Chapter VII: Stark. Ornis. Alwyn. Shy

[_Enter_ STARK, _in garb of a hunter. He
wears a tawny leopard’s skin, and his
head is gorgeously plumed. Behind
him, two panting dogs are held in leash
by attendants._ STARK _rushes toward_
ORNIS, _passes her oblivious, and seizes
up the fallen bird_.]

STARK

Bagged!—Hold off the dogs!

[_The_ ATTENDANTS _withdraw with the hounds_.]

ORNIS

[_As_ STARK _grasps the bird, clutches her own side in pain_.]

Ee-ó-lo!

STARK

A rare beauty!—Bah, one wing
Shot-torn! Well, well, we’ll patch the thing.

“Sir—Here is _No Hunting_”
]

Madame La Mode’s a tricksy milliner.

[_He thrusts the bird into his game pouch. Turning to leave, he sees_
ALWYN _and_ SHY, _and greets them gaily_.]

Halloa! Fine hunting weather!

SHY

[_Quietly._]

Sir,
Here is _No Hunting_.

STARK

[_With a laugh._]

Pipe that to the frogs!

SHY

This ground is sanctuary.

STARK

And what’s that?

SHY

A place held sacred from the hunter’s trail.

STARK

Why, man, I am no hunter, and that’s flat.
I only plume myself—to trim a hat.
Besides, I shot outside your pale;
And now

[_Touching his pouch, he winks._]

the game is bagged.

SHY

You bag the spangle
And lose the spirit.—Sir, here is no place
To preach or wrangle
Our creeds. I am a student, not a teacher.
So I would only learn of you: what joy
Urges you to destroy
So gracious, fair
And innocent a fellow-creature
As yonder?

[_He points at_ ORNIS.]

STARK

[_Looking._]

Where?

ALWYN

Our sister, who stands there
And dumbly pleads for all her race—
And ours.

STARK

By Christ in Hades,
My eyes see nothing but a brace
Of popinjays, who pipe to me of ladies
And show me—no one.

ALWYN

Look more near.
Speak to him, Ornis!—Listen, now!

ORNIS

[_Drawing back in dread._]

O-rée-o!

STARK

I am listening.

ALWYN

Did you hear
No voice?

STARK

I heard a bird call from that bough.

QUERCUS

[_Peeping toward_ SHY _from the bushes_.]

Have at him, master!

SHY

[_To_ STARK.]

Did you spy
That fellow’s horns there, when he drew back
Into the bush?

STARK

I saw
A stirring in that staghorn sumach,
And caught a rabbit’s eye.—
What are these crazy quizzings? Pshaw!
Good day to you!

ALWYN

Stay yet!
Once more look yonder, where my comrade stands,
Turning to take the gentle, outreached hands
Of our shy sister: Can you see
No timid form beside him?

STARK

Perfectly
My eyes discern
A man, who peers within the morning mist,
And murmurs to the air,
And smiles, as if he held sweet converse there.
In short, I see a sentimentalist.
I am not of that ilk.
[_Calling_]—Ho, there!—Holá!
Wait with my dogs: I’m coming.

ALWYN

Stay, and learn
What we ourselves have only learned through quiet
Listening. So long, in rampant haste,
Your dizzy soul has chased
The spinning dollar sign which stars your zodiac,
That you have lost the track
Of paths serene, and pace God’s world in riot
Of blinding gold. Pause, for this little space!
Put off that blood-emblazed regalia
Gorgeous with death,
And draw with me one meditative breath
Here in the temple of cool Tacita.

STARK

[_Who has listened with half-amused curiosity._]

Ah—Tacita? And who may that be, friend?

ALWYN

One lovelier than you have yet set eyes on.

SHY

Go, Quercus: Pray our mistress to attend.

[QUERCUS _goes out_.]

STARK

Mistress! Is she a maid?—and lovely, too?
And may this wonder dawn on my horizon
If I remain?

ALWYN

Remain—to meditate!

STARK

Why, now, you stir my fancies.
In truth, ’tis early still, and little to do
This hour. Come, I will wait
And watch with you. But mind! The nymph must be
More lovely than my eyes did ever see!

ALWYN

With loveliness more deep than eyes discover.

STARK

So, ’tis a bargain, then?

ALWYN

Sit by me here;
And if your musings cause no fear,
You shall behold her in her secret dances.

STARK

By Hercules! I’m half prepared to love her!

[_He sits on the log beside_ ALWYN. ORNIS _still stands apart, under_
SHY’S _protection_. QUERCUS _enters, beckoning backward into the
wood_.]