Part 5 (1/2)

Can hope and fear at once the soul possess, Or hope subsist with surer cause of fear?

Shall I, to shut out frightful jealousy, Close my sad eyes, when every pang I feel Presents the hideous phantom to my view?

What wretch so credulous but must embrace Distrust with open arms, when he beholds Disdain avowed, suspicions realized, And truth itself converted to a lie?

Oh, cruel tyrant of the realm of love, Fierce Jealousy, arm with a sword this hand, Or thou, Disdain, a twisted cord bestow!

VI.

Let me not blame my fate; but, dying, think The man most blest who loves, the soul most free That love has most enthralled. Still to my thoughts Let fancy paint the tyrant of my heart Beauteous in mind as face, and in myself Still let me find the source of her disdain, Content to suffer, since imperial Love By lover's woes maintains his sovereign state.

With this persuasion, and the fatal noose, I hasten to the doom her scorn demands, And, dying, offer up my breathless corse, Uncrowned with garlands, to the whistling winds.

VII.

Oh thou, whose unrelenting rigor's force First drove me to despair, and now to death; When the sad tale of my untimely fall Shall reach thy ear, though it deserve a sigh, Veil not the heaven of those bright eyes in grief, Nor drop one pitying tear, to tell the world At length my death has triumphed o'er thy scorn: But dress thy face in smiles, and celebrate With laughter and each circ.u.mstance of joy The festival of my disastrous end.

Ah! need I bid thee smile? too well I know My death's thy utmost glory and thy pride.

VIII.

Come, all ye phantoms of the dark abyss: Bring, Tantalus, thy unextinguished thirst, And Sisyphus, thy still returning stone; Come, t.i.tyus, with the vulture at thy heart; And thou, Ixion, bring thy giddy wheel; Nor let the toiling sisters stay behind.

Pour your united griefs into this breast, And in low murmurs sing sad obsequies (If a despairing wretch such rites may claim) O'er my cold limbs, denied a winding sheet.

And let the triple porter of the shades, The sister Furies, and chimeras dire, With notes of woe the mournful chorus join.

Such funeral pomp alone befits the wretch By beauty sent untimely to the grave.

IX.

And thou, my song, sad child of my despair, Complain no more; but since thy wretched fate Improves her happier lot who gave thee birth, Be all thy sorrows buried in my tomb.

None of the shepherds departed until, the grave being made and the papers burnt, the body of Chrysostom was interred, not without many tears from the spectators. They closed the sepulchre with a large fragment of a rock until a tombstone was finished, which Ambrosio said it was his intention to provide, and to inscribe upon it the following epitaph:--

CHRYSOSTOM'S EPITAPH.

The body of a wretched swain, Killed by a cruel maid's disdain, In this cold bed neglected lies.

He lived, fond, hapless youth! to prove Th' inhuman tyranny of love, Exerted in Marcela's eyes.

Then they strewed abundance of flowers and boughs on the grave, and after expressions of condolence to his friend Ambrosio, they took their leave of him.

All beauty does not inspire love; some please the sight without captivating the affections. If all beauties were to enamour and captivate, the hearts of mankind would be in a continual state of perplexity and confusion--for beautiful objects being infinite, the sentiments they inspire should also be infinite.

True love cannot be divided, and must be voluntary and unconstrained.

The viper deserves no blame for its sting, although it be mortal--because it is the gift of Nature.

Beauty in a modest woman is like fire or a sharp sword at a distance; neither doth the one burn nor the other wound those that come not too near them.

Honor and virtue are ornaments of the soul, without which the body, though it be really beautiful, ought not to be thought so.

Let him who is deceived complain.