The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1. George MacDonald
can … be right to break a vow;
If so, men might be liars every day;
You'd do the same by me, if we were married.
Julian
(in anguish).
'Tis ever so. Words are the living things!
There is no spirit—save what's born of words!
Words are the bonds that of two souls make one!
Words the security of heart to heart!
God, make me patient! God, I pray thee, God!
Lilia
(not heeding him).
Besides, we dare not; you would find the dungeon
Gave late repentance; I should weep away
My life within a convent.
Julian.
Come to England,
To England, Lilia.
Lilia.
Men would point, and say:
There go the monk and his wife; if they, in truth,
Called me not by a harder name than that.
Julian.
There are no monks in England.
Lilia.
But will that
Make right what's wrong?
Julian.
Did I say so, my Lilia?
I answered but your last objections thus;
I had a different answer for the first.
Lilia.
No, no; I cannot, cannot, dare not do it.
Julian.
Lilia, you will not doubt my love; you cannot.
—I would have told you all before, but thought,
Foolishly, you would feel the same as I;—
I have lived longer, thought more, seen much more;
I would not hurt your body, less your soul,
For all the blessedness your love can give:
For love's sake weigh the weight of what I say.
Think not that must be right which you have heard
From infancy—it may——
[Enter the Steward in haste, pale, breathless, and bleeding.]
Steward.
My lord, there's such an uproar in the town!
They call you murderer and heretic.
The officers of justice, with a monk,
And the new Count Nembroni, accompanied
By a fierce mob with torches, howling out
For justice on you, madly cursing you!
They caught a glimpse of me as I returned,
And stones and sticks flew round me like a storm;
But I escaped them, old man as I am,
And was in time to bar the castle-gates.—
Would heaven we had not cast those mounds, and shut
The river from the moat!
[Distant yells and cries.]
Escape, my lord!
Julian
(calmly).
Will the gates hold them out awhile, my Joseph?
Steward.
A little while, my lord; but those damned torches!
Oh, for twelve feet of water round the walls!
Julian.
Leave us, good Joseph; watch them from a window,
And tell us of their progress.
[JOSEPH goes. Sounds approach.]
Farewell, Lilia!
[Putting his arm round her. She stands like stone.]
Fear of a coward's name shall not detain me.
My presence would but bring down evil on you,
My heart's beloved; yes, all the ill you fear,
The terrible things that you have imaged out
If you fled with me. They will not hurt you,
If you be not polluted by my presence.
[Light from without flares on the wall.]
They've fired the gate.
[An outburst of mingled cries.]
Steward (entering). They've fired the gate, my lord!
Julian.
Well, put yourself in safety, my dear Joseph.
You and old Agata tell all the truth,
And they'll forgive you. It will not hurt me;
I shall be safe—you know me—never fear.
Steward.
God grant it may be so. Farewell, dear lord!
[Is going.]
Julian.
But