Count Alarcos | Page 4

phantom flung A shade on their bright path? 'Tis closed to me Although the goal's a crown. She loved me once; Now swoons, and now the match is off. She's true. But I have clipped the heart that once could soar High as her own! Dreams, dreams! And yet entranced, Unto the fair phantasma that is fled, My struggling fancy clings; for there are hours When memory with her signet stamps the brain With an undying mint; and these were such, When high Ambition and enraptured Love, Twin Genii of my daring destiny, Bore on my sweeping life with their full wing, Like an angelic host:
[In the distance enter a lady veiled.] Is this their priest? Burgos unchanged I see.
[Advancing towards her.] A needless veil To one prophetic of thy charms, fair lady. And yet they fall on an ungracious eye.
[Withdraws the veil.] Solisa!
I:3:3 SOL. Yes! Solisa; once again O say Solisa! let that long lost voice Breathe with a name too faithful!
I:3:4 ALAR. Oh! what tones, What mazing sight is this! The spellbound forms Of my first youth rise up from the abyss Of opening time. I listen to a voice That bursts the sepulchre of buried hope Like an immortal trumpet.
I:3:5 SOL. Thou hast granted, Mary, my prayers!
I:3:6 ALAR. Solisa, my Solisa!
I:3:7 SOL. Thine, thine, Alarcos. But thou: whose art thou?
I:3:8 ALAR. Within this chamber is my memory bound; I have no thought, no consciousness beyond Its precious walls.
I:3:9 SOL. Thus did he look, thus speak, When to my heart he clung, and I to him Breathed my first love -- and last.
I:3:10 ALAR. Alas! alas! Woe to thy Mother, maiden.
I:3:11 SOL. She has found That which I oft have prayed for.
I:3:12 ALAR. But not found A doom more dark than ours.
I:3:13 SOL. I sent for thee, To tell thee why I sent for thee; yet why, Alas! I know not. Was it but to look Alone upon the face that once was mine? This morn it was so grave. O! was it woe, Or but indifference, that inspired that brow That seemed so cold and stately? Was it hate? O! tell me anything, but that to thee I am a thing of nothingness.
I:3:14 ALAR. O spare! Spare me such words of torture.
I:3:15 SOL. Could I feel Thou didst not hate me, that my image brought At least a gentle, if not tender thoughts, I'd be content. I cannot live to think, After the past, that we should meet again And change cold looks. We are not strangers, say At least we are not strangers?
I:3:16 ALAR. Gentle Princess --
I:3:17 SOL. Call me Solisa; tho' we meet no more Call me Solisa now.
I:3:18 ALAR. Thy happiness --
I:3:19 SOL. O! no, no, no, not happiness, at least Not from those lips.
I:3:20 ALAR. Indeed it is a name That ill becomes them.
I:3:21 SOL. Yet they say, thou'rt happy, And bright with all prosperity, and I Felt solace in that thought.
I:3:22 ALAR. Prosperity! Men call them prosperous whom they deem enjoy That which they envy; but there's no success Save in one master-wish fulfilled, and mine Is lost for ever.
I:3:23 SOL. Why was it? O, why Didst thou forget me?
I:3:24 ALAR. Never, lady, never -- But ah! the past, the irrevocable past -- We can but meet to mourn.
I:3:25 SOL. No, not to mourn I came to bless thee, came to tell to thee I hoped that thou wert happy.
I:3:26 ALAR. Come to mourn. I'll find delight in my unbridled grief: Yes! let me fling away at last this mask, And gaze upon my woe.
I:3:27 SOL. O, it was rash, Indeed 'twas rash, Alarcos; what, sweet sir, What, after all our vows, to hold me false, And place this bar between us! I'll not think Thou ever loved'st me as thou did'st profess, And that's the bitter drop.
I:3:28 ALAR. Indeed, indeed --
I:3:29 SOL. I could bear much, I could bear all, but this My faith in thy past love, it was so deep, So pure, so sacred, 'twas my only solace; I fed upon it in my secret heart, And now e'en that is gone.
I:3:30 ALAR. Doubt not the past, 'Tis sanctified. It is the green fresh spot In my life's desert.
I:3:31 SOL. There is none to thee As I have been? Speak, speak, Alarcos, tell me Is't true? Or, in this shipwreck of my soul, Do I cling wildly to some perishing hope That sinks like me?
I:3:32 ALAR. The May-burst of the heart Can bloom but once; and mine has fled, not faded. That thought gave fancied solace, ah, 'twas fancy, For now I feel my doom.
I:3:33 SOL. Thou hast no doom But what is splendid as thyself. Alas! Weak woman, when she stakes her heart, must play Ever a fatal chance. It is her all, And when 'tis lost, she's