Chapter 16

Exterior of the Castle of Alarcos in the valley of Arlanzon.

[Enter the COUNTESS.]

V:1:1 COUN. I would recall the days gone by, and live A moment in the past; if but to fly The dreary present pressing on my brain, Woe’s omened harbinger. In exiled love The scene he drew so fair! Ye castled crags, The sunbeam plays on your embattled cliffs, And softens your stern visage, as his love Softened our early sorrows. But my sun Has set for ever! Once we talked of cares And deemed that we were sad. Men fancy sorrows Until time brings the substance of despair, And then their griefs are shadows. Give me exile! It brought me love. Ah! days of gentle joy, When pastime only parted us, and he Returned with tales to make our children stare; Or called my lute, while, round my waist entwined, His hand kept chorus to my lay. No more! O, we were happier than the happy birds; And sweeter were our lives than the sweet flowers; The stars were not more tranquil in their course, Yet not more bright! The fountains in their play Did most resemble us, that as they flow Still sparkle!

[Enter ORAN.]

Oran, I am very sad.

V:1:2 ORAN. Cheer up, sweet lady, for the God of all Will guard the innocent.

V:1:3 COUN. Think you he’ll come To visit us? Methinks he’ll never come.

V:1:4 ORAN. He’s but four leagues away. This vicinage Argues a frequent presence.

V:1:5 COUN. But three nights-- Have only three nights past? It is an epoch Distant and dim with passion. There are seasons Feelings crowd on so, time not flies but staggers; And memory poises on her burthened plumes To gloat upon her prey. Spoke he of coming?

V:1:6 ORAN. His words were scant and wild, and yet he murmured That I should see him.

V:1:7 COUN. I’ve not seen him since That fatal night, yet even that glance of terror-- I’d hail it now. O, Oran, Oran, think you He ever more will love me? Can I do Aught to regain his love? They say your people Are learned in these questions. Once I thought There was no spell like duty--that devotion Would bulwark love for ever. Now, I’d distil Philtres, converse with moonlit hags, defile My soul with talismans, bow down to spirits, And frequent accursed places, all, yea all-- I’d forfeit all--but to regain his love.

V:1:8 ORAN. There is a cloud now rising in the west, In shape a hand, and scarcely would its grasp Exceed mine own, it is so small; a spot, A speck; see now again its colour flits! A lurid tint; they call it on our coast ‘The hand of God;’ I for when its finger rises From out the horizon, there are storms abroad And awful judgments.

V:1:9 COUN. Ah! it beckons me.

V:1:10 ORAN. Lady!

V:1:11 COUN. Yes, yes, see now the finger moves And points to me. I feel it on my spirit.

V:1:12 ORAN. Methinks it points to me--

V:1:13 COUN. To both of us. It may be so. And what would it portend? My heart’s grown strangely calm. If there be chance Of storms, my children should be safe. Let’s home.