The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy | Page 7

martial train To lead your mistress home: let two attend me, The rest await my quick return; and each Guard well my secret purpose.
[He goes away accompanied by two of the CHORUS.
Chorus (CAJETAN).
The princely strife is o'er, and say, What sport shall wing the slow-paced hours, And cheat the tedious day? With hope and fear's enlivening zest Disturb the slumber of the breast, And wake life's dull, untroubled sea With freshening airs of gay variety.
One of the Chorus (MANFRED).
Lovely is peace! A beauteous boy, Couched listless by the rivulet's glassy tide, 'Mid nature's tranquil scene, He views the lambs that skip with innocent joy, And crop the meadow's flowering pride:-- Then with his flute's enchanting sound, He wakes the mountain echoes round, Or slumbers in the sunset's ruddy sheen, Lulled by the murmuring melody. But war for me! my spirit's treasure, Its stern delight, and wilder pleasure: I love the peril and the pain, And revel in the surge of fortune's boisterous main!
A second (BERENGAR).
Is there not love, and beauty's smile That lures with soft, resistless wile? 'Tis thrilling hope! 'tis rapturous fear 'Tis heaven upon this mortal sphere; When at her feet we bend the knee, And own the glance of kindred ecstasy For ever on life's checkered way, 'Tis love that tints the darkening hues of care With soft benignant ray: The mirthful daughter of the wave, Celestial Venus ever fair, Enchants our happy spring with fancy's gleam, And wakes the airy forms of passion's golden dream.
First (MANFRED).
To the wild woods away! Quick let us follow in the train Of her, chaste huntress of the silver bow; And from the rocks amain Track through the forest gloom the bounding roe, The war-god's merry bride, The chase recalls the battle's fray, And kindles victory's pride:-- Up with the streaks of early morn, We scour with jocund hearts the misty vale, Loud echoing to the cheerful horn Over mountain--over dale-- And every languid sense repair, Bathed in the rushing streams of cold, reviving air.
Second (BERENGAR).
Or shall we trust the ever-moving sea, The azure goddess, blithe and free. Whose face, the mirror of the cloudless sky, Lures to her bosom wooingly? Quick let us build on the dancing waves A floating castle gay, And merrily, merrily, swim away! Who ploughs with venturous keel the brine Of the ocean crystalline-- His bride is fortune, the world his own, For him a harvest blooms unsown:-- Here, like the wind that swift careers The circling bound of earth and sky, Flits ever-changeful destiny! Of airy chance 'tis the sportive reign, And hope ever broods on the boundless main
A third (CAJETAN).
Nor on the watery waste alone Of the tumultuous, heaving sea;-- On the firm earth that sleeps secure, Based on the pillars of eternity. Say, when shall mortal joy endure? New bodings in my anxious breast, Waked by this sudden friendship, rise; Ne'er would I choose my home of rest On the stilled lava-stream, that cold Beneath the mountain lies Not thus was discord's flame controlled-- Too deep the rooted hate--too long They brooded in their sullen hearts O'er unforgotten, treasured wrong. In warning visions oft dismayed, I read the signs of coming woe; And now from this mysterious maid My bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow: Unblest, I deem, the bridal chain Shall knit their secret loves, accursed With holy cloisters' spoil profane. No crooked paths to virtue lead; Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed!
BERENGAR. And thus to sad unhallowed rites Of an ill-omened nuptial tie, Too well ye know their father bore A bride of mournful destiny, Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has sped Heaven's vengeance on the impious bed! This fierce, unnatural rage atones A parent's crime--decreed by fate, Their mother's offspring, strife and hate!
[The scene changes to a garden opening on the sea.
BEATRICE (steps forward from an alcove. She walks to and fro with an agitated air, looking round in every direction. Suddenly she stands still and listens). No! 'tis not he: 'twas but the playful wind Rustling the pine-tops. To his ocean bed The sun declines, and with o'erwearied heart I count the lagging hours: an icy chill Creeps through my frame; the very solitude And awful silence fright my trembling soul! Where'er I turn naught meets my gaze--he leaves me Forsaken and alone! And like a rushing stream the city's hum Floats on the breeze, and dull the mighty sea Rolls murmuring to the rocks: I shrink to nothing With horrors compassed round; and like the leaf, Borne on the autumn blast, am hurried onward Through boundless space. Alas! that e'er I left My peaceful cell--no cares, no fond desires Disturbed my breast, unruffled as the stream That glides in sunshine through the verdant mead: Nor poor in joys. Now--on the mighty surge Of