Lords and Lovers, and Other DramasDargan, Olive Tilford
General
Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas
Dargan, Olive Tilford
American drama -- 20th century
_Ara._ Dost hear that sound?
It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods
Who gather all the golden virtues up
Vouchsafed to earth and trampled low by man.
See how they rise with their immortal store,
A moving radiance like the march of light,
And leave us dark for want of what they bear?
Far, far till stars must upward look to see--
A sapphire trail through the ethereal rose!
Now--earth and darkness--and you call it love!
[_Sinks down_]
_Aris._ [_Lifting her_] Fair soul, be mortal yet!
_Ara._ [_Going from him_] Who leaps for stars
Must fall a million leagues too short, or else
Take vantage not of earth. [_Goes to curtains_]
Farewell--till death.
_Aris._ 'Twill not be long to wait. Thou canst not live
In Dion's arms.
_Ara._ Nor thine. As well to hope
The air-winged seed will root in vacancy,
And high mid-nothing hang with lob�d bloom,
As that the rose of love will flower from
The wreck of men and gods.
[_He kneels and kisses her robe. She goes out_]
_Aris._ Before I die
I've touched divinity.
[_As he rises a slave rushes in, rear, and kneels_]
_Slave._ My lord!
_Aris._ You serve
Lord Heraclides, do you not?
_Slave._ I do,
And know his heart--his traitor heart.
_Aris._ Speak, man.
_Slave._ You love the noble Dion?
_Aris._ [_Starts_] Dion? Ay,
I love him well.
_Slave._ Sir, Heraclides comes
To slay him. Dion, the good! But you will save him!
�gisthus and Callorus aid my master.
They're bringing Dion here.
_Aris._ Here? Haste! Bring you
Ocrastes and Calippus! Freedom! Go!
[_Slave runs out. Aristocles steps back unseen as Dion,
Heraclides, �gisthus and Callorus enter. The slave running out
meets them_]
_Her._ What do you, sirrah?
[_The slave runs by without answer_]
Go! You'll not outrun
The hangman!
[_�gisthus and Callorus keep in rear of Heraclides, who walks with
Dion_]
_�g._ [_To Callorus_] We're betrayed.
_Callo._ [_To Heraclides_] Do not delay
The blow.
_Her._ [_To Dion_] You like our plan, my lord?
_�g._ [_To Heraclides_] Strike now.
_Dion._ 'Tis balm to Syracuse. Your hand upon it,
And pardon me my left.
_Her._ With all my heart!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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