The Bride of Messina (play) Read online

  Indignant viewed our bliss;-no vows enchained

  Her spotless soul; naught but the link which bound it

  Eternally to mine!

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  Those hallowed walls,

  Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,

  No living grave?

  DON MANUEL.

  In infant innocence

  Consigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she left

  Her cloistered home.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  But what her royal line?

  The noble only spring from noble stem.

  DON MANUEL.

  A secret to herself,-she ne'er has learned

  Her name or fatherland.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  And not a trace

  Guides to her being's undiscovered springs?

  DON MANUEL.

  An old domestic, the sole messenger

  Sent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks her

  Of kingly race.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  And hast thou won naught else

  From her garrulous age?

  DON MANUEL.

  Too much I feared to peril

  My secret bliss!

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  What were his words? What tidings

  He bore-perchance thou know'st.

  DON MANUEL.

  Oft he has cheered her

  With promise of a happier time, when all

  Shall be revealed.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  Oh, say-betokens aught

  The time is near?

  DON MANUEL.

  Not distant far the day

  That to the arms of kindred love once more

  Shall give the long forsaken, orphaned maid-

  Thus with mysterious words the aged man

  Has shadowed oft what most I dread-for awe

  Of change disturbs the soul supremely blest:

  Nay, more; but yesterday his message spoke

  The end of all my joys-this very dawn,

  He told, should smile auspicious on her fate,

  And light to other scenes-no precious hour

  Delayed my quick resolves-by night I bore her

  In secret to Messina.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  Rash the deed

  Of sacrilegious spoil! forgive, my prince,

  The bold rebuke; thus to unthinking youth

  Old age may speak in friendship's warning voice.

  DON MANUEL.

  Hard by the convent of the Carmelites,

  In a sequestered garden's tranquil bound,

  And safe from curious eyes, I left her,-hastening

  To meet my brother: trembling there she counts

  The slow-paced hours, nor deems how soon triumphant

  In queenly state, high on the throne of fame,

  Messina shall behold my timid bride.

  For next, encompassed by your knightly train,

  With pomp of greatness in the festal show,

  Her lover's form shall meet her wondering gaze!

  Thus will I lead her to my mother; thus-

  While countless thousands on her passage wait

  Amid the loud acclaim-the royal bride

  Shall reach my palace gates!

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  Command us, prince,

  We live but to obey!

  DON MANUEL.

  I tore myself

  Reluctant from her arms; my every thought

  Shall still be hers: so come along, my friends,

  To where the turbaned merchant spreads his store

  Of fabrics golden wrought with curious art;

  And all the gathered wealth of eastern climes.

  First choose the well-formed sandals-meet to guard

  And grace her delicate feet; then for her robe

  The tissue, pure as Etna's snow that lies

  Nearest the sun-light as the wreathy mist

  At summer dawn-so playful let it float

  About her airy limbs. A girdle next,

  Purple with gold embroidered o'er, to bind

  With witching grace the tunic that confines

  Her bosom's swelling charms: of silk the mantle,

  Gorgeous with like empurpled hues, and fixed

  With clasp of gold-remember, too, the bracelets

  To gird her beauteous arms; nor leave the treasure

  Of ocean's pearly deeps and coral caves.

  About her locks entwine a diadem

  Of purest gems-the ruby's fiery glow

  Commingling with the emerald's green. A veil,

  From her tiara pendent to her feet,

  Like a bright fleecy cloud shall circle round

  Her slender form; and let a myrtle wreath

  Crown the enchanting whole!

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  We haste, my prince.

  Amid the Bazar's glittering rows, to cull

  Each rich adornment.

  DON MANUEL.

  From my stables lead

  A palfrey, milk-white as the steeds that draw

  The chariot of the sun; purple the housings,

  The bridle sparkling o'er with precious gems,

  For it shall bear my queen! Yourselves be ready

  With trumpet's cheerful clang, in martial train

  To lead your mistress home: let two attend me,

  The rest await my quick return; and each

  Guard well my secret purpose.

  [He goes away accompanied by two of the CHORUS.

  Chorus (CAJETAN).

  The princely strife is o'er, and say,

  What sport shall wing the slow-paced hours,

  And cheat the tedious day?

  With hope and fear's enlivening zest

  Disturb the slumber of the breast,

  And wake life's dull, untroubled sea

  With freshening airs of gay variety.

  One of the Chorus (MANFRED).

  Lovely is peace! A beauteous boy,

  Couched listless by the rivulet's glassy tide,

  'Mid nature's tranquil scene,

  He views the lambs that skip with innocent joy,

  And crop the meadow's flowering pride:-

  Then with his flute's enchanting sound,

  He wakes the mountain echoes round,

  Or slumbers in the sunset's ruddy sheen,

  Lulled by the murmuring melody.

  But war for me! my spirit's treasure,

  Its, stern delight, and wilder pleasure:

  I love the peril and the pain,

  And revel in the surge of fortune's boisterous main!

  A second (BERENGAR).

  Is there not love, and beauty's smile

  That lures with soft, resistless wile?

  'Tis thrilling hope! 'tis rapturous fear

  'Tis heaven upon this mortal sphere;

  When at her feet we bend the knee,

  And own the glance of kindred ecstasy

  For ever on life's checkered way,

  'Tis love that tints the darkening hues of care

  With soft benignant ray:

  The mirthful daughter of the wave,

  Celestial Venus ever fair,

  Enchants our happy spring with fancy's gleam,

  And wakes the airy forms of passion's golden dream.

  First (MANFRED).

  To the wild woods away!

  Quick let us follow in the train

  Of her, chaste huntress of the silver bow;

  And from the rocks amain

  Track through the forest gloom the bounding roe,

  The war-god's merry bride,

  The chase recalls the battle's fray,

  And kindles victory's pride:-

  Up with the streaks of early morn,

  We scour with jocund hearts the misty vale,

  Loud echoing to the cheerful horn

  Over mountain-over dale-

  And every languid sense repair,

  Bath
ed in the rushing streams of cold, reviving air.

  Second (BERENGAR).

  Or shall we trust the ever-moving sea,

  The azure goddess, blithe and free.

  Whose face, the mirror of the cloudless sky,

  Lures to her bosom wooingly?

  Quick let us build on the dancing waves

  A floating castle gay,

  And merrily, merrily, swim away!

  Who ploughs with venturous keel the brine

  Of the ocean crystalline-

  His bride is fortune, the world his own,

  For him a harvest blooms unsown:-

  Here, like the wind that swift careers

  The circling bound of earth and sky,

  Flits ever-changeful destiny!

  Of airy chance 'tis the sportive reign,

  And hope ever broods on the boundless main

  A third (CAJETAN).

  Nor on the watery waste alone

  Of the tumultuous, heaving sea;-

  On the firm earth that sleeps secure,

  Based on the pillars of eternity.

  Say, when shall mortal joy endure?

  New bodings in my anxious breast,

  Waked by this sudden friendship, rise;

  Ne'er would I choose my home of rest

  On the stilled lava-stream, that cold

  Beneath the mountain lies

  Not thus was discord's flame controlled-

  Too deep the rooted hate-too long

  They brooded in their sullen hearts

  O'er unforgotten, treasured wrong. In warning visions oft dismayed,

  I read the signs of coming woe;

  And now from this mysterious maid

  My bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow:

  Unblest, I deem, the bridal chain

  Shall knit their secret loves, accursed

  With holy cloisters' spoil profane.

  No crooked paths to virtue lead;

  Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed!

  BERENGAR.

  And thus to sad unhallowed rites

  Of an ill-omened nuptial tie,

  Too well ye know their father bore

  A bride of mournful destiny,

  Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has sped

  Heaven's vengeance on the impious bed!

  This fierce, unnatural rage atones

  A parent's crime-decreed by fate,

  Their mother's offspring, strife and hate!

  [The scene changes to a garden opening on the sea.

  BEATRICE (steps forward from an alcove. She walks to and fro with an

  agitated air, looking round in every direction. Suddenly she

  stands still and listens).

  No! 'tis not he: 'twas but the playful wind

  Rustling the pine-tops. To his ocean bed

  The sun declines, and with o'erwearied heart

  I count the lagging hours: an icy chill

  Creeps through my frame; the very solitude

  And awful silence fright my trembling soul!

  Where'er I turn naught meets my gaze-he leaves me

  Forsaken and alone!

  And like a rushing stream the city's hum

  Floats on the breeze, and dull the mighty sea

  Rolls murmuring to the rocks: I shrink to nothing

  With horrors compassed round; and like the leaf,

  Borne on the autumn blast, am hurried onward

  Through boundless space.

  Alas! that e'er I left

  My peaceful cell-no cares, no fond desires

  Disturbed my breast, unruffled as the stream

  That glides in sunshine through the verdant mead:

  Nor poor in joys. Now-on the mighty surge

  Of fortune, tempest-tossed-the world enfolds me

  With giant arms! Forgot my childhood's ties

  I listened to the lover's flattering tale-

  Listened, and trusted! From the sacred dome

  Allured-betrayed-for sure some hell-born magic

  Enchained my frenzied sense-I fled with him,

  The invader of religion's dread abodes!

  Where art thou, my beloved? Haste-return-

  With thy dear presence calm my struggling soul!

  [She listens.

  Hark! the sweet voice! No! 'twas the echoing surge

  That beats upon the shore; alas! he comes not.

  More faintly, o'er the distant waves, the sun

  Gleams with expiring ray; a deathlike shudder

  Creeps to my heart, and sadder, drearier grows

  E'en desolation's self.

  [She walks to and fro, and then listens again.

  Yes! from the thicket shade

  A voice resounds! 'tis he! the loved one!

  No fond illusion mocks my listening ear.

  'Tis louder-nearer: to his arms I fly-

  To his breast!

  [She rushes with outstretched arms to the extremity

  of the garden. DON CAESAR meets her.

  DON CASAR. BEATRICE.

  BEATRICE (starting back in horror)

  What do I see?

  [At the same moment the Chorus comes forward.

  DON CAESAR.

  Angelic sweetness! fear not.

  [To the Chorus.

  Retire! your gleaming arms and rude array

  Affright the timorous maid.

  [To BEATRICE.

  Fear nothing! beauty

  And virgin shame are sacred in my eyes.

  [The Chorus steps aside. He approaches and takes her hand.

  Where hast thou been? for sure some envious power

  Has hid thee from my gaze: long have I sought thee:

  E'en from the hour when 'mid the funeral rites

  Of the dead prince, like some angelic vision,

  Lit with celestial brightness, on my sight

  Thou shonest, no other image in my breast

  Waking or dreaming, lives; nor to thyself

  Unknown thy potent spells; my glance of fire,

  My faltering accents, and my hand that lay

  Trembling in thine, bespoke my ecstasy!

  Aught else with solemn majesty the rite

  And holy place forbade:

  The bell proclaimed

  The awful sacrifice! With downcast eyes,

  And kneeling I adored: soon as I rose,

  And caught with eager gaze thy form again,

  Sudden it vanished; yet, with mighty magic

  Of love enchained, my spirit tracked thy presence;

  Nor ever, with unwearied quest, I cease

  At palace gates, amid the temple's throng,

  In secret paths retired, or public scenes,

  Where beauteous innocence perchance might rove,

  To mark each passing form-in vain; but, guided

  By some propitious deity this day

  One of my train, with happy vigilance,

  Espied thee in the neighboring church.

  [BEATRICE, who had stood trembling with averted eyes,

  here makes a gesture of terror.

  I see thee

  Once more; and may the spirit from this frame

  Be severed ere we part! Now let me snatch

  This glad, auspicious moment, and defy

  Or chance, or envious demon's power, to shake

  Henceforth my solid bliss; here I proclaim thee,

  Before this listening warlike train my bride,

  With pledge of knightly honors!

  [He shows her to the Chorus.

  Who thou art,

  I ask not: thou art mine! But that thy soul

  And birth are pure alike one glance informed

  My inmost heart; and though thy lot were mean,

  And poor thy lowly state, yet would I strain thee

  With rapture to my arms: no choice remains,

  Thou art my love-my wife! Know too, that lifted

  On fortune's height, I spurn control; my will

  Can raise thee to the
pinnacle of greatness-

  Enough my name-I am Don Caesar! None

  Is nobler in Messina!

  [BEATRICE starts back in amazement. He remarks her agitation,

  and after a pause continues.

  What a grace

  Lives in thy soft surprise and modest silence!

  Yes! gentle humbleness is beauty's crown-

  The beautiful forever hid, and shrinking

  From its own lustre: but thy spirit needs

  Repose, for aught of strange-e'en sudden joy-

  Is terror-fraught. I leave thee.

  [Turning to the Chorus.

  From this hour

  She is your mistress, and my bride; so teach her

  With honors due to entertain the pomp