Cloud: What, little maid?
Celeste (pointing): That—over there—beyond the
wooded crest!
Cloud: Only a skylark dropping to her nest;
Her mate is hov’ring somewhere near. I heard
His tremulous song of love—
Celeste: That was no bird!
(Drops upon her knees.)
O Mary! Blessed Mother! Hear my prayer!
That one that fell—grant it was not Pierre!
Here is the cross my mother gave me—I
Will burn the longest candle it will buy!
Cloud: Courage, my child! Your prayer will not be vain!
Who guards the lark, will guide your lover’s plane.
The West Wind’s calling. I must go!—Hark! There
He sings again! Le bon Dieu garde, ma chère!
II
Pierre: I made a perfect landing over there
Behind the church—
Celeste: The Virgin heard my prayer!
Now I must burn the candle that I vowed—
Pierre: Then ’twas our Blessed Lady sent that Cloud
That saved me when the Boche came up behind.
I made a lightning turn, only to find
The Boche on top of me. It seemed a kind
Of miracle to see that Cloud—I swear
A moment past the sky was everywhere
As clear as clear; there was no Cloud in sight.
It looked to me, floating there calm and white.
Like a great mother hen, and I a chick.
She seemed to call me, and I scurried quick
Behind her wing. That spoiled the Boche’s game,
And gave me time to turn and take good aim.
I emptied my last drum, and saw him drop
Ten thousand feet in flames—
Celeste (shuddering): Stop! Pierre, stop!
Maybe a girl is waiting for him too—