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White-robed as spirits, Gold knives uplifting, Sing to the serpents, Seek the Charmed Egg!
_Druids (bowing with weird signs)._ Great is the Queen.
Her Druids hear.
But shall no gift be made?
_Boadicea._ Yea ... since Lactantius, G.o.d more than all G.o.ds, Will not be soothed By sheep or cattle, On your high altar Slay ye this maiden of Gaul!
[_Points to_ LAMORA, _who cries out to her, then to_ BRUDE:
_Lamora._ Nay, Queen, O pity!
O, Brude, win pity!
Let her not yield me Prey to the G.o.ds.
Rather in battle 'Gainst the hard Roman Would I be trampled Into the grave.
Trampled by war-hoofs ...
Into a grave of blood!
_Boadicea._ Proud-lip! mocker!
Dare you sputter Shame on the awful G.o.ds?
[_Strikes her down...._ BRUDE _watches helpless._
_Corlun (coming forward)._ Kneel, Druids, kneel!
Then bear her away!
Meet me at midnight, Druids' day, Deep within Mona's wood.
[_They kneel, then go, bearing_ LAMORA.
SCENE II: _Sunset. A rocky cave near the forest._ BRUDE _facing back and forth with restless muttering._
_Brude._ O thou Lactantius, Whom other G.o.ds Worship with trembling, While their star-chariots Roll to the sea!
Symbolled by circles, Endless in being, Dost thou love life-blood As Druids say?
When the white maiden's Pierced on the altar Dost thou drink praises From her wide wound?
So teach the seers, So did I, Brude, swear-- Till I saw Lamora!
Her eyes are love-fires, Her words are sorcery Stronger than G.o.d-laws!
But ... who comes. .h.i.ther?
[_Has heard a moan._ Hither hara.s.ser Of these my thoughts?
Ha! is it Lamora Followed by Cormo?
Curses like vampires Fall on his head!
[_Steps aside._
_Lamora (entering in despair)._ Mother! sweet mother, Far in the Eastland, Soon must thy daughter Pa.s.s from earth's day!
Ne'er shall a boy-babe Suck from her bosom Valor to strangle Wolves in the lair!
Never shall husband From the red war-fields Bring her the foeman's spoils!
_Cormo (behind her)._ Lamora, proud one--
_Lamora._ Leave me, viper!
Stand from me farther!
Will you e'en now With tongue spit poison On my last ebbing hour?
_Cormo._ Nay, maiden, cruel, But I will aid thee.
Words are as smoke, Deeds as flame!
Hear! I will save thee From Druid talons And bear thee whither thou wilt: Give but thy vow to wed me!
_Lamora._ Wed thee?--thee?...
Never--while cliffs O'er the plain jutting Plight void death to the leaper!
Never while waves Curl gray lips Yearning to gulf the doomed!
_Cormo._ Then thou shalt die! shalt die!
Druids shall gash Streamings of life Out of thy shrinking sides!
_Lamora._ Then die I will!...
But not thro fear.
Coward of Britons, Will I e'er mother Child of thy loins.
Rather let flames, Tongues of the G.o.ds, Suck the red life from my breast.
Yea, let the G.o.ds, Glutless as men, And, as women, Treacherous, vain-- Strike, at the call of thy Queen!
[_Goes, followed by_ CORMO.
_Brude (coming forward)._ No! thou shalt live, live, live!
[_Goes into cave, then comes forth with a knife._
SCENE III: _Midnight. A stormy glade in the forest. On one side a cromlech whereon_ LAMORA _lies bound_: CORLUN _beside her with an uplifted blade of gold. On the other side Druids--around a pot of serpents over a fire in the cavern of an uprooted tree._
[BRUDE _is among them, watchful._
_Corlun (chanting)._ Orpo!--Ai!-- Now shall the Roman Backward be driven, O G.o.ds!
Orpo!--Ai!-- For to the death stroke Lamora's given, O G.o.ds!
Orpo! Ai!-- Her skyward soul Thro the dank dark shall rise, As the morn's sun Unto your halls Far o'er the skies.
And she shall say Thus Druids crave Help of the helpers of men.
_Druids (incanting around the cavern)._ Orpo!--Ai!-- Serpents are sp.a.w.ned Of devils' spit, O G.o.ds!
Orpo!--Ai!-- Spit boiled with blood In caverns lit By fungous fangs From Mona's wood.
[_They circle._ BRUDE _steals behind_ CORLUN.
Orpo!--Ai!-- Serpents are sp.a.w.ned In magic broth To coil and wriggle, Writhe and twist; Till their froth Becomes a mist, Till the mist An egg shall form-- Charm that Druids prize.
_Brude (with a sudden cry)._ Corlun, the G.o.ds Wait for thy soul!
[_Slays him._ Lamora, fly!
With me, fly-- Thro the black forest!
[_Has cut her bonds._ Great Lactantius, Maker of G.o.ds, Loves _not_ the maiden's death-cry!
[_They escape._
_Druids (in terror)._ Corlun is slain!
Corlun! slain!
