The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy | Page 9

speed, And lead her home as fits Messina's
princess.
[He goes away.
BEATRICE and the Chorus.
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Fair maiden--hail to thee Thou lovely queen! Thine is the crown, and
thine the victory! Of heroes to a distant age, The blooming mother thou
shalt shine, Preserver of this kingly line.
(ROGER).
And thrice I bid thee hail, Thou happy fair! Sent in auspicious hour to
bless This favored race--the god's peculiar care. Here twine the
immortal wreaths of fame And evermore, from sire to son, Rolls on the
sceptered sway, To heirs of old renown, a race of deathless name!
(BOHEMUND).
The household gods exultingly Thy coming wait; The ancient, honored
sires, That on the portals frown sedate, Shall smile for thee! There
blooming Hebe shall thy steps attend; And golden victory, that sits By
Jove's eternal throne, with waving plumes For conquest ever spread, To
welcome thee from heaven descend.
(ROGER.)
Ne'er from this queenly, bright array The crown of beauty fades,
Departing to the realms of day, Each to the next, as good and fair,
Extends the zone of feminine grace, And veil of purity:-- Oh, happy
race! What vision glads my raptured eye! Equal in nature's blooming
pride, I see the mother and the virgin bride.
BEATRICE (awaking from her reverie).

Oh, luckless hour! Alas! ill-fated maid! Where shall I fly From these
rude warlike men? Lost and betrayed! A shudder o'er me came, When
of this race accursed--the brothers twain-- Their hands embrued with
kindred gore, I heard the dreaded name; Oft told, their strife and
serpent hate With terror thrilled lay bosom's core:-- And now--oh,
hapless fate! I tremble, 'mid the rage of discord thrown, Deserted and
alone!
[She runs into the alcove.
Chorus (BOHEMUND).
Son of the immortal deities, And blest is he, the lord of power; His
every joy the world can give; Of all that mortals prize He culls the
flower.
(ROGER).
For him from ocean's azure caves The diver bears each pearl of purest
ray; Whate'er from nature's boundless field Or toil or art has won,
Obsequious at his feet we lay; His choice is ever free; We bow to
chance, and fortune's blind decree.
(BOHEMUND.)
But this of princes' lot I deem The crowning treasure, joy supreme-- Of
love the triumph and the prize, The beauty, star of neighboring eyes!
She blooms for him alone, He calls the fairest maid his own.
(ROGER).
Armed for the deadly fray, The corsair bounds upon the strand, And
drags, amid the gloom of night, away, The shrieking captive train, Of
wild desires the hapless prey; But ne'er his lawless hands profane The
gem--the peerless flower-- Whose charms shall deck the Sultan's
bower.
(BOHEMUND.)

Now haste and watch, with curious eye, These hallowed precincts
round, That no presumptuous foot come nigh The secret, solitary
ground Guard well the maiden fair, Your chieftain's brightest jewel
owns your care.
[The Chorus withdraws to the background.
[The scene changes to a chamber in the interior of the palace. DONNA
ISABELLA between DON MANUEL and DON CAESAR.
ISABELLA. The long-expected, festal day is come, My children's
hearts are twined in one, as thus I fold their hands. Oh, blissful hour,
when first A mother dares to speak in nature's voice, And no rude
presence checks the tide of love. The clang of arms affrights mine ear
no more; And as the owls, ill-omened brood of night, From some old,
shattered homestead's ruined walls, Their ancient reign, fly forth a
dusky swarm, Darkening the cheerful day; when absent long, The
dwellers home return with joyous shouts, To build the pile anew; so
Hate departs With all his grisly train; pale Envy, scowling Malice, And
hollow-eyed Suspicion; from our gates, Hoarse murmuring, to the
realms of night; while Peace, By Concord and fair Friendship led along,
Comes smiling in his place. [She pauses. But not alone This day of joy
to each restores a brother; It brings a sister! Wonderstruck you gaze!
Yet now the truth, in silence guarded long, Bursts from my soul. Attend!
I have a daughter! A sister lives, ordained by heaven to bind ye With
ties unknown before.
DON CAESAR. We have a sister! What hast thou said, my mother?
never told Her being till this hour!
DON MANUEL. In childhood's years, Oft of a sister we have heard,
untimely Snatched in her cradle by remorseless death; So ran the tale.
ISABELLA. She lives!
DON CAESAR. And thou wert silent!
ISABELLA. Hear how the seed was sown in early time, That now shall

ripen to a joyful harvest. Ye bloomed in boyhood's tender age; e'en then
By mutual, deadly hate, the bitter spring Of grief to this torn, anxious
heart, dissevered; Oh, may your strife return no more! A vision,
Strange and mysterious, in your father's breast Woke dire