VII
Stark. Ornis. Alwyn. Shy.
[Enter Stark, in garb of a hunter. He
wears a tawny leopard’s skin, and his
head is gorgeously plumed. Behind
him, two panting dogs are held in leash
by attendants. Stark rushes toward
Ornis, passes her oblivious, and seizes
up the fallen bird.]
STARK
Bagged!—Hold off the dogs!
[The Attendants withdraw with the hounds.]
ORNIS
[As Stark grasps the bird, clutches her own side in pain.]
Ee-ó-lo!
STARK
A rare beauty!—Bah, one wing
Shot-torn! Well, well, we’ll patch the thing.
“Sir—Here is No Hunting”
Madame La Mode’s a tricksy milliner.
[He thrusts the bird into his game pouch. Turning to leave, he sees Alwyn and Shy, and greets them gaily.]
Halloa! Fine hunting weather!
SHY
[Quietly.]
Sir,
Here is No Hunting.
STARK
[With a laugh.]
Pipe that to the frogs!
SHY
This ground is sanctuary.
STARK
And what’s that?
SHY
A place held sacred from the hunter’s trail.
STARK
Why, man, I am no hunter, and that’s flat.
I only plume myself—to trim a hat.
Besides, I shot outside your pale;
And now
[Touching his pouch, he winks.]
the game is bagged.
SHY
You bag the spangle
And lose the spirit.—Sir, here is no place
To preach or wrangle
Our creeds. I am a student, not a teacher.
So I would only learn of you: what joy
Urges you to destroy
So gracious, fair
And innocent a fellow-creature
As yonder?
[He points at Ornis.]
STARK
[Looking.]
Where?
ALWYN
Our sister, who stands there
And dumbly pleads for all her race—
And ours.
STARK
By Christ in Hades,
My eyes see nothing but a brace
Of popinjays, who pipe to me of ladies
And show me—no one.
ALWYN
Look more near.
Speak to him, Ornis!—Listen, now!
ORNIS
[Drawing back in dread.]
O-rée-o!
STARK
I am listening.
ALWYN
Did you hear
No voice?
STARK
I heard a bird call from that bough.
QUERCUS
[Peeping toward Shy from the bushes.]
Have at him, master!
SHY
[To Stark.]
Did you spy
That fellow’s horns there, when he drew back
Into the bush?
STARK
I saw
A stirring in that staghorn sumach,
And caught a rabbit’s eye.—
What are these crazy quizzings? Pshaw!
Good day to you!
ALWYN
Stay yet!
Once more look yonder, where my comrade stands,
Turning to take the gentle, outreached hands
Of our shy sister: Can you see
No timid form beside him?
STARK
Perfectly
My eyes discern
A man, who peers within the morning mist,
And murmurs to the air,
And smiles, as if he held sweet converse there.
In short, I see a sentimentalist.
I am not of that ilk.
[Calling]—Ho, there!—Holá!
Wait with my dogs: I’m coming.
ALWYN
Stay, and learn
What we ourselves have only learned through quiet
Listening. So long, in rampant haste,
Your dizzy soul has chased
The spinning dollar sign which stars your zodiac,
That you have lost the track
Of paths serene, and pace God’s world in riot
Of blinding gold. Pause, for this little space!
Put off that blood-emblazed regalia
Gorgeous with death,
And draw with me one meditative breath
Here in the temple of cool Tacita.
STARK
[Who has listened with half-amused curiosity.]
Ah—Tacita? And who may that be, friend?
ALWYN
One lovelier than you have yet set eyes on.
SHY
Go, Quercus: Pray our mistress to attend.
[Quercus goes out.]
STARK
Mistress! Is she a maid?—and lovely, too?
And may this wonder dawn on my horizon
If I remain?
ALWYN
Remain—to meditate!
STARK
Why, now, you stir my fancies.
In truth, ’tis early still, and little to do
This hour. Come, I will wait
And watch with you. But mind! The nymph must be
More lovely than my eyes did ever see!
ALWYN
With loveliness more deep than eyes discover.
STARK
So, ’tis a bargain, then?
ALWYN
Sit by me here;
And if your musings cause no fear,
You shall behold her in her secret dances.
STARK
By Hercules! I’m half prepared to love her!
[He sits on the log beside Alwyn. Ornis still stands apart, under Shy’s protection. Quercus enters, beckoning backward into the wood.]
