Thy sire and I will crush the snake ! He kiss'd her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine in maiden wise, Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine She turn'd her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again; And folded her arms across her chest, And couch'd her head upon her breast, And look'd askance at Christabel-- Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each slırunk up to a serpent's eye,
And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she look'd askance:- One moment-and the sight was fled! But Christabel, in dizzy trance Stumbling on the unsteady ground, Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turn'd round, And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, She roll'd her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees-no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind:
And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate! And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance With forced unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view-
As far as such a look could be, In eyes so innocent and blue. And when the trance was o'er, the maid Paused awhile, and inly pray'd: Then falling at the Baron's feet, • By my mother's soul do I entreat That thou this woman send away!» She said: and more she could not say; For what she knew she could not tell, O'er-master'd by the mighty spell.
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so mild;
The same, for whom thy lady died. O by the pangs of her dear mother, Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She pray'd the moment ere she died; Pray'd that the babe for whom she died Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine?
Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts like these had any share, They only swell'd his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. Ilis heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild, Dishonour'd thus in his old age; Dishonour'd by his only child, And all his hospitality
To the insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He roll'd his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere, Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? I bade thee hence! The bard obey'd; And, turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine!
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
A LITTLE child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness, Perhaps 't is pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 't is tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true)! Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it 's most used to do.
A portrait which she had procured by stealth (For even then it seems her heart foreboded Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry),
A portrait of herself with thrilling hand She tied around my neck, conjuring me With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred To my own knowledge: nor did she desist, Till she had won a solemn promise from me, That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
My own life wearied me!
And but for the imperative Voice within,
With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen.
That Voice, which quell'd me, calm'd me and I sought The Belgic states: there join'd the better cause; And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like trance: a long imprisonment follow'd. The fulness of my anguish by degrees Waned to a meditative melancholy;
And still, the more I mused, my soul became More doubtful, more perplex'd; and still Teresa, Night after night, she visited my sleep, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me! Yes, still, as in contempt of proof and reason, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless! Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.- The Moorish robes?-
I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son And Alvar's brother.
Love him for himself,
Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez; But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul
With that same look, with which he gave thee to me; I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fix'd her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, And with slow anguish wear away thy life,
The victim of a useless constancy.
I must not see thee wretched.
Ill barter'd for the garishness of joy!
If it be wretched with an untired eye
To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;
Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,
My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze,
To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again
All past hours of delight! If it be wretched
To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, To go through each minutest circumstance Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them; (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and play'd the self-same tune He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow Herself had made) - if this be wretchedness, And if indeed it be a wretched thing
To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died, died just ere his return! Then see him listening to my constancy, Or hover round, as he at midnight oft
Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing halfplayful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.
My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the inquisition
Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessen'd by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name,
Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevail'd with me that--
Three years ago, three years this very week, You left him at Almeria.
Palpably false! This very week, three years ago, my lord (You needs must recollect it by your wound), You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar!
[TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and horror. ORDONIO's appearance to be collected from what follows.
MONVIEDRO (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO). What! is he ill, my lord? how strange he looks! VALDEZ (angrily).
You press'd upon him too abruptly, father, The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. ORDONIO (starting as in sudden agitation). O Heavens! I1-I doted? (then recovering himself). Yes! I doted on him. [ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage, VALDEZ follows, soothing him.
TERESA (her eye following ORDONIO). I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought Should force itself upon me?-Yet I feel it!
Not till my husband 's free! I may not do it. I will stay here.
VALDEZ.
Daughter!
TERESA.
With your permission, my dear lord, I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze.
[Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO, and ORDONΙΟ.
Hah! there he goes! a bitter curse go with him, A scathing curse!
(Then as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look.) You hate him, don't you, lady? TERESA (perceiving that ALHADRA is conscious she has spoken imprudently). Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you.
These fell inquisitors! these sons of blood! As I came on, his face so madden'd me, That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger And half unsheathed it-
Be more calm, I pray you.
And as he walk'd along the narrow path Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager; 'T was with hard toil I made myself remember That his Familiars held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, O, it had been most sweet!
Where is your woman's heart?
O gentle lady! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Many and strange! Besides (ironically), I am a Chris
And Christians never pardon-'t is their faith!
Shame fall on those who so have shown it to thee!
I know that man; 't is well he knows not me. Five years ago (and he was the prime agent), Five years age the holy brethren seized me.
What might your crime be?
They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison-house. Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, It was a toil to breathe it! when the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. Oh miserable! by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread Brought daily: for the little wretch was sickly- My rage had dried away its natural food. In darkness I remain'd-the dull bell counting,
« ForrigeFortsett » |