The gates of mercy to my soul!
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
The tidings on thy heart dismayed
Have burst, and naught remains; behold!
'Tis come, nor long delayed,
Whate'er the warning seers foretold:
They spoke the message from on high,
Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny!
The mortal shall the curse fulfil
Who seeks to turn predestined ill.
ISABELLA.
The gods have done their worst; if they be true
Or false, 'tis one-for nothing they can add
To this-the measure of their rage is full.
Why should I tremble that have naught to fear?
My darling son lies murdered, and the living
I call my son no more. Oh! I have borne
And nourished at my breast a basilisk
That stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste,
And leave this house of horrors-I devote it
To the avenging fiends! In an evil hour
'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crime
The victim I depart. Unwillingly
I came-in sorrow I have lived-despairing
I quit these halls; on me, the innocent,
Descends this weight of woe! Enough-'tis shown
That Heaven is just, and oracles are true!
[Exit, followed by DIEGO.
BEATRICE, DON CAESAR, the Chorus.
DON CAESAR (detaining BEATRICE).
My sister, wouldst thou leave me? On this head
A mother's curse may fall-a brother's blood
Cry with accusing voice to heaven-all nature
Invoke eternal vengeance on my soul-
But thou-oh! curse me not-I cannot bear it!
[BEATRICE points with averted eyes to the body.
I have not slain thy lover! 'twas thy brother,
And mine that fell beneath my sword; and near
As the departed one, the living owns
The ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis I
That most a sister's pity need-for pure
His spirit winged its flight, and I am guilty!
[BEATRICE bursts into an agony of tears.
Weep! I will blend my tears with thine-nay, more,
I will avenge thy brother; but the lover-
Weep not for him-thy passionate, yearning tears
My inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depths
Of our affliction, let me gather this,
The last and only comfort-but to know
That we are dear alike. One lot fulfilled
Has made our rights and wretchedness the same;
Entangled in one snare we fall together,
Three hapless victims of unpitying fate,
And share the mournful privilege of tears.
But when I think that for the lover more
Than for the brother bursts thy sorrow's tide,
Then rage and envy mingle with my pain,
And hope's last balm forsakes my withering soul?
Nor joyful, as beseems, can I requite
This inured shade:-yet after him content
To mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly,
Sped by this hand-if dying I may know
That in one urn our ashes shall repose,
With pious office of a sister's care.
[He throws his arms around her with passionate tenderness.
I loved thee, as I ne'er had loved before,
When thou wert strange; and that I bear the curse
Of brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved thee
With measureless transport: love was all my guilt,
But now thou art my sister, and I claim
Soft pity's tribute.
[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air of
painful suspense-then turns away with vehemence.
No! in this dread presence
I cannot bear these tears-my courage flies
And doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret-
Leave me in error's maze-but never, never,
Behold me more: I will not look again
On thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passion
Laid bare her secret heart! She never loved me!
She mourned her best-loved son-that was her cry
Of grief-and naught was mine but show of fondness!
And thou art false as she! make no disguise-
Recoil with horror from my sight-this form
Shall never shock thee more-begone forever!
[Exit.
[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflicting
passions-then tears herself from the spot.
Chorus (CAJETAN).
Happy the man-his lot I prize
That far from pomps and turmoil vain,
Childlike on nature's bosom lies
Amid the stillness of the plain.
My heart is sad in the princely hall,
When from the towering pride of state,
I see with headlong ruin fall,
How swift! the good and great!
And he-from fortune's storm at rest
Smiles, in the quiet haven laid
Who, timely warned, has owned how blest
The refuge of the cloistered shade;
To honor's race has bade farewell,
Its idle joys and empty shows;
Insatiate wishes learned to quell,
And lulled in wisdom's calm repose:-
No more shall passion's maddening brood
Impel the busy scenes to try,
Nor on his peaceful cell intrude
The form of sad humanity!
'Mid crowds and strife each mortal ill
Abides'-the grisly train of woe
Shuns like the pest the breezy hill,
To haunt the smoky marts below.
BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED.
On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decay
Never sullies the fresh flowing air;
Oh, Nature is perfect wherever we stray;
'Tis man that deforms it with care.
The whole Chorus repeats.
On the mountains is freedom, etc., etc.
DON CAESAR, the Chorus.
DON CAESAR (more collected).
I use the princely rights-'tis the last time-
To give this body to the ground, and pay
Fit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends,
My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfil
Your lord's behest. Fresh in your memory lives
The mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye bore
So late my royal sire; scarce in these halls
Are stilled the echoes of the funeral wail;
Another corpse succeeds, and in the grave
Weighs down its fellow-dust-almost our torch
With borrowed lustre from the last, may pierce
The monumental gloom; and on the stair,
Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains.
Then in the sacred royal dome that guards
The ashes of my sire, prepare with speed
The funeral rites; unseen of mortal eye,
And noiseless be your task-let all be graced,
As then, with circumstances of kingly state.
BOHEMUND.
My prince, it shall be quickly done; for still
Upreared, the gorgeous catafalque recalls
The dread solemnity; no hand disturbed
The edifice of death.
DON CAESAR.
The yawning grave
Amid the haunts of life? No goodly sign
Was this: the rites fulfilled, why lingered yet
The trappings of the funeral show?
BOHEMUND.
Your strife
With fresh embittered hate o'er all Messina
Woke discord's maddening flames, and from the deed
Our cares withdrew-so resolute remained,
And closed the sanctuary.
DON CAESAR.
Make no delay;
This very night fulfil your task, for well
Beseems the midnight gloom! To-morrow's sun
Shall find this palace cleansed of every stain,
And light a happier race.
[Exit the Second Chorus, with the body of DON MANUEL.
CAJETAN.
Shall I invite
The brotherhood of monks, with rights ordained
By holy church of old, to celebrate