SCENE IV.

LESZEK, THE PEOPLE, FISHERMAN, _afterwards_ THE BARD.

A FISHERMAN (_coming in hastily_).

A glorious star hath fallen from the heaven, That heaven our fatherland, the star our queen. Yes, ours that _was_. Alas! our queen no more, Save in her people’s hearts; the deed was done Ere I could rescue, and the waters chill Round Wanda’s lovely form embraced a corpse; With reverence from that dreary winding-sheet I raised it as a sad but sacred charge, Yielding it over to her stricken train. Oh mourn for Poland! for her light is quench’d.

LESZEK (_to the_ BARD, _who just appears_).

Minstrel, yon fisherman brings evil tidings.

BARD.

Whose grievous import, scarce one hour ago, One fleeting hour, from Wanda’s lips I heard.

THE PEOPLE (_impatiently_).

How did you meet with her--where, minstrel, say? Why did you not prevent the dreadful deed?

BARD.

Throng me not thus with questions, countrymen; List’ners hear more than eager questioners, When hearts for mutual satisfaction seek, The ear must leave the mouth its share of time; Not in thought only, but in speech and life, Yield his own way to each; the poet’s soul Lives ever in another world, although In outward presence he may dwell with you, Give him free scope, his words will bring you calmness. While you choose kings, the bard admires a flower, And while from pressure of the busy brain Your full heads ache, his soul responsive thrills To graceful aspens, trembling, zephyr-kiss’d, And in the depths of downy dreams soft nestling Sinks, lost in luxury of reverie. My dearest hours glide by in yonder wood, The moon’s pale face down-gazing, and the wind With the dark fir trees wrestling as it shouts Its war cry through the shadows: yestere’en, When all glad mortals were in slumber wrapt, That wild song deepen’d to a dreary howl; The storm, approaching, drove me from the wood; The lofty tomb of Krakus I ascended, To pray with Manes of the great and good; The kneeling form of Wanda startled me. “Minstrel,” she said, “I pray’d th’ immortal gods To bring thee hither; in the forest depths I would not seek thee, for it is decreed, That whilst I linger here one way alone Is open for me, from this verdant mound To where the Vistula’s dark waters flow, To yield me burial; not in vain my prayer: The sudden tempest, driving thee away From thy beloved retreat, affords me proof That Poswist, ruler of the viewless winds, Hath heard my prayer, and that the powers above Approve my dread resolve;--my choice shall be Of Poland’s fate the final arbiter; So runs my father’s will, and while I live, Thus swears the people--mine shall be the throne; Well! I _have_ chosen, and my choice is death. This very morn my good and loyal people May crown a worthier king, nor break their faith. I promised to their prayer a swift reply, My lifeless corse, borne on the Vistula, Shall give an answer, dumbly eloquent. Thou, trusty friend, canst read my inner soul, And make my motives to the people clear, Bid them from me a warm and last farewell.” Thus Wanda! Whosoe’er from his own heart Hath learnt to read the hearts of other men, Knows that heroic fire, by words persuasive, Can be nor quench’d, nor kindled; I avow, In silence I had listen’d and fulfill’d The charge entrusted, with a dumb obedience, Save that, long since, imperious opinion Hath learnt to moderate her haughty voice On much once held indubitably clear, And thus a god-sent caution gave me pause; My tongue was loosen’d: “Wanda, hear,” I said, “The voice of conscience oft hath whisper’d me That all below have their alloted posts, Nor from these stations guiltless can withdraw, Till death, the messenger of Heaven, shall come. The soldier, hasting from the battle-field Without his general’s express command, The shameful stigma of deserter bears. Life is the _loan_, but not the _gift_, of gods; To them we owe its interest; but who, Save they, shall dare resume it? Oh, my queen! If rashly given back, all unrequired, The gods, perchance, may grant no other boon.”

[WANDA’S _Maidens are seen in the background, carrying her corpse towards Cracow_.

THE PEOPLE.

Haste! let us yonder sad procession join, And to our queen, for the last time, give escort; Make way! and let us go!

LESZEK (_in a tone of reproof_).

Stay! yon cold form is but our Wanda’s body,-- Her spirit lingers in the poet’s words: Curb your hot haste, and to the nobler part Give audience; afterward the dear remains Claim fitting care; forgive the slight delay, Kind minstrel, and resume the broken thread.

BARD.

Wanda was silent, but her earnest face Upon my words intent, some courage kindled: “In hours of inspiration I can see,” Thus I continued, “gleams of far-off light, That, when its perfect splendour is attained, Shall fill the world with sunbeams; by its blaze Our boasted present shall be greyest twilight, And theories which have won our praise shall be From truth’s fair circle banish’d, as delusions. Prove thyself, Wanda, well, lest lack of courage, Or weariness of life, with fair disguise, Deceive thy mental vision, and assume The form of patriotic sacrifice.” “In light, in darkness, truth is still the same; Should Poland in the future give her verdict, That Wanda, in her self devotion, err’d, Example’s voice shall not have vainly sounded. Obedience to a father’s last commands, Fulfilment of the people’s solemn oath, Zeal for my country’s welfare, all conspire To claim the sacrifice; I yield it freely. Kind minstrel, cease thine efforts to dissuade, Give me a father’s blessing, and farewell!” I bless’d her, turn’d and hasted from the spot, Pondering the message she had bade me bear. The brief remainder of the mournful story Yon fisher told, and all too well ye know it. My countrymen! it is in vain to murmur,-- One day we all shall see that nought befalls, Without the will of the immortal gods.