Count Julian | Page 9

O horror!
MUZA. Seize him.
EGI. Spare him! fly to me!
JUL. Urge me not to protect a guest, a herald - The blasts of war roar
over him unfelt.
EGI. Ah fly, unhappy!
ROD. Fly! no, Egilona - Dost thou forgive me? dost thou love me?
still?
EGI. I hate, abominate, abhor thee--go, Or my own vengeance -
ROD. [taking JULIAN's hand, and inviting him to attack MUZA and
ABDALAZIS.] Julian!
JUL. Hence, or die.

SECOND ACT: FIRST SCENE.

Camp of JULIAN.
JULIAN and COVILLA.
JUL. Obdurate! I am not as I appear. Weep, my beloved child, Covilla,
weep Into my bosom; every drop be mine Of this most bitter
soul-empoisoning cup: Into no other bosom than thy father's Canst thou,
or wouldst thou, pour it.
COV. Cease, my lord, My father, angel of my youth, when all Was
innocence and peace.
JUL. Arise, my love, Look up to heaven--where else are souls like thine!
Mingle in sweet communion with its children, Trust in its providence,
its retribution, And I will cease to mourn; for, O my child, These tears
corrode, but thine assuage the heart.

COV. And never shall I see my mother too, My own, my blessed
mother!
JUL. Thou shalt see Her and thy brothers.
COV. No! I cannot look On them, I cannot meet their lovely eyes, I
cannot lift mine up from under theirs. We all were children when they
went away; They now have fought hard battles, and are men, And
camps and kings they know, and woes and crimes. Sir, will they never
venture from the walls Into the plain? Remember, they are young,
Hardy and emulous and hazardous; And who is left to guard them in
the town?
JUL. Peace is throughout the land: the various tribes Of that vast region
sink at once to rest, Like one wide wood when every wind lies hushed.
COV. And war, in all its fury, roams o'er Spain.
JUL. Alas! and will for ages: crimes are loose At which ensanguined
War stands shuddering; And calls for vengeance from the powers
above, Impatient of inflicting it himself. Nature in these new horrors is
aghast At her own progeny, and knows them not. I am the minister of
wrath; the hands That tremble at me, shall applaud me too, And seal
their condemnation.
COV. O kind father, Pursue the guilty, but remember Spain.
JUL. Child, thou wert in thy nursery short time since, And latterly hast
passed the vacant hour Where the familiar voice of history Is hardly
known, however nigh, attuned In softer accents to the sickened ear; But
thou hast heard, for nurses tell these tales, Whether I drew my sword
for Witiza Abandoned by the people he betrayed, Though brother to the
woman who of all Was ever dearest to this broken heart, Till thou, my
daughter, wert a prey to grief, And a brave country brooked the wrongs
I bore. For I had seen Rusilla guide the steps Of her Theodofred, when
burning brass Plunged its fierce fang into the founts of light, And
Witiza's the guilt! when, bent with age, He knew the voice again, and
told the name, Of those whose proffered fortunes had been laid Before
his throne, while happiness was there, And strained the sightless nerve
tow'rd where they stood At the forced memory of the very oaths He
heard renewed from each, but heard afar, For they were loud, and him
the throng spurned off.
COV. Who were all these?
JUL. All who are seen to-day On prancing steeds richly caparisoned In

loyal acclamation round Roderigo; Their sons beside them, loving one
another Unfeignedly, through joy, while they themselves In mutual
homage mutual scorn suppress. Their very walls and roofs are
welcoming The king's approach, their storied tapestry Swells its rich
arch for him triumphantly At every clarion blowing from below.
COV. Such wicked men will never leave his side.
JUL. For they are insects which see nought beyond Where they now
crawl; whose changes are complete, Unless of habitation.
COV. Whither go Creatures unfit for better, or for worse?
JUL. Some to the grave--where peace be with them! some Across the
Pyrenean mountains far, Into the plains of France; suspicion there Will
hang on every step from rich and poor, Grey quickly-glancing eyes will
wrinkle round, And courtesy will watch them day and night. Shameless
they are, yet will they blush, amid A nation that ne'er blushes: some
will drag The captive's chain, repair the shattered bark, Or heave it
from a quicksand to the shore, Among the marbles of the Libyan coast;
Teach patience to the lion in his cage, And, by the order of a higher
slave, Hold to the elephant their scanty fare, To please the children
while the parent sleeps.
COV. Spaniards?