The Two Lovers of Heaven: Chrysanthus and Daria Part 4

Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter DARIA.

DARIA.

Ah! my Nisida, forbear, Ah! those words forbear to sing, Which on zephyr's wanton wing Thou shouldst waft not on the air.

All is wrong, how sweet it be, That the vestal's thoughts reprove: What is jealousy? what is love?

That they should be sung by thee?

Think this wood is consecrated To Diana's service solely, Not to Venus: it is holy.

Why then wouldst thou desecrate it With thy songs? Does 't not amaze Thee thyself--this strangest thing-- In Diana's grove to sing Hymns of love to Cupid's praise?

But I need not wonder, no, That thou 'rt so amused, since I Here see Cynthia with thee.

CYNTHIA.

Why Dost thou say so?

DARIA.

I say so For good cause: in books profane Thou unceasingly delightest, Verse thou readest, verse thou writest, Of their very vanity vain.

And if thou wouldst have me prove What I say to thy proceeding, Tell me, what 's this book thou 'rt reading?

CYNTHIA.

'T is The Remedy of Love.

Whence thou mayst perceive how weak Is thy inference, thy deduction From my studious self-instruction; Since the patient who doth seek Remedies to cure his pain Shows by this he would grow better;-- For the slave who breaks his fetter Cannot surely love his chain.

NISIDA.

This, though not put quite so strong, Was involved in the conclusion Of my lay: Love's disillusion Was the burden of my song.

DARIA.

Remedies and disillusions, Seek ye both beneath one star?

Ah! if so, you are not far From its pains and its confusions: For the very fact of pleading Disillusion, shows that thou 'Neath illusion's yoke doth bow,-- And the patient who is needing Remedies doth prove that still The sharp pang he doth endure, For there 's no one seeks a cure Ere he feels that he is ill:-- Therefore to this wrong proceeding Grieved am I to see ye clinging-- Seeking thou thy cure in singing-- Thou thy remedy in reading.

CYNTHIA.

Casual actions of this cla.s.s That are done without intention Of a second end, to mention Here were out of place: I pa.s.s To another point: There 's no one Who with genius, or denied it,-- Dowered with mind, but has applied it Some especial track to go on: This variety suffices For its exercise and action, Just as some by free attraction Seek the virtues and the vices;-- This blind instinct, or this duty, We three share;--'t is thy delight Nisida to sing,--to write Mine,--and thine to adore thy beauty.

Which of these three occupations Is the best--or those that need Skill and labour to succeed, Or thine own vain contemplations?-- Have I not, when morning's rays Gladdened grove and vale and mountain, Seen thee in the crystal fountain At thyself enamoured gaze?

Wherefore, once again returning To our argument of love, Thou a greater pang must prove, If from thy insatiate yearning I infer a cause: the spell Lighter falls on one who still, To herself not feeling ill, Would in other eyes seem well.

DARIA.

Ah! so far, so far from me Is the wish as vain as weak-- (Now my virtue doth not speak, Now but speaks my vanity), Ah! so far, I say, my breast Turns away from things of love, That the sovereign hand of Jove, Were it to attempt its best, Could no greater wonder work, Than that I, Daria, should So be changed in mind and mood As to let within me lurk Love's minutest, smallest seed:-- Only upon one condition Could I love, and that fruition Then would be my pride indeed.

CYNTHIA.

What may that condition be?

DARIA.

When of all mankind, I knew One who felt a love so true As to give his life for me, Then, until my own life fled, Him, with grat.i.tude and pride, Were I sure that so he died, I would love though he were dead.

NISIDA.

Poor reward for love so great Were that tardy recollection, Since, it seems, for thy affection He, till life is o'er, must wait.

CYNTHIA.

Soars thy vanity so high?

Thy presumption is above All belief: be sure, for love No man will be found to die.

DARIA.

Why more words then? love must be In my case denied by heaven: Since my love cannot be given Save to one who 'll die for me.

CYNTHIA.

Thy ambition is a thing So sublime, what can be said?-- Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding.

NISIDA.

Yes, do thou resume thy reading, I too will resume my song.

DARIA.

I, that I may not renew Such reproaches, whilst you sing, Whilst you read, in this clear spring Thoughtfully myself shall view.

NISIDA sings.

O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove, Thou fill'st my heart with envy and with pain!-- But no, but no, for if thou sing'st of love Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter CHRYSANTHUS, CLAUDIUS, and ESCARPIN.

CLAUDIUS, to Chrysanthus.

Does not the beauty of this wood, This tranquil wood, delight thee?

CHRYSANTHUS.

Yes: Here nature's lord doth dower and bless The world in most indulgent mood.

Who could believe this greenwood here For the first time has blessed mine eyes?

CLAUDIUS.

It is the second Paradise, Of deities the verdant sphere.

CHRYSANTHUS.

'T is more, this green and gra.s.sy glade Whither our careless steps have strolled, For here three objects we behold Equally fair by distance made.

Of these that chain our willing feet, There yonder where the path is leading, One is a lady calmly reading, One is a lady singing sweet, And one whose rapt though idle air Gives us to understand this truth-- A woman blessed with charms and youth, Does quite enough in being fair.

ESCARPIN.

You are quite right in that, I 've seen Beauties enough of that sort too.

CLAUDIUS.

If of the three here given to view, The choice were thine to choose between, Which of them best would suit thy taste?

Which wouldst thou make thy choice of, say?

CHRYSANTHUS.

I do not know: for in one way They so with equal gifts are graced, So musical and fair and wise, That while one captivates the mind, One works her witcheries with the wind, And one, the fairest, charms our eyes.

The one who sings, it seems a duty, Trusting her sweet voice, to think sweet, The one who reads, to deem discreet, The third, we judge but by her beauty: And so I fear by act or word To wrong the three by judging ill, Of one her charms, of one her skill, And the intelligence of the third.

For to choose one does wrong to two, But if I so presumed to dare . . .

CLAUDIUS.

Which would it be?

CHRYSANTHUS.

The one that 's fair.