Count D'Alba! Save him! Save him! D'Alba's gone, | That awful depth! Did'st thou dare this for me? And I have sentenced him. (After a pause. And must I?-But I fear not. I'll go with thee. He would have chosen so, I'm safe of foot, and light. I'll go. Would rather have died a thousand deaths than so Jul. Thou can'st not. Have lived! Oh who will succour me, shut up Ann. Then go thyself, or he will find thee here, In this lone tower! none but those horrid guards, He and his ruffian band. Let us part now. And yonder hoary traitor, know where the poor, Kiss me again. Fly, fly from Sicily!— Poor Annabel is hidden; no man cares That fearful man-but he is all one lie- How she may perish-only one-and he- Told me thy life was forfeited. Preserve my wits! I'll count my beads; 'twill calm
The same as the last; the arched Door nearly closed.
Ann. Then he's alive-Oh happiness! They told
That he was dead. Why do we loiter here? Let's join him now.
Now! now! Thou know'st not How horribly these walls do picture to me The several agonies whereof my soul Hath drunk to-day. I have been tempted, Julian, By one-a fiend! tempted till I almost thought God had forsaken me. But thou art here To save me, and my pulse beats high again With love and hope. I am light-hearted now, And could laugh like a child-only these walls Do crowd around me with a visible weight, A palpable pressure; giving back the forms Of wildest thoughts that wandered through my brain, Bright chattering Madness, and sedate Despair, And Fear the Great Unreal!-Take me hence! Take me away with thee!
Jul. Not yet, not yet. Thou sweetest wretch! I cannot-Dotard! Fool! I must. Not yet! not yet!-Talk to me, Annabel; This is the hour when thou wast wont to make Earth Heaven with lovely words; the sun-set hour, That woke thy spirit into joy. Once more Talk to me, Annabel.
When we are free. Thy voice is choked; thy looks Are not on me; thy hand doth catch and twitch And grasp mine painfully,-that gentle hand! Jul. O God! O God! that right hand!-kiss it not! Take thy lips from it! Ann.
Can'st thou save me, Julian? Thou always dost speak truth. Can'st save thyself? Shall we go hence together? Jul. One home.
Upon this glorious world! Look once again On our fair Sicily, lit by that sun
Whose level beams do cast a golden shine
On sea, and shore, and city, on the pride
Of bowery groves; on Etna's smouldering top;— Oh bright and glorious world! and thou of all Created things most glorious, tricked in light, As the stars that live in Heaven! Ann.
So sadly on me? Jul. The bright stars, how oft They fall, or seem to fall! The Sun-look! look! He sinks, he sets in glory. Blessed orb,
Like thee-like thee-Dost thou remember once We sate by the sea-shore when all the Heaven And all the ocean seemed one glow of fire, Red, purple, saffron, melted into one
Intense and ardent flame, the doubtful line Where sea and sky should meet was lost in that Continuous brightness; there we sate and talked Of the mysterious union that blessed orb
Wrought between earth and heaven, of life and death, High mysteries!-and thou didst wish thyself A spirit sailing in that flood of light
Straight to the Eternal Gates, didst pray to pass Away in such a glory. Annabel!
Look out upon the burning sky, the sea
One lucid ruby-'t is the very hour!
Thou 'lt be a Seraph at the Fount of Light Before-
Now! [One of the murderers strikes at Julian with his sword; Annabel rushes before him, re- ceives the wound aimed at him, and falls at his feet.
Ann. (before she is wounded.) For thee! Then after.
Jul. Fiend, hast thou slain her? Die! die! die! Come on. (fights and kills him Bert. Call instant help! Hasten the Count!
[Exit the other murderer. (Julian and Bertone fight, and Julian kills him. My wife! My murdered wife! Doth she not breathe? I thought-
My sight is dim-Oh no! she's pale! she's cold! She's still! If she were living she would speak
To comfort me. She's mute! she's stiff! she's dead! Why do I shiver at the word, that am
Death's factor, peopler of unhallowed graves, Slayer of all my race! not thee! not thee! God, in his mercy, guided the keen sword To thy white bosom,-I could not. Lie there. I'll shroud thee in my mantle. (covering her with t The rude earth Will veil thy beauty next. One kiss!-She died To save me.-One kiss, Annabel! I slew The slave that killed thee,-but the fiend, the cause- Is he not coming?-I will chain in life
Till I've avenged thee; I could slay an army Now in my strong despair. But that were mercy.
He must wear daggers in his heart. He loved her- I'll feed his hopes-and then-Ay-ha! ha! ha! That will be a revenge to make the fiends
What, must I die? And wilt thou kill me? Laugh-ha! ha! ha! I'll wrap me in this cloak
Canst thou? Thou cam'st to save
(taking one belonging to the dead brave. And in the twilight-So-Ile will not know My voice-it frightens me!—I have not hidden Thee quite, my Annabel! There is one tress Floating in springy grace-as if she's dead! She's dead! I must not gaze, for then my heart Will break before its time. He comes. The stairs Groan at his pressure.
D'Alba (entering, to an Attendant).
Back, and watch the gate!
All's tranquil. Where's the traitor?
Enter Bertone, and two Murderers.
Yield thee, Prince Julian! Yield thee! Seize the lady. Jul. Oh fatal, fond delay! Dare not come near us! Stand off! I'll guard thee, sweet. But when I fall, Let him not triumph.
Bert. Yield thee! Strike him down. Jul. Thou canst die then, my fairest.
The two murderers have now advanced close to Julian.
Of rude uncostly linen serves to wrap Your common corse; but this man was born swathed That I may see thy face. Where art thou?
I'm glad thou'rt come to close my eyes. Draw nearer
In regal purple; lived so; and so died.
So be he buried. Let not mine enemy Call me ungenerous. Roll him in his ermine And dig a hole without the city gate
For him and the proud Regent. Quick! I'd have The funeral speedy. Ah! the slaughtering sword Lies by him, brown with clotted gore. Hence! hence! And drag the carrion with thee.
Jul. Poor child, he weeps! Send for the honoured dead
Beside the city gate,-he pardoned me!
Bury us in one grave,-all in one grave!
I did not kill her. Strew her with white flowers, For she was innocent. Leanti.
Cheer thee! Take hope!
I cannot wait her waking: I must go feast my eyes on her fair looksDivinest Annabel! My widowed bride!— Where is she?
Jul. (uncovering the body.) There. Now gaze thyself to Hell!
Gloat with hot love upon that beauteous dust!
Off! off! Pollute her not!
Is not her lot intolerably hard Who does this pious office for the Bard?
She's white! She's pure!-Curses! Pour curse for Who comes applauses not her own to win,
On the foul murderer! On him who turned
Or pay the penance for another's sin? To tack, lest gentle moralisers rail, A drawling comment to a doubtful tale;
The sweet soul from her home, who slew her father, To break with hollow mirth the sacred spell
Which the poor poet rarely weaves too well; Or if his sorrrows haplessly are laugh'd at, Look grave for wit to throw his closing shaft at, Methinks our Author's sex you shrewdly guess- "It is a Lady's Drama"-frankly "yes." Yet let no censure on her daring fall, When all Life's idle business" is-to scrawl; Our tender bosoms learn in songs to melt, And send their griefs to press-as soon as felt; No thought in lone obscurity decays, But dies away in neatly published lays; No tender hope can bloom and fade unseen, It leaves its fragrance-in a magazine; The bashful heart, whom deep emotions bless, Hides its soft secrets in the daily press; With hints of well-assumed despair beguiles, And execrates mankind to win their smiles; A woman sure may claim no small compassion, Who has this plea-she's only in the fashion. O, if the fair's prerogative it be
To watch supreme o'er calumny and tea; [Exit D'Alba guarded. To slay an Author's hopes with daintiest sneers, And change the fates of poets as of peers; Regard not her unwomanly who seeks
I have been thanking heaven
His wits are gone. My Julian, Dost thou know me? I'm thy Cousin,
And now-But I do know thee; thou'rt the King; The pretty boy I loved-She loved thee too;
To draw down sacred tears o'er beauty's cheeks, Who for her sex, by artless scenes, would keep Its dearest right-to weep with those that weep; Who if to-night her humble muse hath brought To some sad heart a train of gentle thought; On some warm spirit shed that blest relief, A generous sympathy with kindred grief, With joy returns to life's secluded ways, And asks no recompense of noisier praise.
COLA DI RIENZI, afterwards Tribune of the People. STEPHEN COLONNA, a great Nobleman of Rome. ANGELO COLONNA, his Son.
URSINI, a great Nobleman, rival to Colonna. SAVELLI,
CAFARELLO, Lords of the Colonna faction.
FRANGIPANI, a partisan of Ursini, also a Nobleman. ALBERTI, Captain of the Guard. PAOLO, a Roman Citizen. CAMILLO, Rienzi's Servant.
Nuncio, Ambassador, Nobles, Citizens, Guards, &c.
LADY COLONNA, Stephen Colonna's Wife. CLAUDIA, Rienzi's daughter.
TERESA, Claudia's attendants.
Scene-ROME, in the Fourteenth Century.
Rome in the fourteenth century.—A Street in Rome.A Temple in Ruins, in the back-ground a Portico, with columns in front of it, so managed that a person may appear and disappear amongst the pillars and recesses.
Enter Paolo, and three Citizens, meeting.
First Cit. Ah, Messer Paolo, a good morrow to thee!
The streets are full to-day. I have not seen Such an outpouring of our Roman hive
Since the last jubilee. Whence comes the swarm? Pao. The stirring Ursini, on a hot canvass
For their proud chief, the factious Martin.
Our senator! a proper ruler! sick, too,
Second Cit. Nay, he were harmless, then. But 't is his brother, John, of Ursini,
The subtle John, that drives this business onward. First Cit. A proper ruler! Martin Ursini,
That seized the Widow Landi's house to make A kennel for his hounds-that carried off The pretty child Emilia Fano-none Hath e'er beheld her since.
Why, Cola, Talk, talk, my masters! Speech Is your fit weapon. Talk! Women and slaves So drown the rattle of their chains. Talk! talk! And tell in gentle whispers, gazing round, Lest other list'ners than the storied walls Of these old temples hear ye, how on Monday A noble gallant, one of the Corsi, stole-
Seized, is the courtlier phrase-and wrung the neck Of Adriani's falcon, a famed bird, Unmatch'd in Italy-the poor old man Weeps as it were his child- -or how, on Tuesday, Black John, of Ursini, spurred his hot courser Right through a band of pious pilgrims, journeying To our lady of Loretto-marry, two Are lamed for life-or how, on Wednesday- Pao. Stop-
I can go through the week. Pao. But, for the pilgrims
Art sure of that foul sacrilege?
Urs. (To the mob.) Thanks, gentle friends. (To the Lords.) Yes, I expect to-morrow
A packet from Avignon; even Colonna Will bow to Clement's mandate.
Fra. Urs. Oh, never doubt; if he refuse, why, then— Doubt him not, Frangipani. Quicker, friends-
I hurry ye, my lords, but we are waited At the Alberteschi Palace. Follow fast. Crowd following) Live John of Ursini!
[Exeunt Ursini, &c.-Paolo and the three Citi- zens come forward, and are stopped by an armed Attendnnt.
Att. Why, what a sort of sullen citizens Be here, that shout not! Doff thy bonnet, man! Look at thy fellows! doff thy cap. Pao. Good friend- All. What, must I be thy tierman?
[Knocks off Paolo's hat with his spear—Rienzi rushes out from the Temple, wrests the spear from the Attendant, and strikes him down with it. Exit the Third Citizen.
Rie. Down, vile minion!
Parade the city. (Distant shouts.) Hark! do ye not The type of that to come. Yon creeping slave,
The shouting mob approach ?-Sure as that ye Who frown, and lift your eyes, and shake your heads, And look aghast at such foul sacrilege, Will join your voice to that base cry, and shout, Long live the Ursini! I know ye, masters. Pao. Cola, thou wrong'st us. Rie. If I wrong ye-no! Ye are Italians; men of womanish soul, Faint, weak, emasculate: the generous wrath Of the manly Roman, with his lofty tongue, Lies buried-not for ever. (Nearer shouts.) Hark! Here comes
The tyrant of to-day. Go, swell his train. I'll to my porch again, and feed my spirit On these mute marbles.
(Goes into the temple. Remember!
[Exeunt Rienzi, Paolo, and Citizens, bearing off the Attendant.
[Paolo and Citizens retire to the back-ground An Apartment in Rienzi's House; a Roman chair, in front of the Temple.
Enter Officers, six Halberdiers, and Ursini, Frangipani, and two Lords, in conversation, followed by armed Attendants, and accompanied by a Crowd, who shout, "Live the Ursini," &c.
with a skein of red worsted; a Lattice down to the floor, opening into the Garden.
Enter Angelo and Claudia, through the Lattice. Cla. Beseech thee, now, away, Lord AngeloThou hast been here o'erlong.
« PrejšnjaNaprej » |