Festus

from every eye but God’s.
All things seemed innocence and happiness.
I was all thanks. And look! the angel said,
Take these, and give to one thou lovest best:
Mine own hands saved from them the shining ruin
Whereof I have late told thee; and she gave
What now are greenly glowing on thine arms.
Ere I could answer, she was up, star-high!
Winging her way through Heaven. Helen

How shall I thank thee
Enough, or that kind angel who hath made
The gift to me dear doubly? I shall be
Afraid almost to wear them, but would not
Part with them for the treasures of all worlds.
How show my thanks?

Festus

Love me as now, dear beauty!
Present or absent always, and ’twill be
More than enough of recompense for me.

Helen

Hast met that angel late-while?

Festus

I have not.
Yet oft methinks I see her, catch a glimpse
Of her sun-circling pinions or bright feet
Which fitter seem for rainbows than for earth,
Or Heaven’s triumphal arch, more firm and pure
Than the world’s whitest marble;⁠—see her seated oft
On some high snowy cloud-cliff, harp in hand,
Singing the sun to sleep as down he lays
His head of glory on the rocking deep:
And so sing thou to me.

Helen

There, rest thyself. Sings.

Oh! not the diamond starry bright
Can so delight my view,
As doth the moonstone’s changing light
And gleamy glowing hue;
Now blue as Heaven, and then anon
As golden as the sun,
It hath a charm in every change⁠—
In brightening, darkening, one.

And so with beauty, so with love,
And everlasting mind;
It takes a tint from Heaven above,
And shines as it’s inclined;
Or from the sun, or towards the sun,
With blind or brilliant eye,
And only lights as it reflects
The life-light of the sky.
He sleeps! The fate of many a gracious moral
This, to be stranded on a drowsy ear.

XX

Scene⁠—Home. Festus, and Helen at her piano.⁠—Dusk.

Helen	I cannot live away from thee. How can A flower live without its root?
Festus	I, too, Must love or die.
Helen	But I must have. Attend! I am to say and do just as I please; I may command thee, may I? that I will.
Festus	I love to be enslaved. Oh! I would rather Obey thee, beauty! than rule men by millions.
Helen	Near, as afar, I will have love the same⁠— With a bright sameness, like this diamond, Which, wherever the light be, shines like bright. And thou shalt say all sorts of pretty things To me; mind, to me only: write love-songs About me, and I will sing them to myself; Perhaps to thee, sometime, as it were now, If I should happen to be very kind.
Festus	Sing now!
Helen	No!
Festus	Tyrant! I will banish thee.
Helen	Nay, if to sing and play would please thee, I Would die to music. It was very wrong To say I would deny thee anything; But be not angry with me: for though God Forgave me, I could ne’er forgive myself, If I brought sorrow to thee, could I love?
Festus	As thou art empress of my bosom, No!
Helen	Nought fear I but an unkind word from thee. Dark death may frighten children, Hell the wretch Who feels that he deserves it; but for me, I know I cannot do nor say aught worthy Of the pure pain a frown of thine can cause, Or a cold, careless look. No! never frown. If I do wrong, forgive me, or I die; And thou wilt then be wretcheder than I;⁠— The unforgiving than the unforgiven.
Festus	I do absolve thee, beauty, of all faults, Past, present, or to come.
Helen	Well, that will do. What was I saying? I love this instrument, It speaks, it thinks⁠—nay, I could kiss it: look! There are three things I love half killingly;⁠— Thee lastly, and this next, and myself first.
Festus	Thou art a silly, tiresome thing, and yet I never weary of thee; but could gaze, Sick with excess and not satiety, Upon thy countenance, with the serious joy With which we eye and eye the unbounded space Which is the visible attribute of God, Who makes all things within Himself; and thus It is the Heaven we hope for, and can find No point from which to take its altitude; For the Infinite, is upwards, and above The highest thing created⁠—upwards aye: So I could, thinking on thy face, believe An infinite expression, heightening still The longer that I thought, and leaving thee, Coming to thee, or being with thee⁠—love!
Helen	I am so happy when with thee.
Festus	And I. They tell us virtue lies in self-denial. My virtue is indulgence. I was born To gratify myself unboundedly, So that I wronged none else. These arms were given me To clasp the beautiful, and cleave the wave; These limbs to leap and wander where I will; These eyes to look on every thing without Effort; these ears to list my loved one’s voice; These lips to be divinised by her kiss: And every sense, pulse, passion, power, to be Swoln into sunny ripeness.
Helen	Virtue is one With nature, or ’tis nothing: it is love.
Festus	I come fresh from thee every time we meet, Steeped in the still sweet dew of thy soft beauty, Like earth at day-dawn, lifting up her head Out of her sleep, star-watched, to face the sun⁠— So I, to front the world, on leaving thee. Oh! there is inspiration in thy look; Poesie, prophecy. Come hither, love; The evening air is sweet.
Helen	It comes on us Fresher and clearer through these dewy vine-leaves, Fit for the forehead of the young wine-god.
Festus	A large, red egg, of light the moon lies like On the dark moor-hill and now, rising slow, Beams on the clear flood, smilingly intent, Like a fair face, which loves to look on itself, Saying;⁠—“There is no wonder that men love me, For I am beautiful!”⁠—as I heard thee.
Helen	It was not right to overhear me that.
Festus	’Twas very wrong to do what I could not help; But vanity speaks out.
Helen	Well, I don’t mind; I never knew that I was as I am Till others told me.
Festus	Now were soon enough.
Helen	Ah, nothing comes to us too soon but sorrow.
Festus	For all were happiness, if all might live Long, or die soon, enough: for even us.
Helen	Dost not remember, when, the other eve, Thy