Within and Without

Shepherd of the sheep,
Without the one ewe-lamb he gave to me?
How find her in great Hades, if not here
In this poor little round O of a world?
I’ll follow my wife, follow until I find.

Reenter Jew.

Well, how much? Name your sum. Be liberal.

Jew

Let me see this room, too. The things are all
Old-fashioned and ill-kept. They’re worth but little.

Julian

Say what you will⁠—only make haste and go.

Jew

Say twenty pounds?

Julian

Well, fetch the money at once,
And take possession. But make haste, I pray.

Scene XXIV

The country-churchyard. Julian standing by Lily’s new-filled grave. He looks very worn and ill.

Julian

Now I can leave thee safely to thy sleep; Thou wilt not wake and miss me, my fair child! Nor will they, for she’s fair, steal this ewe-lamb Out of this fold, while I am gone to seek And find the wandering mother of my lamb. I cannot weep; I know thee with me still. Thou dost not find it very dark down there? Would I could go to thee; I long to go; My limbs are tired; my eyes are sleepy too; And fain my heart would cease this beat, beat, beat. O gladly would I come to thee, my child, And lay my head upon thy little heart, And sleep in the divine munificence Of thy great love! But my night has not come; She is not rescued yet. Goodbye, little one. He turns, but sinks on the grave. Recovering and rising. Now for the world⁠—that’s Italy, and her!

Scene XXV

The empty room, formerly Lilia’s.

	Enter Julian.
Julian	How am I here? Alas! I do not know. I should have been at sea.⁠—Ah, now I know! I have come here to die. Lies down on the floor. Where’s Lilia? I cannot find her. She is here, I know. But oh these endless passages and stairs, And dreadful shafts of darkness! Lilia! Lilia! wait for me, child; I’m coming fast, But something holds me. Let me go, devil! My Lilia, have faith; they cannot hurt you. You are God’s child⁠—they dare not touch you, wife. O pardon me, my beautiful, my own! Sings. Wind, wind, thou blowest many a drifting thing From sheltering cove, down to the unsheltered sea; Thou blowest to the sea ray blue sail’s wing⁠— Us to a new, love-lit futurity: Out to the ocean fleet and float⁠— Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat. While he sings, enter Lord Seaford, pale and haggard. Julian descries him suddenly. What are you, man? O brother, bury me⁠— There’s money in my pocket⁠—Emptying the Jew’s gold on the floor. by my child. Staring at him. Oh! you are Death. Go, saddle the pale horse⁠— I will not walk⁠—I’ll ride. What, skeleton! I cannot sit him! ha! ha! Hither, brute! Here, Lilia, do the lady’s task, my child, And buckle on my spurs. I’ll send him up With a gleam through the blue, snorting white foam-flakes. Ah me! I have not won my golden spurs, Nor is there any maid to bind them on: I will not ride the horse, I’ll walk with thee. Come, Death, give me thine arm, good slave!⁠—we’ll go.
Lord Seaford	Stooping over him. I am Seaford, Count.
Julian	Seaford! What Seaford? Recollecting. —Seaford! Springing to his feet. Where is my wife? He falls into Seaford’s arms. He lays him down.
Lord Seaford	Had I seen him, she had been safe for me. Goes.
	Julian lies motionless. Insensibility passes into sleep. He wakes calm, in the sultry dusk of a summer evening.
Julian	Still, still alive! I thought that I was dead. I had a frightful dream. ’Tis gone, thank God! He is quiet a little. So then thou didst not take the child away That I might find my wife! Thy will be done. Thou wilt not let me go. This last desire I send away with grief, but willingly. I have prayed to thee, and thou hast heard my prayer: Take thou thine own way, only lead her home. Cleanse her, O Lord. I cannot know thy might; But thou art mighty, with a power unlike All, all that we know by the name of power, Transcending it as intellect transcends The stone upon the ground⁠—it may be more, For these are both created⁠—thou creator, Lonely, supreme. Now it is almost over, My spirit’s journey through this strange sad world; This part is done, whatever cometh next. Morning and evening have made out their day; My sun is going down in stormy dark, But I will face it fearless. The first act Is over of the drama.⁠—Is it so? What means this dim dawn of half-memories? There’s something I knew once and know not now!⁠— A something different from all this earth! It matters little; I care not⁠—only know That God will keep the living thing he made. How mighty must he be to have the right Of swaying this great power I feel I am⁠— Moulding and forming it, as pleaseth him! O God, I come to thee! thou art my life; O God, thou art my home; I come to thee. Can this be death? Lo! I am lifted up Large-eyed into the night. Nothing I see But that which is, the living awful Truth⁠— All forms of which are but the sparks flung out From the luminous ocean clothing round the sun, Himself all dark. Ah, I remember me: Christ said to Martha⁠—“Whosoever liveth, And doth believe in me, shall never die”! I wait, I wait, wait wondering, till the door Of God’s wide theatre be open flung To let me in. What marvels I shall see! The expectation fills me, like new life Dancing through all my veins. Once more I thank thee For all that thou hast made me⁠—most of all, That thou didst make me wonder and seek thee. I thank thee for my wife: to thee I trust her; Forget her not, my God. If thou save her, I shall be able then to thank thee so As will content thee⁠—with full-flowing song, The very bubbles on whose dancing waves Are daring thoughts flung faithful at thy feet. My heart sinks in me.⁠—I grow faint. Oh! whence This wind of love that fans me out of life? One stoops to kiss me!⁠—Ah, my lily child! God hath not flung thee over his garden-wall. Reenter