SCENE III.--_The Glen of Ferns. Midday.

_Enter_ IDEAL.

IDEAL.

See how great Nature lavishes in this Hard wrinkle in the globe a subtle and Refining power, as if it were the open Volume of the earth with fern-clad cliffs For lettered pages. Here the glad sun comes In his most favoring hour, with impress of A God, in splendor sparkling down the glen. Ye ferns that spring along these cliffs with light And airy grace, see but my Violet, And ye shall take a new and tender charm. Yon rainbow, in the sportive mist above The cascade glowing, well a brighter bow Might grow when it doth catch the arch words of Bright Violet. Ye berries crimsoning On yonder bushes, were ye roseate As are the ripe red lips of Violet, Wise men a holiday would take, and go A-berrying. E’en weeds along the cliff Were like some pretty fault in Violet,-- Sweet contrast growing but for beauty’s foil. Be free and happy, all created things; Ye singing birds, your melodies attune; And ye, blithe squirrels--Peeping Toms of trees-- From out your leafy coverts peep, and I’ll Not jealous be.

_Enter_ VIOLET, _at top of rustic stairway_.

Ay, there she comes, fair Violet!

VIOLET.

Heigh-ho! Why art thou down so low?

IDEAL.

That I may upward gaze at thee. For as One in the deep bottom of a well, above May see a star at midday, so do I See thee from the deep bottom of this glen.

VIOLET.

With fancy thou dost blithely scale this stair, As doth some heavenly singer; yet thou seest Thou art still at the bottom of the glen.

IDEAL.

Let us be like two notes in music blent; Thou high, I low; yet both in sweet accord.

VIOLET.

Truly, thou art my Ideal. But, alack! I’ve called thee by thy name.

IDEAL.

Give thou it me, and I will bear no other.

VIOLET.

Thou hadst it long ago.

IDEAL.

To be thy Ideal more real were Than to achieve all other reals.

VIOLET [_archly_].

Alas! the hard vicissitudes of life!

IDEAL.

Why, how now, Violet? I’ll bear them all.

VIOLET.

All hard vicissitudes?

IDEAL.

All.

VIOLET.

I have an uncle.

IDEAL.

If he’s a hard vicissitude, I’ll bear him too.

VIOLET.

I’ll go tell my uncle. [_Going._]

IDEAL.

Nay, hold. Within thy words, as in the cinctured Filaments of lace thou wear’st, I see the fine Transparent tracery of gossamer Designs. In such a web I’d fain be caught.

VIOLET.

And I’d fain catch thee.

IDEAL.

Come, let us walk within this pleasant glen; And if we weary,--on a mossy bank, In the cool shade of interlacing leaves,-- We’ll watch the gentle coquetry between A burning sunbeam and a shaded fern. There’s not a fern-leaf, berry, blade of grass, Nor flower, but I’ll gather it for thee. If at thy feet it grow, then I’ll kneel there; If higher, in a crevice of the cliff, Together we will reach for it, and in The touching of our finger-tips it shall Part company with earth in ecstasy. And if, above, thou dost but gladly view That most sky-kissing flower, the heavenly bluebell, Which with transparent hue embellishes The summit of the cliff, why, I’ll climb there.

VIOLET.

And leave me in the lone recesses of the glen?

IDEAL.

If thou didst not detain me with thine eyes; For if, in climbing upward, I looked back, I’d see the sky and bluebell in thine eyes, And so return to thee. Come, Violet, come.

VIOLET.

Ah, me! See what a deep, deep stair it is. [_Aside_] Aloof the bluebell, lovers joy to see. [_Aloud_] I’ll not descend.

IDEAL.

Then I’ll invoke The spirit of this lovely glen, that dwells In yonder rock, to aid in my petition.

[_Turns and calls to rock on further side of glen._

Come, Violet!

[_An echo is heard repeating_ VIOLET.

VIOLET.

I think I hear my uncle calling; I must go. Adieu!

IDEAL.

Think not so. I but now called Violet, And what thou heard’st was the far echo of Thy name, that’s borne by yonder rock from out This cheering vale to listening hills beyond. It is a wanton, merry rock that doth Delight to sweetly hold discourse in doubling Of thy name. But as it hath no beard Upon its face, except a fringe of ferns, I’ll not be jealous. For such gentle service, Violet, give not the rock the hardness Of thy uncle’s heart; but stay.

VIOLET.

Between thee and the rock, I almost am persuaded.

IDEAL.

Sweet Violet, do not go,--be persuaded Altogether; for although this is A sheltered glen, with pleasant sunshine tempered, Yet from thy coldness I would perish as A homeless midnight traveller, embedded ’Mid bewildering snowbanks.

VIOLET.

Say not so; for if thou, my dear Ideal, On such a cruel, frosty bank lay dying, And I were Violet beneath the snow, As violets do often grow, I’d call On all the powers in stars above and in The earth below to move the frosty barrier. I’ll come to thee.

[_The scene closes while_ VIOLET _descends the stair, and_ IDEAL _advances to meet her_.

Act the Fifth.