Scene.—Same as Scene of Act II.
DE PETZY—Cheer up. This is no time for gloominess.
Go join the dance.
BLAUVELT—I'm worn and weary, and am sick at heart.
Seeing I've searched to find her that I love
These many days, but have not heard of her.
But, over the world I'll search.
Following th' ecliptic of our lives apart,
Moving the table round, 'till I win all:
From icy lands within the bitter North,
Beneath cold skies that are as blue as steel,
To scorching wastes where burn the sands as fire,
And hot winds dry the tongue and parch the throat—
Aye, till this frame falls helpless at the last.
Rib from my form that in my sleep was taken,
I will still seek her;
On, through those ages we must stay apart;
On still, o'er that curvature, till we meet,
With that commencement of our bliss unutterable
To know that death is dead.
DE PETZY—You say you've found her father, too.
Who now assists in searching for her?
JESSE—Go join the dance. I take't no compliment
You will not join. Why, what a long-drawn visage!
Cheer up. 'Twill all end well.
The one who makes your face so melancholy
Will be kind yet.
BLAUVELT—No act unkind has given to me my sadness.
DE PETZY—Where was it that you last lost track of her?
BLAUVELT—Why, first she wandered through those gloomy woods,
That make these woods;
Then crossed the fields, and over dusty roads.
Till, reaching that city, entered she into it.
The sounds of city life to her were strange,
And many a time they filled her mind with dread
(So have I learned from those who did observe her).
Day in, day out, she wandered through the streets,
But found not what she sought.
At last, 'tis said, she wearied of this life,
And pined for streams, the wild flowers, and these woods.
And often was she now seen by the ocean,
Listening to hear each message that the waves
Had brought from distant ports; or, in the fields.
That nearest stood beside the city's edge,
Would she pluck flowers to gaze upon their faces
And get what women get (though knowing not what)
Who love them;
And from them read, as from a mirrored image
Of distant streams, of mountains blue, and woods.
At last, those who'd observed lost sight of her—
From that point, learned I nothing. [Enter Sylvia.]
But who comes here? Now, if my eyes deceive me—
BLAUVELT—Tell me—where have you been?
What land has been so lighted by your eyes
No sun was needed?
SYLVIA—Three weary days, and nights as weary, too,
I've seen the stars creating light by night,
The mightier sun relieving them by day,
But found you not. Then grew most weary I.
At last rose up a light forth from the ground
Which moved before, and following after it.
Came I, till here.
BLAUVELT—Was it an angel that led Sylvia?
Seeing so soft and gentle are her thoughts
That in them might one come?
And now the day of parting is o'erpast,
And part will we no more.
SYLVIA—Not on this earth; and when death comes to one.
Then will we lie each in the others arms,
And, as one dies, the other die as well,
And both, thus joined, pass to the realms of sleep.