The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 13

HERMIONE.

Stay:--not now:--some other song, and we'll in to the toilet: let it be brief--I know not why,--save that I think thy singing hath not now such a jocund and mirthful spirit in it.

BLANCH.

Ah, lady!--but strange purposes are i' the wind when the mirth-giving Hermione becometh a lover of lamentable ditties!--Stay, shall it be of love?--a sleepy tale of love, as you were wont to call it?--I know a ballad of this hue.

HERMIONE.

I care not: another, it may be, would have chimed better. Yet, I'll hear thee as a babbler of strange stories.

BLANCH (_sings_).

"Up with the light, My maiden bright, The thrush twitters on the tree; Each merry, merry bird to his mate doth call, And the bridal waits for thee!

"The sunbeams pa.s.s On the dew-spread gra.s.s, And gold gleams are in the sky; The morn's balmy breeze to thy cas.e.m.e.nt hies, And thy bridegoom is waiting for thee."

The lover spake, "Fair maid, awake," Yet the maiden still she slept!

"Why tarries she from me?--thy bonny face I'll see," And lightly to her window he leapt.

One cry he gave, Then still as the grave In dim horror he fix'd his dark eye; For there his lady bright slept her long, long changeless night, And a blood-sprinkled corpse welter'd nigh!

BLANCH.

How like you the song?

HERMIONE.

Indifferent well;--methinks it were too sad. But sadness and I must have closer fellowship ere long, or I mistake the note of her approach. Away, Blanch; we must not delay the honours of the feast. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_An Inn at Mantua._

_Enter BERTRAND and CARLOS, fatigued with travel._

BERTRAND.

'Tis well, good Carlos, in this n.o.ble city, Thanks to all proper instruments, we now Enter safe housed. Nay, nay, dole-stricken friend, Put off these looks, drench'd still in woe. Why, man, Love ne'er was waked with weeping; woman's eye E'er kept her heart, and thou must henceforth bribe With gayer looks that restless twinkling organ, Ere thou may'st gain admittance to her breast.

Rouse thee!--Accost her thus, with careless look And laughing eye;--bid her "good day;"-- Wring her fair hand; and if withdrawn, Why seize her by the waist: her sullen looks Heed not; an' if she chide, toss back her words;-- Let her not learn from thy woe-tinctured face, Ere yet the tremulous voice its utterance shape, Thou pinest a love-sick fool!--

CARLOS.

Bertrand, forbear.

Thou speakest like to one whose lofty spirit Love hath not quell'd. I cannot now th' oppressor Lift from my soul; I am bow'd down,--subdued,-- Crush'd even to earth,--yet crawling heavily, A c.u.mbrous burden, wearied, useless here, And without purport to my fellow-men!-- I seem aloof from all connexion, tie, Or kindred with mankind. The very earth, My parent dust, claims not its fellowship With mine! Would that yon chill and rayless dwelling Had shut me out, and all mine hated sorrow, Far from the gaze, the cold, unpitying gaze, Alike of stranger and of friend!

Soon shall the darkness cover me,--the tomb Close mine account for ever. Then shall I rest;-- No glance of cool-eyed scorn shall meet me there, Nor woman's charm'd and traitorous tongue shall mock me.

They seek not victims i' the grave!--My grief Shall there be spent; the heart's last ebbing throe To earth in quiet nothingness shall leave me, Loosed from my dungeon and my chain!--

BERTRAND.

Carlos, Thy troubled spirit hath no appet.i.te For aught but evil. Fancy, diseased, Shapeth its wrongs from what itself doth breed,-- E'en as the timid and belated hind From out his spectre-haunted brain brings forth The shadow most he fears.--I do not mock thee; Cold scorn lurks not i' the same laughing orbit Of an unfraudulent eye. Thou know'st it well, Thy peace alone I've sought; and this coy dame, Woo'd as mine hopes commend, would free my bosom From half its load. For these remediless griefs With equal weight oppress mine anguish'd spirit, As the united woe this breast e'er smote, The sum untold of this world's misery.

CARLOS.

Forgive a wayward tongue, fretful--unkind: My breaking heart still holds thee dear.

BERTRAND.

Forgive!-- Nay, ask not this;--man asks but favours.

What waits our bolder claim we crave not. Hold!-- 'Tis needful we devise, touching our errand, Some scheme for its adventure. Shrewd my guess, Thou would'st e'en now return, unwoo'd, unsought This dainty maiden, and to others leave The fond pursuit, then lay thee down and weep!

I've led thee hither, Carlos;--here I vow, Ere this same gallant city hath disgorged Such useless habitants, to her dull ear Thou shalt commend thy love.

CARLOS.

I've penn'd a fragrant billet----

BERTRAND.

Or a sonnet, Mayhap, unto her eyne. Nay, 'tis not thus Her fickle love is caught:--canst find no speech?

'Tis said love's eloquent, and pleadeth n.o.bly, Using such vehement pa.s.sion as doth rouse The listening heart. Pour thy whole soul to hers: Give her no s.p.a.ce for thought--'twill bring resistance.

Reflection's chill and polish'd surface soon Would glance off thine artillery, rolling back The warm flood to thine heart. But I forbear:-- My wish is ever foremost on my tongue, And still outstrips thy power! Well, thou canst sing, Play on the cittern, trill the soft-voiced lute Beneath a lady's chamber; thou canst fill A delicate ear with ditties framed so deftly, And with such wondrous skill, another's woe Shall seem thine own, 'Tis said, in that soft hour The maiden's heart is tender, and well nurtured To cherish love's impressions. Then, I tell thee, Unask'd attend, and with some vagrant band Of hired melodists, at once discourse, To thine heart's easing, of pale woe, sighs, groans, And love forsaken. Thus prepared, her thought Will wondering turn to her moon-driven warbler.

Thou knowest well in woman's restless soul A lurking fondness lies for mystery.

If thou but win her thought to some connexion, Some yet scarce-felt recurrence with thine own, And pleasure once a.s.sociate with the thought-- These outworks gain'd, cheer thee, thou gloomy knight; The lady shall be won. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_The Terrace. Moonlight._

_Enter HERMIONE._

HERMIONE.

Calm orb, how tranquil is thy path!-- Amid the stars thou walkest, clad in light As with a garment. Still thy borrow'd robe The darkness compa.s.seth, and sullen night His cloud-spread visage cleareth at thy beam.-- How calm on yonder stream the moonlight sleeps!

Fair image, woman, of thy maiden breast, Unmoved by love. Anon, some vagrant breath Ruffles its surface, and its pure still light In tremulous pulses heaves:--brighter, perchance, That feverish glitter, but its rest is o'er!-- How fresh the dewy air falls on my cheek, As if some spirit, clothed in its influence, came Upon my soul, with one heaven-given drop, To cool its torment! Would that I could bind Thine incorporeal essence! I would chain thee Here!--on my heart! Benevolent visitor, Whether from yon bright sphere to mortals sent, On moonbeams gliding,--fairy gnome or sylph, Whate'er thy name;--or from earth's glistening caves, Or from the forest-corall'd deep thou comest, In these chill drops that stud my dew-deck'd hair, Its every braid impearling:--fly me not, I charge thee, gentle spirit!--Hark! he comes!

[_Music at a distance._ I thank thee---- [_The sound gradually approaches, until heard apparently from beneath the Terrace._ A voice!--I'll hear thy words. Breathe not too loud, Ye winds.--

SONG.

Lady, list to me!

Thy gentle spirit I'll be; The fire is my garment, the flood is my bed, And I paint the first cloud with the sunbeam red That rolls o'er the broad blue sea.

Lady, list to me! To the mountain-top I flee: There I watch the first wave that comes laden with light, And its soft hue I spread o'er each billow so bright, With its beam I enkindle each heaven-peering height, And the morn's radiant canopy.-- [_The voice ceases, and the music slowly retires._

HERMIONE.

Oh fly not!--bear me on thy wing!--from earth-- From----Why this shudder?--Save me, spirit of air, Or earth, or sea! Tear me but hence; and yet I cannot part. Oh! why in mercy once Was I conceived, and not to nothing crush'd Ere the first feeble pulse, unconscious life, Crept through this viewless form?--Why was I kept Unharm'd through infinite perils?--spared, yet doom'd To writhe unpitied--succourless--alone, Beneath one cruel, one remorseless woe,-- From hope shut out--from common sympathy, And all communion of sorrow,--e'en To the veriest wretch upon thy bosom earth Ne'er yet denied?--This boon I dare not ask: Wither'd, consumed, companionless, unwept, I meet mine hastening doom. Yet, clad in smiles, A flower-wreathed sacrifice, I gaily bound, With gambols playful as the innocent lamb, To the devouring altar. The knife is bared!-- Uplifted,--glittering! Yet I woo thee, tyrant, And madly kiss my chain. This night the feast I left;--arm'd, I had proudly thought--vain hope!

With such resolve as, on this moonlit terrace, Where, freed awhile from earth's disquietude, My thralled heart might here unchain for ever!-- [_Takes a billet from her bosom._ I vow'd to s.n.a.t.c.h thee from my breast!

To tear thee hence! and to the winds, unseen, Commit thy perishing fragments, e'en as now This unoffending page I rend, far scattering Its frail memorial to the air.-- [_Makes an effort to tear the paper._ Some power withholds me. What! for this thou yearnest?

Weak, foolish heart, some other hour, thou say'st, Better thou canst resign this fluttering relic Of thy----hope, whisperest thou?

Nay, folly--madness,--call it but aright, Thou throbbing fool, and I will give thee back Thy doted bauble. [_Returns it into her bosom._ There--there!--watch over it!

Brood on thy minion!--cherish and pamper it Until it mock thee!--prey on thy young blood,-- Poison each spring of natural affection, And all the sympathies that flesh inherits,-- Then wilt thou curse thine idol!--Impotent rage,-- It will deride thee, and will fiercely cling To thine undoing for ever. Fare thee well, Thou star-hung canopy!--far-smiling orb.

Farewell! No more sweet influences ye fling, As ye were wont, around my desolate heart; I cannot bear your stillness:--Earthquake--storm-- The mighty war of the vex'd elements, Would best comport with my disquiet:--now, On thy calm face I dare not look again! [_Exit._

_Enter ROLAND and STEPHANO._

STEPHANO.

So, so, my moon-eyed maiden. Ah, "Good Roland," gallants breed not i'

the sun; they thrive best belike i' the moonbeams.

ROLAND.

I saw no gallant.

STEPHANO.