The Wonder-Working Magician | Page 9

of vengeance,?Triumph o'er the ruined church,?So that no one should be left it?Who could preach and teach the word,?Who could catechise the gentile.?Alexander being in Rome,?I was secretly presented?To him there, and from his hand?Which was graciously extended,?With his blessing I received?Holy Orders, which the seraphs?Well might envy me, since man?Only such an honour merits.?Alexander, as my mission,?Unto Antioch then sent me,?Where the law of Christ in secret?I should preach. With glad contentment?I obeyed, and at their mercy,?Through so many nations wending,?Came at length to Antioch;?And when I, these hills ascending,?Saw beneath me in the valley?All its golden towers and temples,?The sun failed me, and down sinking?Drew with him the day, presenting?For my solace a companion,?And a substitute for his presence?In the light of stars, a pledge?That he'd soon return to bless me.?With the sun I lost my way,?And then wandering dejected?Through the windings of the forest,?Found me in the dim recesses?Of a natural bower, wherein?Even the numerous rays that trembled?Downward from each living torch?Could in noways find an entrance,?For to black clouds turned the leaves?That by day were green with freshness.?Here arranging to await?The new sun's reviving presence,?Giving fancy that full scope,?That wide range which it possesses,?I in solitude indulged?Many and many a deep reflection.?Thus absorbed was I in thought?When there came to me the echo?Of a sigh half heard, for half?To its owner retroverted.?Then collecting in mine ear?All my senses joined together,?I again heard more distinctly?That weak cry, that faint expression,?That mute idiom of the sad,?Since by it they're comprehended.?From a woman came that groan?To whose sigh so low and gentle?Followed a man's deeper voice,?Who thus speaking low addressed her:?"Thou first stain of noblest blood?By my hands this moment perish,?Ere thou meetest with thy death?'Neath the hands of infamous headsmen."--?Then the hapless woman said?In a voice that sobbed and trembled,?"Ah, lament for thine own blood,?But for me do not lament thee!"--?I attempted then to reach them,?That the stroke might be prevented,?But I could not, since the voices?At that moment ceased and ended,?And a horseman rode away?'Mong the tree-trunks undetected.?Loadstone of my deep compassion?Was that voice which still exerted?All its failing powers to speak?Amid groans and tears this sentence,--?"Dying innocent and a Christian?I a martyr's death may merit."--?Following the polar-star?Of the voice, I came directly?Where the gloom revealed a woman,?Though I could not well observe her,?Who in life's despairing struggle,?Hand to hand with death contended.?Scarcely was I heard, when she?Summoning up her strength addressed me,--?"Blood-stained murderer mine, come back,?Nor in this last hour desert me?Of my life." -- "I am," said I,?"Only one whom chance hath sent here,?Guided it may be by heaven,?To assist you in this dreadful?Hour of trial." -- "Vain," she said,?"Is the favour that your mercy?Offers to my life, for see,?Drop by drop the life-stream ebbeth,?Let this hapless one enjoy it,?Who it seems that heaven intendeth,?Being born upon my grave,?All my miseries should inherit."--?So she died, and then I . . .

SCENE VIII.
LIVIA, JUSTINA, and LYSANDER.
Enter LIVIA.
LIVIA. Sir,?The same tradesman who so presses?To be paid, comes here to seek you,?By the magistrate attended.?That you were not in, I told him:?By that door you have an exit.
JUSTINA. This untimely interruption?By their coming, how it frets me!?For upon your tragic story?Life, soul, reason, all depended!--?But retire, sir, lest the justice?Should here meet you, if he enters.
LYSANDER. Ah! with what indignities?Poverty must be contented!?[Exit.
JUSTINA. They are coming here, no doubt,?Outside I can hear some persons.
LIVIA. No, they are not they. I see?It is Cyprian.
JUSTINA. How? what sendeth?Cyprian here?

SCENE IX.
Enter CYPRIAN, CLARIN, and MOSCON.
CYPRIAN. A wish to serve you?Is the sole cause of my presence.?For on seeing the officials?Issuing from your house, the friendship?Which I owe unto Lysander?Made me bold herein to enter;?But to know ([Aside.] Disturbed, bewildered?Am I.) if by chance ([Aside.] What gelid?Frost is freezing up my veins!)?I in any way could help you.?([Aside.] Ah, how badly have I spoken!--?Fire not frost my blood possesses!)
JUSTINA. May heaven guard you many years,?Since in his more grave concernments,?Thus you honour my dear father?With your favours.
CYPRIAN. I shall ever?Be most gratified to serve you.?([Aside.] What disturbs me, what unnerves me?)
JUSTINA. He is not just now at home.
CYPRIAN. Thus then, lady, I can better?Tell you what is the true cause?That doth bring me here at present;?For the cause that you have heard?Is not that which wholly led me?Here to see you.
JUSTINA. Then, what is it?
CYPRIAN. This, which craves your brief attention.--?Fair Justina, beauty's shrine,*?To whose human loveliness?Nature, with a fond excess,?Adds such marks of the divine,?'Tis your rest that doth incline?Hither my desire to-day:?But see what the tyrant sway?Of despotic fate can do,--?While I bring your rest to you,?You from me take mine away.?Lelius, of his passion proud,?(Never less was love to blame!)?Florus, burning with love's flame,?(Ne'er could flame be more allowed!)?Each of them by vows they vowed?Sought to kill his friend