"Festus, have thoughts like these e'er shaped themselves "In other brains than mine—have their possessors "Existed in like circumstance—were they weak

"As I—or ever constant from the first,

66

Despising youth's allurements, and rejecting "As spider-films the shackles I endure?

"Is there hope for me ?"—and I answer'd gravely As an acknowledged elder, calmer, wiser,

More gifted mortal. O you must remember,

For all your glorious . . .

Par.

Glorious? ay, to wit, this hair,

These hands—nay, touch them, they are mine—recall

With all the said recallings, times when thus

To lay them by your own ne'er turn'd you pale,

As now.

Fest.

Most glorious, are they not?

Why ... why. . .

Something must be subtracted from success

So wide, no doubt. He would be scrupulous, truly,
Who should object such drawbacks. Still, still Aureole,
You are changed—very changed. 'Twere losing nothing
To look well to it: you must not be stolen
From the enjoyment of your well-won meed.

Par. My friend! you seek my pleasure, past a doubt:

You will best gain your point by talking, not

Of me, but of yourself.

Fest.

Have I not said

All touching Michal and my children? Sure
You know, by this, full well how Annchen looks
Gravely, while one disparts her thick brown hair;
And Aureole's glee when some stray gannet builds
Amid the birch-trees by the lake. Small hope
Have I that he will honour, the wild imp!

His namesake. Sigh not! 't is too much to ask
That all we love should reach the same proud fate.
But you are very kind to humour me

By showing interest in my quiet life;
You, who of old could never tame yourself

To tranquil pleasures, must at heart despise . . .
Par. Festus, strange secrets are let out by Death,
Who blabs so oft the follies of this world :
I, as you know, am Death's familiar oft.

I help'd a man to die, some few weeks since,
Warp'd even from his go-cart to one end—
To live on prince's smiles, reflected from

A mighty herd of favourites. No mean trick
He left untried, and truly well nigh worm'd
All traces of God's finger out of him.

He died, grown old; and just an hour before—
Having lain long with blank and soulless eyes—
He sate up suddenly, and with natural voice
Said, that in spite of thick air and closed doors
God told him it was June; and he knew well,
Without such telling, hare-bells grew in June;
And all that kings could ever give or take

Would not be precious as those blooms to him.
Just so, allowing I am passing wise,

It seems to me much worthier argument

Why pansies,✼ eyes that laugh, are lovelier

Than violets, eyes that dream—(your Michal's choice)—

Than all fools find to wonder at in me,

Or in my fortunes: and be very sure

I

say this from no prurient restlessness—

No self-complacency—itching to vary,

And turn, and view its pleasure from all points,

* Citrinula (flammula) herba Paracelso multùm familiaris. DORN.

And, in this instance, willing other men
Should be at pains to demonstrate to it

The realness of the very joy it lives on.

What should delight me like the news of friends
Whose memories were a solace to me oft,

As mountain-baths to wild fowls in their flight?
Oftener that you had wasted thought on me
Had you been sage, and rightly valued bliss;
But there's no taming nor repressing hearts:
God knows I need such! . . . So you heard me speak?
Fest. Speak? when?

Par.

When but this morning at my class ?

There was noise and crowd enough. I saw you not:

Surely you know I am engaged to fill

The chair here? that 't is part of my proud fate
To lecture to as many thick-scull'd youths
As please to throng the theatre each day,
To my great reputation, and no small

Peril of benches, long unused to crack
Beneath such honour?

Fest.

I was there, indeed.

I mingled with the throng: shall I avow

Small care was mine to listen? I was intent

On gathering from the murmurs of the crowd
A full corroboration of my hopes.

What can I learn about your powers? but they
Know, care for nought beyond your actual state—
Your actual value. Yet they worship you!

Those various natures whom you sway as one.

But ere I go, be sure I shall attend. .

...

Par. Stop, o' God's name: the thing's by no means yet Past remedy. Shall I read this morning's labour? At least in substance? Nought so worth the gaining As an apt scholar: thus then, with all due Precision and emphasis—(you, besides, are clearly Guiltless of understanding more a whit

The subject than your stool—allow'd to be

A notable advantage)...

Fest.

You laugh at me!

Par.

Surely, Aureole,

I laugh? Ha, ha! thank heaven,

I charge you, if 't be so! for I forget

Much—and what laughter should be like: no less,

However, I forego that luxury,