Semiramis and Other Plays Part 70

Poe. Virginia, Virginia! I pour out my soul to you! I keep back no drop of its sea! From the infinite, shrouded sources of life I rush to you in a thousand singing rivers, only to waste, to burn, to die on the sands of silence! (She remains motionless, her head bowed) ... It is so still upon the eternal peaks. Will you not come up with me and be the bride of my dreams? You need not speak ... you need not say a word. Only put the light of poesy in your eyes and let me _see_ that through the channel of their beauty course the mysteries that begin with G.o.d and end not with time! (She looks at him. He gazes into her eyes) ... Tears ... only tears. (Turns away) Can a soul's _eyes_ be dumb?

(She sits, weeping silently) ... Come then ... talk of what you will. Only talk! You have read a little Byron to-day? The new magazine came? And you have made me a handkerchief? (She sobs. He looks at her remorsefully, crosses the room, gets her harp and brings it to the fireside) Come ... sing to me, Virginia. You can do that.

Vir. (Taking harp) What shall I sing, dear?

Poe. Something to charm the very heart of aeolus! That will turn a tempest into a violet's breath!

Vir. Ah, my love!

Poe. O, sing--sing anything!

Vir. (Sings)

Great and calm, cool-bosomed blue, Take me to the heart of you!

Not where thy blue mystery Sweeps the surface of the sea, Leaving in a dying gleam Living trouble of a dream; Not where loves of heaven lie Rosy 'gainst the upper sky Burning with an ardent touch

Where an angel kissed too much; But where sight and sound come not, All of life and love forgot, All of Heaven forfeited For thy deep Nirvana bed.

Wide and far enfolding blue, Take me to the heart--

(Her voice breaks suddenly)

Poe. Virginia! (She coughs) Don't! (Her cough increases. She puts her handkerchief to her lips. Poe takes it from her hand and looks at it.) Blood! (Throws handkerchief into the fire, and stands as if paralyzed, gazing at Virginia.

Falls at her feet and begins kissing her skirt) My angel!

my angel! I have killed my little bride!

Vir. (Urging him gently up) No, dear. I was marked for this from birth. My doom was written by Heaven, not you.

Poe. Not doom, my Virginia! (Rising) I will save you, my darling! You shall have everything! With the sickle of a wish you shall harvest the earth! We will sail southern seas! We will follow the Spring as she flies! I will knock at the orient gates and bring thee the health of morning!

I'll make the world so bright for thee, Hyperion's self shall wear new gold and shame remembered suns from chronicle! Spring from perfection's heart shall pluck her buds, and set such gloss on Nature she may laud her old self in one violet's requiem! O, I'll sing the world into a flower for thy bosom! My love, my love, my love! (She coughs restrainedly. He hides his face till she stops) Even the senseless oak velvets its rude sides to the tender vine! But I--a man--O, beast too vile for h.e.l.l! too low to be d.a.m.ned!

Vir. Edgar!

Poe. Do not touch me! is not the mark here? (Touching his brow) O, where shall I hide it?

Vir. (Drawing him to her) On my bosom, Edgar. (Presses him to the large chair and sits on the arm of it, caressing him) This forehead is as pure as heaven-lit ivory of angels'

brows!

Poe. O, golden heart! (Kisses her over her heart) I will work so hard, Virginia! We shall be rich, and I will take you to some wonderful land where beauty can not die! Will you forgive me then when you are bright and strong in some happy isle of roses?

Vir. I will forgive you now, dearest, if you will do one thing for me.

Poe. O, what, my darling?

Vir. Eat the poor little supper I have cooked for you.

Poe. Yes--yes--I'll eat it though it be h.e.l.l's coals!

Vir. Now that's a compliment to your cook, isn't it? (Takes food from oven and puts it on table. Poe eats, at first reluctantly, then hungrily)

Poe. It is late--so late! O, my Lenore, you kept up for me!

Your weary eyes would not close until they had found their lover! O, can you forgive me, and take me back to your heart? You will love me again?

Vir. Ah, Edgar, if love were enough we should always be happy.

Poe. Love me, love me, dear! I want no more! And this cough ...

we shall stop all that, darling! O, how weary you must be, and you tried to have everything so beautiful for me! How pretty your dress is! You look like a Naiad smiling out of a lily. But it's too cold! Here, I will wrap you! (Puts shawl about her) Ah, little wife, little wife, what evil power locked your gentle heart with mine? Bear with me, love. It will all be different soon. I shall try so hard the G.o.ds for pity will not let me fail! See how I have eaten! You may give me more, love. You did not cook this, I know. You stole it from Jove's kitchen.

Vir. (Getting food) Yes, I did, and Jove caught me, but he let me go when I told him it was for a poet.

Poe. Little witch! (Kisses her) How happy we shall be, Virginia, as soon as I have money. I shall go to New York for a year. It will take only a year. Then I shall come back bringing the lady Fame with me, and you must not be jealous of her.

Vir. (Slowly) You--would not--take me?

Poe. Why, the north-wind would blow the Spring from my little girl's cheek! Just a year! That is the first step--a cruel one--but we shall be happy when it is over. Just a year, sweetheart! I must take no chances now! I _must_ win!

Vir. You shall not leave me! A year will not hurt me, Edgar!

But it would kill me to be left here ... and not know ...

every minute....

Poe. Do you care so much, Lenore? Then we will both stay here.

It will take longer, but I will work harder--

Vir. Enough for to-night. We are too happy for to-morrows, Edgar. Now you must have a long, long sleep--

Poe. No, no! No bed for me to-night! I must work!

Vir. No bed, indeed! I did not say bed, my lord! You are going to sit down here (Places him on footstool) and I shall sit here, (settles in chair) and your head in my lap--my hands on your head--and the crooningest of little songs will bring you the sweetest s.n.a.t.c.h of sleep that you ever, ever had!

Poe. O, 'tis heaven, Virginia! But you are too tired, my angel.

_You_ must sleep.

Vir. And so I shall when my lord shows me the way.

(Poe drops his head on her lap. She turns down light. He falls asleep as she sings softly)

Like a fallen star on the breast of the sea My lover rests on the heart of me; The lord of the tempest hies him down From his billow-crest to his cavern-throne, And 'tis peace as wide as the eye can see When my lover rests on the heart of me.

(Silence. Virginia droops in sleep. No light but dull red coals.)

(CURTAIN)

ACT IV.

Scene I: An old bookstore, New York. Bookseller arranging books.

Helen at one side looking over shelves. Poe enters. He wears a military cloak and jaunty cap. Throws book on table and whistles carelessly.