The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 25

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RIDOLFI.

Ay, till another change. Yon fickle G.o.ddess Her fond, fool'd swain entices, till enamour'd E'en to his heart's last core; she then averts Her love-impa.s.sion'd glance, and, scorning, shuns him!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

If from deserted maid, Hermione, Whose charms were withering in the fallow wane Of an unprofited life, this speech forlorn Had seem'd to ring the knell of her young hopes.

But when from rosy lips, and ardent youth, It comes unlook'd for as a wintry chill Beneath a summer sun.--This air blows keenly, My locks fall with the dew--I think the night Hath not its wonted soothness: thrice I shudder'd As the cold breeze methought sigh'd on my bosom.



I must begone--Hermione, you go not.

'Tis the last moonlight you behold, mayhap, In this brief stay; take a long parting, ere Ye bid adieu--the Duke himself attends you; With me, our brother his good presence grants, Till your return.

RIDOLFI.

With such proud gallantry I bow to your decree.

[_Exeunt d.u.c.h.eSS and RIDOLFI._

DUKE.

Beneath the western turret I love to walk--to watch the huge dim battlements On the smooth river sleeping, when the moon, Low in the brightening east, their shadow throws Upon its calm, cold bosom.

HERMIONE.

Awhile I loiter with you there, my lord. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_The Battlements._

_Enter DUKE and HERMIONE._

HERMIONE.

A pleasant tale, you say?

DUKE.

A story At which the sad might laugh, the merry weep!

HERMIONE.

Strange modes of pleasantry--the sad might laugh?

DUKE.

That his own woes were lighter.

HERMIONE.

And yet, withal, The merry weep?

DUKE.

So sad the tale--

HERMIONE.

In troth, Most dolorously pleasant!

DUKE.

I've been in love.

HERMIONE.

A strange propensity--a punishment Man suffers for his sins. You've been in love?

Most melancholy! How! I wot the d.u.c.h.ess Believed you not?

DUKE.

Beatrice yet--mark me-- Most tenderly I love. Her long affection Won my regard: but--late, another power-- It is not love, 'tis witchery, false glamour Chaining the sense, unwilling to be held In such deep thrall--I've seen a basilisk, And it hath holden me within the circuit Of its charmed eye. How counsel you? how break From its bright glance?

HERMIONE.

I know not where, my lord, You're held, or how enchain'd. Knows she your love?

DUKE.

I sought her, and the truth unto her ear I utter'd. Was it well?

HERMIONE.

'Twere answer'd best In the concealed purpose unto which Truth's outward semblance serv'd. What meaning else Behind it crouch'd?

DUKE.

That we might part for ever.

HERMIONE.

For ever!--Yes--'twas well!

What answer gave she?

DUKE.

Answer?--Oh--'twas well!

Then we must part, Hermione?

HERMIONE.

_We_ part!

Wherefore for ever?

DUKE.

I would not again Cringe in thy burning glance,--and yet--I might-- This foolish heart its vanish'd dream forgot-- Unmoved endure thy presence! Bitter the pang!

I could not say for ever! I should cling As the doom'd wretch to life, loosing his hold But with the heart's last throb!

HERMIONE.

I cannot counsel thus!

Alas! more need some power above our own To tear us hence--to sever. You will forget This idle thought--'tis but a vagrant breath, Stirring your past affections--they respond Untouch'd, when memory wakes the soft still voice Of other years. Their echoes o'er, again Peace, haply frighted thence, your bosom visits.

I would not now for ever part!

DUKE.

Then for a time--when absence The torn heart heals, we meet again. Hermione, For thee, in this night's converse, have I risk'd My happiness, my hope, and every comfort Which most I prize--my peace, my honour--all Committed to thy trust--true confidence If not in mutual charge--nor interchange Of strict communion held. If one alone The precious load entrusts, it is o'erbalanced Without due counterpoise, reciprocal faith, And it endures not. Tell me--nay, but listen-- This heart unfetter'd, offer'd thee, unplighted, Would'st thou have ta'en?

HERMIONE.

Indeed, I cannot now Such wild words answer. Spare me but this trial--

DUKE.

Nay, answer me--what--silent?--why 'tis well.

And so we part--but I repent me now Thou hast my trust. No answer?--then 'tis well!

We part for ever! On that treacherous face I would not gaze again.

The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 25

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