Part 252 (1/2)

Bondage, rather!

You would drive freedom from the last stronghold That yet remains for her upon the earth.

The people know their own true interests better: Their simple natures are not warped by show, But round your head a tangling net is wound.

RUDENZ.

Bertha, you hate me--you despise me!

BERTHA.

Nay! And if I did, 'twere better for my peace.

But to see him despised and despicable,-- The man whom one might love.

RUDENZ.

Oh, Bertha! You Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss, Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!

BERTHA.

No, no! the n.o.ble is not all extinct Within you. It but slumbers,--I will rouse it.

It must have cost you many a fiery struggle To crush the virtues of your race within you.

But, heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself, And you are n.o.ble in your own despite!

RUDENZ.

You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love What might I not become?

BERTHA.

Be only that For which your own high nature destined you.

Fill the position you were born to fill;-- Stand by your people and your native land.

And battle for your sacred rights!

RUDENZ.

Alas! How can I hope to win you--to possess you, If I take arms against the emperor?

Will not your potent kinsman interpose, To dictate the disposal of your hand?

BERTHA.

All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons; And I am free, when Switzerland is free.

RUDENZ.

Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!

BERTHA.

Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favor; Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates, To swell the vast domains which now they hold.

The selfsame l.u.s.t of conquest that would rob You of your liberty endangers mine.

Oh, friend, I'm marked for sacrifice;--to be The guerdon of some parasite, perchance!

They'll drag me hence to the imperial court That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue; There do detested marriage bonds await me.

Love, love alone,--your love can rescue me.

RUDENZ.

And thou could'st be content, love, to live here, In my own native land to be my own?

Oh, Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul For this great world and its tumultuous strife, What were they, but a yearning after thee?

In glory's path I sought for thee alone And all my thirst of fame was only love.