Fills me with dread, thy ebony crucifix With horror and awe. Monk. Think of thy precious soul. Lal. Think of my early days; think of my father And confidence-his vows-my ruin;-think, think Yet, stay,—yet, stay. What was it thou saidst of prayer And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith And vows before the throne? Monk. Lal. I did. 'Tis well. There is a vow where fitting should be made- A solemn vow! Monk. Daughter, this zeal is well. Lal. Father, this zeal is anything but well. Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing? A crucifix whereon to register This sacred vow? Not that! O, no! no! no!- Not that [He hands her his own. [Shuddering. not that! I tell thee, holy man, Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me; Stand back: I have a crucifix myself- [Draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high. Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine Is written in heaven. Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter, And speak a purpose unholy; thy lips are livid— Thine eyes are wild; tempt not the wrath divine. Pause, ere too late. O, be not—be not rash; Swear not the oath-O, swear it not! Lal. 'Tis sworn. III. An apartment in a palace. POLITIAN and BALDAZZAR. Bal. Arouse thee now, Politian; Thou must not-nay, indeed, indeed, thou shalt not Give way unto these humours. Be thyself; Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee, And live, for now thou diest. To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend. At thy behest I will shake off that nature Bal. To the field, then-to the field; To the senate or the field. Pol. Alas, alas! There is an imp would follow me even there; Bal. I heard it not. I heard not any voice except thine own, And the echo of thine own. Pol. Then I but dreamed. Bal. Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp--the court Befit thee; fame awaits thee-glory calls; And her, the trumpet-tongued, thou wilt not hear In hearkening to imaginary sounds And phantom voices. Pol. It is a phantom voice: I heard it not. Didst thou not hear it then? Bal. Pol. Thou heardst it not! Baldazzar, speak no more To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts. Of the populous earth. Bear with me yet awhile. Bal. Thou speakest a fearful riddle I will not understand. Pol. Yet now, as fate Approaches, and the hours are breathing low, I cannot die, having within my heart So keen a relish for the beautiful Methinks the air Is balmier now than it was wont to be; Sitteth in heaven.-Hist, hist; thou canst not say Bal. Indeed, I hear not. Pol. Not hear it! listen now-listen: the faintest And yet the sweetest, that ear ever heard: Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice Had I but heard it with its thrilling tones Be still. The voice, if I mistake not greatly, The roof of his excellency, and perhaps Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke His son and heir. Pol. Be still:-it comes again. Voice (very faintly). And is thy heart so strong Say nay-say nay! |