Part 8 (2/2)
He truly, he must wed a Spanish queen!
He rule in Spain! ah! whom could any land Obey so gladly as the meek, the humble, The friend of all who have no friend besides, Covilla! could he choose, or could he find Another who might so confirm his power?
And now indeed from long domestic wars Who else survives of all our ancient house -
OPAS. But Egilona.
SIS. Vainly she upbraids Roderigo.
OPAS. She divorces him, abjures, And carries vengeance to that hideous height Which piety and chast.i.ty would shrink To look from, on the world, or on themselves.
SIS. She may forgive him yet.
OPAS. Ah, Sisabert!
Wretched are those a woman has forgiven: With her forgiveness ne'er hath love returned.
Ye know not till too late the filmy tie That holds heaven's precious boon eternally To such as fondly cherish her; once go Driven by mad pa.s.sion, strike but at her peace, And, though she step aside from broad reproach, Yet every softer virtue dies away.
Beaming with virtue inaccessible Stood Egilona; for her lord she lived, And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high: All thoughts were on her--all, beside her own.
Negligent as the blossoms of the field, Arrayed in candour and simplicity, Before her path she heard the streams of joy Murmur her name in all their cadences, Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade, Reflect her image; but acknowledged them Hers most complete when flowing from her most.
All things in want of her, herself of none, Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feet Unfelt and unregarded: now behold The earthly pa.s.sions war against the heavenly!
Pride against love, ambition and revenge Against devotion and compliancy: Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted; And coming nearer to our quiet view The original clay of coa.r.s.e mortality Hardens and flaws around her.
SIS. Every germ Of virtue perishes, when love recedes From those hot s.h.i.+fting sands, the female heart.
OPAS. His was the fault; be his the punishment 'Tis not their own crimes only, men commit, They harrow them into another's breast, And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain.
SIS. Yes, blooming royalty will first attract These creatures of the desert--now I breathe More freely--she is theirs if I pursue The fugitive again--he well deserves The death he flies from--stay! Don Julian twice Called him aloud, and he, methinks, replied.
Could not I have remained a moment more, And seen the end? although with hurried voice He bade me intercept the scattered foes, And hold the city barred to their return.
May Egilona be another's wife Whether he die or live! but oh!--Covilla - She never can be mine! yet she may be Still happy--no, Covilla, no--not happy, But more deserving happiness without it.
Mine never! nor another's--'tis enough.
The tears I shed no rival can deride; In the fond intercourse, a name once cherished Will never be defended by faint smiles, Nor given up with vows of altered love.
And is the pa.s.sion of my soul at last Reduced to this? is this my happiness?
This my sole comfort? this the close of all Those promises, those tears, those last adieus, And those long vigils for the morrow's dawn?
OPAS. Arouse thee! be thyself. O Sisabert, Awake to glory from these feverish dreams: The enemy is in our land--two enemies - We must quell both--shame on us, if we fail.
SIS. Incredible! a nation be subdued Peopled as ours!
OPAS. Corruption may subvert What force could never.
SIS. Traitors may.
OPAS. Alas If traitors can, the basis is but frail.
I mean such traitors as the vacant world Echoes most stunningly: not fur-robed knaves Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound's ear Against benighted famished wanderers; While with remorseless guilt they undermine Palace and shed, their very father's house, O blind! their own, their children's heritage, To leave more ample s.p.a.ce for fearful wealth.
Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe, Call it some very meek and hallowed name, Some known and borne by their good forefathers, And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin.
These are the plagues heaven sends o'er every land Before it sink, the portents of the street, Not of the air, lest nations should complain Of distance or of dimness in the signs, Flaring from far to Wisdom's eye alone: These are the last! these, when the sun rides high, In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling, Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies.
Ye who behold them spoil field after field, Despising them in individual strength, Not with one torrent sweeping them away Into the ocean of eternity, Arise! despatch! no renovating gale, No second spring awaits you--up, begone - If you have force and courage even for flight - The blast of dissolution is behind.
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