The House of Rimmon Part 7

SONG.

_Above the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun; Along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run; The vapours down the valley go Like broken armies, dark and low.

Look up, my heart, from every hill In folds of rose and daffodil The sunrise banners flow._

_O fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night!

O welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light!

For new, and new, and ever-new, The golden bud within the blue; And every morning seems to say: "There's something happy on the way, And G.o.d sends love to you!"_

NAAMAN: [_Appearing at the entrance of his tent._]

O let me ever wake to music! For the soul Returns most gently then, and finds its way By the soft, winding clue of melody, Out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep, Into the light. My body feels the sun Though I behold naught that his rays reveal.

Come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight, Sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine!

RUAHMAH: [_Coming near._]

A fairer day, dear lord, was never born In Paradise! The sapphire cup of heaven Is filled with golden wine: the earth, adorned With jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face A joyful bride, in welcome to her king.

And look! He leaps upon the Eastern hills All ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss.

Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulf Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals The rivers winding trail with wreaths of mist.

Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale Of Barley, while the plains to northward change Their colour like the shimmering necks of doves.

The lark springs up, with morning on her wings, To climb her singing stairway in the blue, And all the fields are sprinkled with her joy!

NAAMAN: Thy voice is magical: thy words are visions!

I must content myself with them, for now My only hope is lost: Samaria's king Rejects our monarch's message,--hast thou heard?

"Am I a G.o.d that I should cure a leper?"

He sends me home unhealed, with angry words, Back to Damascus and the lingering death.

RUAHMAH: What matter where he sends? No G.o.d is he To slay or make alive. Elisha bids You come to him at Dothan, there to learn There is a G.o.d in Israel.

NAAMAN: I fear That I am grown mistrustful of all G.o.ds; Their secret counsels are implacable.

RUAHMAH: Fear not! There's One who rules in righteousness High over all.

NAAMAN: What knowest thou of Him?

RUAHMAH: Oh, I have heard,--the maid of Israel,-- Rememberest thou? She often said her G.o.d Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath, And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us Like as a father pitieth his children.

NAAMAN: If there were such a G.o.d, I'd worship Him For ever!

RUAHMAH: Then make haste to hear the word His prophet promises to speak to thee!

Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt lose This curse that burdens thee. This tiny spot Of white that mars the beauty of thy brow Shall melt like snow; thine eyes be filled with light.

Thou wilt not need my leading any more,-- Nor me,--for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,-- I tremble at the thought.

NAAMAN: Why, what is this?

Why shouldst thou tremble? Art thou not mine own?

RUAHMAH: [_Turning to him._]

Surely I am! But take me, take me now!

For I belong to thee in body and soul; The very pulses of my heart are thine.

Wilt thou not feel how tenderly they beat?

Wilt thou not lie like myrrh between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s And satisfy thy lonely lips with love?

Thou art opprest, and I would comfort thee While yet thy sorrow weighs upon thy life.

To-morrow? No, to-day! The crown of love Is sacrifice; I have not given thee Enough! Ah, fold me in thine arms,--take all!

[_She takes his hands and puts them around her neck; he holds her from him, with one hand on her shoulder, the other behind her head._]

NAAMAN: Thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,-- Too dear for me to stain thy purity, Or leave one touch upon thee to regret!

How should I take a gift may bankrupt thee, Or drain the fragrant chalice of thy love With lips that may be fatal? Tempt me not To sweet dishonour; strengthen me to wait Until thy prophecy is all fulfilled, And I can claim thee with a joyful heart.

RUAHMAH: [_Turning away._]

Thou wilt not need me then,--and I shall be No more than the faint echo of a song Heard half asleep. We shall go back to where We stood before this journey.

NAAMAN: Never again!

For thou art changed by some deep miracle.

The flower of womanhood hath bloomed in thee,-- Art thou not changed?

RUAHMAH: Yea, I am changed,--and changed Again,--bewildered,--till there's nothing clear To me but this: I am the instrument In an Almighty hand to rescue thee From death. This will I do,--and afterward--

[_A trumpet is blown, without._]

Hearken, the trumpet sounds, the chariot waits.

Away, dear lord, follow the road to light!

SCENE II. [*]

[*] Note that this scene is not intended to be put upon the stage, the effect of the action upon the drama being given at the beginning of Act IV.

_The house of Elisha, upon a terraced hillside. A low stone cottage with vine-trellises and flowers; a flight of steps, at the foot of which is NAAMAN'S chariot. He is standing in it; SABALLIDIN beside it.

Two soldiers come down the steps._

FIRST SOLDIER: We have delivered my lord's greeting and his message.

SECOND SOLDIER: Yes, and near lost our noses in the doing of it! For the servant slammed the door in our faces. A most unmannerly reception!

FIRST SOLDIER: But I take that as a good omen. It is mark of holy men to keep ill-conditioned servants. Look, the door opens, the prophet is coming.

SECOND SOLDIER: No, by my head, it's that notable mark of his master's holiness, that same lantern-jawed lout of a servant.

[_GEHAZI loiters down the steps and comes to NAAMAN with a slight obeisance._]

GEHAZI: My master, the prophet of Israel, sends word to Naaman the Syrian,--are you he?--"Go wash in Jordan seven times and be healed."

[_GEHAZI turns and goes slowly up the steps._]

NAAMAN: What insolence is this? Am I a man To be put off with surly messengers?

Has not Damascus rivers more renowned Than this rude, torrent Jordan? Crystal streams, Abana! Pharpar! flowing smoothly through A paradise of roses? Might I not Have bathed in them and been restored at ease?

Come up, Saballidin, and guide me home!