The Works of Frederick Schiller - novelonlinefull.com
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When will the ancient curse be stilled that weighs Upon our house? Some mocking demon sports With every new-formed hope, nor envious leaves One hour of joy. So near the haven smiled-- So smooth the treacherous main--secure I deemed My happiness: the storm was lulled; and bright In evening's l.u.s.tre gleamed the sunny sh.o.r.e!
Then through the placid air the tempest sweeps, And bears me to the roaring surge again!
[She goes into the interior of the palace, followed by DIEGO.
The Scene changes to the Garden.
Both Choruses, afterwards BEATRICE.
The Chorus of DON MANUEL enters in solemn procession, adorned with garlands, and bearing the bridal ornaments above mentioned. The Chorus of DON CAESAR opposes their entrance.
First Chorus (CAJETAN).
Begone!
Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Not at thy bidding!
CAJETAN.
Seest thou not Thy presence irks?
BOHEMUND.
Thou hast it, then, the longer!
CAJETAN.
My place is here! What arm repels me?
BOHEMUND, Mine!
CAJETAN.
Don Manuel sent me hither.
BOHEMUND.
I obey My Lord Don Caesar.
CAJETAN.
To the eldest born Thy master reverence owes.
BOHEMUND.
The world belongs To him that wins!
CAJETAN.
Unmannered knave, give place!
BOHEMUND.
Our swords be measured first!
CAJETAN.
I find thee ever A serpent in my path.
BOHEMUND.
Where'er I list Thus will I meet thee!
CAJETAN.
Say, why cam'st thou hither To spy?----
BOHEMUND.
And thou to question and command?
CAJETAN.
To parley I disdain!
BOHEMUND.
Too much I grace thee By words!
CAJETAN.
Thy hot, impetuous youth should bow To reverend age.
BOHEMUND.
Older thou art--not braver.
BEATRICE (rushing from her place of concealment).
Alas! What mean these warlike men?
CAJETAN (to BOHEMUND).
I heed not Thy threats and lofty mien.
BOHEMUND.
I serve a master Better than thine.
BEATRICE.
Alas! Should he appear!
CAJETAN.
Thou liest! Don Manuel thousandfold excels.
BOHEMUND.
In every strife the wreath of victory decks Don Caesar's brows!
BEATRICE.
Now he will come! Already The hour is past!
CAJETAN.
'Tis peace, or thou shouldst know My vengeance!
BOHEMUND.
Fear, not peace, thy arm refrains.
BEATRICE.
Oh! Were he thousand miles remote!
