_LOVE IS ENOUGH: cherish life that abideth, Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him; For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth, On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth?

And what is the joy of man's life that ye blame him For his bliss grown a sword, and his rest grown a fire?

Ye who tremble for death, or the death of desire, Pa.s.s about the cold winter-tide garden and ponder On the rose in his glory amidst of June's fire, On the languor of noontide that gathered the thunder, On the morn and its freshness, the eve and its wonder; Ye may wake it no more--shall Spring come to awaken?

Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning, When the dead, and their deeds that die not shall awaken, And the world's tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning, And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning, And dead pain ye shall trample, dead fruitless desire, As ye wend to pluck out the new world from the fire._

_Enter before the curtain, LOVE clad as a Pilgrim._

LOVE

Alone, afar from home doth Pharamond lie, Drawn near to death, ye deem--or what draws nigh?

Afar from home--and have ye any deeming How far may be that country of his dreaming?

Is it not time, is it not time, say ye, That we the day-star in the sky should see?

Patience, Beloved; these may come to live A life fulfilled of all I have to give, But bare of strife and story; and ye know well How wild a tale of him might be to tell Had I not s.n.a.t.c.hed away the sword and crown; Yea, and she too was made for world's renown, And should have won it, had my bow not been; These that I love were very king and queen; I have discrowned them, shall I not crown too?

Ye know, Beloved, what sharp bitter dew, What parching torment of unresting day Falls on the garden of my deathless bay: Hands that have gathered it and feet that came Beneath its shadow have known flint and flame; Therefore I love them; and they love no less Each furlong of the road of past distress.

--Ah, Faithful, tell me for what rest and peace, What length of happy days and world's increase, What hate of wailing, and what love of laughter, What hope and fear of worlds to be hereafter, Would ye cast by that crown of bitter leaves?

And yet, ye say, our very heart it grieves To see him lying there: how may he save His life and love if he more pain must have?

And she--how fares it with her? is not earth From winter's sorrow unto summer's mirth Grown all too narrow for her yearning heart?

We pray thee, Love, keep these no more apart.

Ye say but sooth: not long may he endure: And her heart sickeneth past all help or cure Unless I hasten to the helping--see, Am I not girt for going speedily?

--The journey lies before me long?--nay, nay, Upon my feet the dust is lying grey, The staff is heavy in my hand.--Ye too, Have ye not slept? or what is this ye do, Wearying to find the country ye are in?

[_The curtain draws up and shows the same scene as the last, with the mist clearing, and PHARAMOND lying there as before._

Look, look! how sun and morn at last do win Upon the s.h.i.+fting waves of mist! behold That mountain-wall the earth-fires rent of old, Grey toward the valley, sun-gilt at the side!

See the black yew-wood that the pa.s.s doth hide!

Search through the mist for knoll, and fruited tree, And winding stream, and highway white--and see, See, at my feet lies Pharamond the Freed!

A happy journey have we gone indeed!

Hearken, Beloved, over-long, ye deem, I let these lovers deal with hope and dream Alone unholpen.--Somewhat sooth ye say: But now her feet are on this very way That leadeth from the city: and she saith One beckoneth her back hitherward--even Death-- And who was that, Beloved, but even I?

Yet though her feet and sunlight are drawn nigh The cold gra.s.s where he lieth like the dead, To ease your hearts a little of their dread I will abide her coming, and in speech He knoweth, somewhat of his welfare teach.

_LOVE goes on to the Stage and stands at PHARAMOND's head_.

LOVE

HEARKEN, O Pharamond, why camest thou hither?

KING PHARAMOND

I came seeking Death; I have found him belike.

LOVE

In what land of the world art thou lying, O Pharamond?

KING PHARAMOND

In a land 'twixt two worlds: nor long shall I dwell there.

LOVE

Who am I, Pharamond, that stand here beside thee?

KING PHARAMOND

The Death I have sought--thou art welcome; I greet thee.

LOVE

Such a name have I had, but another name have I.

KING PHARAMOND

Art thou G.o.d then that helps not until the last season?

LOVE

Yea, G.o.d am I surely: yet another name have I.

KING PHARAMOND

Methinks as I hearken, thy voice I should wot of.

LOVE

I called thee, and thou cam'st from thy glory and kings.h.i.+p.