The Bride of Messina (play)

SCENE-The hall of pillars. It is night.

The stage is lighted from above by a single large lamp.

DONNA ISABELLA and DIEGO advance to the front.

ISABELLA.

As yet no joyful tidings, not a trace

Found of the lost one!

DIEGO.

Nothing have we heard,

My mistress; yet o'er every track, unwearied,

Thy sons pursue. Ere long the rescued maid

Shall smile at dangers past.

ISABELLA.

Alas! Diego,

My heart is sad; 'twas I that caused this woe!

DIEGO.

Vex not thy anxious bosom; naught escaped

Thy thoughtful care.

ISABELLA.

Oh! had I earlier shown

The hidden treasure!

DIEGO.

Prudent were thy counsels,

Wisely thou left'st her in retirement's shade;

So, trust in heaven.

ISABELLA.

Alas! no joy is perfect

Without this chance of ill my bliss were pure.

DIEGO.

Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoy

The concord of thy sons.

ISABELLA.

The sight was rapture

Supreme, when, locked in one another's arms,

They glowed with brothers' love.

DIEGO.

And in the heart

It burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stooped

To mean disguise.

ISABELLA.

Now, too, their bosoms wake

To gentler thoughts, and own their softening sway

Of love. No more their hot, impetuous youth

Revels in liberty untamed, and spurns

Restraint of law, attempered passion's self,

With modest, chaste reserve.

To thee, Diego,

I will unfold my secret heart; this hour

Of feeling's opening bloom, expected long,

Wakes boding fears: thou know'st to sudden rage

Love stirs tumultuous breasts; and if this flame

With jealousy should rouse the slumbering fires

Of ancient hate-I shudder at the thought!

If these discordant souls perchance have thrilled

In fatal unison! Enough; the clouds

That black with thundering menace o'er me hung

Are past; some angel sped them tranquil by,

And my enfranchised spirit breathes again.

DIEGO.

Rejoice, my mistress; for thy gentle sense

And soft, prevailing art more weal have wrought

Than all thy husband's power. Be praise to thee

And thy auspicious star!

ISABELLA.

Yes, fortune smiled;

Nor light the task, so long with apt disguise

To veil the cherished secret of my heart,

And cheat my ever-jealous lord: more hard

To stifle mighty nature's pleading voice,

That, like a prisoned fire, forever strove

To rend its confines.

DIEGO.

All shall yet be well;

Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledge

Of bliss that time will show.

ISABELLA.

I praise not yet

My natal star, while darkening o'er my fate

This mystery hangs: too well the dire mischance

Tells of the fiend whose never-slumbering rage

Pursues our house. Now list what I have done,

And praise or blame me as thou wilt; from thee

My bosom guards no secret: ill I brook

This dull repose, while swift o'er land and sea

My sons unwearied, track their sister's flight,

Yes, I have sought; heaven counsels oft, when vain

All mortal aid.

DIEGO.

What I may know, my mistress,

Declare.

ISABELLA.

On Etna's solitary height

A reverend hermit dwells,-benamed of old

The mountain seer,-who to the realms of light

More near abiding than the toilsome race

Of mortals here below, with purer air

Has cleansed each earthly, grosser sense away;

And from the lofty peak of gathered years,

As from his mountain home, with downward glance

Surveys the crooked paths of worldly strife.

To him are known the fortunes of our house;

Oft has the holy sage besought response

From heaven, and many a curse with earnest prayer

Averted: thither at my bidding flew,

On wings of youthful haste, a messenger,

To ask some tidings of my child: each hour

I wait his homeward footsteps.

DIEGO.

If mine eyes

Deceive me not, he comes; and well his speed

Has earned thy praise.

MESSENGER, ISABELLA, DIEGO.

ISABELLA (to MESSENGER).

Now speak, and nothing hide

Of weal or woe; be truth upon thy lips!

What tidings bear'st thou from the mountain seer?

MESSENGER.

His answer: "Quick! retrace thy steps; the lost one

Is found."

ISABELLA.

Auspicious tongue! Celestial sounds

Of peace and joy! thus ever to my vows.

Thrice honored sage, thy kindly message spoke!

But say, which heaven-directed brother traced

My daughter?

MESSENGER.

'Twas thy eldest born that found

The deep-secluded maid.

ISABELLA.

Is it Don Manuel

That gives her to my arms? Oh, he was ever

The child of blessing! Tell me, hast thou borne

My offering to the aged man? the tapers

To burn before his saint? for gifts, the prize

Of worldly hearts, the man of God disdains.

MESSENGER.

He took the torches from my hands in silence

And stepping to the altar-where the lamp

Burned to his saint-illumed them at his fire,

And instant set in flames the hermit cell,

Where he has honored God these ninety years!

ISABELLA.

What hast thou said? What horrors fright my soul?

MESSENGER.

And three times shrieking "Woe!" with downward course,

He fled; but silent with uplifted arm

Beckoned me not to follow, nor regard him

So hither I have hastened, terror-sped.

ISABELLA.

Oh, I am tossed amid the surge again

Of doubt and anxious fears; thy tale appals

With ominous sounds of ill. My daughter found-

Thou sayest; and by my eldest born, Don Manuel?

The tidings ne'er shall bless, that heralded

This deed of woe!

MESSENGER.

My mistress! look around

Behold the hermit's message to thine eyes

Fulfilled. Some charm deludes my sense, or hither

Thy daughter comes, girt by the warlike train

Of thy two sons!

[BEATRICE is carried in by the Second Chorus on a litter,

and placed in the front of the stage. She is still without

perception, and motionless.

ISABELLA, DIEGO, MESSENGER, BEATRICE.

Chorus (BOHEMUND, ROGER, HIPPOLYTE, and the other nine followers

of DON CAESAR.)

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Here at thy feet we lay

The maid, obedient to our lord's command:

'Twas thus he spoke-"Conduct her to my mother;

And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her!"

ISABELLA (is advancing towards her with outstretched arms, and starts

back in horror).

Heavens! she is motionless and pale!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

She lives,

She will awake, but give her time to rouse

From the dread shock that holds each sense enthralled.

ISABELLA.

My daughter! Child of all my cares and pains!

And is it thus I see thee once again?

Thus thou returnest to thy father's halls!

Oh, let my breath relume thy vital spark;

Yes! I will strain thee to a mother's arms

And hold thee fast-till from the frost of death

Released thy life-warm current throbs again.

[To the Chorus.

Where hast thou found her? Speak! What dire mischance

Has caused this sight of woe?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

My lips are dumb!

Ask not of me: thy son will tell thee all-

Don Caesar-for 'tis he that sends her.

ISABELLA

'Tell me

Would'st thou not say Don Manuel?

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

'Tis Don Caesar

That sends her to thee.

ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER).

How declared the Seer?

Speak! Was it not Don Manuel?

MESSENGER.

'Twas he!

Thy elder born.

ISABELLA.

Be blessings on his head

Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter,

Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long

Expected, long implored, some envious fiend

Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide

Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home

I see my daughter; me she knows not-heeds not-

Nor answers to a mother's voice of love

Ope, ye dear eyelids-hands be warm-and heave

Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs

To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!

The long-concealed-the lost-the rescued one!

Before the world I claim her for my own!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

New signs of terror to my boding soul

Are pictured;-in amazement lost I stand!

What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?

ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and

embarrassment).

Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!

A mother's transport from your breast of steel

Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!

I look around your train, nor mark one glance

Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me

Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes

Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed

I stand amid the desert's raging brood,

Or monsters of the deep!

DIEGO.

She opes her eyes!

She moves! She lives!

ISABELLA.

She lives! On me be thrown

Her earliest glance!

DIEGO.

See! They are closed again-

She shudders!

ISABELLA (to the Chorus).

Quick! Retire-your aspect frights her.

[Chorus steps back.

RORER.

Well pleased I shun her sight.

DIEGO.

With outstretched eyes,

And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.

BEATRICE.

Not strange those lineaments-where am I?

ISABELLA.

Slowly

Her sense returns.

DIEGO.

Behold! upon her knees

She sinks.

BEATRICE.

Oh, angel visage of my mother!

ISABELLA.

Child of my heart!

BEATRICE.

See! kneeling at thy feet

The guilty one!

ISABELLA.

I hold thee in my arms!

Enough-forgotten all!

DIEGO.

Look in my face,

Canst thou remember me?

BEATRICE.

The reverend brows

Of honest old Diego!

ISABELLA.

Faithful guardian

Of thy young years.

BEATRICE.

And am I once again

With kindred?

ISABELLA.

Naught but death shall part us more!

BEATRICE.

Will thou ne'er send me to the stranger?

ISABELLA.

Never!

Fate is appeased.

BEATRICE.

And am I next thy heart?

And was it all a dream-a hideous dream?

My mother! at my feet he fell! I know not

What brought me hither-yet 'tis well. Oh, bliss!

That I am safe in thy protecting arms;

They would have ta'en me to the princess, mother-

Sooner to death!

ISABELLA.

My daughter, calm thy fears;

Messina's princess--

BEATRICE.

Name her not again!

At that ill-omened sound the chill of death

Creeps through my trembling frame.

ISABELLA.

My child! but hear me--

BEATRICE.

She has two sons by mortal hate dissevered,

Don Manuel and Don Caesar--

ISABELLA.

'Tis myself!

Behold thy mother!

BEATRICE.

Have I heard thee? Speak!

ISABELLA.

I am thy mother, and Messina's princess!

BEATRICE.

Art thou Don Manuel's and Don Caesar's mother?

ISABELLA.

And thine! They are thy brethren whom thou namest.

BEATRICE.

Oh, gleam of horrid light!

ISABELLA.

What troubles thee?

Say, whence this strange emotion?

BEATRICE.

Yes! 'twas they!

Now I remember all; no dream deceived me,

They met-'tis fearful truth! Unhappy men!

Where have ye hid him?

[She rushes towards the Chorus; they turn away from her.

A funeral march is heard in the distance.

CHORUS.

Horror! Horror!

ISABELLA.

Hid!

Speak-who is hid? and what is true? Ye stand

In silent dull amaze-as though ye fathomed

Her words of mystery! In your faltering tones-

Your brows-I read of horrors yet unknown,

That would refrain my tongue! What is it? Tell me!

I will know all! Why fix ye on the door

That awe-struck gaze? What mournful music sounds?

[The march is heard nearer.

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

It comes! it comes! and all shall be declared

With terrible voice. My mistress! steel thy heart,

Be firm, and bear with courage what awaits thee-

For more than women's soul thy destined griefs

Demand.

ISABELLA.

What comes? and what awaits me? Hark

With fearful tones the death-wail smites mine ear-

It echoes through the house! Where are my sons?

[The first Semi-chorus brings in the body of DON MANUEL

on a bier, which is placed at the side of the stage.

A black pall is spread over it.

ISABELLA, BEATRICE, DIEGO.

Both Choruses.

First Chorus (CAJETAN).

With sorrow in his train,

From street to street the King of Terror glides;

With stealthy foot, and slow,

He creeps where'er the fleeting race

Of man abides

In turn at every gate

Is heard the dreaded knock of fate,

The message of unutterable woe!

BERENGAR.

When, in the sere

And autumn leaves decayed,

The mournful forest tells how quickly fade

The glories of the year!

When in the silent tomb oppressed,

Frail man, with weight of days,

Sinks to his tranquil rest;

Contented nature but obeys

Her everlasting law,-

The general doom awakes no shuddering awe!

But, mortals, oh! prepare

For mightier ills; with ruthless hand

Fell murder cuts the holy band-

The kindred tie: insatiate death,

With unrelenting rage,

Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age!

CAJETAN.

When clouds athwart the lowering sky

Are driven-when bursts with hollow moan

The thunder's peal-our trembling bosoms own

The might of awful destiny!

Yet oft the lightning's glare

Darts sudden through the cloudless air:-

Then in thy short delusive day

Of bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare;

Nor prize the fleeting goods in vain,

The flowers that bloom but to decay!

Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain,

Was e'er to mortal's lot secure:-

Our first best lesson-to endure!

ISABELLA.

What shall I hear? What horrors lurk beneath

This funeral pall?

[She steps towards the bier, but suddenly pauses,

and stands irresolute.

Some strange, mysterious dread

Enthrals my sense. I would approach, and sudden

The ice-cold grasp of terror holds me back!

[To BEATRICE, who has thrown herself between her and the bier.

Whate'er it be, I will unveil--

[On raising the pall she discovers the body of DON MANUEL.

Eternal Powers! it is my son!

[She stands in mute horror. BEATRICE sinks to the ground

with a shriek of anguish near the bier.

CHORUS.

Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lips

Have uttered what my faltering tongue denied.

ISABELLA.

My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief!

And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy life

Has bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage?

Where was thy brother? Could no arm be found

To shield thee? Oh, be cursed the hand that dug

These gory wounds! A curse on her that bore

The murderer of my son! Ten thousand curses

On all their race!

CHORUS.

Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.

And is it thus

Ye keep your word, ye gods? Is this your truth?

Alas for him that trusts with honest heart

Your soothing wiles! Why have I hoped and trembled?

And this the issue of my prayers! Attend,

Ye terror-stricken witnesses, that feed

Your gaze upon my anguish; learn to know

How warning visions cheat, and boding seers

But mock our credulous hopes; let none believe

The voice of heaven!

When in my teeming womb

This daughter lay, her father, in a dream

Saw from his nuptial couch two laurels grow,

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

The counsels of the mystic art, and thus

Pronounced the sage: "If I a daughter bore,

The murderess of his sons, the destined spring

Of ruin to our house, the baleful child

Should see the light."

Chorus (CAJETAN and BOHEMUND).

What hast thou said, my mistress?

Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.

For this her ruthless father spoke

The dire behest of death. I rescued her,

The innocent, the doomed one; from my arms

The babe was torn; to stay the curse of heaven,

And save my sons, the mother gave her child;

And now by robber hands her brother falls;

My child is guiltless. Oh, she slew him not!

CHORUS.

Woe! Woe!

ISABELLA.

No trust the fabling readers of the stars

Have e'er deserved. Hear how another spoke

With comfort to my soul, and him I deemed

Inspired to voice the secrets of the skies!

"My daughter should unite in love the hearts

Of my dissevered sons;" and thus their tales

Of curse and blessing on her head proclaim

Each other's falsehood. No, she ne'er has brought

A curse, the innocent; nor time was given

The blessed promise to fulfil; their tongues

Were false alike; their boasted art is vain;

With trick of words they cheat our credulous ears,

Or are themselves deceived! Naught ye may know

Of dark futurity, the sable streams

Of hell the fountain of your hidden lore,

Or yon bright spring of everlasting light!

First Chorus (CAJETAN).

Woe! Woe! thy tongue refrain!

Oh, pause, nor thus with impious rage

The might of heaven profane;

The holy oracles are wise-

Expect with awe thy coming destinies!

ISABELLA.

My tongue shall speak as prompts my swelling heart;

My griefs shall cry to heaven. Why do we lift

Our suppliant hands, and at the sacred shrines

Kneel to adore? Good, easy dupes! What win we

From faith and pious awe? to touch with prayers

The tenants of yon azure realms on high,

Were hard as with an arrow's point to pierce

The silvery moon. Hid is the womb of time,

Impregnable to mortal glance, and deaf

The adamantine walls of heaven rebound

The voice of anguish:-Oh, 'tis one, whate'er

The flight of birds-the aspect of the stars!

The book of nature is a maze-a dream

The sage's art-and every sign a falsehood!

Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Woe! Woe! Ill-fated woman, stay

Thy maddening blasphemies;

Thou but disown'st, with purblind eyes,

The flaming orb of day!

Confess the gods,-they dwell on high-

They circle thee with awful majesty!

All the Knights.

Confess the gods-they dwell on high-

They circle thee with awful majesty!

BEATRICE.

Why hast thou saved thy daughter, and defied

The curse of heaven, that marked me in thy womb

The child of woe? Short-sighted mother!-vain

Thy little arts to cheat the doom declared

By the all-wise interpreters, that knit

The far and near; and, with prophetic ken,

See the late harvest spring in times unborn.

Oh, thou hast brought destruction on thy race,

Withholding from the avenging gods their prey;

Threefold, with new embittered rage, they ask

The direful penalty; no thanks thy boon

Of life deserves-the fatal gift was sorrow!

Second Chorus (BERENGAR) looking towards the door

with signs of agitation.

Hark to the sound of dread!

The rattling, brazen din I hear!

Of hell-born snakes the hissing tones are near!

Yes-'tis the furies' tread!

CAJETAN.

In crumbling ruin wide,

Fall, fall, thou roof, and sink, thou trembling floor

That bear'st the dread, unearthly stride!

Ye sable damps arise!

Mount from the abyss in smoky spray,

And pall the brightness of the day!

Vanish, ye guardian powers!

They come! The avenging deities

DON CAESAR, ISABELLA, BEATRICE. The Chorus.

[On the entrance of DON CAESAR the Chorus station themselves

before him imploringly. He remains standing alone in the

centre of the stage.

BEATRICE.

Alas! 'tis he--

ISABELLA (stepping to meet him).

My Caesar! Oh, my son!

And is it thus I meet the? Look! Behold!

The crime of hand accursed!

[She leads him to the corpse.

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR).

Break forth once more

Ye wounds! Flow, flow, in swarthy flood,

Thou streaming gore!

ISABELLA.

Shuddering with earnest gaze, and motionless,

Thou stand'st.-yes! there my hopes repose, and all

That earth has of thy brother; in the bud

Nipped is your concord's tender flower, nor ever

With beauteous fruit shall glad a mother's eyes,

DON CAESAR.

Be comforted; thy sons, with honest heart,

To peace aspired, but heaven's decree was blood!

ISABELLA.

I know thou lovedst him well; I saw between ye,

With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined;

Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of hearts

With rich atonement of long wasted years!

But see-fell murder thwarts thy dear design,

And naught remains but vengeance!

DON CAESAR.

Come, my mother,

This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leave

This sight of woe.

[He endeavors to drag her away.

ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms).

Thou livest! I have a son!

BEATRICE.

Alas! my mother!

DON CAESAR.

On this faithful bosom

Weep out thy pains; nor lost thy son,-his love

Shall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast.

First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED).

Break forth, ye wounds!

Dumb witness! the truth proclaim;

Flow fast, thou gory stream!

ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE).

My children!

DON CAESAR.

Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother,

To see her in thy arms! henceforth in love

A daughter-sister--

ISABELLA (interrupting him).

Thou hast kept thy word.

My son; to thee I owe the rescued one;

Yes, thou hast sent her--

DON CAESAR (in astonishment).

Whom, my mother, sayst thou,

That I have sent?

ISABELLA.

She stands before thine eyes-

Thy sister.

DON CAESAR.

She! My sister?

ISABELLA.

Ay, What other?

DON CAESAR.

My sister!

ISABELLA.

Thou hast sent her to me!

DON CAESAR.

Horror!

His sister, too!

CHORUS.

Woe! woe!

BEATRICE.

Alas! my mother!

ISABELLA.

Speak! I am all amaze!

DON CASAR.

Be cursed the day

When I was born!

ISABELLA.

Eternal powers!

DON CAESAR.

Accursed

The womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts,

The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee,

Though the dread thunder swept-ne'er should this arm

Refrain the bolts of death: I slew my brother!

Hear it and tremble! in her arms I found him;

She was my love, my chosen bride; and he-

My brother-in her arms! Thou hast heard all!

If it be true-oh, if she be my sister-

And his! then I have done a deed that mocks

The power of sacrifice and prayers to ope

The gates of mercy to my soul!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

The tidings on thy heart dismayed

Have burst, and naught remains; behold!

'Tis come, nor long delayed,

Whate'er the warning seers foretold:

They spoke the message from on high,

Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny!

The mortal shall the curse fulfil

Who seeks to turn predestined ill.

ISABELLA.

The gods have done their worst; if they be true

Or false, 'tis one-for nothing they can add

To this-the measure of their rage is full.

Why should I tremble that have naught to fear?

My darling son lies murdered, and the living

I call my son no more. Oh! I have borne

And nourished at my breast a basilisk

That stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste,

And leave this house of horrors-I devote it

To the avenging fiends! In an evil hour

'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crime

The victim I depart. Unwillingly

I came-in sorrow I have lived-despairing

I quit these halls; on me, the innocent,

Descends this weight of woe! Enough-'tis shown

That Heaven is just, and oracles are true!

[Exit, followed by DIEGO.

BEATRICE, DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (detaining BEATRICE).

My sister, wouldst thou leave me? On this head

A mother's curse may fall-a brother's blood

Cry with accusing voice to heaven-all nature

Invoke eternal vengeance on my soul-

But thou-oh! curse me not-I cannot bear it!

[BEATRICE points with averted eyes to the body.

I have not slain thy lover! 'twas thy brother,

And mine that fell beneath my sword; and near

As the departed one, the living owns

The ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis I

That most a sister's pity need-for pure

His spirit winged its flight, and I am guilty!

[BEATRICE bursts into an agony of tears.

Weep! I will blend my tears with thine-nay, more,

I will avenge thy brother; but the lover-

Weep not for him-thy passionate, yearning tears

My inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depths

Of our affliction, let me gather this,

The last and only comfort-but to know

That we are dear alike. One lot fulfilled

Has made our rights and wretchedness the same;

Entangled in one snare we fall together,

Three hapless victims of unpitying fate,

And share the mournful privilege of tears.

But when I think that for the lover more

Than for the brother bursts thy sorrow's tide,

Then rage and envy mingle with my pain,

And hope's last balm forsakes my withering soul?

Nor joyful, as beseems, can I requite

This inured shade:-yet after him content

To mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly,

Sped by this hand-if dying I may know

That in one urn our ashes shall repose,

With pious office of a sister's care.

[He throws his arms around her with passionate tenderness.

I loved thee, as I ne'er had loved before,

When thou wert strange; and that I bear the curse

Of brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved thee

With measureless transport: love was all my guilt,

But now thou art my sister, and I claim

Soft pity's tribute.

[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air of

painful suspense-then turns away with vehemence.

No! in this dread presence

I cannot bear these tears-my courage flies

And doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret-

Leave me in error's maze-but never, never,

Behold me more: I will not look again

On thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passion

Laid bare her secret heart! She never loved me!

She mourned her best-loved son-that was her cry

Of grief-and naught was mine but show of fondness!

And thou art false as she! make no disguise-

Recoil with horror from my sight-this form

Shall never shock thee more-begone forever!

[Exit.

[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflicting

passions-then tears herself from the spot.

Chorus (CAJETAN).

Happy the man-his lot I prize

That far from pomps and turmoil vain,

Childlike on nature's bosom lies

Amid the stillness of the plain.

My heart is sad in the princely hall,

When from the towering pride of state,

I see with headlong ruin fall,

How swift! the good and great!

And he-from fortune's storm at rest

Smiles, in the quiet haven laid

Who, timely warned, has owned how blest

The refuge of the cloistered shade;

To honor's race has bade farewell,

Its idle joys and empty shows;

Insatiate wishes learned to quell,

And lulled in wisdom's calm repose:-

No more shall passion's maddening brood

Impel the busy scenes to try,

Nor on his peaceful cell intrude

The form of sad humanity!

'Mid crowds and strife each mortal ill

Abides'-the grisly train of woe

Shuns like the pest the breezy hill,

To haunt the smoky marts below.

BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED.

On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decay

Never sullies the fresh flowing air;

Oh, Nature is perfect wherever we stray;

'Tis man that deforms it with care.

The whole Chorus repeats.

On the mountains is freedom, etc., etc.

DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (more collected).

I use the princely rights-'tis the last time-

To give this body to the ground, and pay

Fit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends,

My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfil

Your lord's behest. Fresh in your memory lives

The mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye bore

So late my royal sire; scarce in these halls

Are stilled the echoes of the funeral wail;

Another corpse succeeds, and in the grave

Weighs down its fellow-dust-almost our torch

With borrowed lustre from the last, may pierce

The monumental gloom; and on the stair,

Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains.

Then in the sacred royal dome that guards

The ashes of my sire, prepare with speed

The funeral rites; unseen of mortal eye,

And noiseless be your task-let all be graced,

As then, with circumstances of kingly state.

BOHEMUND.

My prince, it shall be quickly done; for still

Upreared, the gorgeous catafalque recalls

The dread solemnity; no hand disturbed

The edifice of death.

DON CAESAR.

The yawning grave

Amid the haunts of life? No goodly sign

Was this: the rites fulfilled, why lingered yet

The trappings of the funeral show?

BOHEMUND.

Your strife

With fresh embittered hate o'er all Messina

Woke discord's maddening flames, and from the deed

Our cares withdrew-so resolute remained,

And closed the sanctuary.

DON CAESAR.

Make no delay;

This very night fulfil your task, for well

Beseems the midnight gloom! To-morrow's sun

Shall find this palace cleansed of every stain,

And light a happier race.

[Exit the Second Chorus, with the body of DON MANUEL.

CAJETAN.

Shall I invite

The brotherhood of monks, with rights ordained

By holy church of old, to celebrate

The office of departed souls, and hymn

The buried one to everlasting rest?

DON CAESAR.

Their strains above my tomb shall sound for ever

Amid the torches' blaze-no solemn rites

Beseem the day when gory murder scares

Heaven's pardoning grace.

CAJETAN.

Oh, let not wild despair

Tempt thee to impious, rash resolve. My prince

No mortal arm shall e'er avenge this deed;

And penance calms, with soft, atoning power,

The wrath on high.

DON CAESAR.

If for eternal justice

Earth has no minister, myself shall wield

The avenging sword; though heaven, with gracious ear,

Inclines to sinners' prayers, with blood alone

Atoned is murder's guilt.

CAJETAN.

To stem the tide

Of dire misfortune, that with maddening rage

Bursts o'er your house, were nobler than to pile

Accumulated woe.

DON CAESAR.

The curse of old

Shall die with me! Death self-imposed alone

Can break the chain of fate.

CAJETAN.

Thou owest thyself

A sovereign to this orphaned land, by thee

Robbed of its other lord!

DON CAESAR.

The avenging gods

Demand their prey-some other deity

May guard the living!

CAJETAN.

Wide as e'er the sun

In glory beams, the realm of hope extends;

But-oh remember! nothing may we gain

From Death!

DON CAESAR.

Remember thou thy vassal's duty;

Remember and be silent! Leave to me

To follow, as I list, the spirit of power

That leads me to the goal. No happy one

May look into my breast: but if thy prince

Owns not a subject's homage, dread at least

The murderer!-the accursed!-and to the head

Of the unhappy-sacred to the gods-

Give honors due. The pangs that rend my soul-

What I have suffered-what I feel-have left

No place for earthly thoughts!

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, The Chorus.

ISABELLA (enters with hesitating steps, and looks irresolutely

towards DON CAESAR; at last she approaches, and addresses

him with collected tones).

I thought mine eyes should ne'er behold thee more;

Thus I had vowed despairing! Oh, my son!

How quickly all a mother's strong resolves

Melt into air! 'Twas but the cry of rage

That stifled nature's pleading voice; but now

What tidings of mysterious import call me

From the desolate chambers of my sorrow?

Shall I believe it? Is it true? one day

Robs me of both my sons?

Chorus.

Behold! with willing steps and free,

Thy son prepares to tread

The paths of dark eternity

The silent mansions of the dead.

My prayers are vain; but thou, with power confessed,

Of nature's holiest passion, storm his breast!

ISABELLA.

I call the curses back-that in the frenzy

Of blind despair on thy beloved head

I poured. A mother may not curse the child

That from her nourishing breast drew life, and gave

Sweet recompense for all her travail past;

Heaven would not hear the impious vows; they fell

With quick rebound, and heavy with my tears

Down from the flaming vault!

Live! live! my son!

For I may rather bear to look on thee-

The murderer of one child-than weep for both!

DON CAESAR.

Heedless and vain, my mother, are thy prayers

For me and for thyself; I have no place

Among the living: if thine eyes may brook

The murderer's sight abhorred-I could not bear

The mute reproach of thy eternal sorrow.

ISABELLA.

Silent or loud, my son, reproach shall never

Disturb thy breast-ne'er in these halls shall sound

The voice of wailing, gently on my tears

My griefs shall flow away: the sport alike

Of pitiless fate together we will mourn,

And veil the deed of blood.

DON CAESAR (with a faltering voice, and taking her hand).

Thus it shall be,

My mother-thus with silent, gentle woe

Thy grief shall fade: but when one common tomb

The murderer and his victim closes round-

When o'er our dust one monumental stone

Is rolled-the curse shall cease-thy love no more

Unequal bless thy sons: the precious tears

Thine eyes of beauty weep shall sanctify

Alike our memories. Yes! In death are quenched

The fires of rage; and hatred owns subdued,

The mighty reconciler. Pity bends

An angel form above the funeral urn,

With weeping, dear embrace. Then to the tomb

Stay not my passage:-Oh, forbid me not,

Thus with atoning sacrifice to quell

The curse of heaven.

ISABELLA.

All Christendom is rich

In shrines of mercy, where the troubled heart

May find repose. Oh! many a heavy burden

Have sinners in Loretto's mansion laid;

And Heaven's peculiar blessing breathes around

The grave that has redeemed the world! The prayers

Of the devout are precious-fraught with store

Of grace, they win forgiveness from the skies;-

And on the soil by gory murder stained

Shall rise the purifying fane.

DON CAESAR.

We pluck

The arrow from the wound-but the torn heart

Shall ne'er be healed. Let him who can, drag on

A weary life of penance and of pain,

To cleanse the spot of everlasting guilt;-

I would not live the victim of despair;

No! I must meet with beaming eye the smile

Of happy ones, and breathe erect the air

Of liberty and joy. While yet alike

We shared thy love, then o'er my days of youth

Pale envy cast his withering shade; and now,

Think'st thou my heart could brook the dearer ties

That bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead?

Death, in his undecaying palace throned,

To the pure diamond of perfect virtue

Sublimes the mortal, and with chastening fire

Each gathered stain of frail humanity

Purges and burns away: high as the stars

Tower o'er this earthly sphere, he soars above me;

And as by ancient hate dissevered long,

Brethren and equal denizens we lived,

So now my restless soul with envy pines,

That he has won from me the glorious prize

Of immortality, and like a god

In memory marches on to times unborn!

ISABELLA.

My Sons! Why have I called you to Messina

To find for each a grave? I brought ye hither

To calm your strife to peace. Lo! Fate has turned

My hopes to blank despair.

DON CAESAR.

Whate'er was spoke,

My mother, is fulfilled! Blame not the end

By Heaven ordained. We trode our father's halls

With hopes of peace; and reconciled forever,

Together we shall sleep in death.

ISABELLA.

My son,

Live for thy mother! In the stranger's land,

Say, wouldst thou leave me friendless and alone,

To cruel scorn a prey-no filial arm

To shield my helpless age?

DON CAESAR.

When all the world

With heartless taunts pursues thee, to our grave

For refuge fly, my mother, and invoke

Thy sons' divinity-we shall be gods!

And we will hear thy prayers:-and as the twins

Of heaven, a beaming star of comfort shine

To the tossed shipman-we will hover near thee

With present help, and soothe thy troubled soul!

ISABELLA.

Live-for thy mother, live, my son-

Must I lose all?

[She throws her arms about him with passionate emotion.

He gently disengages himself, and turning his face away

extends to her his hand.

DON CAESAR.

Farewell!

ISABELLA.

I can no more;

Too well my tortured bosom owns how weak

A mother's prayers: a mightier voice shall sound

Resistless on thy heart.

[She goes towards the entrance of the scene.

My daughter, come.

A brother calls him to the realms of night;

Perchance with golden hues of earthly joy

The sister, the beloved, may gently lure

The wanderer to life again.

[BEATRICE appears at the entrance of the scene.

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, and the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (on seeing her, covers his face with his hands).

My mother!

What hast thou done?

ISABELLA (leading BEATRICE forwards).

A mother's prayers are vain!

Kneel at his feet-conjure him-melt his heart!

Oh, bid him live!

DON CAESAR.

Deceitful mother, thus

Thou triest thy son! And wouldst thou stir my soul

Again to passion's strife, and make the sun

Beloved once more, now when I tread the paths

Of everlasting night? See where he stands-

Angel of life!-and wondrous beautiful,

Shakes from his plenteous horn the fragrant store

Of golden fruits and flowers, that breathe around

Divinest airs of joy;-my heart awakes

In the warm sunbeam-hope returns, and life

Thrills in my breast anew.

ISABELLA (to BEATRICE).

Thou wilt prevail!

Or none! Implore him that he live, nor rob

The staff and comfort of our days.

BEATRICE.

The loved one

A sacrifice demands. Oh, let me die

To soothe a brother's shade! Yes, I will be

The victim! Ere I saw the light forewarned

To death, I live a wrong to heaven! The curse

Pursues me still: 'twas I that slew thy son-

I waked the slumbering furies of their strife-

Be mine the atoning blood!

CAJETAN.

Ill-fated mother!

Impatient all thy children haste to doom,

And leave thee on the desolate waste alone

Of joyous life.

BEATRICE.

Oh, spare thy precious days

For nature's band. Thy mother needs a son;

My brother, live for her! Light were the pang

To lose a daughter-but a moment shown,

Then snatched away!

DON CAESAR (with deep emotion).

'Tis one to live or die,

Blest with a sister's love!

BEATRICE.

Say, dost thou envy

Thy brother's ashes?

DON CAESAR.

In thy grief he lives

A hallowed life!-my doom is death forever!

BEATRICE.

My brother!

DON CAESAR.

Sister! are thy tears for me?

BEATRICE.

Live for our mother!

DON CAESAR (dropping her hand, and stepping back).

For our mother?

BEATRICE (hiding her head in his breast).

Live

For her and for thy sister!

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

She has won!

Resistless are her prayers. Despairing mother,

Awake to hope again-his choice is made!

Thy son shall live!

[At this moment an anthem is heard. The folding doors

are thrown open, and in the church is seen the catafalque

erected, and the coffin surrounded with candlesticks.

DON CAESAR (turning to the coffin).

I will not rob thee, brother!

The sacrifice is thine:-Hark! from the tomb,

Mightier than mother's tears, or sister's love,

Thy voice resistless cries:-my arms enfold

A treasure, potent with celestial joys,

To deck this earthly sphere, and make a lot

Worthy the gods! but shall I live in bliss,

While in the tomb thy sainted innocence

Sleeps unavenged? Thou, Ruler of our days,

All just-all wise-let not the world behold

Thy partial care! I saw her tears!-enough-

They flowed for me! I am content: my brother!

I come!

[He stabs himself with a dagger, and falls dead

at his sister's feet. She throws herself into her

mother's arms.

Chorus, CAJETAN (after a deep silence).

In dread amaze I stand, nor know

If I should mourn his fate. One truth revealed

Speaks in my breast;-no good supreme is life;

But all of earthly ills the chief is-Guilt!

THE END