Festus

fire
Are wrought the forms of angels and the thrones?
Hast none at hand to do my bidding? Come!
Breathe out a spirit for me! One I ask
That shall be with me always, as a friend,
And not like thee, who despotisest o’er
The heart thou seek’st to serve. I must be free. Lucifer

All finite souls must serve; their widest sway
Is but the rule of service. This fair earth
Which thou dost boast so much of, why, thou see’st
’Tis but the parti-coloured, scummy dross
Of the original element wherefrom
The fiery worlds were framed.

Festus

Air! and thou, Wind!
Which art the unseen similitude of God
The Spirit, His most meet and mightiest sign;
The earth with all her steadfastness and strength,
Sustaining all, and bound about with chains
Of mountains, as is life with mercies, ranging round
With all her sister orbs the whole of Heaven,
Is not so like the unlikenable One
As thou. Ocean is less divine than thee;
For although all but limitless, it is yet
Visible, many a land not visiting.
But thou art, Lovelike, everywhere; o’er earth,
O’er ocean triumphing, and aye with clouds,
That like the ghost of ocean’s billows roll,
Decking or darkening Heaven. The sun’s light
Floweth and ebbeth daily like the tides;
The moon’s doth grow or lessen, night by night;
The stirless stars shine forth by fits and hide,
And our companion planets come and go;⁠—
And all are known, their laws and liberties.
But no man can foreset thy coming, none
Reason against thy going; thou art free,
The type impalpable of Spirit, thou.
Thunder is but a momentary thing,
Like a world’s deathrattle, and is like death;
And lightning, like the blaze of sin, can blind
Only and slay. But what are these to thee,
In thine all-present variousness? Now,
So light as not to wake the snowiest down
Upon the dove’s breast, winning her bright way
Calm and sublime as Grace unto the soul,
Towards her far native grove; now, stern and strong
As ordnance, overturning tree and tower;
Cooling the white brows of the peaks of fire⁠—
Turning the sea’s broad furrows like a plough⁠—
Fanning the fruitening plains, breathing the sweets
Of meadows, wandering o’er blinding snows,
And sands like sea-beds and the streets of cities,
Where men as garnered grain lie heaped together;
Freshening the cheeks, and mingling oft the locks
Of youth and beauty ’neath star-speaking eve;
Swelling the pride of canvas, or, in wrath,
Scattering the fleets of nations like dead leaves:
In all, the same o’ermastering sightless force,
Bowing the highest things of earth to earth,
And lifting up the dust unto the stars;
Fatelike, confounding reason, and like God’s
Spirit, conferring life upon the world⁠—
Midst all corruption incorruptible;
Monarch of all the elements! hast thou
No soft Eolian sylph, with sightless wing,
To spare a mortal for an hour?

Lucifer

Peace, peace!
All nature knows that I am with thee here,
And that thou need’st no minor minister.
To thee I personate the world⁠—its powers,
Beliefs, and doubts and practices.

Festus

Are all
Mine invocations fruitless, then?

Lucifer

They are.
Let us enjoy the world!

Festus

If ’twas God’s will
That thou shouldst visit me He shall not send
Temptation to my heart in vain. Sweet world!
We all still cling to thee. Though thou thyself
Passest away, yet men will hanker about thee,
Like mad ones by their moping haunts. Men pass,
Cleaving to things themselves which pass away,
Like leaves on waves. Thus all things pass for ever,
Save mind and the mind’s meed.

Lucifer

Let us too pass!

V

Scene⁠—Alcove and garden.

	Festus and Clara.
Festus	What happy things are youth and love and sunshine! How sweet to feel the sun upon the heart! To know it is lighting up the rosy blood, And with all joyous feelings, prism-hued, Making the dark breast shine like a spar grot. We walk among the sunbeams as with angels.
Clara	Yes, there are feelings so serene and sweet, Coming and going with a musical lightness, That they can make amends for their passingness, And balance God’s condition to decay; As yon light fleecy cloudlet floating along, Like golden down from some high angel’s wing, Breaks but relieves and beautifies the blue. I wonder if ever I could love another. How I should start to see upon the sward A shadow not thine own armlinked with mine! See, here is a garland I have bound for thee.
Festus	Nay, crown thyself; it will suit thee better, love. Place wreaths of everlasting flowers on tombs, And deck with fading beauties forms that fade. Put it away⁠—I will no crown save this: And could the line of dust which here I trace Upon my brow but warrant dust beneath⁠— And nothing more⁠—or could this bubble frame, Informed with soul, lashed from the stream of life By its own impetus, but burst at once, And vanish part on high and part below, I would be happy, nor would envy death. Could I, like Heaven’s bolt, earthing quench myself, This moment would I burn me out a grave. Might I but be as many years in dying As I have lived⁠—that might be some relief.
Clara	What canst thou mean?
Festus	Mean? Is there not a future? The past, the present and the coming, curse each! The future, curse it!
Clara	Shall we not ever live And love as now?
Festus	Ay, live I fear we must.
Clara	And love: because we then are happiest. We shall lack nothing having love: and we, We must be happy everywhere⁠—we two! For spiritual life is great and clear, And self-continuous as the changeless sea, Rolling the same in every age as now; Whether o’er mountain tops, where only snow Dwells, and the sunbeam hurries coldly by; Or o’er the vales, as now, of some old world Older than ancient man’s. As is the sea’s, So is the life of spirit, and the kind. And then with natures raised, refined and freed From these poor forms, our days shall pass in peace And love; no thought of human littleness Shall cross our high calm souls, shining and pure As the gold gates of Heaven. Like some deep lake Upon a mountain summit they shall rest, High above cloud and storm of life like this, All peace and power, and passionless purity; Or if a thought of other troubled times Ruffle it for a moment, it shall pass Like a chance raindrop on its heavenward face. I love to meditate on bliss to come. Not that I am unhappy here; but that The hope of higher bliss may rectify The lower feeling which we now enjoy. This life, this world