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SCENE XXIV.--The country-churchyard. JULIAN standing by
LILY'S
new-filled grave. He looks very worn and ill.
Julian.
Now I can leave thee safely to thy sleep;
Thou wilt not wake and miss me, my fair child!
Nor will they, for she's fair, steal this ewe-lamb
Out of this fold, while I am gone to seek
And find the wandering mother of my lamb.
I cannot weep; I know thee with me still.
Thou dost not find it very dark down there?
Would I could go to thee; I long to go;
My limbs are tired; my eyes are sleepy too;
And fain my heart would cease this beat, beat, beat.
O gladly would I come to thee, my child,
And lay my head upon thy little heart,
And sleep in the divine munificence
Of thy great love! But my night has not come;
She is not rescued yet. Good-bye, little one.
[He turns, but sinks on the grave. Recovering and rising.]
Now for the world--that's Italy, and her!
SCENE XXV.--The empty room, formerly Lilia's.
Enter JULIAN.
Julian.
How am I here? Alas! I do not know.
I should have been at sea.--Ah, now I know!
I have come here to die.
[Lies down on the floor.]
I cannot find her. She is here, I know.
But oh these endless passages and stairs,
And dreadful shafts of darkness! Lilia!
Lilia! wait for me, child; I'm coming fast,
But something holds me. Let me go, devil!
My Lilia, have faith; they cannot hurt you.
You are God's child--they dare not touch you, wife.
O pardon me, my beautiful, my own!
[Sings.]
Wind, wind, thou blowest many a drifting thing
From sheltering cove, down to the unsheltered sea;
Thou blowest to the sea ray blue sail's wing--
Us to a new, love-lit futurity:
Out to the ocean fleet and float--
Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.
[While he sings, enter LORD SEAFORD, pale and haggard.]
JULIAN descries him suddenly.
What are you, man? O brother, bury me--
There's money in my pocket--
[Emptying the Jew's gold on the floor.]
[Staring at him.]
Oh! you are Death. Go, saddle the pale horse--
I will not walk--I'll ride. What, skeleton!
I cannot sit him! ha! ha! Hither, brute!
Here, Lilia, do the lady's task, my child,
And buckle on my spurs. I'll send him up
With a gleam through the blue, snorting white foam-flakes.
Ah me! I have not won my golden spurs,
Nor is there any maid to bind them on:
I will not ride the horse, I'll walk with thee.
Come, Death, give me thine arm, good slave!--we'll go.
Lord Seaford (stooping over him).
I am Seaford, Count.
Julian.
Seaford! What Seaford?
[Recollecting.]
--Seaford!
[Springing to his feet.]
Where is my wife?
[He falls into SEAFORD'S arms. He lays him down.]
Lord S.
Had I seen him, she had been safe for me.
[Goes.]
[JULIAN lies motionless. Insensibility passes into sleep. He
wakes calm, in the sultry dusk of a summer evening.]
Julian.
Still, still alive! I thought that I was dead.
I had a frightful dream. 'Tis gone, thank God!
[He is quiet a little.]
So then thou didst not take the child away
That I might find my wife! Thy will be done.
Thou wilt not let me go. This last desire
I send away with grief, but willingly.
I have prayed to thee, and thou hast heard my prayer:
Take thou thine own way, only lead her home.
Cleanse her, O Lord. I cannot know thy might;
But thou art mighty, with a power unlike
All, all that we know by the name of power,
Transcending it as intellect transcends
'The stone upon the ground--it may be more,
For these are both created--thou creator,
Lonely, supreme.
My spirit's journey through this strange sad world;
This part is done, whatever cometh next.
Morning and evening have made out their day;
My sun is going down in stormy dark,
But I will face it fearless.
The first act Is over of the drama.--Is it so?
What means this dim dawn of half-memories?
There's something I knew once and know not now!--
A something different from all this earth!
It matters little; I care not--only know
That God will keep the living thing he made.
How mighty must he be to have the right
Of swaying this great power I feel I am--
Moulding and forming it, as pleaseth him!
O God, I come to thee! thou art my life;
O God, thou art my home; I come to thee.
Can this be death? Lo! I am lifted up
Large-eyed into the night. Nothing I see
But that which is, the living awful Truth--
All forms of which are but the sparks flung out
From the luminous ocean clothing round the sun,
Himself all dark. Ah, I remember me:
Christ said to Martha--"Whosoever liveth,
And doth believe in me, shall never die"!
I wait, I wait, wait wondering, till the door
Of God's wide theatre be open flung
To let me in. What marvels I shall see!
The expectation fills me, like new life
Dancing through all my veins.
For all that thou hast made me--most of all,
That thou didst make me wonder and seek thee.
I thank thee for my wife: to thee I trust her;
Forget her not, my God. If thou save her,
I shall be able then to thank thee so
As will content thee--with full-flowing song,
The very bubbles on whose dancing waves
Are daring thoughts flung faithful at thy feet.
My heart sinks in me.--I grow faint. Oh! whence
This wind of love that fans me out of life?
One stoops to kiss me!--Ah, my lily child!
God hath not flung thee over his garden-wall.
[Re-enter LORD SEAFORD with the doctor. JULIAN takes no
heed of them. The doctor shakes his head.]
My little child, I'll never leave thee more;
We are both children now in God's big house.
Come, lead me; you are older here than I
By three whole days, my darling angel-child!
[A letter is brought in. LORD SEAFORD holds it before
JULIAN'S eyes. He looks vaguely at it.]
Lord S.
It is a letter from your wife, I think.
Julian (feebly).
A letter from my Lilia! Bury it with me--
I'll read it in my chamber, by and by:
Dear words should not be read with others nigh.
Lilia, my wife! I am going home to God.
Lord S. (pending over him).
Your wife is innocent. I know she is.
JULIAN gazes at him blankly. A light begins to grow in his
eyes. It grows till his face is transfigured. It vanishes.
He dies.
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