Exile - Part 10
I DA .
But do you think thaThe will come again?
Mother .
I have a firm conviction thaThe will.
I DA .
Then brother may go with me to the beach?
A LFRED .
Not so; I wish to stay, and hear him talk.
Father .
Yes, you may stay; we shall not see him after,
And both may hear the words he speaks.
I DA .
Dear mother,
Close by your side I shall not be afraid.
A LFRED .
What kind of man is he?
Father .
He is a scholar,
Has traversed many lands, and noted much,
Has studied deepest books and gathered lore
That none but loftiest intellects dare pursue.
He is most subtile, and I more than deem
Has lost himself amid a maze of thoughts,
So that no more he has a grasp of life,
But floats as a stray leaf upon the flood,
Or bubble through the many-pathed air.
A LFRED .
You say what I can get no meaning from.
Father .
Most true; I lost your question, dearest boy,
And merely thought aloud; a learned man,
And yet I cannot call him good.
A LFRED .
He spoke
Of picture-books, of churches old and fair,
Of mansions wide and grand he meant to show me.
Father .
No doubThe might if so he felt inclined.
I DA .
BuThe is sad, and in my utmost fear
My heart weeps for him.
Mother .
There spoke my little girl;
He more excites our pity than our dread.
Father .
You know we have not wealth; how if he came,
And sought to bear you to his noble home,
And bring to pass your every lightest wish?
For he has power.
I DA .
I shake with sudden chill;
These words are not for me?
Mother .
I hold you fast;
It is a jest, a trifle cruel.
I DA .
Him?
Go forth with him, and leave you all behind?
Say, must I go? But I shall surely die.
Dear brother, come to me; what can it be?
I soon shall tremble at you, father dear.
A LFRED .
You shall not go so long as I am by;
They cannot tear you from me, so be still.
Mother .
Appease the child; you will forego her love,
And much I fear me 'twill be somewhat long
Before she loses memory of this shock.
Father .
Forgive, dear child; I cannot tell you why,
But somehow I felt bound to say the words.
You should be free, I would not force your choice,
Though filial love makes you our own. Enough;
You are too young to understand my purpose.
Mother .
Your words make me ashamed of my swift harshness.
But lo! the stranger comes.
The Stranger .
I have returned.
Mother .
We welcome you again.
The Stranger .
I would be plain,
And to my business pass at once.
Father .
Business?
Mother .
Let him proceed.
The Stranger .
To you I speak, sweet child;
I am a lonely man, and your clear smile
Is like the moon in life's sad night to me.
Tremble not so; for I shall bring you joy,
And you will speak but to achieve your will.
I DA .
I am most sorry for you.
The Stranger .
Great gladness comes
When you are near; you will not flee again?
I DA .
Your sadness grieves me, but I know you not.
A LFRED .
You brought the picture-books you promised me?
The Stranger .
I do forget — and yet — not now — not now —
Hereafter I may send you them. Dear girl,
Stand by me here, and let me hold your hand.
I DA .
No — no — I would not leave my mother's side;
Here I am safe — and you — I know you not,
You are too strange.
Father .
You spoke but now of business.
The Stranger .
I do recall myself; your pardon.
I shall mean no offence, but I would speak
With freedom, and make clear my long desire.
Father .
Speak without fear; it is my pleasure's wont,
I have no love for windings in and out.
The Stranger .
I have great wealth, this is no news to you;
I have small faith in that munificence
Which feeds its vanity by large bequests
To public charities; the donor's will
Is not expressible in perfect words,
And the keen law's interpretative skill
Brings manifold meanings from distinctest speech;
So the bequest is tortured from its end,
And waters fields quite alien from the hope.
I would bestow my gifts with lesser failure.
Father .
You well express my thought; to be dispenser
Of one's own bounties seems the wiser course.
The Stranger .
You pardon me, I would enrich your days,
And change the dull monotony of your life
To graceful interchange of pure delights,
And harnessing the courser, property,
To the swift car of your sweet family cheer,
Set you at freedom from material chains,
And leave the world to master as you wished.
Father .
Too large a gift, too slender toil for me;
Achievement is the best reward of work.
I should refuse the gift.
The Stranger .
BuThear me through:
I am a lonely man; I would find way
To sweet communion with my fellow-man.
The sense of glad society is long disused,
And of itself the blossom will not grow.
I must find other means, and with your help
I shall not fail in its resuscitation.
Father .
If I can serve you in so wise a wish,
'Twill give me joy.
The Stranger .
You have a fairy child, —
Her hand shall guide me from my wilderness,
Shall starwise lead me from the labyrinth,
As in the ancient days the enamoured princess
Led the Athenian stranger to the light.
Father .
I pray you come at once to your sure point;
In this obscure of words no thought is clear,
And I must guess your purposes.
The Stranger .
Not guess;
We both shrink from the edge; then here it is.
This golden-haired fair child, this visible dream,
I would receive from you to bear her hence,
A daughter mine. The world shall be her toy,
She shall be queen of the world's intellect,
Upon the waves of fame her name shall float,
A ship to bear great truths to sundered lands,
All womanhood centred in her noble life
Shall vaunt itself to have borne such prodigy;
Upon the mountain-peaks of time shall burn
Her beacon-thoughts to rouse the sluggish nations;
What would you more? you cannot say me nay.
Father .
You deem the answer easy; will the child
Return at intervals to home and friends?
For these, I doubt, in light of grandiose aims
Might fade as night's most fiercely splendent stars
Die on the breast of the effulgent sun.
The Stranger .
Return to home and friends? strange speech to make;
What have these here to do?
Mother .
Have you a heart?
You tear a soul from all it holds most dear,
Sever as with a knife bonds red with blood,
Make a young life as cold and lone as yours,
Suppress the love that flows 'twixt mother and child,
And then you say these have here naught to do?
Father .
Dear wife, no more. My daughter, listen well:
You see this gentleman; he offers you
Wealth far beyond your wish — and I am poor —
All things that make life worth desire to live,
Fame, splendor, power to do mankind much service,
Far more than your young years can understand,
And I can give you but a dubious joy —
For I am poor — save that you will be girt
By purest love; now you are free to choose;
Will you go forth with him?
I DA .
I catch your sense;
Oh, mother, loosen not your grasp from mine;
I have no more to say.
A LFRED .
I hate you, sir;
If you come here again I shall be wroth,
And take sure means to do you some fell harm.
Father .
You have our answer, sir.
The Stranger .
I hear not well;
This looks like a refusal — folly dire! —
Shall I not have the child?
Mother .
I can no more;
I pray you leave us now in peace.
The Stranger .
No — no —
I yet am at dull loss; my brain turns round;
You cannot be so cruel, yield the child.
A mother's selfishness should here give way.
Father .
Enough; you seem not swift to apprehend;
Have you not thought how in our close-meshed life
The law prevails of cost and price? Know that
Not fully formed into our grasp is given
The thing we seek; out of hard sacrifice
As from some savage jaw 'tis ours to rend
What so we yet desire. You dare to ask
The sweetest gift of man's, nor reck the cost?
Go! mix with men, dispense your charities,
In some fair woman's eyes doubt not to see
The image of your aims reflected clear;
Then out of duties nobly done, and work
Beside your fellows, as God's visible chrism,
There will descend from Heaven your dear reward,
Your child, incarnate symbol of much toil,
And yielding up of self, your own, no fruit
Plucked from another's tree, and lacking taste
To soothe your hungered heart; you ask in vain
What is not right to give, and, being given,
Could bring but death to you and her.
The Stranger .
And yet
My thought is pure; you break my latest hope;
To see my intent in mirror of your words
Is horrible. Can I be lost so far?
I am not used so to mistake the right,
Yet you seem right; I am quite broken down;
Grant me the time to gain my surer calm.
Mother .
Take comfort; we are sad to give you pain.
Father .
These are grave depths of thought; it is not well
To deem oneself sufficient unto all.
In this dark mystery that we call life
The appulse of souls and things and deeds so close
Connects the each with all that disarray
Means exile; as the tree draws life from air,
Yet rooted in the soil has dwelling-place,
And perishes withdrawn from vital circle,
So there survives no deed save as with all
It mixes in the spiritual ebb and flow
That is the soul of this vast universe;
Thought abstract feeds upon itself, a phantasm,
It traverses all time and space, nor rests;
Life fills it with red blood, though yet I deem
Mere living is but brutishness and dirt;
In realm of pure Idea is the source
Of light, we walk in darkness otherwhere.
The Stranger .
The attempt is over. If I have given offence,
Forgive. I am recovered from disease;
There needed but this last experience
To render plain how that for men like me
The intellectual is the sole repose.
But do you think thaThe will come again?
Mother .
I have a firm conviction thaThe will.
I DA .
Then brother may go with me to the beach?
A LFRED .
Not so; I wish to stay, and hear him talk.
Father .
Yes, you may stay; we shall not see him after,
And both may hear the words he speaks.
I DA .
Dear mother,
Close by your side I shall not be afraid.
A LFRED .
What kind of man is he?
Father .
He is a scholar,
Has traversed many lands, and noted much,
Has studied deepest books and gathered lore
That none but loftiest intellects dare pursue.
He is most subtile, and I more than deem
Has lost himself amid a maze of thoughts,
So that no more he has a grasp of life,
But floats as a stray leaf upon the flood,
Or bubble through the many-pathed air.
A LFRED .
You say what I can get no meaning from.
Father .
Most true; I lost your question, dearest boy,
And merely thought aloud; a learned man,
And yet I cannot call him good.
A LFRED .
He spoke
Of picture-books, of churches old and fair,
Of mansions wide and grand he meant to show me.
Father .
No doubThe might if so he felt inclined.
I DA .
BuThe is sad, and in my utmost fear
My heart weeps for him.
Mother .
There spoke my little girl;
He more excites our pity than our dread.
Father .
You know we have not wealth; how if he came,
And sought to bear you to his noble home,
And bring to pass your every lightest wish?
For he has power.
I DA .
I shake with sudden chill;
These words are not for me?
Mother .
I hold you fast;
It is a jest, a trifle cruel.
I DA .
Him?
Go forth with him, and leave you all behind?
Say, must I go? But I shall surely die.
Dear brother, come to me; what can it be?
I soon shall tremble at you, father dear.
A LFRED .
You shall not go so long as I am by;
They cannot tear you from me, so be still.
Mother .
Appease the child; you will forego her love,
And much I fear me 'twill be somewhat long
Before she loses memory of this shock.
Father .
Forgive, dear child; I cannot tell you why,
But somehow I felt bound to say the words.
You should be free, I would not force your choice,
Though filial love makes you our own. Enough;
You are too young to understand my purpose.
Mother .
Your words make me ashamed of my swift harshness.
But lo! the stranger comes.
The Stranger .
I have returned.
Mother .
We welcome you again.
The Stranger .
I would be plain,
And to my business pass at once.
Father .
Business?
Mother .
Let him proceed.
The Stranger .
To you I speak, sweet child;
I am a lonely man, and your clear smile
Is like the moon in life's sad night to me.
Tremble not so; for I shall bring you joy,
And you will speak but to achieve your will.
I DA .
I am most sorry for you.
The Stranger .
Great gladness comes
When you are near; you will not flee again?
I DA .
Your sadness grieves me, but I know you not.
A LFRED .
You brought the picture-books you promised me?
The Stranger .
I do forget — and yet — not now — not now —
Hereafter I may send you them. Dear girl,
Stand by me here, and let me hold your hand.
I DA .
No — no — I would not leave my mother's side;
Here I am safe — and you — I know you not,
You are too strange.
Father .
You spoke but now of business.
The Stranger .
I do recall myself; your pardon.
I shall mean no offence, but I would speak
With freedom, and make clear my long desire.
Father .
Speak without fear; it is my pleasure's wont,
I have no love for windings in and out.
The Stranger .
I have great wealth, this is no news to you;
I have small faith in that munificence
Which feeds its vanity by large bequests
To public charities; the donor's will
Is not expressible in perfect words,
And the keen law's interpretative skill
Brings manifold meanings from distinctest speech;
So the bequest is tortured from its end,
And waters fields quite alien from the hope.
I would bestow my gifts with lesser failure.
Father .
You well express my thought; to be dispenser
Of one's own bounties seems the wiser course.
The Stranger .
You pardon me, I would enrich your days,
And change the dull monotony of your life
To graceful interchange of pure delights,
And harnessing the courser, property,
To the swift car of your sweet family cheer,
Set you at freedom from material chains,
And leave the world to master as you wished.
Father .
Too large a gift, too slender toil for me;
Achievement is the best reward of work.
I should refuse the gift.
The Stranger .
BuThear me through:
I am a lonely man; I would find way
To sweet communion with my fellow-man.
The sense of glad society is long disused,
And of itself the blossom will not grow.
I must find other means, and with your help
I shall not fail in its resuscitation.
Father .
If I can serve you in so wise a wish,
'Twill give me joy.
The Stranger .
You have a fairy child, —
Her hand shall guide me from my wilderness,
Shall starwise lead me from the labyrinth,
As in the ancient days the enamoured princess
Led the Athenian stranger to the light.
Father .
I pray you come at once to your sure point;
In this obscure of words no thought is clear,
And I must guess your purposes.
The Stranger .
Not guess;
We both shrink from the edge; then here it is.
This golden-haired fair child, this visible dream,
I would receive from you to bear her hence,
A daughter mine. The world shall be her toy,
She shall be queen of the world's intellect,
Upon the waves of fame her name shall float,
A ship to bear great truths to sundered lands,
All womanhood centred in her noble life
Shall vaunt itself to have borne such prodigy;
Upon the mountain-peaks of time shall burn
Her beacon-thoughts to rouse the sluggish nations;
What would you more? you cannot say me nay.
Father .
You deem the answer easy; will the child
Return at intervals to home and friends?
For these, I doubt, in light of grandiose aims
Might fade as night's most fiercely splendent stars
Die on the breast of the effulgent sun.
The Stranger .
Return to home and friends? strange speech to make;
What have these here to do?
Mother .
Have you a heart?
You tear a soul from all it holds most dear,
Sever as with a knife bonds red with blood,
Make a young life as cold and lone as yours,
Suppress the love that flows 'twixt mother and child,
And then you say these have here naught to do?
Father .
Dear wife, no more. My daughter, listen well:
You see this gentleman; he offers you
Wealth far beyond your wish — and I am poor —
All things that make life worth desire to live,
Fame, splendor, power to do mankind much service,
Far more than your young years can understand,
And I can give you but a dubious joy —
For I am poor — save that you will be girt
By purest love; now you are free to choose;
Will you go forth with him?
I DA .
I catch your sense;
Oh, mother, loosen not your grasp from mine;
I have no more to say.
A LFRED .
I hate you, sir;
If you come here again I shall be wroth,
And take sure means to do you some fell harm.
Father .
You have our answer, sir.
The Stranger .
I hear not well;
This looks like a refusal — folly dire! —
Shall I not have the child?
Mother .
I can no more;
I pray you leave us now in peace.
The Stranger .
No — no —
I yet am at dull loss; my brain turns round;
You cannot be so cruel, yield the child.
A mother's selfishness should here give way.
Father .
Enough; you seem not swift to apprehend;
Have you not thought how in our close-meshed life
The law prevails of cost and price? Know that
Not fully formed into our grasp is given
The thing we seek; out of hard sacrifice
As from some savage jaw 'tis ours to rend
What so we yet desire. You dare to ask
The sweetest gift of man's, nor reck the cost?
Go! mix with men, dispense your charities,
In some fair woman's eyes doubt not to see
The image of your aims reflected clear;
Then out of duties nobly done, and work
Beside your fellows, as God's visible chrism,
There will descend from Heaven your dear reward,
Your child, incarnate symbol of much toil,
And yielding up of self, your own, no fruit
Plucked from another's tree, and lacking taste
To soothe your hungered heart; you ask in vain
What is not right to give, and, being given,
Could bring but death to you and her.
The Stranger .
And yet
My thought is pure; you break my latest hope;
To see my intent in mirror of your words
Is horrible. Can I be lost so far?
I am not used so to mistake the right,
Yet you seem right; I am quite broken down;
Grant me the time to gain my surer calm.
Mother .
Take comfort; we are sad to give you pain.
Father .
These are grave depths of thought; it is not well
To deem oneself sufficient unto all.
In this dark mystery that we call life
The appulse of souls and things and deeds so close
Connects the each with all that disarray
Means exile; as the tree draws life from air,
Yet rooted in the soil has dwelling-place,
And perishes withdrawn from vital circle,
So there survives no deed save as with all
It mixes in the spiritual ebb and flow
That is the soul of this vast universe;
Thought abstract feeds upon itself, a phantasm,
It traverses all time and space, nor rests;
Life fills it with red blood, though yet I deem
Mere living is but brutishness and dirt;
In realm of pure Idea is the source
Of light, we walk in darkness otherwhere.
The Stranger .
The attempt is over. If I have given offence,
Forgive. I am recovered from disease;
There needed but this last experience
To render plain how that for men like me
The intellectual is the sole repose.
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