SCENE V.
_The Terrace. Moonlight._
_Enter HERMIONE._
HERMIONE. Calm orb, how tranquil is thy path!-- Amid the stars thou walkest, clad in light As with a garment. Still thy borrow'd robe The darkness compasseth, and sullen night His cloud-spread visage cleareth at thy beam.-- How calm on yonder stream the moonlight sleeps! Fair image, woman, of thy maiden breast, Unmoved by love. Anon, some vagrant breath Ruffles its surface, and its pure still light In tremulous pulses heaves:--brighter, perchance, That feverish glitter, but its rest is o'er!-- How fresh the dewy air falls on my cheek, As if some spirit, clothed in its influence, came Upon my soul, with one heaven-given drop, To cool its torment! Would that I could bind Thine incorporeal essence! I would chain thee Here!--on my heart! Benevolent visitor, Whether from yon bright sphere to mortals sent, On moonbeams gliding,--fairy gnome or sylph, Whate'er thy name;--or from earth's glistening caves, Or from the forest-corall'd deep thou comest, In these chill drops that stud my dew-deck'd hair, Its every braid impearling:--fly me not, I charge thee, gentle spirit!--Hark! he comes! [_Music at a distance._ I thank thee---- [_The sound gradually approaches, until heard apparently from beneath the Terrace._ A voice!--I'll hear thy words. Breathe not too loud, Ye winds.--
SONG. Lady, list to me! Thy gentle spirit I'll be; The fire is my garment, the flood is my bed, And I paint the first cloud with the sunbeam red That rolls o'er the broad blue sea.
Lady, list to me! To the mountain-top I flee: There I watch the first wave that comes laden with light, And its soft hue I spread o'er each billow so bright, With its beam I enkindle each heaven-peering height, And the morn's radiant canopy.-- [_The voice ceases, and the music slowly retires._
HERMIONE. Oh fly not!--bear me on thy wing!--from earth-- From----Why this shudder?--Save me, spirit of air, Or earth, or sea! Tear me but hence; and yet I cannot part. Oh! why in mercy once Was I conceived, and not to nothing crush'd Ere the first feeble pulse, unconscious life, Crept through this viewless form?--Why was I kept Unharm'd through infinite perils?--spared, yet doom'd To writhe unpitied--succourless--alone, Beneath one cruel, one remorseless woe,-- From hope shut out--from common sympathy, And all communion of sorrow,--e'en To the veriest wretch upon thy bosom earth Ne'er yet denied?--This boon I dare not ask: Wither'd, consumed, companionless, unwept, I meet mine hastening doom. Yet, clad in smiles, A flower-wreathed sacrifice, I gaily bound, With gambols playful as the innocent lamb, To the devouring altar. The knife is bared!-- Uplifted,--glittering! Yet I woo thee, tyrant, And madly kiss my chain. This night the feast I left;--arm'd, I had proudly thought--vain hope! With such resolve as, on this moonlit terrace, Where, freed awhile from earth's disquietude, My thralled heart might here unchain for ever!-- [_Takes a billet from her bosom._ I vow'd to snatch thee from my breast! To tear thee hence! and to the winds, unseen, Commit thy perishing fragments, e'en as now This unoffending page I rend, far scattering Its frail memorial to the air.-- [_Makes an effort to tear the paper._ Some power withholds me. What! for this thou yearnest? Weak, foolish heart, some other hour, thou say'st, Better thou canst resign this fluttering relic Of thy----hope, whisperest thou? Nay, folly--madness,--call it but aright, Thou throbbing fool, and I will give thee back Thy doted bauble. [_Returns it into her bosom._ There--there!--watch over it! Brood on thy minion!--cherish and pamper it Until it mock thee!--prey on thy young blood,-- Poison each spring of natural affection, And all the sympathies that flesh inherits,-- Then wilt thou curse thine idol!--Impotent rage,-- It will deride thee, and will fiercely cling To thine undoing for ever. Fare thee well, Thou star-hung canopy!--far-smiling orb. Farewell! No more sweet influences ye fling, As ye were wont, around my desolate heart; I cannot bear your stillness:--Earthquake--storm-- The mighty war of the vex'd elements, Would best comport with my disquiet:--now, On thy calm face I dare not look again! [_Exit._
_Enter ROLAND and STEPHANO._
STEPHANO. So, so, my moon-eyed maiden. Ah, "Good Roland," gallants breed not i' the sun; they thrive best belike i' the moonbeams.
ROLAND. I saw no gallant.
STEPHANO. Why, poor wretch, I pity thee. Perhaps she hath fallen sick for the moon; thou seest his cheek is somewhat shorn off, and I verily think he favours the lover that I told thee of.
ROLAND. Thou art an old and a wicked rogue. But what waked such pleasant music? Came that from the moon too?
STEPHANO. Ah, ah, honest friend, dost thou breed suspicions?--Ask the gardener who brought the music-men so late under the garden terrace.
_Enter LAURA cautiously, carrying a light._
LAURA. How now, masters, wot ye,--a pretty time o' night for secret whisperings! What brings you to the terrace, worthy sirs, so nigh upon midnight? Pleasant discourse truly, you unseasonable villains! Can't you stay a-bed?
ROLAND. Sweet mistress, we came to hear the music.
LAURA. And what should lug your dainty ears to the serenade?--I' faith, 'tis high time for your betters to stop their ears, when asses jog to the pipe. So, you guessed the music came to benefit your private discourse. An excellent jest this!--a serenade to a couple of owls.--Get in, you lazy dolts, and thank your stars, and not your ears, that you have 'scaped a beating.----[_Exeunt ROLAND and STEPHANO._]----I wonder these idiots guessed not who drew the serenade to this long-deserted house. True it may be some dozen years or more since this same salute awoke me; nevertheless, I was not past hope of its return. That gallant stranger whom I saw at vespers yesterday eyed me not, nor did he watch the corner of the street, for nought.--Well, it is a noble-looking cavalier, and a steady, well-ordered person, I warrant, from his noticing me so properly, and not that giddy coz of mine, the love-unheeding Hermione.--I hope he will return. Virgin decorum permitteth not my regard to his first appearance.--Hark!----[_Music._]----Oh! how my heart flutters! Sweet harbinger of love! I must show myself, or he will die of despair, or, perchance, he will not come again, which will suit me still worse. Though, certes, it would be mightily amusing to feel oneself the cause of a gay cavalier hanging himself in his garters! What a precious revenge for the many slights we maidens are subject to! And then, to have it said, "there goes the signora for whom signor so and so hanged himself." Oh, how charming is this moonlight! Really, I am younger to-night than when I was but one year past thirty. Hush!--ay, I warrant thou art in love;--I can tell by the turn of thy voice. Senor Antonio quavered just as thou dost;--but--he was fickle, and quavered so far he could not get back again. I never saw him again after his second sky alto!--Hark!
SONG. Fair as the moonbeam, Bright as the running stream, Sparkling, yet cold. In Love's tiny fingers A shaft yet there lingers, And he creeps near thy bosom and smiles, lady. Soon his soft wings will cherish A flame round thine heart, And, ere it may perish, Thy peace shall depart. O listen, listen, lady gay, Love doth not always sue; The brightest flame will oft decay, The fondest lover rue, lady!
LAURA. I cannot resist. [_She waves her hand over the Terrace. A letter is thrown--she takes it to the lamp, and reads--_
"Say, fairest, canst thou love? or doth cold scorn compose the sum of thy affections? Can thine eyes enkindle so suddenly another's heart, and yet shed no warmth on thine own? Give me but one smile, and thou shalt frown upon me for ever: so shall that cheering beam outlive a thousand dark winters. I am grown bold, for I have but a simple tale, and if thou wilt lend an ear to my suit, on the Terrace, to-morrow night at this hour, my presence will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour. "CARLOS."
So, so,--rather a bold gallant I trow, seeing it is the first he hath asked of my company; but I guess it is the fashion of these perilous days. Peradventure, if I had not been beforetime so careful of my favours, I had been woo'd and wedded with the best of 'em. After all, I see no great harm in the company of a handsome young spark, save that the uncourted dames are envious withal! but verily they would change their minds mayhap as I do, though every one doth not judge so charitably as the person who hath chanced to ride on the other side of his opinion. I scolded the maids though but yesterday for a night frolic with their sweethearts, and bravely will Hermione laugh at my sermon, with the practice thereto appended. Well, I care not--"let those laugh that get the magpie's nest."--When I am married, grin who dare;--Carlos, I meet thee! [_Exit._