V
Tacita. Alwyn. Shy.
[Dreamily, the fluting of birds sounds in
the forest. Dimly from the background
Tacita appears. With steps of reverie,
she approaches, and pauses before
them. Alwyn looks up and, touching
Shy’s arm, speaks low.]
Tacita! It is she!
SHY
Speak to her—you.
Alwyn
Dryad, and spirit of serenity,
Whose steps have fallen timeful as the dew
Upon our pathway, intervene
For us with that still-undiscovered queen—
Ornis, who reigns among your ancient boughs
Spirit of birds and sister of our race,
Man. Stir your spell-enchanted feet,
And by their moods arouse
Her hidden grace
To heed us, and hold speech from realms unseen.
[To mysterious music, Tacita treads a dance of invocation, appealing in pantomime to the unseen spirit of wings, which flits and sings and broods in the boughs above her. Alwyn and Shy watch her, rapt and expectant.
Suddenly a sharp gun-shot sounds, shivering the music, which ceases. Through the boughs, a bird falls fluttering to the earth.]