The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 - George MacDonald (digital book reader TXT) 📗
- Author: George MacDonald
Book online «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 - George MacDonald (digital book reader TXT) 📗». Author George MacDonald
/> Bless her white face, she looks just like my daughter,
That's now a saint in heaven! Just those thin cheeks,
And eyelids hardly closed over her eyes!-
Dream on, poor darling! you are drinking life
From the breast of sleep. And yet I fain would see
Your shutters open, for I then should know
Whether the soul had drawn her curtains back,
To peep at morning from her own bright windows.
Ah! what a joy is ready, waiting her,
To break her fast upon, if her wild dreams
Have but betrayed her secrets honestly!
Will he not give thee love as dear as thine!
SCENE XI.- A hilly road . STEPHEN, trudging alone, pauses to look around him .
Stephen .
Not a footprint! not a trace that a blood-hound
would nose at! But Stephen shall be acknowledged
good dog and true. If I had him within stick-length-mind
thy head, brother Julian! Thou hast not
hair enough to protect it, and thy tonsure shall not.
Neither shalt thou tarry at Jericho.-It is a poor man
that leaves no trail; and if thou wert poor, I would not
follow thee.
[ Sings .]
Oh, many a hound is stretching out
His two legs or his four,
And the saddled horses stand about
The court and the castle door,
Till out come the baron, jolly and stout,
To hunt the bristly boar!
The emperor, he doth keep a pack
In his antechambers standing,
And up and down the stairs, good lack!
And eke upon the landing:
A straining leash, and a quivering back,
And nostrils and chest expanding!
The devil a hunter long hath been,
Though Doctor Luther said it:
Of his canon-pack he was the dean,
And merrily he led it:
The old one kept them swift and lean
On faith-that's devil's credit!
Each man is a hunter to his trade,
And they follow one another;
But such a hunter never was made
As the monk that hunted his brother!
And the runaway pig, ere its game be played,
Shall be eaten by its mother!
Better hunt a flea in a woolly blanket, than a leg-bail
monk in this wilderness of mountains, forests, and
precipices! But the flea may be caught, and so shall
the monk. I have said it. He is well spotted, with
his silver crown and his uncropped ears. The rascally
heretic! But his vows shall keep him, though he won't
keep his vows. The whining, blubbering idiot! Gave
his plaything, and wants it back!-I wonder whereabouts
I am.
SCENE XII.- The Nurse's room . LILIA sitting up in bed . JULIAN
seated by her; an open note in his hand .
Lilia .
Tear it up, Julian.
Julian .
No; I'll treasure it
As the remembrance of a by-gone grief:
I love it well, because it is not yours.
Lilia .
Where have you been these long, long years away?
You look much older. You have suffered, Julian!
Julian .
Since that day, Lilia, I have seen much, thought much,
Suffered a little. When you are quite yourself,
I'll tell you all you want to know about me.
Lilia .
Do tell me something now. I feel quite strong;
It will not hurt me.
Julian .
Wait a day or two.
Indeed 'twould weary you to tell you all.
Lilia .
And I have much to tell you, Julian. I
Have suffered too-not all for my own sake.
[ Recalling something .]
Oh, what a dream I had! Oh, Julian!-
I don't know when it was. It must have been
Before you brought me here! I am sure it was.
Julian .
Don't speak about it. Tell me afterwards.
You must keep quiet now. Indeed you must.
Lilia .
I will obey you, will not speak a word.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse .
Blessings upon her! she's near well already.
Who would have thought, three days ago, to see
You look so bright! My lord, you have done wonders.
Julian .
My art has helped a little, I thank God.-
To please me, Lilia, go to sleep a while.
[JULIAN goes .]
Lilia .
Why does he always wear that curious cap?
Nurse .
I don't know. You must sleep.
Lilia .
Yes. I forgot.
SCENE XIII.- The Steward's room . JULIAN and the Steward. Papers on the table, which JULIAN has just finished examining .
Julian .
Thank you much, Joseph; you have done well for me.
You sent that note privately to my friend?
Steward .
I did, my lord; and have conveyed the money,
Putting all things in train for his release,
Without appearing in it personally,
Or giving any clue to other hands.
He sent this message by my messenger:
His hearty thanks, and God will bless you for it.
He will be secret. For his daughter, she
Is safe with you as with himself; and so
God bless you both! He will expect to hear
From both of you from England.
Julian .
Well, again.
What money is remaining in your hands?
Steward .
Two bags, three hundred each; that's all.
I fear To wake suspicion, if I call in more.
Julian .
One thing, and I have done: lest a mischance
Befall us, though I do not fear it much-
have been very secret-is that boat
I had before I left, in sailing trim?
Steward .
I knew it was a favorite with my lord;
I've taken care of it. A month ago,
With my own hands I painted it all fresh,
Fitting new oars and rowlocks. The old sail
I'll have replaced immediately; and then
'Twill be as good as new.
Julian .
That's excellent.
Well, launch it in the evening. Make it fast
To the stone steps behind my garden study.
Stow in the lockers some sea-stores, and put
The money in the old desk in the study.
Steward .
I will, my lord. It will be safe enough.
SCENE XIV.- A road near the town . A Waggoner. STEPHEN, in lay dress, coming up to him .
Stephen .
Whose castle's that upon the hill, good fellow?
Waggoner .
Its present owner's of the Uglii;
They call him Lorenzino.
Stephen .
Whose is that
Down in the valley?
Waggoner .
That is Count Lamballa's.
Stephen .
What is his Christian name?
Waggoner .
Omfredo. No,
That was his father's; his is Julian.
Stephen .
Is he at home?
Waggoner .
No, not for many a day.
His steward, honest man, I know is doubtful
Whether he be alive; and yet his land
Is better farmed than any in the country.
Stephen .
He is not married, then?
Waggoner .
No. There's a gossip
Amongst the women-but who would heed their talk!-
That love half-crazed, then drove him out of doors,
To wander here and there, like a bad ghost,
Because a silly wench refused him:-fudge!
Stephen .
Most probably. I quite agree with you.
Where do you stop?
Waggoner .
At the first inn we come to;
You'll see it from the bottom of the hill.
There
That's now a saint in heaven! Just those thin cheeks,
And eyelids hardly closed over her eyes!-
Dream on, poor darling! you are drinking life
From the breast of sleep. And yet I fain would see
Your shutters open, for I then should know
Whether the soul had drawn her curtains back,
To peep at morning from her own bright windows.
Ah! what a joy is ready, waiting her,
To break her fast upon, if her wild dreams
Have but betrayed her secrets honestly!
Will he not give thee love as dear as thine!
SCENE XI.- A hilly road . STEPHEN, trudging alone, pauses to look around him .
Stephen .
Not a footprint! not a trace that a blood-hound
would nose at! But Stephen shall be acknowledged
good dog and true. If I had him within stick-length-mind
thy head, brother Julian! Thou hast not
hair enough to protect it, and thy tonsure shall not.
Neither shalt thou tarry at Jericho.-It is a poor man
that leaves no trail; and if thou wert poor, I would not
follow thee.
[ Sings .]
Oh, many a hound is stretching out
His two legs or his four,
And the saddled horses stand about
The court and the castle door,
Till out come the baron, jolly and stout,
To hunt the bristly boar!
The emperor, he doth keep a pack
In his antechambers standing,
And up and down the stairs, good lack!
And eke upon the landing:
A straining leash, and a quivering back,
And nostrils and chest expanding!
The devil a hunter long hath been,
Though Doctor Luther said it:
Of his canon-pack he was the dean,
And merrily he led it:
The old one kept them swift and lean
On faith-that's devil's credit!
Each man is a hunter to his trade,
And they follow one another;
But such a hunter never was made
As the monk that hunted his brother!
And the runaway pig, ere its game be played,
Shall be eaten by its mother!
Better hunt a flea in a woolly blanket, than a leg-bail
monk in this wilderness of mountains, forests, and
precipices! But the flea may be caught, and so shall
the monk. I have said it. He is well spotted, with
his silver crown and his uncropped ears. The rascally
heretic! But his vows shall keep him, though he won't
keep his vows. The whining, blubbering idiot! Gave
his plaything, and wants it back!-I wonder whereabouts
I am.
SCENE XII.- The Nurse's room . LILIA sitting up in bed . JULIAN
seated by her; an open note in his hand .
Lilia .
Tear it up, Julian.
Julian .
No; I'll treasure it
As the remembrance of a by-gone grief:
I love it well, because it is not yours.
Lilia .
Where have you been these long, long years away?
You look much older. You have suffered, Julian!
Julian .
Since that day, Lilia, I have seen much, thought much,
Suffered a little. When you are quite yourself,
I'll tell you all you want to know about me.
Lilia .
Do tell me something now. I feel quite strong;
It will not hurt me.
Julian .
Wait a day or two.
Indeed 'twould weary you to tell you all.
Lilia .
And I have much to tell you, Julian. I
Have suffered too-not all for my own sake.
[ Recalling something .]
Oh, what a dream I had! Oh, Julian!-
I don't know when it was. It must have been
Before you brought me here! I am sure it was.
Julian .
Don't speak about it. Tell me afterwards.
You must keep quiet now. Indeed you must.
Lilia .
I will obey you, will not speak a word.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse .
Blessings upon her! she's near well already.
Who would have thought, three days ago, to see
You look so bright! My lord, you have done wonders.
Julian .
My art has helped a little, I thank God.-
To please me, Lilia, go to sleep a while.
[JULIAN goes .]
Lilia .
Why does he always wear that curious cap?
Nurse .
I don't know. You must sleep.
Lilia .
Yes. I forgot.
SCENE XIII.- The Steward's room . JULIAN and the Steward. Papers on the table, which JULIAN has just finished examining .
Julian .
Thank you much, Joseph; you have done well for me.
You sent that note privately to my friend?
Steward .
I did, my lord; and have conveyed the money,
Putting all things in train for his release,
Without appearing in it personally,
Or giving any clue to other hands.
He sent this message by my messenger:
His hearty thanks, and God will bless you for it.
He will be secret. For his daughter, she
Is safe with you as with himself; and so
God bless you both! He will expect to hear
From both of you from England.
Julian .
Well, again.
What money is remaining in your hands?
Steward .
Two bags, three hundred each; that's all.
I fear To wake suspicion, if I call in more.
Julian .
One thing, and I have done: lest a mischance
Befall us, though I do not fear it much-
have been very secret-is that boat
I had before I left, in sailing trim?
Steward .
I knew it was a favorite with my lord;
I've taken care of it. A month ago,
With my own hands I painted it all fresh,
Fitting new oars and rowlocks. The old sail
I'll have replaced immediately; and then
'Twill be as good as new.
Julian .
That's excellent.
Well, launch it in the evening. Make it fast
To the stone steps behind my garden study.
Stow in the lockers some sea-stores, and put
The money in the old desk in the study.
Steward .
I will, my lord. It will be safe enough.
SCENE XIV.- A road near the town . A Waggoner. STEPHEN, in lay dress, coming up to him .
Stephen .
Whose castle's that upon the hill, good fellow?
Waggoner .
Its present owner's of the Uglii;
They call him Lorenzino.
Stephen .
Whose is that
Down in the valley?
Waggoner .
That is Count Lamballa's.
Stephen .
What is his Christian name?
Waggoner .
Omfredo. No,
That was his father's; his is Julian.
Stephen .
Is he at home?
Waggoner .
No, not for many a day.
His steward, honest man, I know is doubtful
Whether he be alive; and yet his land
Is better farmed than any in the country.
Stephen .
He is not married, then?
Waggoner .
No. There's a gossip
Amongst the women-but who would heed their talk!-
That love half-crazed, then drove him out of doors,
To wander here and there, like a bad ghost,
Because a silly wench refused him:-fudge!
Stephen .
Most probably. I quite agree with you.
Where do you stop?
Waggoner .
At the first inn we come to;
You'll see it from the bottom of the hill.
There
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