QUEEN MAB'S AWAKENING
SCENE: The Meeting of the Waters, in Bolton Woods, Wharfedale.
QUEEN MAB lies sleepily in a mossy hollow, guarded by a quivering frond of last year's bracken. After a little yawn she discontentedly gazes at THE THRUSH who is singing continuously, whilst balancing himself on a twig of the leafless hawthorn above her.
QUEEN MAB (almost peevishly for a Queen):
Thou saucy bird, to wake me from my slumber,
The spring still tarries, and I would not wake
To live thro' cloud-spun days, thro' endless nights;
To watch the weeping rain, until I too
Would mix my tears with hers. To see the hills
Bow their nude forms beneath the lashing hail,
To hear the strong trees groan.
I will not wake.
THE THRUSH (practising trills between each line and minor arpeggios after each verse):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Listen my lay!
A windflower leapt
In the hedge to-day.
One of thy dimples
Lent its mirth
To lessen the gloom
Of the snow-tired earth.
A white-faced flower's
In the hedge to-day,
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Listen my lay!
QUEEN MAB (impetuously):
Please, hush thy noisy song a little while.
Maybe a windflower shows her shy white face,
But I have seen anemones in snow,
Hiding their eyes (false messengers of Spring),
Justly ashamed of their own perfidy.
Therefore, sing softly.
QUEEN MAB curls herself up among her emerald cushions, closes her azure eyes, and sleeps for several days.
THE THRUSH (his voice a degree sweeter and surer):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
A primrose blooms
In the woodland brake.
From thy sleepy lips
Has tumbled a smile
Which lies a-blossoming
Near the stile.
A primrose blooms
In the woodland brake!
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
A blue tit from a neighbourly silver birch softly mimics the trills after the last line.
QUEEN MAB (half opening her eyes):
O tiresome bird, one primrose does not bring
The warm sweet days for which I yearning wait.
Know, I have seen the hillside amber-pied
With primroses, and yet a fierce gale swept
Adown the dale. Primroses are brave,
But, tho' they blossom, leave me to my dreams.
Once more she nestles among the jade-green moss and sleeps for a week.
THE THRUSH (louder and clearer):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
From thy faerie dream
Has sped a laugh
Like a sunny gleam
Which springs to earth
A daffy-down-dill
That merrily flouts
At the purling rill,
Thy laugh has sped
O'er the hillside grey:
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Listen my lay!
The cuckoo calls wistfully from down-dale, but QUEEN MAB does not hear him.
QUEEN MAB (stretching her small white arms and yawning dreamily):
Methinks the air feels warmer, and the sky
Seems bluer, yet mine eyes are loath to ope.
I will not wake at once:
How the birds sing!
I did not think the world held so much song.
That note's a blackbird's; that's a finch's call;
A wren has whispered secrets to his mate;
Two doves are cooing where green curtains hang,
Half shyly, lest their love-songs should be heard;
Yet, 'tis not spring until the cuckoo cries.
The cuckoo's voice is heard nearer, coming from Bolton Abbey, and a second voice answers,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
From Barden Fell.
THE THRUSH (his voice jubilantly strong):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Thy hyacinth eyes
Have filled the coppice
With azure sighs.
My loved little queen
Of windflower feet,
Of daffodil-laughter
So primrose-sweet!
The rippling wood
Is a bluey lake.
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
QUEEN MAB (wide awake now, springs from her couch and curtsies to the World, north, south, east, and west, then raises her arms to the Sun):
Gold Sun, I greet thee; do not hide thy face
Too soon behind the wistful little hills.
Thou art my lover, faithless, fickle, fair,
And leav'st me all too soon; my kingdom's naught
Without thy splendid presence; stay awhile.
Old World, old wrinkled granddame, thee I greet;
Thy loving smile renews thy youth once more.
For months I slept upon thy broad brown breast;
I thank thee, granddame, for so good a rest.
Ye birds that whistle, hares that limping run,
And little soft-eared rabbits, velvet shod,
Great wayward mortals, with unseeing eyes,
I greet you one and all, for Spring has come.
Laugh with the sun, muse with the silver showers;
Laugh and make merry, Spring is all too fleet,
And soon will dance away on flower-loved feet.
Exit QUEEN MAB in search of her court of butterflies. Above the bird-music is heard the insistent cry of the cuckoo, till the fells re-echo with his calling.
BOLTON WOODS, WHARFEDALE.
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.