Part 9 (1/2)

CLARIN. A strange proceeding!-- Little time have we for reading, Idly pacing up and down.

CYPRIAN. Clarin, get thee home.

MOSCON. And I?

CLARIN. Sly-boots, would you rather stay?

CYPRIAN. Go: here leave me both; away!

CLARIN. Mind, he tells us both to fly.

[Exeunt CLARIN and MOSCON.

SCENE VI.

CYPRIAN. Memory of a maddened brain, Do not with such strong control Make me think another soul Is what in my heart doth reign.

Blind idolator I have been-- Lost in love's ambitious flight, Since such beauty met my sight, Since a G.o.ddess I have seen.

Yet in such a maze of woe Rigorous fate doth make me move, That I know but whom I love, And of whom I am jealous--no.

Yet this pa.s.sion is so strong-- Ah, so sweet this fascination, Driving my imagination With resistless force along-- That I would (I know too well How this madness doth degrade me) To some devilish power to aid me, Were it even to rise from h.e.l.l, Where some mightier power hath kept it,-- Sharing all its pains in common,-- I would, to possess this woman, Give my soul.

SCENE VII.

The Demon and CYPRIAN.

Demon [within]. And I accept it.

[A great tempest is heard, with thunder and lightning.

CYPRIAN. What's this, ye heavens so pure?

Clear but a moment hence and now obscure, Ye fright the gentle day!

The thunder-b.a.l.l.s, the lightning's forked ray, Leap from its riven breast-- Terrific shapes it cannot keep at rest; All the whole heaven a crown of clouds doth wear, And with the curling mist, like streaming hair, This mountain's brow is bound.

Outspread below, the whole horizon round Is one volcanic pyre.

The sun is dead, the air is smoke, heaven fire.

Philosophy, how far from thee I stray, When I cannot explain the marvels of this day!

And now the sea, upborne on clouds the while, Seems like some ruined pile, That crumbling down the wind as 'twere a wall, In dust not foam doth fall.

And struggling through the gloom, Facing the storm, a mighty s.h.i.+p seeks room On the open sea, whose rage it seems to court, Flying the dangerous pity of the port.

The noise, the terror, and that fearful cry, Give fatal augury Of the impending stroke. Death hesitates, For each already dies who death awaits.

With portents the whole atmosphere is rife, Nor is it all the effect of elemental strife.

The s.h.i.+p is rigged with tempest as it flies.*

It rushes on the lee, The war is now no longer of the sea; Upon a hidden rock It strikes: it breaks as with a thunder shock.

Blood flakes the foam where helpless it is tost.

[footnote] *Hartzenbusch remarks that there is no corresponding rhyme for this line in the original, and that both the sense and the versification are defective.--'Comedias de Calderon', t. 2, p. 178.