VIII
Tacita. Alwyn. Ornis. Stark. (Shy. Quercus.)
ALWYN
Now, Tacita, shy pagan nymph, appear!
[Tacita enters from her shrine of greenery, and pauses before them.]
Spirit, unblind this man! Delusions blur
Inward his sight. He is a murderer,
Yet knows not he is such. Unseal
The fountains of his vision, and reveal
Yonder the sister spirit, whom so long
His blind heart strove to wrong—
Ornis: Reveal, and let him speak with her!
[Soft music sounds, various and elusive in its rhythmic themes. Tacita approaches Stark, and weaves about him a dance of revelation, lulling, charming, luring him by the appeal of numberless wing-swayings and bird-dartings, for which the music suggests the song-notes. During her dance, Stark rises, bewildered, and is gradually lured and led by her toward Ornis, before whom—at the consummation of the dance—he stands, staring.]
STARK
[Rising, speaks to the music.]
O twilight—holy dusk—dawn twitterings!
How far, how dim and hollow
You darkle over me:
Wings, wings! swift wings, shy wings, eternal wings!
Where shall I follow?
Ah, joy—jubilant melody—
And morning! Joy—I follow!
I dream, and drink from your immortal springs!
[Tacita disappears. Stark beholds Ornis.]
IX
Stark. Ornis. (Alwyn. Quercus. Shy.)
STARK
What are you?
ORNIS
[Appealing with half-fearful affection.]
Brother!—brother!
STARK
[With sudden cry and gesture.]
Ha, my net!
The shy bird shall be captured ’live!
[From his shoulder he looses the net, and flings it over Ornis, seizing the meshes.]
Now, Joy,
I hold you fast!
ORNIS
[Struggling.]
Ee-ó-lee-o!
SHY
[Extricating her.]
Not yet!
ALWYN
[Seizing Stark.]
Untamed, and still unshamed! Will you destroy
The wings that raise you? Sister, speak to him!
ORNIS
My brothers—all of you! Oh, wage not war
Because of me. I fear not. Stark, you dim
The brightness of our union, greeting so
Your sister.
STARK
[Dropping his net.]
Sister?
ORNIS
Hunt no more
With lime and net: Your love shall hold me faster;
For I am Ornis.
STARK
[Fascinated.]
Ornis!
ORNIS
Dear my master!
Do you not know me? I am she
Whom first, beneath the dark, ancestral tree,
You rose upon your feet to hearken to.
By me you grew
To song and freedom. Round your olden feasts
You watched my circling flights, whereby your priests
Proclaimed their omens and their oracles;
My cranes announced your victories, my storks
Fed your hearth-fires, my silver-throated gulls
And golden hawks
Saved many your sea-towns from sore pestilence;
And my sweet night bird tuned your poets’ shells
To lull sad lovers in languorous asphodels;
Yet all my influence
Shone dimmer than my beauty: my bright plumes
Lured you to squander them, till, in the fumes
Of greed, your heart forgot to cherish me,
And sold me unto death and slavery.—
Yet, master, as you will:
Lo, I am Ornis, and I love you still!
STARK
[With altered tone of yearning.]
Yet—yet it seems I never heard your voice
Till now; nor ever understood
Till now; nor paused, as now in this still wood,
To tremble and rejoice
At greeting you, my sister. I am stunned,
And wait to comprehend this wonder.
ORNIS
Ah,
You never prayed before to Tacita!
Your feet have shunned
Her gracious paths, yet only she
Can lead and show my brother Man to me.
“Lo, I am Ornis, and I love you still!”
STARK
[Glancing at his gun.]
Why, then,—why have I brought this instrument
Of murder here? What black intent
Clouded my mind with blood?
[Flinging it from him.]
Out of my hands!—My sister, can it be
That still you soar above my sanguine flood
Of passion, and forgive? Though yet I kill,
Oh, is it true indeed—you love me still?
ORNIS
Ha, put me to the test!
Show me the field that breeds your harvest pest
Of chinch or weevil,
Where all the blossoms wither with strange evil,
Or where, in filmy tents,
The hairy creepers gorge in regiments
Your budding apple boughs;
Show your ancestral elms
Gaunt limbed with leprosy, which overwhelms
Their green old age in death;
Or those swift locust clouds, whose breath
Blasts the ripe loveliness of Spring;
Show these, and more
Than these, and cry on Ornis! She shall bring—
From hill and shore
And plain—her wingèd flocks and warbling broods,
And swinge away their deadly multitudes.—
If service be true love, I love you, brother.
ALWYN
[Drawing near.]
And for her sake, so we will love each other.
[He takes Stark’s right hand.]
SHY
[Taking his left.]
A greenwood partnership!
STARK
[Pressing their hands.]
Thanks!
SHY
[Whispering to the faun.]
Quercus, run!
QUERCUS
I skip,
I gambol, master. Ha!
I have a tale to tell to Tacita!
[He leaps away.]
ORNIS
[As Stark tears off his headdress of plumes.]
And those—?
STARK
For these my heart shall build a fire
Here at this shrine:
[He hangs the headdress on a tree.]
And here, as on a pyre,
I place them, with this pouch, which hides
The victims of my blind desire.
There, at sad cost,
I let them tell my pain—the votive part
Of one long lost,
Who now has found himself in nature’s heart.—
Ornis, my trail divides:
There lie the ashes of the thing I was.
Henceforth, I walk with you—
[Turning to Alwyn and Shy.]
and these.
ALWYN
A compact, then, we three: that when we go
Forth from these gracious trees
Into the world, we go as witnesses
Before the men who make our country’s laws,
And by our witness show
In burning words
The meaning of these sylvan mysteries:
Freedom and sanctuary for the birds!
Say, is our compact sworn?
STARK
I swear.
SHY
And I.
[Enter Quercus and Tacita.]
X
Tacita. Quercus. Stark. Ornis. Shy. Alwyn.
STARK
[To Ornis.]
Look, sister: friends are coming.
Now lead us to their shrine close by.
ORNIS
Oh, first let all make joy of this our union!
For now my glad heart, like a partridge drumming,
Calls for my mates to join us, all together,
In frolicsome communion.
Ho, Quercus, Quercus, call them!—Tacita,
Summon them with your fairy feet!
QUERCUS
[Bounding forward.]
Holá!
ALWYN
[Taking from his pouch Quercus’ pipe.]
Call loud and long!
Here’s our old pipe, to carry a new song.
[Alwyn puts the pipe to his lips, while Quercus sings to it, calling to the birds. At the end, Quercus begs in pantomime for the pipe which Alwyn, smiling, restores to him.]
QUERCUS
Come here, come here, you little comrades coy,
From hill and swamp and heather:
Make joy, make joy
Together!—
Tawny beak and scarlet vest,
Slant wing and sleek feather,
Bulging bill and cocking crest,
Hither!
Tumble out of nest,
Topple out of windy weather
Here, holá!
With preenings quaint,
Purple dyes and crimson paint,
Here, holá, in merry state!
Up from dew-grass, down from aerie,
Tacita—Tacita
Summons you to dedicate
Here her sanctuary!
[While Quercus calls, from all sides Birds of many species and colors—like Ornis human in form—gather, and peer from the edges of the scene. To these Tacita now beckons, and by her gesture summons to her dance, while Quercus plays joyously on his pipe.]
ORNIS
Bird and faun and man and fairy,
Gather now to sanctuary!
[Tacita first dances alone, then with Quercus; then, inviting and leading them all in pied procession, she marshals all away into her woodland shrine.]
FINIS