Count Julian | Page 9

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? must they, dear father, lead such lives?
JUL. All are not Spaniards who draw breath in Spain; Those are, who live for her, who die for her, Who love her glory and lament her fall. Oh, may I too -
COV. But peacefully, and late, Live and die here!
JUL. I have, alas! myself Laid waste the hopes where my fond fancy strayed, And view their ruins with unaltered eyes.
COV. My mother will at last return to thee. Might I once more, but--could I now behold her, Tell her--ah me! what was my rash desire? No, never tell her these inhuman things, For they would waste her tender heart away As they waste mine; or tell when I have died, Only to show her that her every care Could not have saved, could not have comforted. That she herself, clasping me once again To her sad breast, had said, Covilla! go, Go, hide them in the bosom of thy God! Sweet mother, that far-distant voice I hear, And passing out of youth and out of life, I would not turn at last, and disobey.
SECOND ACT: SECOND SCENE.
SISABERT enters.
SIS. Uncle, and is it true, say, can it be, That thou art leader of these faithless Moors? That thou impeachest thy own daughter's fame Through the whole land, to seize upon the throne By the