SCENE III.
The fortress Castle of Bawn co Pagh. A voice sings: “Where Liberty with Love entwines its arms, Its Life possesses vast, magnetic charms; Cold, lifeless Licence is not liberty, To be a King means not that you are free. Laws docked of Nature are not Freedom’s joys, But just mechanical and puppet toys, Laughed at by men, who scorn their puny sway, And treat them as just made to disobey. ’Tis Love whose occult Pow’r alone conceives What properties makes freedom. She receives Into her gentle bosom Truth’s mandate And guided by it learns how to create Those laws which fashion Liberty divine, And which alone from Love’s soft eyes can shine. Oh! Love, thou child of the Almighty Pow’r, Seductive as the sweetest scented flow’r, Thy influence is paramount to save, Teaching men to be just, be fair, be brave, To be the sons of Liberty and thee, True mates who can alone produce the free, Those free, whose eyes are fixed on Love’s bright Star, Speaking to them in flashes from afar. Be thou my guide all through my mortal Life, Holding thy hand let me destroy the strife Which Cruelty creates and scatters round, Sowing its poisoned grain in fertile ground. I will, by aid of thee, uproot this grain, Upon it Fire’s consuming powers rain, Burn it to ashes, sow instead thy seed Which shall Love’s golden luscious harvest breed, Whose sustenance shall nourish and inspire Kindness to triumph over Selfish ire.”
Vergli (coming to the ramparts and looking over them): “Do my ears mock me? Sure, ’tis Vulnar’s voice, None other owns such subtle melody. Is it your Spirit serenading me, Comrade in arms, friend of my boyhood, too? Vulnar, sure voice like yours is quite unique, You have no rival, so it must be you. You have no equal, whose melodious touch Sends through the being thrills of ecstacy. Vulnar, where are you? Is your presence nigh, In body or in spirit calling me? It seems to me as though Isola’s voice Whispers unto me, ‘Vergli, Victory,’ And now I hear song rippling from your lips, Song such as Vulnar’s lips alone can frame, Song in whose melody, immortal Truth Mingles with mortal utterance in tune.”
Enter Vulnar: “Hail, Prince of Scota. Welcome to my home. Welcome, Prince Vergli, to our Bawn co Pagh.”
Vergli (seizing his hand): “Vulnar alive! Vulnar not dead? Not gone? Are my eyes clear, or am I dreaming dreams? Vulnar saluting me as Hector’s heir, Calling me Prince of Scota? Hark! I hear. Whispers are whispering within my brain, I hear Isola’s voice addressing me. It comes from Vulnar, yet it is her voice. ‘Vergli,’ it says, ‘Hail Vict’ry? You are free.’”
Vulnar. “Yes, Vergli, it is Victory indeed. From Isola, whom both of us adore, I bear you the last word her dear lips framed, She died while utt’ring it. ’Twas ‘Victory.’”
Vergli. “Isola dead! And you alive, Vulnar? Can it be possible? Speak man. Explain.”
Vulnar recounts events to Vergli. The latter listens in silence, then exclaims: “Isola dead. Happy Escanior. You revel in a being we have lost. Lost, yet not lost, for Isola is nigh. Around me is her presence. Ev’rywhere! Her Thought permeates my soul, entrancing it, The breath of Memory is on my brow, Within my brain her voice is speaking Love, Love, velvet Love, to Vergli and Vulnar. Yes, Vulnar, love to you, and love to me, For Isola is Love itself. Her Life Was one long act of love. Cold Cruelty Was the sole thing she hated on our Erth.”
Vulnar. “Sir, Diamond Truth falls from inspired lips, Your words are echoes of that attribute. There was no hate or fear in Isola, Save of the awful demon Cruelty, And him she feared and hated cordially. Her words through Hector, my dear lord, The King, I bear you now. ‘Come, take your own, Vergli, You are The Prince of Scota, true born son Of Noble Merani. Saxscober’s heir.’ Hail Sir, as such, no courtly homage mine. But just acknowledgment of brotherhood, There is but one nobility, one claim, Which I acknowledge as nobility, And that is Merit, child of Perfect Thought, That perfect thought which love alone can frame. Lo! sinks the sun behind the Bawn co Pagh. Amidst a perfect sea of yellow gold, Whence shoots aloft a fan of brilliant rays, Blue, opal, green and purple in their hues. Mark the ascending stream. Is it not fair, This portrait of the fireworks of Heaven? Is not the scene symbolic of that Thought Which sinks in Death only to rise again?”
Vergli. “’Tis so, for Thought is Life, Eternal Life, Soul of the Body, Master of the mind, Its eyes look through the eyes of human sight And speak their eloquence, fervid though mute, There is more meaning in one soulful glance, Than reams of words from mere material lips. But come, Vulnar. Gladden your people’s hearts, They mourn you as amid the gallant dead. Rejoicing will awake the Bawn co Pagh And ring its echoes over hill and dale. I love them well, these hillmen. They are true. They’ve treated me as though I were a King, And yielded me a kindness exquisite. I might have been the lord of Bawn co Pagh, Instead of what I was, a hunted thing.”
Vulnar. “Sir, you were to them what you are to me, The Prince of Scota, though a hunted thing. They honoured you as such. The brotherhood You preach for practice, they gave unto you, You were their brother, they your brothers, too, And thus fraternal love they meted out, My people and myself are one in all Upon the heather slopes, amidst the dales, And all around the fortress Bawn co Pagh, We preach and practise Brotherhood in Men, Love is our guiding Star, our motive Pow’r, The Love for which our dear Isola died.”
[Both enter the Bawn co Pagh.