The Bride of Messina (play) Read online

  Of queenly state. I will return with speed,

  And lead her home as fits Messina's princess.

  [He goes away.

  BEATRICE and the Chorus.

  Chorus (BOHEMUND).

  Fair maiden-hail to thee

  Thou lovely queen!

  Thine is the crown, and thine the victory!

  Of heroes to a distant age,

  The blooming mother thou shalt shine,

  Preserver of this kingly line.

  (ROGER).

  And thrice I bid thee hail,

  Thou happy fair!

  Sent in auspicious hour to bless

  This favored race-the god's peculiar care.

  Here twine the immortal wreaths of fame

  And evermore, from sire to son,

  Rolls on the sceptered sway,

  To heirs of old renown, a race of deathless name!

  (BOHEMUND).

  The household gods exultingly

  Thy coming wait;

  The ancient, honored sires,

  That on the portals frown sedate,

  Shall smile for thee!

  There blooming Hebe shall thy steps attend;

  And golden victory, that sits

  By Jove's eternal throne, with waving plumes

  For conquest ever spread,

  To welcome thee from heaven descend.

  (ROGER.)

  Ne'er from this queenly, bright array

  The crown of beauty fades,

  Departing to the realms of day,

  Each to the next, as good and fair,

  Extends the zone of feminine grace,

  And veil of purity:-

  Oh, happy race!

  What vision glads my raptured eye!

  Equal in nature's blooming pride,

  I see the mother and the virgin bride.

  BEATRICE (awaking from her reverie).

  Oh, luckless hour!

  Alas! ill-fated maid!

  Where shall I fly

  From these rude warlike men?

  Lost and betrayed!

  A shudder o'er me came,

  When of this race accursed-the brothers twain-

  Their hands embrued with kindred gore,

  I heard the dreaded name;

  Oft told, their strife and serpent hate

  With terror thrilled lay bosom's core:-

  And now-oh, hapless fate!

  I tremble, 'mid the rage of discord thrown,

  Deserted and alone!

  [She runs into the alcove.

  Chorus (BOHEMUND).

  Son of the immortal deities,

  And blest is he, the lord of power;

  His every joy the world can give;

  Of all that mortals prize

  He culls the flower.

  (ROGER).

  For him from ocean's azure caves

  The diver bears each pearl of purest ray;

  Whate'er from nature's boundless field

  Or toil or art has won,

  Obsequious at his feet we lay;

  His choice is ever free;

  We bow to chance, and fortune's blind decree.

  (BOHEMUND.)

  But this of princes' lot I deem

  The crowning treasure, joy supreme-

  Of love the triumph and the prize,

  The beauty, star of neighboring eyes!

  She blooms for him alone,

  He calls the fairest maid his own.

  (ROGER).

  Armed for the deadly fray,

  The corsair bounds upon the strand,

  And drags, amid the gloom of night, away,

  The shrieking captive train,

  Of wild desires the hapless prey;

  But ne'er his lawless hands profane

  The gem-the peerless flower-

  Whose charms shall deck the Sultan's bower.

  (BOHEMUND.)

  Now haste and watch, with curious eye,

  These hallowed precincts round,

  That no presumptuous foot come nigh

  The secret, solitary ground

  Guard well the maiden fair,

  Your chieftain's brightest jewel owns your care.

  [The Chorus withdraws to the background.

  [The scene changes to a chamber in the interior of the palace.

  DONNA ISABELLA between DON MANUEL and DON CAESAR.

  ISABELLA.

  The long-expected, festal day is come,

  My children's hearts are twined in one, as thus

  I fold their hands. Oh, blissful hour, when first

  A mother dares to speak in nature's voice,

  And no rude presence checks the tide of love.

  The clang of arms affrights mine ear no more;

  And as the owls, ill-omened brood of night,

  From some old, shattered homestead's ruined walls,

  Their ancient reign, fly forth a dusky swarm,

  Darkening the cheerful day; when absent long,

  The dwellers home return with joyous shouts,

  To build the pile anew; so Hate departs

  With all his grisly train; pale Envy, scowling Malice,

  And hollow-eyed Suspicion; from our gates,

  Hoarse murmuring, to the realms of night; while Peace,

  By Concord and fair Friendship led along,

  Comes smiling in his place.

  [She pauses.

  But not alone

  This day of joy to each restores a brother;

  It brings a sister! Wonderstruck you gaze!

  Yet now the truth, in silence guarded long,

  Bursts from my soul. Attend! I have a daughter!

  A sister lives, ordained by heaven to bind ye

  With ties unknown before.

  DON CAESAR.

  We have a sister!

  What hast thou said, my mother? never told

  Her being till this hour!

  DON MANUEL.

  In childhood's years,

  Oft of a sister we have heard, untimely

  Snatched in her cradle by remorseless death;

  So ran the tale.

  ISABELLA.

  She lives!

  DON CAESAR.

  And thou wert silent!

  ISABELLA.

  Hear how the seed was sown in early time,

  That now shall ripen to a joyful harvest.

  Ye bloomed in boyhood's tender age; e'en then

  By mutual, deadly hate, the bitter spring

  Of grief to this torn, anxious heart, dissevered;

  Oh, may your strife return no more! A vision,

  Strange and mysterious, in your father's breast

  Woke dire presage: it seemed that from his couch,

  With branches intertwined, two laurels grew,

  And in the midst a lily all in flames,

  That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stems,

  Burst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the house

  Spread in one mighty sea of fire: perplexed

  By this terrific dream, my husband sought

  An Arab, skilled to read the stars, and long

  The trusted oracle, whose counsels swayed

  His inmost purpose: thus the boding sage

  Spoke Fate's decrees: if I a daughter bore,

  Destruction to his sons and all his race

  From her should spring. Soon, by heaven's will, this child

  Of dreadful omen saw the light; your sire

  Commanded instant in the waves to throw

  The new-born innocent; a mother's love

  Prevailed, and, aided by a faithful servant,

  I snatched the babe from death.

  DON CAESAR.

  Blest be the hands

  The ministers of thy care! Oh, ever rich

  Of counsels was a parent's love!

  ISABELLA.

  But more

  Than Nature's mighty voice, a warning dream

  Impelled to save my child: while yet unborn

  She slumbered in my womb
, sleeping I saw

  An infant, fair as of celestial kind,

  That played upon the grass; soon from the wood

  A lion rushed, and from his gory jaws,

  Caressing, in the infant's lap let fall

  His prey, new-caught; then through the air down swept

  An eagle, and with fond caress alike

  Dropped from his claws a trembling kid, and both

  Cowered at the infant's feet, a gentle pair.

  A monk, the saintly guide whose counsels poured

  In every earthly need, the balm of heaven

  Upon my troubled soul, my dream resolved.

  Thus spoke the man of God: a daughter, sent

  To knit the warring spirits of my sons

  In bonds of tender love, should recompense

  A mother's pains! Deep in my heart I treasured

  His words, and, reckless of the Pagan seer,

  Preserved the blessed child, ordained of heaven

  To still your growing strife; sweet pledge of hope

  And messenger of peace!

  DON MANUEL (embracing his brother).

  There needs no sister

  To join our hearts; she shall but bind them closer.

  ISABELLA.

  In a lone spot obscure, by stranger hands

  Nurtured, the secret flower has grown; to me

  Denied the joy to mark each infant charm

  And opening grace from that sad hour of parting;

  These arms ne'er clasped my child again! her sire,

  To jealousy's corroding fears a prey,

  And brooding dark suspicion, restless tracked

  Each day my steps.

  DON CAESAR.

  Yet three months flown, my father

  Sleeps in the tranquil grave; say, whence delayed

  The joyous tidings? Why so long concealed

  The maid, nor earlier taught our hearts to glow

  With brother's love?

  ISABELLA.

  The cause, your frenzied hate,

  That raging unconfined, e'en on the tomb

  Of your scarce buried father, lit the flames

  Of mortal strife. What! could I throw my daughter

  Betwixt your gleaming blades? Or 'mid the storm

  Of passion would ye list a woman's counsels?

  Could she, sweet pledge of peace, of all our hopes

  The last and holy anchor, 'mid the rage

  Of discord find a home? Ye stand as brothers,

  So will I give a sister to your arms!

  The reconciling angel comes; each hour

  I wait my messenger's return; he leads her

  From her sequestered cell, to glad once more

  A mother's eyes.

  DON MANUEL.

  Nor her alone this day

  Thy arms shall fold; joy pours through all our gates;

  Soon shall the desolate halls be full, the seat

  Of every blooming grace. Now hear my secret:

  A sister thou hast given; to thee I bring

  A daughter; bless thy son! My heart has found

  Its lasting shrine: ere this day's sun has set

  Don Manuel to thy feet shall lead his bride,

  The partner of his days.

  ISABELLA.

  And to my breast

  With transport will I clasp the chosen maid

  That makes my first-born happy. Joy shall spring

  Where'er she treads, and every flower that blooms

  Around the path of life smile in her presence!

  May bliss reward the son, that for my brows

  Has twined the choicest wreath a mother wears.

  DON CAESAR.

  Yet give not all the fulness of thy blessing

  To him, thy eldest born. If love be blest,

  I, too, can give thee joy. I bring a daughter,

  Another flower for thy most treasured garland!

  The maid that in this ice-cold bosom first

  Awoke the rapturous flame! Ere yonder sun

  Declines, Don Caesar's bride shall call thee mother.

  DON MANUEL.

  Almighty Love! thou godlike power-for well

  We call thee sovereign of the breast! Thy sway

  Controls each warring element, and tunes

  To soft accord; naught lives but owns thy greatness.

  Lo! the rude soul that long defied thee melts

  At thy command!

  [He embraces DON CAESAR.

  Now I can trust thy heart,

  And joyful strain thee to a brother's arms!

  I doubt thy faith no more, for thou canst love!

  ISABELLA.

  Thrice blest the day, when every gloomy care

  From my o'erlabored breast has flown. I see

  On steadfast columns reared our kingly race,

  And with contented spirit track the stream

  Of measureless time. In these deserted halls,

  Sad in my widow's veil, but yesterday

  Childless I roamed; and soon, in youthful charms

  Arrayed, three blooming daughters at my side

  Shall stand! Oh, happiest mother! Chief of women,

  In bliss supreme; can aught of earthly joy

  O'erbalance thine?

  But say, of royal stem,

  What maidens grace our isle? For ne'er my sons

  Would stoop to meaner brides.

  DON MANUEL.

  Seek not to raise

  The veil that hides my bliss; another day

  Shall tell thee all. Enough-Don Manuel's bride

  Is worthy of thy son and thee.

  ISABELLA.

  Thy sire

  Speaks in thy words; thus to himself retired

  Forever would he brood o'er counsels dark,

  And cloak his secret purpose;-your delay

  Be short, my son.

  [Turning to DON CAESAR.

  But thou-some royal maid,

  Daughter of kings, hath stirred thy soul to love;

  So speak-her name--

  DON CAESAR.

  I have no art to veil

  My thoughts with mystery's garb-my spirit free

  And open as my brows; which thou wouldst know

  Concerned me never. What illumes above

  Heaven's flaming orb? Himself! On all the world

  He shines, and with his beaming glory tells

  From light he sprung:-in her pure eyes I gazed,

  I looked into her heart of hearts:-the brightness

  Revealed the pearl. Her race-her name-my mother,

  Ask not of me!

  ISABELLA.

  My son, explain thy words,

  For, like some voice divine, the sudden charm

  Has thralled thy soul: to deeds of rash emprise

  Thy nature prompted, not to fantasies

  Of boyish love:-tell me, what swayed thy choice?

  DON CAESAR.

  My choice? my mother! Is it choice when man

  Obeys the might of destiny, that brings

  The awful hour? I sought no beauteous bride,

  No fond delusion stirred my tranquil breast,

  Still as the house of death; for there, unsought,

  I found the treasure of my soul. Thou know'st

  That, heedless ever of the giddy race,

  I looked on beauty's charms with cold disdain,

  Nor deemed of womankind there lived another

  Like thee-whom my idolatrous fancy decked

  With heavenly graces:-

  'Twas the solemn rite

  Of my dead father's obsequies; we stood

  Amid the countless throng, with strange attire

  Hid from each other's glance; for thus ordained

  Thy thoughtful care lest with outbursting rage,

  E' en by the holy place unawed, our strife

  Should mar the funeral pomp.

  With sable gauze

  The nave was all o'erhung; the altar round

  Stood twenty giant
saints, uplifting each

  A torch; and in the midst reposed on high

  The coffin, with o'erspreading pall, that showed,

  In white, redemption's sign;-thereon were laid

  The staff of sovereignty, the princely crown,

  The golden spurs of knighthood, and the sword,

  With diamond-studded belt:-

  And all was hushed

  In silent prayer, when from the lofty choir,

  Unseen, the pealing organ spoke, and loud

  From hundred voices burst the choral strain!

  Then, 'mid the tide of song, the coffin sank

  With the descending floor beneath, forever

  Down to the world below:-but, wide outspread

  Above the yawning grave, the pall upheld

  The gauds of earthly state, nor with the corpse

  To darkness fell; yet on the seraph wings

  Of harmony, the enfranchised spirit soared

  To heaven and mercy's throne: