Stephana. At last we have our quiet holiday. | |
| Come, father, take your leisure. | |
| I fetched the birds to blink beyond the way | |
| And know a bit of pleasure. | |
| Martin. Twelve sold within a week—and that is well. | 5 |
| Stephana. And these? | |
| Martin [Aside.]. She never tires | |
| Of birds and birds! [Aloud.] Whoever may foretell? | |
| Stephana. Oh, oh, the silly buyers! | |
| I, keeping back the loveliest three, and you, | 10 |
| Although you saw the hiding, | |
| Making as if you never, never knew! | |
| Martin. You elf, demurely gliding! [They laugh merrily.] | |
| Stephana. [Soberly.] No more shall come to buy—and that’s my dream. | |
| Martin. The sun is on the hedges. | 15 |
| Stephana. How all the little upward petals gleam! | |
| Martin. Look—there, along the ledges, | |
| Comes wandering a worn and meager man! | |
| Look—from the road he’s turning! | |
| Stephana. Perhaps a beggar from the caravan | 20 |
| That kept me from my churning. | |
| We cannot heed so many passing here. | |
| Martin. Now see him bend and falter | |
| And shuffle in his gait…. Yet, coming near, | |
| He seems to loom and alter…. | 25 |
| He is even young. | |
| Stephana. No, no, his hair is gray. | |
| See, now the stile he’s over! | |
| Martin. He has a word for us. He walks our way | |
| Across the bed of clover…. | 30 |
| Where do you come from, melancholy guest? | |
| The Stranger. Out of the dark of sorrow. | |
| They said it was the east, it was the west, | |
| And there was no tomorrow. | |
| Stephana. The birds are fluttering. | 35 |
| The Stranger. The birds? | |
| Stephana. Oh, look, | |
| The yellow, bright canaries! | |
| They light the dailiness of this dull nook, | |
| They are my gentle fairies. | 40 |
| For father teaches at the village school, | |
| And I’m forlorn and lonely, | |
| Except for these, my heartlings beautiful. | |
| All would be happy…. only … | |
| When they begin to love me, off they go. | 45 |
| The Stranger. The price, the price, for ever. | |
| Martin. For all, the price is all the hand may show. | |
| We may be fools, or clever— | |
| It is the earthly cry of everyone. | |
| The Stranger. Poor birds! No songs embolden | 50 |
| Their little breasts. Their eyes forget the sun. | |
| Stephana. But they are soft and golden. | |
| The Stranger. The narrow cells! | |
| Stephana. Yes, narrow are their homes. | |
| But never knew they wider. | 55 |
| The Stranger. His houses He has made with azure domes, | |
| The bountiful Provider. | |
| Stephana. [Aside.] Dread of my heart! The sign is on his brow! | |
| Dread of my heart is calling! | |
| He’ll buy my darlings! On the settle now | 60 |
| His silver hoard is falling! | |
| Martin. [Whispering to Stephana.] You’ll have a bit of satin home to try. | |
| The Stranger. The birds are bonny, bonny. | |
| Take you my all—give me what it will buy. | |
| Stephana. Father! Forego the money! | 65 |
| Martin. Now leave me to my bargain, child! | |
| Stephana. Ah me! | |
| Martin. You’ll have a rosy fillet. | |
| Stephana. Father! | |
| Martin. Good stranger, they are yours, all three. | 70 |
| The Stranger. Mine! Nothing shall outwill it! | |
| Stephana. But oh, whatever is your good of them? | |
| The Stranger. Why, look you, Blossom-Lady— | |
| Come, Yellow-throat, come, Puff and Speckle-Gem, | |
| Come leave your dwellings shady! | 75 |
| |
| Hop, One, | |
| Forth of your door! | |
| Fearing no more, | |
| Wing to the sun! | |
| |
| Hop, Two! | 80 |
| Sidle not so. | |
| Hasten to know— | |
| Summer is new. | |
| |
| Three, up! | |
| Scatter the dim, | 85 |
| Fly to the rim | |
| Of the sun’s cup! | |
| |
| They are out and away | |
| Over hedge, over hay. | |
| Over hill, over stone | 90 |
| They have flashed, they have flown. | |
| They have winged, they have won! | |
| There is gold in the sun! | |
| |
| Martin. Stop grieving, girl. Your tears are no amends. | |
| Stephana. Gone, gone, my sweet companions! | 95 |
| The Stranger. Freedom is worth the price of tears. Now friends, | |
| I’m off to heights and cañons. | |
| Stephana. Ah, they will die out yonder, far and high, | |
| The sport of wind and shadow! | |
| The Stranger. And that is where God’s creatures ought to die. | 100 |
| Martin. Plague on his fine bravado! | |
| And yet the birds were his—he paid the score. | |
| Let the foolhardy ranger | |
| Go follow them! | |
| Stephana. Go! Go!—but not before | 105 |
| I have your why, dark stranger! | |
| The Stranger. I was their fellow, in my cage apart, | |
| Born of a world’s blaspheming. | |
| I served my term, without a dream at heart, | |
| Save this one song of dreaming: | 110 |
| If ever you shall be, man, | |
| Where the leaves blow, | |
| Make, as you go, | |
| Fettered wings free, man! | |
| My cage was opened, and I left the blight | 115 |
| The weary darkness leavens. | |
| But, free at last, I could not face the light, | |
| Till I could share the heavens. | |
| |
