Dramas of camp and cloister

Contents

T^ahna's Triumph /

*Che Last Judgment 13

Empire of Talink ....... 73

III

Betrothed. Altheus, I come to join these suppliants That plead with thee, these lips of reverend age That should not be thy suitors. Why alone Withstand the wise and good, and hold thyself Wiser than all? Why, from thy point of time Sneer at the garnered wisdom of thy race Through centuries long? If he to whom we

point thee Had ever cherished harsh or narrow thought We might less wonder that thy fierce rebellion Is thus persistent. No coarse, threatening curse Bring we from Rahna's lips to fright thee back Into his fold.

Priest. Whether thou wilt or not,

We have his gracious promise that our loved

ones, Though straying for a time, shall yet be drawn Into his holy bosom.

Mother. Sometime, son,

Thou'lt be restored ; but, oh ! we need thee now. Father. We need thee in this life. Betrothed. O love, I need thee

Close at my side whene'er I kneel to Rahn For courage in those hours of sacred terror When thy dear presence flings its fearful glory Around my trembling womanhood. Ah ! Altheus, Dost thou reject that saint of chastity Almost on the marriage-eve? Methought that

Altheus, Rahn's faithful servant, would, no less than

Rahn, Be priest to her he loved.

Chorus of Old Men.

Dwells Rahna with his bride

A score of stainless years,

Nor from her side

Wanders disloyal when her beauty's pride

Sinking from sight back to her soul's profound

So disappears.

Rahna, that saintly breast

But thrice in decades twain

Unto him pressed ;

And thrice the heavenly spheres he dispossessed

Of lovely human spirits meshed and bound

In Hymen's chain.

Chorus of Young Men.

When shall I meet her and greet her, my bride.

In her beauty's meek pride,

In whose presence the stress and the strain,

In whose presence the passion and pain

Break like waves on the shore

In miusic once more

That lulleth my spirit to rest.

Not today? It is well, it is best —

Let the passion and pain,

Let the stress and the strain,

Let the tumult and anguish increase;

All the deeper the ultimate peace,

If the storm multiply

Till the waves mountain-high

Break sublimely at last on the shore.

Betrothed. Alas ! what sorrow waits

Our vain-attempted union ! Must I hide me

Whene'er I say my prayers? And when oui

children Are given to us, must I secretly Tell them of Rahn? And wilt thou teach them

counter That Rahna was but man ?

Altheus. Alas! alas!

Priest. O, Altheus, be our prince and be our

priest.

Make peace with God and man.

Chorus of Old Men.

Oh! bend that noble brow Unto the sacred chrism.

Oh ! breathe the holy vow ; Escape thy churlish schism ; Nor dizzily daring bow Henceforth o'er thought's abysm.

Chorus of Young Men.

Will Altheus yield?

Will he be insincere?

Will he be priest of these?

Priest will he be of the world? My priest no more ?

Father, O son, for thee we pray.

io DRAMAS OF CAMP AND CLOISTER

Mother. Ah! to thyself pray I. Betrothed. Join thou our prayer.

Chorus of Worshippers.

O purifier of the heart,

Here in our midst today,

Go with us also when we part ;

Be with us on the way.

Let not this hour have been in vain ; Let not its glory cease; Oh ! let its halo still remain ; Let linger still its peace.

These faces that are now so bright, Transfigured from thy throne — Oh ! bless them still, let still their light Be symbol of thine own.

Our forms that we have bowed in prayer Humbly before thy face, — Let them the consecration share, Nor lose this moment's grace.

Our voices that are tremulous In thy great presence, Lord, Oh! keep them ever sacred thus In beautiful accord.

Yea, make us beautiful and high

In thought's refining grace ;

Our human presence dignify;

Exalt our human face.

Altheus. Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbe^

lief.

Chorus of Old Men.

The noble, soon or late, \

Seek thus at Raima's shrine Their spirits' home.

Why further proof await That Raima's word divine From God hath come?

THE LAST JUDGMENT

/. The Indictment. Patheos, Theos, Chorus of Priests.

Pan. Theos, some urgent suit? The. As urgent, father,

As the summons of a mortal soul by death, Which is, indeed, the occasion that hath brought

me To thy supreme tribunal.

Pan. Now, what spirit

Upon the threshhold of the life immortal Dost thou, O Theos, challenge? The. Atheos,

That soul unbending.

Pan. Much like eulogy

The accusation soundeth. What offence Maketh thee adversary of this soul In the dread transition moment? The. Thou dost know

That to his age and race I am the form Wherein men worship thee. This man alone Of all his time hath spurned my sovereignty, And walked with head unbowed. Pan. O venerable,

In whom mankind have imaged their conception Of attributes divine, thou art, indeed, The nearest likeness man hath yet attained Of my own nature. Ages yet shall pass Ere thou shalt lose thy sovereignty, dethroned By a loftier ideal. Man hath made thee To be the image of his higher self, To uplift his lower. If this Atheos Hath cast thee off with all thy dignity

Of hoar tradition round thee, and elected

A spiritual solitude —

The. E'en such, I swear,

Hath been his violent course.

Pan. Then let us seek

Whether he walketh blind, or still discerneth

Some vestige of the truth.

The. I undertake

To prove that he hath utterly betrayed

The sweet faith of his youth.

Pan. Then what redress

Seekest thou at my hands?

The. Either that now

Upon his dying couch relenting come

And due remorse, or else, for justice' sake,

Some visitation on him in the life

That fast approaches — some degenerate state

To brand his treason — some ignoble form

Of savage or of brute.

Pan. The great ascent

Of soul is not so baffled. His promotion

Cannot be thus repressed. Nor am I, Theos,

Supreme above him to decide his fate

With arbitrary fiat. He hath part

In mty own will. His nature and my laws

Are of one essence. He himself determines

The rate of his advancement. Go, invite him

Before this bar to be his own accuser,

Judge of his own desert.

Chorus of Priests.

O Theos, the eternal,

Creator of the spheres,

Theos, supreme, supernal.

Yield mercy to my fears.

Thou lookest, and I quiver;

THE LAST JUDGMENT 15

Thou frownest, and I die: Thou smitest me — forever In anguish do I lie.

Awhile thy will may linger, — Then nature's laws prevail ; Thou liftest but thy finger, — Nature and science fail.

//. The Summons. Theos, Altheos, Chorus of Mourners.

The. I summon thee before the eternal bar To give thy last account. Beseech in haste Some priestly intercession, if perchance There still be hope of mercy. Ath. Pan theos

Himself doth hold his court within my soul, And I partake his life. Through my own conscience Shall he announce his judgment. I decline The intercessor's office.

The. Think how weak

Thy little life amid the fearful dangers Of this last hour.

Ath. My little life is mighty

With the universal being that doth thrill Through all my spiritual veins. The. How it repents me

That I must needs accuse thee in thy death Amid these piteous gaspings! Ath. Fitter time

Had ne'er been found. My soul beginneth now To feel its freedom. While my body struggles In this unconscious travail, and the mourners Throng round it in suspense, my soul is strong To meet the future.

The. Come, thou haughty spirit,

And listen to thy doom.

Ath. Nay, here I wait

To meet my accusation. Pantheos here Will utter judgment. At my death-bed now The inquisition fitly may proceed Uninterrupted, and my mourning friends Be none the wiser.

Chorus of Mourners.

Oh ! must this soul so royal,

So earnest and so grave,

So stainless and so loyal,

So hopeful and so brave,

Pass from the day

Without a ray

Of light divine to guide his perilous way?

777. The Trial. Theos, Atheos, Chorus of Priests.

Ath. I am ready

To answer my accuser.

The. This defendant

Hath made himself an outlaw by rejecting The source divine of law. The worshippers Gather devoutly all around the world To pay their reverence — in that faithful number Atheos ne'er was found.

Ath. 'Tis man, not God

Needeth my service.

The. To that gracious power

Wherefrom thy being springeth, owest thou not Eternal thanks?

Ath. May I not fitly pay

Eternal thanks in silence? Hath the divine An ear of flesh to hoard in vanity Our audible prayers ? Hath it a fleshly eye

THE LAST JUDGMENT 17

To gloat on our genuflections? The. Yet how meet

God be well pleased when man is not ashamed To confess before his fellows ! A th. Who hath shame

Because of loyalty to human ties That he feeleth to be noble? He that blusheth To own his faith hath not a faith, but doubteth The creed that he recites ; let him seek further And supplement his doctrine. I shame not At the worship of my soul.

The. Then why repress

So coward-like its tongue ?

Ath. Even so I check

All public ostentation of my love For wife and child — too personal and sacred For proclamation.

The. Yet you make your home

With wife and child, confessing thus to men The depth of your devotion. Why not cherish Some little nook within the house of God In modest witness of your filial faith? Ath. Because within that house 'tis thou thyself That men adore, and not the perfect god-head That thou dost caricature. 'Twere impious To render thee my service, knowing at heart That thou art not the noblest. The. Hear his words,

O Pantheos ! Behold what anarchy He kindleth now throughout the universe With these his lawless thoughts. Chorus of Priests.

Slowly that spirit glideth

Tnto the presence dread.

The avenger patient bideth

Crouched at the dying head.

Vain now the vaunt of morals ;

Useless the pride of thought ;

Fruitless are now the quarrels

O'er the is, the can, the ought. *}

Art falters ; virtue faileth ; Wisdom is in the dust ; * Nothing henceforth availeth But simple, childlike trust.

IV. The Verdict. Pantheos, Atheos, Chorus of Philosophers.

Pan. Alone, my Atheos,

We stand together ; through thy lips I speak, — Pronounce the verdict.

Ath. Ever through my lips

I pray thee speak. I would that I were nobler ; I thank thee I am noble as I am. I thank thee for this glorious ideal That beckons through my life. No longer now I worship coldly with my intellect, But feel my soul a-thrill with tenderness Toward thy infinite life. I worship, worship Till scarcely I can keep the precious secret Of this divine communion. Yet I'll strive To hold my dignity, maintaining sacred The privacy of this most tender union Of thee and me. More fully enter now My vital being. Let some nobler form Attest my mastery in another stage Of cyclic growth. Yea, make me more and more An agent in accomplishing thy will. Chorus of Philosophers.

Another step is taken,

Another triumph done,

THE LAST JUDGMENT 19

Another past forsaken, Another future won ;

The creeds invalidated, Virtue again supreme; Man's sonship vindicated, His godhead not a dream.