The Dales of Arcady - novelonlinefull.com
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Maybe a windflower shows her shy white face, But I have seen anemones in snow, Hiding their eyes (false messengers of Spring), Justly ashamed of their own perfidy.
Therefore, sing softly.
QUEEN MAB _curls herself up among her emerald cushions, closes her azure eyes, and sleeps for several days_.
THE THRUSH (_his voice a degree sweeter and surer_):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
A primrose blooms In the woodland brake.
From thy sleepy lips Has tumbled a smile Which lies a-blossoming Near the stile.
A primrose blooms In the woodland brake!
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
_A blue t.i.t from a neighbourly silver birch softly mimics the trills after the last line._
QUEEN MAB (_half opening her eyes_):
O tiresome bird, one primrose does not bring The warm sweet days for which I yearning wait.
Know, I have seen the hillside amber-pied With primroses, and yet a fierce gale swept Adown the dale. Primroses are brave, But, tho' they blossom, leave me to my dreams.
_Once more she nestles among the jade-green moss and sleeps for a week._
THE THRUSH (_louder and clearer_):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
From thy faerie dream Has sped a laugh Like a sunny gleam Which springs to earth A daffy-down-dill That merrily flouts At the purling rill, Thy laugh has sped O'er the hillside grey: Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Listen my lay!
_The cuckoo calls wistfully from down-dale, but_ QUEEN MAB _does not hear him._
QUEEN MAB (_stretching her small white arms and yawning dreamily_):
Methinks the air feels warmer, and the sky Seems bluer, yet mine eyes are loath to ope.
I will not wake at once: How the birds sing!
I did not think the world held so much song.
That note's a blackbird's; that's a finch's call; A wren has whispered secrets to his mate; Two doves are cooing where green curtains hang, Half shyly, lest their love-songs should be heard; Yet, 'tis not spring until the cuckoo cries.
_The cuckoo's voice is heard nearer, coming from Bolton Abbey, and a second voice answers,_
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
From Barden Fell.
THE THRUSH (_his voice jubilantly strong_):
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Thy hyacinth eyes Have filled the coppice With azure sighs.
My loved little queen Of windflower feet, Of daffodil-laughter So primrose-sweet!
The rippling wood Is a bluey lake.
Queen Mab! Queen Mab!
Awake! Awake!
QUEEN MAB (_wide awake now, springs from her couch and curtsies to the World, north, south, east, and west, then raises her arms to the Sun_):
Gold Sun, I greet thee; do not hide thy face Too soon behind the wistful little hills.
Thou art my lover, faithless, fickle, fair, And leav'st me all too soon; my kingdom's naught Without thy splendid presence; stay awhile.
Old World, old wrinkled granddame, thee I greet; Thy loving smile renews thy youth once more.
For months I slept upon thy broad brown breast; I thank thee, granddame, for so good a rest.
Ye birds that whistle, hares that limping run, And little soft-eared rabbits, velvet shod, Great wayward mortals, with unseeing eyes, I greet you one and all, for Spring has come.
Laugh with the sun, muse with the silver showers; Laugh and make merry, Spring is all too fleet, And soon will dance away on flower-loved feet.
_Exit_ QUEEN MAB _in search of her court of b.u.t.terflies. Above the bird-music is heard the insistent cry of the cuckoo, till the fells re-echo with his calling._
BOLTON WOODS, WHARFEDALE.
