MABEL.
Nay! it must be as thou dost tell me oft,
The soul doth lose its secrets at Earth's gate,
And all the blinding glories it hath known
Shed but their mystic influence over life.
Therefore, it may be, 'tis I nought retain
Of that which passeth in these hours of trance.
ORAN.
Yet strive once more to grasp the fleeting dreams,
Else shall I doubt that which I fondly hope.—
Sleep, love, and let thy spirit bask awhile
In Heaven's own sunshine;—yet forget not me!
[Makes passes over her, which shortly sink
her into a state of trance.
'Tis done! she's free! and now this lovely frame
Lies tenantless, a casket whose pure gems
Now sparkle 'mid the opal lights of Heaven.
This earth seems very lone and cold to me
Now she is absent, though a little space!
My heart goes restless wandering around,
Seeking her through old haunts and vacant nooks,
Like one who, waking from some troubled dream,
Findeth his love soft stolen from his side,
And straightway seeketh in a dim amaze
All through the moonlight for her straying feet.
[A pause.
Where art thou, O my dove! about the sky?
Ruffling thy breast across what honey breeze?
Flashing white pinions 'gainst the golden sun,
That fain would nest thee on his ardent breast?
Art thou soft floating through the joys of Heaven,
With Earth far, far beneath thee, like a star
Struggling up through the tremulous sea of light,
That sucks its life down from the eye of day?
About the gate of Heaven there floats my dove,
Fann'd by the breath of melodies divine;
Opes there no casement soft to take her in,
And lay her in the bosom of delight?
O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven!
Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide,
On shining pinions to thine own soft nest?
[A pause.
O wonderful! Thou mansion tenantless,
Unswept by memory, untrod by thought,
Where all lies tranced in motionless repose;
No whisper stirring round the silent place,
No foot of guest across the startled halls,
No rustling robes about the corridors,
No voices floating on the waveless air,
No laughters, no sweet songs like angel dreams
On silver wings among the archèd domes,—
No swans upon the mere—no golden prow,
Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze,—
No flapping sail before the idle wind,—
No music pulsing out its great wild heart
In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through,—
No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades,
In dreams that open wide the Eden gate,
And waft them past the guardian Seraphim.
Sleep over all the Present and the Past—
The Future standing idle at the gate,
Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste
Bearing great tidings to some palace porch,
Findeth the place deserted.
[A noise without; enter in haste Father,
Maurice and Roger.
How now?—Friends, you are welcome!
FATHER.
Where's my child,
That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man?
ORAN.
Sir, you are over hasty in your words—
Your child is here.—
[Points to Mabel, who still lies entranced.
FATHER.
Mabel! wake, Mabel—O my God! she's dead!
MAURICE.
How!—Dead!
ROGER.
Ay, murder'd!
FATHER.
O! my child! my child!
ORAN.
Peace! she is well—Sleep folds her in his arms,
And each upheaving of his drowsy breast
Is like a billow upon pleasure's sea,
Wafting her on to far Hesperides.
FATHER.
This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now,
Else would she waken at my anxious cry;
'Tis death-sleep, wretched man.
MAURICE.
Let's bear her hence.
ROGER.
Nay! let him now unwind his magic spells,
Or fall our vengeance on his guilty head.
ORAN.
Dismiss your fears, and cease your threats. Old man,
Soon shall I prove how much you wrong my love;
Thus do I call the spirit home again,
And wave the slumber backward from her eyes.
[Makes passes to awaken her, but without effect after long persistence.
FATHER.
Impostor! would you mock e'en Death itself,
Calling it sleep!—You see, Death mocks you back.
MAURICE.
In vain! no further seek to blind our fears.
ORAN.
'Tis strange!… stand back, Sirs … 'tis your influence
Hath neutralized my power—stand off, I say!
[Continuing the passes in great agitation.
ROGER.
By Heaven!—It is too much—Let fall the mask!
O villain! you have done your worst at last,
And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land;
But vengeance swift shall follow on your track.
ORAN.
Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here;
This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words—
If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd.
[A silence—continuing the passes.
O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art!
Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,—
Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears!
Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns;
A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues
Make morning on her downy cheek again:
Back … back—my anguish shall unwind the charm!
[A silence.
FATHER.
Sir, I acquit you—pity you—perceive
You loved her, and have err'd against yourself;
But cease these struggles that but mock us now,
They nought avail—my child is dead!…
ORAN.
Mabel! Mabel!