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

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stands as before.]

       Steward. Can it be so? Good-bye, good-bye, my master!

      [Goes.]

        Julian.

        Put your arms round me once, my Lilia.

        Not once?—not once at parting?

      [Rushing feet up the stairs, and along the galleries.]

      O God! farewell!

      [He clasps her to his heart; leaves her; pushes back the panel, flings open a door, enters, and closes both behind him. LILIA starts suddenly from her fixed bewilderment, and flies after him, but forgets to close the panel.]

       Lilia. Julian! Julian!

      [The trampling offset and clamour of voices. The door of the room is flung open. Enter the foremost of the mob.]

        1st.

        I was sure I saw light here! There it is, burning still!

        2nd.

        Nobody here? Praise the devil! he minds his

        own. Look under the bed, Gian.

        3rd.

        Nothing there.

        4th.

        Another door! another door! He's in a trap   now, and will soon be in hell! (Opening the door with   difficulty.) The devil had better leave him, and make up   the fire at home—he'll be cold by and by. (Rushes into   the inner room.) Follow me, boys! [The rest follow.]

        Voices from within.

                             I have him! I have him! Curse   your claws! Why do you fix them on me, you crab? You   won't pick up the fiend-spawn so easily, I can tell you.   Bring the light there, will you? (One runs out for the   light.) A trap! a trap! and a stair, down in the wall!   The hell-faggot's gone! After him, after him, noodles!

      [Sound of descending footsteps. Others rush in with torches and follow.]

* * * * *

      SCENE XIX.—The river-side. LILIA seated in the boat; JULIAN handing her the bags

        Julian.

        There! One at a time!—Take care, love; it

        is heavy.—

        Put them right in the middle, of the boat:

        Gold makes good ballast.

        [A loud shout. He steps in and casts the chain loose, then pushes gently off.]

                             Look how the torches gleam

        Among the trees. Thank God, we have escaped!

        [He rows swiftly off. The torches come nearer, with cries of search.]

        (In a low tone.) Slip down, my Lilia; lie at full length

        In the bottom of the boat; your dress is white,

        And would return the torches' glare. I fear

        The damp night-air will hurt you, dressed like this.

      [Pulling off his coat, and laying it over her.]

        Now for a strong pull with my muffled oars!

        The water mutters Spanish in its sleep.

        My beautiful! my bride! my spirit's wife!

        God-given, and God-restored! My heart exults,

        Hovering about thee, beautiful! my soul!—

        Once round the headland, I will set the sail;

        The fair wind bloweth right adown the stream.

        Dear wind, dear stream, dear stars, dear heart of all,

        White angel lying in my little boat!

        Strange that my boyhood's skill with sail and helm,

        Oft steering safely 'twixt the winding banks,

        Should make me rich with womanhood and life!

      [The boat rounds the headland, JULIAN singing.]

      SONG

          Thou hast been blowing leaves, O wind of strife,

          Wan, curled, boat-like leaves, that ran and fled;

          Unresting yet, though folded up from life;

          Sleepless, though cast among the unwaking dead!

          Out to the ocean fleet and float;

          Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.

          O wind of strife, to us a wedding wind,

          O cover me with kisses of her mouth;

          Blow thou our souls together, heart and mind;

          To narrowing northern lines, blow from the south!

          Out to the ocean fleet and float;

          Blow, blow my little leaf-like boat.

          Thou hast been blowing many a drifting thing

          From circling cove down to the unsheltered sea;

          Thou blowest to the sea my 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.

      PART III

        And weep not, though the Beautiful decay

        Within thy heart, as daily in thine eyes;

        Thy heart must have its autumn, its pale skies,

        Leading,

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