[Falls a-musing again.
MASTER OLIVER
But a night's dream undid him, and he died, and his kingdom
By unheard-of deeds fashioned, was tumbled together,
By false men and fools to be fought for and ruined.
Such words shall my ghost see the chronicler writing
In the days that shall be:—ah—what wouldst thou, my fosterling?
Knowest thou not how words fail us awaking
That we seemed to hear plain amid sleep and its sweetness?
Nay, strive not, my son, rest awhile and be silent;
Or sleep while I watch thee: full fair is the garden,
Perchance mid the flowers thy sweet dream may find thee,
And thou shalt have pleasure and peace for a little.—
(Aside) And my soul shall depart ere thou wak'st peradventure.
KING PHARAMOND
Yea, thou deemest me mad: a dream thou mayst call it,
But not such a dream as thou know'st of: nay, hearken!
For what manner of dream then is this that remembers
The words that she sang on that morning of glory;—
O love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting;
Cast thy sweet arms about me to stay my hearts beating!
Ah, thy silence, thy silence! nought shines on the darkness!
—O close-serried throng of the days that I see not!
[Falls a-musing again.
MASTER OLIVER
Thus the worse that shall be, the bad that is, bettereth.
—Once more he is speechless mid evil dreams sunken.
KING PHARAMOND (speaking very low).
Hold silence, love, speak not of the sweet day departed;
Cling close to me, love, lest I waken sad-hearted!