Vie 4ZoS Heb iS 7a SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 29 By wedding with his son. Then fare thee well!— And all the blessings [Zeit Ippouita. Giov. Stay! Ippolita! Take back thy blessings !—Blessings on one who’s cursed, Alight but on a poison’d soil, and perish— I cannot leave her thus! [Lait after IPPOLITA. Enter Garcia, CORNELIO, DALMASSO, Cavaliers and Hunisman, with falcons and boar-spears. Gar. Why, dew-damp lords, We're up before Apollo!—but where’s my brother? Asleep perchance in’s bed, and sweetly dreaming Of a right royal chase—you understand. Has he been roused? Datu. He has, my lord. Cor. He is here! Re-enter GIOVANNI. Giov. Your pardon, brother—I have delayed you much. Gar. A minute scarcely: we are glad you’re come. The day is favourable—clear and cold: Let’s to the fields, beginning life afresh! Gio. I shall be glad to do so. Dat. You look pale: The air, my lord, doth seem too keen for you? Gio. I’m not quite well; but I shall mend apace, As my blood warms. Gar. (aside.) It is his hard consent, 30 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT II, Gain’d by our mother, that doth make him ill: I fear ’tis so.—(Zo Gov.) Brother, be frank with me! This pastime and this company suit not Thy habits, nor thy natural bent of mind: Clench not an odious task between thy teeth In all good feeling, if thou’dst rather stay, Say so, and take my hand before I go. Giov. I'll take it and go with you. You mistake My cause of gloom. I’ve much that loads my mind. Gar. (archly). I apprehend. Giov. Dost thou? Gar. I think I do: (whispers.) In love already with the Emperor’s daughter? Giov. Let us away! I will shake off this mood! [voice: Gar. Join then the chase with heart, and hand and Echoes shall ring as in some wooded isle Fresh peopled with the lusty savages ! Sound, clarions !—fill the empty air, and lift The hoar grass on the heads of mountains old, Astonished at the wood-gods come once more! [Exewnt. [Horns play a joyous hunting air. SCENE III. (na Stage Entrance), A thick Forest—Enter ZAcuEo, disguised asa Friar. Zach. I know not if this disguise hangs friar-wise upon me; but I feel hugely uncomfortable in it! I like to have my limbs free—full play for the sword-arm SCENE Il. COSMO DE MEDICI. 31 —an uncovered brow—no impediment to the advancing of the leg and toes sinuously—and ample scope through- out for every action that becomes a man and a pirate! Whereas, my limbs seem to belong to my habiliments rather than to myself, since I have no proper use of them; and the captain of the boldest crew that ever ground a blade by torch-light, while their black galley rode like a sleeping cormorant over the billows, is now as much in his own way as an armadillo in a sack! By’r Prophet, I cannot endure this much longer;—and yet I must bear it, too,—at least until I can discover what's ithe wind. (thoughtfully.) This city-hatched storm has been soaring over our decks some time, and has occa- sionally pounced down in a squall, and dispersed several of our gallies: some have been captured, and the crews hung up like dried fish in the sun; but now the Duke seems resolved to drive us off the coast of Tuscany for ever. My best line of trade is in a fair-and-foul way of being destroyed during the reign of this troublesome Beglerbey, who will not let things float in their natural current. Pirates have existed in all countries from time beyond memory: we are as natural to the sea as her tides. Out on your squinting exclusions! All proper men must live—somehow. But what is my best course ? [Horns sound at a distance.| Hunting a-foot! Would I might meet some courtly hunter in these woods! A dainty lost one !—One who knows all the court secrets ! Gold enough I have to buy the best court secret the devil ever coveted from souls of their accurst religion. Could I but know what the Duke intends—so I might 32 COSMO DE MEDICI. ACT II. get well to windward of his pipe and chess-board! What if I could breed an insurrection !—fish up a ready- boiled traitor or two! [Votces at a distance, shouting.] Ab! nobles on the chase !—too many at once—perhaps I may fall in with a straggler, and give him a taste of the half-moon. Soft—they approach ! [Hxit stealthily. Enter CORNELIO, DALMASSO, CAVALIERS, and HUNTSMAN. Dat. It is most strange |—I know not how it chane’d We lost the princes ! Hunt. We shall find them soon. Cor. Not strange, methinks, amidst our hot pursuit Through such entangled mazes, whence look’d forth Right many a wood-born face with blood-shot eyes, That made us think of ourselves! ’T was life ’gainst life; And death’s a spiteful brute, as the monks say. Dau. Think of your Order—be not thus profane. Cor. Why not? Well—well— Dat. Who saw the princes last ? Cav. The boar grew furious, when from out the thicket Where last he crouch’d, our dogs did riot him; But still he fled. Hont. Prince Garcia, with a spear, Press’d close upon his out-swell’d, panting flank ! Dat. So did his noble brother; but that wolf— Was’t not a wolf, that, at the moment, cross’d us? Hont. It was. Cor. And in the fresh and fierce confusion We've lost the princes, and our sport to boot! Cav. Perchance they’re not far distant: best wait here? SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 33 Dat. The princes seem’d most ardent in the chase, Vying with each other—not i’ the sweetest mood; But hunting naturally excites the blood, And makes men, for the time, wild and ferocious As is the beast they hunt. Cav. Let us rest here! Cor. Rest is the wisdom learnt of useless action— Oh what a devil of a thorn is here! Dalmasso, what’s the genus of a black-thorn ? Dat. Oh, cease! cease! I’ve no mood. Cor. Pooh! pooh! they’re safe. By searching we oft lose; by sitting still We're found. My feet are sore and my joints ache: We are fatigued wild beast—as you would say. Let’s to yon tree, and seated ‘neath its boughs, Bring forth our wallets and beguile the time. All. Well said! well said! Dat. I would we had not lost them. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. (Full depth of the Stage). Another part of the Forest. Enter GIOVANNI and GaRclA, breathless and excited. Giov. I say ’twas mine! Gar. "T'was mine, sir! Giov. “Iwas my spear That thro’ the haunches pierc’d him ! Gar. Where’s the boar ? The savage hath escap’d us. D 34 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT I. Giov. I was close When you did cross me in your headlong blindness To make a random blow, and thus we lost him ! *Tis ever so with hot, misguided haste ! Gar. It was the wolf you smote. Giov. Mass! ’twas the boar! Gar. He sped this way. Lookyou at these moss’d trunks, Torn white with’s tusks !— and here his hoofs with rage Have spurn’d rough trenches !—on these drooping leaves See the rank clotted foam !—But he is gone! Giov. I hate thus to be foil’d !—seldom I use These idle games—and now I must be foil’d! Gar. I’m vex’d as you—but we may find another. Giov. Nay, I’m fatigued—disgusted ! Gar. Was’t my fault ? [know ! Gtov. It was—thou know’st it was—or thou shouldst Gar. Mine !—how ? Giov. Assuredly. ~ Gar. Why, brother, look you here— It was the wolf you smote, just as he sprang Into the thicket where the boar had rush’d! I know ’twas all confusion at the moment, But that I saw. Giov. Thou seldom see’st aright. Gar. So long thou’st been unpractis’d in these sports, *Tis thou whose ardour doth mislead thine aim. “Twas much the same when, three years since, we both Cast off our hawks: thou said’st ’twas thine that struck The cloud-borne game,—the falconer said ’twas mine. Thy study’s lamp breeds visions in thine eyes When in the open air, SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 35 Gov. ’Tis vanity And childish petulance that make thee blind : Gar. What made the falconer blind, then ? Giov. Pshaw !—thy ducat. [lawyer ! Gar. Thou’st learnt illiberal shifts — thy Saint’s a Giov. Insolent boy! Gar. My senses are sure vouchers. [clothes : Giov. Thy senses !—they’re as yet in their swaddling Gar. Is this the modesty you learn from books, And women so admire ? Giov. Go—cease this prattle ! I’m vex’d and tir’d, and in no mood to bear it. Gar. Then, sir, go you! Giov. Do not provoke me, boy! Gar. The forest’s wide—what care I for your mood ? Return and cool, and seek instead of books Our mother’s chamber, or Ippolita, And of her learn to sweeten your ill-temper. Giov. Ippolita!—what mean you? ha! what mean you! Dost taunt me with her name ? Gar. Taunt you !—Ah, no; She is too dear to me—too much respected, And too much lowd, to use for any taunt. Giov. What’s this !—thou lov’st her as thy foster-sister, Or as our mother loves her, or the Duke ? [avowal. Gar. More, more !—’tis a strange moment for the Giov. Thou’d’st love her as a wife, then ? Gar. Ay, most truly — But what is this to thee, that thus with eyes Staring and flaming—with a stiffening mouth, D2 36 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IL And working fingers, thou dost trembling stand ? Giov. I love Ippolita ! Gar. (with amazement.) Thou ? Giov. And sincerely ! Nay more, she loves me better than her life— Beyond her happiness ! Gar. Can this be true ? But what a cruel palterer must thou be, Knowing that thou’rt to wed another soon, Thus to seduce her love,—thus to rob me Of her first feelings ! Oh, ’tis base !—most base! Giov. Rail boy, no more! J cannot, will not, bear it! Give up thine idle thought, for she is mine ! Gar. Thine !—idle thought !—why, what’s thy studious thought, That should have fledged a red-legged Cardinal? Hie to the Emperor's court and make thy way—. Strut in the market, and there strike a bargain To set green sanctity on stronger bones ! My idle thought !—I love her as my soul, And as the soul of all this Heaven above us ! Giov. Unbearable !—fear not my sword’s keen edge. But with the flat o’ the blade I will chastise thee! [draws. Gar. What ? Giov. I shall beat thy words into loud cries, Scorning thy boyhood as thine insolence ! Gar. Thou scarlet braggart ! Giov. Thou shalt find, I will. Gar. Thou’d’st best not try it! (drawing.) Gov. Insolent young villain! [They fight off: SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI, 37 Enter ZACHEO, from behind a tree. Zacu. As fair a fight as ever I—ah! ha! A mortal fight!—a desperate fight—so !—so !— The younger one is down !—ah! up again ? His sword is broken—half of it remains, And makes a fiery circle round both heads, [reeling ! But strikes no more!—one bleeds!—here they come Tl) have no share in it. [ZACHEO retreats. Re-enter GARCIA with GIOVANNI, who staggers, and leans upon his sword. Gar. What hast thou done ? Giov. (faintly.) Wrong, Garcia—wrong—and death must be the atonement. Gar. Death !—no, no, no! thou art not wounded deep. Giov. Mortally ! -Gar. No !—it cannot, cannot be ? (swpports him.) Giov. I feel my life fast flowing into the grave— The grass looks red and hazy—all’s confused— And a sick atmosphere envelopes me— A general shroud! (sinks down.) Gar. ’Tis but a passing faintness — Giov. Yes, Garcia—it will pass— Gar. I know it will! Giov. And I with it. List to my parting words— Gar. Alas! my brother! [Garcia kneels beside him, Giov. Bear my best blessing to Ippolita, Thus full of mine eternity:—thouw lt do it? 38 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IL. Gar. I will—I will do anything—merciful God! Guov. If thou shouldst marry her—be kind and loving; And tell our father—tell him from me, dear Garcia, That this unworthy end was the worst crime-— If crime can be where thought was absent—lost— Wherewith my conscience is oppress’d: farewell! [Dies. Gar. He is not dead !—he is not surely dead ? Giovanni, speak to me—speak but one word ! Make some faint sign—the least—that I may know A thread of life remains !—save me from madness ! [After a pause, during which the sky durkens.] Yes—he is surely dead—he must be dead ! No sleep was e’er like this—no trance—no fainting ! Those white and rigid lips—those dreadful eye-balls, Turning me all to stone;—all but my soul— Would that were stone too !—God ! make me a stone, Or make him animate !—these unnatural limbs— These root-cold fingers—fallen jaw—this hair Steaming the grass—Oh death ! death ! death is here! Where shall I go! O where—where shail I go? [Bait wildly. A long sough of wind, followed by a gust. A tree falls, and tts branches are scattered about. Re-enter ZACHEO. Zacu. A mortal fight indeed—a furious fight, And a right grievous one it seems to ha’ been ! In all my time I ne’er felt thus before! Death I can scorn—but who can bear remorse, SCENE IIL. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 39 Or such despair as shakes that boy to the soul ? I hate to see it—slaughter’s nothing to it! I had a mind, just at the height o’ the fray, To step between and beat their swords to earth; But prudence held me, as I’ve always found, Meddling for good of others hurts one’s self, And no thanks gained beside. Hist !—I’l] steal off From my old forest-hammock to the city, Lest I be found and question’d of this deed; Which e’en might lead to many other questions. (Listening and looking round). How sharp the wind sings thro’ the dead man’s teeth ! And jars mine, too, as coldly! Shades on shades Creep o’er the quivering leaves. I almost fancy I see strange forms like Afrits and pale Ghouls, Dodge round the dark trunks, while the air seems filling With faces of men slain at sea, and those Who sand-graves found ashore! Away ! twas written ! [Lait in dismay. END OF THE SECOND ACT. 40 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT III. ACT III. SCENE I. Portico of the Grand Cathedral. Enter Cutostro, DEL Passato, and a STUDENT.— They stand aside. Cutos. I shall inform you of their several names, As the Procession passes. Pass. Sir, I thank you. [likely Curos. Since you're but late from Carthage ’tis not Your eyes should recognize them, tho’ their works Will be companioned by your memory.* Pass, And some I may not know. Stu. The festival Will be adorned with heterogeneous talents— Will’t not, most learned sir ? Cuios. Yes, you will see Courtiers and cavaliers, and lovely dames, Artists, astronomers, engineers, and scholars, Critics, historians, chemists, and a shoal Of poets and musicians. * In representation (at whatever future period) nearly the whole of this scene should pass in dumb show, as far as the bottom of p. 45. The opening of Act II, and some portions of Act V, should also be reduced to acting-time. SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 41 Pass. Shoals of poets ! Cuios. The small-fry of all Courts: I should have said, Writers of fugitive songs and flattering odes, Sweet rhymes and levities to please the fair; With real poets, sparsely, ‘midst the throng. A Group, in rich attire, pass across the Stage. Music—gonfalonieri—insignia, &e. Pass. Who are all these ? Cuios. Those are Noblemen of the Court, and Cava- liers of the Order of St. Stephen. He, with the close black beard, large hands, and something of lameness in his gait, is Count Zelatore, who was originally a private soldier, but received his title and estates for his great valour and judgment in the Siennese wars. The bending figure near him, with the large grey beard, is Medicino, the famous old General. The three who walk abreast, a little apart from the rest, are the Cardinals of Florence. A Second Group pass across. Pass. Who is that tall, bird-like personage strutting in front, with the rich jewel in his huge bonnet, and the smallest possible face under it,—the dark, slashed doublet, and scarlet mantle as bright as an auto da fé? Stu. Of course be must be somebody, he smells so ostentatiously of Cadiz garlic. Cutos. I do not know him. That thin figure in the centre is Vasari, the painter. His writings are of value, and have just been published by the Duke’s express direction. May Vasari prove grateful! Beside him is 42 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT III. his friend, the accomplished Pietro Aretino, whom some few love, and many hate. Near him, on the right, are Pontormo, Naldini, Bronzino, and Schidone, all engaged on different works for the Duke. Pass... See, again, an extraordinary object, with ruffles and rapier—what a rapier !—and no calves to his legs! Is it the Ambassador from France ? Cuios. I thought at first it was the Spanish romanziero, Don—Don—I forget. Mark you that tall personage, of firm and graceful carriage!—it is Guicciardini, the historian, who proposed his Highness as Duke of Florence, when the Council of Forty-eight were as- sembled. That figure striding alone in fierce embroidery, with a certain air of energy and defiance, is Benvenuto Cellini. Pass. Ay, sir; I have seen the rare Cellini before. You might know his walk a mile off. *Tis exactly that of a gladiator who hath just killed his man. Enter a MUSICIAN. Stu. Learned sir! what fat, silver-headed, satin-coated gentleman is this, who carries so much luggage in front beneath his melon-blossom vest ? Cuios. It is Policarpo Guazzetto, the celebrated musician—otherwise irreverently called Trattenuto del Vento, since he hath been in years. Mus. (running forward). Ah! my lord Professor, is it you? Has’t seen Benvenuto Cellini pass in the Procession ? Cuios. He hath this moment passed. SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 43 Mos. Ha !—then shall I overtake him briskly. All this morning have I been with him, and left his house but that I might dress, perfume, and render myself more angelic than ordinary. He hath been singing me an ode of his own fantasy for this brilliant occasion, wherein he himself seemeth to be the Duke, and the Duke his much-admiring friend. Still, very good—I mean the music is good—of poetry I am no judge; but his music is good—that is, for an amateur. Every man should keep to his own profession. Bronzino also sings well, and hath a good voice—for an unformed voice. But every man should keep to his own profession. I sat up feasting with him half last night. He knows no more about music than a rhinoceros. Cuios. Was there nothing upon his easel which you could admire ? Mus. I’ faith, there was! He had the head of an old Cardinal, half done;—seemed quite a daub, and to ha’ cost him no manner of pains,—but at a little distance,— there was the complete face of the man! Can't conceive, for the life o’ me, how it’s done! But every man to his own— Cutos. Doubtless, a copy from Michael Angelo ? Mus. Don’t know in the least. ’Twas a stern, dark- bearded, grand-looking old fellow. I could tell exactly in what a fine sonorous voice he would sing the bass to amass. But I must overtake Cellini! [Eacit. A figure passes across. Pass. There’s a fine head ! Cutos, That is the learned and accomplished historian 44 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT III, Benedetto Varchi, who was exiled some years ago for his political antagonism to the Medici family. Our present Duke recalled him very lately, and he came back a poor scholar, almost in rags. He is now librarian at the Palace. Pass. The Duke is one of Nature’s princes. Enter a single figure. Stu. Who is that, sir?—he who so gloomily paces along by a different route from the rest, with his eyes now fixed on the ground,—and now glancing askaunce, with a ferocious expression round the mouth ? Pass. Murder and rapine are at work in both. Culos. (in an under tone). Envy impelling him from behind, and oblivion standing before him, contend for his soul. It is Baccio Bandinelli. [Hatt Bandinella. (Organ heard from the Cathedral). Enter another single figure. [and swathed Pass. (reverently.) But lo! yon distant patriarch, robed In massive folds, with beard of hewn-iron grey, Who heavily moves !—his sombre body bowed By labour and long years! Slow falls his pace, Measuring the earth, as for a giant’s grave ! ’Tis Michael Angelo !—it must be he. That mighty soul ere long must take its flight. Heaven’s temples claim the adornment of his hands. A third Group pass across. Cuios. Those gentlemen who are in advance of the rest, are Giovanni Battista, Cini, Baldini, Filipo Nerli, SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 45 all historians. He who comes next, attired in such splen- dour, is the poet Della Casa, Archbishop of Benevento; and on his right walk Landi and Primerani, the dramatists, followed close by Lasca, the novelist, and Pietro Vettori, the critic and scholar. A little to the left of Della Casa, engaged in earnest conversation, are the sculptors Ammanati and John of Bologna. Pass. Ah !—John of Bologna ! Cutos. And here comes the painter, Macchietti, in company with a celebrated dilettante. Srv. How hot they both look! Enter MAccHIETTI and a GENTLEMAN, disputing. Mac. I do assure you, sir, -you are most thoroughly misled about the matter! He is a genuine sculptor, sir; an inspired sculptor—quite equal to Cellini, and beyond Bandinelli—and Del Passato’s judgment goes with mine: Passato admires his excellence. Gent. I cannot discover it. Mac. Very likely. Gent. His figures have no more design in them than an English chimney-pot. Mac. He is not happy in his figures; his excellence —judge of a man by his excellence—is in his heads. Look at his bust of the Prince Giovanni! It is ex- quisite! The execution is masterly: not too highly polished, but fleshy; the expression mild, sensitive, thoughtful, rife with subtle passion, and to the life! Gent. I have not seen it. Mac. And if you had, sir? [Haeunt. 46 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IIL Stu, But where's the Prince Giovanni! Cuios. He must be here, At this high festival! The hunt long since Hath ended, and they surely have returned. Pass. Prince Garcia too !—he hath not yet passed by. Cuios. Doubtless they’re in the Palace. Please you this way. [Exeunt. SCENE IT. (ist Stage Entrance.) Outskirts of the Forest, Enter GARCIA. Gar. Thro’ the wild silence of this savage forest I’ve wander’d with quick steps to shun the scene. I'm on the outskirts now—where would I go? Where’er I turn, Giovanni’s dying form Lies in my path—and in my tingling ears Giovanni's dying words are still repeated ! Where would I fly—unless into the grave ? But wherefore ?—for I know not how ’twas done. He struck me—thrust at me—we fought—he fell ! How was’t he got that death-wound ? Oh vain thought ! What can restore him—what can bring him back ? Nothing !—for he is dead—I left him dead— And I must answer for it! Answer !—how ? What can I answer—save that we did fight, And he is slain? There is no other answer. But can I say this to my father ?—no ! It is impossible !—or to his mother ? SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 47 It is impossible !—Oh ’twould increase Their agonies—drage’d with a dripping harrow Through and beyond the natural gates of death— To know his brother slew him! I am resolv’d They shall not know it: I myself will bear All the sharp torment, weighing down life’s balance With inward-molten lead; and let my soul, That in calm virtue’s ether should be pois’d, Sink all alone to premature dark hell— But show no shadow of’t in words or looks. [ Votces at a little distance. The hunters !—ha !—I cannot meet them yet. Be still my brain—methinks they’d hear it beat ! Be firm, new soul !—for I must go to them. [ Eacit. SCENE III. (2nd Stage Entrance.) A thicket in the Forest—CoRNELIO, DALMASSO, OTHER GENTLEMEN, AND HUNTSMAN, seated beneath a tree, regaling themselves. A wood-fire burning. Cor. They'll rove this way anon—I’m sure they will. The Princes will be hungry, and by instinct Find this green nest. How providential The presence of these viands! [filling a glass. Dat. Fortunate, You meant—not providential. Cor. Much the same. [drinks. (A Gentleman rises, and stirs the fire). 48 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. SCENE III. Gen. There’s nothing like forest cookery ! Cor. Besides, you can replenish your dish from the next thicket. Which now, gentlemen, do ye think the best ;—the game that runs, or the game that flies? Dat. That flies away, do you mean ? Cor. No, no; but which ? 2nD GEN. Why, if you were very sharp set, that game is best which you can first catch. Cor. Dalmasso, I'll settle the question. I do think that game best which flies away: it leaves so much to the imagination. All. Ha! ha! ha !—it does—it does! [They drink. Cor. Dalmasso—here’s more venison! Dau. Not a morsel—I hate the sight of it! All. Oh! oh! Dat. I’m an exhausted receiver. Cor. I think you must be, by this time. Dat. ’Tis well I have escaped all blown conceits in the shape of a retort; but hand me yon flask instead—I wish to try an experiment with its neck. 1st Grn. He’s getting pleasant with his chemistry ! Dat, A tri-unal content now fills my carbonic trunk: an oxy-hydrogenico-azotic pérfection ! Cor. What jargon of science is this ? Dau. Jargon to you, I make no doubt: ahem! Cor. What do you mean, sir ?—explain your “hem!” [All laugh, and fill glasses. 1st Gen. Explain, sir! 2nD GEN. Enlighten us! Cor. Exposeyourdarkness! No response ? Heblossoms SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 49 inward, like the fig: its best beauty, both of colour and taste, is the inside of the bottle. Dat. Peace! what know you of taste or colour ? Cor. Thus much by negation: your wit hath no more colour than the nails and knee-caps of a drowned man; a child’s tongue that’s cutting its teeth; or a drawing in white chalk on a ghost’s.forehead. If once in the year it entertain a touch of colouring, ’tis green as a colt’s nether lip when the day-break fields are reeking. As to thy taste—another wedge o’ the pasty; thank you— ist Gen. Mass! how you do eat, while you talk! Cor. As to your taste, ’tis my belief, were half a dozen Pharoah-mummies chemically expressed in a stick of Spanish liquorice, the very conceit of it would make you glory in the suction ! Dat. Oh, antithetical sublimation of humanity! Do I sit here to be insulted by the pictures of thine own nightmare fantasy ? Cor. No; you sit here to eat and drink, like the rest of us. Dat. Do I, sir? Cor. Yes; (rising pompously) and apparently by some great law. : Dat. Ahem !—but see, ’tis getting dark ! (rising suddenly) Where can the Princes be ? (All rise hastily. The wood-fire dies out). Cor. I’faith, they must be lost! Dat. What's best to do ? Cor. You said that if with patience here we sat They soon would find us! E 50 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IIL Dat. Did I say so? “T'was you—(angrily). Surely ’twas you, sir—you that first propos’d Refreshment "neath the tree! Id fain have search’d The forest thro’, to find them ! Cor. Pshaw! not you. Dat. (loudly). Not I, sir? Come, explain yourself! These gentlemen know well that you do wrong me! Cor. (loudly). What I have said, sir— Enter GARCIA. All. Here’s Prince Garcia ! [A pause of silence ensues. Dau. We much rejoice to see you here, my lord: We search’d till quite exhausted. Cor. Quite worn out! Where is my lord Giovanni—close at hand ? Gar. (calmly). Is he not here ? All. No!—No! Dau. Where did you leave him ? Cor. Where, my lord ? Gar. I know not. Think ye this forest, gentlemen, like a city, That I can name its windings and dark walks, Its gaps, high mounds, and green enclosures? Surely Ye do but jest—he’s hidden to alarm me ? Dau. Where ?—what is this ! Cor. Indeed he is not here! Gar. Come, stand aside— (He passes through, looking behind the group, as if in search.) SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 51 Well, if he be not with ye, Take blame unto yourselves, so ill to tend him! Ye knew him unaccustom’d to this place: He hath seldom hunted here. Dat. What must we do ? Cor. We lost you both together : Where did you see him last ? Gar. In the forest T left him somewhere—there it was we parted. (aside.) I can endure no longer. (abruptly.) Fools that we are! He hath return’d !—fatigued, and having lost us, He is, ere this, in Florence! Ail. Right !—no doubt! Cor. I see ’tis so; and on his downy bed, Half dress’d, yet needing rest before the dance, Is sleeping deeply ? Gar. (aside). Oh! on the cold hard earth He sleeps—too deeply ! Cor. Let us straight return ! All. Agreed—away ! let’s haste! [Exeunt, all but Datmasso and Huntsman. Dau. (confidentially). Stay you with me! Ere night-fall we must search the forest depths Tn the same track the ardent princes sped When last we saw them; for I much do fear Some accident :—I know not what to think ! [Lxeunt. E2 52 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IIL. SCENE IV. Grand Hall of the Ducal Palace-—Cosmo seated in the Ducal Chair; the DucHEss near him.—WNobles, Cavaliers of St. Stephen, Ladies, Artists, Scholars, Gentlemen, c&e., ranged on each side.-— Triumphal Music. Cosmo. Nobles, and Cavaliers, and Gentlemen, Equally noble in your several virtues ! Accept Duke Cosmo’s thanks for all your love, In the address, spontaneous and full-hearted, Thus tender’d to ourselves ; whereof so large A part doth of far better right belong To the high memories that endow this day ! Bear, then, in mind the glorious names of those Who fell, when Marciano’s victory Laid broad foundation for our towering sway. [Zriumphal music. *Tis our regret, at such a ripen’d season, The princes should not with their presence grace This Anniversary, which, though so brief In’t’s outward show, is one of Time’s best harvests. I doubt not hither they are spurring apace ; And ere the sweeping shade of man and steed Be lost in widening night-fall, they’ll appear, And add their greeting to our own best welcome. SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 53 CHORUS. ’Twas ancient Saturn’s children fell By his stern hand and fate’s decree. ' Lest they, unnatural, should rebel, And desolate heaven's majesty. But that primeval king, Deceived, and dim-eyed, crush’d a stone That fornd the basis of his throne— And lost stars o'er him swing ! Long hid in Latium’s forest old, With him came forth the Age of Gold ; Kind deeds, and lovely arts, and creeds Whose altars bore not aught that bleeds, But, images of clay: Thus did the father of great Jove The earth with gifts divine improve, Which gild the present day. [Zhe DUKE descends from the Chair of State. Cosmo. Now to the banquet-hall! My noble friends! Thus rich in Florence’ beauty, little need Have we of garish torches, dead at the core, With such soft brightness burning from within, And radiant to the foot—Who’s this? with’s spear, And grey with dust! Enter Datmasso, hastily. See you aright, sir? Dau. Duke! Your Highness’ private ear 54 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT ILI. Cosmo. Come, sir, be brief. [They step aside. Dau. The Prince Giovanni Cosmo. Wherefore stays he thus ? Giovanni and young Garcia should be here: Tm anger’d at their stay—ha! what has happen’d, That thus aghast you look ? Dat. Giovanni’s dead ! Cosmo. Who ?—dead ?—who’s dead ? Dat. Giovanni—Prince Giovanni ! We've found his body in the forest. We Cosmo. And dead?—gone utterly?—the last spark gone? Dat. Quite cold ! Cosmo. Stand fast !—remain you here, Ducu. (advancing). We wait Your Highness’ pleasure. Cosmo. I shall join you anon. Some strange intelligence—from distant lands— Immediate audience claims. Duchess lead on! Exeunt, all but Cosmo and DaLMasso. Cosmo. Repeat thine horrid news: or if’t may be, Correct and qualify—say he is dying, But by a timely aid may yet be saved ! Tell me thou art not in thy proper mind, But do not tell me that my son is dead ! Dat. Would I were mad, or wild with wine, or dreaming !— But ’tis too true! Cosmo. How should he die !—what dastards Stood by to see the forest-boar’s fierce tusks Root out his life ? SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 55 Dat. ’Twas no fierce boar that did it,— Nor wolf. Cosmo. Aha! death’s face grows darker! —what, then? Dau. We know not: in the forest’s depths we found him. His wild steed, bounding past us, helped the search. His blood had still some warmth—all else, clay cold. Cosmo. Art sure ? Dat. Most sure: one huntsman only with me, We could not thence remove him, Cosmo. Lies he there E’en now ? Dat. He does: the huntsman seated close, With face as white. Near him this broken point, As of a sword-blade —— Cosmo. Whose is’t ? Dat. I know not; But by his side we found his own. Cosmo. Unsheath’d ? Dau. Unsheath’d and jage’d, as tho’ he had fought. Cosmo. No, no! He hath been foully murder’d, and ’twas drawn To cheat stern retribution—who has done it? Where’s Garcia—where was Garcia when ‘twas done ? Dat. The Princes parted from us when the chase Was at a headlong height; when he rejoined us, He came alone, nor knew he aught of this— As it did seem. Cosmo. Oh! I will find the truth, Were’t from the roots o’ the trees! My passionate grief Shall breed an inspiration and a power 56 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IIL Oracular—executive ! (After a pause) Now, mark me fixedly: When that the banquet doth confuse all thoughts With dazzling vanities and high-wrought blood, Hie thou away into the forest gloom, With fit attendants, whom thou well can’st trust. There, from grey dawn till dark thy vigil keep: Then, secretly return. As secretly Bring thou my son’s dead body with all care, And forthwith place it in the anteroom Of mine own private chamber! Go at once; But let no syllable of these commands By thee be breath’d, or those who shall attend thee ; Nor aught relating to this dark event. Dat. Your Highness’ orders shall—— Cosmo. Dost understand ? Dat. I do my liege. Cosmo. Go then at once, I pray you. [Zit DALMASSO. What’s all this coil of state—ambitious hopes, Wars, well-won honours, policies, designs, Ponderings and weighings, sleepless aching nights, Or acts decisive, breeding years of toil To work out good results !—thus in a moment Comes simple death, and all’s at once dispers’d Like straws before a sudden-open’d gate! But what’s ambition’s wreck to this my loss ? And lamentation startles into horror At something that’s behind! I will know all, Tho’ half should crush me! Slaughter’d son ! thy blood SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 57 Will rise up in a haze as wide as twilight— Concentrate—form—and lo! the mighty image Shall, like the solemn voice of desert winds, Pronounce thy murderer’s name! I would evade The appalling force of thoughts—but why evade ? Best meet them, for results they e’en must have Which I should meet—and therefore, that I will! Why comes not Garcia, choking with grief and haste ? He saw his brother last—he last was with him, And must know somewhat of his death, or loss ! Why not? I fear to answer to myself! [Zat Cosmo. CHORUS, within. Thus did the father of great Jove The earth with gifts divine improve. Which gild the present day. (The Chorus changes to dance-music.) Enter GARCIA. Gar. Oh what a hell of anguish is the sound Of jocund music to despairing souls! ’Tis like malicious revelry of fiends O’er some new comer, who in torment sits Apart, clasping his chains, and looking upward Thro’ space and time, to heaven’s lost realm of peace ! Why should I feel heaven lost ? What have I done? Murder’d a brother ?—no—no! Yet he’s slain ! Slain by my sword! "Twas I—’twas I that did it— 58 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IIL Unwittingly—such was my fatal chance, Which e’en might have been his: would it had been! CHORUS within. (as before.) Fill, to the fresh Saturnian sway, While the dead smile amidst their clay ! Gar. Those sounds do seem commission’d to inflict Racks on my heart and madness on my brain ! While merriment—the feast, song, dance—transpires, My brother dead, lies in the forest cold, At mercy of the wolves! Oh howling Night! I hear thee, and yon hall of mirth doth echo Thine awful voice, taunting my life’s confusion ! Pll to the forest !—when ?—to-morrow’s eve: And these my fratricidal hands shall dig His grave ; these eyes, that saw him die, shall pour Tears for his parents o’er him—and if prayers From me can struggle into utterance, Then prayers who's this ?—it is Ippolita! I cannot meet her!—why, why was I born! [Exit. Enter Ippouita. Ippo. Giovanni shuns the banquet: ’tis his grief At the sad words wherewith we parted last! Or i’st that he would wean his heart from me, And sickens with the effort ?—yet ’tis fix’d That I must ne’er be his. But ¢s it right To sacrifice my love—his happiness— To gratitude; the greater to the less, In feeling’s scale? Let me not think of this! Since he thinks not of it—I will be firm. SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 59 Re-enter Cosmo, (pondering). [ join’d Cosmo. Still Garcia comes not to explain? He has A group of dancers; but with such a look As makes him seem most fearfully alone. Horror sits in his hair !—as grief in mine. Ippolita !—why hast thou left the dance With that pain’d face ? Ippo. I have a weight—here—here ! I would your Highness knew the cause ? Cosmo. I’ve cares Enough to swell the sea;—yet, tell thy grief. Ippo. I have long desir’d to do so, royal sir, But could not gather courage first to make The sacrifice that should accompany A sad, brief story. Cosmo. I, perchance, have heard Less hopeful narratives. By Dante’s soul! There are more dragons in the world than men; More graves than hearts! Nay—do not tremble, child! Come—freely speak: I’ve ta’en thy father’s place. [grief ! Ippo. Thou hast—thou hast !—hence greater cause for Cosmo. How so? Ippo. I have abus’d your confidence And love; but I will fix’d atonement make, Far as may be. Cosmo. I understand thee not. Ippo. I love the Prince !—with painful pride, not shame, I do confess myself as much belov’d. 60 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT II. Cosmo. The Prince! Ippo.—Forgive the offence—the prince Giovanni. Cosmo. (aside). Oh! what is here ? Tepo. I know not how, my liege, I stole into his bosom. Cosmo. Girl—no more! Ippo. (aside) I fear’d—Ihadno hope—how could I hope. Uphold me, fortitude! My lord, one word— Cosmo. Forbear, Ippolita !—or to the Duchess Communicate the rest. (going) Ippo. Oh, ’tis soon told. When that I heard your Highness had design’d Giovanni’s hand for an Imperial bride, I did relinquish my presumptuous claim; Nor would I wish my poor deserts should mar The brilliant fortunes of the man I love. With all respect and filial reverence, Giovanni will submit him to your wish. Cosmo. My child—no more! (aside). This deepens all the wounds ! Ippo. Let me unload my breast—let me unload it! IT have resolv’d I never will be his. I have surrender’d all save inward feelings,— For which retention I do crave your pardon, The more, my liege, since I confess them such— So deep and potent—that were’t not thus base Ungratefully to outrage your adoption, I would not lose him were he thrice a Prince, And all earth’s Potentates our love oppos’d ! But as it is—here ends my history ! SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 61 Cosmo. Love’s heroism is equal to all acts, But seldom to forbearance. Noble girl! Thou art well worthy is there no comfort left ? Thy father in the wars preserved my life ; Had I not ta’en his place, ingratitude In me had been most base: it was no fault That thou did’st love my son. Ippo. I will withdraw, Lest he return—I must not see him now. [Lauit, despatringly. Cosmo. (with anguish). But I must see him soon as he returns, Outstretch’d beyond fair nature’s symmetry, And rigid in his blood !—his awful face Scarce cognizable, e’en to me—Oh, Garcia! Can this fell deed be thine ?—if ’tis, thou diest ! END OF THE THIRD ACT. 62 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. ACT IV. SCENE. The Piazza del Granduca (repeat of Scene I, Act I.) Enter GARCIA and LUIGI DEL Passato. Pass. Then, there’s the tomb of the Assyrian King— Where couchant sphynxes stare on vacancy, *Neath the broad shadows of white mulberry. trees That, in a double range, converge in front. Gar. Go on, I pray you! speak of monuments. Pass. It is a level mass of solid stone— Traced o’er with hieroglyphics and Strange forms, Whereon the fabric of an ancient god, Grown blind with gazing on eternity, Sits in the gap of unprogressive time, And seems an Exile from some world remote. Gar. These are too far remov’d for sympathies— Such as I fain would feel. Pass. Say not, too far: He who died yesterday is full as old, And as far off, as Cheops and King Nine. Gar. (aside). Oh brother! art thou, then, sogrey in death Already! and so distant! (to Passato) Why do you pause? And look so ? Pass. "Tis a lovely monument SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 63 Where Livy sleeps in Padua. I have oft Sat for whole days beside it, and have smiled To see the figures slowly change their gold— Grow bronzy—white—and then, o’ermass’d with shade. Gar. Why should’stthousmile because itheldastranger, For whom, if thou had’st known him, tears had flow’d ? Pass. Mine eyes are wet for no man: but when years Are pass’d, and mourners have forgotten love, The tears o’ the mind congeal, and with slow hand, That’s sensitive with memory in each touch, I shape them to a marble bust, and place it In some sequester’d place where no one comes— Unless to pray. Gar. Oh! that in such a place I had the bust of one who is no more, ThatI might ease my soul to it, in prayer! (turning away). Pass. (aside). Some heavy loss is figur’d in his heart ; I do but grieve him by this conversation Which he did seek so earnestly: [ll leave him. [Hatt PassaTo. Gar. Gone !—he can rove, and with a steady mind, No matter where: but I—where can I go? Existence has become a sleepless fiend Within, and on the surface of my flesh. Despite the efforts of my will, I feel My face is written over with the worst, Although a lie to reason. Rise, my heart ! There’s work to doi’ the forest. I must go. To-night, Giovanni, while the trembling stars, With the cold visage of the awful moon, 64 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. Gaze down upon me, lighting up that cheek On which I dare not look—thou shalt be buried ! [ Retires. Enter ZACHEO, still disguised as a Monk. ZAcH. "T'was meet that I, as chief o’ the band, should make some desperate sailing, as a last chance to save us from immediate destruction ; and, unless I be much out of my latitude, my courage and cunning are well trimmed in a fair wind. From the lunar observation I have since taken of the dead body in the forest, while he who watched it was asleep, I do assuredly believe ’tis one of the Duke’s sons; for they were hunting there, and I hear that: the youngest only has returned. Methinks I descry a plan whereby I can turn this death to bright advantage. What pale boy-noble is that? By our Prophet! the very youth who fought with the Prince in the forest! How much trouble doth good fortune save us. (GARCIA advances.) So, my lord! you are come back ? Gar. (staring at him). What says the friar ? ZacuH. I say, you are come back ? Gar. (startled). Come back ? ZacH. Yes; from the forest. Gar. Forest ! Zacu. Where you went hunting with the Duke’s son. Come !—do not attempt to fool with me, young man! Gar. With thee, rude-throated monk, dost thou not know me? ZACH. Not I—how should I?—who are you, forsooth? Gar. Garcia de’ Medici, second Prince of Florence. SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 65 ZACH. (aside). Wheu ! What shall I make of this ?—’tis a new land, Where harvests grow in terror. Allah be praised! Gar. And what art thou, for sure thou art no friar ? ZacH. Not I; I hate the race! Gar. What art thou, then ?’ Zacu. I do not greatly care if I do trust you, Knowing you'll not betray me. Iam Zacheo, Chief of the Turkish Pirates. Gar. Why, thou’rt lost, If thou art he, thus to proclaim thyself To one who should arrest thee for thy head! Zacu. My head is safe—ay, safer in the city Than some heads are in forests. Gar. Fly! escape! Fly while thou may’st ! Zacu, And why dost thou not fly ? Gar. What !—who ? ZacH. Come, come—thou know’st well what I mean ? Gar. What mean’st thou ! ZacH. I did see you in the forest Murder your brother ! Gar. Liar! monster! liar! [Rushes upon ZacHEO, who shakes him off. Zacu. Off, younker !—off,—why, I did see you do it. Gar. Saw me! saw what?—ah! then thou saw’st it all? Thou saw’st his provocation—his attack— Thou saw’st us fighting fairly, hand to hand ? Zacu. (aside). Vl not be caught! He’d have me for a witness. 66 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. (aloud.) Not T! Gar. You saw it all? Zacu. I saw you kill him: I saw that ! Gar. You first saw him draw upon me— And then we fought ? Zacu. Fought! I saw nought of that. One thing I only know—you kill’d him! Gar. Oh! Despair is deepen’d—hope’s last flash is spent ! ZACH. (aside). Now must I trap him: none shall know the secret— Thus can I hold it like a storm-cloud o’er him. I will take means to have him seiz’d, and borne Straight to the coast—as hostage will I keep him, And with the Duke make terms,—and with him too, When he is Duke! Gar. Will gold assist me, Pirate, To rivet silence ? ZACH. Ay, a little gold. *T will solder down the lid upon this secret: But to make sure, we’d better bury him ? Gar. Bury him !—bury him—to be sure—that’s right! We'll do’t at once—immediate—tis exactly What I have thought of ever since—all day— All day and night—this night we'll bury him! ZACH. (aside). He springs into my net. (aloud) We will—we will. Gar. Thou art a most discreet and proper person For such an office—I discern it plainly— SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI,. 67 Such things I am not used to—thou'rt the man: Go—go alone—and bury him to-night ! Zach. Alone !—no, no—I cannot do it alone: You must go with me. Gar. Gold—take gold instead ? Zacu. And buy a helpmate, who may recognize Whom ’tis we bury, and betray Gar. Ill go: I must go with thee. ZACH. Some one comes this way— A dolphin of the court, wavering in gold. Gar. Where shall we meet ? Zacu. The outskirts of the forest. [Lait GARCIA, hastily. Enter CORNELIO and an Officer. Cor. (to Officer.) Prince GARCIA with a friar !—that seems odd: He rushed in haste away !—’twas not confession: Such converse and such flight are all unlike His nature! (aside.) The absence of the Prince Giovanni Confounds me—and dark rumours plague the air— But where’s Dalmasso ? ZACH. (aside.) Seven of my band Are in the city—two will be enough. [going. Cor. A word, good friar! ZACH. Rich blessings on my lord! Cor. Hast had long conference with Prince Garcia ? ZacH. Garcia ?—who’s he ?—I am a stranger here. FQ 68 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV Cor. Was’t not Prince Garcia ? ZacuH. No! by my life *twas not! [swear ? Cor. Nay ’an thou dost not know him, how can’st, Zacu. Swear! did I swear? I pray the heav’ns for- give me— And for all future oaths. [Zait ZacHEo, abruptly. Cor. Wonderful prayer ! How strange his gait! What think’st thou of that friar? Orr. That I have seen him in a different frock. Cor. I think so, too. Some time ago, when stationed Within St. Stephen’s Fortress on the coast, One night our men surprised a felon rout Of corsairs lurking in a hollow rock. Thro’ us they desperately hewed their way, And by our torches’ light their leader’s face, Glaring I saw. Most strange is the resemblance, For certain eyes do last a man his life, Never to change or be forgotten. Orr. Zacheo ? Cor. Zacheo Barossa! I am sure of ’t! Orr. Follow ! [Exeunt hastily after ZACHEO. SCENE II. (8rd Stage Entrance.) Colonnade of the Chapel of San Lorenzo.—GaRCla, standing with his hands clasped. Gar. Ye creeping winds that whisper thro’ the aisle, Deep in mine ear breathe his continual name With sense of peace; but oh forbear the sounds SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 69 That midst pale sepulchres and statues moan, As though the dying, not the dead, were here! (After a pause.) He is no slave of circumstance, whose will Is constant to his heart; yet must we oft Act as if slaves—however free within— Resolv’d on future franchise. Thus, am I, A Prince of Florence, with a Pirate link’d For burial of the dead; and on his mercy, His interest, humour, treachery, or good faith, Hangs my dread secret. Would I had told it all !~— Now, ’tis too late—I should not be believ’d. Our known unfriendliness from infancy, Would, with its steady and progressive march, Crush down my oaths in all their high array. How would my father fix his eye on me— My tender mother turn aside, and fall! They shall not know it; so will blinded grief, And sad perplexity, rove round the gap Which horror else would crowd !—Yonder’s the Duke ! He sees me !—and his stately step hath changed Into most hurried he is calm again ! But with a solemn countenance prepares To speak to me. Now, soul! endure this trial, Come what may, after. Enter Cosmo. Cosmo. Garcia,—why art thou here ? Gar. Sir, it is solitary, like myself; Therefore I came. 70 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. Cosmo. Why art thou solitary ? Gar. Because alone. Cosmo. Thou need’st not be alone: Many there are well worthy of thy friendship, Of thine own age; virtuous, and bright in talent : Parents thou hast, and a most noble brother ? Gar. All this, sir, I confess. Cosmo. Then why alone ? Gar. Your Highness knows that I have oft preferr’d it To courtly scenes. Cosmo. Ay, in-the forest’s gloom: Perchance companion’d by your dogs and hawks ; But not in holy walls. Gar. Into the sanctuary To-day I came, regretful of time lost. Cosmo. Where is Giovanni ? Gar. We have been too much sunder’d. Cosmo. Answer me, Garcia! Gar. By my soul, I know not! Unless in the forest ? Cosmo. Why swear’st thou by thy soul ? Gar. Because ’tis nearest God ! Cosmo. (aside). If he be guilty, Tis nearer the Accurs’d ! (aloud). Tamper not, boy ! Left you your brother well, or sick, or hurt, When last you parted—speak ? Gar. I left him well. Cosmo. He has not yet return’d : dost thou know that? Gar. I do, sir. SCENE IL. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 71 Cosmo. What detains him ?—ha ! Gar. Heaven’s will! Cosmo. (aside). Can he have done it? (aloud). Then thou know’st nought more ? Gar. Nought more: but I would gladly give my life To see him now come back ! Cosmo. Garcia no matter— You need not stay here. Gar. Sir, I kiss your hands, [Hait GARCIA. Cosmo. If he be guilty, he hath fool’d my nerves, Which I did think were lock’d in fortitude ; And thus the judge’s knees sometimes do tremble Before the criminal : such strength has crinie When nature finds excuse in potent minds! If he be guilty, what a monstrous thing Hath issued from my loins! But there remains One trial !—if he bear it, being guilty, He is not human !—if he be innocent, It must be manifest ; but if his sword Hath slain his brother—proved beyond all doubt— Judgment, with execution hand in hand, Shall from its throne inflexibly descend, And strike the serpent back into his clay. [Bact Enter DucHESS and IPPOLITA. Ducu. I grieve for both: I would it were not so, Or could be remedied. What said the Duke ? You told him all ? Ippo. Kindly he spake to me, Without one word of chiding, tho’ he seem’d 72 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT Iv, Heavily troubled. I did tell him all That was important. Ducu. And to your design Of self-immurement in a convent’s walls, What said he ? Ippo. That I did not speak of, Madam. My future life I deem so valueless, I would not listen to one passing sigh For my conclusion. Since I am fix’d to do it, I should not seek for sympathy, which longs To be entreated back. Ducu. Thou mak’st me weep By thus rejecting tears. Ippo. Madam, your kindness Hath ever been most motherlike, and now Adds the last pang that points my barb’d resolve. Dvucu. What saith my son to this ?—and tell me, love, Sincerely—do’st not know where now he is ? Irro. No, Madam, truly; and I deeply feel I ne’er shall see him more. Ducu. Yet, answer me: What think’st thou of his absence ? Ippo. That he’s gone, To spare my grief at parting, and his own. He would not have me see the preparations For his bright visit to the German court. I ne’er shall see him more! Ducu. Thou dost affright me ! He is not gone—he hath not ta’en his leave Of me! Perchance he’s in the forest lost ? SCENE IIL. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 73 His ardour in the chase hath injured him, Or he’d return : may be, he has sprain’d a joint, And now in some kind peasant’s hut is laid. He will be here anon. Ippo. Come when he may, Into life’s blighted forest I have plunged, Ne’er to retrace my steps. Dvucu. Lament not thus! Some youthful noble at a future day Will estimate thy virtues and thy beauty. Ippo. Beauty shall burn out, as the sacrifice On passion’s altar, ruin’d tho’ it be. No: since I cannot wed the man I love Above all others, beyond measurement Or expectation of the fondest hope, Pll wed my heart unto his memory ; Thus live—and for this only—and then die! Ducu. My child ! Ipro. Sweet lady! do not pity me; For pride oft braids the hair that sorrow moistens. The prince hath prov’d his duty; I, my love; And cypress-sceptred Misery follows both! [Lcewnt. SCENE III. (4th Stage Entrance.) The Forest—Nightfall. Enter ZACHEO and two Pirates. ZacH. As for the dead body, we will take care not to meddle with it—for that might be dangerous. What we have to do, is merely to seize the young man who comes 74 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. to meet us, and keep him as a hostage for making terms with the Duke. 1st Prr. We understand, Padrone. [Sky darkening. Zacu. ’Tis a murky night. I fear we shall lose him, 1st Pir. The moon does not rise these two hours. ZacH. Hist! what’s that ? Something rustled in the boughs ! 1st Pir. ’Twas a wolf. 2nD Pir. We're no prize for man or wolf. ZacH. Humph! I had a narrow chance of being boarded this morning. My friar-craft was suspected, and chased. And even now I doubt we are not the only men groping about this forest to-night. I have heard voices. There, again! Hist, this way. [Hxeunt stealthily. Enter DALMASSO and Huntsman. Da, We are near at hand, methinks ? Hunt. I marked the spot. Dat. It should be—yes, we are in the track— Hunt. We are. The dead prince lies hard by. Dat. You carefully Sent forward the attendants ? Hunt. They are there, Doubtless, ere this. Dat. We have no time to lose. Ere day-break we must bear the body back To Florence. Hunt. A sad office, sir. Dat. Ah—indeed. [Exeunt. SCENE IIL COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 75 Enter GARCIA. Gar. I’ve stagger’d blindly round the awful spot Where he doth lie—I dared not to approach My brother’s body !—there’s an atmosphere Circling the ground, that bars me like a wall Whereon sit spirits of the other world, Silent as death, and doubly terrible ! Why came I here alone? I should have known ’*Twas useless. Where’s the hard-featur’d Zacheo, Who’s pledg’d to aid me—he who knows it all ? All !—alas, no !—he will but see the end, Else might his knowledge save me! Where is he ? I’ve missed him at the outskirts. I am here Alone, and in a spot that seems cut off From nature—and my feelings and my thoughts Begin to take the tone—ghastly, accurs’d ; Yet void of action as an empty hell, Wherein I stand a king, whose only subjects Are rebel torments pent within his soul !— I will break through this spell! I’m innocent ! Yonder the body of my brother lies : Tis fit I -give it burial: these my hands Shall with a sacred feeling dig his grave, And place him there, as in his mother’s lap. His mother’s! Oh! let not my brain whirl thus ! It must be done—or here I'll wait for ever. My soul hath sworn this to itself, and nature Cannot oppose the power that breeds all acts! [He retires wp the stage ;—but rushes back with a cry of horror. 76 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT IV. They come !—they come !—the spirits of the earth, Abhorring murder by a brother’s hand, Will not permit him to do sacrilege By opening her breast !—the ministers Of nature take the office on themselves, In loathing of my deed! They come! they come! [The body of GIOVANNI, covered with a dark falling mantle, is slowly and silently borne across the back of the stage. One dim torch ts carried in front. The slow train, enveloped in their cloaks, follow in darkness. They’re gone! What means it? O, thou terrible dream Whose pageant hath appall’d my waking soul ; Whether my brain delirious conjur’d thee, Or that the scene was real—what can be Thy purport tome? I will fly this spot— I can but die—and any grave will suit me, So that it be not here !—for here the earth Could never harden o’er me, but loose clods Would with unnatural life be ever stirred, Till some one came and dragged me to the light! [Rushes away. END OF THE FOURTH ACT. - SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 77 ACT V. SCENE I. ist Stage Entrance). COLONNADE of the DucAL PALACE. A broad beam of sunset gleams across. Enter CORNELIO, DALMASSO, CHIOSTRO, and MACCHIETTI. Cor. Come, tell me now: what of the prince Giovanni? Is he, indeed, so ill ? Dat. (evasively.) He might be worse. Cuios. We have just now a feverish atmosphere. Cor. Fever !—can Emperor’s daughters drug the wind With influential beauty? Hath he ta’en A fever of love ? Dau. (with trepidation.) I know not of such fever. Cor. Cold sensual! walking nose of Ovid’s bust ! Why vent’st thou intermittent speech from lips Blue as a monk’s within his marble pulpit, Preaching for charity at Christmas-tide ! Dat. Your gibes are most irreverent—and mis-timed. Cor. Nay—let’s be serious. If he should die? Da. (lowering his voice.) Talk not of that. Cor. Why not? You do not answer ? Dat. Because death is an endless argument; Or, if it hath an end, ’twere best not sought. Deep thoughts are ever dangerous, and our fancies 78 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Not precipice-proof a whit more than our bodies. Fen as yon river parts the city in two, So reason divides judgment. Cor. Wreck’d o’ both shores. Tut! death’s the Ducal cosmographic clock, Striking the world’s mutations—we don’t feel it: Or like Achilles’ shield; a populous round: It quoits down thousands for the one it saves. Let’s to our dinners ! Dat. I have a heavy heart. (going) Cor. Think you this sleeve becomes me? Dat. The sun sets ! (Shades of evening slowly come over the Colonnade). Cor. Loose—and appropriate ? Dat. Ugh !—I am cold. [£ait DALMASSo. Cor. What ails Dalmasso ?—he speaks very strangely! Pass. And looks so. Cuios. Like a book that’s closed, and clasped. Cor. I have a wild thought that flies hither and thither, Like a bird in a church ! Macc. When you get out of the rain? Cor. Now I shall tell you something that will check Your smiles. (lowering his voice.) An execution— Macc. Zacheo ?— *Tis said he hath been seized. I'll paint his portrait. Cor. And seiz’d where?—not i’ the city—but the forest; Following prince Garcia, who was seen at day-break Hurrying along—his hair all wild and wet, With face the hue of marble in the moon, And earth-stains on his knees! What does all this, SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 79 Cutos. (looking off:) See, the Duke comes! Pass. How grandly—yet what gloom ! [Leeunt. Enter Cosmo, slowly, (Colonnade darkens ).—He beckons off: Re-enter DALMASSO. Cosmo. (solemnly). Is my son’s body placed as I directed ? Dat. It is, my liege. Cosmo. The curtain hung in front, Effectually concealing what’s behind ? Dat. Closely, your Highness ; and beyond suspicion, Save to the instinctive second-sight of guilt. Cosmo. Ha !—that is well !—woe to his body and soul Who knows what’s there without examining ! Dat. Shall I light tapers round the corse ? Cosmo. No—no ! (aside). He who hath done it will not need a light ; For hell’s reflexion on his startled brain Will make all clear. Dat. He was a noble planet, Whose body, once so bright, now spots—— Cosmo. How looks he ? Dau. Shadows of decay—soft, undefined, Lurk on the surface: shadows from within— Unlike all other shadows —that ne’er pass. [sir ! Cosmo. But bear the substance with them. Hark you, Spare me your morals—death is common, sir ; And hath exhausted man’s irrelevancy In words. 80 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Dat. But murder—pardon me, my liege— That is not common ? Cosmo. How !—be silent, sir ! Who told thee he was murder’d ?—who dares say so ? Dat. [humbly crave your Highness’ pardon!—no one! Cosmo. Enough, sir Sapience! the plague’s in Florence— A plague that clots the banners of our house, And will incarnadine the dust of time While heavily they wave. Why stare you thus? Lock up a gadding tongue—but mark my orders! Attend me, privately—my friend in this— Within two hours—not sooner, but precise. [Hatt DALMASso. Now will I go and gaze on my dead son, And in that human ruin see my hopes Ended : our house defrauded of its line, By so much excellence gone into mere clay. What follows next ?—his murderer shall die— And speedily—that penalty is fix’d. So sure as this my hand did wed his mother— Most wretched in that demon of her womb; So sure as ‘twas his hand his brother slew ; So sure by mine he falls! Now solemn prayer Shall purify and fit me for the hour! [ Bait. [A lamp illwmines the colonnade.] Enter Garcia, followed by the DUCHESS. Ducu. This is no answer! Gar. Madam, I have no other. SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI, 81 Ducu. Then thou art positive in cold denial Of the least knowledge where thy brother is? Gar. Thrice have I told thee so: if I make oath, Thowlt ask that thrice, as tho’ the heavens were deaf And needed iteration ! Ducu. Oh, my child, What can this mean !—what can I do, or say ? Gar. Nothing! Ducu. My dearest son! Gar. Nothing will best Befit a soft capacity. Duc. My Garcia! Never before to me did’st thou address Such cutting words !—fiery indeed at times, On others thou has darted glances fierce, But ne’er before on me, Gar. Incessantly My life is probed by questions of Giovanni ! First comes a courtier—‘ Where’s the Prince Giovanni 2’ Ere I can answer, that I do not know, His tutor, or some blear astronomer, Tasks me, with book or telescope in hand ; And then another, and another courtier! Next comes a courtezan, and asks the same. Ducu. Oh, this is false ! Gar. When the truth will not serve, Tis evident that gossips covet lies. When I reply, no one doth credit me! They shrink away, with lurking looks and shrugs, Pregnant of sinister meaning! Let them think! G 82 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. In vile suspicions doth the devil paint Men’s self-bred villany unto men ; but they — Having oil’d consciences, do slip 0’ one side— Think it their neighbour’s portrait, and cry ‘ shame!’ Ducu. Thou rack’st my very heart ! Gar. Seek thy couch, mother, And sleep it whole again. Ducu. I e’en must leave thee, If thus thou speak’st. Gar. Good madam, thoud’st best go ! Ducu. My son!—my Garcia ! Gar. Any where—I care not — I am worn out! Ducu. What can this mean?—how end? = [ Hwxit. Gar. Thou gentle mother of a savage son, Now thou art dealt with !—I am glad ’tis o’er! First pent within a den, then compass’d round, And spear’d at, constantly, I’m made a tiger! Who could remain a man ’midst all these wounds ? Oh, for some deep, sweet nature—some one to tell The truth to—not my mother,—nor Ippolita— She loved Giovanni ;—there is none—not one !— Ah me! I’m sick at soul! In these few days I have grown older, both in body and mind, By many a year; and my experience Of life and death has superseded youth, And all its flowers lie like a shower of stones. Even the sweetness of the air is gone; My fever’d breath has changed it. Not for me— Comes charméd sleep’s soft music in the night, SCENE IL COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 83 With ravishing cadence—tingling pulse, and pause— Revival—and far-dying. Nature wears A sack-cloth robe, with ashes in her hair, While madness knots the cord—Who is’t I see? Ippolita !—what terror, yet what love ! Her presence brings fresh life—but a fresh trial ! Well—'tis the last. O heart! revive once more, And of thy proper energies create New elements of hope to mould a world Based on the trampled compost of despair! As sun-lit harvests rise where squadrons fell. Enter IPPouitva. Ippo, I sought you Garcia; for I much do fear Giovanni’s absence is not, as I had thought, By me occasion’d. Gar. Then by whom, or what ? Ippo. By some mischance endangering his life. Gar. (aside). Now shakes the temple of my new-born world. Ippo. You tremble ! Gar. Dark mischance surrounds us all. Ippo. You know it, then !—what hath befallen him ? You left him in the wood ? Gar. True—there I left him; And he left me: we parted—that’s the sum Of all I know of him, or he of me. Ippo. Ambiguous are thy words. I feel I never Shall see him any more! Gar. (aside.) Now would I fain G2 84 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Religiously repeat his parting blessing, And love to her bequeath’d :—but how confess That I was present and receiv’d his words ? I must not yet I promised sacredly? Ippo. He hath no love for me—he never had— Or could he thus leave torture to supply His dear-felt presence ? Gar. Thou art wrong in this. I know he lov’d thee with such depth of feeling, That on his bed of death with his last breath He would have call’d down showers of blessings on thee, In token that he left his heart on earth! Ippo. Say’st thou so?—kindest Garcia!—say’st thou so? Gar. I’m sure of’t. Ippo. Then, ye silent darksome walls, That soon will shut me from the useless world, Welcome—most welcome ! Gar. These are friendly walls, ‘Where every tenant loves thee. Ippo. Soon shall I Leave them for ever. Gar. Whither wouldst thou flee ? Ippo. Into a convent’s gloom. Gar. A convent !—surely: Ippo. Yes—it is sure as death, or deep love. Gar. No! Ippo. There will I pray before mine hour-glass, And woo the shade of Death—farewell ! Gar. No—no! Thou must not do so— dear Ippolita! SCENE I. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 85 Ippo. Ah! wherefore should I stay ? Gar. Stay to be loved— To be adored—thou must not thus be lost, And leave earth bare of comfort ! Ippo. Lost to whom— Whose comfort, Garcia ? Gar. One prince of Florence, Who is not here, Duke Cosmo hath affianced ! Another yet remains—alike devoted ! Ippo. (with a piercing look of terror.) Garcia! Gar. (wildly.) I love thee! Ippo. (shrieks, and retreats.) Ah! I see it, now! I see all, now !—let madness take thy hand And wed it with my curses !—where’s thy brother ? I feel he’s dead !—thou—thou hast murder’d him! [Exit wildly. Gar. Have I embraced a thunder-cloud! Oh man! Combustion of the elements ne’er made So wide a flaw in the vast scheme of things, As passion doth in thee! When some bright star Which we behold adoring, suddenly Explodes, and leaves all dark, that darkness soon New orbs illume: passion hath only one. A murderer did she call me !—foul, false word !— "Sdeath ! I begin to feel as though twere true, And harden in the fact. Nor stand I singly. What’s he who slays in battle ?—is’t not murder ? Cornelio boasts he hath kill’d many men; Verani, Basta, all the knights o’ the court, Have done the same—ay, and the Duke himsel ! 86 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. The cause is naught—our country’s enemies, naught— Murderers they are in motive as in deed! Say, one doth poison a man’s wife; the husband Kills him forthright—that is a murderer ! What is the priest who dooms him to hell-fire ? A murderer too, and worse! If you do kill The bravo hired to stab you !—no excuse. Or if, in a quarrel, blind with wine or rage, You slay the man unwittingly, whose hand Falcon’d your throat while his blade glane’d above, The whole world roars, ‘Thou art a murderer !’ As they had roar’d at him if thou’dst been slain. Thus, providential ’scapes are worse than death, And good luck’s heinous ! Enter an Attendant, masked. Well what next ? ATTEN. (slowly.) My lord,— His Highness waits within his private chamber Your prompt attendance. Gar. (sternly, after some hesitation.) I have heard you. [Eauit Attendant. Masked !— What further would the Duke with me ?—my trial Exceeds all condemnation ;—what is this ? Methought I had pass’d the worst ? Why, so I have! Naught more remains but idle repetition, Queries, conjectures, probabilities. These blows do harden me, and make the deed, Appalling once, seem common as a cloud SCENE IL COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 87 Wherein great faces frown and fade; my heart Is as a stone that’s on the highway broken By wheels, men, cattle——and I almost feel, With like occasion, I could do’t again: Terror hath dashed his torch before my eyes Till hell seems ashes; paralysed despair Lies, carv’d in ice, outstretched before my path; Remorse is beggar’d; scarcely grief remains; And of concealment I am grown so sick, That on my coffin I would gladly sit, Saying—‘Cease all this prate—‘twas I who slew him? But I have ta’en my stand beyond retreat: This deed, O Cosmo !—it is none of mine! [Lant. SCENE II. (Fourth Stage Entrance.) Ante-chamber of the Dukes private apartment. A leaden-grey curtain is drawn across the back of tt. Enter Cosmo, from behind the curtain. Cosmo. The solid earth beneath me seems to rock; Yet will not I !—like Justice will I stand Upon mine own foundation, steel’d in right. And thou—O, vast marmoreal arch above! Whereon the luminous host in silence range; Our God ! and all great Gods of ancient creeds ! Glorified giants and portentous powers, 88 COSMO DE’ MEDICI, ACT V. Coeval, coeternal with the spheres— Who gaze with solar face on this my deed; O, spanning arch ! yawn thou, and let heaven down, To crush me ere I do’t, if I be wrong! Something like madness lifts me !—so !—he comes ! Enter GARCIA. Gar. (after a pause.) Sir, I am here. Cosmo (advancing close, and fixing his eyes upon him). Art worthy to be here ? Shouldst thou not rather be within thy tomb ? Gar. I rather would be there. Cosmo. Wherefore wouldst rather ? Gar. Because, sir, I am sick of this vile life Which I am made to lead by constant questions Touching my brother’s absence. Whereso’er I turn, suspicions fang me; words are fangs, And looks are words—therefore I’m sick of life. Cosmo. Thou dost anticipate me, and thy craft Equals thy fix’d audacity. Gar. What craft ? Cosmo. Come, let’s be brief: you know Giovanni's murder’d ! Gar. Murder’d, my lord !—impossible ! Cosmo. Thow did’st it! Thou art the murderer ! Gar. What hideous liar Hath blown this monstrous seed in your quick ear ? Cosmo, Thou hast a demon’s tongue, O, iron-faced boy, SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 89 That should be rooted from its upas hold, And cast to hungry imps! I know thou did’st it! Gar. Then may your Highness listen to these facts : Cornelio and Dalmasso are both murderers— And all the rest who follow’d to your wars! My mother is a murderess, in that she Hath wish’d success to wars her kin have waged ! Then, there’s Ippolita—a murderess too ; Self-sacrificed, and in a convent buried ! And those who ne’er have done a deed of death, Have oft in private thoughts imagined it From trivial causes that have stirr’d their passions : Even the child who strikes intends to kill! Thus, all the world. Cosmo. Boy! boy! no more !—thou utterest Words the base coin of self-deceptive fiends. (They silently confront each other.) I have a picture here, of ancient date, Which looks eternal—placed beyond time’s hand. [Leading him towards the curtain. It was thy mother’s gift when first we married, And hath been treasur’d since most sacredly. A solemn lesson doth the subject teach To erring mortals: recognize—acknowledge ! [He throws aside the curtain, and discovers the form of Giovanni laid upon a black marble table. GARCIA utters no cry; but rushes down to the front, followed by Cosmo, who points to his face. | Gar. (after a pause of horror.) I did it! 90 .COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT Vv. Cosmo. Oh unnatural government, That in a mental den lock’d up such deed ! How doth it force itself thro’ the cold pores Of that metallic mask, and curdle there ! Garcia! thou’rt lost for ever ! Gar. (abstractedly). It is the form Of my unburied brother !—peaceful heaven Cherish his soul, and let it plead my cause! Cosmo. Thy cause, oh murderous boy ! Gar. I am no murderer ! Cosmo. Now dost thou snatch the earth from under me, And leave me grappling space !—hast thou not said Thou did’st it ? Gar. Father, it is true he fell In our fierce struggle—else I had not been here, To curse my chance ! Cosmo. What villainous evasion Wouldst thou insinuate? Speak, ere I slay thee; For self-command will burst my inner world, And chaos whelm us both ! Gar. He first attack’d me! And in my own defence, I know not how, Madly I parried him—I am innocent ! Cosmo. Monstrous untruth! thou wretch unparallel’d, Too well I know thy brother’s sweetest nature Could ne’er have been so changed. Approach yon form ! [Cosmo leads him towards the body. Nearer—more near! “Doth not the sullen blood Revivify ! and leave its kindred earth— Acknowledging the presence of the Destroyer 2?” SCENE II. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 91 Gar. I see the sullen blood there fixed, congeal’d ; Your eyes are dazzled by an inward fire— I do not see it flow !—take, take away My senses from me—do not harrow them, Until I own what is not! Cosmo. Garcia! Garcia! It is enough.—* Behold thy brother’s blood ! It cries aloud for vengeance on thy head, Waiting heaven’s mandate, ministered by me! Oh, wretched father of a fratricide— Whom by all laws of justice I am bound To render up to Death’s capacious hand— How wretched is surviving! But dream not That as an impious and unequal judge My people shall impugn me. It is better That future times should call me barbarous In this my private act, than, as a sovereign, Weak and unjust. Therefore prepare to die Gar. Under what awful impulse does thou act ? Cosmo. (pointing upwards.) Under Authority ! Gar. Not so—not so. Life’s worthless to me—but to end it thus You do deceive yourself—yet hear me, father ! Show me the proof of this high mission ? Cosmo. There !— I am the father of that corpse ! Gar. (clasping his hands.) I know Thou art—and I am its brother. Cosmo. Thou? O, Garcia! Dar’st thou so call thyself, who art his murderer ? 1? 92 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V, Gar. I’m no such wretch —and yet a wretch who cares not How soon he die! Cosmo. That moment now is come! [He takes Garcia’s sword from him. Gar. Horrible death! by these cold, pausing steps— Silent as heaven before the earth was made— Yet thundering in the brain as they advance, Like slow, but final judgment. Do not kill me! Cosmo. Not final—save on earth. Gar. You will not kill me— You cannot mean it !—I have done no wrong. Cosmo. How! with yon weltering witness ? Gar. Heaven take me home! I see it—see nothing else ‘Well, well, all’s o’er— I care not, sir! I steadily tell you that! Brother, I pardon thee !—’twas thy good chance To die, and not to suffer as I have done: We shall be reconciled within the tomb! Cosmo. Look up yefiends! (slowly draws Garcia’s sword) Behold this broken blade ! Doth not the fragment pierce thine inmost sense With this last proof ? Gar. No—no—I have told all. Cosmo. “ Unnatural boy, ’tis fit thy course should cease, Lest all thy family thou shouldst cut off, Or blank their prospects and eclipse their fame;” Leagued with fell bandits and with pirate hordes, Perchance e’en now they hover round our gates With bosom-heated steel. SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 93 Gar. God is my judge! Cosmo. In heaven;—but first on earth it is ordain’d There should be judges to arraign men’s deeds, And send the guilty hence to the Court Supreme! Farewell, O, wretched son!—I cannot give A father’s blessing—yet—my son—farewell ! [Garcia kneels, and Cosmo embraces, and hangs over him: then lifts himself up, and raises the sword towards heaven. (The masked Attendant enters, and extinguishes the lamp.) “Thou constant God! sanction, impel, direct, The sword of Justice!—and for a criminal son That pardon grant which his most wretched father Thus in the hour of agony implores!”* [The scene closes, the tableau of the figures pre- senting a resemblance toa monumental design. SCENE III (Second Stage Entrance.) A Corridor of the Ducal Palace. Enter DUCHESS. Ducu. Oh, wherefore left I Garcia in that mood— So changed from all he was!—Where is he now? Would I could find him, for my trembling frame Tells me some dreadful things are hovering round Whose fall will make us shriek ere we know why! * Thuani hist, sui. temp, T. ii, 1. xxxii, f. 159. 94 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. The Duke!—with mighty bounds this way he comes! And looks as though he had just seen a ghost! What!—what!—if he be moved to leap the earth, Earth’s centre’s lost. [Retreats in terror. Cosmo rushes in, with haggard looks. Cosmo. He’s saved from worse than death! His fame is saved—“Into his father’s hand He hath resigned that life his father gave.” No horrible public executioner Hath sealed disgrace upon our ancient house. My wife! ha!—what would’st thou with me? Ducu. My lord! How—how is this? what can have made you thus? Cosmo. (recovering himself.) How thus! Ducu. Where—where is Garcia?—where is he? T left him recently in fearful state— His nature hath been gall’d—I fear he’s mad— For God’s sake, tell me—tell me where he is? Cosmo. (agitated.) Good mother of my sons—we all at times Border on madness; nay, in sooth, we're mad— And but it lasts not, men would call us so, And chain our damned magnificence of will! Retire—I will be left alone—retire ! Ducu. My heart-strings strain—strain ! — Garcia! where art thou ? [Hauit Ducuuss. Cosmo. He'll answer her no more—save from the air! (He starts, as if listening.) What if that echo be Ais voice, not hers ? (Duchess calling within). Where—where is Garcia ? SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 95: Cosmo. With the all-merciful God! (Duchess calling within). Garcia! Cosmo. The walls do render back the sound ! What if the earth should open at my feet, And he himself make answer, ‘I am here!’ Then should his mother ask, ‘Who placed thee there ?’ Can I stand upright saying who it was ? I could !—but not to her—no, not to her! Enter DALMASSO. Away : Da. Your Highness did command—— Cosmo. True—true : Your pardon, sir. Thou’st kept the secret close ? Dau. My liege, I have. Cosmo. Forth now, and publicly Announce this dolorous news throughout the city ; That, of the pestilence, our dear loved sons, Giovanni and young Garcia, are both dead ! Dau. Both dead, my lord ? Cosmo. Did’st thou not hear me say it ? A bell tolls in my brain, as for earth’s end: They are both dead ! Dat. Your Highness—I crave pardon— Cosmo. See that all honours, fitting their princely state, With high oration and sad ceremony, Be straight prepared ? Dat. Religiously, my liege. Yet will your Highness bear with me, if now, 96 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. At such a moment, I intrude to tell How that the corsair Zacheo is arrested, With two of his band. Is it your will to order Their execution ? Cosmo. No, no, no!—’tis hideous ! No more of executions. They are pardon’d! Dau. And for their future conduct— Cosmo. (waiving him off.) Set them all free ! Death hath two noble gifts, and well can wait For the flawed casts from man’s precarious mould. [Zit DatMasso. Why should I lag behind ?—why drone along The sickly gardens of a fruitless life, In search of nought—expecting—hoping nought, Except the end? If t’were ten paces hence Into my pit, with pain the sole companion Of each pace—why should there be ten; why nine? Or half as many? I am sick at heart Of standing upright. Oh! could I but now Become a poor and humble plodding man,— Rich in possession of one being’s love, Whose ear was tuned to sympathy,—and leave This high-condition’d sickness! A thatch’d hut, Where I could pour this tumult fully out. The ear of her that I should seek for this, Would change its office, and send forth a shriek At my first whisper.—Yet I have done well, Strongly and justly—She must never know it— Justly—not cruelly—he made no struggle— [Cosmo sees the DucuESs approaching. | SCENE III. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 97 Ha! she suspects the truth !—perhaps has stared Into the swimming chamber; and on the floor Seen her own face look up from her son’s blood ! Enter DucHESS solemnly. Ducu. Where is my child? Cosmo. (possessed and image-like ; answers involuntarily) The child— Ducu. Where is he? Cosmo. Is he— Ducu. The morning and the night come o’er the earth, And all is sameness in a few short years : The affections only keep us here alive By varying happiness. Cosmo. Yes—very true— Ducu. Where is my child? Cosmo. Morning and night—you said— He was with you? Ducu. O Duke! are you a husband? [madam— Cosmo. Duke?—yes, an upright and a just duke, A husband no less honourable—say’st thou? Ducu. Husband, art thou a father? Cosmo. Ha! I laugh, madam !— Duchess, you are asleep; you talk and dream To no wise purpose; and you echo my words, I think,—which is not well. I have been a father, Like other men. Clowns, idiots, lunatics, Thieves, tyrants—equally with wolves and lions— Princes and lords, and dogs and cattle claim The father’s title. rt 98 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Ducu. Father no more!—I fear Thou’st lost that name in losing all its nature. [forbear Cosmo. All nature—death—what’s this!—Madam, This maddening and most laughable consequence Attach’d to the common fact of being a father:— Spare me, I pray you do! Ducu. Where is my child ? [there ! Cosmo. God knows, not I!—Giovanni’s dead !—help Iam thy lord—thy duke ! [Cosmo reels away with delirious attempts to recover his self-possession ; and Exit. Ducu. [after a pause.] Alone !—where am I? In fire and silence. I will satisfy Mine eyes at once with what my fears foresee ! Which is the way to the Duke’s bedroom—God !— Which is the way ‘midst all these glistening paths ? [Evcit. SCENE IV. (Third Stage Entrance.) Avenue in the Palace Gardens. Enter CoRNELIO and DALMASSO. Cor. Both princes dead of the plague!—this is not true. Dat. It is too true. Cor. I say it cannot be. Dat. It is proclaimed. Cor. Aye, but I’m sure ’tis false. Dat. How, sir! Duke Cosmo’s proclamation false ? SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 99 Cor. Of course not—only, you see, the thing’s not true. Hist ! I have talked with Zacheo, the pirate, And how the prince Giovanni died, I know. With Garcia—if he indeed be dead— The Duke hath wrought in error !—nay, I must speak ! A rumour dark as night, silent as lightning, Fitfully runs throughout the city, and hints Of secret— Da. (in an under tone.) Soft! Cor. But what the pirate told me Must be made known to the Duke? Dat. I think it should. And yet— Cor. You think it shouldn’t. Dat. Let us take counsel. [Exeunt. Enter Ippouita with a SISTER im HOLY ORDERS. Sist. (impressively). Daughter, hast thou thought well of this ? Ippo. I have. Sist. Resolves too sudden are not often firm, And hope hath many lives. Give youth more time. Ippo. My youth is hollow as a new-made grave, And my last hope waits but its funeral mass. [Eeccunt. (A bell from the Palace tolls). Several Father Confessors pass across, in earnest conversation,—and Exeunt. The bell tolls at intervals. H2 100 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Enter ZAcuHEO hurriedly, followed by two Officers. 1st Orr. This is no place for you! Zacu. I have the Duke’s pardon. 1st Orr. We know that—but his Highness’ privacy must not—— ZacH. I say it must—I’ve something of great—— Ist Orr. But not here— ZacuH. Yes, here—any where I can find him! [Hatt ZACHEO, followed by Officers. (Bell tolls at intervals.) Enter PAssaTo, Pass. So one hath just enough for means of life, Better to set one’s back against a tree On some fair hill, and thence survey below Sweet sylvan streams, with many a snow-white bridge, Vines, olive-yards, pine-groves, and basking gardens, And in the fertile, fresh-green distance winding Slow o’er the fragrant mead, the oxen-teams— Than be their ducal lord. Cosmo hath lost Two sons, the nearest to his sovereign hopes, By one ’ghast fever, at the self-same time : What’s Cosmo’s state? Fair-haired young Garcia, A cold clay image now, of graceless shape, Had that within him might have sunn’d the world What's Cosmo’s dukedom to his double loss ? Of no more value than a bunch of grapes! Far less, when men are thirsty, or the eye Wanders tow’rds Arcady. SCENE IV. COSMO DE MEDICI. 101 Enter CHIOSTRO. Cuios. Dark be the sun— The heavens a doméd tomb, to house this loss ! Pass. I’ve heard it, sir—young Garcia and his brother Lie pale upon one slab! Cutos. There’s yet more sorrow. The Duchess has died suddenly! She was found Extended senseless near the half-closed door Of the Duke’s private chamber, whence it seem’d She had just issued. In his Highness’ arms She breathed her last ; but utter’d not a word. Pass. Alas, poor lady! How is’t with the Duke ? Cutos. Oh, sir, he hath a tower of man within! Ravaged by storms that howlingly sweep through, He shakes—but falls not. His passions are his slaves! Being humane, ’tis reason’d will, alone, That makes man great with high security. Such power hath Cosmo. Fare—fare you well, sir! I go to write the oration with my tears. [xié. Pass. Would I could weep: my heart hath got a load Which blessed tears might lighten and disperse. Tis Cosmo yonder! Darkly and tall he stands, Like an extinguish’d beacon of the night, Whose watchman hath been cast into the sea. Hither he moves. [Passato seats himself on a bank. Enter Cosmo, in a sable robe. Cosmo. Vast is the bosom of heaven: Descended thence, man thither should aspire : 102 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. There only can grief breathe, and find repose. I am not calm; I struggle without aim : I walk with fortitude-as with a friend ; But feel that one of us is false. Who’s here ? Sir, do not rise; I know you very well. You are a sculptor: I will sit by you! [Seats himself beside Passato. Pass. Noterief alonehathmade your Highnessgracious. Cosmo, I thank you: I am grateful for that truth; And I feel—sir, I feel—much—very much, You know my recent losses: though you are not A father or a husband, as I think, Yet you can enter into what I feel, In some degree. Pass. Entirely, my liege. Cosmo. That is impossible !—pardon me, sir; You do not know. I was about to say, That as it seem’d my son, sir—my son Garcia— And you, were friends; and that Giovanni held you— As do I also—greatly in esteem For your chaste works, I would at once propose That you should rear a monument, and give it The utmost of your nature ? Pass. With devotion My spirit shall move my hand. Cosmo. A high design— Clearly made out, though broad in its effects ? Pass. Clear as the story thou would’st have me tell. Cosmo. (starting up.) Ha!—dost thou hint at aught beyond thy words! (Recovering himself.) SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 103 I wander with my sons—I am not well— The air of the garden and the scent o’ the plants Affect me strongly. [The Duke sits down again. Pass. Good, my lord—’tis common. Cosmo. (hurriedly.) Listen: I’d have them all as life-sized figures— Death’s standard there’s no quarry that could furnish— The Duchess—both my sons—Giovanni, Garcia— Somewhat to tell my grief, if aught can tell it, And also that of lost Ippolita; In short, sir, you may place us all as dead! Now, your design? Pass. That needs some time, my lord. Cosmo. Thou said’st thy spirit was in it ? Pass. So it is; But yet my mind’s unformed: ’twill be the work Of serious years, and cannot in a minute Spring from the brain fit to stand fast through ages, Cosmo. (rising hurriedly.) ’m sick—I’'m sick at heart! Find years elsewhere ! Sculpture the almanack—I will have naught! [Retires abruptly. Pass. (coming forward.) I tire of the court: I am unfit for it ; Its patronage is irksome, for it savours Of orders from above, and hath in all things Too much vivacity to suit my taste. Why should my natural moods be call’d eccentric, While rich men’s starts and humours pass for law ? The Duke is great and generous; yet methinks 104 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. It ill suits greatness in philosophy, Because his kin have sought their natural rest Some seasons prematurely, thus to rave. I will return to mine obscurity, To stand upon some cliff that goat ne’er hoof’d, And watch old eagles and the sinking sun; Or in primeval twilight of deep groves, *Midst satyrane trees and silence, shape my clay ; Companion shadows—and commune with rocks. [zit Cosmo. (slowly coming forward.) I lose myself: what wonder, having lost So much that’s better? I have outlived my years. [He pauses despondingly. On the grey slope of life, when friends fall off, And e’en the fresh flowers and the clouds look old; When natural sweets are bitter in the mind, Hope dying of sick memory soon as born, And beauty, like a lily’s pure cold urn Standing in Lethe’s waters, wakes no sense To ravishment, no thoughts to urge our steps ; While cvief, experience, and oblivion, In sequence old, come to dismiss the heart; Mighty revealings of an after-state Flit through the brain, and sobbings fill the ear From the great wind’s quadruple origin, And make man fear himself. But Justice reigns! Creation and destruction are the extremes, With all the heavens for centre. Still we shudder : Yet one power holds. Unwavering consciousness Of general practice in humanity, SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 105 Is all that shores us up against the eye Of deep self-scrutiny; the only power Which can enable man, howe’er appall’d, To look his own being steadily in the face. Enter ZACHEO, followed by CORNELIO and DaLMASSo. ZACH. (reverentially). My liege! [The Duke does not hear. So please your Highness— Cosmo. (starting.) Who art thou ? Zacu. Zacheo Barossa, who with his Turkish galleys Hath ravaged long the coast of Tuscany. I come to thank you for my life. Cosmo. Go—mend it! [noble ; ZacH. Cosmo, the state and power thou hold’st are And nobler in thy use: great is thy nature, Tho’ thou’rt a Christian whom I ought to hate. Yet, could a lawless corsair do thee service, Thou’dst not receive it, so Pll take my leave, And close as rock-veins hold the present secret. Cosmo. Man! Zacu. It is safe: the plague sometimes takes Princes. Cosmo. (agitated). Hath it not ta’en my sons ? ZAcH. So ’tis reported. [Cosmo waives his hand, HExewnt CORNELIO and DALMASSO. Cosmo. I have not ’scaped myself, tho’ I do live. ZacuH. Save thee, great Cosmo ! Cosmo. (with impatient hauteur). Hence! and mend thy life! 106 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Zacu. I crave thy pardon if I’ve anger’d thee ; Still more because thy royal heart is griev’d ; But as I only saw the Princes fight, I thought Cosmo. (with wild earnestness). Fight !—saw them fight !—thou saw’st ? Zacu. I did. Cosmo. (clasping lis hands). A witness !—an earthly witness !—I did think There had been but ONE! ZacuH. (reverently). Allah doth know I saw it! The elder first drew steel. , Cosmo. No !—no !—he could not ! Thine eyes deceiv’d thee—’twas my youngest son— A whirlwind take thy words !—the elder youth Was of a natural mildness, passing sweet. Do not confound my reason !—he was most gentle ! Zacu.. Of that I nothing know ; but this I say— He gave the first offence, and urged his words, Taunting the other for his boyish years. They quarrell’d who first smote the boar; and next About some lady, whom it seem’d both lov’d; And then the elder drew, and hurl’d at him; The other—parrying only, till his choler, Boil’d up with some sharp wrench, perchance a cut,— Made play with’s brittle rapier, till it flew. The rest was all confused; the end scarce tells it. Whether lord Garcia delt a mortal blow, Or that his brother rush’d against the blade, I know not. Were both present, I believe SCENE IV. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 107 Neither could tell you more. Cosmo. (stunned and appalled). Thou’st told sufficient ! Zacu. I met lord Garcia—shew’d him I knew his deed: Then sought he aid from me forthwith to bury His brother’s body, lest his parents’ hearts Should doubly bleed—no treason did he dream— I heard him 7’ the darkness, talking to himself. Cosmo. Tell me no more !—no more! Zacu. I kneel, my liege! (he kneels). Cosmo. Monster! who com’st Too late to save, too soon for damning fires, Couldst thou un-say by any form of words, Here would I stand—become a hollow rock— And live but in my echoes! ’Tis too clear! Quit me! [ZACHEO rises, and Exit. And take my thanks—for thou hast curs’d me With my son’s innocence whom I have slain ! (After a pause.) Is’t really done ?—Oh ! done beyond recal— His mother’s death sums up and proves the account, Sinking heaven’s balance down into the grave, While all my motives fly like blights i’the air. I feel most curs’d !—dark iron-crown’d spectres wave Swords, and the storied banners of our house, Where all is told! My atmosphere of guilt Inflates—collapses—pants like dreamy hell At some strange pause and shifting of its pains ! Now Justice rise with unforgiving arm, To make me pay my debt, thus doubly due, And one large grave hold Cosmo and his sons ! [Exit. 108 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. SCENE V. Interior of the Chapel of San Lorenzo. Two biers, each bearing a covered form, are elevated at the furthest ex- tremity, in the centre. Priests, Nobles, Cavaliers, Monks, Ladies, de. are ranged on each side. The organ plays a grand fugue. Enter Tppoura, in a long black veil. Ippo. Not all the hopes and pleasures of the world Can pour one drop of balm on such a loss. Mine eyes, dear friends, are blind with bitter tears That shut out nature—all, save misery. Sigh not for me, that in a convent’s cell I wall up life—my heart doth share yon bier! Enter Cutostro and DALMASsO, attired in mourning. Cutos. These losses, and the centre of his heart Thus suddenly transpierced—blow following blow With rapid agonies, commingling wild, Scatter all fortitude, which ever needs Some interval ere it regains its poise. Dau. The Duke can ne’er recover this! It is A trial passing human energy. Cuios. Within this hour he seems to have lost himself, Like Saturn wandering thro’ a wilderness ; Or he doth stand, a solid Dismay! How different He look’d when Titian painted him !—O, grief ! Thou canst entomb Osiris in a cloud, SCENE V. COSMO DE’ MEDICL. 109 And to black beamy shadows and ruins change The Architectural Day! Yet, he'll not fall! Dat. (aside.) There is a hideous mine beneath the earth, And a dark spirit tracks him, pace for pace! [The organ plays a solemn dirge.] Enter Cosmo, attired in black and purple; pale, and with disordered hat. Cosmo (advancing slowly and abstractedly). My lofty and firm motives that once held United as the Alps, are changed i’ the acting To martyr’d ashes—staked humanity ! This world’s a bubble: see! where now it bursts, And men and things fly off, and melt in air! Yon spheres are temporal, and a yawn will end The Ptolemaic dream! Our brain’s mere dust, Moisten’d and moved by rays and dews from heaven ; Soon dark—dry—void !—Creation’s final lord— Oblivion, crown’d with infinite blank stars— Inherits all! I’ve done a hydra wrong! Now will its monstrous constellation blazon My deed, till heaven dissolve ! Priest. My liege! Cutos. Your Highness ! Cosmo (stzll in abstraction). Could I do otherwise ?— I might have waited ! Peace, Garcia !—leave me! Dat. (aside to Cuios.) Hear you that, of Garcia? Cutos. (aside.) Did he say, leave me? Cosmo. Still my soul is strong, 110 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT Y. And fights up hill against an arméd Conscience. In vain !—the constant effort proves it vain ! Thus nature’s secret single-combat mars The strength of man, which else might brave the spheres With Atlas ’neath his heel. Now, all is o’er! Priest. My lord! Cosmo. I am cast backward—une’er to rise. All that had made me great—is gone! Cutos. My liege !— Cosmo. I, too, who thought myself so great a man— Such a good man—so just—now where’s all this ? O, my friends, listen to me! Friends, do I say ? I have no friend that I can tell this to,— Or, only one—my life’s best friend, my wife, And she’s the last to whom—last !—why, she’s dead ! And though not yet prepared for burial, Yet doth she listen from another world, And know her words would brain me; and she sees me Down here, .a spectacle for all men’s pity. Still—t’was no murder. That's what Garcia said! But then our doings are of different shades. Dat. May’t please your illustrious Excellency ! Prigst. Your Highness ! Cosmo. To me? Mock not mine agony—mock not my state ! (Recovering himself.) So—they are there !—I see my dear lost sons! My noble hope, Giovanni, snatch’d away ! My dear boy, Garcia—prematurely snatch’d! (To the Priests.) Pardon me !—let your sacred rites proceed ! SCENE V. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 111 [A lofty chair is placed for the Duke.] No !—T sit here. [Seats himself in a Confessional.] Priest. Commence the solemn service ! MASS, Celestial beams dry up our grief, Whale these bright spirits now ascend ; Our hearts pour forth but for relief— We know thetr life can never end ! No stain, no guilt ts theirs : Then purify our prayers, And clear owr— Cosmo starts forward. The Mass pauses abruptly. Cosmo. This mass I like not !—it is vague—defective, And most reproachful! Cease it on the instant! How should my prayers be pure? Yet, wherefore not ? Giovanni died of pestilence—so did Garcia ; By a worse pestilence cut off—an error, As monstrous, dark, and pagod-like in state, As the united sense of right is vast In all its bright proportions ! Priest. Good, my liege! Culos. (aside). Grief hath o’erwhelm’d his mind. Dat. (aside), What he hath done Is now too plain. How terrible a secret For his appall’d successor’s ear ! Cuios. (¢o Priest). Speak to him, Lo! where his heavy scalding tears pour down! 112 COSMO DE’ MEDICI. ACT V. Cosmo. (with forlorn dignity). Continue! Noble gentlemen and friends. I cannot explain these things. My present state Savours too much o’the elements. ’Tis a story Such as in pealing thunder might be told— Yet better lost in echoes o’er the sea, Since none can thoroughly know what’s in the soul. Pray ye, excuse me! I am not much in years; And tho’ this morn methought my hair look’d grey, "Tis but a few nights’ snows. Yet, sorrow is strong, And I am unarm’d and a childless man. Once more, your pardon. [He advances to the lofty chair placed for him, and seats himself with dignity. Let the mass proceed ! MASS. From depths of gloom and grief Seek not a vain relief, Till the heart’s heavy load o’erflow ; But grant us strength, O Heaven ! to bear This weight of agony and fear That presses down the atmosphere ;— [A Priest moves anxiously a few steps towards the Duke; then a second Priest, while the mass continues.) And round our brows with searing glow Clings like a leaden crown of Woe! SCENE V. COSMO DE’ MEDICI. 113 [As the Mass concludes, Cosmo falls back in his chair.] Dat. The Duke !—he faints ! All, The Duke! [Nobles and attendants rush towards him. Cosmo. Tis well. Great God, thou knowest! [Dies Culos. (after a solemn pause.) There broke a solid heart! Drop we no tears On this colossal wreck ; or, while our eyes Play rebel to high thoughts, close—close his lids, So their stain’d orbs reflect not this our weakness— Needful as rain to those who dwell on earth. [The curtain slowly descends; and presently rises, displaying the grand equestrian statue an bronze of Cosmo the First, as tt stands in Florence at the present time. | MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. “Tt is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem ;—a thought so passionate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of its own, and adorns Nature with a new thing. .......... And this is the reward: that the ideal shall be the real to thee, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain, copious but not troublesome, to this invulnerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy park and manor, the sea for thy bath and navigation, without tax, and without envy.” EMERSON. 117 ARCTIC HEROES. A FRAGMENT OF NAVAL HISTORY. PROLOGUE. The Phantom of a Sea-king rises over Eirek’s-fjord. PHANTOM. Through the dense fog, bleak wind and frozen mist, Standing on this invisible peak of ice, I, only son of Thorwald, Norway’s chief,— I, the “red-handed Hirek ”—born at sea When the storm sang a war-dirge to the harps Of mermen for the war-smiths I should slay— Now come to speak, beneath the Sea-king’s stars Who hold their thoughtful Court above this gloom ; Albeit none else in these void solitudes My phantom voice will hear. Far less can echoes Reach to the human shores of future time, Or e’en this present time, from my strong day, Through the long freezing centuries, and through The worked and re-worked forms of dead men’s earth, With all man’s ever-dying histories. But to the constellations, and those stars That served as separate or correlative signs, I do recall my bodily presence here, 118 Amidst these Arctic powers and mysteries, A thousand years before Mount Skapta’s fiend Disgorged his fire-founts with their lava streams That swept off Iceland’s flocks, herds, thriving homes, Dried rivers up, destroyed grass, grain and fish, And brought a deadly famine on the isle. I do recall my bodily presence here,— Long ere the necromantic needle’s law Gave power to man;—and with no other guides Than flights of birds, and chief the raven’s wing, Presence of deer, white foxes, walrus, bears, Memory of land-marks, currents, lights in heaven— Fixt, shifting, ghastly splendours of all hues— But more than all the impulse from within— The Scandinavian spirit of the brine, That sent us forth to conquest, plunder, fame! Now let me vanish back, to sleep for ever In my cathedral monument of ice, Whose pinnacles prismatic are the shows That please this race—but whose majestic silence Befits the resting-place of valiant souls Who to forbidden knowledge led the way! ScENE, a stupendous region of icebergs and snow. The bare mast of a half-buried ship stands amongst the rifts and ridges. The Jigures of Two Men,* covered closely with furs and skins, slowly emerge from beneath the winter housing of the deck, and descend upon the snow by an upper ladder, and steps cut below in the frozen wall of snow. They advance upon the ice. 1st MAN. Weare out of hearing now: give thy heart words. [ They walk in silence some steps further, and then pause. 2ND MAN. Here ’midst the sea’s unfathomable ice, Life-piercing cold and the remorseless night Which blinds our thoughts, nor changes its dead face, Save in the ’ghast smile of the hopeless moon, Must slowly close our sum of wasted hours, And with them all the enterprising dreams, Efforts, endurance, and resolve which make The power and glory of us Englishmen. 1st Man. It may be so. 2ND May, Oh, doubt not but it must. Day after day, week crawling after week, So slowly that they scarcely seem to move, Nor we to know it till our calendar Shows us that months have lapsed away, and left Our drifting time while here our bodies lie, Like melancholy blots upon the snow. Thus have we lived, and gradually seen By calculations which appear to mock Our hearts with their false figures, that ’tis now Three years since we were cut from off the world, By these impregnable walls of solid ocean ! 1st Man. All this is true: the physical elements We thought to conquer, are too strong for us. * The “Two men” are supposed to have been SIR JOHN FRANKLIN, and his First Lieutenant. 120 2nD Man. We have felt the crush of battle, side by side; Seen our best friends, with victory in their eyes, Suddenly smitten down, a mangled heap, And thought our own turn might be next; yet never Drooped we in spirit, or such horror felt As in the voiceless tortures of this place Which freezes up the mind. 1st Man, Not yet. 2ND Man. I feel it. Death, flying red-eyed from the cannon’s mouth, Were child’s play to confront, compared with this: Inch by inch famine in the silent frost, The cold anatomies of our dear friends, One by one carried in their rigid sheets To lie beneath the snow, till he that’s last Creeps to the lonely horror of his berth Within the vacant ship; and while the bears Grope round and round, thinks of his distant home, Those dearest to him—glancing rapidly Through his past life—then with a wailful sigh, And a brief prayer, his soul becomes a blank. ist Man. This is despair: I'll hear no more of it. We have provisions still. 2nD Man, And for how long? Ist Man. A flock of wild birds may pass over us, And some our shots may reach. 2nD Man. And by this chance Find food for one day more. Ist Man. Yes, and thank God; For preservation the next day may come, And rescue from old England. -2nD MAN. All our fuel Is nearly gone; and as the last log burns, 121 And falls in ashes, so may we foresee The frozen circle sitting round. Ist Man. Nay, nay— 2nD Man. Have we not burnt bulkhead, partition, door, Till one grim family, with glassy eyes And hollow voices, crouch beneath the deck, Which soon—our only safeguard—we must burn ? 1st Man. Our boats, loose spars, our masts—the forecastle— Must serve us ere that pass. But if indeed Nothing avail, and no help penetrate To this remote place, inaccessible Perchance for years, except to some wild bird— Or creature, stranger than the crimson snow— We came here knowing all this might befall, And set our lives at stake. God’s will be done. I, too, have felt the horrors of our fate ; Jammed in a moving field of solid ice, Borne onward day and night we knew not where, Till the loud cracking sounds reverberating Far distant, were soon followed by the rending Of the vast pack, whose heaving blocks and wedges Like crags broke loose, all rose to our destruction, As by some ghastly instinct. Then the hand Of winter smote the all-congealing air, And with its freezing tempest piled on high These massy fragments which environ us,— Cathedrals many-spired, by lightning riven ; Sharp-angled chaos-heaps of palaced cities, With splintered pyramids, and broken towers, That yawn for ever at the bursting moon, And her four pallid flame-spouts : —now, appalled By the long roar o’ the cloud-like avalanche,— 122 Now, by the stealthy creeping of the glaciers In silence tow’rds our frozen ships. So Death Hath often whispered to me in the night, And I have seen him in the Aurora-gleam, Smile as I rose and came upon the deck; Or when the icicle’s prismatic glance Bright, flashing—and then, colourless, unmoved ice, Emblem’d our passing life, and its cold end. O, friend in many perils, fail not now! Am I not, e’en as thou art, utterly sick Of my own heavy heart, and loading clothes? A mind, that in its firmest hour hath fits Of madness for some change, that shoot across Its stedfastness, and scarce are trampled down: Yet, friend, I will not let my spirit sink, Nor shall mine eyes, e’en with snow-blindness veiled, Man’s great prerogative of inward sight Forego, nor cease therein to speculate On England’s feeling for her countrymen ; Whereof relief will some day surely come. 2nD Man. I well believe it; but, I feel, too late. 1st Man. Then, if too late, one noble task remains, And one consoling thought: we, to the last, With firmness, order, and considerate care, Will act as though our death-beds were at home, Gray heads with honour sinking to the tomb ; So future ages shall record that we, Imprisoned in these frozen horrors, held Our sense of duty, both to man and God. (The muffled beat of the ship's bell sounds for evening prayers.) The Two Men return; they ascend the steps in the snow—then the ladder—and disappear beneath the snow-covered housing of the deck. 123 GENIUS. (Gulf of Florida). Far out at sea—the sun was high, While veer’d the wind, and flapp’d the sail— We saw a snow-white butterfly Dancing before the fitful gale, Far out at sea! The little wanderer, who had lost His way, of danger nothing knew; Settled awhile upon the mast,— Then flutter’d o’er the waters blue, Far out at sea. Above, there gleam’d the boundless sky ; Beneath, the boundless ocean sheen ; Between them danced the butterfly, The spirit-life of this vast scene,— Far out at sea. The tiny soul then soar’d away, Secking the clouds on fragile wings, Lured by the brighter, purer ray Which hope’s ecstatic morning brings, Far out at sea. 124 Away he sped with shimmering glee ! Scarce seen—now lost—yet onward borne ! Night comes !—with wind and rain—and he No more will dance before the Morn, Far out at sea. He dies unlike his mates, I ween ; Perhaps not sooner, or worse cross’d, — And he hath felt, thought, known, and seen A larger life and hope—though lost Far out at sea! \ THE CATARACT OF THE MOHAWK. (Mohawk River, U.S.A, from an old Travelling Note-book.) Ye black rocks, huddled like a fallen wall, Ponderous and steep, Where silver currents downward coil and fall, And rank weeds weep |— Thou broad and shallow bed, whose sullen floods Show barren islets of red stones and sand,— Shrunk is thy might beneath a fatal Hand, That will erase all memories from the woods. No more with war-paint, shells, and feathers grim, The Indian chief Casts his long, frightful shade from bank or brim. A blighted leaf Floats by—the emblem of his history ! For though when rains are strong, the cataract Again rolls on, its currents soon contract, Or serve for neighbouring mill and factory. A cloud,—of dragon’s blood in hue—hangs blent With streaks and veins Of gall-stone yellow, and of orpiment, O’er thy remains. Never again, with grandeur, in the beam Of sun-rise, or of noon, or changeful night, Shalt thou in thunder chaunt thine old birth-right: Fallen Mohawk! pass to thy stormy dream ! DON QUIXOTE AT THE GRAVE OF ROZINANTE. | (From the Spanish.) I. Droop, stately trees ! And bow your heads with all their heaviest shades, While your leaves quiver as the daylight fades : Let midnight dews distil upon this grave, Where sleeps my friend—the loyal and the brave— Droop, stately trees ! 5 IL, O, ignorant earth ! Can’st thou indeed contain the spirit high That bore me through my task of chivalry ? Alive, so correspondent with my soul— - Can it be dead—erased from hope’s white scroll— Nothing, henceforth ? III. This long, black shield— This interposing darkness of despair But separates us now, and taints the air, Higher enchantments, bred of virtuous aim, May melt, and give a constellated fame In starry field! Iv. Whate’er thy doom, My heart, chief mourner, shall companion thee, Thou rarest friend—true in extremity ; And this old, withered arm shall battle wage With death’s foul Shadows, smiting back their rage Into the gloom! 127 ORIZABA. ( Mexico.) I saw thee, Orizaba, in my youth, Morn after morn, When shot and shell bore death, and future ruth To many a home forlorn. And, after War’s revolting face Faded before el Vorté blast, Oft-times I hied me to thy mountain-base, And, seated near thy swarthy village, framed Some verses of a Legend,—which I lost, Drifting from place to place ; But now, from their dark lumber-nook reclaim’d, Upon the world’s wide ocean they are cast. II. A Slave in ancient Mexico, Tended a Princess thro’ the woods. Rain suddenly rush’d down in floods, Till wind and darkuess ruled below. Into some wild-beasts’ cave the Slave convey’d 128 His fainting charge, and sooth’d her wild affright ; Tore down great boughs to screen the royal maid, And at her feet sat watchful through the night. At dawn the tempest lull’d, and clear’d away: They issued forth, and saw the first red ray On Orizaba’s snows, above the cloud-rocks gray. III. They mark the crimsoning sun-rise tinge The clouds above that mountain peak— Like strong blood flushing passion’s cheek— Then take, below, a yeasty fringe, Which opens dut in many a streak Of coming light and radiant smiles— An ocean-sky, with lovely isles, Where silent billows flow, and break. Iv. They watch the peak’s clear outline glow! The clouds with hope’s new birthday yearn! The palpitating silver snow Glitters, then seems to blush and burn, And snatch a robe of gleaming gold, Its swelling bosom to enfold. That virgin gold took fire before the rise Of Orizaba’s Sun—whose wheel-spokes hurl’d Beams that made heaven a furnace of all dyes, Till life’s sustainer burst upon the world ! The Slave and Princess tow’rds each other press’d— Each face was glorified—each soul confess’d ! *T love thee!” cried the Slave—and from that hour was blest. 129 NEWTON. (Written after a Lecture on the Discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton, delivered by the late Professor Wilson, M.A., in Melbourne.) The Earth was but a platform for thy power, Whereon to watch and work, by day and night; The Moon, to thee, was but heaven’s evening flower ; The Sun, a loftier argument of light. Each planet was thy fellow-traveller bright, In vision—and, in thought, still nearer home ;— Throughout the Universe thy soul took flight, And touch’d at suns whose rays may never come ! Tho’ star-tranced Tycho, and the thought sublime Of Kepler, fathom’d Heaven’s infinity, To thee t’was left to prove the laws that chime Through spheres and atoms—being, and to be: Profound, alike, in thy humility— ‘A child that gather’d shells—kneeling beside the sea.” PELTERS OF PYRAMIDS. Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so ; Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know. BLAKE. A shoal of idlers, from a merchant craft Anchor’d off Alexandria, went ashore, And mounting asses in their headlong glee, Round Pompey’s Pillar rode with hoots and taunts,— As men oft say “ What art thou more than we?” Next in a boat they floated up the Nile, Singing and drinking, swearing senseless oaths, Shouting, and laughing most derisively At all majestic scenes. A bank they reach’d, And clambering up, play’d gambols among tombs ; ' And in portentous ruins (through whose depths— The mighty twilight of departed Gods— Both sun and moon glanced furtive, as in awe) They hid, and whoop’d, and spat on sacred things. At length, beneath the blazing sun they lounged Near a great Pyramid. Awhile they stood With stupid stare, until resentment grew, In the recoil of meanness from the vast ; And gathering stones, they with coarse oaths and jibes, (As they would say, “ What art thou more than we?”’) Pelted the Pyramid! But soon these men, 131 Hot and exhausted, sat them down to drink— Wrangled, smoked, spat, and laughed, and drowsily Cursed the bald Pyramid, and fell asleep. Night came :—a little sand went drifting by— And morn again was in the soft blue heavens. The broad slopes of the shining Pyramid Look’d down in their austere simplicity Upon the glistening silence of the sands Whereon no trace of mortal dust was seen. K2 A TORCH-RACE IN MEMORY OF PROMETHEUS. Sancte Promethée retinens vestigia flamma. Miuton, ad Patrem. From thy temple of honor in Academe’s groves, Where sages and poets have taught divine truths, When night clothes the statues of Gods and their Loves, See !—a Torch-Race of fifty !—all marble-white youths. Through the plane-trees and olives, the elm-rows and bays, The grass-walks, the vine-walks, and labyrinth ways, They rush and they rend,—they tear down, and dash, With frantic brands flaming—the cry, shout, and crash Of sapling and bough, arch’d bowers, trellice frames— This once, the mute victims of these sacred Games! Midst tree-trunks, and shrub-tops, and founts of the rock, The long-bearded comets stream on in one flock, While cymbals and harps to the chorus respond, With the double-pipe screaming, above and beyond; And bulls-horns, and goats-horns, and conch-shells all drone, Like Hepbaistos when drunk in his forges alone, And the roar of the flames and the song of the God, Made Attna’s foot tremble, from lava to sod! Now the Race is ascending—now winding—now slanting, And we leap up-and-down to their gasping and panting, All lookers-on dance, in their wild-eyed delight, As this Torch-Race Promethean, glorifies night ! 133 O’er the clear circus’ space, and slope of the hill, The contest grows straighter, with steadying will: Some fall—disappear—and some torch-blazes mingle, Till the rapturous file becomes lengthened and single— For now ’tis the high road !—the half mile’s fierce strain To the gorged lungs, the sinews, the blood-throbbing brain ! Oh, the fast-flashing torch in the hand of that boy Who leads the mad meteors !—a hand to fire Troy ! He will win !—he must win !—yet fleet as sharp wind, Two other mad meteors now blaze close behind ! They toss, whirl, and tear, and side-by-side flare— The wild brands out-streaming like tempest-torn hair ! While circles, and figures, and scrolls, are all blended With sparkling devices, from Hades ascended ! Now closing concentric, intenser each light, Which contracts and turns pale with this passion of flight! But in vain !—’tis a Game where the prize is for one— The first flying Torch, is still first—and ’tis done! That youth of a Titan-line, wins the great Race !— Then falls dead !—for his heart grew too large for life’s space ! And t’were better die thus, than rot slow in one place. 134 ARM-FOLDED STAND! (To Le ContTE DE LISLE, Paris, 1875.) Tyee: ceavrdy. I Arm-folded, stand upon thy rock, and smile With quiet consciousness of what thou art, Watching the waves in their contentious boil ! Thy genius stoops not to the common mart, And from thy lofty thoughts, the half soul’d crowd recoil. Lis The world moves on in Science,—but for Art The old stupidity still reigns a King Who drives the same ways, in the same gilt cart, Seeing no pheenix but on well-sunned wing. Apollo is no god, without a ‘“ hall-marked ” dart. Il. But, some day, France—through accident, or dream— Will ask ‘“ How came it men were blind as stone? Seek we his house with laurels! and the beam Of-fair prosperity |!—atone! atone! ” They find the shutters closed. All dark. The body’s gone! THE LAUREL-SEED. “ Marmora findit.” I. A Despot gazed on sun-set clouds, Then sank to sleep amidst the gleam ;— Forthwith, a myriad starving slaves Must realize his lofty dream. Year upon year, all night and day, They toil’d, they died—and were replaced ; At length, a marble fabric rose With cloud-like domes and turrets graced. No anguish of those herds of slaves, E’er shook one dome or wall asunder, Nor wars of other mighty Kings, Nor lustrous javelins of the thunder. II, One sunny morn a lonely bird, Pass’d o’er, and dropt a laurel-seed ; The plant sprang up amidst the walls Whose chinks were full of moss and weed. The laurel tree grew large and strong, Its roots went searching deeply down ; It split the marble walls of Wrong, And blossom’d o’er the Despot’s crown. And in its boughs a nightingale Sings to those world-forgotten graves ; And o’er its head a skylark’s voice Consoles the spirits of the slaves. 136 PRAYERS WITHOUT WORDS. A QUARTETTE. Chorus. O, Spirit of the Unknown Universe ! And of this earth’s fair bridal-bed and hearse, Thou know’st how large—how small—man’s soul— His yearning life, and Death’s revolving goal ! What human words can fitting be For all we feel, hope, think, and see? lst Voice. When in a cloudless frosty night We woo the Moon, so young and bright, And know her age so many thousand years, A prayer comes from the heart—and tears Confuse the sight ;— But words we have not for our hopes and fears. Chorus. O, Spirit of the Unknown Universe, &c. 2nd Voice. When wandering in a lonely wood, Peopled with thronging and conflicting Shades, All we have felt and understood Grows into prayers—and all unuttered fades ! Chorus. O, Spirit, &e. 137 8rd Voice. Or, lying wide awake at night, When Thought and Silence breed within the brain, Thou see’st ascending crowds with pinions white! Thou hear’st an unknown tongue in choral strain !— Struck mute with ecstacy, thou striv’st to join the flight. Chorus. O, Spirit, &e. 2nd, 37d and 4th Voices. Sitting beneath broad cataracts, Between the waters and the rock, The sense of POWER makes dumb thy thought’s pale flock, More than the white hell’s dirge distracts ! Chorus. O, Spirit, &e. 4th Voice. When swimming in the solemn sea Beneath the stars, One soul alone with God’s Infinity, Which the brain’s scope bedims and mars,— My prayers breathe upward silently ! Chorus. O, Spirit of the Unknown Universe, And of this earth’s fair bridal-bed and hearse, Thou know’st how large—how small—man’s soul-— His yearning life, and Death’s revolving goal ! What human words can fitting be For all we feel, hope, think, and see ? 138 THE WATER-MILL. Ewening Scene near an old Water Mill, in company with C—— E— and Eva. THE spell of silence deep, And dream that is not sleep, Intensely reign above the magic scene ; O’er the weird pulse of air, And wooded isle’s dark hair, And o’er the water’s tomb-like depths serene. The influence of dream, Tho’ bound to sleep it seem, A wider sphere with visions doth enwreath ; O’er Nature’s zone ’tis wound, Diffused through life around, In joy, in sorrow, and perchance thro’ death. Oh, I have spent my youth In sadness and in truth, With feelings deep that no return have known; So from fond hope I wove Imaginings of love, Tasted of heaven—awoke—and all was gone But now my heart hath found A balm for every wound, 189 A refuge, a twin-spirit—long denied— And mute with deep excess Of unhoped happiness, I stand with thee, fond Eva, by my side. Dim Trance lies in the trees, And Awe, that fear half sees! With sense of elemental life we dwell; In sweetness and mild pain, Like some elysian strain, Our souls yearn forth, and mingle with the spell. The mill-wheel’s voice is mute, No lonely owlets hoot, Nor bat’s wild cries, or frighten’d shade obtrude ; The wind lies clasp’d in death, Who sucks its last faint breath, And spell-bound on a stone sits Solitude! The grief-hair’d willows weep Slow dews, like tears of sleep, And lost enchantments float by, silently ; Only a thrill around, Seems often like a sound Of whispers—trickling drops—and far-off sea. Athwart the distance dim, Three magic cygnets swim, With necks and wings unearthly in their motion :— Like spirits, in their pride And death-white shape, they glide Now here—now there—dumb as our rapt devotion. 140 The dripping wing and hum Of water-insects come At intervals—but unlike life or breath O’er moveless reeds and grass Illusive visions pass ; Oblivion floats in undecaying death ! A pallid flickering gleams With our clairvoyant dreams, And steeps each sense in strangely-working charms ; While movelessly we lean, United with the scene— A trance that broods beneath o’ermarbled forms! Yet doth one vision flow, For we are such as know Each other’s inmost thoughts and feelings noe ; So that the subtle power Whose presence rules the hour, Unites in us, and like one pulse doth creep. The world is far away, Its heart-ache and its clay; And all the narrow springs of evil powers, Like snakes in darkness wind, Leaving no trace behind To soil the beauty of our opiate bowers. Each hope and passion wild Sleeps like a languid child, 141 And dim Imagination glides, and rests ! His star-crown melts away— Cloud-throne and sceptred sway— Into one living dream, deep welling through our breasts. Ah, me! that thus sublime Could pass an age of time— A silent rapture of divinity ! With nought to think or move, Save an absorbing Love, Thrilling, and melting to eternity, But now the electric scene Wanders—and Time again Lifts his dull head, and shakes his locks all gray ! Slowly thy steps do wend,— And silently, my friend, Thou bear’st thy deep-devoted Love away. Oh, shall I turn mine eyes To gaze into thine eyes— Or dream ungazing ?—O’er the murmuring ford Their hazy forms now pass, _ Like ghosts‘o’er the morass, 4 And I am left alone—with thee, my soul’s adored. 142 JACOB VAN DORT; oR THE MODERN SADDUCEE. I, Jacob Van Dort, of Amsterdam— A man considered thoroughly good,-. As husband, father, citizen, Incapable of lies or sham, I am— Our people say I am ;— A model of sound flesh and blood : And at our synagogue, ’midst holy men, Devoutly I have ever knelt and stood. II. Thus have I lived for ninety years in health, With fair fame, happiness, and wealth : Now I am lying Serenely dying, What have I done in my life’s span— My little circle oppidan— To look for life beyond the fate Of worlds that have some final date ? IIT. What is this Immortality,— This dazzling prism beyond the range of Time ?— Far as my brain can climb,— Then, struggling on—and shimmering back to me? 143 IV. It is not possible to gain A truthful comprehension of this thought— This dream so god-like and un-sane— Fearing, resisting, hating to be naught. Vv. Would not a million years In rising circles, satisfy man’s hope ?— Ten millions, then, of life “midst dying spheres— Would’st thou still cry, ‘ give me yet wider scope?’ VI. We know not what we crave— We plunge through wordy midnights of the mind— And all because we dread our needful grave, Seeking to reconstruct the laws designed. VII. What has the best man done— What could the best that ever lived e’er do— To justify a rank with Star and Sun ? Nay more—for they may end when dates fall due. VIII. Be rational, Van Dort—firmly resigned— Die in thy senses! Die as thou liv’d’st, illusions all withstood, And pious pretences. Dying, you scarce can hold your health’s strong mind ; But some of it keep clear: Be trustful of the Power which brought you here That your “ hereafter ”’ will be good, And last as long as Nature means it should. 144 Ix. Whate’er the Future bring to thee, Be grateful for all good thou hast enjoy’d,— Oh, deeply grateful if security From bodily pain and weakness hath been thine ; No faculties destroyed— Worn dull, or cloy’d, While silver age did o’er thee smile and shine. Write on my tomb In golden letters, but of simplest sort— “ Jacob Van Dort, Contented—grateful—whatso’er may come.” x. O, God-aspiring man ! Who crav’st a life beyond thy measuring brain— A Never-ceasing spin of thy small story— Which Million’d years on Millions no more hold Than morn’s first clouds unrolled Comprise a Universe of Everlasting glory— Why should God give thy problem-dream A life to last beyond—or with each Solar Scheme? 145 TIMBUCTOO. BY A NATIVE YOUTH. Must I still live in Timbuctoo, *Midst burning and shifting sands, In a small straw hut, near a foul morass— When the earth has sweet green lands ? No breath of air, no song of a bird, And scarcely the voice of man, Save the water-carrier’s wailful cry, As he plods to fill calabash-can. No fruit, no tree, no herbage, nor soil Where a plant or root might grow, Save the desert-shrub full of wounding thorns, As the lips of the camels know. The main street steams with the caravans, Tir’d oxen and camels kneel down; Box, package, and bales, are sold or exchang’d,— And the train leaves our silent town. The white man comes—and the white man goes— But his looks and his words remain; They show me my heart can put forth green leaves, And my withering thoughts find rain. L 146 Oh, why was I born in Timbuctoo,— For now that I hear the roar Of distant lands, with large acts in men’s hands, I can rest in my hut no more. New life! hope! change! ‘Your echoes are in my brain; Farewell to my thirsty home, I must traverse the land and main ! And can I, then, leave thee, poor Timbuctoo, Where I first beheld the sky ?— Where my own lov’d maid, now sleeps in the shade— Where the bones of my parents lie! 147 THE WATER-FLY AND THE JELLY-FISH. INSCRIBED TO PROFESSOR OWEN. Bright in silver glancings—o’er the sunny sea-shore, Skimming fast I flew, midst pools in rocky rings ; Playing through the sea-weeds—dancing with their shadows, Proud of my wings! Gaily my image woo’d me to the water, Close, ah, too closely,—dazzling my eyes— Dipping down, I’m seiz’d ! by something slimy, floating In pale opal dyes ! Now, I am crush’d within a freezing silence !— Gazing up to Heaven, thro’ pale transparent walls : Moveless, while I feel my gleaming gelid prison Joys in my thralls! Slowly, ah me! my delicate structure’s failing !— Melting, absorb’d within this idle mass : Sunny-life, farewell !—thy liquid rays still smiling, Quiver—and pass ! L2 148 THE CHURCH POOR-BOX. I am a Poor-Box ! here I stick, Nailed to a wall of white-washed brick, Teeming with ‘fancies coming thick,’ That sometimes mingle With solid pence from those who kneel; ‘While now and then, O, joy! I feel A sixpence tingle. The robin on me oft doth hop ; I am the woodlouse’ working shop, And friendly spiders sometimes drop A line to me; While e’en the sun will often stop To shine on me. I love the ghostly churchyard owl, Who stares at me through his grey cowl ! I love the sheep-dog’s moon-struck howl, And its sad sense ; It shows he has some sort of soul, With no pretence. I love our sharp-arch’d windows, painted With gawky figures,—sceptred, sainted ; Through which the sun, as if he’d fainted, Wears a false smile,— Like the fair Spectre that once haunted Our western aisle ! 149 I love the old church-meadow mower ; Our organist and his bellows-blower ; The village maidens in full flower ; Our boys that sing ; Our strong men who in belfry tower Blithe changes ring ! Tam of sterling, close, hard grain As any box on land or main,— But age, my friends, who can sustain In solitude ? Neglect might make a saint complain, Whate’er his wood. Heaven hath, no doubt, a large design : Some hearts are harder-grain’d than mine ; Some men too fat, and some too fine, And some ‘ can’t spare it :’ I do not mean to warp and pine, But humbly bear it. This is a cold and draughty place, And folks pass by with quickened pace,— Praying, perchance, (a dinner-grace) But ever then, I feel the comfort of His face Who pities men ! I saw last week, in portly style, A usurer coming down the aisle,— His chin a screw, his nose a file, With gimlet eye; He turned his head, to cough and smile— And sidled by. 150 I saw the same rich man, this morn, With sickly cheek and gait forlorn, As feeble, almost, as when born : He drop’t some-pelf, Pitying the poor—the weak and worn— Meaning himself. I saw last year, a courtly dame With splendid bust, and jewels’ flame, And all the airs of feathered game— A high-bred star-thing ! All saw the gold—but close she came, And dropt—a farthing ! Two days ago, she passed this way, Heart-broken—prematurely gray— Her beauty like its mother-clay. She gave me gold:— “ T am like thee,” I heard her say— “ Hollow and cold.” Ere day-break, on a snowy night, When earth was angel-plumage white, A gent’ with studs and chains bedight, Wrought me sore grief,— Forcing my lid with main and might,— In short, a thief ! I saw the Devil sit on a stile, Eating a turnip, with a smile ; Then cross a field of some half-mile To come to Church: He wink’d one eye, with provoking glee, As he saw the small box of Charity Thus left in the lurch. 151 The farmer gives when crops are good, Because the markets warm his blood ; The traveller, ’scaped from field and flood, Endows the Poor ; The dying miser sends his mud— To make Heaven sure. A lover with his hoped-for bride (Her parents being close beside), Drew forth his purse with sleek-faced pride,— Rattling my wood : All day I felt a pain in my side— He was “so good.” The General, fresh from sacking towns, My humble claim to pity owns; The Justice on his shilling frowns ; But worst of all, Arch-hypocrites display their crowns Beside my wall. There came a little child one day, Just old enough to know its way, And clambering up, it seemed to say, “ Poor lonely Box "— Gave me a kiss—and went away With drooping locks. I have to play a thankless part : With most men’s charities I smart; But those who give with a child’s heart, From pure fount sprung, Warm my drear life—console my lot :— The rest I take on cross-grain’d knot— Wise head—still tongue. 152 SOLITUDE AND THE LILY. (Lockerbie, 1873.) THE LILY. I bend above the moving stream, And see myself in my own dream,— Heaven passing, while I do not pass. Something divine pertains to me, Or I to it ;— reality Escapes me on this liquid glass. SOLITUDE. The changeful clouds that float or poise on high, Emblem earth’s night and day of history— Renewed for ever, evermore to die. Thy life-dream is thy fleeting loveliness ; But mine is concentrated consciousness— A life apart from pleasure or distress. The grandeur of the Whole Absorbs my soul, While my caves sigh o’er human littleness. THE LILY. Ah, Solitude! Of marble Silence fit abode,— Ido prefer my fading face, My loss of loveliness and grace, With cloud-dreams ever in my view ;— Also the hope that other eyes May share my rapture in the skies, And, if illusion, feel it true. EUTHANASIA. Physician ! strong of mind as tender-hearted, Let not the body, whose last hold hath parted, Linger in agony, and at Death’s porches Swing blind, with frantic arms that toss like torches ; But when the final day is come, Lull all its being for the tomb, And with a gentle opiate-trance Prelude the long dream’s cold romance, Or exaltation on the shore Beyond Time’s distant ocean-roar— Or whatso’er may be in store,— So that no pangs the sense invest, Sinking in capacious rest, As a bird fills up its nest,— And, absorbed—ray after ray— As night steals, mingling, o’er the day, Flowing melt, and melting fade, Like a soft evasive shade— The last on Life’s remote highway. 154 HAJARLIS. A Tragic Ballad, set to an old Arabian air. I loved Hajarlis—and was loved— Both children of the Desert, we ; And deep as were her lustrous eyes, My image ever could I see: And in my heart she also shone, As doth a star above a well; And we each other’s thoughts enjoyed, As camels listen to a bell. A Sheik unto Hajarlis came, And said “ Thy beauty fires my dreams! “Young Ornab spurn—fly to my tent— So shalt thou walk in golden beams.” But from the Sheik my maiden turned, And he was wroth with her, and me; Hajarlis down a pit was lowered, And I was fastened to a tree. Nor bread, nor water, had she there ; But oft a slave would come, and go: O’er the pit bent he, muttering words— And aye took back the unvarying ‘ No!’ 155 The simoom came with sullen glare |— Breathed Desert-mysteries through my tree !— I only heard the starving sighs From that pit’s mouth unceasingly. Day after day—night after night— Hajarlis’ famished moans I hear! And then I prayed her to consent— For my sake, in my wild despair. Calm strode the Sheik—looked down the pit, And said, “ Thy beauty now is gone: Thy last moans will thy lover hear, While thy slow torments feed my scorn.” They spared me that I still might know Her thirst and frenzy—till at last The pit was silent !—and I felt Her life—and mine—were with the past! A friend, that night, cut through my bonds : The Sheik amidst his camels slept ;— We fired his tent, and drove them in— And then with joy I scream’d and wept! And cried “A spirit comes arrayed, From that dark pit, in golden beams ! Thy slaves are fled—thy camels mad— Harjarlis once more fires thy dreams !” The camels blindly trod him down, While still we drove them o’er his bed ; Then with a stone I beat his breast, As I would smite him ten times dead ! 156 I dragg’d him far out on the sands— And vultures came—a screaming shoal !— And while they fang’d and flapp’d, I prayed Great Allah to destroy his soul ! And day and night, again I sat Above that pit, and thought I heard Harjarlis’ moans-—and cried “my love With heart still breaking at each word. 1” Is it the night-breeze in my ear, That woos me, like a fanning dove ?— Is it herself ?—O, desert-sands, Enshroud me ever with my love! 157 A STAR OVER NIAGARA. BRIEF COLLOQUY OF TWO SPIRITS. BLAKE. More form, and less of catalogues, brave Walter A cumulative rush of powers O’erwhelms design. Give to Art’s flowers A spirit more ethereal. WHITMAN, No defaulter Am I, pure Star !—but my waves boil to hear Echoes of sham-psalms, o’er esthetic tea, While pantomime shines foul round many an altar, And saintly-sensual courtships leer, Or half-born poets woo the fruitless tear, Lost to our nature’s cosmic energy. Star, of rare beams! by thee All sons of Art should better learn to steer— Thou (living) man of men, incapable of fear ! BLAKE. Flow thine own way. Let the Great Baby jeer, Or pass: the living truth it doth not see, ——cc3c00ceu——___. LINES TO A CHILD. (POLLY MAYFLOWER, of NEw SouTH WALES.) O, MAYFLOWER ! grave as morning light— As silent—and as fair; And thoughtful, with half closing eyes, Oft hid in saffron hair ;— What dost thou think of, Polly, By day, or noon, or night ? Thy childhood is too wise For the world’s busy folly. It surely, MAYFLOWER, can’t be that,— For in the noisy scene Thou never yet hast been, Nor in its shadows sat. Half dreaming thou dost stand :— Oh, take me to thy Land, Wherever that may be! In childhood’s sweet romance, Where fairies sing and dance, And heavenly visions glance Like sunrise through a tree ! And something more, I ween, Than ever can be seen, Or ever will be heard— Teems in thy voiceless thought, With twilight reasonings fraught, As song pervades the bird While mute it sits amidst the foliage green. 159 THE SLAVE. A SEA-PIECE, OFF JAMAICA. (From an old Travelling Note-book.) Before us in the sultry dawn arose Indigo-tinted mountains ; and ere noon We near’d an isle that lay like a festoon, And shared the ocean’s glittering repose. We saw plantations spotted with white huts ; Estates midst orange groves and towering trees ; Rich yellow lawns embrown’d by soft degrees ; Plots of intense gold freak’d with shady nuts. A dead hot silence tranced sea, land, and sky: And now a long canoe came gliding forth, Wherein there sat an old man fierce and swarth, Tiger-faced, black-fang’d, and with jaundiced eye. Pure white, with pale blue chequer’d, and red fold Of head-cloth ’neatb straw brim, this Master wore ; While in the sun-glare stood with high-raised oar A naked Image all of burnished gold, Golden his bones—high-valued in the mart— His minted muscles, and his glossy skin ; Golden his life of action—but within The slave is human in a bleeding heart. 160 THE PLOUGH. A LANDSCAPE IN BERKSHIRE. Above yon sombre swell of land Thou see’st the dawn’s grave orange hue, With one pale streak like yellow sand, And over that a vein of blue. The air is cold above the woods ; All silent is the earth and sky, Except with his own lonely moods The blackbird holds a colloquy. Over the broad hill creeps a beam, Like hope that gilds a good man’s brow, And now ascends the nostril-stream Of stalwart horses come to plough. Ye rigid Ploughmen, bear in mind— Your labour is for future hours ! Advance—spare not—nor look behind— Plough deep and straight with all your powers. exh £50" 161 THE FAIR OF ALMACHARA. “ A Delineation of the great Fair of Almachara, in Arabia, which, to avoid the great heat of the sun, is kept in the night, and by the light of the moon:” Sir THOMAS BROWNE'S Museum Clausum. I. THE intolerant sun sinks down with glaring eye Behind the horizontal desert-line, And upwards casts his robes to float on high, Suffusing all the clouds with his decline; Till their intense gold doth incarnadine, And melt in angry hues, which darken as they die. Slow rose the naked beauty of the Moon In broad relief against the gloomy vault : Each smouldering field in azure melted soon, Before the tenderness of that assault ; And the pure Image that men’s souls exalt, Stood high aloof from earth, as in some vision’d swoon. But now she seem’d, from that clear altitude, To gaze below, with a far-sheening smile, On Arab tents, gay groups, and gambols rude, As in maternal sympathy the while ; And now, like swarming bees, o’er many a mile Forth rush the swarthy forms o’ the gilded multitude ! M II. Hark to the cymbals singing ! Hark to their hollow quot ! The gong sonorous swinging At each sharp pistol-shot ! Bells of sweet tone are ringing ! The Fair begins With countless dins, And many a grave-faced plot !— Trumpets and tympans sound ’Neath the Moon’s brilliant round, Which doth entrance Each passionate dance, And glows or flashes Midst jewell’d sashes, Cap, turban, and tiara, In a tossing sea Of ecstasy, At the Fair of Almachara ! It. First came a troop of Dervishes, Who sang a solemn song, And at each chorus one leapt forth And spun himself so long That silver coins, and much applause, Were shower’d down by the throng. 163 Then pass’d a long and sad-link’d chain Of foreign Slaves for sale : Some clasp’d their hands and wept like rain, Some with resolve were pale ; By death or fortitude, they vow’d, Deliverance should not fail. And neighing steeds with bloodshot eyes, And tails as black as wind That sweeps the storm-expectant seas, Bare-back’d career’d behind ; Yet, docile to their master’s call, Their steep-arch’d necks inclined. Trumpets and tympans sound *Neath the moon’s brilliant round, Which doth entrance Each passionate dance, And glows or flashes ?Mid cymbal-clashes, Rich jewell’d sashes, Cap, turban, and tiara, . In a tossing sea Of ecstasy, At the Fair of Almachara ! TVs There sit the Serpent-charmers, Enwound with maze on maze Of orby folds, which, working fast, Puzzle the moon-lit gaze. 164 Boas and amphisbeene gray Flash like currents in their play, Hissing and kissing, till the crowd Shriek with delight, or pray aloud ! Now rose a crook-back’d Juggler, Who clean cut off both legs; Astride on his shoulders set them, Then danced on wooden pegs: And presently his head dropp’d off, When another juggler came, Who gathered his frisky fragments up And stuck them in a frame,— From which he issued as at first,— Continuing thus the game. Trumpets and tympans sound ’Neath the moon’s brilliant round, Which doth entrance Each passionate dance, And glows or flashes ’Mid cymbal clashes, Rich jewell’d sashes, Cap, turban, and tiara, In a tossing sea Of ecstasy, At the fair of Almachara ! Ve There do we see the Merchants Smoking with grave pretence ; There, too, the humble dealers In cassia and frankincense ; 165 And many a Red-Sea mariner, Swept from its weedy waves, Who comes to sell his coral rough, Torn from its rocks and caves,— With red clay for the potteries, Which careful baking craves. There, too, the Bedouin Tumblers Roll round like rapid wheels, Or tie their bodies into knots, Hiding both head and heels : Now standing on each other’s heads, They race about the Fair, Or with strange energies inspired Leap high into the air, And wanton thus above the sand In graceful circles rare. There sit the Opium-eaters, Chanting their gorgeous dreams ; While some, with hollow faces, Seem lit by ghastly gleams,— Dumb—and with fixed grimaces ! There dance the Arab maidens, With burnish’d limbs all bare, Caught by the Moon’s keen silver Through frantic jets of hair! O, naked Moon! O, wondrous face ! Eternal sadness—beauty—grace— Smile on the passing human race! 166 Trumpets and tympans sound ’Neath the moon’s brilliant round, Which doth entrance Each passionate dance, And glows or flashes ’Mid cymbal clashes, Rich jewell’d sashes, Cap, turban, and tiara. In a tossing sea Of ecstasy, At the Fair of Almachara ! VI. There, too, the Story-tellers, With long beards and bald pates, Right earnestly romancing Grave follies of the Fates, For which their circling auditors Throw coins and bags of dates. Some of the youths and maidens shed Sweet tears, or turn quite pale ; But silence, and the clouded pipe, O’er all the rest prevail. Mark yon Egyptian Sorcerer, In black and yellow robes ! His ragged raven locks he twines Around two golden globes ! And now he lashes a brazen gong, Whirling about with shriek and song ; Till the globes burst in fire, Which, in a violet spire, 167 Shoots o’er the loftiest tent-tops there, Then fades away in perfume rare; With music somewhere in the sky— Whereat the Sorcerer seems to die ! Broad cymbals are clashing, And flying and flashing ! And spinning and pashing ! The silver bells ringing ! All tingling and dinging ! Gongs booming and swinging ! The Fair’s at its height In the cool brilliant night ! While streams the Moon’s glory On javelins and sabres, And long beards all hoary, Midst trumpets and tabors,— Wild strugglings and trammels Of leaders and camels And horsemen, in masses, Midst droves of wild asses,— The clear beams entrancing, The passionate dancing, Glaring fixt, or in flashes, From jewels in sashes, Cap, turban, tiara ;— ’Tis a tossing sea Of ecstasy, At the Fair of Almachara ! SRC YAS \ \\\\ A > oo os