Life Is a Dream Part 15

KING.

What a shriek-- Oh, some poor creature wounded in a cause Perhaps not worth the loss of one poor life!-- So young too--and no soldier--

FIFE.

A poor lad, Who choosing play at hide and seek with death, Just hid where death just came to look for him; For there's no place, I think, can keep him out, Once he's his eye upon you. All grows dark-- You glitter finely too--Well--we are dreaming But when the bullet's off--Heaven save the mark!

So tell my mister--mastress-- (Dies.)

KING.

Oh G.o.d! How this poor creature's ignorance Confounds our so-call'd wisdom! Even now When death has stopt his lips, the wound through which His soul went out, still with its b.l.o.o.d.y tongue Preaching how vain our struggle against fate!

(Voices within).

After them! After them! This way! This way!

The day is ours--Down with Basilio, etc.

AST.

Fly, sir--

KING.

And slave-like flying not out-ride The fate which better like a King abide!

(Enter Segismund, Rosaura, Soldiers, etc.)

SEG.

Where is the King?

KING (prostrating himself).

Behold him,--by this late Antic.i.p.ation of resistless fate, Thus underneath your feet his golden crown, And the white head that wears it, laying down, His fond resistance hope to expiate.

SEG.

Princes and warriors of Poland--you That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past.

What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by G.o.d's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along.

Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept.

But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke.

Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone?

KING.

Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow.

(Shouts, trumpets, etc. G.o.d save King Segismund!)

SEG.

For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign.

(Shouts, etc. G.o.d save Estrella, Queen of Poland!)

SEG (to Clotaldo).

You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own.

You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse.

But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should bear myself beneath it; not As then with angry pa.s.sion all on fire, Arguing and making a distemper'd soul; But ev'n with justice, mercy, self-control, As if the dream I walk'd in were no dream, And conscience one day to account for it.

A dream it was in which I thought myself, And you that hail'd me now then hail'd me King, In a brave palace that was all my own, Within, and all without it, mine; until, Drunk with excess of majesty and pride, Methought I tower'd so high and swell'd so wide, That of myself I burst the glittering bubble, That my ambition had about me blown, And all again was darkness. Such a dream As this in which I may be walking now; Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows, Who make believe to listen; but anon, With all your glittering arms and equipage, King, princes, captains, warriors, plume and steel, Ay, ev'n with all your airy theatre, May flit into the air you seem to rend With acclamation, leaving me to wake In the dark tower; or dreaming that I wake From this that waking is; or this and that Both waking or both dreaming; such a doubt Confounds and clouds our mortal life about.

And, whether wake or dreaming, this I know, How dream-wise human glories come and go; Whose momentary tenure not to break, Walking as one who knows he soon may wake, So fairly carry the full cup, so well Disorder'd insolence and pa.s.sion quell, That there be nothing after to upbraid Dreamer or doer in the part he play'd, Whether To-morrow's dawn shall break the spell, Or the Last Trumpet of the eternal Day, When Dreaming with the Night shall pa.s.s away.

(Exeunt.)