The tower-room beside the terrace.
Vuthsa on a couch.
All that I dreamed or heard of her, her charm
Exceeds. She’s mine! She has shuddered at my touch;
Thrice her eyes faltered as they gazed in mine.
He lies back with closed eyes;
Munjoolica enters and contemplates him.
O golden Love! Thou art not of this earth.
He too is Vasavadutta’s! All is hers,
As I am now and one day all the earth.
Vuthsa, thou sleep’st not, then.
Sleep jealous waits
Finding another image in my eyes.
Thou art disobedient. Wast thou not commanded
To sleep at once?
Sleep disobeys, not I.
But thou too wakest, yet no thoughts should have
To keep thy lids apart.
How knowst thou that?
I am thy jailor and I walk my rounds.
Bright jailor, thou art jealous without cause.
Who would escape from heaven’s golden bars?
Thy name is Munjoolica? So is thy form
A bower of the graceful things of earth.
I had another name but it has ceased,
Thou wast then Sourashtra’s child?
I am still that royalty clouded, even as thou art
Captive Cowsambie. Me Gopalaca
In battle seized, brought a disdainful gift
Since our fates are one,
Should we not be allies?
For what bold purpose?
How knowest thou I have one?
Were I a man?
Wouldst thou have freedom? Wilt thou give me help?
In nothing against her I love and serve.
No, but conspire to serve and love her best
And make her queen of all the Aryan earth.
Name it thyself, when all is ours.
Now shall I be avenged upon my fate.
I know what thy heart asks; too openly
Thou carriest the yearning in thy eyes.
Vuthsa she loves thee as the half-closed bud
Thrills to the advent of a wonderful dawn
And like a dreamer half-awake perceives
The faint beginnings of a sunlit world.
Doubt not success more than that dawn must break;
For she is thine.
Take my heart’s gratitude
For the sweet assurance.
I am greedy. Only
What wouldst thou have?
Upon thy finger, Vuthsa, for my own.
VUTHSA putting it on her finger
It shall live happier on a fairer hand.
Since thou hast paid me instantly and well.
I will be zealous, Vuthsa, in thy cause.
But my great bribe is in the future still.
Claim it our Cowsambie.
By thy good help I now shall sleep.
Munjoolica goes out.
Music is sweet; to rule the heart’s rich chords
Of human Iyres much sweeter. Art’s sublime
But to combine great ends more sovereign still,
Accepting danger and difficulty to break
Through proud and violent opposites to our will.
Song is divine, but more divine is love.