The Music
LOVE IS ENOUGH: cherish life that abideth,
Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him;
For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth,
On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth?
And what is the joy of man’s life that ye blame him
For his bliss grown a sword, and his rest grown a fire?
Ye who tremble for death, or the death of desire,
Pass about the cold winter-tide garden and ponder
On the rose in his glory amidst of June’s fire,
On the languor of noontide that gathered the thunder,
On the morn and its freshness, the eve and its wonder;
Ye may wake it no more—shall Spring come to awaken?
Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken
By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning,
When the dead, and their deeds that die not shall awaken,
And the world’s tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning,
And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning,
And dead pain ye shall trample, dead fruitless desire,
As ye wend to pluck out the new world from the fire.
Enter before the curtain, LOVE clad as a Pilgrim.
LOVE
Alone, afar from home doth Pharamond lie,
Drawn near to death, ye deem—or what draws nigh?
Afar from home—and have ye any deeming
How far may be that country of his dreaming?
Is it not time, is it not time, say ye,
That we the day-star in the sky should see?
Patience, Beloved; these may come to live
A life fulfilled of all I have to give,
But bare of strife and story; and ye know well
How wild a tale of him might be to tell
Had I not snatched away the sword and crown;
Yea, and she too was made for world’s renown,
And should have won it, had my bow not been;
These that I love were very king and queen;
I have discrowned them, shall I not crown too?
Ye know, Beloved, what sharp bitter dew,
What parching torment of unresting day
Falls on the garden of my deathless bay:
Hands that have gathered it and feet that came
Beneath its shadow have known flint and flame;
Therefore I love them; and they love no less
Each furlong of the road of past distress.
—Ah, Faithful, tell me for what rest and peace,
What length of happy days and world’s increase,
What hate of wailing, and what love of laughter,
What hope and fear of worlds to be hereafter,
Would ye cast by that crown of bitter leaves?
And yet, ye say, our very heart it grieves
To see him lying there: how may he save
His life and love if he more pain must have?
And she—how fares it with her? is not earth
From winter’s sorrow unto summer’s mirth
Grown all too narrow for her yearning heart?
We pray thee, Love, keep these no more apart.
Ye say but sooth: not long may he endure:
And her heart sickeneth past all help or cure
Unless I hasten to the helping—see,
Am I not girt for going speedily?
—The journey lies before me long?—nay, nay,
Upon my feet the dust is lying grey,
The staff is heavy in my hand.—Ye too,
Have ye not slept? or what is this ye do,
Wearying to find the country ye are in?
[The curtain draws up and
shows the same scene
as the last, with the mist clearing, and
Pharamond lying there as before.
Look, look! how sun and morn at last do win
Upon the shifting waves of mist! behold
That mountain-wall the earth-fires rent of old,
Grey toward the valley, sun-gilt at the side!
See the black yew-wood that the pass doth hide!
Search through the mist for knoll, and fruited tree,
And winding stream, and highway white—and see,
See, at my feet lies Pharamond the Freed!
A happy journey have we gone indeed!
Hearken, Beloved, over-long, ye deem,
I let these lovers deal with hope and dream
Alone unholpen.—Somewhat sooth ye say:
But now her feet are on this very way
That leadeth from the city: and she saith
One beckoneth her back hitherward—even Death—
And who was that, Beloved, but even I?
Yet though her feet and sunlight are drawn nigh
The cold grass where he lieth like the dead,
To ease your hearts a little of their dread
I will abide her coming, and in speech
He knoweth, somewhat of his welfare teach.
LOVE goes on to the Stage and stands at PHARAMOND’s head.
LOVE
HEARKEN, O Pharamond, why camest thou hither?
KING PHARAMOND
I came seeking Death; I have found him belike.
LOVE
In what land of the world art thou lying, O Pharamond?
KING PHARAMOND
In a land ’twixt two worlds: nor long shall I dwell there.
LOVE
Who am I, Pharamond, that stand here beside thee?
KING PHARAMOND
The Death I have sought—thou art welcome; I greet thee.
LOVE
Such a name have I had, but another name have I.
KING PHARAMOND
Art thou God then that helps not until the last season?
LOVE
Yea, God am I surely: yet another name have I.
KING PHARAMOND
Methinks as I hearken, thy voice I should wot of.
LOVE
I called thee, and thou cam’st from thy glory and kingship.
KING PHARAMOND
I was King Pharamond, and love overcame me.
LOVE
Pharamond, thou say’st it.—I am Love and thy master.
KING PHARAMOND
Sooth didst thou say when thou call’dst thyself Death.
LOVE
Though thou diest, yet thy love and thy deeds shall I quicken.
KING PHARAMOND
Be thou God, be thou Death, yet I love thee and dread not.
LOVE
Pharamond, while thou livedst what thing wert thou loving?
KING PHARAMOND
A dream and a lie—and my death—and I love it.
LOVE
Pharamond, do my bidding, as thy wont was aforetime.
KING PHARAMOND
What wilt thou have of me, for I wend away swiftly?
LOVE
Open thine eyes, and behold where thou liest!
KING PHARAMOND
It is little—the old dream, the old lie is about me.
LOVE
Why faintest thou, Pharamond? is love then unworthy?
KING PHARAMOND
Then hath God made no world now, nor shall make hereafter.
LOVE
Wouldst thou live if thou mightst in this fair world, O Pharamond?
KING PHARAMOND
Yea, if she and truth were; nay, if she and truth were not.
LOVE
O long shalt thou live: thou art here in the body,
Where nought but thy spirit I brought in days bygone.
Ah, thou hearkenest!—and where then of old hast thou heard it?
[Music outside, far off.
KING PHARAMOND
O mock me not, Death; or, Life, hold me no longer!
For that sweet strain I hear that I heard once a-dreaming:
Is it death coming nigher, or life come back that brings it?
Or rather my dream come again as aforetime?
LOVE
Look up, O Pharamond! canst thou see aught about thee?
KING PHARAMOND
Yea, surely: all things as aforetime I saw them:
The mist fading out with the first of the sunlight,
And the mountains a-changing as oft in my dreaming,
And the thornbrake anigh blossomed thick with the May-tide.
[Music again.
O my heart!—I am hearkening thee whereso thou wanderest!
LOVE
Put forth thine hand, feel the dew on the daisies!
KING PHARAMOND
So their freshness I felt in the days ere hope perished.
—O me, me, my darling! how fair the world groweth!
Ah, shall I not find thee, if death yet should linger,
Else why grow I so glad now when life seems departing?
What pleasure thus pierceth my heart unto fainting?
—O me, into words now thy melody passeth.