Life Is A Dream [2]
in my wild venture. Well! now then--having seen me safe thus far Safe if not wholly sound--over the rocks Into the country where my business lies Why should not you return the way we came, The storm all clear'd away, and, leaving me (Who now shall want you, though not thank you, less, Now that our horses gone) this side the ridge, Find your way back to dear old home again; While I--Come, come!-- What, weeping my poor fellow?
FIFE. Leave you here Alone--my Lady--Lord! I mean my Lord-- In a strange country--among savages-- Oh, now I know--you would be rid of me For fear my stumbling speech--
ROS. Oh, no, no, no!-- I want you with me for a thousand sakes To which that is as nothing--I myself More apt to let the secret out myself Without your help at all--Come, come, cheer up! And if you sing again, 'Come weal, come woe,' Let it be that; for we will never part Until you give the signal.
FIFE. 'Tis a bargain.
ROS. Now to begin, then. 'Follow, follow me, 'You fairy elves that be.'
FIFE. Ay, and go on-- Something of 'following darkness like a dream,' For that we're after.
ROS. No, after the sun; Trying to catch hold of his glittering skirts That hang upon the mountain as he goes.
FIFE. Ah, he's himself past catching--as you spoke He heard what you were saying, and--just so-- Like some scared water-bird, As we say in my country, /dove/ below.
ROS. Well, we must follow him as best we may. Poland is no great country, and, as rich In men and means, will but few acres spare To lie beneath her barrier mountains bare. We cannot, I believe, be very far From mankind or their dwellings.
FIFE. Send it so! And well provided for man, woman, and beast. No, not for beast. Ah, but my heart begins To yearn for her--
ROS. Keep close, and keep your feet From serving you as hers did.
FIFE. As for beasts, If in default of other entertainment, We should provide them with ourselves to eat-- Bears, lions, wolves--
ROS. Oh, never fear.
FIFE. Or else, Default of other beasts, beastlier men, Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles Who never knew a tailor but by taste.
ROS. Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive With twilight--down among the rocks there, Fife-- Some human dwelling, surely-- Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks In some convulsion like to-day's, and perch'd Quaintly among them in mock-masonry?
FIFE. Most likely that, I doubt.
ROS. No, no--for look! A square of darkness opening in it--
FIFE. Oh, I don't half like such openings!--
ROS. Like the loom Of night from which she spins her outer gloom--
FIFE. Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein In such a time and place--
ROS. And now again Within that square of darkness, look! a light That feels its way with hesitating pulse, As we do, through the darkness that it drives To blacken into deeper night beyond.
FIFE. In which could we follow that light's example, As might some English Bardolph with his nose, We might defy the sunset--Hark, a chain!
ROS. And now a lamp, a lamp! And now the hand That carries it.
FIFE. Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain!
ROS. And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed As strange as any in Arabian tale, So giant-like, and terrible, and grand, Spite of the skin he's wrapt in.
FIFE. Why, 'tis his own: Oh, 'tis some wild man of the woods; I've heard They build and carry torches--
ROS. Never Ape Bore such a brow before the heavens as that-- Chain'd as you say too!--
FIFE. Oh, that dreadful chain!
ROS. And now he sets the lamp down by his side, And with one hand clench'd in his tangled hair And with a sigh as if his heart would break--
(During this Segismund has entered from the fortress, with a torch.)
SEGISMUND. Once more the storm has roar'd itself away, Splitting the crags of God as it retires; But sparing still what it should only blast, This guilty piece of human handiwork, And all that are within it. Oh, how oft, How oft, within or here abroad, have I Waited, and in the whisper of my heart Pray'd for the slanting hand of heaven to strike The blow myself I dared not, out of fear Of
FIFE. Leave you here Alone--my Lady--Lord! I mean my Lord-- In a strange country--among savages-- Oh, now I know--you would be rid of me For fear my stumbling speech--
ROS. Oh, no, no, no!-- I want you with me for a thousand sakes To which that is as nothing--I myself More apt to let the secret out myself Without your help at all--Come, come, cheer up! And if you sing again, 'Come weal, come woe,' Let it be that; for we will never part Until you give the signal.
FIFE. 'Tis a bargain.
ROS. Now to begin, then. 'Follow, follow me, 'You fairy elves that be.'
FIFE. Ay, and go on-- Something of 'following darkness like a dream,' For that we're after.
ROS. No, after the sun; Trying to catch hold of his glittering skirts That hang upon the mountain as he goes.
FIFE. Ah, he's himself past catching--as you spoke He heard what you were saying, and--just so-- Like some scared water-bird, As we say in my country, /dove/ below.
ROS. Well, we must follow him as best we may. Poland is no great country, and, as rich In men and means, will but few acres spare To lie beneath her barrier mountains bare. We cannot, I believe, be very far From mankind or their dwellings.
FIFE. Send it so! And well provided for man, woman, and beast. No, not for beast. Ah, but my heart begins To yearn for her--
ROS. Keep close, and keep your feet From serving you as hers did.
FIFE. As for beasts, If in default of other entertainment, We should provide them with ourselves to eat-- Bears, lions, wolves--
ROS. Oh, never fear.
FIFE. Or else, Default of other beasts, beastlier men, Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles Who never knew a tailor but by taste.
ROS. Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive With twilight--down among the rocks there, Fife-- Some human dwelling, surely-- Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks In some convulsion like to-day's, and perch'd Quaintly among them in mock-masonry?
FIFE. Most likely that, I doubt.
ROS. No, no--for look! A square of darkness opening in it--
FIFE. Oh, I don't half like such openings!--
ROS. Like the loom Of night from which she spins her outer gloom--
FIFE. Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein In such a time and place--
ROS. And now again Within that square of darkness, look! a light That feels its way with hesitating pulse, As we do, through the darkness that it drives To blacken into deeper night beyond.
FIFE. In which could we follow that light's example, As might some English Bardolph with his nose, We might defy the sunset--Hark, a chain!
ROS. And now a lamp, a lamp! And now the hand That carries it.
FIFE. Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain!
ROS. And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed As strange as any in Arabian tale, So giant-like, and terrible, and grand, Spite of the skin he's wrapt in.
FIFE. Why, 'tis his own: Oh, 'tis some wild man of the woods; I've heard They build and carry torches--
ROS. Never Ape Bore such a brow before the heavens as that-- Chain'd as you say too!--
FIFE. Oh, that dreadful chain!
ROS. And now he sets the lamp down by his side, And with one hand clench'd in his tangled hair And with a sigh as if his heart would break--
(During this Segismund has entered from the fortress, with a torch.)
SEGISMUND. Once more the storm has roar'd itself away, Splitting the crags of God as it retires; But sparing still what it should only blast, This guilty piece of human handiwork, And all that are within it. Oh, how oft, How oft, within or here abroad, have I Waited, and in the whisper of my heart Pray'd for the slanting hand of heaven to strike The blow myself I dared not, out of fear Of