The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 453

BEATRICE.

Oh, trust me; mighty men Are here!

DON MANUEL.

Beloved! mightier none than I!

BEATRICE.

And wouldst thou brave this warlike host alone?

DON MANUEL.

Alone! the men thou fear'st----

BEATRICE.

Thou know'st them not, Nor whom they serve.

DON MANUEL.

Myself! I am their lord!

BEATRICE.

Thou art--a shudder creeps through all my frame!

DON MANUEL.

Far other than I seemed; learn at last To know me, Beatrice. Not the poor knight Am I, the stranger and unknown, that loving Taught thee to love; but what I am--my race-- My power----

BEATRICE.

And art thou not Don Manuel? Speak-- Who art thou?

DON MANUEL.

Chief of all that bear the name, I am Don Manuel, Prince of Messina!

BEATRICE.

Art thou Don Manuel, Don Caesar's brother?

DON MANUEL.

Don Caesar is my brother.

BEATRICE.

Is thy brother!

DON MANUEL.

What means this terror? Know'st thou, then, Don Caesar?

None other of my race?

BEATRICE.

Art thou Don Manuel, That with thy brother liv'st in bitter strife Of long inveterate hate?

DON MANUEL.

This very sun Smiled on our glad accord! Yes, we are brothers!

Brothers in heart!

BEATRICE.

And reconciled? This day?

DON MANUEL.

What stirs this wild disorder? Hast thou known Aught but our name? Say, hast thou told me all?

Is there no secret? Hast thou naught concealed?

Nothing disguised?

BEATRICE.

Thy words are dark; explain, What shall I tell thee?

DON MANUEL.

Of thy mother naught Hast thou e'er told; who is she? If in words I paint her, bring her to thy sight----

BEATRICE.

Thou know'st her!

And thou wert silent!

DON MANUEL.

If I know thy mother, Horrors betide us both!

BEATRICE.

Oh, she is gracious As the sun's orient beam! Yes! I behold her; Fond memory wakes;--and from my bosom's depths Her G.o.dlike presence rises to my view!

I see around her snowy neck descend The tresses of her raven hair, that shade The form of sculptured loveliness; I see The pale, high-thoughted brow; the darkening glance Of her large l.u.s.trous...o...b..; I hear the tones Of soul-fraught sweetness!

DON MANUEL.

'Tis herself!

BEATRICE.

This day, Perchance had give me to her arms, and knit Our souls in everlasting love;--such bliss I have renounced, yes! I have lost a mother For thee!

DON MANUEL.

Console thyself, Messina's princess Henceforth shall call thee daughter; to her feet I lead thee; come--she waits. What hast thou said?

BEATRICE.

Thy mother and Don Caesar's? Never! never!

DON MANUEL.

Thou shudderest! Whence this horror? Hast thou known My mother? Speak----

BEATRICE.

O grief! O dire misfortune!

Alas! that e'er I live to see this day!

DON MANUEL.

What troubles thee? Thou know'st me, thou hast found, In the poor stranger knight, Messina's prince!

BEATRICE.

Give me the dear unknown again! With him On earth's remotest wilds I could be blest!