Part 13 (1/2)

A second (CAJETAN).

We come, we come, in festal pride, To greet the beauteous bride; Behold! the nuptial gifts, the rich attire The banquet waits, the guests are there; They bid thee to the solemn rite Of hymen quick repair.

Thou hear'st them not--the sportive lyre, The frolic dance, shall ne'er invite; Nor wake thee from thy lowly bed, For deep the slumber of the dead!

The whole Chorus.

No more the echoing horn shall cheer Nor bride with tones of sweetness charm his ear.

On the cold earth he lies, In death's eternal slumber closed his eyes.

A third (CAJETAN).

What are the hopes, and fond desires Of mortals' transitory race?

This day, with harmony of voice and soul, Ye woke the long-extinguished fires Of brothers' love--yon flaming orb Lit with his earliest beams your dear embrace At eve, upon the gory sand Thou liest--a reeking corpse!

Stretched by a brother's murderous hand.

Vain projects, treacherous hopes, Child of the fleeting hour are thine; Fond man! thou rear'st on dust each bold design,

Chorus (BERENGAR).

To thy mother I will bear The burden of unutterable woe!

Quick shall yon cypress, blooming fair, Bend to the axe's murderous blow Then twine the mournful bier!

For ne'er with verdant life the tree shall smile That grew on death's devoted soil; Ne'er in the breeze the branches play, Nor shade the wanderer in the noontide ray; 'Twas marked to bear the fruits of doom, Cursed to the service of the tomb.

First (CAJETAN).

Woe to the murderer! Woe That sped exulting in his pride, Behold! the parched earth drinks the crimson tide.

Down, down it flows, unceasingly, To the dim caverned halls below, Where throned in kindred gloom the sister train, Of Themis progeny severe, Brood in their songless, silent reign!

Stern minister of wrath's decree, They catch in swarthy cups thy streaming gore, And pledge with horrid rites for vengeance evermore.

Second (BERENGAR).

Though swift of deed the traces fade From earth, before the enlivening ray; As o'er the brow the transient shade Of thought, the hues of fancy flit away:-- Yet in the mystic womb unseen, Of the dark ruling hours that sway Our mortal lot, whate'er has been, With new creative germ defies decay.

The blooming field is time For nature's ever-teeming shoot, And all is seed, and all is fruit.

[The Chorus goes away, bearing the corpse of DON MANUEL on a bier.

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.