[_The curtain rises presently upon the same: a taper burns
low_. THORDIS, _seated with a harp, is playing;
near her_ EGIL _stands amid the block ruins.
Ceasing to play, Thordis rises, looks at Egil (who
stands oblivious), passes silently to the window and
looks out._]
THORDIS
The moon has set.
EGIL
[_Stirs as from a trance._]
Can, then, the eternal cease?
That perfect architecture pale in air?
You built again my temple of sweet sounds
And peopled it with deathless visitants,
And shed around their forms a nameless grace
Medicinal as moonlight, and as calm.
I walked with them, and they discoursed with me.
Almost it seemed myself was one of them.—
And then you ceased.
THORDIS
’Tis beauty’s paradox
To prove itself immortal—and to die.
EGIL
Die? Must this godlike transmutation lapse
Into the lurking wolf again? Ah, no!
That music died in labour, and its yearning
Hath borne a man-child, that lives after it
Here in my soul. Henceforth I nevermore
May be that groping hypocrite of prayer
Whom you uplifted from this ruined altar,
With passion-sealèd eyes seeking the light
Of freedom. No, henceforth I shall be strong,
Clear-eyed, serene, and dauntless. See! I take
Your hand and bid you go from me.—Thou only,
Thou art my heart’s desire. See! I renounce thee.
Go from me, for I love you. Leave me! Yet
You leave me not alone; that passionate presence
Which the blind wrath and hunger for possession
Cries out for from my clay—of that I am
Bereft indeed; but losing that, I gain
The stellar part of you, the exceeding light
Of fellowship and human sympathy.—
Leave me! I love you.
THORDIS
Is this Egil speaks?
EGIL
Egil, your lover, I!
THORDIS
The gods are mighty,
And music is the lordliest. O Egil,
Thou art emancipated, and to-morrow
They will fling wide thy prison doors.—Good night!
[_Giving him the harp._]
Keep here thy god with thee.
[_At the door, as they clasp hands._]
Brother!—Good night.
[_Exit._]
EGIL
Sister!—Emancipated! Mine at last
Freedom and innocence! The occult beast
That crouched beside the sweet wells of my spirit
Is exorcised at last.—To-morrow dawn
I shall go forth and taste the wild, spring air,
And gather the hamlet children in the woods
To pluck arbutus for her wedding-day,
Her wedding-day—and his. I have renounced her.
Emancipated—but I have renounced her
Even for that, for freedom. What were freedom
Without—his! his! forever his own! And I
Am happy, rapt, triumphant? _His!_ What power
Hath wrought in me this ignominy?
[_Lifting the harp._]
Thou!
Wast thou, imperious instrument! Wast thou,
Delirious god!
[_Fiercely he plucks out several strings._]
Thou hast decoyed me!
[_Pausing._]
Still,
There’s Yorul; Yorul’s true.
[_Wrenching with both hands the harp’s frame, he breaks it
in halves, and exultant, raises them above his head,
with a great breath._]
Emancipated!