Festus · Scene 15 (2/2) (3/3)

| Festus | Apart. Where is thy grave, my love? I want to weep. High as thou art this earth above, My woe is deep; And my heart is cold as is thy grave, Where I can neither soothe nor save. Whate’er I say, or do, or see, I think and feel alone to thee. Oh! can it⁠—can it be forgiven, That I forget thou art in Heaven? Thou wilt forgive me this, and more: Love spends his all, and still hath store. Thou wilt forgive, if beauty’s wile Should win, perforce, one glance from me; When they, whose art it is to smile, Can never smile my heart from thee; And if with them I chance to be, And give mine ear up to their singing, It, wind-like, only wakes the sea, In all its mad monotony, Of memory forth thy music ringing. Thou wilt forgive, if now and then I link with hands less loved than thine; Whose gold-like touch makes kings of men, But wakes no will in blood of mine; And if with them I toss the wine, And set my soul in love’s ripe riot, It echoes not⁠—this desert shrine, Where still thy love from Heaven doth shine, Moon-like, across some ruin’s quiet. Thou wilt forgive me, if my feet Should move to music with the fair; When, at each turn, I burn to meet Thy stream-like step and aëry air; And if, before some beauty there, Mine eye may forge one glance of gladness, It is but the ripple of despair, That shows the bed is all but bare, And nought scarce left but stony sadness. Thou wilt forgive, if e’er my heart Err from the orbit of its love; When even the bliss-bright stars will start Earthwards, some lower sphere to prove. Thou wilt forgive, if soft white arms Embrace, by fits, this breast of mine; When, while amid their pillowy charms, My heart can kiss no heart but thine; And if these lips but rarely pine In the pale abstinence of sorrow, It is, that nightly I divine, As I this world-sick soul recline, I shall be with thee ere the morrow. Thou wilt forgive, if once with thee I limned the outline of a Heaven; But go and tell our God, from me, He must forgive what He hath given; And, if we be by passion driven To love, and all its natural madness, Tell Him, that man by love hath thriven, And that by love he shall be shriven; For God is love where love is gladness. Thou wilt forgive, if clay-bound mind Can scarce discover that thou art; But wait! I feel the outward wind Rush fresh into my fluttering heart. Perchance thy spirit stays in yon mild star In peace, and flame-like purity, and prayer; And, oh! when mine shall fly om earth afar, I will pray God that it may join thine there: ’Twere doubling Heaven, that Heaven with thee to share. And, while thou leadest music and her lyre, Like a sunbeam holden by its golden hair, May I, too, mingling with the immortal choir, Love thee, and worship God! what more may soul desire? Enough for me! but, if there be More, it shall be left for thee. | | Walter | If any thing I love in chief, It is that flowery rich relief That wine doth chase on mortal metal Before good wine begins to settle; But all seem smilingly serenely dull, And melancholy as the moon at full. Quenched by their company they seem, Like sparks of fire in clouds of steam. | | Charles | They who mourn the lack of wit, Show, at least, no more of it. | | Festus | I cannot bear to be alone, I hate to mix with men; To me there’s torture in the tone Which bids me talk again. Like silly nestlings, warned in vain, My heart’s young joys have flown; While singing to them, even then, They left me one by one. I envy every soul that dies Oat of this world of care I envy e’en the lifeless skies, That they enshrine thee there. And would I were the bright blue air Which doth insphere thine eyes, That thou mightst met me everywhere, And feel these faithful sighs. E’en as the bubble that is mixed Of air and wine right red, So my heart’s love is shared betwixt The living and the dead. If on her breast I lay my head, My heart on thine is fixed:⁠— Wilt thou I loose, as I have said, Or keep the soul thou seek’st? From me thou canst not pass away While I have soul or sight;⁠— I see thee on my waking way, And in my dreams thee bright; I see thee in the dead of night, And the full life of day; I know thee by a sudden light; It is thy soul, I say. If yonder stars be filled with forms Of breathing clay like ours, Perchance the space that spreads between Is for a spirit’s powers; And loving as we two have loved In spirit and in heart, Whether to space or star removed, God will not bid us part. | | Frank | As to this seat⁠—its late and fair possessor Should, ere she went, have chosen her successor. | | Festus | In right of her who eat thereon I think I might demand the throne; I rather choose to let it be. | | All | George shall be King of the company! | | George | My loving subjects! I shall first promulge A few good rules by which to indulge; They are good, according to my thinking, And shall be held the laws of drinking. First⁠—each man shall do what he chooses, Provided that he ne’er refuses, But shall be sworn, by stand and stopper, To drink as much as I think proper. | | Will | Stay!⁠—all of you who think, with me, This law should pass, Will please to signify the same By emptying their glass. | | Walter | Filling again and emptying, and so on, At each law⁠—pari passu, as we go on. | | George | Secondly⁠—no man shall be held as mellow Who can distinguish blue from yellow. Thirdly⁠—no man shall miss his turn nor toast, Nor yet give more than two at once, at most. Fourthly⁠—if one at table should fall under, There let him lie⁠—so much extinguished thunder. Fifthly⁠—let all, in such case, who still stay, Like living lightnings, but the brighter play. Sixthly, and last but one⁠—mind this, there shan’t Be aught said that is not irrelevant. Seventhly⁠—if any of these edicts should not Be kept, it shall be good to plead, I would not. | | Charles | Oh, let the royal law Be writ in rosy wine! And read and kept At every feast Where wit and mirth combine. | | Festus | How sweetly shine the steadfast stars, Each eyeing, sister-like, the earth; And softly chiding scenes like this, Of senseless and profaning mirth. | | Lucifer | Thou art ever prating of the stars Like an old soldier of his scars; Thou shouldst have been a starling, friend, And not an earthling: end! | | Festus | And could I speak as many times Of each as there are stars in Heaven, I could not utter half the thoughts⁠— The sweet thoughts one to me hath given. The holy quiet of the skies May waken well the blush of shame, Whene’er we think that thither lies The Heaven we heed not⁠—ought not name. Oh, Heaven! let down thy cloudy lids, And close thy thousand eyes; For each, in burning glances, bids The wicked fool be wise. | | Lucifer | I can interpret well the stars. | | Charles | Indeed! they need interpreters. | | Lucifer | Then thus, in their eternal tongue And musical thunders, all have sung. To every ear which ear hath given, From birth to death, this note of Heaven. Deathlings! on earth drink, laugh, and love! Ye mayn’t hereafter⁠—under or above. Yes, this the tale they all have told, Since first they made old Chaos shrink⁠— Since first they flocked creation’s fold, And filled all air like flakes of gold Which drop yon royal drink: For as the moon doth madmen rule, It is, that near and few they are; And so in Heaven each single star Doth sway some reasonable fool, Whether on earth or other sphere; For what’s above is what is here. Moons and madmen only change; What can truth or stars derange? | | Edward | Brave stars, bright monitors of joy! Bight well ye time your hours of warning; For, sooth to say the eve’s employ Doth wax less lovely towards the morning. So push the goblet gaily round⁠— Drink deep of its wealth⁠—drink on! Our earthly joy too soon doth cloy, Our life is all but gone; And, not enjoy yon glorious cup, And all the sweets which lie, Like pearls, within its purple well⁠— Who would not hate to die? | | Will | And who, without the cheering glance Of woman’s witching eye, Could stand against the storms of fate, Or cankering care defy? It adds fresh brightness to the bowl; Then why will men repine? Content we’ll live with Heaven’s best gifts⁠— With woman, and with wine. | | Harry | Cups while they sparkle⁠— Maids while they sigh; Bright eyes will darkle⁠— Lips grow dry. Cheek while the dew-drops Water its rose; Life’s fount hath few drops Dear as those. Arms while they tighten⁠— Hearts as they heave: Love cannot brighten Life’s dark eve. | | George | Oh! the wine is like life; And the sparkles that play By the lips of the bowl Are the loves of the day. Then kiss the bright bubble That breaks in its rise; Oh I love is a trouble, As light when it dies. | | Charles | Let the young be glad! though cares in crowds Leave scarce a break of blue, Yet bppe gives wings to morning clouds; And while their shade the sky enshrouds⁠— By love and wine, which through them shine⁠— They are turned to a golden hue. Then give us wine, for we ought to shine In the hour of dark and dew. | | Festus | Well might the thoughtful race of old With ivy twine the head Of him they hailed their god of wine⁠— Thank God! the lie is dead: For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay; And spreads its dark deceitful pall To hide what wastes away. And wine will circle round the brain As ivy o’er the brow, Till what could once see far as stars Is dark as Death’s eye now. Then dash the cup down! ’tis not worth A soul’s great sacrifice: The wine will sink into the earth, The soul, the soul⁠—must rise. | | Charles | A toast! | | Frederic | Here’s beauty’s fairest flower⁠— The maiden of our own birth-land! | | Harry | Pale face!⁠—oh for one happy hour To hold my splendid Spaniard’s hand! | | Festus | Why differ on which is the fairest form, When all are the same the heart to warm? Although by different charms they strike, Their power is equal and alike. Ye bigots of beauty! behold I stand forth, And drink to the lovely all over the earth. Come, fill to the girl by the Tagus’ waves! Wherever she lives there’s a land of slaves. And here’s to the Scot! with her deep blue eye, Like the far off lochs ’neath her hill-propt sky. To her of the green Isle! whose tyrants deform The land, where she beams like the bow in the storm. To the Norman! so noble, and stately and tall; Whose charms, ever changing, can please as they pall: Two bowls in a breath! here’s to each and to all! Come fill to the English! whose eloquent brow Says, pleasure is passing, but coming, and now; Oh! her eyes o’er the wine are like stars o’er the sea, And her face is the face of all Heaven to me. And here’s to the Spaniard! that warm blooming maid, With her step superb, and her black locks’ braid. To her of dear Paris! with soul-spending glance, Whose feet, as she’s sleeping, look dreaming a dance. To the maiden whose lip like a rose-leaf is curled, And her eye like the star-flag above it unfurled! Here’s to beauty, young beauty, all over the world! | | Will | Hurrah! a glorious toast; ’Twould warm a ghost. | | Festus | It moves not me. I cannot drink The toast I have given. There!⁠—Earth may pledge it, and she will⁠— Herself and her beauty to Heaven. Drink to the dead⁠—youth’s feelings vain! Drink to the heart⁠—the battered wreck, Hurled from all passions stormy main! Though aye the billows o’er it break, The ruin rots, nor rides again. | | Charles | Friend of my heart! away with care, And sing, and dance, and laugh: To love, and to the favourite fair, The wine-cup ever quaff. Oh, drink to the lovely! whatever they are, Though fair as snow⁠—as light; For whether or falling, or fixed the star, They both are heavenly bright. Out upon Care! he shall not stay Within a heart like thine; There’s nought in Heaven or earth can weigh Down youth, and love, and wine. Then drink with the merry! though we must die, Like beauty’s tear we’ll fall; We have lived in the light of a loved one’s eye, And to live, love, and die is all. | | Festus | Vain is the world and all it boasts: How brief Love’s pleasure’s date! We turn the bowl and all forget The bias of our fate. | | George | How goes the enemy? | | Lucifer | What can he mean? | | Festus | He asks the hour. | | Lucifer | Aha! then I Advise, if Time thy foe hath been, Be quick! shake hands, man, with Eternity. |