THE WANDERERS
The Prince
A Man-at-Arms
A Gypsy
Scene: The Edge of the Forest
THE PRINCE
So then, I am crowned to-morrow?
MAN-AT-ARMS
Yes, my lord.
PRINCE
How fleet the time runs by! But yesterday
I played in the fountain with the great white hound.
My old, old nurse that died....
But all is changed.
I am a man now?
MAN-AT-ARMS
So it seems, my lord.
PRINCE
And I am king to-morrow.
Ah, dear saints!
This is the saddest day of all my life.
Farewell, farewell, sweet Yesterday! Farewell,
Thou once so sweet To-morrow! Thou for me
Shalt no more beckon down the widening road
That flows through all the forests and the fields,
That flowers into the sunset and the sea!
Henceforth companioned by the same To-day,
The dull, cramped state, the tired formality,
False thoughtfulness and feigned remembrances,
I yoke my life to one recurring task,
No sooner done than all’s to do again!
I would I were a child with one white hound
That lapped the fountain....
Wherefore do you sigh?
Why are you sad? You need not be a king.
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, I love you.
PRINCE
I know it. Oh, my friend,
Listen, and I will tell you. Only you
Are friendly-souled in all this cruel court;
And that is strange, for you must ever dog me,
That I go not afield nor roam the woods.
Why may I not?
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, it is forbidden.
PRINCE
But why?
MAN-AT-ARMS
I know not. What would you tell me, sir?
PRINCE
Why, this.
Last night I leaned far out the tower
To catch the smell o’ the woods and hear the birds
Quiet their young to sleep, and watch the stars
Slip one by one to sight, and feel the wind,
That blows so soft at night, come floating by.
And on my ear there fell a sudden song:
So throstle-sweet it was, so faëry-gay,
My heart stood still to hear it. It rose high,
And all my soul rose with it; it sank low—
My cheeks were wet with tears.
I tell you, friend,
My years slipped from me like a mantle dropped.
I felt the wonderful, the wild, sweet dreams
That blessed those nights when I, a little boy,
Trembled a moment on the forest brink,
Then flung myself into its dusky arms,
Swung in the billowy boughs and pressed the moss,
Drank from the pool beside the spotted deer,
And at the murmurous swaying of the pines
Wept in my childish sleep for joy too great.
(The Gypsy song is heard.)
Oh, the goodwife turns the wheel at home,
And the bird will keep her nest,
But it’s ah me! for the world’s to see
Or ever my heart have rest!
PRINCE
There, there! You heard it? Ah, unhappy prince!
For me the green earth spreads her fields in vain,
The forest pleads in vain with dusky arms:
I shall die caged.
Ah, do you see him there?
MAN-AT-ARMS
See whom, my lord?
PRINCE
The stranger in the wood.
How brown, how bright! How gallantly it swings,
That tattered robe! And see his gleaming chain,
His scarlet berries!
Nay, I will not go!
Nay, if you touch me I shall kill you! Nay,
I will speak with him if I die for it!
He turns his eye upon me—
Ah, dear saints!
I mind me of my mother suddenly,
That died for sorrow when she brought me forth
To chain me to a throne. Ah me, ah me!
When did my mother die?
MAN-AT-ARMS
The queen, my lord,
Left life behind her at the early dawn,
Just as the spring was coming on.
PRINCE
And where?
MAN-AT-ARMS
How can I tell?
PRINCE
I know you will tell true.
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, the queen, your mother, grew distraught,
And ere her time was come she crept at night
Between her watchers while they drowsed, and found
A glade among the hills that spring had kissed,
And underneath green boughs she laid her down.
PRINCE
And I was born there?
MAN-AT-ARMS
Aye, my lord. Below
The first faint budding bough we found you there.
PRINCE
You should have told me this.
See, he comes near!
(To the Gypsy.) God save you, sir!
GYPSY
I lie within his hand.
PRINCE
Where go you?
GYPSY
Where the cool brown river runs,
Over the shining pebbles, through deep pools
The setting sun turns first to molten gold,
Then hues with pigeons’ breasts, purple and pink,
Then fills with inky shadows where the moon
Plunges at midnight.
’Neath the glimmering stacks
Below the waiting stars I dream good dreams,
And catch the sky’s faint blush, and bathe in the brook,
And tread the firm green grass and follow the clouds,
Till drowsy noon.
I sing before her door,
And the farmer’s wife brings honey to me, and bread
And milk beneath the pink, sweet apple-boughs.
PRINCE
Will you not sing to me?
(Gypsy sings.)
The king he wooed the Gypsy maid
And kissed her to the throne;
She fell asleep, but blood runs deep,
And the forest claims its own!
MAN-AT-ARMS
Leave us, I say!
PRINCE
You shall not threaten him!
MAN-AT-ARMS
Go, or I strike!
PRINCE
Where is your love for me?
MAN-AT-ARMS
Sir, if my care for you had matched my love
We two had long ago been far from here.
With every moment’s lingering, my lord,
I move one step the nearer to my death:
Will you not come?
PRINCE
I cannot.
MAN-AT-ARMS
Then for me
Life is not long, it seems. I pray you, sir,
Remember always that I loved you well!
(Gypsy sings.)
Ah, vain for him the diadem,
Heavy the scepter’s load,
For he was lord o’ the windy wood,
And prince o’ the winding road!
PRINCE
I come, I come!
Nay, weep not so, good friend!
This is no fault of thine; for you and me
God’s plan is kindly. Never did I loose
The hare entrapped or set the song-bird free
But I had faith that He would serve me so!
Come with me: little love have they for us
In that hot, weary glitter of the court.
Hast thou not seen the new queen grudge at me
And nurse her son to scorn me?
Let them reign!
We’ll make a dearer court.
The trees shall bend
And bow to us, but not with flattery;
The little leaves shall whisper, but their lisp
Is clean of lies and slander; the sleek deer
Shall lead their tender fawns to kiss our hand,
Nor plot us evil with the soft caress;
The wind and rain shall be our councilors,
Nor urge us to do war, nor press the poor,
Nor waste our souls in bitter rivalries,
Nor match a petty kingdom with great powers
That smile at us for folly.
Let them reign!
(Gypsy sings.)
And it’s we will fling the world away,
And reap where God has sowed,
And we’ll roam for ay the windy wood,
And wander the winding road!
PRINCE
Friend, must I go alone?
MAN-AT-ARMS
My lord, these hands
Lifted you first from where you lay and smiled
Beside the dead queen ’neath the hawthorn-tree.
I walked beside the horse when first you rode,
I set the hawk upon your little arm,
I have lain years before your door at night.
The death I stay to meet were not so hard
As life without you.
PRINCE
Will you follow me?
MAN-AT-ARMS
To the death, my lord!
PRINCE
Why, then, good friends, your hands!
We three are bound for the woods: God needs some souls
To love the world as he made it.
Come with me!
(They enter the forest; the Gypsy song is heard.)
Oh, the goodwife turns the wheel at home,
And the bird will keep her nest,
But it’s ah me! for the world’s to see
Or ever my heart have rest!