The Mortal Gods and Other Plays - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Ard._ So much of it As dearest lenience may buy, my lord.
[_Bertrand is brought in guarded_]
_Bion._ The man is here. Now have your foolish will.
[_Ardia turns and looks at Bertrand. He is stripped of his rich dress and wears only a girdled tunic falling to his knees. Arms and feet are bare_]
_Ban._ [_To Bertrand_] Sir, we permit the lady of our soul To end as her heart wills the rite that makes Her wife and widow. Touch her not, nor speak.
[_Bertrand crosses to altar_]
_Ard._ Why should we touch, when souls inhabit eyes And journey on a look? My heaven-lord, Here is no priest to bless this act of mine, But G.o.d will know his altar and the gift I lay upon it. The life we thought to live-- That might have failed, and killed the dream now safe From tarnish of the days. Earth has enough Of blind and baffled lives, but great her need Of dreams. And ours we leave with her, unworn, Unpaled, warm round the love-seed she shall nurse To million-budded life.
_Bion._ Come, make an end!
_Ard._ An end of love? The G.o.d of all the worlds Cannot do that. Love born this darkest day Shall be in flower on man's millennial path And touch his step with Heaven.
_Vig._ Peace! Be done!
_Ard._ Ay ... done. My lord, think thou art in the world Celestial, and from there smile on me--now-- [_Draws dagger from her bosom and stabs him. He falls_]
High G.o.d, as thou art Love, I struck for thee!
[_Bends over body_]
True aim. Full in the heart. I know the place, For there my home is--there I live--and now My house is down, I, too, must fall----
_Ban._ I'll pay thee!
What hast thou done?
_Ard._ What done? A miracle!
Who now can harm my love?
_Ban._ Your promises!
Your oaths!
_Ard._ I'd keep them, sir--ay, every one, If grief would let me live to be your wife.
But I am weary, and my heavy stars Have left their skies to hang upon me here.
My veins are empty, all their strength is out.
Does 't take so much to lift this little blade And let it fall again?
[_Biondel takes the dagger from her_]
Think you I need So poor a thing? Nay, G.o.d has struck for me, As I for Him. I go with Vairdelan. [_Kneels by body_]
Look on this brow, if shame will let ye look.
An angel shaped it. Ye've unfas.h.i.+oned here The work of Heaven. Sweet lips, no roses left?
Your hand, my lord, and now the sinless star. [_Dies_]
[_Curtain_]
