"Oinos".
G.o.d.
"Agathos".
I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child, of the fair Earth which lately perished--of impulses upon the atmosphere of the earth.
"Oinos".
You did.
"Agathos".
And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some thought of the _physical power of words_? Is not every word an impulse on the air?
"Oinos".
But why, Agathos, do you weep--and why, oh, why do your wings droop as we hover above this fair star--which is the greenest and yet most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream--but its fierce volcanoes like the pa.s.sions of a turbulent heart.
"Agathos".
They _are_!--they _are_!--This wild star--it is now three centuries since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my beloved--I spoke it--with a few pa.s.sionate sentences--into birth. Its brilliant flowers _are_ the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes _are_ the pa.s.sions of the most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts!
THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA.
[Greek: Mellonta sauta"]
These things are in the future.
_Sophocles_--"Antig."
"Una."
"Born again?"
"Monos."
Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These were the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the explanations of the priesthood, until Death itself resolved for me the secret.
"Una."
Death!
"Monos."
How strangely, sweet _Una_, you echo my words! I observe, too, a vacillation in your step, a joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal.
Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word which of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts, throwing a mildew upon all pleasures!
"Una."
Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often, Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature! How mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss, saying unto it, "thus far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which burned within our bosoms, how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy in its first upspringing that our happiness would strengthen with its strength! Alas, as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of that evil hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus in time it became painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then.
"Monos".
Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una--mine, mine forever now!
"Una".
But the memory of past sorrow, is it not present joy? I have much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know the incidents of your own pa.s.sage through the dark Valley and Shadow.
"Monos".
And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in vain? I will be minute in relating all, but at what point shall the weird narrative begin?
"Una".
At what point?
"Monos".
You have said.