The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 16

How do they live?

3_rd_.

Poorly, I should suppose; For she gives Lady Gertrude music-lessons: That's how they know her.--Ah, you should hear her sing!

2_nd_.

If she sings as she looks or as she dances, It were as well for me I did not hear.

3_rd_.

If Count Lamballa followed Lady Seaford To heaven, I know who'd follow her on earth.

SCENE III.--_Julian's room_. LILY _asleep_.

_Julian_.

I wish she would come home. When the child wakes, I cannot bear to see her eyes first rest On me, then wander searching through the room, And then return and rest. And yet, poor Lilia!

'Tis nothing strange thou shouldst be glad to go From this dull place, and for a few short hours Have thy lost girlhood given back to thee; For thou art very young for such hard things As poor men's wives in cities must endure.

I am afraid the thought is not at rest, But rises still, that she is not my wife-- Not truly, lawfully. I hoped the child Would kill that fancy; but I fear instead, She thinks I have begun to think the same-- Thinks that it lies a heavy weight of sin Upon my heart. Alas, my Lilia!

When every time I pray, I pray that G.o.d Would look and see that thou and I be one!

_Lily_ (_starting up in her crib_).

Oh, take me! take me!

_Julian_ (_going up to her with a smile_).

What is the matter with my little child?

_Lily_.

I don't know, father; I was very frightened.

_Julian_.

'Twas nothing but a dream. Look--I am with you.

_Lily_.

I am wake now; I know you're there; but then I did not know it.

[_Smiling_.]

_Julian_.

Lie down now, darling. Go to sleep again.

_Lily_ (_beseechingly_).

Not yet. Don't tell me go to sleep again; It makes me so, so frightened! Take me up, And let me sit upon your knee.--Where's mother?

I cannot see her.

_Julian_.

She's not at home, my child; But soon she will be back.

_Lily_.

But if she walk Out in the dark streets--so dark, it will catch her.

_Julian_.

She will not walk--but what would catch her, sweet?

_Lily_.

I don't know. Tell me a story till she comes.

_Julian_ (_taking her, and sitting with her on his knees by the fire_).

Come then, my little Lily, I will tell you A story I have read this very night.

[_She looks in his face_.]

There was a man who had a little boy, And when the boy grew big, he went and asked His father to give him a purse of money.

His father gave him such a large purse full!

And then he went away and left his home.

You see he did not love his father much.

_Lily_.

Oh! didn't he?--If he had, he wouldn't have gone!

_Julian_.

Away he went, far far away he went, Until he could not even spy the top Of the great mountain by his father's house.

And still he went away, away, as if He tried how far his feet could go away; Until he came to a city huge and wide, Like London here.

_Lily_.

Perhaps it was London.

_Julian_.

Perhaps it was, my child. And there he spent All, all his father's money, buying things That he had always told him were not worth, And not to buy them; but he would and did.

_Lily_.

How very naughty of him!

_Julian_.

Yes, my child.

And so when he had spent his last few pence, He grew quite hungry. But he had none left To buy a piece of bread. And bread was scarce; n.o.body gave him any. He had been Always so idle, that he could not work.

But at last some one sent him to feed swine.

_Lily_.

_Swine_! Oh!

_Julian_.

Yes, swine: 'twas all that he could do; And he was glad to eat some of their food.

[_She stares at him_.]

But at the last, hunger and waking love Made him remember his old happy home.

"How many servants in my father's house Have plenty, and to spare!" he said. "I'll go And say, 'I have done very wrong, my father; I am not worthy to be called your son; Put me among your servants, father, please.'"

Then he rose up and went; but thought the road So much, much farther to walk back again, When he was tired and hungry. But at last He saw the blue top of the great big hill That stood beside his father's house; and then He walked much faster. But a great way off, His father saw him coming, lame and weary With his long walk; and very different From what he had been. All his clothes were hanging In tatters, and his toes stuck through his shoes--