Part 3

_Bull-frogs._ Ho, ha, yes—if you can.

_Chorus._ Yah, ho, yes—if you can; Kill if you dare to, kill if you can.

_Evaïd._ I was wounded, I was dying, Like a broken lily lying, Sighing, dying, I was lying . . .

_Chorus._ Kill, kill, kill, kill, Kill if you dare to, kill if you can.

_Evaïd._“Put your head upon my breast; I will bear you; be at rest; I will bear you; I’m a man, Man, man, man, man . . .”

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

_Evaïd._“I will save you, never leave you, I will heal you, never grieve you . . .”

_Melfort._ Now I see it, now I know it, Know the meaning of the chorus, Of the cursèd croaking frogs.

_Evaïd._ Press, press, press, press. Press to your bosom, press to your heart; Kiss and cure the cruel smart. Or, if you’ll not kisses give, I will kiss you, so, and live. They who kisses ne’er receive, Kisses give, kisses give.

_Melfort._ I must slay you, kill you, slay you. Plunge the dagger in your heart, Or you’ll drown me in the darkness, Madden’d with your magic kisses; For I know you now, my darling, Haunter of the horrible fen. O my Beauty, O my Darling, I am drunk with love of you; But I’ll stab you with this dagger; I must kill you or I perish. Do not shudder, do not shriek, Do not shudder when I stab you, For you are a faery thing.

_Evaïd._ O no, no, no! Do not kill me, do not stab me— O, O, the burning steel. See I love you, see I kiss you, See I bind my arms about you. Take the sharp point from my breast.

_Melfort._ Thus, thus, thus I stab you, Kiss you, stab you, give you death; Give you kisses, give you death; Kiss your dying lips delicious, Stab you in your tender breast.

_Evaïd._ O, O, O, O, Take away the steel tormenting! Will you slay the poor thing dying? She has kissed you, never harm’d you, O the poor, poor dying thing . . . Kiss her then and kill her so . . . Lover, lover, lover dear, Let me whisper in your ear— Now I’m dying you may hear— How I love you. Hush, hush, Hush, hush, hush, hush; Now I’m dying, I am dying. O the paining, O the torment. You’ll to-morrow hear the birds sing: I shall never, I shall never.

_Melfort._ She is fading, melting, dying, Melting, turning into water.

_Evaïd._ Hush, hush, hush, hush; I am dying, I am dead.

*

_The Dawn-Wind._ Sisters of the field awake, Sweet children of the meads and rills And of the wind-blown hills, Flowers, little flowers! O you that sleep in slumber deep, Kissing and turn’d together Between the sheltering heather, Awake! For the day-break.

_Stars._ Behold, the silver dawn is here, Pearling the east with a light clear. Our watch is ended; let’s begone; The sun will follow soon anon. Say, brothers, went your watching well? . . . All’s well, all’s well.

_Melfort._ I wake! why, have I slept?—I hear The fine shrill clarion of the cock. I am alive then. O sweet Dawn, Pearl of the sky, that makest clear The old grey steeple in the east, Wash from my soul this terrible night. I breathe, I live; the air is pure.

=THE BOY’S DREAM=

OBERON TITANIA, _and_ PUCK

_A boy sleeps on the wooded bank of a small river running_ _out upon the seashore. A night in spring._

_Oberon._ Well met by starlight, my Titania.

_Titania._ For thrice a hundred years we have not met!

_Oberon._ But drug’d by some mad magic have drowsed away Three centuries in a night.

_Titania._ The charm is broken.

_Oberon._ Thee in a crystal-cavern’d isle that weeps Embargo’d on the bosom of a lake, It caught in slumber mid thy maiden fays; And in a blasted, bent, and strippen willow, Pleading his bleach’d bones over a festering pool In a black forest, me; and all our train, So wont to win the air on wanton wings, Imprison’d in the caves of bears or boles Of mouldy oaks, in age-long lethargy— Half dead, but for their beating hearts, that fright The furry denizens dwelling there.

_Titania._ And so The stars have spill’d their silvery beams in vain, Teeming the flowers’ chalices with light, But not for us; nor have we ever heard The tree-top throstle clarioning the Spring.

_Oberon._ But million’d men, rid of our sooth control, Like chattering magpies in a frozen field, Or eyeless emmets pestering in the mire, Have fought for foolish gods, and furrow’d earth, And fed the sea, or sop’d the soil with blood, All about nothing.

_Titania._ Who strew’d the spell? Some Sage?

_Oberon._ Rather some fool! For fools, ’tis writ, have power To clamp the whole world in inviolate chains Whene’er they wish!

_Titania._ O dreadful law! But say, My love and king, what curst particular fool So persecutes us?

_Oberon._ First the fool who made God in his own image, and pent us up A hundred years; and then a lower lown Who taught us, all are equal; and a third, That every raff should have his rights. Between them Two centuries more they thrall’d us. Such the woe When meddling men made Heaven so and so, And Folly like a fitful gale essay’d To blow predestined ocean from his bed.

_Titania._ But so think I.

_Oberon._ Why then your creed prevails! But it is scathless: fools are always males!— So now that every sot has said his say, Wisdom and we may get again our day, To tell men if they live with love and mirth, The earth is Heav’n indeed, and Heaven earth. So, Fairies, come; and keep our old-time revel; And let those ghosts go die to haunt the devil!

_Puck._ Hush, master! See a mortal lying near. If he’s a fool, perchance he’ll overhear And lock us up another hundred year.

_Oberon._ Go, then, my gentle Puck, and see Who sleepeth there on yonder lea.

_Puck._ I vow, a truant boy from school, And therefore not at all a fool.

_Oberon._ Be careful, friend, and do not err: He may be a philosopher.

_Puck._ O, scarcely such a thing abhorrèd: I see indeed he has a forehead.

_Oberon._ Perchance he is—’tis my suspicion— A prophet or a politician.

_Puck._ I gather neither: for he’s young, And has not yet full-grown his tongue.

_Oberon._ A boy at midnight not abed, Is either fairy-fain or dead.

_Puck._ I take the former—for he sleeps. Three pennies in a pouch he keeps, A mouse, a beetle in a box, A candle, and some bits of rocks. What’s here? A diamond? No, alas, Only a piece—of pure glass! My lord, I vow by this I know it, Here’s not a fool, but but a poet.

_Oberon._ So then we’re safe. Let him sleep on, And ride from Troy to Helicon.

_Titania._ Once more we breathe the summer-sweeten’d air. Night, and the still stars, and the world are fair.

_Oberon._ Immortal; and the grumbling clouds descend, Mingle with mists upon the verge, and end.

_Titania._ Now wearied Winter, with her aged eyes, Sunk on a drift of last year’s dead leaves, dies;

_Oberon._ Earth opens, and green-spangling Spring leaps forth, Laughing his warm breath to the unfrozen north.

_Titania._ Now even the airs of night are hot with balm, That buds be heard uncurling through the calm;

_Oberon._ And o’er black banks of bryony and brier White planets blaze like beacons guttering fire.

_Titania._ Now mystic, warm, the rich-enrobèd Moon Foots forth the eastern meads on silvery shoon.

_Oberon._ The rushes in the stream she rings aglance, Like Indian maids, with anklets for the dance.

_Titania._ And the new-budded trees, like laughing girls, Step forth from night, attirèd in her pearls.

_The_ MOON

Come all creatures of delight, Beauty’s brightest in the night. I am Beauty, and I bear Emeralds in my amber hair, And a crystal gemmary To adorn earth, air, and sea. I am watching Wisdom too, For, while others dream, I do; Light the world to let men know Where’s the way for them to go. I am Love, for I behold All things ever and of old; Stars with eager eyes, new-born; Blind ones wandering forlorn; Watch the evening, watch the morn, Without envy, without scorn. New things may be bright or dull; Only old things, beautiful; Ever changing, aye the same, Still I bear my orbèd flame— Embers of thick fire won From the planet-scarfèd Sun. They that utter brightness burn; Happier we who bear the urn; So, content, I follow him, Happier, lovelier, though more dim.

SAPHENIX

See now how the Fairies rise From all parts of earth and skies, Like a throng of fire-flies; Boasting Elves of full thumb-size; Stately Sprites with minuets Frightening field-mice into fits; Nadir-Gnomes who mushrooms bear To screen off the starlight-flare; Lissome light-bathed Ariel Kissing modest Pimpernel; Puck, the mischief-monster too, Putting stones in Phœbe’s shoe; Kings of Rats and Mice are here; Kings of Insectdom appear; Emperor Moth the air doth skim, Blundering Beetle following him; Gulping Frogs and long-ear’d Crickets Croak and chirp in grass and thickets: While beneath the nether world Sol’s asleep with large wings furl’d— Oft his glowing form supine Having bathed in star-dew wine.

_Rout of_ FAIRIES _Dancing_

Our mistress is the Moon; The glow-worm gives our firing; About, about, with song and shout We dance all night untiring.

The cricket keeps the treble; The midge he blows the horn; The beetle drums his droning base; The frog croaks all forlorn.

The frog forlorn’s a lover— He loves the changing Star; We kick his kibes and dig his sides, But still he loves the star.

Tulik, tuluk! in measure We stamp the sliding air, And when we’re hot we drink the dew The cuppèd grasses bear.

And when we’re plagued with dancing, We clap for mischief all: We put the beetle on his back And laugh to see him sprawl;

We catch the dullard mothling, And lay him clods among; And if he sham a silly death, Roll out his curling tongue;

We draw the pricking spear-grass Across the drunkard’s nose; We cuff the dangle daffodil And kick the rueful rose;

We make the peevish night-gnat Pipe on his thin bassoon; We catch the hairy flitter-mouse And fly on’s back to th’ moon.

Our queen is dress’d in spangles, Our king with a butterfly’s wing; We are the boldest fairy-folk That ever danced in ring.

_The_ RILL

From the grass, hear me; Pause nor pass, but hear me; I’m the rill that turns the mill With a will under the hill, Tinkling all the day and all the night.

But no one regards me, Many a one retards me; Flowers bend towards me; But no one rewards me, Though I labour all the day and night, Working still with a will, Turning the mill under the hill, Tinkling all the——

_Puck._ Pray be still; You sing ill; we’ve had our fill, And brook no singers here who’re out of sight.

PUCK _and an_ ELF

_Elf._ I am the strong Gogogginbras.

_Puck._ What midget ronyon this? Whence come, Thou pippin pip?

_Elf._ From hanging gnats By th’ neck, I come, fat wurzel king.

_Puck._ What, cobbold, crack your fleas i’ my face! Speak, or you troll the trenchers round, And supperless serve where you would sit.

_Elf._ Why then, in thick and throaty words I’ll tell my tale, so rot the heav’ns.

_Puck._ So rot you too, you atom ouphe.

_Elf._ Deep in a forest of fell grass A black and felon ant I found——

_Puck._ Fit foe for you.

_Elf._ With cunning base, He gript me by the breeks behind. I, not in quick distraction lost, Made seizure of his armour’d throat With the left gauntlet; with the right, Feeling to where mine urgent blade, Yclept by fame Yglaramene, Slapt at my sinewy thigh, I drew it, And flasht it in the pensive Moon. Record me now what then befell! The sickening stars waxt pale with fear; The moon, tost in a sea of clouds, Was nauseate; and the giant hills Lookt and shock-headed grew with fright; Eyed meteors stood in air dissolving, And blankly stared themselves to nought; The horrent trees, pencil’d with fire, Agued, shook down their dewy wealth; The bat and screech-owl whirring clasht In mid-air; exhalations thin, In which the mad fires dance at night, Wasted; from stream and shimmering pool, The fatling water-babies peept; The wavering mazes that on lakes Fairies do keep, the swinking toil Of trolls within the ribbèd earth, Were ceased when my mad falchion blazed; That, like the picking lightning, then Smote the black dragon in his den.

_Puck._’Twas brave!—Now on yon peering puffball Kneel and with daisy stalk I’ll dubb you. Rise up, Sir Goggamene.

_Saphenix._ See now! Like lofty-clustering cloudlets bright and boon, Good fairies climb to court th’ enthronèd Moon; But in the argent dark of shadowèd earth, What evil elves emerge to moil our mirth.

_The_ FEN-FIRES

_Jack-o’-Lantern._ Good-night t’ye, brother. What’s afoot? How many dudheads have ye got?

_Will-o’-the-Wisp._ A many million is my quot.

_Jack._ What is your fire?

_Will._ I brew it hot From politicians’ reek and rot, Who call me Fairy Lot-for-Lot. And I bear it in my chafing-dish That all may have whate’er they wish. If mortal wants what he has not, He chases others who have got; And so indeed I drown the lot, Like gasping gudgeons in a pot.

_Jack._ For me, I bear a nobler flame, That crowns me King in Heaven’s name. Whene’er I call, each patriot Follows me forth to die and rot; And mortals call me Shot-for-Shot. Ho, ho!

_Will._ So, so! Let’s join the dance.

_The Dance of the_ FEN-FIRES

Round about and in and out The rushes dark and damp—O! We dwindle and bloat; on mischief we gloat; We frisk and frolic and flicker and float, With our shimmering, glimmering lamp—O! Ho, ho! Whence do we come? From fœtid marsh and miry slum. Our mischief whom deceives? Boors and their belly’d beeves: These it deceives. They die by the dying Moon, Behind the moaning sallows; The weak winds creak and croon Above them in the shallows; But we care not a jot for the floundering lot! Ho, ho! But in and out and round about Amid the rushy damps—O! We glisten and glance and prattle and prance, And over their bodies join hands and dance, From the centre retire and again advance, Like all the dull stars gone mad in a trance, With our bickering, flickering lamps—O! Ho, ho! But we hate the halloing wind. He hustles us and bustles us— We hate the harrying wind.

_Song of the_ SOUTH WIND

I am the Madcap Breeze That wakes the Summer Seas From sullen slumber into froth and ripple; And I bring the bumper showers For the banquets of the Flowers, And laugh to see them bib the brimming tipple.

I pipe my merry staves Unto the surly Waves, And whistle as I walk the green sea-furrows; And I rough his feathery jowl To mock the moody Owl, And moan to fright the Coney in his burrows.

I fill the Mariner’s sails With quick but gentle gales Until the water wakes around his rudder; And I tell my rattling jokes, To the hearty old gay Oaks, And make the delicate lady Aspens shudder.

Though they may pout and frown, I laugh their chiding down, And kiss the coy Sea-Maidens in their caverns; But I pull the Mermen’s hair Until they swap and swear And swill their rage off in the deep sea-taverns.

In ivied casements I Make pattering minstrelsy, And I rock the puffed Mavis in his dreaming. I ruffle the dozing trees, And by their long locks seize The felon mists from cakèd quagmires streaming.

When down sinks the Sun, In a blue Cloud I run, To cool the bubbling cauldron of his setting; And I send a pearly haze To brighten the Starry Blaze, And veil the beauteous Moon in a silver netting;

Then earthward, downward, down, I seek some tower’d town To bear the barter of Love’s sighs and praises; But when Fen-Fires I descry, I blow their flames awry, And hustle them o’er the moors and marshy mazes.

PYNTHANIX _and_ SAPHENIX

_Pynthanix._ So then the evil creatures fly!— But tell me, gentle sister, why?

_Saphenix._ For Evil hath but a single eye, And cannot see but only spy; If others with two eyes come near, Away he scuttles full of fear.

_Pynthanix._ I thank you for advice to hand, Which even I half understand. But tell me now who sleeps below In silver star-beams dreaming so?

_Saphenix._ Who has no cash can always owe it; And who no wit, become a poet.

_Pynthanix._ But why do the gnat-wing’d fairies peer About him, whispering in his ear, Or lightly dancing round him weave Their revels?

_Saphenix._ For he can achieve Perfections others scarce conceive.

_Pynthanix._ And why do glow-worms so surround him, Like stars of blue fire that have found him?

_Saphenix._ For so within a single spark He gathers the glory of the dark. But now the Great Change cometh—hark!

_Pynthanix._ What Spirit this that cleaves the air With lightning eyes and streaming hair!

_The_ SPIRIT

Wake! Ye Sleepers, awake! Hear ye not the far symphonic swell Of the Starry Choirs?

_Saphenix._ Hark, listen, hush!—the distant swell Of the Starry Choirs, Whose flickering fires Do candle the abyss to deepest hell, The while to Heaven Their incense-fumes are given!

_The_ STARS

Ev’n as we from highest heaven, All things witness and be wise; Great is he who much hath striven; Joy and Toil together rise; Heroes, gods, and visions golden Throng before the earnest eyes; Stars may be by thought beholden E’en through common daylight skies.

_Saphenix._ And hark now, ere the dim dawn breaks Each drowsy flower a moment wakes And sings her tiny strain; Then sinketh into sleep again.

_The_ FLOWERS

Still, O still, O still and ever Fill with joy and drink the wine. All may pall, but beauty never; When love dies life doth decline. Let us bend like guardians o’er thee, With our full lips kissing thine; Thought alone is worthless for thee; Buds about thy heart entwine.

_Pynthanix._ See, see, the Spirit that clove the air With lightning eyes and stormy hair, His mission done and soaring far, Hath now become the Morning Star!

_Saphenix._ The clouds grow clear in the east, and high The pearl of dawn o’erspreads the sky.

_The_ LARK

Wake! Wake! I spy from my eyrie up here in the sky That Night the old Beldam is turning to fly— Wake! Wake! With her crutch and her cloak and her movable eye. Wake! Wake! Her raiment of darkness is tatter’d and torn: She weeps as she creeps away, old and forlorn; The Gods in their chariots o’er whelm her with scorn; And the Stars on their cloud-thrones are praising the Morn.

_The_ COCK

Wake! Wake! That impudent plagiarist always must try To imitate me, like a cock of the sky. All night for your safety my vigil I’ve kept, While you, my dear spouses, so quietly slept—

_The_ HENS

What kindness, what sacrifice, wonderful bird!

_The_ COCK

All night for your safety my slumber I scorn; Now when I would utter my ode to the morn He mimics my melody with his fog-horn. Wake! Wake! I spy from my eyrie up here on this heap That I am myself and the world is asleep.

_The_ ASS

The style of these birds is too fine for to-day; I see I must waken the world with my bray.

_The_ PIGS

All night we have starved—not a crust, not a crum And lain awake thinking of breakfast to come; If we grunt all together, perhaps we’ll get some.

_The_ HUNTER

I spring from my bed like one from the dead, I leap from my lair like the fawn; The still stars are flashing their fires overhead, And lo the white light of the dawn.

I rise from my dreams to plunge in the streams; I run in the rainbows of dew; I bathe in the wind and the warm sunbeams, And drink of the light of the blue.

I am strong, I am wise; there is fire in my eyes; My thews are of marble and blood; I am that that I am, whate’er may arise; I am Might, I am Man, I am God.

_The_ PHILOSOPHER

Still weary, I wake to watch the dawn break, Victorious o’er all unawares; For wisdom is born ’twixt the night and the morn On the lips of the passionate stars, As they faint at the gray pale face of day Peering through cloudy bars.

With my hands so old I gather the gold Of the flowers around me spread; For every one is sprouted and spun From the bones of a wise man dead; And I plant them again with wisdom and pain, Until they be perfected.

I am weak, I am old, but I gather the gold From the sifted sands of the sod, To crown man a king over everything On a pinnacle yet untrod; And when I have done then Heaven is won: I am Mind, I am Man, I am God.

(_The Sun rises with a thunder-clap of light._)

_The_ SUN

From the throng’d and thick world under, I arise with step of thunder. Through the mantle of my fire, Through my flaming locks of hair, Glows the form that all desire, But more bright than they can bear; For although I make men see, None can dare to gaze on me. Whether I rise in fire or blood, Mortals hail me lord or god. Then, before my battling knees, Bubbling boil the surging seas, And the clouds are writhing brent By my fiery chastisement. With my right hand held on high, I let Life, the Angel, fly; With my left, I grip and quell Death, the Old Man, drag’d from hell. But ye men, who bow so low At my gorgeous orient, know That for ever in chains I go. I am lord for I am slave; Conqueror because I save; Master for I must obey; God because I burn away. Though my lordly planets pace, Peers before my sovran face, In them every grain of sand Governs me with like command. So within my empery, Only he who serves is free And shall win the victory. _The Boy awakes_

* * * * *

PHILOSOPHIES

By SIR RONALD ROSS

_Third Impression._ 2s. _net._

“It is fitting that in this, our great journal, there should be recognition of another to whom must be given the double laurel of science and poetry.”—=Dr. S. Weir Mitchell=, in _Journal of the American Medical Association_.

“Sir Ronald Ross’s little book, ‘Philosophies,’ has never received much attention in the press, but it contains some of the best of contemporary verse.”—=Solomon Eagle=, in _The New Statesman_.

“To the man of science, no song of triumph could be nobler. . . . The poet of science has here given us one of the rarest gifts in literature.”—_The Nation._

“Yes, the thunder and the fire have filled his lips with flame, and his little book is an event in the development of English Poetry.”—=Sir Edward Russell=, in _The Liverpool Daily Post_.

“First and last the work of a poet. . . . Cannot for a moment be considered as a bye-product of a mind engaged with science. . . . The quality of the poetry will be already evident from the few quotations given; its austere distinction, its freedom from mere ornament, its closeness to the large imagination beneath it. . . . Professor Ross can shape his morality into great and statuesque imagination. . . . Readers must be left to find out for themselves the grave thought, concise yet dignified phrasing and tremendous tropical imagery of ‘In Exile.’”—MR. LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE, in _The Liverpool Courier_.