The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 39

_Doge_. That can ne'er be.

And whither would you fly?

_Mar._ I know not, reck not-- To Syria, Egypt, to the Ottoman-- 380 Any where, where we might respire unfettered, And live nor girt by spies, nor liable To edicts of inquisitors of state.

_Doge_. What, wouldst thou have a renegade for husband, And turn him into traitor?

_Mar._ He is none!

The Country is the traitress, which thrusts forth Her best and bravest from her. Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The Prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more 390 A brigand than the robber-chief.

_Doge_. I cannot Charge me with such a breach of faith.

_Mar_ No; thou Observ'st, obey'st such laws as make old Draco's A code of mercy by comparison.

_Doge_. I found the law; I did not make it. Were I A subject, still I might find parts and portions Fit for amendment; but as Prince, I never Would change, for the sake of my house, the charter Left by our fathers.

_Mar._ Did they make it for The ruin of their children?

_Doge_. Under such laws, Venice 400 Has risen to what she is--a state to rival In deeds, and days, and sway, and, let me add, In glory (for we have had Roman spirits Amongst us), all that history has bequeathed Of Rome and Carthage in their best times, when The people swayed by Senates.

_Mar._ Rather say, Groaned under the stern Oligarchs.

_Doge_. Perhaps so; But yet subdued the World: in such a state An individual, be he richest of Such rank as is permitted, or the meanest, 410 Without a name, is alike nothing, when The policy, irrevocably tending To one great end, must be maintained in vigour.

_Mar._ This means that you are more a Doge than father.

_Doge_. It means, I am more citizen than either.

If we had not for many centuries Had thousands of such citizens, and shall, I trust, have still such, Venice were no city.

_Mar._ Accursed be the city where the laws Would stifle Nature's!

_Doge_. Had I as many sons 420 As I have years, I would have given them all, Not without feeling, but I would have given them To the State's service, to fulfil her wishes, On the flood, in the field, or, if it must be, As it, alas! has been, to ostracism, Exile, or chains, or whatsoever worse She might decree.

_Mar._ And this is Patriotism?

To me it seems the worst barbarity.

Let me seek out my husband: the sage "Ten,"

With all its jealousy, will hardly war 430 So far with a weak woman as deny me A moment's access to his dungeon.

_Doge_. I'll So far take on myself, as order that You may be admitted.

_Mar._ And what shall I say To Foscari from his father?

_Doge_. That he obey The laws.

_Mar._ And nothing more? Will you not see him Ere he depart? It may be the last time.

_Doge_. The last!--my boy!--the last time I shall see My last of children! Tell him I will come. [_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_The prison of_ JACOPO FOSCARI.

_Jac. Fos._ (_solus_).

No light, save yon faint gleam which shows me walls Which never echoed but to Sorrow's sounds,[58]

The sigh of long imprisonment, the step Of feet on which the iron clanked the groan Of Death, the imprecation of Despair!

And yet for this I have returned to Venice, With some faint hope, 'tis true, that Time, which wears The marble down, had worn away the hate Of men's hearts; but I knew them not, and here Must I consume my own, which never beat 10 For Venice but with such a yearning as The dove has for her distant nest, when wheeling High in the air on her return to greet Her callow brood. What letters are these which [_Approaching the wall_.

Are scrawled along the inexorable wall?

Will the gleam let me trace them? Ah! the names Of my sad predecessors in this place,[59]

The dates of their despair, the brief words of A grief too great for many. This stone page Holds like an epitaph their history; 20 And the poor captive's tale is graven on His dungeon barrier, like the lover's record Upon the bark of some tall tree,[60] which bears His own and his beloved's name. Alas!

I recognise some names familiar to me, And blighted like to mine, which I will add, Fittest for such a chronicle as this, Which only can be read, as writ, by wretches.[bk]

[_He engraves his name_.

_Enter a Familiar of "the Ten."_

_Fam._ I bring you food.

_Jac. Fos._ I pray you set it down; I am past hunger: but my lips are parched-- 30 The water!

_Fam._ There.

_Jac. Fos._ (_after drinking_). I thank you: I am better.

_Fam._ I am commanded to inform you that Your further trial is postponed.

_Jac. Fos._ Till when?

_Fam._ I know not.--It is also in my orders That your ill.u.s.trious lady be admitted.

_Jac. Fos._ Ah! they relent, then--I had ceased to hope it: 'Twas time.

_Enter_ MARINA.

_Mar._ My best beloved!

_Jac. Fos._ (_embracing her_). My true wife, And only friend! What happiness!

_Mar._ We'll part No more.

_Jac. Fos._ How! would'st thou share a dungeon?

_Mar._ Aye, The rack, the grave, all--any thing with thee, 40 But the tomb last of all, for there we shall Be ignorant of each other, yet I will Share that--all things except new separation; It is too much to have survived the first.

How dost thou? How are those worn limbs? Alas!

Why do I ask? Thy paleness----

_Jac. Fos._ 'Tis the joy Of seeing thee again so soon, and so Without expectancy, has sent the blood Back to my heart, and left my cheeks like thine, For thou art pale too, my Marina!

_Mar._ 'Tis 50 The gloom of this eternal cell, which never Knew sunbeam, and the sallow sullen glare Of the familiar's torch, which seems akin[bl]