And why should words be foolish when they sing?
The song-birds are not.
ESTRILD.
Dost thou understand,
Child, what the birds are singing?
SABRINA.
All the land
Knows that: the water tells it to the rushes
Aloud, and lower and softlier to the sand:
The flower-fays, lip to lip and hand in hand,
Laugh and repeat it all till darkness hushes
Their singing with a word that falls and crushes
All song to silence down the river-strand
And where the hawthorns hearken for the thrushes.
And all the secret sense is sweet and wise
That sings through all their singing, and replies
When we would know if heaven be gay or grey
And would not open all too soon our eyes
To look perchance on no such happy skies -
As sleep brings close and waking blows away.
ESTRILD.
What gives thy fancy faith enough to say
This?
SABRINA.
Why, meseems the sun would hardly rise
Else, nor the world be half so glad of day.
ESTRILD.
Why didst thou crave of me that song, Sabrina?
SABRINA.
Because, methought, though one were king or queen
And had the world to play with, if one missed
What most were good to have, such joy, I ween,
Were woful as a song with sobs between
And well might wail for ever, ‘Had I wist!’
And might my father do but as he list,
And make this day what other days have been,
I should not shut tonight mine eyes unkissed.
ESTRILD.
I wis thou wouldst not.
SABRINA.
Then I would he were
No king at all, and save his golden hair
Wore on his gracious head no golden crown.
Must he be king for ever?
ESTRILD.
Not if prayer
Could lift from off his heart that crown of care
And draw him toward us as with music down.
SABRINA.
Not so, but upward to us. He would but frown
To hear thee talk as though the woodlands there
Were built no lordlier than the wide-walled town.
Thou knowest, when I desire of him to see
What manner of crown that wreath of towers may be
That makes its proud head shine like older Troy’s,
His brows are bent even while he laughs on me
And bids me think no more thereon than he,
For flowers are serious things, but towers are toys.
ESTRILD.
Ay, child; his heart was less care’s throne than joy’s,
Power’s less than love’s friend ever: and with thee
His mood that plays is blither than a boy’s.
SABRINA.
I would the boy would give the maid her will.
ESTRILD.
Has not thine heart as mine has here its fill?
SABRINA.
So have our hearts while sleeping — till they wake.
ESTRILD.
Too soon is this for waking: sleep thou still.
SABRINA.
Bid then the dawn sleep, and the world lie chill.
ESTRILD.
This nest is warm for one small wood-dove’s sake.
SABRINA.
And warm the world that feels the sundawn break.
ESTRILD.
But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill?
SABRINA.
No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make.
ESTRILD.
Plead not against thine own glad life: the plea
Were like a wrangling babe’s that fain would be
Free from the help its hardy heart contemns,
Free from the hand that guides and guards it, free
To take its way and sprawl and stumble. See!
Have we not here enough of diadems
Hung high round portals pillared smooth with stems
More fair than marble?
SABRINA.
This is but the Ley:
I fain would look upon the lordlier Thames.
ESTRILD.
A very water-bird thou art: the river
So draws thee to it that, seeing, my heart-strings quiver
And yearn with fear lest peril teach thee fear
Too late for help or daring to deliver.
SABRINA.
Nay, let the wind make willows weep and shiver:
Me shall nor wind nor water, while I hear
What goodly words saith each in other’s ear.
And which is given the gift, and which the giver,
I know not, but they take and give good cheer.
ESTRILD.
Howe’er this be, thou hast no heed of mine,
To take so little of this life of thine
I gave and would not see thee cast away
For childishness in childhood, though it shine
For me sole comfort, for my lord Locrine
Chief comfort in the world.
SABRINA.
Nay, mother, nay,
Make me not weep with chiding: wilt thou say
I love thee not? Hark! see, my sire for sign!
I hear his horse.
ESTRILD.
He comes!
SABRINA.
He comes today!
[Exeunt
SCENE II. — Troynovant. A Room in the Palace.
Enter GUENDOLEN and CAMBER.
GUENDOLEN.
I know not, sir, what ails you to desire
Such audience of me as I give.
CAMBER.
What ails
Me, sister? Were the heart in me no higher
Than his who heeds no more than harpers’ tales
Such griefs as set a sister’s heart on fire -
GUENDOLEN.
Then were my brother now at rest in Wales,
And royal.
CAMBER.
Am I less than royal here?
GUENDOLEN.
Even here as there alike, sir.
CAMBER.
Dost thou fear
Nothing?
GUENDOLEN.
My princely cousin, not indeed
Much that might hap at word or will of thine.
CAMBER.
Ay — meanest am I of my father’s seed,
If men misjudge not, cousin; and Locrine
Noblest.
GUENDOLEN.
Should I gainsay their general rede,
My heart would mock me.
CAMBER.
Such a spirit as mine
Being spiritless — my words heartless — mine acts
Faint shadows of Locrine’s or Albanact’s?
GUENDOLEN.
Nay — not so much — I said not so. Say thou
What thou wouldst have — if aught thou wouldst — with me.
CAMBER.
No man might see thine eyes and lips and brow
Who would not — what he durst not crave of thee.
GUENDOLEN.
Ay, verily? And thy spirit exalts thee now
So high that these thy words fly forth so free,
And fain thine act would follow — flying above
Shame’s reach and fear’s? What gift may this be? Love?
Or liking? or compassion?
CAMBER.
Take not thus
Mine innocent words amiss, nor wrest awry
Their piteous purpose toward thee.
GUENDOLEN.
Piteous!
Who lives so low and looks upon the sky
As would desire — who shares the sun with us
That might deserve thy pity?
CAMBER.
Thou.
GUENDOLEN.
Not I,
Though I were cast out hence, cast off, discrowned,
Abject, ungirt of all that guards me round,
Naked. What villainous madness, knave and king,
Is this that puts upon thy babbling tongue
Poison?
CAMBER.
The truth is as a snake to sting
That breathes ill news: but where its fang hath stung
The very pang bids health and healing spring.
God knows the grief wherewith my spirit is wrung -
The spirit of thee so scorned, so misesteemed,
So mocked with strange misprision and misdeemed
Merciless, false, unbrotherly — to take
Such task upon it as may burn thine heart
With bitterer hatred of me that I spake
What, had I held my peace and crept apart
And tamed my soul to silence for thy sake
And mercy toward the royal thing thou art,
Chance haply might have made a fiery sword
To slay thee with — slay thee, and spare thy lord.
GUENDOLEN.
Worse had it done to slay my lord, and spare
Me. Wilt thou now show mercy toward me? Then
Strike with that sword mine heart through — if thou dare.
All know thy tongue’s edge deadly.
CAMBER.
Guendolen,
Thou seest me like a vassal bound to bear
All bitter words that bite the hearts of men
From thee, so be it this please thy wrath. I stand
Slave of thy tongue and subject of thine hand,
And pity thee. Take, if thou wilt, my head;
Give it my brother. Thou shalt hear me speak
First, though the soothfast word that hangs unsaid
As yet, being spoken, — albeit this hand be weak
And faint this heart, thou sayest — should strike thee dead
Even with that rose of wrath on brow and cheek.
GUENDOLEN.
I hold not thee too faint of heart to slay
Women. Say forth whate’er thou hast heart to say.
CAMBER.
Silence I have not heart to keep, and see
Scorn and derision gird thee round with shame,
Not knowing what all thy serfs who mock at thee
Know, and make mirth and havoc of thy name.
Does this not move thee?
GUENDOLEN.
How should aught move me
Fallen from such tongues as falsehood finds the same -
Such tongues as fraud or treasonous hate o’erscurfs
With leprous lust — a prince’s or a serf’s?
CAMBER.
That lust of the evil-speaking tongue which gives
Quick breath to deadly lies, and stings to life
The rottenness of falsehood, when it lives,
Falls dumb, and leaves the lie to bring forth strife.
The liar will say no more — his heart misgives
His knaveship — should he sunder man and wife?
Such, sister, in thy sight, it seems, am I.
Yet shalt thou take, to keep or cast it by,
The truth of shame I would not have thee hear, -
Not might I choose, — but choose I may not.
GUENDOLEN.
Shame
And truth? Shame never toward thine heart came near,
And all thy life hath hung about thy name.
Nor ever truth drew nigh the lips that fear
Whitens, and makes the blood that feeds them tame.
Speak all thou wilt — but even for shame, forsooth,
Talk not of shame — and tell me not of truth.
CAMBER.
Then shalt thou hear a lie. Thy loving lord
Loves none save thee; his heart’s pulse beats in thine;
No fairer woman, captive of his sword,
Caught ever captive and subdued Locrine:
The god of lies bear witness. At the ford
Of Humber blood was never shed like wine:
Our brother Albanact lived, fought, and died,
Never: and I that swear it have not lied.
GUENDOLEN.
Fairer?
CAMBER.
They say it: but what are lies to thee?
GUENDOLEN.
Art thou nor man nor woman?
CAMBER.
Nay — I trust -
Man.
GUENDOLEN.
And hast heart to make thy spoil of me?
CAMBER.
Would God I might!
GUENDOLEN.
Thou art made of lies and lust -
Earth’s worst is all too good for such to see,
And yet thine eyes turn heavenward — as they must,
Being man’s — if man be such as thou — and soil
The light they see. Thou hast made of me thy spoil,
Thy scorn, thy profit — yea, my whole soul’s plunder
Is all thy trophy, thy triumphal prize
And harvest reaped of thee; nay, trampled under
And rooted up and scattered. Yet the skies
That see thy trophies reared are full of thunder,
And heaven’s high justice loves not lust and lies.
CAMBER.
Ill then should fare thy lord — if heaven be just,
And lies be lies, and lawless love be lust.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou liest. I know my lord and thee. Thou liest.
CAMBER.
If he be true and truth be false, I lie.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou art lowest of all men born — while he sits highest.
CAMBER.
Ay — while he sits. How long shall he sit high?
GUENDOLEN.
If I but whisper him of thee, thou diest.
CAMBER.
I fear not, if till then secure am I.
GUENDOLEN.
Secure as fools are hardy live thou still.
CAMBER.
While ill with good is guerdoned, good with ill.
GUENDOLEN.
I have it in my mind to take thine head.
Dost thou not fear to put me thus in fear?
CAMBER.
I fear nor man nor woman, quick nor dead:
And dead in spirit already stand’st thou here.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou darest not swear my lord hath wronged my bed.
Thou darest but smile and mutter, lie and leer.
CAMBER.
I swear no queen bore ever crown on brow
Who meeklier bore a heavier wrong than thou.
GUENDOLEN.
From thee will I bear nothing. Get thee hence:
Thine eyes defile me. Get thee from my sight.
CAMBER.
The gods defend thee, soul and spirit and sense,
From sense of things thou darest not read aright!
Farewell. [Exit.
GUENDOLEN.
Fare thou not well, and be defence
Far from thy soul cast naked forth by night!
Hate rose from hell a liar: love came divine
From heaven: yet she that bore thee bore Locrine.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Troynovant. A Room in the Palace.
Enter LOCRINE and DEBON.
LOCRINE.
Thou knowest not what she knows or dreams of? why
Her face is dark and wan, her lip and eye
Restless and red as fever? Hast thou kept
Faith?
DEBON.
Has my master found my faith a lie
Once all these years through? have I strayed or slept
Once, when he bade me watch? what proof has leapt
At last to light against me?
LOCRINE.
Surely, none.
Weep not.
DEBON.
My lord’s gr
ey vassal hath not wept
Once, even since darkness covered from the sun
The woman’s face — the sole sweet wifelike one -
Whose memory holds his heart yet fast: but now
Tears, were old age not poor in tears, might run
Free as the words that bid his stricken brow
Burn and bow down to hear them.
LOCRINE.
Hast not thou
Held counsel — played the talebearer whose tales
Bear plague abroad and poison, knowing not how -
Not with my wife nor brother?
DEBON.
Nought avails
Falsehood: and truth it is, the king of Wales
So plied me, sir, with force of craft and threat -
LOCRINE.
That thou, whose faith swerves never, flags nor fails
Nor falters, being as stars are loyal, yet
Wast found as those that fall from heaven, forget
Their station, shoot and shudder down to death
Deep as the pit of hell? What snares were set
To take thy soul — what mist of treasonous breath
Made blind in thee the sense that quickeneth
In true men’s inward eyesight, when they know
And know not how they know the word it saith,
The warning word that whispers loud or low -
I ask not: be it enough these things are so.
Thou hast played me false.
DEBON.
Nay, now this long time since
We have seen the queen’s face wan with wrath and woe -
Have seen her lip writhe and her eyelid wince
To take men’s homage — proof that might convince
Of grief inexpiable and insatiate shame
Her spirit in all men’s judgment.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 275
