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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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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.]
Where's Lilia?
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.]
by my child.
[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;
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.]
Where's Lilia?
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.]
by my child.
[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;
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