Within and Without

me free, as God says “I am free.”
When I am like him, then my soul will dawn
With the full glory of the God revealed⁠—
Full as to me, though but one beam from him;
The light will shine, for I shall comprehend it:
In his light I shall see light. God can speak,
Yea, will speak to me then, and I shall hear.
Not yet like him, how can I hear his words? Stopping by the crib, and bending over the child.
My darling child! God’s little daughter, drest
In human clothes, that light may thus be clad
In shining, so to reach my human eyes!
Come as a little Christ from heaven to earth,
To call me “father,” that my heart may know
What father means, and turn its eyes to God!
Sometimes I feel, when thou art clinging to me,
How all unfit this heart of mine to have
The guardianship of a bright thing like thee,
Come to entice, allure me back to God
By flitting round me, gleaming of thy home,
And radiating of thy purity
Into my stained heart; which unto thee
Shall ever show the father, answering
The divine childhood dwelling in thine eyes.
O how thou teachest me with thy sweet ways,
All ignorant of wherefore thou art come,
And what thou art to me, my heavenly ward,
Whose eyes have drunk that secret place’s light
And pour it forth on me! God bless his own! He resumes his walk, singing in a low voice.

My child woke crying from her sleep;
I bended o’er her bed,
And soothed her, till in slumber deep
She from the darkness fled.

And as beside my child I stood,
A still voice said in me⁠—
“Even thus thy Father, strong and good,
Is bending over thee.”

Scene II

Rooms in Lord Seaford’s house. A large company; dancers; gentlemen looking on.

First Gentleman	Henry, what dark-haired queen is that? She moves As if her body were instinct with thought, Moulded to motion by the music’s waves, As floats the swan upon the swelling lake; Or as in dreams one sees an angel move, Sweeping on slow wings through the buoyant air, Then folding them, and turning on his track.
Second Gentleman	You seem inspired; nor can I wonder at it; She is a glorious woman; and such eyes! Think⁠—to be loved by such a woman now!
First Gentleman	You have seen her, then, before: what is her name?
Second Gentleman	I saw her once; but could not learn her name.
Third Gentleman	She is the wife of an Italian count, Who for some cause, political I think, Took refuge in this country. His estates The Church has eaten up, as I have heard: Mephisto says the Church has a good stomach.
Second Gentleman	How do they live?
Third Gentleman	Poorly, I should suppose; For she gives Lady Gertrude music-lessons: That’s how they know her.⁠—Ah, you should hear her sing!
Second Gentleman	If she sings as she looks or as she dances, It were as well for me I did not hear.
Third Gentleman	If Count Lamballa followed Lady Seaford To heaven, I know who’d follow her on earth.

Scene III

Julian’s room. Lily asleep.

Julian	I wish she would come home. When the child wakes, I cannot bear to see her eyes first rest On me, then wander searching through the room, And then return and rest. And yet, poor Lilia! ’Tis nothing strange thou shouldst be glad to go From this dull place, and for a few short hours Have thy lost girlhood given back to thee; For thou art very young for such hard things As poor men’s wives in cities must endure. I am afraid the thought is not at rest, But rises still, that she is not my wife⁠— Not truly, lawfully. I hoped the child Would kill that fancy; but I fear instead, She thinks I have begun to think the same⁠— Thinks that it lies a heavy weight of sin Upon my heart. Alas, my Lilia! When every time I pray, I pray that God Would look and see that thou and I be one!
Lily	Starting up in her crib. Oh, take me! take me!
Julian	Going up to her with a smile. What is the matter with my little child?
Lily	I don’t know, father; I was very frightened.
Julian	’Twas nothing but a dream. Look⁠—I am with you.
Lily	I am wake now; I know you’re there; but then I did not know it. Smiling.
Julian	Lie down now, darling. Go to sleep again.
Lily	Beseechingly. Not yet. Don’t tell me go to sleep again; It makes me so, so frightened! Take me up, And let me sit upon your knee.⁠—Where’s mother? I cannot see her.
Julian	She’s not at home, my child; But soon she will be back.
Lily	But if she walk Out in the dark streets⁠—so dark, it will catch her.
Julian	She will not walk⁠—but what would catch her, sweet?
Lily	I don’t know. Tell me a story till she comes.
Julian	Taking her, and sitting with her on his knees by the fire. Come then, my little Lily, I will tell you A story I have read this very night. She looks in his face. There was a man who had a little boy, And when the boy grew big, he went and asked His father to give him a purse of money. His father gave him such a large purse full! And then he went away and left his home. You see he did not love his father much.
Lily	Oh! didn’t he?⁠—If he had, he wouldn’t have gone!
Julian	Away he went, far far away he went, Until he could not even spy the top Of the great mountain by his father’s house. And still he went away, away, as if He tried how far his feet could go away; Until he came to a city huge and wide, Like London here.
Lily	Perhaps it was London.
Julian	Perhaps it was, my child. And there he spent All, all his father’s money, buying things That he had always told him were not worth, And not to buy them; but he would and did.
Lily	How very naughty of him!
Julian	Yes, my child. And so when he had spent his last few pence, He grew quite hungry. But he had none