Chrysanthus.
Then I plight my troth that I
Will to that reward aspire,—
A poor offering at the fire
By those beauteous eyes supplied.
Daria.
But as you have not yet died,
Pray do n't follow me, but retire. [Exit.
Chrysanthus.
In what bosom, at one moment,
Oh! ye heavens! e'er met together[6]
Such a host of anxious troubles?
Such a crowd of boding terrors?
Can I be the same calm student
Who awhile ago here wended?
To a miracle of beauty,
To a fair face now surrendered,
I scarce know what brought me hither,
I my purpose scarce remember.
What bewitchment, what enchantment,
What strange lethargy, what frenzy
Can have to my heart, those eyes
Such divine delirium sent me?
What divinity, desirous
That I should not know the endless
Mysteries of the book I carry,
In my path such snares presenteth,
Seeking from these serious studies
To distract me and divert me?
But what 's this I say? One passion
Accidentally developed,
Should not be enough, no, no,
From myself myself to sever.
If the violence of one star
Draws me to a deity's service,
It compels not; for the planets
Draw, but force not, the affections.
Free is yet my will, my mind too,
Free is still my heart: then let me
Try to solve more noble problems
Than the doubts that love presenteth.
And since Claudius, the new Clytie[7]
Of the sun, whose golden tresses
Lead him in pursuit, her footsteps
Follows through the wood, my servant
Having happily too departed,
And since yonder rocks where endeth
The dark wood in savage wildness
Must be the rude rustic shelter
Of the Christians who fled thither,
I 'll approach them to endeavour
To find there Carpophorus:—
He alone, the wise, the learnéd,
Can my understanding rescue
From its night-mare dreams and guesses. [Exit.
Scene III. The extremity of the wood:
wild rocks with the entrance to a cave.
Carpophorus comes forth from the cave, but is for a while unseen by Chrysanthus, who enters.
Chrysanthus.
What a labyrinthine thicket
Is this place that I have entered!
Nature here takes little trouble,
Letting it be seen how perfect
Is the beauty that arises
Even from nature's careless efforts:
Deep within this darksome grotto
Which no sunbeam's light can enter,
I shall penetrate: it seemeth
As if until now it never
Had been trod by human footsteps.
There where yonder marge impendeth
O'er a streamlet that swift-flying
Carries with it the white freshness
Of the snows that from the mountains
Ever in its waves are melted,
Stands almost a skeleton;
The sole difference it presenteth
To the tree-trunks near it is,
That it moves as well as trembles,
Slow and gaunt, a living corse.
Oh! thou venerable elder
Who, a reason-gifted tree,
Mid mere natural trees here dwelleth.—
Carpophorus.
Wo! oh! wo is me!—a Roman!
(At seeing Chrysanthus, he attempts to fly.)
Chrysanthus.
Though a Roman, do not dread me:
With no evil end I seek thee.
Carpophorus.
Then what wouldst thou have, thou gentle
Roman youth? for thou hast silenced
My first fears even by thy presence.