Читать книгу The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 2

   Forth from my silent chamber's deep recesses,

   Gray Fathers of the State, unwillingly

   I come; and, shrinking from your gaze, uplift

   The veil that shades my widowed brows: the light

   And glory of my days is fled forever!

   And best in solitude and kindred gloom

   To hide these sable weeds, this grief-worn frame,

   Beseems the mourner's heart. A mighty voice

   Inexorable – duty's stern command,

   Calls me to light again.

                Not twice the moon

   Has filled her orb since to the tomb ye bore

   My princely spouse, your city's lord, whose arm

   Against a world of envious foes around

   Hurled fierce defiance! Still his spirit lives

   In his heroic sons, their country's pride:

   Ye marked how sweetly from their childhood's bloom

   They grew in joyous promise to the years

   Of manhood's strength; yet in their secret hearts,

   From some mysterious root accursed, upsprung

   Unmitigable, deadly hate, that spurned

   All kindred ties, all youthful, fond affections,

   Still ripening with their thoughtful age; not mine

   The sweet accord of family bliss; though each

   Awoke a mother's rapture; each alike

   Smiled at my nourishing breast! for me alone

   Yet lives one mutual thought, of children's love;

   In these tempestuous souls discovered else

   By mortal strife and thirst of fierce revenge.

   While yet their father reigned, his stern control

   Tamed their hot spirits, and with iron yoke

   To awful justice bowed their stubborn will:

   Obedient to his voice, to outward seeming

   They calmed their wrathful mood, nor in array

   Ere met, of hostile arms; yet unappeased

   Sat brooding malice in their bosoms' depths;

   They little reek of hidden springs whose power

   Can quell the torrent's fury: scarce their sire

   In death had closed his eyes, when, as the spark

   That long in smouldering embers sullen lay,

   Shoots forth a towering flame; so unconfined

   Burst the wild storm of brothers' hate triumphant

   O'er nature's holiest bands. Ye saw, my friends,

   Your country's bleeding wounds, when princely strife

   Woke discord's maddening fires, and ranged her sons

   In mutual deadly conflict; all around

   Was heard the clash of arms, the din of carnage,

   And e'en these halls were stained with kindred gore.

   Torn was the state with civil rage, this heart

   With pangs that mothers feel; alas, unmindful

   Of aught but public woes, and pitiless

   You sought my widow's chamber – there with taunts

   And fierce reproaches for your country's ills

   From that polluted spring of brother's hate

   Derived, invoked a parent's warning voice,

   And threatening told of people's discontent

   And princes' crimes! "Ill-fated land! now wasted

   By thy unnatural sons, ere long the prey

   Of foeman's sword! Oh, haste," you cried, "and end

   This strife! bring peace again, or soon Messina

   Shall bow to other lords." Your stern decree

   Prevailed; this heart, with all a mother's anguish

   O'erlabored, owned the weight of public cares.

   I flew, and at my children's feet, distracted,

   A suppliant lay; till to my prayers and tears

   The voice of nature answered in their breasts!

   Here in the palace of their sires, unarmed,

   In peaceful guise Messina shall behold

   The long inveterate foes; this is the day!

   E'en now I wait the messenger that brings

   The tidings of my sons' approach: be ready

   To give your princes joyful welcome home

   With reverence such as vassals may beseem.

   Bethink ye to fulfil your subject duties,

   And leave to better wisdom weightier cares.

   Dire was their strife to them, and to the State

   Fruitful of ills; yet, in this happy bond

   Of peace united, know that they are mighty

   To stand against a world in arms, nor less

   Enforce their sovereign will against yourselves.

               Diego!

                   Honored mistress!

   Old faithful servant, then true heart, come near me;

   Sharer of all a mother's woes, be thine

   The sweet communion of her joys: my treasure

   Shrined in thy heart, my dear and holy secret

   Shall pierce the envious veil, and shine triumphant

   To cheerful day; too long by harsh decrees,

   Silent and overpowered, affection yet

   Shall utterance find in Nature's tones of rapture!

   And this imprisoned heart leap to the embrace

   Of all it holds most dear, returned to glad

   My desolate halls;

             So bend thy aged steps

   To the old cloistered sanctuary that guards

   The darling of my soul, whose innocence

   To thy true love (sweet pledge of happier days)!

   Trusting I gave, and asked from fortune's storm

   A resting place and shrine. Oh, in this hour

   Of bliss; the dear reward of all thy cares.

   Give to my longing arms my child again!

   Haste! be thy footsteps winged with joy – I hear

   The trumpet's blast, that tells in warlike accents

   My sons are near:

             Messina is awake!

   Hark! how the stream of tongues hoarse murmuring

   Rolls on the breeze, – 'tis they! my mother's heart

   Feels their approach, and beats with mighty throes

   Responsive to the loud, resounding march!

   They come! they come! my children! oh, my children!

      I greet ye, glittering halls

       Of olden time

      Cradle of kings! Hail! lordly roof,

       In pillared majesty sublime!

         Sheathed be the sword!

       In chains before the portal lies

      The fiend with tresses snake-entwined,

       Fell Discord! Gently treat the inviolate floor!

         Peace to this royal dome!

       Thus by the Furies' brood we swore,

      And all the dark, avenging Deities!

      I rage! I burn! and scarce refrain

       To lift the glittering steel on high,

      For, lo! the Gorgon-visaged train

       Of the detested foeman nigh:

      Shall I my swelling heart control?

       To parley deign – or still in mortal strife

      The tumult of my soul?

      Dire sister, guardian of the spot, to thee

      Awe-struck I bend the knee,

      Nor dare with arms profane thy deep tranquillity!

       Welcome the peaceful strain!

      Together we adore the guardian power

      Of these august abodes!

       Sacred the hour

      To kindred brotherly ties

      And reverend, holy sympathies; —

      Our hearts the genial charm shall own,

      And melt awhile at friendship's soothing tone: —

       But when in yonder plain

      We meet – then peace away!

      Come gleaming arms, and battle's deadly fray!

      But when in yonder plain

      We meet – then peace away!

      Come gleaming arms, and battle's deadly fray!

      I hate thee not – nor call thee foe,

      My brother! this our native earth,

      The land that gave our fathers birth: —

      Of chief's behest the slave decreed,

      The vassal draws the sword at need,

      For chieftain's rage we strike the blow,

      For stranger lords our kindred blood must flow.

      Hate fires their souls – we ask not why; —

      At honor's call to fight and die,

      Boast of the true and brave!

      Unworthy of a soldier's name

      Who burns not for his chieftain's fame!

      Unworthy of a soldier's name

      Who burns not for his chieftain's fame!

      Thus spoke within my bosom's core

       The thought – as hitherward I strayed;

      And pensive 'mid the waving store,

       I mused, of autumn's yellow glade: —

      These gifts of nature's bounteous reign, —

      The teeming earth, and golden grain,

      Yon elms, among whose leaves entwine

      The tendrils of the clustering vine; —

      Gay children of our sunny clime, —

      Region of spring's eternal prime!

      Each charm should woo to love and joy,

      No cares the dream of bliss annoy,

      And pleasure through life's summer day

      Speed every laughing hour away.

      We rage in blood, – oh, dire disgrace!

      For this usurping, alien race;

      From some far distant land they came,

      Beyond the sun's departing flame.

      And owned upon our friendly shore

      The welcome of our sires of yore.

      Alas! their sons in thraldom pine,

      The vassals of this stranger line.

      Yes! pleased, on our land, from his azure way,

      The sun ever smiles with unclouded ray.

      But never, fair isle, shall thy sons repose

      'Mid the sweets which the faithless waves enclose.

      On their bosom they wafted the corsair bold,

      With his dreaded barks to our coast of old.

      For thee was thy dower of beauty vain,

      'Twas the treasure that lured the spoiler's train.

      Oh, ne'er from these smiling vales shall rise

      A sword for our vanquished liberties;

      'Tis not where the laughing Ceres reigns,

      And the jocund lord of the flowery plains: —

      Where the iron lies hid in the mountain cave,

      Is the cradle of empire – the home of the brave!

      Lift high the notes of praise!

       Behold! where lies the awakening sun,

      She comes, and from her queenly brow

       Shoots glad, inspiring rays.

        Mistress, we bend to thee!

      Fair is the moon amid the starry choir

       That twinkle o'er the sky,

       Shining in silvery, mild tranquillity; —

      The mother with her sons more fair!

       See! blooming at her side,

      She leads the royal, youthful pair;

       With gentle grace, and soft, maternal pride,

       Attempering sweet their manly fire.

      From this fair stem a beauteous tree

       With ever-springing boughs shall smile,

       And with immortal verdure shade our isle;

      Mother of heroes, joy to thee!

      Triumphant as the sun thy kingly race

       Shall spread from clime to clime,

       And give a deathless name to rolling time!

   Look down! benignant Queen of Heaven, and still,

   This proud tumultuous heart, that in my breast

   Swells with a mother's tide of ecstasy,

   As blazoned in these noble youths, my image

   More perfect shows; – Oh, blissful hour! the first

   That comprehends the fulness of my joy,

   When long-constrained affection dares to pour

   In unison of transport from my heart,

   Unchecked, a parent's undivided love:

   Oh! it was ever one – my sons were twain.

   Say – shall I revel in the dreams of bliss,

   And give my soul to Nature's dear emotions?

   Is this warm pressure of thy brother's hand

   A dagger in thy breast?

                Or when my eyes

   Feed on that brow with love's enraptured gaze,

   Is it a wrong to thee?

               Trembling, I pause,

   Lest e'en affection's breath should wake the fires

   Of slumbering hate.

              Speak! In your secret hearts

   What purpose dwells? Is it the ancient feud

   Unreconciled, that in your father's halls

   A moment stilled; beyond the castle gates,

   Where sits infuriate war, and champs the bit —

   Shall rage anew in mortal, bloody conflict?

      Concord or strife – the fate's decree

      Is bosomed yet in dark futurity!

      What comes, we little heed to know,

      Prepared for aught the hour may show!

   What mean these arms? this warlike, dread array,

   That in the palace of your sires portends

   Some fearful issue? needs a mother's heart

   Outpoured, this rugged witness of her joys?

   Say, in these folding arms shall treason hide

   The deadly snare? Oh, these rude, pitiless men,

   The ministers of your wrath! – trust not the show

   Of seeming friendship; treachery in their breasts

   Lurks to betray, and long-dissembled hate.

   Ye are a race of other lands; your sires

   Profaned their soil; and ne'er the invader's yoke

   Was easy – never in the vassal's heart

   Languished the hope of sweet revenge; – our sway

   Not rooted in a people's love, but owns

   Allegiance from their fears; with secret joy —

   For conquest's ruthless sword, and thraldom's chains

   From age to age, they wait the atoning hour

   Of princes' downfall; – thus their bards awake

   The patriot strain, and thus from sire to son

   Rehearsed, the old traditionary tale

   Beguiles the winter's night. False is the world,

   My sons, and light are all the specious ties

   By fancy twined: friendship – deceitful name!

   Its gaudy flowers but deck our summer fortune,

   To wither at the first rude breath of autumn!

   So happy to whom heaven has given a brother;

   The friend by nature signed – the true and steadfast!

   Nature alone is honest – nature only —

   When all we trusted strews the wintry shore —

   On her eternal anchor lies at rest,

   Nor heeds the tempest's rage.

                   My mother!

                         Hear me

   Be noble, and forget the fancied wrongs

   Of boyhood's age: more godlike is forgiveness

   Than victory, and in your father's grave

   Should sleep the ancient hate: – Oh, give your days

   Renewed henceforth to peace and holy love!

   I can no more; my prayers – my tears are vain: —

   'Tis well! obey the demon in your hearts!

   Fulfil your dread intent, and stain with blood

   The holy altars of your household gods; —

   These halls that gave you birth, the stage where murder

   Shall hold his festival of mutual carnage

   Beneath a mother's eye! – then, foot to foot,

   Close, like the Theban pair, with maddening gripe,

   And fold each other in a last embrace!

   Each press with vengeful thrust the dagger home,

   And "Victory!" be your shriek of death: – nor then

   Shall discord rest appeased; the very flame

   That lights your funeral pyre shall tower dissevered

   In ruddy columns to the skies, and tell

   With horrid image – "thus they lived and died!"

      How have her words with soft control

      Resistless calmed the tempest of my soul!

       No guilt of kindred blood be mine!

      Thus with uplifted hands I prey;

      Think, brothers, on the awful day,

       And tremble at the wrath divine!

   Thou art my elder – speak – without dishonor

   I yield to thee.

            One gracious word, an instant,

   My tongue is rival in the strife of love!

   I am the guiltier – weaker —

                  Say not so!

   Who doubts thy noble heart, knows thee not well;

   The words were prouder, if thy soul were mean.

   It burns indignant at the thought of wrong —

   But thou – methinks – in passion's fiercest mood,

   'Twas aught but scorn that harbored in thy breast.

   Oh! had I known thy spirit thus to peace

   Inclined, what thousand griefs had never torn

   A mother's heart!

             I find thee just and true:

   Men spoke thee proud of soul.

                   The curse of greatness!

   Ears ever open to the babbler's tale.

   Thou art too proud to meanness – I to falsehood!

   We are deceived, betrayed!

                 The sport of frenzy!

   And said my mother true, false is the world?

   Believe her, false as air.

                 Give me thy hand!

   And thine be ever next my heart!

                    I gaze

   Upon thy brow, and still behold my mother

   In some dear lineament.

                Her image looks

   From thine, and wondrous in my bosom wakes

   Affection's springs.

              And is it thou? – that smile

   Benignant on thy face? – thy lips that charm

   With gracious sounds of love and dear forgiveness?

   Is this my brother, this the hated foe?

   His mien all gentleness and truth, his voice,

   Whose soft prevailing accents breathe of friendship!

   Shall aught divide us?

               We are one forever!

      Why stand we thus, and coldly gaze,

       While Nature's holy transports burn?

      No dear embrace of happier days

       The pledge – that discord never shall return!

      Brothers are they by kindred band;

      We own the ties of home and native land.

   Rejoice, my prince, thy messenger returns

   And mark that beaming smile! the harbinger

   Of happy tidings.

             Health to me, and health

   To this delivered state! Oh sight of bliss,

   That lights mine eyes with rapture! I behold

   Their hands in sweet accord entwined; the sons

   Of my departed lord, the princely pair

   Dissevered late by conflict's hottest rage.

   Yes, from the flames of hate, a new-born Phoenix,

   Our love aspires!

             I bring another joy;

   My staff is green with flourishing shoots.

   DON CAESAR (taking him aside).

                         Oh, tell me

   Thy gladsome message.

               All is happiness

   On this auspicious day; long sought, the lost one

   Is found.

         Discovered! Oh, where is she? Speak!

   Within Messina's walls she lies concealed.

   A ruddy glow mounts in my brother's cheek,

   And pleasure dances in his sparkling eye;

   Whate'er the spring, with sympathy of love

   My inmost heart partakes his joy.

                     Come, lead me;

   Farewell, Don Manuel; to meet again

   Enfolded in a mother's arms! I fly

   To cares of utmost need.

                Make no delay;

   And happiness attend thee!

                 How thy looks

   Awake my soul to transport! Yes, my brother,

   We shall be friends indeed! This hour is bright

   With glad presage of ever-springing love,

   That in the enlivening beam shall flourish fair,

   Sweet recompense of wasted years!

                     The blossom

   Betokens goodly fruit.

               I tear myself

   Reluctant from thy arms, but think not less

   If thus I break this festal hour – my heart

   Thrills with a holy joy.

                Obey the moment!

   Our lives belong to love.

                 What calls me hence —

   Enough! thou leav'st thy heart.

                    No envious secret

   Shall part us long; soon the last darkening fold

   Shall vanish from my breast.

                  Attend! Forever

   Stilled is our strife; he is my deadliest foe,

   Detested as the gates of hell, who dares

   To blow the fires of discord; none may hope

   To win my love, that with malicious tales

   Encroach upon a brother's ear, and point

   With busy zeal of false, officious friendship.

   The dart of some rash, angry word, escaped

   From passion's heat; it wounds not from the lips,

   But, swallowed by suspicion's greedy ear,

   Like a rank, poisonous weed, embittered creeps,

   And hangs about her with a thousand shoots,

   Perplexing nature's ties.

                 Wondering, my prince,

   I gaze, for in thy looks some mystery

   Strange-seeming shows: scarce with abstracted mien

   And cold thou answered'st, when with earnest heart

   Thy brother poured the strain of dear affection.

   As in a dream thou stand'st, and lost in thought,

   As though – dissevered from its earthly frame —

   Thy spirit roved afar. Not thine the breast

   That deaf to nature's voice, ne'er owned the throbs

   Of kindred love: – nay more – like one entranced

   In bliss, thou look'st around, and smiles of rapture

   Play on thy cheek.

             How shall my lips declare

   The transports of my swelling heart? My brother

   Revels in glad surprise, and from his breast

   Instinct with strange new-felt emotions, pours

   The tide of joy; but mine – no hate came with me,

   Forgot the very spring of mutual strife!

   High o'er this earthly sphere, on rapture's wings,

   My spirit floats; and in the azure sea,

   Above – beneath – no track of envious night

   Disturbs the deep serene! I view these halls,

   And picture to my thoughts the timid joy

   Of my sweet bride, as through the palace gates,

   In pride of queenly state, I lead her home.

   She loved alone the loving one, the stranger,

   And little deems that on her beauteous brow

   Messina's prince shall 'twine the nuptial wreath.

   How sweet, with unexpected pomp of greatness,

   To glad the darling of my soul! too long

   I brook this dull delay of crowning bliss!

   Her beauty's self, that asks no borrowed charm,

   Shall shine refulgent, like the diamond's blaze

   That wins new lustre from the circling gold!

   Long have I marked thee, prince, with curious eye,

   Foreboding of some mystery deep enshrined

   Within thy laboring breast. This day, impatient,

   Thy lips have burst the seal; and unconstrained

   Confess a lover's joy; – the gladdening chase,

   The Olympian coursers, and the falcon's flight

   Can charm no more: – soon as the sun declines

   Beneath the ruddy west, thou hiest thee quick

   To some sequestered path, of mortal eye

   Unseen – not one of all our faithful train

   Companion of thy solitary way.

   Say, why so long concealed the blissful flame?

   Stranger to fear – ill-brooked thy princely heart

   One thought unuttered.

               Ever on the wing

   Is mortal joy; – with silence best we guard

   The fickle good; – but now, so near the goal

   Of all my cherished hopes, I dare to speak.

   To-morrow's sun shall see her mine! no power

   Of hell can make us twain! With timid stealth

   No longer will I creep at dusky eve,

   To taste the golden fruits of Cupid's tree,

   And snatch a fearful, fleeting bliss: to-day

   With bright to-morrow shall be one! So smooth

   As runs the limpid brook, or silvery sand

   That marks the flight of time, our lives shall flow

   In continuity of joy!

               Already

   Our hearts, my prince, with silent vows have blessed

   Thy happy love; and now from every tongue,

   For her – the royal, beauteous bride – should sound

   The glad acclaim; so tell what nook unseen,

   What deep umbrageous solitude, enshrines

   The charmer of thy heart? With magic spells

   Almost I deem she mocks our gaze, for oft

   In eager chase we scour each rustic path

   And forest dell; yet not a trace betrayed

   The lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps marked

   Of this mysterious fair.

                The spell is broke!

   And all shall be revealed: now list my tale: —

   'Tis five months flown, – my father yet controlled

   The land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;

   Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,

   And mimic warfare of the chase; —

                     One day, —

   Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toil

   On yonder woody ridge: – it chanced, pursuing

   A snow-white hind, far from your train I roved

   Amid the forest maze; – the timid beast,

   Along the windings of the narrow vale,

   Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,

   Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distant

   Beyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,

   Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,

   Sudden she vanished: – from my horse quick springing,

   I followed: – lo! the poor scared creature lay

   Stretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,

   That strove with fond caress of her fair hands

   To still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;

   And motionless – my spear, in act to strike,

   High poised – while she, with her large piteous eyes

   For mercy sued – and thus we stood in silence

   Regarding one another.

               How long the pause

   I know not – time itself forgot; – it seemed

   Eternity of bliss: her glance of sweetness

   Flew to my soul; and quick the subtle flame

   Pervaded all my heart: —

                But what I spoke,

   And how this blessed creature answered, none

   May ask; it floats upon my thought, a dream

   Of childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my sense

   Returned, I felt her bosom throb responsive

   To mine, – then fell melodious on my ear

   The sound, as of a convent bell, that called

   To vesper song; and, like some shadowy vision

   That melts in air, she flitted from my sight,

   And was beheld no more.

                Thy story thrills

   My breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbed

   The sanctuary, and for the bride of heaven

   Burned with unholy passion! Oh, remember

   The cloister's sacred vows!

                  Thenceforth one path

   My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still

   Of young desires – new felt my being's aim,

   My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns

   His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,

   With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star; —

   So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,

   My hopes and longings centred all. No sun

   Sank in the western waves, but smiled farewell

   To two united lovers: – thus in stillness

   Our hearts were twined, – the all-seeing air above us

   Alone the faithful witness of our joys!

   Oh, golden hours! Oh, happy days! nor Heaven

   Indignant viewed our bliss; – no vows enchained

   Her spotless soul; naught but the link which bound it

   Eternally to mine!

             Those hallowed walls,

   Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,

   No living grave?

            In infant innocence

   Consigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she left

   Her cloistered home.

              But what her royal line?

   The noble only spring from noble stem.

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

   Her name or fatherland.

                And not a trace

   Guides to her being's undiscovered springs?

   An old domestic, the sole messenger

   Sent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks her

   Of kingly race.

            And hast thou won naught else

   From her garrulous age?

                Too much I feared to peril

   My secret bliss!

            What were his words? What tidings

   He bore – perchance thou know'st.

                    Oft he has cheered her

   With promise of a happier time, when all

   Shall be revealed.

             Oh, say – betokens aught

   The time is near?

             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.

               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.

   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!

                  Command us, prince,

   We live but to obey!

              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!

                  We haste, my prince.

   Amid the Bazar's glittering rows, to cull

   Each rich adornment.

              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.

      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.

      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!

      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.

       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,

      Bathed in the rushing streams of cold, reviving air.

      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

      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!

   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!

   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