# Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/The Florentines

THE FLORENTINES.
A DRAMATIC TALE.
Giovanni.
Helena.
Rosmunda.
Scene I. The Pleasue-grounds of a Villa. Giovanni returning from the Chase, Helena meeting him
Helena.
Giovanni, art thou safe, quite safe— the spoil
Thou bear'st so bravely on thy spear not won
By grisly wound? How fierce the monster looks:
There's blood upon his tusk; not thine, Giovanni?
Dearest, it is not thine?
Giovanni.
Thou fearful girl,
I am unharmed: thou see'st the boar is dead.
A noble savage, for he gave brave sport,
And struggled gallantly for life. 'Twas scarce
A just decree of fortune to secure
The hunters who had roused him from his lair.
He made a desperate stand at bay—but, sweet,
I must abridge my tale, since it doth blanch
The roses on thy cheek. Thou can'st not bear
To hear thy husband's prowess; I had hoped
To win thy plaudits—
Helena.
Why, why wilt thou rush
Upon such frightful danger? Is thy life
So little valued, or my happiness
So trifling in thine eyes.
Giovanni.
Oh, Tyranny,
Thou hast usurped an angel's form; thy chains
Are made of roses; who, who would be free
When slavery is so sweet? I'll stay with thee
The live-long day, exchange my dangerous sword
For that slight spear that weaves thy magic webs.— Give me thy distaff, love.
Helena.
Nay, now you mock me—
Giovanni.
I dare not, Helen, pretty, pouting girl—
What must I say, what do to be forgiven?
Thou know'st I love to kiss away thy tears,
Yet would not cause them for the wealth of worlds.
Thine eye is moist, thy cheek is deadly pale,
Thou art not well, and I have grieved thee, sweet.
Come, come and rest thee in my arms; thy young
And innocent heart hath felt no deeper ills
Than those that love's soft, soothing, melting voice,
Can charm away.
Helena.
I've had a frightful dream.—
Methought we stood upon a mountain's brow,
And watched the sinking sun-beams; all below
Was calm and sweet, a smooth unruffled sea;
The golden orb sunk down; from out the sky
Flashed forth effulgent planets: we were near,
So near to heaven, that we could see, amid
The brightness of the stars, soft angel-forms
Waving their snowy pinions, darting down
The milky way, and floating in the pure
Cerulean ether; yet beneath our feet
Sprang flowers of such rare odour, and the earth
Looked so inviting with its bubbling springs,
Its sweet variety of hill and dale,
Its peaceful villages and rural haunts,
And that unruffled ocean, that we deemed
Our world the fairest place: and then you threw
Your arms around me, and, as you are wont, Taught me to name the wonders of the sky,
Whilst they were sailing onwards.—Suddenly
You stooped to pluck a rose; I gazed above,
And missed you from my side. On earth I looked,
But there you were not; then my eye sought heaven;
Alas! you were not there. Then all was changed—
The stars were globes of blood, the sea a gulf
Of pitchy blackness; tossed on the dark wave
I saw a livid corse—'twas thine, Giovanni,
I shrieked, and burst the bonds of sleep; chill damps
Hung on my brow, a weight oppressed my heart,
And still my pulse beats quick, and wild alarms
Subdue my weakened spirits.
Giovanni.
Hence! avaunt!
Ye baneful sprites! who, out of murky fogs,
Hatch shapeless monsters, black, unsightly forms,
Chimeras gloomy, shadowy phantoms dim,
Away, swart fiends of earth! deep, deep in fens,
Suck the unwholesome dews; with bloated toads
And slimy reptiles gorge; but come not near
The chamber of my love, with visions dark
To mar her sweet repose. Thou fairy train
Of sprightly elves watch o'er her pillow; bring
The pearl that hangs upon the cowslip's cup, to lave
Her brow of snow; fan her soft roseate cheek
With feathers plucked from wings of butterflies;
Steal from the bee his honeyed store, and plant
The treasure on her lips; rear o'er her head
A canopy of gossamer, begemmed
With drops of glittering dew, and gathered fresh
From beds of new-blown daisies; breathe, amid
The honeysuckle's winding horns, a sound
Of lulling sweetness; strike your pearly shells
In unison with wings for ever fraught
With music; see that the dusky trumpeter,
The gnat, be stingless; lead her sleeping thoughts
To fairy land, and wreathe her in the dance
Which bright Titania threads! Helena, now
Smile on my invocation. Thou shalt ne'er
Again be tortured with dark phantasies,
But, waking, sleeping, will thy husband's care
Guard thee from evil.—Are thy fears dispelled,
Or must I weave a charm more potent, love?
Helena.
I am to blame to let this vision still
Hang round my heart; I see that thou art safe,
I feel that thou art mine. My rival lies
Dead at my feet.—Nay, nay, you must confess
That grim and horrid savage had the power
To lure thee from these fond entwining arms.
I will not look upon it; it will feed
My sickly fancy with another dream.
Giovanni.
Sweet infidel! hast thou so soon forgot
My necromantic spells? or dost thou doubt
The power of the magician?
Helena.
Alas! Giovanni,
Whilst timid apprehension will suggest
A cause for fear, our busy sleeping thoughts
Dwell upon dangers.
Giovanni.
Say, my timid dove,
What dost thou fear?
Helena.
Thou wilt laugh at me;
And that's more painful than thy chiding frown,
That stern, cold look, which thou canst sometimes wear,
When I have chafed thee with an idle speech.
Giovanni.
Thou shalt mould all my features to thy wish:
I will not arch my brow the breadth of one
Of those bright hairs clust'ring around thy neck:
My pliant lip, guiltless of irony
Shall curl as thou desirest, dearest girl,
I'll press it on thy soft, white hand. Now ease
Thy burthened heart of all these heavy griefs.
If I should smile, thou can'st not see it, love.
Helena.
When first we dwelt upon the Arno's bank,
(Leaving the city to its gloomy pride)
Like a young bird just scap'd from his gilt cell,
I ranged abroad, soaring on untried wing,
Fearless and free. But now a narrow space
Confines my flights, my garden's boundary,
I dare not pass its jasmine fence alone;
And though the dainty butter-cup looks fresh,
Like fairy gold dropped on the distant hill;
That pretty token of remembrance,
Forget-me-not, and violets more sweet
Than those my hands have planted, lure my steps;
I must restrain the impulse——
Giovanni.
Why, my love?
Helena.
A snake hath coiled its odious form amid
Those blooming wilds. Alas! my dear Giovanni,
Since thou hast given shelter to that man,
That dark, mysterious Garcia, he who begged
A lodging in the woodland hut, so long
Untenanted—I dare not stir abroad.
Giovanni.
Is poverty a crime with thee, Helena?
Helena.
Oh, no: I quarrel with his heavy brow,
The sinister malicious looks he casts
On thee, my love, when taking from thy hand
Thy lavish bounty. I have heard dark tales
Of his apostacy. A renegade
Amid the Turks, who, in a Christian land,
Can think him less than demon? On my soul
He hath imprinted such a dread, I ne'er
Can taste or peace or comfort whilst he haunts
Our Paradise. Giovanni, give him gold;
Let him have all he asks, but send him hence.
Giovanni.
I do not laugh, Helena, at thy fears,
Though they are groundless.—Ask me not to play
A tyrant's part, and exile from the shed
Which he hath called his home, that much-wronged man.
Helena.
He is thine enemy, Giovanni.
Giovanni.
No;
And if he were, his sufferings might excuse
A hostile feeling.
Helena.
Thou hast never wronged him,
Giovanni.
Willingly, my Helena, never yet
By word, or deed, or wish, did I e'er harm
A human being; but by me and mine
Was Garcia deeply injured. Seek not now
To learn the story, and guard well your ears
From vulgar slanders; do not trust your eyes
To whisper to your heart an evil thought,
Because a cruel destiny hath marked
His form with haggard misery: he'd show
Not so unseemly in a velvet robe;
But tattered weeds, and scars, and sun-burnt brows,
Detract from outward beauty.
Helena.
Why dost thou
Deny his history? It is unjust,
For I shall doubt until I be convinced.
Come, come, Giovanni, hide it not from me.
Giovanni.
The tale involves a subject which I fear
Would not unto thine ear sound musical;
Not so melodious as thy husband's voice
Is wont to be——
Helena.
We have been wedded now two years, Giovanni,
And even thy chiding has to me seemed sweet;
Thou art so gentle, when my wayward words
Provoke reproof. 'Tis the sarcastic smile,
Denoting keen contempt, which most I fear
And wounds me deepest. "Pretty little fool,"
Though spoke in jest, seems half in earnest.
Giovanni.
Nay,
I only call, I only think thee, love,
A little simpleton, when thou hast nursed
A viper in thy breast; when jealousy,
Too readily admitted, mars thy peace.
Helena.
It is my diffidence that makes me doubt;
And if thou dost deny thy confidence,
What can I deem myself, but a mere toy,
A plaything for thy idle moments?—not
Thy bosom's counsellor, and valued friend——
Giovanni.
Helena, thou shouldst see my inmost soul,
Read all my thoughts, but—
Helena.
That thou fearest to trust me:
Though I lack wisdom, love, I'll be discreet—
Why dost thou hesitate?
Giovanni.
When Eve had spoiled
The tree of knowledge with a daring hand,
She found the fruit was bitter—be advised—
Retain thy innocent simplicity;
Revel in happy ignorance, nor seek
A theme for deeper meditation, than
Hath yet found entrance in thy youthful heart.
Helena.
Alas! henceforward all my joys are fled,
Vivid imagination will surround
Thy secret with a host of fears. My heart
Suggests some cruel motive for thy stern
Unyielding silence. Oh! my own Giovanni,
Why art thou so unkind?
Giovanni.
Thou art my wife;
I should have told this tale when I had won
Thy virgin love, and left thee to thy choice.
Forgive me, for I feared to lose thee, sweet;
Forgive me, that I tell the story now.
It is to prove to thee, my love, my trust,
And that I deem thee wise as thou art fair.
Helena.
I am a fool to let thee see how deep,
How ardent, tender, and how passionate,
My love hath grown. My husband, when I feel
The pressure of thine arm, meet thy fond glance
Bend kindly on me, hear the gentle sound
Of thy sweet voice—what would I not forgive?
Giovanni.
Read o'er my heart, I will not hide one thought.
The earliest sorrow, Helen, of my youth,
My father caused—a stern ambitious man:
Born a patrician, he had climbed to power,
And those who valued the Republic, feared
His giant strides would lead him to a throne.
All who opposed him sank beneath his feet;
And one, who struggled hard to clip his wings,
Too boldly venturous, o'erstepped the law,
And fell its victim—in one person, judge!
Accuser! enemy!—his fate was sealed—
My father was implacable.
Helena.
Indeed!
And thou his son?
Giovanni.
I clung about his knees,
Besought, intreated, prayed him to relent?
Writhed in the dust before him. My young heart
Shrank at the sight of blood. The day arrived
That saw the sentence executed: throngs
Of heartless wretches crowded in the streets,
Eager to see a fellow-creature die.
The scaffold waved with black; the dismal bell
Tolled forth a horrid sound. My striken soul
Gave to the mournful drapery a tongue;
And heard in that sepulchral clang, a voice
Proclaiming, Vengeance! Vengeance on the race,
Who tore a father from his children's arms,
And made them orphans.
Helena.
Oh, my poor Giovanni!
Giovanni.
The dark remembrance of that dreadful day
Will never be erased; the air was hot
As burning sulphur. Blinded by my tears,
And all my senses steeped in agony,
Still, still I saw him, weak, and faint, and pale;
His haggard eye glared wildly on the crowd—
But there were none to save him, and he died.
His wealth was forfeit to the state; his son,
Young Garcia, exiled from his native land:
His only daughter, sunk in poverty,
Languished and pined.
Helena.
A convent's walls, methinks,
Had proved a safe asylum. Charity
Left her not quite uncomforted?
Giovanni.
I sought
Her humble dwelling, in a borrowed name,
And, like a guardian genius, supplied
Her father's tender cares. From her fair cheek
The rose had fled; but the rich pallidness,
The ivory brightness of her delicate
Pale brow, contrasted with the beaming eye,
Dark as the sable, silken, curls that waved
Around her polished temples, seemed, indeed,
So perfect in its beauty—the bright tint,
The flush of red, had marred its loveliness.
Helena.
So very fair, Giovanni?
Giovanni.
She is dead— Disconsolate, deserted, pity first
Melted my youthful heart; then love's quick flame
Arose. My father sternly had despoiled
Her life of hope; I felt a generous wish
To bid it bloom again. We fled away,
And married—
Helena.
Married, my Giovanni?
Giovanni.
Why dost thou start, and turn away thy head,
Struggling to quit my arms? I told thee, sweet,
That she was dead. Oh! do not envy her
The short brief gleam of sunshine that illumed
Her cheerless life. Sailing along the deep,
The treacherous ocean, suddenly a storm
Wrecked our frail bark; within my arms I clasped
My hapless wife, and ploughed the weltering wave:
Stunned by a blow, all power forsook my limbs,
And she was lost; but, by a miracle,
A fishing vessel that outlived the gale,
Espied me ere the vital spark had fled,
And called me back to life. I sought my home,
And hid my secret in my breast—
Helena.
Yet still
Cherished thine early love, thy first, first love?
Giovanni.
No—'twas a boyish fancy. I have learned
The lesson since. My Helen, whilst thine heart
Beats against mine, I feel that I adore
The mother of my child. Come, dry those tears,
Thou never had'st a rival. Garcia now
Will claim thy pity; think what he hath lost,
What he hath suffered.
Helena.
Swear again thou lovest me!
Giovanni.
Come to thy chamber, thou art faint—my life,
My own Helena, doubt me not. All thine,
Dearest, all thine, for ever.
Scene II—The Confines of a Wood.
Giovanni enters prepared for the Chace.
Giovanni.
From this bold eminence how beautiful
The earth appears; the blue and golden air,
Filled with the vital essence, to the soul
Brings such invigorating influence,
My buoyant spirit seems to rise on wings
That would transport me through the boundless space
Of glittering ether, did not that bright world
That blooms below, entwine around my heart,
And tempt my lingering footsteps. Yon dark wood,
So deep, so silent, still bears sun-light paths,
Shining amid the gnarled and mossy track
Of giant trees, whose aged arms embrace,
And form a living canopy above:
And there the roebuck springs; the dusky boar
Lurks in his lair. Down, down, my gallant hounds,
A moment yet, ere I let slip the leash,
And rouse the quarry. I must gaze awhile
On thy pure glassy mirror, Arno, where,
From thy blue depths reflected, tower, and tree,
The Roman ruin, garlanded with wreaths
Of flowing ivy, rests in calm repose.
Oh Italy! thou bright, romantic land,
Fit scene for love, and peace, and brotherhood,
Why art thou so defiled by human deeds?
Pride and ambition, hatred and revenge,
Have dyed thy crystal streams with crimson gore,
Tainted thy balmy air with corses strewed
Amid fair valleys redolent with bliss.
There, deep sequestered, bowered around with flowers,
Blooms the sweet nest of my felicity,
My joy-encircled home. Thou tender dove,
Like the white pinions of thy prototype,
Thy snowy garments flutter in the air.
Helena, blessings light upon thee, love,
Thou soft, thou gentle, stainless innocent;
Brief absence gives affection new delights,
Now could I leap the space that separates
Thee and thy infant from my longing arms,
And hold thee clasped for ever.—
Enter Rosmunda.
Stranger, speed
Thy path in peace, fear not the fire-eyed brutes;
My dogs shall not molest thee.
Rosmunda.
I have passed
Too many dangers, scaped from suffering
Too oft, to fear thy fierce and ravenous hounds.
My journey hath been long, and I am faint,
And somewhat apprehensive, lest, perchance,
I meet not such a welcome as my hopes,
Have fondly painted.
Giovanni.
Rest upon this bank:
The mountain-spring trickles from yonder rock—
I'll bring thee dainty beverage from the vase
Which nature's hand hath scooped: drink, 'twill refresh
Thy parched and fever'd lips. Nay, do not fear
A cold reception from thy relatives.
Oh, there's a germ in every human breast,
That buds anew when absent friends return.
Thou 'lt bring with thee blissful remembrances
Of times long past, of love, and hope, and joy;
And though a scorching sun, a blighting wind,
May have converted to an arid sand
The soil where flow'rets sprang, they' ll bloom again,
A second spring of tender, calm delights.
Rosmunda.
What, if whilst I have wander'd, sunk in grief,
Struggling with poverty, and wrinkled cares
Feeding upon my bloom, wasting my limbs
With premature decay, my friends have soared
To fortune's topmost height; will they embrace
The squalid wretch that sues to them for bread,
Brings them no guerdon, save a broken heart,
Shrined in a tenement of withered clay?
Giovanni.
Thou wilt be dearer for thy sufferings;
They 'll pour their golden treasures at thy feet,
Hang o'er thy couch, relume thy grief-dulled eye
With the revivifying influence
Of faithful love. Oh, there are human breasts
So constant, so munificent, so blest
With god-like attributes, that, for their sakes,
Heaven withholds its fires from sinful men.
Rosmunda.
Should, by misfortune's blighting touch, my form
Be so much altered, that a single trace
Of former beauty doth not live, to wake
Remembrance in the breast; the silv'ry sound,
The music of my voice, be changed to harsh
And grating discord, dost thou, dost thou think
Those who have loved me in my former pride,
Will gaze with kindness now?
Giovanni.
If thou hast proof
That love existed strong, unsullied—
Rosmunda.
Yes,
Oh yes, disinterested, passionate,
And pure affection bless'd me once; dost think.
That such attachment e'er could fade? My life.
Hangs on thy answer: speak, Giovanni!
Giovanni.
A stranger, yet familiar with my name. [Aside Who, and what art thou?
Rosmunda.
Oh, it chills my breast
To hear thee ask the question; to thy heart
Hath not a spirit whispered, 'tis the wreck
Of what was once thy precious, best beloved,
Thy cherished wife, Rosmunda?
Giovanni.
Oh! no, no;
Her bones are whitening deep beneath the sea;
A fathomless abyss enshrines her form;
Wave after wave rolls o'er her; she is dead—
Rosmunda.
The locks that thou wert wont to call the plume
Stolen from the raven's wing, have lost their gloss;
The cheek, so snowy-tinctured, now is bronzed
With wintry storms, and summer's heat; yet still
I am, I am Rosmunda! Oh, Giovanni,
'Scaped from the wave, released from slavery,
Wilt thou deny the haven of thine arms
To the poor shipwrecked wanderer?
Giovanni.
Away!
'Tis mockery all; the grave must hold its dead,
Or tombs will gape, the denizens of earth
Be strangely mingled with the phantom forms
Of spirits. Most unnatural union;
We'll not endure it.—Darkness, the cold cave
Of ocean is thy dwelling-place, not light,
And air, and sunshine—
Rosmunda.
Oh, beloved Giovanni!
Speak not so wildly; 'tis thy living wife,
Thy lost Rosmunda: by a miracle
We both were saved. It was a happier fate
That led thee to thy country, raised thee up,
It should appear, to rank and riches. I
Suffered the cruel destiny that hangs
Upon my hapless race; was sold to chains,
Dragged out an abject servitude, for long
And weary years, till the kind charity
Of pious Christians wrought my slow release.
Giovanni.
And dost thou plead to me, stained and defiled
By the embrace of Infidels? I know
How sacred female purity would be
Within a harem's walls. We are divorced
By Heaven's own law. I pity thee; my wealth
Shall shield thy future life from misery,
But we must never meet again.
Rosmunda.
Before
The face of Heaven, I swear, a spotless bride,
A faithful, oh most faithful wife, hath dared
To call thee husband. We are one; the church,
All laws, both human and divine, have bound,
Irrevocably bound us. Those bright charms
Which won thee, my Giovanni, were effaced,
At first, by sickness, by despair, by grief;
And, with returning health, my earliest care
Was to despoil my person of all power
To tempt the lawless libertine I served.
Too soon my pains were needless; thou, even thou,
Hast turned with loathing from the form which once
Thou gazed upon with rapturous delight,
Hung o'er enamoured, like the wooing bee
Floating in air above the blushing rose.
Giovanni.
Forgive me, lost Rosmunda, oh, forgive me!
Unhappy victim of a cruel fate,
Thy bitter cup of sorrow is not drained:
The dregs remain; and I, even I, am doomed
To add to thy misfortune: that strong oath
I swore to thee must be revoked; new ties,
New duties bind me: show thyself supreme
In magnanimity above thy sex,
And seal our separation. I have now
No heart, no love to give thee. Tear not then,
The bonds asunder that have linked my soul—
Dishonour not my children. At thy feet,
Low kneeling, I implore you to renounce
The right you claim: be kind, be merciful.
Hatred and gratitude are thine to choose.
Rosmunda, thou hast lived within my breast
Immaculate; change not thine image now.
Rosmunda.
I will not yield thee up thy plighted vows,
Consign my name to infamy and scorn,
Connive at thy adulterous intercourse,
And guard my rival's peace. I will appeal
To Heaven, to man. Too long the sport of fate,
I will not bend to thy barbarity,
Drag out my life in some obscure retreat,
But share the fortunes of my wedded lord.
Giovanni.
If riches are thine object, here are gems
Would prove a monarch's ransom; all my wealth
Is freely thine: in distant kingdoms blaze,
With eastern splendor; leave me a poor hut,
And the most precious treasures of my soul.
Rosmunda.
Waste not the time in idle words—I sought
The fond protection of my husband's arms.
He hath denied my suit; but Justice still
Reigns upon earth enthroned; my cause is linked
With sacred attributes; an injured wife,
A helpless woman will not plead in vain.
Across the Arno, where Zenaldi's gate
Opes to the sufferer's tale, I'll speed my way;
Unlike his cruel sire, who wrought the fall
Of my unhappy father, he will aid
The righteous cause. My brother hath obtained
A safe asylum in his broad domains,
And I will rush amid his marble halls,
And tell my piercing wrongs.
Giovanni.
Not there! not there!
Invade not Eden; thou foul demon, back;
Dare not advance a single footstep, lest
My madness, my despair prevail, my heart
Forget its natural impulse, and my hand
Rid me, at once, of all I fear and hate.
Rosmunda.
Thou shalt not fright me from my purposed way,
Even though the panting brutes thy strength restrains
Glare not with fury more implacable
Than flashes from thine eyes. Insatiate,
Eager for blood, let slip the leash; their fangs
Will execute the meditated deed,
And thou be free from murder.
Giovanni.
Thou art wise,
Prudent in counsel; thou may'st tempt me far
Beyond forbearance: faithful ministers,
Pursue the chace alone; away! away!
Freed from thy fears, Rosmunda, let my prayers,
My agony prevail.
Rosmunda.
Restore me to my rights;
Cast off thy paramour; I am not now
The pliant girl, whose easy, yielding heart
You moulded to your will. The slave of man,
Too long consigned to tyranny and wrong,
I know the value of the power I hold;
And, taught a better lesson, will return
The evil I have suffered. Give me way;
I will proclaim my sorrows to the world,
And force thee to an act of justice.
Giovanni.
Hold!
You pass not till I bind you with an oath,
That shall secure me from your frantic threats.
Trifle not, wretched woman, with your life—
 [Exit Rosmunda.
By Heaven, she has escaped me; she will kill
My gentle Helen with her tale. Away!
I must arrest her footsteps. Gracious Power!
Send forth thy dews to cool my burning brain,
And leave me not to combat with the fiends,
Holding fell councils in my heart. My stay
Is fatal, and my path may lead, oh Heaven!
I know not where.—
 [Exit, following Rosmunda through the forest.
Scene III.—A Garden on the Arno. Helena solus.
Helena.
How silv'ry bright the Arno flows, how calm
Its tranquil breast: the gentle waters steal
Through the fresh sedges noiselessly; nor till
The bubbling spring that bursts from yonder cliff,
Bounds over rock and stone, in haste to blend
Its tributary streams, does the sweet sound,
The gurgling music of the rippling wave,
Break on the listening ear. The ruddy beam
Of the bright west hath made the waters blush,
As though they glided o'er a ruby bed,
And where the willow dips its graceful boughs,
Seems a rich mine of emerald. Beneath
The bow'ring trees that skirt the velvet lawn
Gambols a sportive kid, and turtle doves
Plume their bright wings, and murmur notes of love.
Where is Giovanni? I must prattle on
Without his kind response; 'tis past the hour
In which he should return: his eager steps
Pursue the chase too keenly; that quick eye,
That lion heart, that lithe and active form,
Could not be baffled by the brutal strength
Of the grim monsters he delights to slay.
Armida's art could weave a flow'ry chain,
Which bound Rinaldo's soul; he never sighed,
In her fair bower, for battle, swords and spears;
But my loved truant (like the cruel boy,
Whom beauty's goddess could not hold within
Her snowy arms) spite of my smiles, my tears,
Will burst the gentle bondage. I have gazed
Upon the glowing canvass of our grand,
Our mightiest master, little fancying
It was my own sad tale. The eager dogs
Strain on the leash; the lovely hunter's heart,
Though his strong arm reins in the panting hounds,
Is with the chase; and she, the queen of love,
With ineffectual pleading, supplicates
Her loved Adonis to forego his sport.
He breaks the links her intertwining arms
Have fondly wreathed, and rushes on to death.—
He comes! now his blithe spirit will repel,
With joyous smiles, my apprehensive fears—
Enter Giovanni.
Oh, no! his brow is deadly pale! My life!
My husband, thou art wounded?
Giovanni.
In my soul,
Helena, mortally. Look on me, sweet,
With those fair eyes, so full of tenderness,
A last fond glance! We were too happy, love,
And we must part——
Helena.
Oh! never has thy voice
Assumed so sad a tone. Tell me the worst—
A thousand horrors rush upon my brain;
Yet when I clasp thee in my eager arms,
And feel that thou art safe from outward wounds,
I'll not despair. Cheer thee, my life! my love!
We shall be happy still—
Giovanni.
Yes, in the grave,
When this perturbed heart has ceased to beat,
These throbbing pulses rest—Oh, no, not then:
Here and hereafter endless misery
Must be my lot—eternity of pain!
Helena.
Shrink not, my husband, from my fond caress;
Sorrow shall not come nigh thee in my arms; I'll chase away the fiend.—Oh! thou hast sworn,
A thousand times, that I possessed the power
To sooth thee in thy direst woe, but now
You turn away.
Giovanni.
Grief hath bedimmed each sense— A dull and torpid weight is on my heart.
Helena.
Alas! thou dost not love me.
Giovanni.
In the skies,.
Upon the earth 'tis written, red with blood—
Search through yon forest for my broken vow,
There 'tis recorded. Oh, I have given thee
My soul—my soul—my love hath been a flame,
Devouring, quenchless; and the life of one
Who sought to part us, wildly sacrificed— A murderer stands before thee! She is dead— My wife, Rosmunda! and a stainless name
Is thine, thy child legitimized: for thee
I've plunged in crime—have sold myself to hell!
Do I not love thee? dost believe it now?
Helena.
Thy looks, thy words are wild; but oh, that deed—
Intensity of sorrow tells the tale
Thy lips have only glanced at. She is dead— And I the fatal cause! Do not hate me— Do not desert me: prayer and penitence
Shall win forgiveness for thee: we will seek,
Two weeping pilgrims, for each holy shrine;
Nor rest, nor taste of comfort, till we feel
That we are pardoned.
Giovanni.
She lies deep in earth—
The forest boughs wave o'er her; birds will sing
As blithely, and the fawn shall calmly sleep
Upon her unblest grave, as tho' he stretched
His limbs on sod undrenched with human blood.
There is no witness of my crime; the world
Will call me good and virtuous, and my tomb
Be sculptured o'er with poets' flatteries—
'Tis here, 'tis in my brain, that I am stamped
With deadly sin! What would my prayer avail?
Can I repent that I have saved my child
And thee from shame? Were it to do again,
This arm is ready. I have murdered her—
A helpless woman, and my wedded wife;—
Could I repent of this, I had been mad
When I performed the deed. I knew the crime
Was hopeless, and I shrunk not from it; but
Never, oh never, nor on earth nor heaven
Shall I taste peace again.
My father's sins are visited on me,
And I am doomed—
Helena.
Tears, bitter, passionate tears,
Are all I have to give; my tortured heart
Will not suggest one soothing word. Is 't true
That I stand by thee, hold thee in my arms,
Without the power to whisper peace; that we
Are both alive, both love, and both despair?
Giovanni.
Live for thy child, Helena; live to pray
For one who dares not mock the throne of heaven
With impious hopes. My life is waning fast,
My spirit sinks beneath the fearful weight,
The burthen of my sin. But yestermorn
I would have boldly dared the living world,
All evil spirits, the dark enemy
Of fallen man, to tempt me from the height,
The proud, the virtuous height on which I stood.
What am I now? A wretch, my fellow-men,
The reckless profligates I have despised,
Would execrate! Clasp me again, my love,
Once more within the heaven of thine arms,
Ere I descend to expiate my crime
In endless pangs.
Helena.
Giovanni! my Giovanni! Thy brow grows livid, and thy trembling limbs
Are failing; leave me not, my life! my soul!
My husband!
Giovanni.
Search in the wood; she lies
Beneath a blasted oak; give to her corse
The rites of Christian burial. I fear
She needs thy pious aid; her soul, like mine,
Had lost its innocence before she died—
And place me in thy tomb, my gentle love.
We ne'er shall meet in happiness, but still
'Twill sooth me if our dust be mingled here.—
* ↑ see Errata read 'suggest'
* ↑ see Errata read 'stricken soul'
* ↑ see Errata read 'mossy trunks'
* ↑ see Errata read 'bitter lesson'