Antonio. Grief needs much feeding then. Of him I swear
We've talked and talked, and not a whit more rare
Your weeping fits!
Naschina.Look you, so very strait
The barred woodpecker's mansion is and deep,
No other bird may enter in.
Antonio.Well?
Naschina.Late—
Aye, very lately, sorrow came to weep
Within mine heart; and naught but sorrow now
Can enter there.
Antonio.See! See! above yon brow
Of hill two shepherds come.
Naschina.Farewell! I'll don
My shepherd garments, and return anon.
Enter Colin and Thernot.
Thernot. Two men who love one maid have ample cause
Of war. Of yore, two shepherds, where we pause,
Fought once for self-same reason on the hem
Of the wide woods.
Colin.And the deep earth gathered them.
Thernot. We must get swords.
Colin.Is 't the only way? Oh, see,
Yon is the hunter's, Sir Almintor's, page;
Let him between us judge, for he can gauge
And measure out the ways of chivalry.
Thernot. Sir Page, Almintor's friend, and therefore learned
In all such things, pray let thine ears be turned,
And hear, and judge.
Antonio.My popinjay, what now?
Colin. This thing we ask: must we two fight?―Judge thou.
Each came one morn, with welcoming of song,
Unto her door; for this, where nod the long
And shoreward waves, we nigh have fought; waves bring
The brown weed burden, so the sword brings fear
To us.
Thernot.Oh wise art thou in such a thing,
Being Almintor's page. Now judge you here.
We love Naschina both.
Antonio.Whom loves she best?
Colin. She cares no whit for either, but has blest
Almintor with her love.
Enter Naschina, disguised as a shepherd boy.
Colin.Who art thou?—speak,
As the sea's furrows on a sea-tost shell,
Sad histories are lettered on thy cheek.
Antonio. It is the shepherd Guarimond, who loveth well
In the deep centres of the secret woods
Old miser hoards of grief to tell and tell:
Young Guarimond he tells them o'er and o'er,
To see them drowned by those vast solitudes,
With their unhuman sorrows.
Naschina.Cease! no more!
Thou hast an over-nimble tongue.
Colin.Thy grief,
What is it, friend?
Antonio.He lost i' the woods the chief
And only sheep he loved of all the troop.
Colin. More grief is mine. No man shall ever stoop
Beneath the weight of greater grief than I;
I like you, and, in sooth I know not why.
Now, judge, must shepherd Thernot there and I
For this thing fight—we love one maid?
Naschina.Her name?
Colin. Naschina.
Naschina.Oh, I know her well—a lame,
Dull-witted thing, with face red squirrel-brown.
Antonio. A long, brown grasshopper of maids!
Naschina.Peace, sir!
Colin. 'Tis clear that you have seen her not. The crown
Is not more fair and joyous than she is
Of beams a-flicker on yon lonely fir,
Nor faeries in the honey-heart of June astir.
By bosky June I swear, and by the bee, her minister.
Naschina. There is no way but that ye fight I wis,
If her ye love.
Thernot.Aye, Colin, we must fight.
Colin. Aye, fight we must.
Naschina.Tell me, Antonio, might
They get them swords, and both or either fall?
Antonio. No, no; when that shall be, then men may call
Down to their feet the stars that shine alone,
Each one at gaze for aye upon his whirling throne.
Scene II.
A remote part of the forest.—Through black and twisted trees the lake is shining under the red evening sky.
Enter Naschina, as a shepherd-boy, and Antonio.
Antonio. Behold, how like a swarm of fiery bees
The light is dancing o'er the knotted trees,
In busy flakes; re-shining from the lake,
Through this night-vested place the red beams break.
