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Chorus (CAJETAN).List, how with dreaded mysteryWas signed to my prophetic soul,Of kindred blood the dire decree:—Hither with noiseless, giant strideI saw the hideous fiend of terror glide!'Tis past! I strive not to controlMy shuddering awe—so swift of illThe Fates the warning sign fulfil.Lo! to my sense dismayed,Sudden the deed of death has shownWhate'er my boding fears portrayed.The visioned thought was pain;The present horror curdles every veinOne of the Chorus (MANFRED).Sound, sound the plaint of woe!Beautiful youth!Outstretched and pale he lies,Untimely cropped in early bloom;The heavy night of death has sealed his eyes;—In this glad hour of nuptial joy,Snatched by relentless doom,He sleeps—while echoing to the sky,Of sorrow bursts the loud, despairing cry!A second (CAJETAN).We come, we come, in festal pride,To greet the beauteous bride;Behold! the nuptial gifts, the rich attireThe banquet waits, the guests are there;They bid thee to the solemn riteOf hymen quick repair.Thou hear'st them not—the sportive lyre,The frolic dance, shall ne'er invite;Nor wake thee from thy lowly bed,For deep the slumber of the dead!The whole Chorus.No more the echoing horn shall cheerNor bride with tones of sweetness charm his ear.On the cold earth he lies,In death's eternal slumber closed his eyes.A third (CAJETAN).What are the hopes, and fond desiresOf mortals' transitory race?This day, with harmony of voice and soul,Ye woke the long-extinguished firesOf brothers' love—yon flaming orbLit with his earliest beams your dear embraceAt eve, upon the gory sandThou liest—a reeking corpse!Stretched by a brother's murderous hand.Vain projects, treacherous hopes,Child of the fleeting hour are thine;Fond man! thou rear'st on dust each bold design,Chorus (BERENGAR).To thy mother I will bearThe burden of unutterable woe!Quick shall yon cypress, blooming fair,Bend to the axe's murderous blowThen twine the mournful bier!For ne'er with verdant life the tree shall smileThat grew on death's devoted soil;Ne'er in the breeze the branches play,Nor shade the wanderer in the noontide ray;'Twas marked to bear the fruits of doom,Cursed to the service of the tomb.First (CAJETAN).Woe to the murderer! WoeThat sped exulting in his pride,Behold! the parched earth drinks the crimson tide.Down, down it flows, unceasingly,To the dim caverned halls below,Where throned in kindred gloom the sister train,Of Themis progeny severe,Brood in their songless, silent reign!Stern minister of wrath's decree,They catch in swarthy cups thy streaming gore,And pledge with horrid rites for vengeance evermore.Second (BERENGAR).Though swift of deed the traces fadeFrom earth, before the enlivening ray;As o'er the brow the transient shadeOf thought, the hues of fancy flit away:—Yet in the mystic womb unseen,Of the dark ruling hours that swayOur mortal lot, whate'er has been,With new creative germ defies decay.The blooming field is timeFor nature's ever-teeming shoot,And all is seed, and all is fruit.[The Chorus goes away, bearing the corpse of DON MANUEL on a bier.
The hall of pillars. It is night.The stage is lighted from above by a single large lamp.DONNA ISABELLA and DIEGO advance to the front.ISABELLA.As yet no joyful tidings, not a traceFound of the lost one!DIEGO.Nothing have we heard,My mistress; yet o'er every track, unwearied,Thy sons pursue. Ere long the rescued maidShall smile at dangers past.ISABELLA.Alas! Diego,My heart is sad; 'twas I that caused this woe!DIEGO.Vex not thy anxious bosom; naught escapedThy thoughtful care.ISABELLA.Oh! had I earlier shownThe hidden treasure!DIEGO.Prudent were thy counsels,Wisely thou left'st her in retirement's shade;So, trust in heaven.ISABELLA.Alas! no joy is perfectWithout this chance of ill my bliss were pure.DIEGO.Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoyThe concord of thy sons.ISABELLA.The sight was raptureSupreme, when, locked in one another's arms,They glowed with brothers' love.DIEGO.And in the heartIt burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stoopedTo mean disguise.ISABELLA.Now, too, their bosoms wakeTo gentler thoughts, and own their softening swayOf love. No more their hot, impetuous youthRevels in liberty untamed, and spurnsRestraint of law, attempered passion's self,With modest, chaste reserve.To thee, Diego,I will unfold my secret heart; this hourOf feeling's opening bloom, expected long,Wakes boding fears: thou know'st to sudden rageLove stirs tumultuous breasts; and if this flameWith jealousy should rouse the slumbering firesOf ancient hate—I shudder at the thought!If these discordant souls perchance have thrilledIn fatal unison! Enough; the cloudsThat black with thundering menace o'er me hungAre past; some angel sped them tranquil by,And my enfranchised spirit breathes again.DIEGO.Rejoice, my mistress; for thy gentle senseAnd soft, prevailing art more weal have wroughtThan all thy husband's power. Be praise to theeAnd thy auspicious star!ISABELLA.Yes, fortune smiled;Nor light the task, so long with apt disguiseTo veil the cherished secret of my heart,And cheat my ever-jealous lord: more hardTo stifle mighty nature's pleading voice,That, like a prisoned fire, forever stroveTo rend its confines.DIEGO.All shall yet be well;Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledgeOf bliss that time will show.ISABELLA.I praise not yetMy natal star, while darkening o'er my fateThis mystery hangs: too well the dire mischanceTells of the fiend whose never-slumbering ragePursues our house. Now list what I have done,And praise or blame me as thou wilt; from theeMy bosom guards no secret: ill I brookThis dull repose, while swift o'er land and seaMy sons unwearied, track their sister's flight,Yes, I have sought; heaven counsels oft, when vainAll mortal aid.DIEGO.What I may know, my mistress,Declare.ISABELLA.On Etna's solitary heightA reverend hermit dwells,—benamed of oldThe mountain seer,—who to the realms of lightMore near abiding than the toilsome raceOf mortals here below, with purer airHas cleansed each earthly, grosser sense away;And from the lofty peak of gathered years,As from his mountain home, with downward glanceSurveys the crooked paths of worldly strife.To him are known the fortunes of our house;Oft has the holy sage besought responseFrom heaven, and many a curse with earnest prayerAverted: thither at my bidding flew,On wings of youthful haste, a messenger,To ask some tidings of my child: each hourI wait his homeward footsteps.DIEGO.If mine eyesDeceive me not, he comes; and well his speedHas earned thy praise.MESSENGER, ISABELLA, DIEGO.ISABELLA (to MESSENGER).Now speak, and nothing hideOf weal or woe; be truth upon thy lips!What tidings bear'st thou from the mountain seer?MESSENGER.His answer: "Quick! retrace thy steps; the lost oneIs found."ISABELLA.Auspicious tongue! Celestial soundsOf peace and joy! thus ever to my vows.Thrice honored sage, thy kindly message spoke!But say, which heaven-directed brother tracedMy daughter?MESSENGER.'Twas thy eldest born that foundThe deep-secluded maid.ISABELLA.Is it Don ManuelThat gives her to my arms? Oh, he was everThe child of blessing! Tell me, hast thou borneMy offering to the aged man? the tapersTo burn before his saint? for gifts, the prizeOf worldly hearts, the man of God disdains.MESSENGER.He took the torches from my hands in silenceAnd stepping to the altar—where the lampBurned to his saint—illumed them at his fire,And instant set in flames the hermit cell,Where he has honored God these ninety years!ISABELLA.What hast thou said? What horrors fright my soul?MESSENGER.And three times shrieking "Woe!" with downward course,He fled; but silent with uplifted armBeckoned me not to follow, nor regard himSo hither I have hastened, terror-sped.ISABELLA.Oh, I am tossed amid the surge againOf doubt and anxious fears; thy tale appalsWith ominous sounds of ill. My daughter found—Thou sayest; and by my eldest born, Don Manuel?The tidings ne'er shall bless, that heraldedThis deed of woe!MESSENGER.My mistress! look aroundBehold the hermit's message to thine eyesFulfilled. Some charm deludes my sense, or hitherThy daughter comes, girt by the warlike trainOf thy two sons![BEATRICE is carried in by the Second Chorus on a litter,and placed in the front of the stage. She is still withoutperception, and motionless.ISABELLA, DIEGO, MESSENGER, BEATRICE.Chorus (BOHEMUND, ROGER, HIPPOLYTE, and the other nine followersof DON CAESAR.)Chorus (BOHEMUND).Here at thy feet we layThe maid, obedient to our lord's command:'Twas thus he spoke—"Conduct her to my mother;And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her!"ISABELLA (is advancing towards her with outstretched arms, and startsback in horror).Heavens! she is motionless and pale!Chorus (BOHEMUND).She lives,She will awake, but give her time to rouseFrom the dread shock that holds each sense enthralled.ISABELLA.My daughter! Child of all my cares and pains!And is it thus I see thee once again?Thus thou returnest to thy father's halls!Oh, let my breath relume thy vital spark;Yes! I will strain thee to a mother's armsAnd hold thee fast—till from the frost of deathReleased thy life-warm current throbs again.[To the Chorus.Where hast thou found her? Speak! What dire mischanceHas caused this sight of woe?Chorus (BOHEMUND).My lips are dumb!Ask not of me: thy son will tell thee all—Don Caesar—for 'tis he that sends her.ISABELLA'Tell meWould'st thou not say Don Manuel?Chorus (BOHEMUND).'Tis Don CaesarThat sends her to thee.ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER).How declared the Seer?Speak! Was it not Don Manuel?MESSENGER.'Twas he!Thy elder born.ISABELLA.Be blessings on his headWhich e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter,Alas! that in this blissful hour, so longExpected, long implored, some envious fiendShould mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tideOf nature's transport! In her childhood's homeI see my daughter; me she knows not—heeds not—Nor answers to a mother's voice of loveOpe, ye dear eyelids—hands be warm—and heaveThou lifeless bosom with responsive throbsTo mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice!The long-concealed—the lost—the rescued one!Before the world I claim her for my own!Chorus (BOHEMUND).New signs of terror to my boding soulAre pictured;—in amazement lost I stand!What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery?ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion andembarrassment).Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men!A mother's transport from your breast of steelRebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge!I look around your train, nor mark one glanceOf soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell meWhy come they not, and from their beaming eyesSpeak comfort to my soul? For here environedI stand amid the desert's raging brood,Or monsters of the deep!DIEGO.She opes her eyes!She moves! She lives!ISABELLA.She lives! On me be thrownHer earliest glance!DIEGO.See! They are closed again—She shudders!ISABELLA (to the Chorus).Quick! Retire—your aspect frights her.[Chorus steps back.RORER.Well pleased I shun her sight.DIEGO.With outstretched eyes,And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee.BEATRICE.Not strange those lineaments—where am I?ISABELLA.SlowlyHer sense returns.DIEGO.Behold! upon her kneesShe sinks.BEATRICE.Oh, angel visage of my mother!ISABELLA.Child of my heart!BEATRICE.See! kneeling at thy feetThe guilty one!ISABELLA.I hold thee in my arms!Enough—forgotten all!DIEGO.Look in my face,Canst thou remember me?BEATRICE.The reverend browsOf honest old Diego!ISABELLA.Faithful guardianOf thy young years.BEATRICE.And am I once againWith kindred?ISABELLA.Naught but death shall part us more!BEATRICE.Will thou ne'er send me to the stranger?ISABELLA.Never!Fate is appeased.BEATRICE.And am I next thy heart?And was it all a dream—a hideous dream?My mother! at my feet he fell! I know notWhat brought me hither—yet 'tis well. Oh, bliss!That I am safe in thy protecting arms;They would have ta'en me to the princess, mother—Sooner to death!ISABELLA.My daughter, calm thy fears;Messina's princess——BEATRICE.Name her not again!At that ill-omened sound the chill of deathCreeps through my trembling frame.ISABELLA.My child! but hear me——BEATRICE.She has two sons by mortal hate dissevered,Don Manuel and Don Caesar——ISABELLA.'Tis myself!Behold thy mother!BEATRICE.Have I heard thee? Speak!ISABELLA.I am thy mother, and Messina's princess!BEATRICE.Art thou Don Manuel's and Don Caesar's mother?ISABELLA.And thine! They are thy brethren whom thou namest.BEATRICE.Oh, gleam of horrid light!ISABELLA.What troubles thee?Say, whence this strange emotion?BEATRICE.Yes! 'twas they!Now I remember all; no dream deceived me,They met—'tis fearful truth! Unhappy men!Where have ye hid him?[She rushes towards the Chorus; they turn away from her.A funeral march is heard in the distance.CHORUS.Horror! Horror!ISABELLA.Hid!Speak—who is hid? and what is true? Ye standIn silent dull amaze—as though ye fathomedHer words of mystery! In your faltering tones—Your brows—I read of horrors yet unknown,That would refrain my tongue! What is it? Tell me!I will know all! Why fix ye on the doorThat awe-struck gaze? What mournful music sounds?[The march is heard nearer.Chorus (BOHEMUND).It comes! it comes! and all shall be declaredWith terrible voice. My mistress! steel thy heart,Be firm, and bear with courage what awaits thee—For more than women's soul thy destined griefsDemand.ISABELLA.What comes? and what awaits me? HarkWith fearful tones the death-wail smites mine ear—It echoes through the house! Where are my sons?[The first Semi-chorus brings in the body of DON MANUELon a bier, which is placed at the side of the stage.A black pall is spread over it.ISABELLA, BEATRICE, DIEGO.Both Choruses.First Chorus (CAJETAN).With sorrow in his train,From street to street the King of Terror glides;With stealthy foot, and slow,He creeps where'er the fleeting raceOf man abidesIn turn at every gateIs heard the dreaded knock of fate,The message of unutterable woe!BERENGAR.When, in the sereAnd autumn leaves decayed,The mournful forest tells how quickly fadeThe glories of the year!When in the silent tomb oppressed,Frail man, with weight of days,Sinks to his tranquil rest;Contented nature but obeysHer everlasting law,—The general doom awakes no shuddering awe!But, mortals, oh! prepareFor mightier ills; with ruthless handFell murder cuts the holy band—The kindred tie: insatiate death,With unrelenting rage,Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age!CAJETAN.When clouds athwart the lowering skyAre driven—when bursts with hollow moanThe thunder's peal—our trembling bosoms ownThe might of awful destiny!Yet oft the lightning's glareDarts sudden through the cloudless air:—Then in thy short delusive dayOf bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare;Nor prize the fleeting goods in vain,The flowers that bloom but to decay!Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain,Was e'er to mortal's lot secure:—Our first best lesson—to endure!ISABELLA.What shall I hear? What horrors lurk beneathThis funeral pall?[She steps towards the bier, but suddenly pauses,and stands irresolute.Some strange, mysterious dreadEnthrals my sense. I would approach, and suddenThe ice-cold grasp of terror holds me back![To BEATRICE, who has thrown herself between her and the bier.Whate'er it be, I will unveil——[On raising the pall she discovers the body of DON MANUEL.Eternal Powers! it is my son![She stands in mute horror. BEATRICE sinks to the groundwith a shriek of anguish near the bier.CHORUS.Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lipsHave uttered what my faltering tongue denied.ISABELLA.My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief!And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy lifeHas bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage?Where was thy brother? Could no arm be foundTo shield thee? Oh, be cursed the hand that dugThese gory wounds! A curse on her that boreThe murderer of my son! Ten thousand cursesOn all their race!CHORUS.Woe! Woe!ISABELLA.And is it thusYe keep your word, ye gods? Is this your truth?Alas for him that trusts with honest heartYour soothing wiles! Why have I hoped and trembled?And this the issue of my prayers! Attend,Ye terror-stricken witnesses, that feedYour gaze upon my anguish; learn to knowHow warning visions cheat, and boding seersBut mock our credulous hopes; let none believeThe voice of heaven!When in my teeming wombThis daughter lay, her father, in a dreamSaw from his nuptial couch two laurels grow,And in the midst a lily all in flames,That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stemsBurst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the houseSpread in one mighty sea of fire. PerplexedBy this terrific dream my husband soughtThe counsels of the mystic art, and thusPronounced the sage: "If I a daughter bore,The murderess of his sons, the destined springOf ruin to our house, the baleful childShould see the light."Chorus (CAJETAN and BOHEMUND).What hast thou said, my mistress?Woe! Woe!ISABELLA.For this her ruthless father spokeThe dire behest of death. I rescued her,The innocent, the doomed one; from my armsThe babe was torn; to stay the curse of heaven,And save my sons, the mother gave her child;And now by robber hands her brother falls;My child is guiltless. Oh, she slew him not!CHORUS.Woe! Woe!ISABELLA.No trust the fabling readers of the starsHave e'er deserved. Hear how another spokeWith comfort to my soul, and him I deemedInspired to voice the secrets of the skies!"My daughter should unite in love the heartsOf my dissevered sons;" and thus their talesOf curse and blessing on her head proclaimEach other's falsehood. No, she ne'er has broughtA curse, the innocent; nor time was givenThe blessed promise to fulfil; their tonguesWere false alike; their boasted art is vain;With trick of words they cheat our credulous ears,Or are themselves deceived! Naught ye may knowOf dark futurity, the sable streamsOf hell the fountain of your hidden lore,Or yon bright spring of everlasting light!First Chorus (CAJETAN).Woe! Woe! thy tongue refrain!Oh, pause, nor thus with impious rageThe might of heaven profane;The holy oracles are wise—Expect with awe thy coming destinies!ISABELLA.My tongue shall speak as prompts my swelling heart;My griefs shall cry to heaven. Why do we liftOur suppliant hands, and at the sacred shrinesKneel to adore? Good, easy dupes! What win weFrom faith and pious awe? to touch with prayersThe tenants of yon azure realms on high,Were hard as with an arrow's point to pierceThe silvery moon. Hid is the womb of time,Impregnable to mortal glance, and deafThe adamantine walls of heaven reboundThe voice of anguish:—Oh, 'tis one, whate'erThe flight of birds—the aspect of the stars!The book of nature is a maze—a dreamThe sage's art—and every sign a falsehood!Second Chorus (BOHEMUND).Woe! Woe! Ill-fated woman, stayThy maddening blasphemies;Thou but disown'st, with purblind eyes,The flaming orb of day!Confess the gods,—they dwell on high—They circle thee with awful majesty!All the Knights.Confess the gods—they dwell on high—They circle thee with awful majesty!BEATRICE.Why hast thou saved thy daughter, and defiedThe curse of heaven, that marked me in thy wombThe child of woe? Short-sighted mother!—vainThy little arts to cheat the doom declaredBy the all-wise interpreters, that knitThe far and near; and, with prophetic ken,See the late harvest spring in times unborn.Oh, thou hast brought destruction on thy race,Withholding from the avenging gods their prey;Threefold, with new embittered rage, they askThe direful penalty; no thanks thy boonOf life deserves—the fatal gift was sorrow!Second Chorus (BERENGAR) looking towards the doorwith signs of agitation.Hark to the sound of dread!The rattling, brazen din I hear!Of hell-born snakes the hissing tones are near!Yes—'tis the furies' tread!CAJETAN.In crumbling ruin wide,Fall, fall, thou roof, and sink, thou trembling floorThat bear'st the dread, unearthly stride!Ye sable damps arise!Mount from the abyss in smoky spray,And pall the brightness of the day!Vanish, ye guardian powers!They come! The avenging deitiesDON CAESAR, ISABELLA, BEATRICE. The Chorus.[On the entrance of DON CAESAR the Chorus station themselvesbefore him imploringly. He remains standing alone in thecentre of the stage.BEATRICE.Alas! 'tis he——ISABELLA (stepping to meet him).My Caesar! Oh, my son!And is it thus I meet the? Look! Behold!The crime of hand accursed![She leads him to the corpse.First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR).Break forth once moreYe wounds! Flow, flow, in swarthy flood,Thou streaming gore!ISABELLA.Shuddering with earnest gaze, and motionless,Thou stand'st.—yes! there my hopes repose, and allThat earth has of thy brother; in the budNipped is your concord's tender flower, nor everWith beauteous fruit shall glad a mother's eyes,DON CAESAR.Be comforted; thy sons, with honest heart,To peace aspired, but heaven's decree was blood!ISABELLA.I know thou lovedst him well; I saw between ye,With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined;Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of heartsWith rich atonement of long wasted years!But see—fell murder thwarts thy dear design,And naught remains but vengeance!DON CAESAR.Come, my mother,This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leaveThis sight of woe.[He endeavors to drag her away.ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms).Thou livest! I have a son!BEATRICE.Alas! my mother!DON CAESAR.On this faithful bosomWeep out thy pains; nor lost thy son,—his loveShall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast.First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED).Break forth, ye wounds!Dumb witness! the truth proclaim;Flow fast, thou gory stream!ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE).My children!DON CAESAR.Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother,To see her in thy arms! henceforth in loveA daughter—sister——ISABELLA (interrupting him).Thou hast kept thy word.My son; to thee I owe the rescued one;Yes, thou hast sent her——DON CAESAR (in astonishment).Whom, my mother, sayst thou,That I have sent?ISABELLA.She stands before thine eyes—Thy sister.DON CAESAR.She! My sister?ISABELLA.Ay, What other?DON CAESAR.My sister!ISABELLA.Thou hast sent her to me!DON CAESAR.Horror!His sister, too!CHORUS.Woe! woe!BEATRICE.Alas! my mother!ISABELLA.Speak! I am all amaze!DON CASAR.Be cursed the dayWhen I was born!ISABELLA.Eternal powers!DON CAESAR.AccursedThe womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts,The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee,Though the dread thunder swept—ne'er should this armRefrain the bolts of death: I slew my brother!Hear it and tremble! in her arms I found him;She was my love, my chosen bride; and he—My brother—in her arms! Thou hast heard all!If it be true—oh, if she be my sister—And his! then I have done a deed that mocksThe power of sacrifice and prayers to opeThe gates of mercy to my soul!Chorus (BOHEMUND).The tidings on thy heart dismayedHave 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 fulfilWho seeks to turn predestined ill.ISABELLA.The gods have done their worst; if they be trueOr false, 'tis one—for nothing they can addTo this—the measure of their rage is full.Why should I tremble that have naught to fear?My darling son lies murdered, and the livingI call my son no more. Oh! I have borneAnd nourished at my breast a basiliskThat stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste,And leave this house of horrors—I devote itTo the avenging fiends! In an evil hour'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crimeThe victim I depart. UnwillinglyI came—in sorrow I have lived—despairingI quit these halls; on me, the innocent,Descends this weight of woe! Enough—'tis shownThat 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 headA mother's curse may fall—a brother's bloodCry with accusing voice to heaven—all natureInvoke 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 nearAs the departed one, the living ownsThe ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis IThat most a sister's pity need—for pureHis 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 tearsMy inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depthsOf our affliction, let me gather this,The last and only comfort—but to knowThat we are dear alike. One lot fulfilledHas 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 moreThan 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 requiteThis inured shade:—yet after him contentTo mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly,Sped by this hand—if dying I may knowThat 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 curseOf brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved theeWith measureless transport: love was all my guilt,But now thou art my sister, and I claimSoft pity's tribute.[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air ofpainful suspense—then turns away with vehemence.No! in this dread presenceI cannot bear these tears—my courage fliesAnd doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret—Leave me in error's maze—but never, never,Behold me more: I will not look againOn thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passionLaid bare her secret heart! She never loved me!She mourned her best-loved son—that was her cryOf 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 formShall never shock thee more—begone forever![Exit.[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflictingpassions—then tears herself from the spot.Chorus (CAJETAN).Happy the man—his lot I prizeThat far from pomps and turmoil vain,Childlike on nature's bosom liesAmid 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 restSmiles, in the quiet haven laidWho, timely warned, has owned how blestThe 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 broodImpel the busy scenes to try,Nor on his peaceful cell intrudeThe form of sad humanity!'Mid crowds and strife each mortal illAbides'—the grisly train of woeShuns like the pest the breezy hill,To haunt the smoky marts below.BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED.On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decayNever 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 payFit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends,My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfilYour lord's behest. Fresh in your memory livesThe mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye boreSo late my royal sire; scarce in these hallsAre stilled the echoes of the funeral wail;Another corpse succeeds, and in the graveWeighs down its fellow-dust—almost our torchWith borrowed lustre from the last, may pierceThe monumental gloom; and on the stair,Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains.Then in the sacred royal dome that guardsThe ashes of my sire, prepare with speedThe 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 stillUpreared, the gorgeous catafalque recallsThe dread solemnity; no hand disturbedThe edifice of death.DON CAESAR.The yawning graveAmid the haunts of life? No goodly signWas this: the rites fulfilled, why lingered yetThe trappings of the funeral show?BOHEMUND.Your strifeWith fresh embittered hate o'er all MessinaWoke discord's maddening flames, and from the deedOur cares withdrew—so resolute remained,And closed the sanctuary.DON CAESAR.Make no delay;This very night fulfil your task, for wellBeseems the midnight gloom! To-morrow's sunShall 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 inviteThe brotherhood of monks, with rights ordainedBy holy church of old, to celebrateThe office of departed souls, and hymnThe buried one to everlasting rest?DON CAESAR.Their strains above my tomb shall sound for everAmid the torches' blaze—no solemn ritesBeseem the day when gory murder scaresHeaven's pardoning grace.CAJETAN.Oh, let not wild despairTempt thee to impious, rash resolve. My princeNo mortal arm shall e'er avenge this deed;And penance calms, with soft, atoning power,The wrath on high.DON CAESAR.If for eternal justiceEarth has no minister, myself shall wieldThe avenging sword; though heaven, with gracious ear,Inclines to sinners' prayers, with blood aloneAtoned is murder's guilt.CAJETAN.To stem the tideOf dire misfortune, that with maddening rageBursts o'er your house, were nobler than to pileAccumulated woe.DON CAESAR.The curse of oldShall die with me! Death self-imposed aloneCan break the chain of fate.CAJETAN.Thou owest thyselfA sovereign to this orphaned land, by theeRobbed of its other lord!DON CAESAR.The avenging godsDemand their prey—some other deityMay guard the living!CAJETAN.Wide as e'er the sunIn glory beams, the realm of hope extends;But—oh remember! nothing may we gainFrom Death!DON CAESAR.Remember thou thy vassal's duty;Remember and be silent! Leave to meTo follow, as I list, the spirit of powerThat leads me to the goal. No happy oneMay look into my breast: but if thy princeOwns not a subject's homage, dread at leastThe murderer!—the accursed!—and to the headOf the unhappy—sacred to the gods—Give honors due. The pangs that rend my soul—What I have suffered—what I feel—have leftNo place for earthly thoughts!DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, The Chorus.ISABELLA (enters with hesitating steps, and looks irresolutelytowards DON CAESAR; at last she approaches, and addresseshim with collected tones).I thought mine eyes should ne'er behold thee more;Thus I had vowed despairing! Oh, my son!How quickly all a mother's strong resolvesMelt into air! 'Twas but the cry of rageThat stifled nature's pleading voice; but nowWhat tidings of mysterious import call meFrom the desolate chambers of my sorrow?Shall I believe it? Is it true? one dayRobs me of both my sons?Chorus.Behold! with willing steps and free,Thy son prepares to treadThe paths of dark eternityThe silent mansions of the dead.My prayers are vain; but thou, with power confessed,Of nature's holiest passion, storm his breast!ISABELLA.I call the curses back—that in the frenzyOf blind despair on thy beloved headI poured. A mother may not curse the childThat from her nourishing breast drew life, and gaveSweet recompense for all her travail past;Heaven would not hear the impious vows; they fellWith quick rebound, and heavy with my tearsDown from the flaming vault!Live! live! my son!For I may rather bear to look on thee—The murderer of one child—than weep for both!DON CAESAR.Heedless and vain, my mother, are thy prayersFor me and for thyself; I have no placeAmong the living: if thine eyes may brookThe murderer's sight abhorred—I could not bearThe mute reproach of thy eternal sorrow.ISABELLA.Silent or loud, my son, reproach shall neverDisturb thy breast—ne'er in these halls shall soundThe voice of wailing, gently on my tearsMy griefs shall flow away: the sport alikeOf pitiless fate together we will mourn,And veil the deed of blood.DON CAESAR (with a faltering voice, and taking her hand).Thus it shall be,My mother—thus with silent, gentle woeThy grief shall fade: but when one common tombThe murderer and his victim closes round—When o'er our dust one monumental stoneIs rolled—the curse shall cease—thy love no moreUnequal bless thy sons: the precious tearsThine eyes of beauty weep shall sanctifyAlike our memories. Yes! In death are quenchedThe fires of rage; and hatred owns subdued,The mighty reconciler. Pity bendsAn angel form above the funeral urn,With weeping, dear embrace. Then to the tombStay not my passage:—Oh, forbid me not,Thus with atoning sacrifice to quellThe curse of heaven.ISABELLA.All Christendom is richIn shrines of mercy, where the troubled heartMay find repose. Oh! many a heavy burdenHave sinners in Loretto's mansion laid;And Heaven's peculiar blessing breathes aroundThe grave that has redeemed the world! The prayersOf the devout are precious—fraught with storeOf grace, they win forgiveness from the skies;—And on the soil by gory murder stainedShall rise the purifying fane.DON CAESAR.We pluckThe arrow from the wound—but the torn heartShall ne'er be healed. Let him who can, drag onA weary life of penance and of pain,To cleanse the spot of everlasting guilt;—I would not live the victim of despair;No! I must meet with beaming eye the smileOf happy ones, and breathe erect the airOf liberty and joy. While yet alikeWe shared thy love, then o'er my days of youthPale envy cast his withering shade; and now,Think'st thou my heart could brook the dearer tiesThat bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead?Death, in his undecaying palace throned,To the pure diamond of perfect virtueSublimes the mortal, and with chastening fireEach gathered stain of frail humanityPurges and burns away: high as the starsTower o'er this earthly sphere, he soars above me;And as by ancient hate dissevered long,Brethren and equal denizens we lived,So now my restless soul with envy pines,That he has won from me the glorious prizeOf immortality, and like a godIn memory marches on to times unborn!ISABELLA.My Sons! Why have I called you to MessinaTo find for each a grave? I brought ye hitherTo calm your strife to peace. Lo! Fate has turnedMy hopes to blank despair.DON CAESAR.Whate'er was spoke,My mother, is fulfilled! Blame not the endBy Heaven ordained. We trode our father's hallsWith hopes of peace; and reconciled forever,Together we shall sleep in death.ISABELLA.My son,Live for thy mother! In the stranger's land,Say, wouldst thou leave me friendless and alone,To cruel scorn a prey—no filial armTo shield my helpless age?DON CAESAR.When all the worldWith heartless taunts pursues thee, to our graveFor refuge fly, my mother, and invokeThy sons' divinity—we shall be gods!And we will hear thy prayers:—and as the twinsOf heaven, a beaming star of comfort shineTo the tossed shipman—we will hover near theeWith present help, and soothe thy troubled soul!ISABELLA.Live—for thy mother, live, my son—Must I lose all?[She throws her arms about him with passionate emotion.He gently disengages himself, and turning his face awayextends to her his hand.DON CAESAR.Farewell!ISABELLA.I can no more;Too well my tortured bosom owns how weakA mother's prayers: a mightier voice shall soundResistless on thy heart.[She goes towards the entrance of the scene.My daughter, come.A brother calls him to the realms of night;Perchance with golden hues of earthly joyThe sister, the beloved, may gently lureThe wanderer to life again.[BEATRICE appears at the entrance of the scene.DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, and the Chorus.DON CAESAR (on seeing her, covers his face with his hands).My mother!What hast thou done?ISABELLA (leading BEATRICE forwards).A mother's prayers are vain!Kneel at his feet—conjure him—melt his heart!Oh, bid him live!DON CAESAR.Deceitful mother, thusThou triest thy son! And wouldst thou stir my soulAgain to passion's strife, and make the sunBeloved once more, now when I tread the pathsOf everlasting night? See where he stands—Angel of life!—and wondrous beautiful,Shakes from his plenteous horn the fragrant storeOf golden fruits and flowers, that breathe aroundDivinest airs of joy;—my heart awakesIn the warm sunbeam—hope returns, and lifeThrills in my breast anew.ISABELLA (to BEATRICE).Thou wilt prevail!Or none! Implore him that he live, nor robThe staff and comfort of our days.BEATRICE.The loved oneA sacrifice demands. Oh, let me dieTo soothe a brother's shade! Yes, I will beThe victim! Ere I saw the light forewarnedTo death, I live a wrong to heaven! The cursePursues me still: 'twas I that slew thy son—I waked the slumbering furies of their strife—Be mine the atoning blood!CAJETAN.Ill-fated mother!Impatient all thy children haste to doom,And leave thee on the desolate waste aloneOf joyous life.BEATRICE.Oh, spare thy precious daysFor nature's band. Thy mother needs a son;My brother, live for her! Light were the pangTo lose a daughter—but a moment shown,Then snatched away!DON CAESAR (with deep emotion).'Tis one to live or die,Blest with a sister's love!BEATRICE.Say, dost thou envyThy brother's ashes?DON CAESAR.In thy grief he livesA hallowed life!—my doom is death forever!BEATRICE.My brother!DON CAESAR.Sister! are thy tears for me?BEATRICE.Live for our mother!DON CAESAR (dropping her hand, and stepping back).For our mother?BEATRICE (hiding her head in his breast).LiveFor her and for thy sister!Chorus (BOHEMUND).She has won!Resistless are her prayers. Despairing mother,Awake to hope again—his choice is made!Thy son shall live![At this moment an anthem is heard. The folding doorsare thrown open, and in the church is seen the catafalqueerected, and the coffin surrounded with candlesticks.DON CAESAR (turning to the coffin).I will not rob thee, brother!The sacrifice is thine:—Hark! from the tomb,Mightier than mother's tears, or sister's love,Thy voice resistless cries:—my arms enfoldA treasure, potent with celestial joys,To deck this earthly sphere, and make a lotWorthy the gods! but shall I live in bliss,While in the tomb thy sainted innocenceSleeps unavenged? Thou, Ruler of our days,All just—all wise—let not the world beholdThy partial care! I saw her tears!—enough—They flowed for me! I am content: my brother!I come![He stabs himself with a dagger, and falls deadat his sister's feet. She throws herself into hermother's arms.Chorus, CAJETAN (after a deep silence).In dread amaze I stand, nor knowIf I should mourn his fate. One truth revealedSpeaks in my breast;—no good supreme is life;But all of earthly ills the chief is—Guilt!