The Count of Narbonne Part 9

_Adel._ Lean on my arm.

_Countess._ No, I will in alone.

My sense is now unapt for harmony.

But go thou to Alphonso's holy shrine; There, with thy innocent hands devoutly rais'd, Implore his sainted spirit, to receive Thy humble supplications; and to avert From thy dear head, the still impending wrath, For one black deed, that threatens all thy race.

[_Exit COUNTESS._

_Adel._ For thee my prayers shall rise, not for myself, And every kindred saint will bend to hear me.

But, O my fluttering breast!--'Tis Theodore!

How sad, and earnestly, he views that paper!

It turns him pale. Beshrew the envious paper!

Why should it steal the colour from that cheek, Which danger ne'er could blanch? He sees me not.

I'll wait; and should sad thoughts disturb his quiet, If love has power, with love's soft breath dispel them.

[_Exit ADELAIDE._

_Enter THEODORE, with a Paper._

_Theod._ My importunity at last has conquer'd: Weeping, my father gave, and bade me read it.

"'Tis there," he cried, "the mystery of thy birth; There, view thy long divorce from Adelaide."

Why should I read it? Why with rav'nous haste Gorge down my bane? The worst is yet conceal'd; Then wherefore, eager for my own destruction?

Inquire a secret, which, when known, must sink me?

My eye starts back from it; my heart stands still; And every pulse, and motion of my blood, With prohibition, strong as sense can utter, Cries out, "Beware!"--But does my sight deceive?

Is it not she? Up, up, you black contents: A brighter object meets my ravish'd eyes.

Now let the present moment, love, be thine!

For ill, come when it may, must come untimely.

_Enter ADELAIDE._

_Adel._ Am I not here unwish'd for?

_Theod._ My best angel!

Were seas between us, thou art still where I am.

I bear thy precious image ever round me, As pious men the relics they adore.

Scarce durst I hope to be so blest to see thee, But could not wish a joy beyond thy presence.

_Adel._ O Theodore! what wondrous turns of fortune Have given thee back to a dear parent's arms?

And spite of all the horrors which surround me, And worse, each black eventful moment threatens, My bosom glows with rapture at the thought Thou wilt at last be bless'd.

_Theod._ But one way only Can I be bless'd. On thee depends my fate.

Lord Raymond, harsh and haughty as he is, And adverse to my father's rigid virtue, When he shall hear our pure, unspotted vows, Will yield thee to my wishes;--but, curs'd stars!

How shall I speak it?

_Adel._ What?

_Theod._ That holy man, That Clarinsal, whom I am bound to honour, Perversely bids me think of thee no more.

_Adel._ Alas! in what have I offended him?

_Theod._ Not so; he owns thy virtues, and admires them.

But with a solemn earnestness that kills me, He urges some mysterious, dreadful cause, Must sunder us for ever.

_Adel._ Oh, then fly me!

I am not worth his frown; begone this moment; Leave me to weep my mournful destiny, And find some fairer, happier maid, to bless thee.

_Theod._ Fairer than thee! Oh, heavens! the delicate hand Of nature, in her daintiest mood, ne'er fashion'd Beauty so rare. Love's roseate deity, Fresh from his mother's kiss, breath'd o'er thy mould That soft, ambrosial hue,--Fairer than thee!

'Twere blasphemy in any tongue but thine, So to disparage thy unmatch'd perfections.

_Adel._ No, Theodore, I dare not hear thee longer; Perhaps, indeed, there is some fatal cause.

_Theod._ There is not, cannot be. 'Tis but his pride, Stung by resentment 'gainst thy furious father--

_Adel._ Ah no; he is too generous, just, and good, To hate me for the offences of my father.

But find the cause. At good Alphonso's tomb I go to offer up my orisons; There bring me comfort, and dispel my fears; Or teach me, (oh, hard thought!) to bear our parting.

[_Exit ADELAIDE._

_Theod._ She's gone, and now, firm fort.i.tude, support me!

For here I read my sentence; life or death.

[_Takes out the Paper._

_Thou art the grandson of the good Alphonso,_ _And Narbonne's rightful lord._--Ha! is it so?

Then has this boist'rous Raymond dar'd insult me, Where I alone should rule:--yet not by that Am I condemn'd to lose her. Thou d.a.m.n'd scroll!

I fear thou hast worse poison for my eyes.

_Long were the champions, bound for Palestine,_ _(Thy grandsire then their chief,) by adverse winds_ _Detain'd in Naples; where he saw, and lov'd,_ _And wedded secretly, Vicenza's daughter;_ _For, till the holy warfare should be clos'd,_ _They deem'd it wise to keep the rite conceal'd._ _The issue of that marriage was thy mother;_ _But the same hour that gave her to the world,_ _For ever clos'd the fair one's eyes who bore her._ _Foul treason next cut short thy grandsire's thread;_ _Poison'd he fell.--_

[_THEODORE pauses, and AUSTIN, who has been some time behind, advances._

_Aust._ By Raymond's felon father, Who, adding fraud to murder, forg'd a will, Devising to himself and his descendants, Thy rights, thy t.i.tles, thy inheritance.

_Theod._ Then I am lost--

_Aust._ Now think, unkind young man, Was it for naught I warn'd thee to take heed, And smother in its birth this dangerous pa.s.sion?

The Almighty arm, red for thy grandsire's murder, Year after year has terribly been stretch'd O'er all the land, but most this guilty race.

_Theod._ The murderer was guilty, not his race.

_Aust._ Great crimes, like this, have lengthen'd punishments.

Why speak the fates by signs and prodigies?

Why one by one falls this devoted line, Accomplishing the dreadful prophecy, That none should live to enjoy the fruits of blood?

But wave this argument.--Thou wilt be call'd To prove thy right, By combat with the Count.

_Theod._ In arms I'll meet him; To-morrow, now.--

_Aust._ And, reeking with his blood, Offer the hand, which shed it, to his daughter?

_Theod._ Ha!