Page:Dublin University Review vol 1 pt 1.pdf/147

, 1885.] Antonio. Grief needs much feeding then. Of him I swear

We've talked and talked, and not a whit more rare

Your weeping fits!

Naschina.Look you, so very strait

The barred woodpecker's mansion is and deep,

No other bird may enter in.

Antonio.Well?

Naschina.Late—

Aye, very lately, sorrow came to weep

Within mine heart; and naught but sorrow now

Can enter there.

Antonio.See! See! above yon brow

Of hill two shepherds come.

Naschina.Farewell! I'll don

My shepherd garments, and return anon. [Goes.

Thernot. Two men who love one maid have ample cause

Of war. Of yore, two shepherds, where we pause,

Fought once for self-same reason on the hem

Of the wide woods.

Colin.And the deep earth gathered them.

Thernot. We must get swords.

Colin.Is 't the only way? Oh, see,

Yon is the hunter's, Sir Almintor's, page;

Let him between us judge, for he can gauge

And measure out the ways of chivalry.

Thernot. Sir Page, Almintor's friend, and therefore learned

In all such things, pray let thine ears be turned,

And hear, and judge.

Antonio.My popinjay, what now?

Colin. This thing we ask: must we two fight?―Judge thou.

Each came one morn, with welcoming of song,

Unto her door; for this, where nod the long

And shoreward waves, we nigh have fought; waves bring

The brown weed burden, so the sword brings fear

To us.

Thernot.Oh wise art thou in such a thing,

Being Almintor's page. Now judge you here.

We love Naschina both.

Antonio.Whom loves she best?

Colin. She cares no whit for either, but has blest

Almintor with her love.

Colin.Who art thou?—speak,

As the sea's furrows on a sea-tost shell,

Sad histories are lettered on thy cheek.

Antonio. It is the shepherd Guarimond, who loveth well

In the deep centres of the secret woods

Old miser hoards of grief to tell and tell:

Young Guarimond he tells them o'er and o'er,

To see them drowned by those vast solitudes,

With their unhuman sorrows.

Naschina.Cease! no more!

Thou hast an over-nimble tongue.

Colin.Thy grief,

What is it, friend?

Antonio.He lost i' the woods the chief

And only sheep he loved of all the troop.

Colin. More grief is mine. No man shall ever stoop

Beneath the weight of greater grief than I;

I like you, and, in sooth I know not why.

Now, judge, must shepherd Thernot there and I

For this thing fight—we love one maid?

Naschina.Her name?

Colin. Naschina.

Naschina.Oh, I know her well—a lame,

Dull-witted thing, with face red squirrel-brown.

Antonio. A long, brown grasshopper of maids!

Naschina.Peace, sir!

Colin. 'Tis clear that you have seen her not. The crown

Is not more fair and joyous than she is

Of beams a-flicker on yon lonely fir,

Nor faeries in the honey-heart of June astir.

By bosky June I swear, and by the bee, her minister.

Naschina. There is no way but that ye fight I wis,

If her ye love.

Thernot.Aye, Colin, we must fight.

Colin. Aye, fight we must. [and turn to go.

Naschina.Tell me, Antonio, might

They get them swords, and both or either fall?

Antonio. No, no; when that shall be, then men may call

Down to their feet the stars that shine alone,

Each one at gaze for aye upon his whirling throne. [They go.

Antonio. Behold, how like a swarm of fiery bees

The light is dancing o'er the knotted trees,

In busy flakes; re-shining from the lake,

Through this night-vested place the red beams break.