Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE MOTHER’S TRAGEDY 157 Weaves its fine mesh, perceiving how to wait ; Or how accumulate The trifles that shall] make it master yet Of the strong soul that bade itself forget. CORA. Let me not shrink! Truth always purifies. I will go through those two impossible Actual years. The city was itself; Hard thinking if hard drinking —sober- sides ! One night I stepped up tremulous on the stage, Sang something, found my senses afterward Only to that intolerable sound Of terrible applause. They shook the sky With calling me to answer. And I lay— A storm of weeping swept across frame— Till the polite, the hateful manager Led me to face a nation’s lunatic Roar of delight. I soon got over that, my And over--yes, the other thing. Three months— They used to quote me on the Stock Ex- change! I will say this to me, I will not shrink: Look up, you coward, Cora Vavaseur ! Which fathered me the bastard? Every rag,! Prurient licksores of society, Gave it a different father. Am I sure Myself? The shameful Mammon was his name, Glittering gold! I loved my opulence, Cursed my ‘‘misfortune.” Childbirth sobered me. I loved the child, the only human love I ever tasted, and I sacrificed The popularity, the infamy, Of my old life; I sought another world. I ‘‘got religion” — how I _ hate’ the phrase !— So jest the matron newspapers. The end. 1 Society papers. Since then I lived, as I am living still, Wrapped in the all-absorbing love of him My child, my child! And now my selfishness Is shamed, and J have made the sacrifice To give this pure heart to that maidenly, And let mine old age grow upon my hair, Finding my happiness in seeing him The all-devoted, and in God’s good pleasur Have little children playing at my knees, That I may listen, in their innocent prayers, For Jesus’ voice. And I will never break The secret of his being to my boy Lest he despise me. ‘This one reticence I think my long-drawn agony may earn. For I will do without a mother’s name If only I may keep a son’s love still ! [ Axed. SPIRIT OF TRAGEDY (wth sarcaslic verve). She will not break an oath so wisely sworn, Unlock her secret to disdain. Wisdom is hers—what angel need to warn? Since angels only seek to gain That wisdom of the unprofane. All future happiness I surely see. I am the Soul of Tragedy ! Enter ULRIC ‘musing, with love-light an Ais eyes). [Az his entrance, SPIRIT OF TRAGEDY changes lo a shape of wncarnate llorror, and continues : Naked as dawn, the purpose of the hour Grows on my vision, and my cynic laughter Chills in my veins: the old avenging power Shows me the thing that is to be hereafter. I gloated on the coming of the curse— I did create an hearse, Black plumes and solemn mourners; andI saw The triumph of some natural law Fit for a poet’s verse. I saw some common fate to lure, to tempt 5 (No mortal of the ages is exempt)