The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 26

INFLUENCE.

The fervent, pale-faced Mother ere she sleep, Looks out upon the zigzag-lighted square, The beautiful bare trees, the blue night-air, The revelation of the star-strewn deep, World above world, and heaven over heaven.

Between the tree-tops and the skies, her sight Rests on a steadfast, ruddy-s.h.i.+ning light, High in the tower, an earthly star of even.

Hers is the faith in saints' and angels' power, And mediating love--she breathes a prayer For yon tired watcher in the gray old tower.

He the shrewd, skeptic poet unaware Feels comforted and stilled, and knows not whence Falls this unwonted peace on heart and sense.

RESTLESSNESS.*

Would I had waked this morn where Florence smiles, A-bloom with beauty, a white rose full-blown, Yet rich in sacred dust, in storied stone, Precious past all the wealth of Indian isles-- From olive-h.o.a.ry Fiesole to feed On Brunelleschi's dome my hungry eye, And see against the lotus-colored sky, Spring the slim belfry graceful as a reed.

To kneel upon the ground where Dante trod, To breathe the air of immortality From Angelo and Raphael--TO BE-- Each sense new-quickened by a demi-G.o.d.

To hear the liquid Tuscan speech at whiles, From citizen and peasant, to behold The heaven of Leonardo washed with gold-- Would I had waked this morn where Florence smile!

*Written before visiting Florence.

THE SPAGNOLETTO.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

DON JOHN of AUSTRIA.

JOSEF RIBERA, the Spagnoletto.

LORENZO, n.o.ble young Italian artist, pupil of Ribera.

DON TOMMASO MANZANO.

LUCA, servant to Ribera.

A GENTLEMAN.

FIRST LORD.

SECOND LORD.

MARIA-ROSA, daughter to Ribera.

ANNICCA, daughter to Ribera, and wife to Don Tommaso.

FIAMETTA, servant to Maria-Rosa.

ABBESS.

LAY-SISTER.

FIRST LADY.

SECOND LADY.

Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen, Servants.

SCENE--During the first four acts, in Naples; latter part of the fifth act, in Palermo. Time, about 1655.

ACT. I.

SCENE I.

The studio of the Spagnoletto. RIBERA at work before his canvas.

MARIA seated some distance behind him; a piece of embroidery is in her hands, but she glances up from it incessantly toward her father with impatient movements.

MARIA.

Father!

(RIBERA, absorbed in his work, makes no reply; she puts by her embroidery, goes toward him and kisses him gently. He starts, looks up at her, and returns her caress).

RIBERA.

My child!

MARIA.

Already you forget, Oh, heedless father! Did you not promise me To lay aside your brush to-day at noon, And tell me the great secret?

RIBERA.

Ah, 't is true, I am to blame. But it is morning yet; My child, wait still a little.

MARIA.

'T is morning yet!

Nay, it was noon one mortal hour ago.

All patience I have sat till you should turn And beckon me. The rosy angels breathe Upon the canvas; I might sit till night, And, if I spake not, you would never glance From their celestial faces. Dear my father, Your brow is moist, and yet your hands are ice; Your very eyes are tired--pray, rest awhile.

The Spagnoletto need no longer toil As in the streets of Rome for beggars' fare; Now princes bide his pleasure.

RIBERA (throws aside his brush and palette).

Ah, Maria, Thou speak'st in season. Let me ne'er forget Those days of degradation, when I starved Before the gates of palaces. The germs Stirred then within me of the perfect fruits Wherewith my hands have since enriched G.o.d's world.

Vengeance I vowed for every moment's sting-- Vengeance on wealth, rank, station, fortune, genius.

See, while I paint, all else escapes my sense, Save this bright throng of phantasies that press Upon my brain, each claiming from my hand Its immortality. But thou, my child, Remind'st me of mine oath, my sacred pride, The eternal hatred lodged within my breast.

Philip of Spain shall wait. I will not deign To add to-day the final touch of life Unto this masterpiece.

MARIA.

So! that is well.

Put by the envious brush that separates Father from daughter. Now you are all mine own.

And now--your secret.