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… plague of Naples, rot you! For this white brute—one slit! [2e cuts the throat of Tu SWAN mith his dagger. ADELA, Oh love betrayed! O my dead beauty! Faugh! deceitful maid. Not Crassus found me out. Had I the wings Of my dead love—oh lovel_— Aticta. Why, wondrous thingst ADELA. ‘These nails shall serve. A servant! Crassus. She shall be My wife, damned witch, when I have done with thee! [THe SWAN dies. 42
… densoin and musk. He is standing in deep dejection. Crassus. MOKE without fire! No thrill of tongues licks up The offerings in the cup. Dead falls desire. Black smoke thou art, © altar-flame, that dost dismember, Devour the hearth, to leave no ember To warm this heart. I see her still— Adela dancing here Till dim gods did appear To work our will. "
ADELA. Til kill her now. But sec! my swan is dead. Auicta. ‘Yest and what light is breaking overhead? What blaze of blue and gold envelops us? Crassus. O marvel! O miraculous! Abeta. ‘What is it? Why, my lover's life, in me Once concentrated, now diffused, illumes ‘The endless reaches of eternity With infinite brilliance, with intense perfumes. Autcia. then your lover was some god’s disguise. ADELA. And you have robbed me. Now beware your eyes! [Ste springs at Arscis, who guards herself easily. But in the struggle her robe tears. Autcia. Take c…
…here’s a first and second death. Remember To die so that no god's or ange!’s breath May quicken into life the wasted ember! Crassus. lam dead now. Auta. But I must raise you up. The night grows darker; all Pan's light is gone, And you and I are pledged to sup Upon a secret. Crassus. All your secret shone. [She laughs again. Auicta. Oh, when you know it! But you must divine Adela’s shrine. 3
Or mote in the sunbeam is to that sun’s self, And we are like dead leaves in autumn’s whirl Of wind upon it. Crassus. Mystify me, girl! It is the right of an elf. Surely your flickering fire Will draw me to some mire! Aucta. Here the stream dips its mouth into the wood. So does youth’s calm and chaste beatitude Touch the black mouth of Love, the ancient whore. Crassus. Girl! what a scorpion leaping from your lips! Auta. My mouth stings as no scorpion ever stang. In this round impudent smiling face of mine There is a poison fiercer than all wine…
… The solemn pause ‘When the veil withdraws And man looks on his god, on the Causeless Cause. Still, stilt, Under the hill! The hunter is dead—this is the kill! ge