The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 1 by George MacDonald (finding audrey .txt) 📖

[ Giving him money .]

You sing of leaves and sunshine, flowers and bees,
Poor child, upon a stone in the dark street!

Boy .
My mother sings it in her grave; and I
Will sing it everywhere, until I die.


SCENE XIII.-LILIA'S room . JULIAN enters with the child; undresses her, and puts her to bed .

Lily .
Father does all things for his little Lily.

Julian .
My own dear Lily! Go to sleep, my pet.

[ Sitting by her .]

"Wenn ich seh' und höre dich,
Das genügt mir inniglich."

[ Falling on his knees .]

I come to thee, and, lying on thy breast,
Father of me, I tell thee in thine ear,
Half-shrinking from the sound, yet speaking free,
That thou art not enough for me, my God.
Oh, dearly do I love thee! Look: no fear
Lest thou shouldst be offended, touches me.
Herein I know thy love: mine casts out fear.
O give me back my wife; thou without her
Canst never make me blessed to the full.

[ Silence .]

O yes; thou art enough for me, my God;
Part of thyself she is, else never mine.
My need of her is but thy thought of me;
She is the offspring of thy beauty, God;
Yea of the womanhood that dwells in thee:
Thou wilt restore her to my very soul.

[ Rising .]

It may be all a lie. Some needful cause
Keeps her away. Wretch that I am, to think
One moment that my wife could sin against me!
She will come back to-night. I know she will.
I never can forgive my jealousy!
Or that fool-visit to lord Seaford's house!


[ His eyes fall on the glove which the child still holds in her
sleeping hand. He takes it gently away, and hides it in
his bosom .]

It will be all explained. To think I should,
Without one word from her, condemn her so!
What can I say to her when she returns?
I shall be utterly ashamed before her.
She will come back to-night. I know she will.

[ He throws himself wearily on the bed .]


SCENE XIV.- Crowd about the Italian Opera-House . JULIAN. LILY
in his arms. Three Students.

1st Student .
Edward, you see that long, lank, thread-bare man?
There is a character for that same novel
You talk of thunder-striking London with,
One of these days.

2nd St .
I scarcely noticed him;
I was so taken with the lovely child.
She is angelic.

3rd St .
You see angels always,
Where others, less dim-sighted, see but mortals.
She is a pretty child. Her eyes are splendid.
I wonder what the old fellow is about.
Some crazed enthusiast, music-distract,
That lingers at the door he cannot enter!
Give him an obol, Frank, to pay old Charon,
And cross to the Elysium of sweet sounds.
Here's mine.

1st St .
And mine.

2nd St .
And mine.

[ 3rd Student offers the money to JULIAN.]

Julian
( very quietly ).
No, thank you, sir.

Lily .
Oh! there is mother!

[ Stretching-her hands toward a lady stepping out of a carriage .]

Julian .
No, no; hush, my child!

[ The lady looks round, and LILY clings to her father .
Women talking .]

1st W .
I'm sure he's stolen the child. She can't be his.

2nd W .
There's a suspicious look about him.

3rd W
True;
But the child clings to him as if she loved him.

[JULIAN moves on slowly .]


SCENE XV.-JULIAN seated in his room, his eyes fixed on the floor . LILY playing in a corner .

Julian .
Though I am lonely, yet this little child-
She understands me better than the Twelve
Knew the great heart of him they called their Lord.
Ten times last night I woke in agony,
I knew not why. There was no comforter.
I stretched my arm to find her, and her place
Was empty as my heart. Sometimes my pain
Forgets its cause, benumbed by its own being;
Then would I lay my aching, weary head
Upon her bosom, promise of relief:
I lift my eyes, and Lo, the vacant world!

[ He looks up and sees the child playing with his dagger .]

You'll hurt yourself, my child; it is too sharp.
Give it to me, my darling. Thank you, dear.

[ He breaks the hilt from the blade and gives it her .]

'Here, take the pretty part. It's not so pretty
As it was once!

[ Thinking aloud .]
I picked the jewels out
To buy your mother the last dress I gave her.
There's just one left, I see, for you, my Lily.
Why did I kill Nembroni? Poor saviour I,
Saving thee only for a greater ill!
If thou wert dead, the child would comfort me;-
Is she not part of thee, and all my own?
But now--

Lily
( throwing down the dagger-hilt and running up to him ).
Father, what is a poetry?

Julian .
A beautiful thing,-of the most beautiful
That God has made.

Lily .
As beautiful as mother?
Julian .
No, my dear child; but very beautiful.

Lily .
Do let me see a poetry.

Julian
( opening a book ).
There, love!
Lily
( disappointedly ).
I don't think that's so very pretty, father.
One side is very well-smooth; but the other

[ Rubbing her finger up and down the ends of the lines .]

Is rough, rough; just like my hair in the morning,

[ Smoothing her hair down with both hands .]

Before it's brushed. I don't care much about it.

Julian
( putting the book down, and taking her on his knee ).
You do not understand it yet, my child.
You cannot know where it is beautiful.
But though you do not see it very pretty,
Perhaps your little ears could hear it pretty.

[ He reads .]

Lily
( looking pleased ).
Oh! that's much prettier, father. Very pretty.
It sounds so nice!-not half so pretty as mother.

Julian .
There's something in it very beautiful,
If I could let you see it. When you're older
You'll find it for yourself, and love it well.
Do you believe me, Lily?

Lily .
Yes, dear father.

[ Kissing him, then looking at the book .]

I wonder where its prettiness is, though;
I cannot see it anywhere at all.

[ He sets her down. She goes to her corner .]

Julian
( musing ).
True, there's not much in me to love, and yet
I feel worth loving. I am very poor,
But that I could not help; and I grow old,
But there are saints in heaven older than I.
I have a world within me; there I thought
I had a store of lovely, precious things
Laid up for thinking; shady woods, and grass;
Clear streams rejoicing down their sloping channels;
And glimmering daylight in the cloven east;
There morning sunbeams stand, a vapoury column,
'Twixt the dark boles of solemn forest trees;
There, spokes of the sun-wheel, that cross their bridge,
Break through the arch of the clouds, fall on the earth,
And travel round, as the wind blows the clouds:
The distant meadows and the gloomy river
Shine out as over them the ray-pencil sweeps.-
Alas! where am I? Beauty now is torture:
Of this fair world I would have made her queen;-
Then led her through the shadowy gates beyond
Into that farther world of things unspoken,
Of which these glories are the outer stars,
The clouds that float within its atmosphere.
Under the holy might of teaching love,
I thought her eyes would open-see how, far