50
A DRAMA OF EXILE.
Second Spirit.
O my wild wood-dogs, with, your listening eyes!
My horses—my ground eagles, for swift fleeing!
My birds, with viewless wings of harmonies,—
My calm cold fishes of a silver being,—
How happy were ye, living and possessing,
O fair half-souls, capacious of full blessing.
Yet I wail!
First Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Now hear my charge to-day,
Thou man, thou woman, marked as the misdoers,
By God's sword at your backs! I lent my clay
To make your bodies, which had grown more flowers:
And now, in change for what I lent, ye give me
The thorn to vex, the tempest-fire to cleave me—
And I wail!
Second Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Behold ye that I fasten
My sorrow's fang upon your souls dishonoured?
Accursed transgressors! down the steep ye hasten,—
Your crown's weight on the world, to drag it downward
Unto your ruin. Lo! my lions, scenting
The blood of wars, roar hoarse and unrelenting—
And I wail!
First Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Do ye hear that I wail?
I had no part in your transgression—none!
My roses on the bough did bud not pale—
My rivers did not loiter in the sun.
I was obedient. Wherefore, in my centre,
Do I thrill at this curse of death and winter!—
And I wail!
Second Spirit.
I wail, I wail! I shriek in the assault
Of undeserved perdition, sorely wounded!
My nightingales sang sweet without a fault,
My gentle leopards innocently bounded;
We were obedient—what is this convulses
O my wild wood-dogs, with, your listening eyes!
My horses—my ground eagles, for swift fleeing!
My birds, with viewless wings of harmonies,—
My calm cold fishes of a silver being,—
How happy were ye, living and possessing,
O fair half-souls, capacious of full blessing.
Yet I wail!
First Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Now hear my charge to-day,
Thou man, thou woman, marked as the misdoers,
By God's sword at your backs! I lent my clay
To make your bodies, which had grown more flowers:
And now, in change for what I lent, ye give me
The thorn to vex, the tempest-fire to cleave me—
And I wail!
Second Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Behold ye that I fasten
My sorrow's fang upon your souls dishonoured?
Accursed transgressors! down the steep ye hasten,—
Your crown's weight on the world, to drag it downward
Unto your ruin. Lo! my lions, scenting
The blood of wars, roar hoarse and unrelenting—
And I wail!
First Spirit.
I wail, I wail! Do ye hear that I wail?
I had no part in your transgression—none!
My roses on the bough did bud not pale—
My rivers did not loiter in the sun.
I was obedient. Wherefore, in my centre,
Do I thrill at this curse of death and winter!—
And I wail!
Second Spirit.
I wail, I wail! I shriek in the assault
Of undeserved perdition, sorely wounded!
My nightingales sang sweet without a fault,
My gentle leopards innocently bounded;
We were obedient—what is this convulses
