Читать книгу Teresa Contarini - Elizabeth F. Ellet - Страница 7

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A Garden--- Teresa appears, descending the steps of a balcony.

Teresa

'Tis sunset, and he is not here; though wontTo anticipate the hour! It matters not.How lovely is the silvery, deepening twilight!There needs but some faint sound, in melodyStealing upon the silence---some fond whisperWhich makes us sigh for quiet in return,To muse upon its meaning!( A strain of music without, which continues for some moments. )

Enter Foscarini.

Foscarini

She listens like a goddess, fresh from heaven,To airs that breathe nought heavenly save her name.The winds that wanton, lady, o'er thy lips,Steal thence the fragrance that with prodigal wingsThey lavish round the world!

Teresa

Flatterer! thy boldnessI would rebuke, but that thy tones have musicThat charms away reproof.

Foscarini

Oh! woman, woman!Who marking on your cheek the sudden brightness,The brow that strives so vainly to compelDisdain to sit there---who could deem you loved notThe voice of homage? Nay---sweet monitor------

Teresa

I never feigned disdain.

Foscarini

Nor felt it?

Teresa

NeverToward you.

Foscarini

Why thanks; and well may I be proud,Who merit scorn so richly; rashly seekingTo win such excellence, as other eyesAre blinded while they gaze on!

Teresa

Again, again!

Foscarini

Forgive me---it is hard to measure wordsWhen the heart overflows. Mine own Teresa!Do I not love---have I not loved thee long?As we do ever love all gentle things,All glorious things, and holy---the rich flowers---The brilliant morn---the far and smiling heaven!All these grow sometimes pale;---heaven is o'ercast---The dawn is clouded---and the fickle flowersAre blighted ere their bloom be ripe!---Oh, tell me,Who shall ensure to love, in chilling absence,Exemption from their change?

Teresa

It owns no change.To speak like you in figures,---wears the skyA fainter hue, because some cloud awhileObscures its glory to terrestrial eyes?But wherefore talk of absence?

Foscarini

We must part.

Teresa

Part!

Foscarini

For a time. Let it not blanch thy cheek,Though, sooth, that hue of fear is dearer farThan were ten thousand roses.

Teresa

Has my favorO'erwearied you so soon?

Foscarini

Nay: thou dost wrongThy favor, to say thus. What could have powerTo lure me from thy presence, save the trustThat short-lived sorrow should a harvest yieldOf rich, enduring bliss?

[ Music heard at a distance.

Hark! 'Tis the gondolaThat waits to bear me hence. I must not linger.Come with me for a space; and as we goI'll tell thee of my hopes---hopes that will banishIntrusive fear, and clothe the rugged peaksOf wild Helvetia's Alps with smiles and flowers,Breathing Elysian fragrance o'er their snows!

[Exeunt.