The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 34

DON JOHN.

To-morrow, then.

Or I should say to-day, for dawn is nigh.

RIBERA.

And still we trespa.s.s. Be it as you will; We are your servants.

MARIA.

So, my lord, good-night.

[Exeunt MARIA and RIBERA.]

DON JOHN (alone).

G.o.ds, what a haughty devil rules that man!

As though two equal princes interchanged Imperial courtesies! The Spagnoletto Thanks John of Austria! Louis of France Might so salute may father. By heaven, I know not What patience or what reverence withheld My enchafed spirit in bounds of courtesy.

Nay, it was she, mine angel, whose mere aspect Is balm and blessing. How her love-lit eyes Burned through my soul! How her soft hand's slight pressure Tingled along my veins! Oh, she is worthy A heart' religion! How shall I wear the hours Ere I may seek her? Lo, I stand and dream, While my late guests await me. Patience, patience!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III.

Morning twilight in RIBERA'S Garden. During this scene the day gradually breaks, and at the close the full light of morning illuminates the stage. LORENZO.

AUBADE.

LORENZO (sings).

From thy poppied sleep awake; From they golden dreams arise; Earth and seas new colors take, Love-light dawns in rosy skies, Weird night's fantastic shadows are outworn; Why tarriest thou, oh, sister to the morn?

Hearken, love! the matin choir Of birds salutes thee, and with these Blends the voice of my desire.

Unto no richer promises Of deeper, dearer, holier love than mine, Canst thou awaken from they dreams divine.

Lo, thine eastern windows flame, Brightening with the brightened sky; Rise, and with thy beauty shame Morning's regal pageantry, To thrill and bless as the reviving sun, For my heart gropes in doubt, though night be gone.

(He speaks.) Why should I fear? Her soul is pledged to mine, Albeit she still withheld the binding word.

How long hath been the night! but morn breathes hope.

"I fain were true to you and to myself"-- Did she say thus? or is my fevered brain The fool of its desires? The world swam; The blood rang beating in mine ears and roared Like rus.h.i.+ng waters; yet, as through a dream, I saw her dimly. Surely on her lids Shone the clear tears. As there's a G.o.d in heaven, She spake those words! My lips retain the touch Of those soft, snow-cold hands, neither refused Nor proffered. Such things ARE, nor can they be Forgotten or foreknown. Yes, she is mine.

But soft! Her cas.e.m.e.nt opes. Oh, joy, 't is she!

Pale, in a cloud of white she stands and drinks The morning sunlight.

MARIA (above at the window).

Ah, how sweet this air Kisses my sleepless lids and burning temples.

I am not weary, though I found no rest.

My spirit leaps within me; a new glory Blesses the dear, familiar scene--ripe orchard, The same--yet oh, how different! Even I thought Soft music trembled on the listening air, As though a harp were touched, blent with low song.

Sure, that was phantasy. I will descend, Visit my flowers, and see whereon the dew Hangs heaviest, and what fairest bud hath bloomed Since yester-eve. Why should I court repose And dull forgetfulness, while the large earth Wakes no lesser joy than mine?

[Exit from above.]

LORENZO.

Oh, heart!

How may my breast contain thee, with thy burden Of too much happiness?

Enter MARIA below; LORENZO springs forward to greet her; she shrinks back in a sort of terror.

LORENZO.

Good-day, sweet mistress.

May the blithe spirit of this auspicious morn Become the genius of thy days to come, Whereof be none less beautiful than this.

Why art thou silent? Does not love inspire Joyous expression, be it but a sigh, A song, a smile, a broken word, a cry?

Thou hast not granted me the promised pledge For which I hunger still. I would confirm With dear avowals, frequent seals of love, That which, though sure, I yet can scarce believe.

MARIA.

Somewhat too sure, I think, my lord Lorenzo.

I scarce deemed possible that one so shy But yester-morn should hold so high a mien, Claiming what ne'er was given.

LORENZO.

Maria!

MARIA.

Sir, You are a trifle bold to speak my name Familiarly as no man, save my father Or my own brother, dares.

LORENZO.

Ah, now I see Your jest. You will not seem so lightly won Without a wooing? You will feign disdain, Only to make more sweet your rich concession?

Too late--I heard it all. "A new light s.h.i.+nes On the familiar scene." What may that be, Save the strange splendor of the dawn of love?

Nay, darling, cease to jest, lest my poor heart, Hanging 'twixt h.e.l.l and heaven, in earnest break.

MARIA.

Here is no jest, sir, but a fatal error, Crying for swift correction. You surprise me With rude impatience, ere I have found time To con a gentle answer. Pardon me If any phrase or word or glance of mine Hath bred or nourished in your heart a hope That you might win my love. It cannot be.

LORENZO.

A word, a glance! Why, the whole frozen statue Warmed into life. Surely it was not you.

You must have bribed some angel with false prayers To wear your semblance--nay, no angel served, But devilish witchcraft--

MARIA.

Sir, enough, enough!