Bitter-Sweet | Page 3

THE QUESTION STATED AND ARGUED.
Israel.
Ruth, touch the cradle. Boys, you must be still!
The baby cannot
sleep in such a noise.
Nay, Grace, stir not; she'll soothe him soon
enough,
And tell him more sweet stuff in half an hour
Than you can
dream, in dreaming half a year.
Ruth.
[Kneeling and rocking the cradle.]
What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no
doubt.
Unwritten history!
Unfathomed mystery!
Yet he laughs
and cries, and eats and drinks,
And chuckles and crows, and nods and
winks,
As if his head were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as
any sphinx!
Warped by colic, and wet by tears,
Punctured by pins,
and tortured by fears,
Our little nephew will lose two years;
And
he'll never know
Where the summers go;--
He need not laugh, for
he'll find it so!
Who can tell what a baby thinks?
Who can follow the gossamer links

By which the manikin feels his way
Out from the shore of the great
unknown,
Blind, and wailing, and alone,
Into the light of day?--

Out from the shore of the unknown sea,
Tossing in pitiful agony,--

Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of
little souls--
Barks that were launched on the other side,
And
slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide!
What does he think of his
mother's eyes?
What does he think of his mother's hair?
What of the
cradle-roof that flies
Forward and backward through the air?
What
does he thinks of his mother's breast--
Bare and beautiful, smooth and
white,
Seeking it ever with fresh delight--

Cup of his life and couch

of his rest?
What does he think when her quick embrace
Presses his
hand and buries his face
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell

With a tenderness she can never tell,
Though she murmur the
words
Of all the birds--
Words she has learned to murmur well?

Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow creep
Over his
eyes, in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips,
Out to his
little finger-tips!
Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes!
Down he goes!
[Rising and carefully retreating to her seat.]
See! He is hushed in sweet repose!
David.
[Yawning.]
Behold a miracle! Music transformed
To morphine, and the drowsy
god invoked
By the poor prattle of a maiden's tongue!
A moment
more, and we should all have gone
Down into dreamland with the
babe! Ah, well!
There is no end of wonders.
Ruth.
None, indeed!
When lazy poets who have gorged themselves,
And
cannot keep awake, make the attempt
To shift the burden of their
drowsiness,
And charge a girl with what they owe to greed.
David.
At your old tricks again! No sleep induced
By song of yours, or any
other bird's,
Can linger long when you begin to talk.
Grace, box
your sister's ears for me, and save
The trouble of my rising.
Ruth.

[Advancing and kneeling by the side of Grace.]
Sister mine.
Now give the proof of your obedience
To your
imperious lord! Strike, if you dare!
I'll wake your baby if you lift
your hand.
Ha! king; ha! poet; who is master now--
Baby or
husband? Pr'ythee, tell me that.
Were I a man,--thank Heaven I am
not!--
And had a wife who cared not for my will
More than your
wife for yours, I'd hang myself,
Or wear an [***]. See! she kisses me!
David.
And answers to my will, though well she knows
I'll spare to her so
terrible a task,
And take the awful burden on myself;
Which I will
do, in future, if she please!
Ruth.
Now have you conquered! Look! I am your slave.
Denounce me,
scourge me, anything but kiss;
For life is sweet, and I alone am left

To comfort an old man.
Israel.
Ruth, that will do!
Remember I'm a Justice of the Peace,
And bide
no quarrels; and if you and David
Persist in strife, I'll place you under
bonds
For good behavior, or condemn you both
To solitary durance
for the night.
Ruth.
Father, you fail to understand the case,
And do me wrong. David has
threatened me
With an assault that proves intent to kill;
And here's
my sister Grace, his wedded wife,
Who'll take her oath, that just a
year ago
He entered into bonds to keep the peace
Toward me and
womankind.

David.
I'm quite asleep.
Israel.
We'll all agree, then, to pronounce it quits.
Ruth.
Till he awake again, of course. I trust
I have sufficient gallantry to
grant
A nap between encounters, to a foe
With odds against him.
Israel.
Peace, my daughter, peace!
You've had your full revenge, and we
have had
Enough of laughter since the day began.
We must not
squander all these precious hours
In jest and merriment; for when the
sun
Shall rise to-morrow, we shall separate,
Not knowing we shall
ever meet again.
Meetings like this are rare this side of Heaven,

And seem to me the best mementoes left
Of Eden's hours.
Grace.
Most certainly the best,
And quite the rarest, but, unluckily,
The
weakest, as we know; for sin and pain
And evils multiform, that
swarm the earth,
And poison all our joys and all our hearts,
Remind
us most of Eden's forfeit bliss.
David.
Forfeit through woman.
Grace.
Forfeit through her power;--
A power not lost,