Poetry.
I am the mouthpiece of the Eternal Gods,
And in my voice, that down the ages rings,
Men hear the ceaseless heart-beats of the world.
Without me all that has been would have died
And lain forgotten in a silent grave.
The present echoes what I once have sung,
The future holds the secrets I have read.
Service. Hail, and well met! I was but starting forth to seek thee. Thou who hast the wisdom of all time mayst help us in our hour of need; an evil spell has been cast about the Princess, and how it is to be broken, none of us know.
Poetry.
Good Service, tell me all; for I presume,
Despite the tender care which through her life
Has shielded Douce-cœur like a ring of steel,
That to her side some foe has won his way
And dimmed the peaceful mirror of her soul.
Service. Yea, truly, one evening as the sun was setting a woman clad in long gray robes entered the Palace gates and meeting the Princess on the terrace walk led her down among the cypresses. They sat long together in the twilight and ever since Douce-cœur is changed. No smile curves her lips, the sunlight is gone from her face, and she goes always with veiled head, and sad unseeing eyes. I heard but now her companions are to be sent away. Joy, Laughter, Song and Dance, all to be banished. This is the Gray Woman's doing, but why, no man can say.
Poetry.
The stranger in gray robes of whom ye speak
Is Sorrow's self, whose other name is Pain.
She comes, and when she comes none may resist.
Against her none have power to bar their gates.
Ye who have always cherishèd Douce-cœur
And guarded her from knowledge of the World,
Have left her ignorance a prey to pain.
Thus night has fallen on a tender heart
That never saw the shadows for the sun.
Queen Sorrow, who can hide the stars of heaven,
Has torn the golden veil from top to hem,
And in the outer darkness Douce-cœur stands,
Seeing no rift to tell of light eclipsed,
Knowing no key to all the mystery.
Service. The King, her father, has sent proclamations forth that whoso can bring back the smiles to Douce-cœur's lips, the sunshine to her face, whoso can win her from the Gray Woman's side, on him shall half the kingdom be bestowed and Douce-cœur's hand in marriage. The Heralds have gone crying this abroad, and we have word three suitors are traveling here post-haste.
Poetry.
I know not who these suitors chance to be
But not by them may Sorrow be cast out.
One only holds a mightier spell than hers,
And I will send my constant messenger
To seek him to the ends of all the Earth.
Come to me, Child, who holdst Eternal Youth.
[Enter Hope.]
Hope. Didst call me, Poetry?
Poetry. Yea, child of my Heart,
Go out into the wilderness for me.
Find me the Stranger in a Pilgrim's garb
Around whose head the song birds pipe their lays,
Beneath whose feet the withered flowers revive.
Say, "In the Court of Youth Queen Sorrow reigns
And shadows lie like night on Douce-cœur's heart."