Well, then, I will tell you-- The plan is laid; and, if his bag of gold Rejoice one serf to-day, then I'll resign Maid Marian to his loving arms for ever. But you must help me, mother, or she'll suspect. Do not let slip your mask of friendliness, As I have feared. Look--there our lovers come Beneath that arch of roses. Look, look, mother, They are taking leave of one another now, A ghastly parting, for he will be gone Well nigh four hours, they think. To look at them, One might suppose they knew it was for ever.
Come, or my hate will show itself in my face: I must not see them.
[_Exeunt PRINCE and ELINOR. A pause. Enter ROBIN HOOD and MARIAN._]
Four hours; how shall I pass the time? Four hours, four ages, you will scarce be home By dusk; how shall I pass it?
You've to think What robe to wear at the great masque to-night And then to don it. When you've done all that I shall be home again.
Now you mock me, But you'll be back before the masque begins.
It is a month To-day since we were married. Did you know it? Fie, I believe you had forgotten, Robin.
I had, almost. If marriage make the moons Fly, as this month has flown, we shall be old And grey in our graves before we know it. I wish that we could chain old Father Time.
And break his glass into ten thousand pieces.
And drown his cruel scythe ten fathom deep, Under the bright blue sea whence Love was born:
Ah, but we have not parted all this month More than a garden's breadth, an arrow's flight: Time will be dead till you come back again. Four hours of absence make four centuries! Do you remember how the song goes, Robin, That bids true lovers not to grieve at parting Often? for Nature gently severs them thus, Training them up with kind and tender art, For the great day when they must part for ever.
No; for love Buried beneath the dust of life and death, Would wait for centuries of centuries, Ages of ages, until God remembered, And, through that perishing cloud-wrack, face looked up Once more to loving face.
Your hope--and mine! Is not a man's poor memory, indeed, A daily resurrection? Your hope--and mine!
And all the world's at heart! I do believe it.
And I--if only that so many souls Like yours have died believing they should meet Again, lovers and children, little children! God will not break that trust. I have found my heaven Again in you; and, though I stumble still, Your small hand leads me thro' the darkness, up And onward, to the heights I dared not see, And dare not even now; but my head bows Above your face; I see them in your eyes. Love, point me onward still!