The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 43

Dear father, Surely 't was naught. Your ears deceive you.

The wind is rising, and you heard the leaves Rustling together.

RIBERA.

Nay, I will look forth.

[He opens the cas.e.m.e.nt and looks out in silence. MARIA stands behind him, with her hands clasped in an agony of fear.]

RIBERA (calling).

Hist, answer! Who goes there? (a pause.) No sound. Thou'rt right, Maria; I see naught; our garden lies Vacant and still, save for the swaying branches Of bush and tree. 'T is a wild, threatening night.

A sultry breeze is blowing, and the sky Hangs black above Vesuvius. Yonder cloud Hath lightnings in it. Ah, a blinding bolt Dims the volcano's pillared fire. Enough.

[He closes the cas.e.m.e.nt and returns to MARIA.]

Hark, how the thunder rolls! My child, you tremble Like the blown leaves without.

MARIA.

I am oppressed By the same stormy influence. Thou knowest I dread the thunder.

RIBERA.

Thou, who art safely housed, Why shouldst thou dread it? Try to sleep, my darling; Forget the terror of the tempest; morn Will break again in sunshine.

MARIA.

Father, say You love me and you trust me once again, Before I bid good-night.

RIBERA.

If it will calm thee, I love thee and I trust thee. Thou art to me My genius--thou, the breathing image still Of thy saint-mother, whom the angels guard.

Even as thou standest now, vested in white, With glowing eyes and pale, unsmiling face, I see her as she stood the day her heart Went forth from home and kin to bless the stranger Who craved her father's alms.

MARIA.

Thanks, thanks. Good-night.

G.o.d bless us through these wild, dark hours.

RIBERA.

Good-night.

SCENE II.

RIBERA'S garden. Half the sky illuminated by an over-clouded moon, the rest obscured by an approaching storm. Occasional thunder and lightning. On on side of the stage a summer-house open to the audience, on the other side the exterior of the dwelling. DON JOHN discovered waiting near the house. The door opens, and enter MARIA.

DON JOHN (springing forward and embracing her).

At last! at last!

MARIA.

Juan, beware! My father's fears, I cannot guess by whom or what, are roused.

[She extends her arms gropingly to embrace him.]

Oh, let me feel thee near me--I see naught.

Follow me; here our voices may be heard.

[She hastens towards the summer-house, leaning upon his arm, and sinks upon a seat.]

Have not slow ages pa.s.sed with crowding woes Since we last met! What have I not endured!

Oh, Juan, save me!

DON JOHN.

Dearest child, be calm.

Thou art strangely overwrought. Speak not. Await Till this wild fear be past.

MARIA.

How great you are!

Your simple presence stills and comforts me.

While you are here, the one thing real to me In all the universe is love.

DON JOHN.

And yet My love is here, if I be far or nigh.

Is this the spirit of a soldier's wife?

Nay, fiery courage, iron fort.i.tude, That soul must own that dares to say, "I love."

MARIA.

And I dare say it. I can bear the worst That envious fate may heap upon my head, If thou art with me, or for hope of thee.

DON JOHN.

Art sure of that? Thou couldst not part from me, Even for thy father's sake?

MARIA.

Talk you of parting?

For G.o.d's sake, what is this? You love no more?

DON JOHN.

Rather I love so truly that I shrink From asking thee to share a soldier's fate.

I tremble to uproot so fine a flower From its dear native earth. I--

MARIA (putting her hand on his lips).

Hush, no more!

I need no preparation more than this, Your mere request.