SCENE I.
[A place not far from the summit of Mount Psiloriti, in the Isle of Candia. Philota discovered with a basket of grapes upon her head; she looks eagerly upward. Time, a little before sunset.]
PHILOTA.
WHY comes he not? Here on this emerald sward,
Close to the cool shade of these ancient rocks,
We have met, and fondly lingered in the sunset,
Eve after eve, since first he said, “I love thee!”
Never, Antonio, hast thou been ere now
A loiterer! wherefore should my heart beat fast,
And my breath thicken, and the dew of fear
Stand chill upon my forehead? Is’t an omen?
[At this moment Antonio is seen bounding quickly down the mountain; he reaches Philota and embraces her.]
ANTONIO.
Thou hast waited long, Philota, hast thou not?
PHILOTA.
‘Tis true, Antonio! but thou know’st an hour,
Nay, a bare minute, drags the weariest length
When thou art from me!
ANTONIO.
Thanks, dearest, and, forgive me,
I did but dream upon the hill-top yonder
And, dreaming thus, forgot thee.
PHILOTA.
Forgot me!
ANTONIO.
Nay, nay, I mean not that! thy face, thy smiles,
Thy deep devotion, in my heart of hearts,
I keep them shrined forever, but my thoughts
Turned truant; who can hold his thoughts, Philota,
In a leash always? prithee reascend
The mountain with me, I would show the place
Which tempted my weak thoughts to wander thus.
[They reach the most elevated portion of the mountain, whence a wide circuit of land and sea becomes visible.]
PHILOTA.
How beautiful! how glorious! see, my love,
There’s not a cloud, or shadow of cloud in heaven;
Even here, the winds breathe faintly, and afar
O’er the broad circuit of the watery calm,
Peace broods upon the ocean, rules the air,
And up the sunset’s dazzling pathway walks
Like a saint entering Paradise.
‘Twere sweet,
How sweet, Antonio, amid scenes like these,
To live and love forever!
ANTONIO. [absently]
Dost thou think so?
Ay!–well–perhaps–
PHILOTA.
He heeds me not, his eye
Is cold and stern, what troubles thee,
Antonio?
ANTONIO.
Trouble! I am not troubled.
PHILOTA.
But thou art,
I know thou art; would’st thou deceive Philota?
ANTONIO.
Now by the saints, not so; dismiss the fear
Which, like a tremulous shadow, breaks the calm
Of those soft eyes!
[after a pause]
The matter, in brief, is this:
Tracking our mountain paths at early dawn,
Rousso–thou knowest him–hailed me from the rocks,
With words that sounded like the battle trumpets;
“It comes!” He cried; “the war-cloud rolls this way;
We too shall hear its thunders”–
PHILOTA.
Ay! and feel
Its bolts perchance–there’s lightning in such clouds!
ANTONIO.
What if there be! who would not brave them all,–
All, for a cause like ours? Believe me, Love,
We stand upon the brink of troublous times:
All shall be changed here: men,–brave Grecian men,–
The blood of heroes in them,–cannot pause,
Storing the honey, harvesting the olive,
Or humbly following the tame herdsman’s trade,
Whilst Freedom calls to conflict.
Look, Philota!
Dost mark yon lurid flash across the bay?
Our soldiers test their cannon! hark, below,
The drums of Affendouli–how they ring!
Already thousands of bold mountaineers
Have formed beneath his banners; dost thou hear me?
PHILOTA.
And wouldst thou wish to join them?
Ah! I see,
I see it all!–a trouble on thy brow,
Borne upward from the restless gloom within,
Hath clouded o’er thy peace. I,–a frail girl,
And gifted only with the wealth of love,
How can I satisfy the burning need
Of a strong man’s ambition? Yes, tis so,
‘Tis even so!–love is the woman’s heaven,
Her hope, her god, her life-blood! Yet to man,
What is it but a pastime?
ANTONIO.
Speak not thus
Oh, speak not thus, Philota! I have loved
Thee, only thee,–so help me, Virgin Mother!
But comrades from whose lips a taunt is bitter,
Have dared to hint–
PHILOTA.
What!
ANTONIO.
That I chose to stay,
Delving, like some base slave, our barren soil,
When not a Sphakiote that can carry arms
Has failed to seize them. Liars! pestilent liars,
I would have proved the falsehood were it not–
PHILOTA.
For me–Philota!–well! I love thee dearly,
Deeply,–God knows,–but I would have this love
To crown thee as a garland,–not as a chain
To bind and fetter–thou art free, Antonio!–
ANTONIO.
But hast thou thought of all which follows this?
Thou shalt be left alone, no bridal feast
Can cheer the olive harvest!
PHILOTA.
I have thought,
And am determined;–thou art free, Antonio!
ANTONIO.
Oh, thanks, thanks, thanks!–lift up thy hopes, Philota,
Up to the height of mine! our cause is just,
And a just Fate shall guard it; wheresoe’er
Free thought finds utterance, and the patriot-soul
Thrills at the deeds of heroes,–we may look
For a “God speed!” The prayers of noble men,
The tears of women,–the whole world’s applause
Do wait upon us!
Methinks I see the end,
A free, grand Commonwealth of Grecian States,
Built upon chartered rights,–each sealed with blood!
PHILOTA.
Enough! enough! Antonio, thou shalt go!
Greece is thy mistress, now.
SCENE II.
[The cottage of Philota, at the foot of Mount Psiloriti, Philota discovered at the window, looking out upon the night, which is bleak and stormy.]
PHILOTA.
Hark! how those lusty trumpeters, the winds,
Urge on the black battalions of the clouds;
And see! the swollen rivulets rushing down
The sides of Psiloriti! Yesterday,
‘Neath the clear calm of the serenest morn
Earth ever stole from Paradise, they swept,
Bright curves of laughing silver in the sunshine;
But now, an overmastering rush of floods,
They thunder to the heavens, that answer back
From the wild depths of gloom,–an awful tempest!
[Enter ANTONIO hastily.]
ANTONIO.
Where is the priest, Philota? where is Andreas?
Was he not here to-night?
PHILOTA.
Ay! but left some half hour since!
ANTONIO.
What say you?
Oh, the poor father! then ’twas him I saw
Pent ‘twixt the mountain torrents; he is lost!
The good old man!–and yet, not so, not so!
Give me yon oaken staff,–and, hold; a flask
Of the best vintage: I’ll be back anon,
And the dear father with me:–
[Exit Antonio. Philota kneels before an image of the Virgin, and prays for the safety of her lover. After the lapse of some minutes, enter Rousso stealthily, wrapped in a cloak, which partly conceals his features.]
ROUSSO [aside].
Faith! a pretty picture!
Now, were I what fools call poetical,
I’d worship her, whilst she adores the saint,–
A lovelier saint herself, and nearer truly
To the just standard of divinity
Than yonder painted image; there’s the curve,
The old Greek curve, in the voluptuous swell
Of those full lips; the passion in her eyes
Is shadowed off to melancholy meaning,
Only to waken to meridian life,
When a like passion touches it to flame.
PHILOTA [praying].
Oh, merciful Mother! save him,–save Antonio!
ROUSSO [aside].
Oh, potent Devil! claim him,–claim Antonio!
What! shall this malapert boy dispute my love?
[Philota, rising, discovers Rousso towards whom (mistaking him for Antonio), she rushes, as if about to cast herself into his arms, but discovering her error, she shrinks back.]
PHILOTA.
You here!
ROUSSO [advancing].
I crave protection, shelter,–may I stay?
PHILOTA.
At a safe distance, Sir!
ROUSSO.
Why, what means this?
I looked for kindlier welcome!
PHILOTA.
Wherefore, Rousso?
What thou hast asked, I grant,–protection, shelter;
Durst thou claim more than these?
ROUSSO.
I’ faith thy temper is most strange and wayward!
Because, some months agone, not quite myself,
I ventured at the harvest of the olive,
Upon one innocent liberty–
PHILOTA.
No liberty,
With me, at least, bold man! is rated thus!
ROUSSO.
I do repeat, that I was not myself;
Blame the hot wine of Cyprus; spare your slave!
[Kneeling.]
PHILOTA.
A slave, indeed!–
ROUSSO.
But one who stoops to conquer, fair Philota;
If I have knelt, ’tis only that I may
Rise thus, and clasp thee! Hold, no foolish cries,
No weak, vain strugglings! Think’st thou that the storm
Pealing adown the mountain’s rugged steeps
Can bear these feeble wailings to thy friends?
Come, come, Philota!–if thou could’st believe it,
I am the very worthiest of thy vassals;
List for an instant, while I paint the beauty
Of a far Eden waiting for the light,
The sundawn of thine eyes:–
Amid the waves
Of the
(Paul Hamilton Hayne)
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