Thy sire and I will crush the snake! He kiss'd her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine in maiden wise, Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine She turn'd her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again; And folded her arms across her chest, And couch'd her head upon her breast, And look'd askance at Christabel―― Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye,
And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she look'd askance :- One moment-and the sight was fled! But Christabel, in dizzy trance Stumbling on the unsteady ground, Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turn'd round, And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, She roll'd her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees-no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind: And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate! And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance With forced unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view—— As far as such a look could be, In eyes so innocent and blue.
And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused awhile, and inly pray'd:
Then falling at the Baron's feet,
The same, for whom thy lady died. O by the pangs of her dear mother, Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She pray'd the moment ere she died; Pray'd that the babe for whom she died Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, Sir Leoline!
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine?
Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts like these had any share, They only swell'd his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. Ilis heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild, Dishonour'd thus in his old age; Dishonour'd by his only child, And all his hospitality
To the insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He roll'd his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere, Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? 1 bade thee hence! The bard obey'd; And, turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine!
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
A LITTLE child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 't is pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 't is tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true)! Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.
Remorse is as the heart in which it grows :
MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and Donna If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews
Teresa's Guardian.
DON ALVAR, the eldest son.
DON ORDONIO, the youngest son.
MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor. ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar..
ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian. FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION.
MOORS, SERVANTS, etc.
DONNA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress. ALHADRA, Wife to Isidore.
TIME. The reign of Philip II, just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death.
The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada. DON ALVAR, wrapt in a Boat-cloak, and ZULIMEZ (a Moresco), both as just landed.
No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!
My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, "T is surely this-after long years of exile, To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I press Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!
Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar, Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose.
It is too hazardous! reveal yourself, And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!
Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother: Injured indeed! O deeply injured! yet Ordonio's brother.
Nobly-minded Alvar!
This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.
The more behoves it, I should rouse within him Remorse! that I should save him from himself.
A portrait which she had procured by stealth (For even then it seems her heart foreboded Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry),
A portrait of herself with thrilling hand She tied around my neck, conjuring me With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred To my own knowledge: nor did she desist, Till she had won a solemn promise from me, That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
My own life wearied me!
And but for the imperative Voice within,
With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. That Voice, which quell'd me, calm'd me: and I sought The Belgic states: there join'd the better cause; And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like tranee: a long imprisonment follow'd. The fulness of my anguish by degrees Waned to a meditative melancholy;
And still, the more I mused, my soul became More doubtful, more perplex'd; and still Teresa, Night after night, she visited my sleep, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me! Yes, still, as in contempt of proof and reason, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless! Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.--- The Moorish robes?-
I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son And Alvar's brother.
Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez; But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul With that same look, with which he gave I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fix'd her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy.
I must not see thee wretched.
Ill barter'd for the garishness of joy! If it be wretched with an untired eye
To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze, To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight! If it be wretched To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, To go through each minutest circumstance Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them; (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and play'd the self-same tune He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow Herself had made)-if this be wretchedness, And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died, died just ere his return! Then see him listening to my constaucy, Or hover round, as he at midnight oft
Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing halfplayful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.
Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply, in some more fantastic mood, To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! My Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assured reality
He should return, and see a brother's infant Smile at him from my arms? Oh, what a thought!
His wounds and perilous voyages, and how With an heroic fearlessness of danger
He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar.
It was not well-You have moved me even to tears.
Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez! pardon me!
It was a foolish and ungrateful speech,
A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried Beyond myself, if I but hear of one Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not
[Clasping her forehead. Born in one day, like twins of the same parent? Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father!
A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. A six years' absence is a heavy thing, The very week he promised his return――
Yet still the hope survives――
VALDEZ (looking forward.)
The Inquisitor! on what new scent of blood?
Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA.
MONVIEDRO (having first made his obeisance to VALDEZ and TERESA).
Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord, My present need is with your son.
[Looking forward. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 't is he.
Enter from the opposite side Don ORDONIO.
My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you,
Hail, reverend father! what may be the business?
My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the inquisition
Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessen'd by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevail'd with me that——
I was a Moresco! They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison-house. Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, It was a toil to breathe it! when the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. Oh miserable! by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread Brought daily for the little wretch was sicklyMy rage had dried away its natural food. In darkness I remain'd-the dull bell counting,
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