The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 52

_Pyrr._ Keep it then.

_Bia._ You give this blade to me?

_Pyrr._ I care not. Keep What you have praised.

_Bia._ [_Pressing it against his cheek_] A gentle weapon,--but I've somewhat 'gainst it.

[_Goes to door and throws it far into the sea_]

Kiss the waves, my friend!

[_Returns to Pyrrha and sits by her_]

_Bia._ [_Softly_] I leave the ship to-night.

_Pyrr._ [_Uneasy_] And time you led The fleet to battle. You've excused delay Till palling breath became the shroud of action, And yet refused it funeral.

_Bia._ I know How you have doubted. O, this soul of Sparta, That can not trust! It peeps from every eye, Deepest where kindest. Tags each friendly word With its unspoken dread,--and comradeship, That strives to wrap it in a gala cloak, Strains vainly round the huge, dun doubt, agape In dreary revelation.

_Pyrr._ You are free To leave us.

_Bia._ Free? Five Spartan n.o.bles watch Beside me, move with every step, for so The admiral must be honored! Hieron Foregoes his place at sacrifice to serve My dignity. Not for his G.o.ds he'll put A furlong 'tween us.

_Pyrr._ He's the ship's good eye.

And all the men except the lords of guard Are, by your grace, a-neighboring. Would you leave The galley without watch?

_Bia._ No, Pyrrha, sweet.

But I would woo you with no ear at the door.

_Pyrr._ [_Rising_] My lord!

_Bia._ [_Indifferent_] Nay, then. I can't oppose the s.e.x Of Aphrodite. My one frailty.

_Pyrr._ One!

_Bia._ What? I have more?

_Pyrr._ The moments of your life Are not so many!

_Bia._ G.o.ds be thanked, I'm young!

How may I change to please a Spartan scold?

_Pyrr._ Be anything you're not.

_Bia._ You have not heard I am the admiral of the Spartan fleet, With Persian Phernes yonder at my beck, Broad-winged with all Phoenicia? You know not I am a general?

_Pyrr._ Oh, to be that name, Not make 't thy bauble! What dost know Of secret, sleepless hours, and delving thought That nations may lie safe? By what grave right Wear you the t.i.tle? What deep sacrifice?

_Bia._ Leave sacrifice to fools and women! Ay, More lies are huddled in that saintly word Than ever smirked outside it. The strong soul Low bowing there, lies to his G.o.d,--the weak Lies to the world behind a holy shield That turns the spear of justice. Pallas, hear!

A general makes himself a master, lest The State make him a servant.

_Pyrr._ True in _Athens_!

But you've another name. I've heard you called The young philosopher. Play you at that.

'Twill tire naught but the tongue. Yours will go far.

_Bia._ Nay, spare me toil of spirit searching through Earth, sea, and sky for phrases magical To wrap creation in, as 'twere a babe Each man might call his own could he but find Some good-wife fancy to deliver it.

No other hope?

_Pyrr._ They name you poet, too.

Build round your spirit an Elysian cheat And buzz it through upon a golden wing.

Is that not idle enough?

_Bia._ You touch me now With flattery's gold point. I wince and love The pain. Yet I'd not be a frolic breath At play with Spring and florets in the dew, Or move in rhymed courtesies before The smile or frown of G.o.ds. Trick my dear soul In May-day rags to catch a languid eye.

Babble of moods and minds, how some think this, Some that, and some have never thought. Drone how On such a day one struck another down, Or led a fleet, or laid a city wall.

_Pyrr._ What would you sing then, pray?

_Bia._ I would not sing.

Was there not poetry before men spake?

I'd go behind the broidered veil we've wrought Before the face of one that we loved much And then forgot for beauty of the shroud.

The old lere's lost, the new but irks our dream.

We listen to ourselves, while round us ever Are worlds that vainly pluck us to their doors, Giving us sign in lightning, heat, and wave, In flake of snow, flint-spark, and crystal rock, In stones that make the iron creep, and color, Fair flag and challenge to our shuttered minds.

_Pyrr._ [_Moving nearer_] Oh!

_Bia._ [_Seeming to forget her_] Round our lives is life whose destiny Is that frontier no word of ours has crossed, But man to come shall plant and harvest there, Where his soul sets the plough.

_Pyrr._ [_Softly_] You know that too?

_Bia._ That life shall warm his barest common way Of in and out. In field and market-place, He'll lay his cheek 'gainst its unbodied love And flush translations of its silent touch.

Then will be poets! Thought that now must fail In bird-wing flight, shall from a violet's eye O'erlook the sun. Till then I will not sing.

_Pyrr._ Not fight, philosophize, or sing!

What's left for an Athenian?

_Bia._ [_Remembering her_] Love, fair Pyrrha!

You know the tale how Chaos once uncurled Her laboring bulk from round a fire-leafed rose And sent its petals drifting down to fields Where mortals foot with chance? Whoso they touch Are lovers always, and one came to me.

_Pyrr._ Now here's ambition! And you live for that?

_Bia._ Ay there's the charm contents me with dull earth, And puts a rainbow in my listless hand.

The way is pleasant if the road be love's, And I'd not shorten it by one maid's eye.

To be a lover,--that's the graceful thing.

Then one moves velvetly, forgets no curve, And lives his picture, line and color true.

_Pyrr._ That role's struck from your play, you'll find, my lord.

Maidens will smile, but scorn will set the lip, And women's eyes be warm, but hate their fire For you, the traitor.

_Bia._ Traitor?

_Pyrr._ [_In the door_] See the gleam On Athens, yours no more. The softest breast Within her walls is steel when you are named.