"Who will believe me? what shall I protest? How innocent, thus wretched? God of Gods, Strike me.. who most offend thee most defy .. Charoba most offends thee: strike me, hurl That swell'd out black, like tendrils round their vase After libation: lo! he moves! he groans! He seems to struggle from the grasp of death !240 From this accursed land, this faithless throne. 200 Charoba shriekt and fell away, her hand O Dalica! see here the royal feast! See here the gorgeous robe! you little thought 210 Have ever I done them? have I profaned 220 230 Thus raved Charoba: horror, grief, amaze, Pervaded all the host; all eyes were fixt; All stricken motionless and mute: the feast Was like the feast of Cepheus, when the sword Of Phineus, white with wonder, shook restrain'd, And the hilt rattled in his marble hand. She heard not, saw not, every sense was gone; One passion banisht all; dominion, praise, The world itself, was nothing. Senseless man ! What would thy fancy figure now from worlds? There is no world to those that grieve and love. She hung upon his bosom, prest his lips, Breath'd, and would feign it his that she resorb'd, She chafed the feathery softness of his veins, Still clasping his, a sudden blush o'erspread Her pallid humid cheek, and disappear'd. 'Twas not the blush of shame; what shame has woe? 'Twas not the genuine ray of hope; it flasht With shuddering glimmer through unscatter'd clouds, It flasht from passions rapidly opposed. 250 Never so eager, when the world was waves, Stood the less daughter of the ark, and tried (Innocent this temptation!) to recall With folded vest and casting arm the dove; Never so fearful, when amid the vines Rattled the hail, and when the light of heaven Closed, since the wreck of Nature, first eclipst, As she was eager for his life's return, As she was fearful how his groans might end. They ended cold and languid calm succeeds; His eyes have lost their lustre, but his voice Is not unheard, though short: he spake these words. "And weepest thou, Charoba! shedding tears More precious than the jewels that surround The neck of kings entomb'd! then weep, fair queen, At once thy pity and my pangs assuage. : 270 ACTS AND SCENES. COUNT JULIAN. None of these poems of a dramatic form were offered to the stage, being no better than Imaginary Conversations in metre. CHARACTERS. The wrongs she suffers cease to wring my heart, COUNT JULIAN. RODERIGO, King of Spain. OPAS, Metro- Or I seek solace ever, but in death. politan of Seville. SISABERT, betrothed to COVILLA. FIRST ACT: FIRST SCENE. Camp of Julian. OPAS. JULIAN. Opas. See her, Count Julian: if thou lovest God, See thy lost child. Julian. Opas. Julian. Father of mercies! show me none, whene'er *The daughter of Count Julian is usually called Florinda. The city of Covilla, it is reported, was named after her. Here is no improbability: there would be a gross one in deriving the word, as is also pretended, from La Cava. Cities, in adopting a name, bear it usually as a testimony of victories or as an augury of virtues. Small and obscure places occasionally receive what their neighbours throw against them; as Puerto de la mala muger in Murcia: but a generous people would affix no stigma to innocence and misfortune. It is remarkable that the most important era in Spanish history should be the most obscure. This is propitious to the poet, and above all to the tragedian. Few characters of such an era can be glaringly misrepresented, few facts offensively perverted. Opas. What wilt thou do then, too unhappy man? Julian. What have I done already? All my peace Has vanisht; my fair fame in aftertime Will wear an alien and uncomely form, Seen o'er the cities I have laid in dust, Countrymen slaughtered, friends abjured! Opas. Julian. Alone now left me, filling up in part The narrow and waste intervals of grief: It promises that I shall see again My own lost child. And faith? Opas. Yes, at this very hour. Julian. Till I have met the tyrant face to face, And gain'd a conquest greater than the last; Till he no longer rules one rood of Spain, And not one Spaniard, not one enemy, The least relenting, flags upon his flight; Till we are equal in the eyes of men, The humblest and most wretched of our kind, No peace for me, no comfort, no.. no child! Opas. No pity for the thousands fatherless, The thousands childless like thyself, nay more, The thousands friendless, helpless, comfortless.. Such thou wilt make them, little thinking so, Who now perhaps, round their first winter fire, Banish, to talk of thee, the tales of old, Shedding true honest tears for thee unknown : Precious be these and sacred in thy sight, Mingle them not with blood from hearts thus kind. If only warlike spirits were evoked By the war-demon, I would not complain, Or dissolute and discontented men; But wherefore hurry down into the square The neighbourly, saluting, warm-clad race, Who would not injure us, and can not serve; Who, from their short and measured slumber risen, In the faint sunshine of their balconies, With a half-legend of a martyrdom And some weak wine and withered grapes before them, Note by their foot the wheel of melody That catches and rolls on the Sabbath dance. Opas. These are they To whom brave Spaniards must refer their wrongs! Julian. Muza, that cruel and suspicious chief, Distrusts his friends more than his enemies, Me more than either; fraud he loves and fears, And watches her still footfall day and night. Opas. O Julian! such a refuge! such a race! Julian... Calamities like mine alone implore. No virtues have redeem'd them from their bonds; Wily ferocity, keen idleness, And the close cringes of ill-whispering want, Opas. O everlasting curse for Spain and thee! Julian. Spain should have vindicated then her wrongs In mine, a Spaniard's and a soldier's wrongs. Opas. Julian, are thine the only wrongs on earth? And shall each Spaniard rather vindicate Opas. I never yet have seen where long success Hath followed him who warred upon his king. Julian. Because the virtue that inflicts the stroke Dies with him, and the rank ignoble heads Julian. What they would O would all-righteous Heaven they could restore Julian. Accursed he who makes me this reproach, Which thy treason And made it just! Had I been happy still, It rises over all your sacraments, A hooded mystery, holier than they all. thy wrath She call upon her God, and outrage him have heard She violates in repeating! who abhors Who am thy king, nor heard man's wrath before. Julian. Thou shalt hear mine, for thou art not my king. Thee and thy crimes, and wants no crown of thine. Roderigo. Knowest thou not the altered face To these, but never near the abandon'd one Honour, dominion: send away these slaves, Roderigo. What hopest thou? To conquer Spain, and rule a ravaged land? Julian. No, Don Roderigo: swear thou, in That thou wilt meet me, hand to hand, alone, Who drags religion to adultery's feet, And wilt thou never yield me thy consent? So deep in guilt, in treachery! Not to thee, who reignest not, Is loveliest in departure! One I thought, I weep before thee.. like a child.. like mine.. FIRST ACT: FOURTH SCENE. Abdalazis. Julian, to thee, the terror of the I bring my father's order to prepare For the bright day that crowns thy brave exploits. Roderigo. I swear what honour asks. First, to Our enemy is at the very gate, Covilla Do thou present my crown and dignity. And art thou here, with women in thy train, Julian. Darest thou offer any price for shame? And mourning the unkindness of delay! Egilona lives; And were she buried with her ancestors, Julian, (agitated, goes toward the door, and returns.) I am prepared: Prince, judge not hastily. Abdalazis. Whether I should not promise all I too could hesitate, though earlier taught Julian. And Egilona, what hath she deserv'd, To shelter in the universal storm Julian. Urge me not to protect a guest, a herald, All men with human feelings love their country. The blasts of war roar over him unfelt. No; better men still better love their country. 'Tis the old mansion of their earliest friends, Fly! no, Egilona! Dost thou forgive me? dost thou love me? still? RODERIGO (takes JULIAN's hand; invites him to attack Muza and ABDALAZIS.) Julian! Julian. Hence, or die. The chapel of their first and best devotions. Or when unworthy lords hold wassail there, SECOND ACT: FIRST SCENE. Camp of JULIAN. JULIAN and COVILLA. Julian. Obdurate? I am not as I appear. Weep, my beloved child! Covilla, weep Abdalazis (taking his hand). Thou feelest what Into my bosom; every drop be mine thou speakest, and thy Spain Will ne'er be shelter'd from her fate by thee. Insulting Moor! Abdalazis. Of this most bitter soul-empoisoning cup: Covilla. Cease, my lord, Mingle in sweet communion with its children, Thou shalt know full soon, And I will cease to mourn; for, O my child, He ill endures the grief FIRST ACT: FIFTH SCENE. Muza (sternly to EGILONA). Enter, since 'tis the Is this our future monarch, or art thou? To where Tunisian pilots bend the eye These tears corrode, but thine assuage, the heart. Julian. Her and thy brothers. Covilla. Thou shalt see No! I can not look Sir, will they never venture from the walls Of that vast region sink at once to rest, |