The Vigil of Venus and Other Poems | Page 8

float--I am lifted

Like thistledown on nothing. Back, my crown--
Weight me to earth!
Nay, nay, thy rim shall bite
No more upon this forehead ... Where's
my glass?
O mirror, mirror, hath it bit so deep?
My love is coming,
hark! O, say not grey,
Sweet mirror! Tell, what time to cure it now?
And he so near, so near!
How shall I meet him?
Why how but as the river leaps to sea,
Steel
to its magnet, child to mother's arms?
[_She catches up flowers from the baskets left by the
courtiers, and
decks herself mildly._
Flowers for my hair, flowers at the breast! Sweet flowers, He'll crush
you 'gainst his corslet. He has arms
Like bands of iron for clasping,
has my love.
He'll hurt, he'll hurt ... But oh, sweet flowers, to lie And
feel you helpless while he grips and bruises
Your weak protesting
breasts! You'll die in bliss,
Panting your fragrance out.--
Wh'st! Hush, poor fool!
I have unlearned love's very alphabet.
Men
like us coy, demure ... Then I'll coquet
And play Madam Disdain--but
not to-day.
To-morrow I'll be shrewish, shy, perverse,
Exacting, cold--all April in
my moods:
We'll walk the forest, and I'll slip from him,
Hide me
like Dryad 'mid the oaks, and mark
His hot dark face pursuing; or I'll
couch
In covert green, and hold my breath to hear
His blundering

foot go by; then up I'll leap,
And run--and he'll run after. O this
lightness!
I'll draw him like a fairy, dance and double--
Yet not so
fast but he shall overtake
At length, and catch me panting. O, I charge
you,
I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem,
Wake not my love
beneath the forest bough
Where we lie dreaming!
_[Fanfare of trumpets in the distance.]_
Trumpets, hark! and drums!
They have landed! From the quay they
march!
Flowers! flowers!
They are near ... I see him!... Carlo! lord
and love!
He looks--waves--O 'tis he! O foolish heart!--
I had feared he'd ta'en a
wound.
What is't they shout?
Eh? 'Victory!'--yes, yes. He's browner, thinner;

And the dear eyes, how gaunt!... Yes
'Victory!'
'Victory!' ... lord, and love!,..
_[The shouts of acclamation are heard now close
under the terrace.
Spears and banners are
seen trooping past. Beside herself, she throws

flowers to them, laughing, weeping the while.
Then, running to the
Chapel door, she
prostrates herself before the image of the
Virgin
that crowns its archway.]_
O Mary, Mother!
Thou, in whose breast all women's thoughts have
moved,
All woman's passions heaved. Lo! I adore!
Sweet Mother,
hold my hands, rejoice with me:
My bridegroom cometh!
[_During this invocation the Countess Fulvia has
crept in, a stiletto in
her hand. She leans
over the Regent and stabs her twice in the

breast.]_
Fulvia. Then with that!--and that!

Go meet him!
Regent (turns, looks up, and falls on her face).
Oh! I am slain!
Fulvia. And I am worse!
But there's my flower, my red flower, on your breast.-- Go, meet your
lord and show it!
[_She passes down the steps as Lucetta runs in.]_
Lucetta. Madam! Madam!
The Duke is at the gate--Madam!--
Christ! she is murdered! Murder!
Murder!
Regent. Fie,
Lucetta! peace! What word to greet the Duke
For his
home-coming! Lift me ... Quick, my robe--
My Crown! Call no one.
O, but hasten!
Lucetta (helpless, wringing her hands). Madam!
Regent. I need your strength, and must I steady you?
Lucetta, years
ago you disarrayed me
Upon my bridal night. I would you'd whisper

The rogueries your tongue invented then.
I have few moments,
girl ... I'd have them wanton.
Make jest this mantle hides the maid I
was.
I'll have no priest, no doctor--Fetch Tonino!
I must present his
son--
[Lucetta runs out.
All's acted quick:
Bride-bed, conception,
birth--and death! But he
Shall sum it in one moment death not takes ...

What noise of trumpets!... Is the wound not covered?
[_She wraps herself carefully in her mantle as the
courtiers pour in.
The child Tonino runs to
her and stands by her side. Lucio, Cesario,

all the Court, group themselves round her as
the Duke enters. He
rushes in eagerly; but
she sets her teeth on her anguish, and receives


him with a low reverence._
Welcome my lord!
Duke. Ottilia!
Regent. Good my lord,
Welcome! This day is bright restores you to

Your loyal Duchy.
Duke (impatient). Wife! Ottilia!
Regent (she lifts a hand to keep him at distance).
There must be
forms, my lord--some forms! Cesario,
Render the Duke his sceptre.
As bar to socket,
When the gate closes on a town secure,
So locks
this rod back to his manly clutch--
Cry all, 'Long live the Duke!'
All. Long live the Duke!
Duke. Wife, make an end with forms!
Lucio (to Cesario). And so say I!
A man would think my sister had
no blood
In her body.
Cesario (watching the Regent). Peace, man: something
there's amiss.
Regent. Yet here is he that sceptre shall inherit.
Lucetta, lead his
first-born to the Duke.
His first-born!--Nay but look on him how
straight
Of limb, how set and shoulder-square, tho' slender!
He'll sit
a horse, in time, and toss a lance
Even with his father.
Duke. There's my blessing, boy!
But stand aside. Look in my face,
Ottilia--
Hearken me, all! One thing these