for you.

_Gorm._ He will die soon.

_Icelin._ He lives for ever.

_Gorm._ That is true.

_Icelin._ I want it— Now.

_Gorm._ No, no. no. Hush, he will hear us.

_Icelin._ Never. And he is maudlin too.

_Gorm._ I madden for you. Fie, what is this upon my lips? Not blood?

_Icelin._ And on your face. My lips bleed often thus.

_Gorm._ Oh, oh.

_Icelin._ You know the way home after this?

_Gorm._ Oh, yes.

_Icelin._ That’s right then. We have nought to do But wait and watch him.

(_Dansberg rises._)

_Dansberg._ How their whisperings run Like hissing of live snakes. Where am I then? I must be cunning. If I could find my stick I could escape. I think they look not this way.

_Icelin._ Nay, let him be. You need not fear my lips— ’Tis but a little bleeding.

_Dansberg._ Now is the time. Quick now! Sneak off!

(_He knocks against a tree._)

A tree. Pest on these leaves, They crackle so. Again.

(_He knocks against another tree._)

A wood, a wood! O this means murder!

_Gorm._ Poor old man!

_Icelin._ The fool!—Stand still there!

_Dansberg._ Yes, good daughter, yes. Hough, hough. I would but stroll—hough, hough, hough— But stroll a little.

_Icelin._ Stroll then very little— There is a pit there.

_Dansberg._ Then I’ll not stroll far, Believe me. Hough, hough, hough.

_Icelin_(_to_ GORM). I brought him here Because I know the pit. Let’s wait a little. I’ll hear him shriek first.

(_She goes to_ DANSBERG.)

When shall I marry Gorm?

_Dansberg._ I am too old to set myself against you. Yet your young life I would not give to him— My daughter’s daughter. Hough. But lead me home. Enough the jest. To-morrow I will grant it. I am too old, too old to struggle with you. The cold is bitter in this mildewy wood, And my feet numb. Why will you linger still? Am I not blind?

_Icelin._ Then I may marry him?

_Dansberg._ Yes.

_Icelin._ And may I have my mother’s silks you keep In lavender?

_Dansberg._ Hough, hough, hough. You wicked girl! She was an angel, and you shall not have them— Hough, hough—at least until I’ve sorted them.

(_She slaps him._)

_Icelin._ Sort that then!

_Dansberg._ Someone strikes me.

_Icelin._ That, again!

_Dansberg._ Someone has struck me! Shame!—a poor old man!

_Icelin._ Let your cheeks burn for it then.

_Dansberg._ You struck me, sir. You cowardly dog.

_Gorm._ Hold, Icelin.

_Icelin._ I am sick At sight of him. It was I who struck you.

_Dansberg._ Yes. ’Twas she who struck me.

_Icelin._ And I will again.

_Dansberg._ Then I will turn to you my other cheek, You have not struck yet.

_Icelin._ There, then!

_Dansberg._ See, O God!

_Gorm._ She is a wolf.

_Dansberg._ God is not blind as I am.

(_A pause._)

My daughter’s daughter struck me. Therefore I know That she would kill me. Kill me, then, and quickly, That I may go to God with branded cheeks To plead compassion for me—for I’ve done Sins in this world. But who would punish me— More—after this? Now let me die. I wait.

(_Silence. A gust of wind blows through the forest._)

Come, kill me then. I am no coward. Hush! No answer. What if they have left me here To die in th’ wood? And yet I dare not move. She said there is a pit beside me close, Where I might fall. If I could find my stick, I could escape, perhaps, and follow them.

(_He gropes for his stick._)

(_A second gust of wind blows through the forest._)

Oh, evil, evil! She has hid it—O!— I hear a sigh that shudders thro’ the air. ’Tis night. I have no eyes and yet can see The night. Oh, it is night for me for ever. Night, night and age, and endless weight of silence, Save but for far low voices faintly heard. Great age, great age! and bright scenes long ago, Seen like the sunshine at a cavern’s mouth To one endungeon’d there for ever. Ah! That vision too must end.

(_A third gust of wind._)

Sigh, shuddering Wind Sigh for the old man sightless. Sigh, O Wind, Sigh for the old man sightless. Sink and die, And pass away.

_Icelin._ Let’s push him now.

_Gorm._ Enough! Have you no heart?

_Icelin._ A heart? What is a heart? I have a lump of ice here in my breast That freezes me. Except for you—for you.

(_She kisses_ GORM.)

You tremble! Do you tremble?

_Gorm._ Yes, I tremble.

_Icelin._ Are you a coward?

_Gorm._ Yes, a coward. See!

_Dansberg._ Help! Jansen there! They murder me! Hough, hough. I cannot shout, for when I shout I cough. Help, help! Hough, hough.

(_He staggers to and fro._)

_Icelin._ Come, father, here’s my arm. Why do you shout?

_Dansberg._ I shout because I die.

_Icelin._ I am your daughter.

_Dansberg._ Are you my daughter, ’Linde? My daughter’s spirit?

_Icelin._ Yes.

_Dansberg._ I know your voice!

(_She leads him toward the pit._)

No! You are not my daughter. Your arm’s too thin! Help, God! Make me a miracle now to save me, Since man will not; or I will cry aloud There is no God in all this black, black world. Send me a flash to light me out of this, Here where I stagger thus in solid night, Like some dumb creature in the huntsman’s pit. Send fiery-urgent lightnings to mine aid, Revealing Heaven, until this forest stands, Each tree a flaming angel for a torch. Oh! oh! the air is full of murder!—Not yet, O Death, not yet! I am too young to die! See, Heaven, my heart is beating still with blood. When that the heart is bloodless, ’twill be time To die!

_Icelin._ Come, father, come; why do you shriek So much?

_Dansberg._ I shriek because I die.

_Gorm._ Beware! There is a pit there!

_Dansberg._ Oh, He answers not! In my youth’s days I did forget Him; now In this mine age He hath forgotten me.

(_A pause._)

Away! God or no God, I’ll save myself!

(_He runs forward wildly and falls into the pit._)

(_Silence._)

_Icelin._ Down there. Down. Down. Mark now, I pushed him not. He ran from me and fell. You saw it. I knew That he would die like this. You called me child. Am I so young then? I am no child—a woman! See with what skill I’ve brought you to your fortune. Now I shall wear those silks and damascenes, And all these lands be yours. Thus, with this kiss I seal it.

_Gorm._ Away!

_Icelin._ What?

_Gorm._ Wolf!

_Icelin._ What?

_Gorm._ Wolf, wolf, wolf! Your teeth are white but pointed like a wolf’s. Your face is white but both your lips are red— So bleeding red! I have my sword—away! Or I will stab you! Even by this light There’s blood upon your lips—and some of it Burns on me now. Your race’s blood is poison— His, yours, and all your race’s. You’re a witch; A wolf, a witch, a witch! I have my sword— So follow not! A witch, a witch, a witch! Your blood is poison and your heart is ice!

(_He flies into the forest._)

(ICELIN _remains standing. The ravens perch on the boughs above her head._)

(_She shrieks._)

_Icelin._ My blood is poison and my heart is ice! A witch, a wolf, a witch, a wolf, a witch! My teeth are pointed like a wolf’s. A witch! My face is white, my lips are bleeding red, My blood is poison, and my heart is ice. A witch, a wolf, a witch, a wolf, a witch, A wolf! I follow then! I will devour you! I’ll follow you about the world—and eat you!

(_She bounds into the forest after_ GORM. _The ravens follow her._)

=THE MARSH=

MELFORT. EVAÏD.

THE CHORUS OF THE MARSH.

_A Marsh. Midnight and the setting moon._ _Enter_ MELFORT, _plunging about in water_. (_A cry is heard._)

_Melfort._ Who cries! In the night and the silence—who cries!

_Chorus._ Súmph, súmph, súmph, súmph.

_Melfort._ What was it? I hear but the whine of the wind And the croak of the frogs in the grass. No more?

_Chorus._ Súmph, súmph, súmph, súmph.

_Melfort._ It was a sound of the pestilent fen; The cry of a leveret lost from his lair, Or scream of an adder-stung toad. But soft. The moon dies, and I sink each step More deeply, and have missed my way. The temperate candles of the town Are lost, and I but see around me The hectic fen-fires dancing. Ho! What ho!

_Chorus._ Súmph, súmph, súmph, Súmph.

_Melfort._ No answer; no one comes. It is the marsh, and I am in it Right to the knees. This pays me well For thinking of the bonny bride And all her train of rosy maids, When I should mark the way. But on— Though my poor wedding shoes be done for Ah, pah!—my brain is full of wine, And all my being ripe for love. Wine, wine, and marriage, and I best-man; And liquor goes badly under the stars. Young; rich for a farmer—well, who knows But I too, myself, may be wedded soon.

(_A shriek is heard._)

Who shrieks?

_Chorus._ Súmph, súmph, súmph, Súmph.

_Melfort._ My God, it was behind me! That sobers me!—Ho there, who shrieks?— It is too near. What, am I drunk? Am I sick? Do I reel?—The acid cry Ran like a curdle through the blood. Soft, soft, I must enquire here more. A murder!—There, I am afraid And wither where I stand; unarm’d— But yet I’ll venture further. So! A woman’s cry, touching the quick. A friend! I come!

_Frogs._ Kilkillutty cluck, Clickutty cluck, clickutty cluck, Click, cluck.

_Melfort._ No answer. Ho! A friend! Give answer. Let me hear you That I may find you.

_Frogs._ Hiccutty hac, Hiccutty, huccutty, hiccutty hac. Hicutty.

_Melfort._ Strange; nothing replies. I plunge here like a dog at loss; And all the sleeping startled pools Exclaim against me, and the flowers— Deep-drowsèd water-lilies—wake In nodding wonder. A friend! I come! Give answer! Ho!

_Efts._ Tiu, Tiu, Tiu, Tiu.

_Melfort._ No one replies. Pools, pools, and water everywhere, And midnight and the dying moon! I am afraid, and my knees tremble. No answer. Hush. There’s nothing stirs, Save only the frogs in bubbled mire And yonder swaying bulrushes That by battalions beckon each other In the murky moon. Look how—look how The ghostly globes of fairy fire Ooze from the marsh-mire and creep up Their callow stems and leap in air, Becoming fen-fires. Listen! Hark! The croaking chorus of the fen.

_Toads._ Glick, gluck, glickutty gluck, Glickutty, glickutty, glickutty gluck.

_Melfort._ See, see, my soul! O what is this? A snake?—A steel that gleaming lies! O my unerring ears—a dagger!

_Frogs._ Kil, kul, kil, kul, Killutty, kul.

_Melfort._ The dagger is bloody! The villain has stolen away his victim! Stay, murderer, villain!

_Frogs._ Hic, huc, Hiccutty huc.

_Melfort._ Here’s a deed! But look you now upon this thing Here by the livid moonlight seen. Strange that this dagger so should drip With blood yet be as bloody still As ’twas before! It runs for ever. See from the point a bloody stream Runs on for ever, soaking earth! I am enchanted! Ha, I gasp! Are these but frogs that cry around— Ten myriad frogs and toads that cry— “Kill kill, kill, kill”?—Whom should I kill?

_Frogs._ Kil, kul, killutty kul, Kil kil kil, kil kil kul.

_Melfort._ See, see in the moonlight—there on the bank— A horror that lies! O pitiful God! Look here! O pitiful sight!—dead, dead! A maiden; and murdered and so pale! What, here in the marsh!—A maiden—dead!

_Chorus._ Súmph, súmph, súmph, súmph.

_Melfort._ So beautiful, young, and yet so dead? They have robbed her—the villains—and gone! See here, A pitiful wound in the lovely breast; And under the wound, among the grass, A little glow-worm—as if it were Her soul dropt out among the flowers— Her soul dropt out of the wound!

_Frogs._ Quuck, Kilutty kullutty quickutty quuck.

_Melfort._ The marsh flowers that spring about her Are busy to hide her in their arms, With open mouths kissing her delicate flesh!

_Toads._ Huncutty hincutty huncutty hic, Killutty quickutty kill, quick.

_Evaïd._ Ah me!

_Melfort._ She is alive, and lifts Her loaded lids!

_Evaïd._ Ah me, I die.

_Melfort._ A witch! a fairy thing!—See here A chaplet of flowers upon her brow— Of lilies and daisies on her brow!

_Evaïd._ Ah me, alas!

_Melfort._ She looks at me— And O the swooning light of her eyes! If you will die thus beautifully, Die thus for ever!

_Evaïd._ O the pain!

_Melfort._ Am I a fool, a senseless stock, To haver thus the while she dies! Come, I will hide you in my coat, Enwrap you here and hide you thus; And press my kerchief to your wound. (O beautiful breast; O bitter wound; O cruel, carvèd, bitter wound.) Come, courage, come. Come lay your head Here. Do not moan, for I will go And fetch you succour from the town. (She is not cold, but burns like fire— For all her ebbing blood doth flow In guilty oozing from her breast. What, wounded in water, yet so warm!)

_Evaïd._ I am dying. Let me be. Let me perish, let me be.

_Melfort._ No, no, you shall not perish, dear, For I will bring you succour soon. So courage, my child—I will return.

_Evaïd._ Do not leave me, do not grieve me, Do not leave me ere I die; If you leave me I shall perish; Linger by me while I die.

_Melfort._ I must go and bring some aid for you, Or you will die here in the marsh. (Heavens, how she clings upon my arm; Heavens, how her fingers cling upon me; And O the swooning light of her eyes!) What, shall I take you in my arms, then, And bear you to the town? I dare not. What, do you clasp your arms about me, Who should be dead by now! (Alas! The languid head, the dying eyes!— Yet she is warm; not chill, not cold, Not like a corpse!) Hold up your head. Why do you cling upon me? (God, The slender, beautiful, long arms!)

_Evaïd._ If you leave me, I shall perish; If you grieve me, I shall die. O the trembling and the torment, O the trembling and the cold! O the paining, O the pining, O the paining in my wound!

_Melfort._ Come then, I’ll bear you. No, I will not. What is it I hear?—the accursed frogs That cry! I will not carry you— Not take you in my arms. I see Some magic here. Maids crown’d with flowers But dying wounded are not found. See now I stand away. For listen! They cry, “kill, kill.” The squatting toads And gulping frogs do croak it forth, And the lip-licking efts of the pool, And worms, come out of the earth to cry it— “Kill, kill; kill, kill.”—Whom should I kill? The misty glamours of the moon Amaze me; and you die not yet, Who with that wounding should be dead. There is some dire enchantment on me. Why do you die not, being wounded— And in the heart? When you are dead I’ll carry you. Till then, lie there.

_Evaïd._ Will you leave the poor one dying, Lying dying, lying dying, Lying in the cold cold water, Sighing, dying all alone?

_Melfort._ Nay, then, I’ll take you—though I die. The moon is magical and the marsh Peopled with voices. So—your head Upon my shoulder: thus. So, so; And put your arms about me—so. You may have trust in me—I’m honest, And have a sister lives with me, And she shall tend you. All the land Shall follow to-morrow your murderer . . . So there . . . your weight is but a child’s . . . But stay, I have forgot the dagger— The dagger that gleams on the glistening grass.

_Evaïd._ No, no, leave it there; Leave the dagger where it fell; Leave the dagger burning bright; Leave the bitter biting steel.

_Melfort._ No . . . I’ll take it. Now come on.

*

(_He lifts her._)

_Chorus._ Sumph, sumph, sumph, sumph; Sumphity, sumphity, sumphity sumph.

_Melfort._ So, so, sure and slow; Where’s the way, I do not know.

_Chorus._ Sumph, sumph, sumph, sumph; Glumphutty, glumphutty, glumphutty glumph.

_Melfort._ So, so, slow and sure; Set the teeth hard, dumb and dour.

_Frogs._ Click, cluck, clickutty cluck.

_Melfort._ Now I’m stumbling, now I’m stuck.

_Toads._ Glick, gluck, glickutty gluck.

_Melfort._ Glory to mud and glory to muck.

_Chorus._ Ho, ho, hinkutty hong.

_Melfort._ No, no, not for long; I am steadfast, I am strong.

_Chorus._ Ho, ho, hinkutty hong.

_Melfort._ Nothing can let me—not for long. Now I’m free—we’ll go along. See the pollards growing there Like a row of dancing dwarfs; How they listen, how they peer, Look and listen, laugh and leer, Black against the shrunken moon, That will now be sinking soon, Sinking in the sucking mud, Yellow as evil, yellow as sin, Like a murderer drown’d in blood. See, see, see, see, See the water-weeds that are Frosted all with phantom fire Oozing from the bubbling mire; And on every reed a star, Blue, blue, blue, and blear Like a devil seated there.

_Chorus._ Ho, ha, hinkutty hong, Sinkutty sonkutty sinkutty song.

_Melfort._ Damnèd, damnèd, damnèd be The fingers that hold me, foot and knee.

_Chorus._ Hing, ho, hinkutty hong, Sing, song, sinkutty song.

_Melfort._ Damnèd, damnèd, damnèd be The time of the rhyme of the frogs of the marsh; Damnable diapason of frogs . . . Tune of the croon of the frogs of the fen . . . Drumming and droning of the fen . . . Beating and booming in my blood . . .

_Evaïd._ Hear me, hear me, hear me, hear; Shall I whisper in your ear? Hush, hush, hush, hush; Do not listen, do not hear.

_Chorus._ Sumph, sumph, sumph, sumph; Sumphity, sumphity, sumphity sumph.

_Evaïd._ Hear me, hear me, hear me, hear; Shall I say it in your ear? If I tell you do not hear, Do not listen, do not hear. Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh, Weep for the poor one who will die. Dew-drops glisten so and die . . . Die, die, die, die . . . Do not listen, don’t reply.

_Little Frog._ Hi, ho, hinkutty han, Here’s a foolish floundering man.

_Bull-Frog._ Hing, hong, strike up a song, Strike up a chorus, strike up a song.

_Evaïd._ If I tell you that I’m dying, You will kiss me, softly sighing— Kiss the poor one who is dying, Dying, dying, dying, dying. Shall I whisper, shall I tell you? No, the sparkling stars will hear me— Cold, keen, cruel stars— They will hear me, hear me, hear me, Hear me sighing, crying, dying. O the paining, O the sorrow; You’ll be sad for me to-morrow.

_Melfort._ Yes, tell me.

_Evaïd._ Tell me, tell me, tell me.

_Melfort._ Tell me, I say.

_Evaïd._ No, no; You will die, O you will perish If I tell you that I love you. I’ll not tell you that I love you. Me though chillèd none shall cherish, None would save me though I perish. O the paining, O the sorrow; None shall weep for me to-morrow, Morrow, morrow, morrow . . .

_Melfort._ Speak not!— Or speak more harshly—for my heart Swoons at the sweetness of your tongue.

_Chorus._ Hinkutty, hunkutty, hinkutty hunkutty, Hing, ho, hing, ho. This is the rhyme that goes in time, Sing, ho, sing, ho— The bold uproarious gladdening glorious Jinketting, junketting, maddening rhyme.

_Melfort._ Are you dying so, yet singing? Dying, dead, yet sing of love? See your tender fingers clinging, See your long locks lying gleaming, Over all your beauty streaming, In the moonlight, faint and low, Let me leave you, let me go; For you have enchanted me With a moonlight-mystery, And a dew-fire’s on your head; But your weight is weight of lead; And I cannot see your eyes, Cannot see your faery eyes . . . Let me linger, let me ken, Let me view thee, peerless one— Queen of the Marsh, Queen of the Fen— Gaze my fill by the mystic moon, Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful one.

_Evaïd._ Lover, lover, lover dear, Shall I whisper in your ear? Hush, hush, hush, hush; Do not listen, do not hear.

_Melfort._ On your brow the dangling flowers Die; but I will gather you more, Gather you more, gather you more . . . See your blood and burning gore Soaks and scalds me to the core . . . See I struggle, see I sink, See I settle more and more. There’s no solid ground that’s meet Here to rest my aching feet— Only isles of mocking reeds, And the tendrils of the weeds, Dragging me down, dragging me down; And your weight is weight of lead . . . But I love you madly now, Love and kiss your magic brow, Suck the sweetness from your lips As the bee his honey sips . . . Yet I know my day is done, Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful one.

_Little Frog._ Who slew the Wandering Jew?

_Bull-Frogs._ Mighty King Mud, mighty King Mud.

_Melfort._ Sadly, badly, madly I go, Stumbling, tumbling, grumbling go, Wearily wander, wearily go. All my blood is weak and slow; Heavily beats my heart below; And it will be darkness soon, For the night devours the moon.

_Chorus._ Down, down, down, down, See the red moon drop and drown.

_Bull-Frogs._ Ho, ha, hinkutty hong, Keep up the chorus, boys, keep up the song.

_Frogs._ Now for the jolly tune, now for the joy; There’s no moonlight to annoy.

_Crayfish._ Hunch, munch, crickutty crunch, Here’s a dead man for our lunch.

_Snails._ Hurry up, mate, or you’ll be late; Things that are pleasant are soon out of date.

_Efts._ With our noses out of the flood, We can sniff the delicate mud.

_Mice._ Creak, creak, creak, creak, Some can sing and some can squeak.

_Insects._ Sum, sum, sum, sum, We can make the marish hum.

_Worms._ In the day we creep along, Trampled, weak, and suffering wrong; But at midnight, in the mire, Glow with phosphorescent fire.

_Adders._ For at night, night is light, Bright is dark and dark is bright.

*

_Melfort._ Ah! See, see, see, see. See the silver stars above me; Now the magic moon is sunken, See them flash their flaming fires.

_Evaïd._ O, O, O, O, Hide me from them, hide me from them, Hide me from their hateful eyes.

_Melfort._ See the dagger, silver bright. Glitter in the starlight white.

_Evaïd._ No, no, no, no; Drop the dagger, drop the steel.

_Melfort._ See the dagger, clean and bright. Gleaming in the starlight white.

_Chorus._ Hinkutty, honkutty, hinkutty han, Kill her, kill her—if you can.