The dramatic works of Bayard Taylor

Front matter

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BAYARD TAYLOR’S POETICAL WRITINGS.

POETICAL WORKS. New Household Edition,

Contents

THE PROPHET.i

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

David Starr Elkanah .

Scene I

The forch, front-yard, and garden of a farm-house . Late afternoon.

ELKANAH.

>np IS a good ending of the harvest. Now

We may be sure that every sheaf is stacked Ere rain can spoil it. One load more, I think,

Said David. But the farther side is low,

A deeper soil, bears well: he may be wrong,

If on the right side of the estimate.

I always counted less than likely seemed ;

Tried to surprise myself, as it might be,

And so increase my luck. He’s over young For under-guessing ; takes the most at once,

And discounts profit long before it comes.

The lad is not like me, or times are changed.

I was my father over, he declared,

And liked to say so; but good stock improves ;

Hey, Hannah ?

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

HANNAH.

Nay, I heard you : I must think, Whether I will or no, about the boy,

As in the anxious time when he was born.

Late fruit is best, they say, — the only kind Keeps over winter ; but it may get ripe,

Like pippins, when the orchard’s bare of leaves. Your disappointment and your discontent You do forget; but I remember all,

Bearing the blame : and when he came, at last,

I said within my heart, Because of that

The Lord means something. Now I plague myself,

Thinking I see, and straightway seeing not,

The sign thereof revealed in David’s life.

ELKANAH.

You could not help such fancies, I suppose,

While he was on the way.

HANNAH.

I know your thought:

You’ve the same right to seek yourself in him,

But will not find it: he is most of me.

Why, forty years have you and I been wed ;

And four and twenty has he been with us.

I cannot say beforehand, thus and so Will speak my husband, or decide, or act;

But I must wait: yet, if a w r oman were By some strange miracle become a man,

Then I should be our David’s very self In feeling and in purpose. Something moves His mind beyond our daily round of work :

I know not what it is, and dare not ask,

Lest prying w'ords, before the proper time,

Breed mischief.

THE PROPHET.

ELKANAH.

Wife, the boy is all a man :

He ’ll soon spy out what’s wanting.

HANNAH.

Ah, not that!

PETER.

{Singing at a distance.)

Sing, blow the wind o’ mornings !

Sing, blow the wind, ’igh O !

Sing, brush away the morning dew,

Sing, blow, blow, blow !

ELKANAH.

The last load : otherwise, would Peter sing Not quite so loudly. They have built it broad, Mayhap, and high, to save another. Well,

Whether it show good luck or management

Makes odds in the end. There be two ways of work ;

And one is doing it because you must,

And one because you like. Look when it’s done,

You ’ll see small difference, as the case is now ;

And I misdoubt me sorely which it is.

DAVID.

{Singing, distant at first , but gradually drawing nearer.)

If one to yonder mountain saith,

Be cast into the sea !

And doubteth not, so filled with faith,

The mount removed shall be.

Though love is first, yet faith is chief :

Lord, I believe ; help Thou mine unbelief !

Behold, He granteth prophecy,

And gift of tongues, to all:

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

His fullest bounty waits for me,

Though I delay to call.

The measure of our days is brief :

Lord, I believe ; help Thou mine unbelief !

(Rhoda, approaching the house from, the opposite side , pauses at the gate , and listens. She begins to sing, at first in a low •voice , then louder to the close; when David appears .)

DAVID.

I thought of you, and straightway find you here. Was that your prayer, as well ? I ’ll not believe You utter words, as one lets pebbles drop,

To splash in water : you’ve a helpful soul,

I think, to make another’s faith more firm By just believing, Rhoda ?

Can I declare ?

RHODA.

What I am

DAVID.

Then I will set you forth.

I ’ll say that love in you is one with faith :

The trust you give means an eternal term,

And following through good and ill report,

And with strong heart sustaining where the mind Would stop and question. These were woman’s gifts, When she beheld the Master, and obeyed;

And they are yours ; if I supposed you false,

I should be most unhappy.

RHODA.

No, not false !

Believe me, David, anything but that!

[ They pass into the garden .

Scene I]

THE PROPHET.

HANNAH.

They both forget us ! Even his face is strange,

Most strange and beautiful with serious thought; While hers is troubled, yet has nought of pain.

I do not understand it. She’s a child,

Is Rhoda still; and wise she never seemed.

Can one give counsel, comprehending not The doubtful matter ? Surely unto her He cannot show what he keeps back from me !

Men seek clear notions, whether fair or foul,

When they have pondered anything so long As he with this. They take the orchard-path :

The fruit will hardly be their chief concern,

Yet gives fair ground that I may follow them.

[Exit.

ELKANAH.

[Laughing to himself.)

Ha, ha ! I see no mystery in the thing.

A practised tongue has Hannah, takes her way And justifies it, past my argument;

Yet now and then, like one in too much haste, Her notions trip, and throw her flat on mine. Because the lad was moony, she, forsooth,

Must think him like a Samuel, set apart For this or t’other ; but it’s nothing new.

He goes the way of flesh and blood, that first Knows hardly what the natural ailment is,

Till each finds out, and then the other heals. Yes, yes, these women ! Best to give them line, And let them pry a while among the clouds For what their very noses touch. She kept Him close, and preached upon and coddled him, As if a root of wilder oats is killed

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

When you keep down the top. The girl, ’t is true, Might have a bigger dowry : let that pass !

High time it is to settle him afresh ;

And Hannah has no call to interfere.

[Exit

(Hannah, David, and Rhoda return .)

DAVID.

Neither to you nor Rhoda, mother. Both Must wait what cometh; for, if I could say,

Then I should know.

HANNAH.

And each of you is sure You love the other ? I have seen no signs.

Even neighbor’s children do not change so much, But there is seeking, doubt, and bashfulness, Which will betray them.

DAVID.

None of these are ours : I did not seek what was already found;

And truth in me prohibits doubt of her.

If what concerneth life was once ordained For others, there must be direction still.

The nearest heart is ever easiest read :

So, reading Rhoda’s by the light of mine And that above, as one may hold pure glass Before the least of stars, nor make it dim,

I saw that each was chosen. Rhoda, speak,

And tell me once again your heart is mine !

RHODA.

You know it, even if I answered Nay.

THE PROPHET.

Scene II. — A Camp-Meeting

A grove of large, scattered oak-trees. Against two, which stand near together, a platform is built, supporting a pulpit of rough timber. In front of the platform are benches of planks, upon which several hundred persons are seated, David, Rhoda, and Peter among them. Tents are pitched under the borders of the grove. Many persons kneeling at the front benches, weeping and shouting.

HYMN.

There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains.

THE PREACHER.

(Resuming his exhortation, which was interrupted by the hymn.)

Oh, there are more among ye shall be plucked As brands from out the burning ! By the hair I ’ll seize you, — even by the single hair That holds you from the pit! My hands are singed With loosening the Devil’s grip on souls;

And you, who should strike out with fists and feet, Leave me the fight, the cowards that you are!

You think the Lord can’t see you: even so The ostrich sticketh in the sand her head To save her gay tail-feathers : pull them out,

And cast them from you ! Though you hide your¬ selves

Under the mountains, it will not be long ;

He ’ll send you wriggling forth, as mean as mice ;

And, though you dive down in the deepest sea,

IO

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

He ’ll haul you to the surface like a whale,

Harpooned, and spouting blood.

(Cries and groans among the people.')

Yes, gnash and roar Like lions on the hills of Havilum ;

But, all the same, He ’ll ask full price of you.

Come up, ye publicans and sinners ! Kneel,

Pray hard, mourn with the mourners, and be saved ! Strike off the crusted brimstone from your feet,

And swap the Devil’s fire for water of life !

Oh ! don’t I know you ? This one’s pride of mind, And that one’s wretched fear of what folks say,

And t’ other’s cold “ morality,” as if An ice-house better than an oven baked, —

Oh ! don’t I know ? I had them all myself :

I was a scurvy sheep, distempered, bad

With foot and mouth disease : He picked me up,

And, as it were, greased me with oil of grace,

And washed my spotted fleece until it shone.

You think you ’re clean already; but He sees Red under broadcloth, silk, and calico, —

Only your livers white !

{Several more come forward to the front benches, and kneel down with loud cries.)

Two, three, four, five !

Each one as nine and ninety righteous men :

Why, these alone outweigh the rest of you !

You give a serpent when he asks for fish ;

And He upsets, as men their wagons tilt,

His four-horse loads of mercies and of gifts,

And buries with them all that say, “ I need.”

(His eyes meet those of David, who leans forward in his seat with a fixed, abstracted gaze.)

I see another sinner ! He’s afraid :

THE PROPHET.

It may be that he magnifies his sin.

But, don’t you know, the bigger load you bear,

The greater comfort when you cast it off ?

Oh ! you ’ll be pardoned fully, not a doubt:

He likes to pardon. Trembling brother, come !

You will not ? Say, then, do you love the Lord ?

DAVID.

[Rising, as if with a struggle and speaking slowly .) Whether I love Him, and how well, He knows.

PETER.

[Aside to his neighbor .)

Not quite the answer he expected.

THE PREACHER.

Yes,

He knoweth. Do you seek a hole in the net,

Caught by the gills already ? Yes, He knows : These mourners cry to Him because of that.

DAVID.

Let Him be Judge of me !

THE PREACHER.

He is your Judge

Without your letting. These are Devil’s tricks, — This playing pitch-and-toss with holy words,

To gain a little time. Come up, choose sides !

The Lord means business. Where a gnat’s enough For others, must you have an elephant,

And all His promises rammed down your throat, Before you know their taste ?

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

DAVID (eagerly).

His promises ? —

The power of miracle and prophecy,

And gift of tongues ? He promised them to all; And Paul confirmed it. Tell me, then, the signs ! The heart within me aches from stress of faith :

I have no need to pray, except for power,

Which is the seal and covenant for them Whom He has chosen.

(Movements and exclamations among the -people .)

THE PREACHER.

So take hold on hell

The proud of spirit. What! the gift of tongues, The power of miracle and prophecy,

You ask, without repentance, prayer, and grace ?

DAVID.

For what should I repent ? Why pray as these Who cry from secret consciousness of sin ?

I never let a fault against me stand For day of settlement, then balanced all By pleading bankrupt, only to begin A fresh account. Acceptance, yea, and faith,

Are mine already, tenfold more than yours,

Who neither ask, nor know what ye should ask.

THE PREACHER.

We choose His simple way. You would mislead : Be silent!

CRIES AMONG THE PEOPLE.

Out! A very infidel! —

No sinner ? Never prays ? Why, Antichrist Could say no more ! To face the preacher so ! Away with him !

THE PROPHET.

PETER.

(Turning suddenly, ivith clinchedfists .)

The preacher drew him on, And got no worse than he deserved. I say,

Touch him, it won’t be “ Glory ! ” that you ’ll shout, After a sore repentance.

DAVID.

If I shake

This dust from off my feet, I do no more Than was commanded. Have you privilege To darken counsel with your cloud of words ?

To teach the lesser part, reject the whole,

And mutilate His glory unto men ?

Woe to the Pharisees and hypocrites,

Even here as there, even in these latter days,

As when upon the paths of Galilee

His feet were beautiful! My words are said.

(He leaves the place amid a great outcry and confiusion.)

Scene III. A lonely lane, evening

DAVID (solus).

Cast out ? By them that think they do believe, Cursed for believing ? God ! what, then, is truth ? Why, here Thy minted gold is worn with use, Sweated in handling, till the head thereon Is quite rubbed out, the superscription dim.

I did but offer it as freshly coined,

With all its glorious promise legible,

And they cry, “ Counterfeit! ” Ten talents given, Nine have they buried, and a single one

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

Divide among the people, who are blind,

And blindly led : shall I not therefore see ?

{Hepauses, and looks upivards.)

How reach the faith so perfect and assured That every gift must follow ? I have tried,

Sought evidence in lightest, easiest ways :

Nothing obeyed. So I have not the faith,

Or — O my God ! there is no faith, no power,

Nor miracle; and never can have been.

But this is madness ! This makes truth a lie,

Makes life an emptiness far worse than death,

Peoples the world with devils, drives men mad,

And substitutes —

(A nother pause.)

I had not thought of that.

Times changed, conditions changed: hence special need

Of worthiness through trial, harder now Than when all understood what meant belief,

And perfect faith was natural to them.

How can I measure mine by other men’s ?

I saw not right: I claimed the highest power, Unpurchased. What apostle shall declare,

As then, the fealty of a human soul ?

Not he ; not he ! And are not all alike,

Giving their husks of doctrine for His bread ?

The ground we stand on is too far apart:

Whom seek ? Why, none ! A hand is on my head,

A finger points the way.

PETER {coming tip).

I meant to leave

When you did ; but, because I cannot swear As properly as they, and just let fly

THE PROPHET.

*5

Hard lumps of words like stones to hit and hurt, They cursed me roundly, — in a holy way ;

And one, with hand upon my collar, cried,

“ Down, sinner, and repent! ” I answered him Between the eyes ; then dashed the rest apart, And so got headway. Let us hurry on :

They ’re after us.

DAVID.

And if they were ? My right Is greater. Did you understand my words ?

PETER.

As much as his. He did not answer you :

That I could understand.

DAVID.

If unto you

So much was manifest, and to the rest,

They only want authority and sign,

Which I must purchase. Peter, I believe All men are brethren when they see the truth.

peter.

You never called me “ brother ; ” yet you did Even as a brother.

DAVID.

Did I so, indeed ?

I thought not of it.

(They walk forwards .)

PETER.

Why should you not preach ?

There always must be preachers in the world.

i6

THE PROPHET.

[Act I.

We ’re used to them ; and people say that things Would go to wrack without them ; but I wish They’d yell and bang and thunder less. Somehow The text is friendly, smooth, and innocent As seems a flint; yet soon they knock from it Thick sparks of hell-fire, and the sulphur-stink Goes to men’s heads, and sets them raving wild.

You *d preach some comfort, now.

DAVID.

Would you believe ?

PETER.

Why not ? Something we must believe, they say. What I can’t understand I take on trust.

It’s getting late : the hogs and cattle know There’s earlier feeding-time when Sunday comes.

(He hastens on.)

DAVID.

The world is peaceful. There should be no sin :

There need not be, or misery, any more.

Yon blue is loftier than the changing wind,

And spreads serenely back of cloud and storm To show us what we might be. Wherefore strive ? Faith puts contention quietly aside,

Smiles, and is master.

(Rhoda overtakes him.)

I have need of you,

My Rhoda. Sooner than the signs announced,

The time draws nigh. Here, walk beside me now At the beginning, as it were the end.

RHODA.

I was not frightened. All you said was true.

THE PROPHET.

I thought you answered as one having power;

And so did many others.

DAVID.

Rhoda, look!

How yonder little cloud is all afire,

As if a rose unshrivelled so could burn,

That was so gray and dull! Even such am I.

I cannot help the color, nor escape The light that shines upon me. You will be Yon other cloud, that mingles with the first While now we gaze ; and let the multitude Spread as the clammy meadow-mists below,

That never saw the sunset!

RHODA.

And I feared

That you might be disquieted in soul ! —

Your peace and strength leave all the trouble mine.

I can but take whatever light is yours,

That is not wasted from a nobler use.

I will not speak of mine unworthiness ;

For that were thankless censure of your heart,

Which finds me worthy.

DAVID.

Proven so again!

You are a glass wherein I see myself Reflected as I change, — now clear, now dim, And soon (or else, I think, the earth shall cease) Clothed on with brightness, as a lamp with flame.

RHODA.

I pray that I may read what you intend.

It must be so : how, otherwise, give help ?

i8

[Act I.

DAVID.

Will help be needed ?

RHODA.

Will not trouble come ?

I have the feeling that foretells a storm

When not a cloud has gathered, — sultry, strange,

And full of restlessness which is not fear.

This is of me alone : untouched are you By that which you regard not.

DAVID.

Let me be !

Stand off, keep silence, wait and hope ! One step dives me the pathway ; but my lifted foot Feels in the dark, conjectures an abyss Where one bold thrust might touch the solid base.

My peace and strength, you said ? There’s seeming peace

When hope, desire, and prayer have done their most, And wait in agony the answer. Come !

I hardly feel the earth that bears me up.

The sky is blazing ; all the air is gold ;

And every hill-top is a step to heaven.

[They pass on