carlos.
Forgive a wayward tongue, fretful—unkind:
My breaking heart still holds thee dear.
bertrand.
Forgive!—
Nay, ask not this;—man asks but favours.
What waits our bolder claim we crave not. Hold!—
'Tis needful we devise, touching our errand,
Some scheme for its adventure. Shrewd my guess,
Thou would'st e'en now return, unwoo'd, unsought
This dainty maiden, and to others leave
The fond pursuit, then lay thee down and weep!
I've led thee hither, Carlos;—here I vow,
Ere this same gallant city hath disgorged
Such useless habitants, to her dull ear
Thou shalt commend thy love.
carlos.
I've penn'd a fragrant billet——
bertrand.
Or a sonnet,
Mayhap, unto her eyne. Nay, 'tis not thus
Her fickle love is caught:—canst find no speech?
'Tis said love 's eloquent, and pleadeth nobly,
Using such vehement passion as doth rouse
The listening heart. Pour thy whole soul to hers:
Give her no space for thought—'twill bring resistance.
Reflection's chill and polish'd surface soon
Would glance off thine artillery, rolling back
The warm flood to thine heart. But I forbear:—
My wish is ever foremost on my tongue,
And still outstrips thy power! Well, thou canst sing,
Play on the cittern, trill the soft-voiced lute
Beneath a lady's chamber; thou canst fill
A delicate ear with ditties framed so deftly,
And with such wondrous skill, another's woe
Shall seem thine own, 'Tis said, in that soft hour
The maiden's heart is tender, and well nurtured
To cherish love's impressions. Then, I tell thee,
Unask'd attend, and with some vagrant band
Of hired melodists, at once discourse,
To thine heart's easing, of pale woe, sighs, groans,
And love forsaken. Thus prepared, her thought
Will wondering turn to her moon-driven warbler.
Thou knowest well in woman's restless soul
A lurking fondness lies for mystery.
If thou but win her thought to some connexion,
Some yet scarce-felt recurrence with thine own,
And pleasure once associate with the thought—
These outworks gain'd, cheer thee, thou gloomy knight;
The lady shall be won. [Exeunt.
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.