The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald

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        I hear the trembling of a thousand wings,

        That vibrate music on the murmuring air!

        Each tiny feather-blade crushes its pool

        Of circling air to sound, and quivers music!—

        What is it, though, that makes me glad like this?

        I knew, but cannot find it—I forget.

        It must be here—what was it?—Hark! the fall,

        The endless going of the stream of life!—

        Ah me! I thirst, I thirst,—I am so thirsty!

      [Querulously.]

      [JULIAN gives her drink, supporting her. She looks at him again, with large wondering eyes.]

      Ah! now I know—I was so very thirsty!

      [He lays her down. She is comforted, and falls asleep. He extinguishes the light, and looks out of the window.]

        Julian.

        The gray earth dawning up, cold, comfortless;

        With its obtrusive I am written large

        Upon its face!

        [Approaches the bed, and gazes on LILIA silently with clasped hands; then returns to the window.]

                       She sleeps so peacefully!

        O God, I thank thee: thou hast sent her sleep.

        Lord, let it sink into her heart and brain.

       Enter Nurse.

        Oh, nurse, I'm glad you're come! She is asleep.

        You must be near her when she wakes again.

        I think she'll be herself. But do be careful—

        Right cautious how you tell her I am here.

        Sweet woman-child, may God be in your sleep!

      [JULIAN goes.]

        Nurse.

        Bless her white face, she looks just like my daughter,

        That's now a saint in heaven! Just those thin cheeks,

        And eyelids hardly closed over her eyes!—

        Dream on, poor darling! you are drinking life

        From the breast of sleep. And yet I fain would see

        Your shutters open, for I then should know

        Whether the soul had drawn her curtains back,

        To peep at morning from her own bright windows.

        Ah! what a joy is ready, waiting her,

        To break her fast upon, if her wild dreams

        Have but betrayed her secrets honestly!

        Will he not give thee love as dear as thine!

      SCENE XI.—A hilly road. STEPHEN, trudging alone, pauses to look around him

        Stephen.

        Not a footprint! not a trace that a blood-hound

        would nose at! But Stephen shall be acknowledged

        good dog and true. If I had him within stick-length—mind

        thy head, brother Julian! Thou hast not

        hair enough to protect it, and thy tonsure shall not.

        Neither shalt thou tarry at Jericho.—It is a poor man

        that leaves no trail; and if thou wert poor, I would not

        follow thee.

      [Sings.]

            Oh, many a hound is stretching out

            His two legs or his four,

            And the saddled horses stand about

            The court and the castle door,

            Till out come the baron, jolly and stout,

            To hunt the bristly boar!

            The emperor, he doth keep a pack

            In his antechambers standing,

            And up and down the stairs, good lack!

            And eke upon the landing:

            A straining leash, and a quivering back,

            And nostrils and chest expanding!

            The devil a hunter long hath been,

            Though Doctor Luther said it:

            Of his canon-pack he was the dean,

            And merrily he led it:

            The old one kept them swift and lean

            On faith—that's devil's credit!

            Each man is a hunter to his trade,

              And they follow one another;

            But such a hunter never was made

              As the monk that hunted his brother!

            And the runaway pig, ere its game be played,

              Shall be eaten by its mother!

      Better hunt a flea in a woolly blanket, than a leg-bail monk in this wilderness of mountains, forests, and precipices! But the flea may be caught, and so shall the monk. I have said it. He is well spotted, with his silver crown and his uncropped ears. The rascally heretic! But his vows shall keep him, though he won't keep his vows. The whining, blubbering idiot! Gave his plaything, and wants it back!—I wonder whereabouts I am.

      SCENE XII.—The Nurse's room. LILIA sitting up in bed. JULIAN seated by her; an open note in his hand

        Lilia.

        Tear it up, Julian.

        Julian.

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