The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 24

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Our rebel cousin hither comes with word Of her departure from our city.--Hence, To-morrow, by the saffron-breaking dawn, To Venice she returns. I urge in vain Some further hindrance.--Wilt thou again make suit To lady's ear, and win her stay?

DUKE.

To-morrow!

"Let then to-morrow come if e'er it may; But when to-morrow comes, 'tis still to-day-- To-morrow go, and thou art never gone, Till yon to-morrow and to-day are one!"

HERMIONE.

I must hence: Urge me not further.

DUKE.

Nay, I urge thee not.

My will in Mantua e'er was held injunction.

I'll be thy tyrant, lady--thy stern keeper.

This day, within our palace, thou shalt be, If willing and obedient, our guest: If stubborn and self-will'd, our prisoner!

I'll compa.s.s thee with such delicious chains, Thou shalt not wish e'en thine own thought were free!

HERMIONE.

Your guest this day, the last I spend in Mantua.

The night I give to Laura.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

This proud night Shall so out-mimic day, thou shalt not guess When night hath drawn the twilight to his bosom.

_Enter SYLVIO._

SYLVIO (_aside to the DUKE_).

The guard hath yet no tidings; The woman hides her warily.

DUKE.

Not yet!

I would, ere night, this mumming witch were found.

Without the walls perchance she lurks. Command Their search unto the outskirts: large reward Will follow their success. [_Exit SYLVIO._

d.u.c.h.eSS.

At this inviting hour, we taste The fragrance from our incense-breathing flowers: My lord, attend you us?

The roses are fresh sprinkled,--the soft breeze Comes heavily from their odour-blus.h.i.+ng heads, Faint and oppress'd with its delicious burden.

DUKE.

My spouse hath set her love on some tall poppy, Some velvet-cheek'd, young tulip; drinking nectar From his soft, balmy lip. I must be jealous Of these same gentle favours.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

You shall attend Our fragrant courts.h.i.+p--the unwitting pander To my stolen pleasures. Ah, my lord! what mean you?

Comes that dark frown to me, or to my lovers?

DUKE.

Nothing, Beatrice,--a pa.s.sing jest,--'tis gone,-- I needs must frown when I am jealous. Now, Fair dames, I would attend you. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Wood._

_ZORAYDA, sitting at the foot of an oak._

ZORAYDA.

An outcast from an outcast race,--spurn'd, chid, From the churl's threshold. Shunn'd, unbless'd by all: Nor home nor heritance--I live, alone, Without a.s.sociate, tie, or fellows.h.i.+p E'en to my kin. I might from these consist Of other nature; other substance might Enfold my spirit,--other shape Envelope me, than wraps the affrighted herd Who stand aloof and gaze! Th' inanimate forms, Nature's unchisel'd workmans.h.i.+p--unsullied By man's rude contact--'tis with these I hold Converse and high communion; And from the spirit that lives in them, free And uncommunicable intercourse My soul receives. In all things there exists Distinct peculiar essence, like the soul Our being animates; at seasons oft, In presence, though unseen, yet to the mind Internal, manifest, imparting there Miraculous influence. In secret, too-- The bodily eye, from grosser matter freed,-- In shape as palpable they come, as doth Each outward image rise to corporeal sense.

I am not mad. The heated brain creates not These uncall'd phantoms: yet men say I'm crazed.

They know not, dream not, of the mighty world That lives around them. Other orbs might hold us!

--By mine art, with potent spell, And wily stratagem, the Duke I've warn'd.

Hermione--proud victim! Love unhallow'd Yet lingers in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and they must sever, Though one heart break in that most cruel parting!

There's a foul taint of murder in the wind-- I do suspect her lover--yon Venetian, Her suitor once--rejected. Such revenge Will ofttimes rouse the spirit up to mischief, Loathing, it would abhor e'en if beheld But as a guilty dream. If this fond Duke Seek not again her presence I have hope.

To-morrow she departs from Mantua-- No power can harm thee, save in that brief s.p.a.ce Appointed with thy birth. Here comes my spy: The urchin loves me for the good he owes.

_Enter GIULIO._

Welcome, boy!

Thine errand?

GIULIO.

Some whisperings I've caught, Yet know not to what purpose they should tend.

I heard "to-night," twice to each listener told, And oft a cautious glance where I but stood, Tuning my simple lute. As thou hast bid me, With careful eye, note well their secret converse, I hasten'd with the news: and now, good mother, Say me farewell.

ZORAYDA.

A toward child; Great largess thou mayest earn for thy discourse: Hence! lest this absence tell what thine excuse May not conceal. [_Exit GIULIO._ To-night!--I'll watch. This hour of danger past, I'll pledge me to thy safety. n.o.ble Mantua, In that dread day, my parent's forfeit life When thou didst spare, I vow'd to seek thy welfare; And my good power, for thee and for thine house, Hath not its use in vain. Yet, I do fear The issue of this night: the vision told Mortal conclusion nigh--"_They will not hear_ "_Warning oft utter'd, but impetuous rush,_ "_Unheeding, to their doom._"

Perchance some hidden meaning lurks beneath This fearful message; an ambiguous sense, Its proper import framing, when the event From which it springs, like day-betokening morn, Is past. His death it may not show. I'll save thee, Or my destruction----soft!--the tramp of men: Scouts, peradventure, on my track. Go, follow The wild bee to its nest!--or to yon cliff Climb with the eagle!--then ye mark my course! [_Exit._

_Enter CARLOS and BERTRAND, meeting._

BERTRAND.

My messenger brings welcome news: to-day Hermione again visits the palace.

Till this dim light shall fade, her promised stay-- But the first watch of night, perchance, may find This cuckoo harbour'd yet in others' nest!

CARLOS.

'Tis well:--our friends with the opportunity Alone are arm'd; and as the time may note Their several parts. From the west turret The accomplice issue signal, if to-night The Duke refreshes in the mountain-breeze, As 'tis his wont, around the platform. When Upon its staff the turret pennon sinks (The moon to this good signal will suffice), We climb the unguarded stair, and it conducts To our dark enterprise. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Part of the Platform, sloping to the Palace Walls._

_Enter DUKE, d.u.c.h.eSS, HERMIONE, RIDOLFI._

DUKE.

We love these moon-lit walks, Hermione, Whilst in her wane: you like her visage best, Perchance, increasing. More I love to mark Her gradual decay--retreating coy, And half aside, as if ashamed to meet The full gaze of the sun.

HERMIONE.

I love the waxing Yet rather than the wane of yon pale light: Like timid maid, when first her opening charms Meet love's warm beam. Scarce on the wanton boy She dares to gaze, till, bolder grown, her eye Averted still, or half withdrawn, drinks in, With silent ecstacy, love's treacherous glance.

Now his fond smile, full orb'd, the embolden'd sight Enamour'd meets: her very being, essence, And every faculty absorb--each thought Rising impregn'd with love's fierce fire; anon There comes a change--shy gleams succeed, her brow Hath one slight shade, scarce seen, but on its light The darkness grows--love's brightest dream is o'er, And his pale taper quench'd in utter gloom!