VIII. Before the Altar of a Church.
Elmina rises from the steps of the Altar.
Elm. The clouds are fearful that o’erhang thy ways, O thou mysterious heaven! It cannot be That I have drawn the vials of thy wrath To burst upon me, through the lifting up Of a proud heart elate in happiness! No! in my day’s full noon, for me life’s flowers But wreath’d a cup of trembling; and the love, The boundless love, my spirit was form’d to bear, Hath ever, in its place of silence, been A trouble and a shadow, tinging thought With hues too deep for joy! I never look’d On my fair children, in their buoyant mirth Or sunny sleep, when all the gentle air Seem’d glowing with their quiet blessedness, But o’er my soul there came a shuddering sense Of earth, and its pale changes; e’en like that Which vaguely mingles with our glorious dreams-- A restless and disturbing consciousness That the bright things must fade! How have I shrunk From the dull murmur of th’ unquiet voice, With its low tokens of mortality, Till my heart fainted midst their smiles!--their smiles! Where are those glad looks now?--Could they go down With all their joyous light, that seem’d not earth’s, To the cold grave? My children!--righteous heaven! There floats a dark remembrance o’er my brain Of one who told me, with relentless eye, That this should be the hour!
Ximena enters.
Xim. They are gone forth Unto the rescue!--strong in heart and hope, Faithful, though few!--My mother, let thy prayers Call on the land’s good saints to lift once more The sword and cross that sweep the field for Spain, As in old battle; so thine arms e’en yet May clasp thy sons! For me, my part is done! The flame which dimly might have linger’d yet A little while, hath gather’d all its rays Brightly to sink at once. And it is well! The shadows are around me: to thy heart Fold me, that I may die.
Elm. My child! what dream Is on thy soul? Even now thine aspect wears Life’s brightest inspiration!
Xim. Death’s!
Elm. Away! Thine eye hath starry clearness; and thy cheek Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue, Than tinged its earliest flower!
Xim. It well may be! There are far deeper and far warmer hues Than those which draw their colouring from the founts Of youth, or health, or hope.
Elm. Nay, speak not thus! There’s that about thee shining which would send E’en through my heart a sunny glow of joy, Were’t not for these sad words. The dim cold air And solemn light, which wrap these tombs and shrines As a pale gleaming shroud, seem kindled up With a young spirit of ethereal hope Caught from thy mien!--Oh no! this is not death!
Xim. Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain, Put on his robes of beauty when he comes As a deliverer? He hath many forms-- They should not all be fearful! If his call Be but our gathering to that distant land, For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst, Why should not its prophetic sense be borne Into the heart’s deep stillness, with a breath Of summer-winds, a voice of melody, Solemn, yet lovely! Mother, I depart!-- Be it thy comfort, in the after-days, That thou hast seen me thus!
Elm. Distract me not With such wild fears! Can I bear on with life When thou art gone?--thy voice, thy step, thy smile, Pass’d from my path! Alas! even now thine eye Is changed--thy cheek is fading!
Xim. Ay, the clouds Of the dim hour are gathering o’er my sight; And yet I fear not, for the God of Help Comes in that quiet darkness! It may soothe Thy woes, my mother! if I tell thee now With what glad calmness I behold the veil Falling between me and the world, wherein My heart so ill hath rested.
Elm. Thine!
Xim. Rejoice For her that, when the garland of her life Was blighted, and the springs of hope were dried, Received her summons hence; and had no time, Bearing the canker at th’ impatient heart, To wither; sorrowing for that gift of heaven, Which lent one moment of existence light That dimm’d the rest for ever!
Elm. How is this? My child, what mean’st thou?
Xim. Mother! I have loved, And been beloved! The sunbeam of an hour, Which gave life’s hidden treasures to mine eye, As they lay shining in their secret founts, Went out and left them colourless. ’Tis past-- And what remains on earth? The rainbow mist Through which I gazed, hath melted, and my sight Is clear’d to look on all things as they are!-- But this is far too mournful! Life’s dark gift Hath fall’n too early and too cold upon me!-- Therefore I would go hence!
Elm. And thou hast loved Unknown----
Xim. Oh! pardon, pardon that I veil’d My thoughts from thee! But thou hadst woes enough, And mine came o’er me when thy soul had need Of more than mortal strength! For I had scarce Given the deep consciousness that I was loved A treasure’s place within my secret heart, When earth’s brief joy went from me! ’Twas at morn I saw the warriors to their field go forth, And he--my chosen--was there amongst the rest, With his young, glorious brow! I look’d again: The strife grew dark beneath me--but his plume Waved free above the lances. Yet again-- It had gone down! and steeds were trampling o’er The spot to which mine eyes were riveted, Till blinded by th’ intenseness of their gaze!-- And then--at last--I hurried to the gate, And met him there!--I met him!--on his shield, And with his cloven helm, and shiver’d sword, And dark hair steep’d in blood! They bore him past: Mother!--I saw his face! Oh! such a death Works fearful changes on the fair of earth, The pride of woman’s eye!
Elm. Sweet daughter, peace! Wake not the dark remembrance; for thy frame--
Xim. There will be peace ere long. I shut my heart, Even as a tomb, o’er that lone silent grief, That I might spare it thee!--But now the hour Is come, when that, which would have pierced thy soul, Shall be its healing balm. Oh! weep thou not, Save with a gentle sorrow!
Elm. Must it be? Art thou indeed to leave me?
Xim. (exultingly.) Be thou glad! I say, rejoice above thy favour’d child! Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought, Joy, for the peasant when his vintage-task Is closed at eve!--But most of all for her, Who, when her life had changed its glittering robes For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling So heavily around the journeyers on, Cast down its weight--and slept!
Elm. Alas! thine eye Is wandering--yet how brightly! Is this death! Or some high wondrous vision? Speak, my child! How is it with thee now?
Xim. (wildly.) I see it still! ’Tis floating, like a glorious cloud on high, My father’s banner! Hear’st thou not a sound? The trumpet of Castile! Praise, praise to heaven! --Now may the weary rest!--Be still!--Who calls The night so fearful?----
[She dies.
Elm. No! she is not dead! Ximena!--speak to me! Oh yet a tone From that sweet voice, that I may gather in One more remembrance of its lovely sound, Ere the deep silence fall! What, is all hush’d?-- No, no!--it cannot be! How should we bear The dark misgivings of our souls, if heaven Left not such beings with us? But is this Her wonted look?--too sad a quiet lies On its dim fearful beauty! Speak, Ximena! Speak! My heart dies within me! She is gone, With all her blessed smiles! My child! my child! Where art thou?--Where is that which answer’d me, From thy soft-shining eyes?--Hush! doth she move? One light lock seem’d to tremble on her brow, As a pulse throbb’d beneath;--’twas but the voice Of my despair that stirr’d it! She is gone!
[She throws herself on the body.
Gonzalez enters wounded.
Elm. (rising as he approaches.) I must not now be scorn’d!--No, not a look. A whisper of reproach! Behold my woe!-- Thou canst not scorn me now!
Gon. Hast thou heard all?
Elm. Thy daughter on my bosom laid her head, And pass’d away to rest! Behold her there, Even such as death hath made her![283]
Gon. (bending over Ximena’s body.) Thou art gone A little while before me, O my child! Why should the traveller weep to part with those, That scarce an hour will reach their promised land, Ere he too cast his pilgrim staff away, And spread his couch beside them?
Elm. Must it be Henceforth enough that once a thing so fair Had its bright place amongst us! Is this all Left for the years to come? We will not stay! Earth’s chain each hour grows weaker.
Gon. (still gazing upon Ximena.) And thou’rt laid To slumber in the shadow, blessed child! Of a yet stainless altar, and beside A sainted warrior’s tomb! Oh, fitting place For thee to yield thy pure heroic soul Back unto him that gave it! And thy cheek Yet smiles in its bright paleness!
Elm. Hadst thou seen The look with which she pass’d!
Gon. (still bending over her.) Why, ’tis almost Like joy to view thy beautiful repose! The faded image of that perfect calm Floats, e’en as long-forgotten music, back Into my weary heart! No dark wild spot On thy clear brow doth tell of bloody hands That quench’d young life by violence! We’ve seen Too much of horror, in one crowded hour, To weep for aught so gently gather’d hence! --Oh! man leaves other traces!
Elm. (suddenly starting.) It returns On my bewilder’d soul? Went ye not forth Unto the rescue? And thou’rt here alone! --Where are my sons?
Gon. (solemnly.) We were too late!
Elm. Too late! Hast thou naught else to tell me?
Gon. I brought back From that last field the banner of my sires, And my own death-wound.
Elm. Thine!
Gon. Another hour Shall hush its throbs for ever. I go hence, And with me----
Elm. No! Man could not lift his hands-- Where hast thou left thy sons?
Gon. I have no sons.
Elm. What hast thou said?
Gon. That now there lives not one To wear the glory of mine ancient house, When I am gone to rest.
Elm. (_throwing herself on the ground, and speaking in a low hurried voice._) In one brief hour, all gone!--and such a death! I see their blood gush forth!--their graceful heads! --Take the dark vision from me, O my God! And such a death for them! I was not there! They were but mine in beauty and in joy, Not in that mortal anguish! All, all gone!-- Why should I struggle more?--What is this Power, Against whose might, on all sides pressing us, We strive with fierce impatience, which but lays Our own frail spirits prostrate? (After a long pause.) Now I know Thy hand, my God!--and they are soonest crush’d That most withstand it! I resist no more. [She rises. A light, a light springs up from grief and death, Which with its solemn radiance doth reveal Why we have thus been tried!
Gon. Then I may still Fix my last look on thee, in holy love, Parting, but yet with hope!
Elm. (falling at his feet.) Canst thou forgive? Oh, I have driven the arrow to thy heart, That should have buried it within mine own, And borne the pang in silence! I have cast Thy life’s fair honour, in my wild despair, As an unvalued gem upon the waves, Whence thou hast snatch’d it back, to bear from earth, All stainless, on thy breast. Well hast thou done-- But I--canst thou forgive?
Gon. Within this hour I’ve stood upon that verge whence mortals fall, And learn’d how ’tis with one whose sight grows dim, And whose foot trembles on the gulf’s dark side. Death purifies all feeling: we will part In pity and in love.
Elm. Death! And thou too Art on thy way! Oh, joy for thee, high heart! Glory and joy for thee! The day is closed, And well and nobly hast thou borne thyself Through its long battle-toils, though many swords Have enter’d thine own soul! But on my head Recoil the fierce invokings of despair, And I am left far distanced in the race, The lonely one of earth! Ay, this is just. I am not worthy that upon my breast In this, thine hour of victory, thou shouldst yield Thy spirit unto God!
Gon. Thou art! thou art! Oh! a life’s love, a heart’s long faithfulness, Even in the presence of eternal things, Wearing their chasten’d beauty all undimm’d, Assert their lofty claims; and these are not For one dark hour to cancel! We are here, Before that altar which received the vows Of our unbroken youth; and meet it is For such a witness, in the sight of heaven, And in the face of death, whose shadowy arm Comes dim between us, to record th’ exchange Of our tried hearts’ forgiveness. Who are they, That in one path have journey’d, needing not Forgiveness at its close?
A Citizen enters hastily.
Cit. The Moors! the Moors!
Gon. How! is the city storm’d? O righteous heaven! for this I look’d not yet! Hath all been done in vain? Why, then, ’tis time For prayer, and then to rest!
Cit. The sun shall set, And not a Christian voice be left for prayer, To-night, within Valencia. Round our walls The Paynim host is gathering for th’ assault, I And we have none to guard them.
Gon. Then my place Is here no longer. I had hoped to die E’en by the altar and the sepulchre Of my brave sires; but this was not to be! Give me my sword again, and lead me hence Back to the ramparts. I have yet an hour, And it hath still high duties. Now, my wife! Thou mother of my children--of the dead-- Whom I name unto thee in steadfast hope-- Farewell!
Elm. No, not farewell! My soul hath risen To mate itself with thine; and by thy side, Amidst the hurling lances, I will stand, As one on whom a brave man’s love hath been Wasted not utterly.
Gon. I thank thee, heaven! That I have tasted of the awful joy Which thou hast given, to temper hours like this With a deep sense of thee, and of thine ends In these dread visitings! (To Elmina.) We will not part, But with the spirit’s parting.
Elm. One farewell To her, that, mantled with sad loveliness, Doth slumber at our feet! My blessed child! Oh! in thy heart’s affliction thou wert strong, And holy courage did pervade thy woe, As light the troubled waters! Be at peace! Thou whose bright spirit made itself the soul Of all that were around thee! And thy life E’en then was struck and withering at the core! Farewell! thy parting look hath on me fallen, E’en as a gleam of heaven, and I am now More like what thou hast been. My soul is hush’d; For a still sense of purer worlds hath sunk And settled on its depths with that last smile Which from thine eye shone forth. Thou hast not lived In vain! My child, farewell!
Gon. Surely for thee Death had no sting, Ximena! We are blest To learn one secret of the shadowy pass, From such an aspect’s calmness. Yet once more I kiss thy pale young cheek, my broken flower! In token of th’ undying love and hope Whose land is far away.
[Exeunt.
[283] “La voilà, telle que la mort nous l’a faite!”--Bossuet, Oraisons Funèbres.
IX. The walls of the city.
Hernandez--A few citizens gathered round him.
Her. Why, men have cast the treasures, which their lives Had been worn down in gathering, on the pyre; Ay, at their household hearths have lit the brand, Even from that shrine of quiet love to bear The flame which gave their temples and their homes In ashes to the winds! They have done this, Making a blasted void where once the sun Look’d upon lovely dwellings; and from earth Razing all record that on such a spot Childhood hath sprung, age faded, misery wept, And frail humanity knelt before her God: They have done this, in their free nobleness, Rather than see the spoiler’s tread pollute Their holy places. Praise, high praise be theirs, Who have left man such lessons! And these things, Made your own hills their witnesses! The sky, Whose arch bends o’er you, and the seas, wherein Your rivers pour their gold, rejoicing saw The altar, and the birthplace, and the tomb, And all memorials of man’s heart and faith, Thus proudly honour’d! Be ye not outdone By the departed! Though the godless foe Be close upon us, we have power to snatch The spoils of victory from him. Be but strong! A few bright torches and brief moments yet Shall baffle his flush’d hope; and we may die, Laughing him unto scorn. Rise, follow me! And thou, Valencia! triumph in thy fate-- The ruin, not the yoke; and make thy towers A beacon unto Spain!
Cits. We’ll follow thee! Alas! for our fair city, and the homes Wherein we rear’d our children! But away! The Moor shall plant no Crescent o’er our fanes!
Voice. (from a tower on the walls.) Succours!--Castile! Castile!
Cits. (rushing to the spot.) It is even so! Now blessing be to heaven, for we are saved! Castile! Castile!
Voice. (from the tower.) Line after line of spears, Lance after lance, upon th’ horizon’s verge, Like festal lights from cities bursting up, Doth skirt the plain. In faith, a noble host!
Another voice. The Moor hath turn’d him from our walls, to front Th’ advancing might of Spain!
Cits. (shouting.) Castile! Castile!
Gonzalez enters, supported by Elmina and a citizen.
Gon. What shouts of joy are these?
Her. Hail! chieftain, hail! Thus, even in death, ’tis given thee to receive The conqueror’s crown! Behold our God hath heard, And arm’d himself with vengeance! Lo! they come! The lances of Castile!
Gon. I knew, I knew, Thou wouldst not utterly, my God! forsake Thy servant in his need! My blood and tears Have not sunk vainly to th’ attesting earth. Praise to Thee, thanks and praise, that I have lived To see this hour!
Elm. And I, too, bless thy name, Though thou hast proved me unto agony! O God!--thou God of chastening!
Voice. (from the tower.) They move on! I see the royal banner in the air, With its emblazon’d towers!
Gon. Go, bring ye forth The banner of the Cid, and plant it here, To stream above me, for an answering sign That the good Cross doth hold its lofty place Within Valencia still! What see you now?
Her. I see a kingdom’s might upon its path, Moving, in terrible magnificence, Unto revenge and victory! With the flash Of knightly swords, up-springing from the ranks, As meteors from a still and gloomy deep, And with the waving of ten thousand plumes, Like a land’s harvest in the autumn wind, And with fierce light, which is not of the sun, But flung from sheets of steel--it comes, it comes, The vengeance of our God!
Gon. I hear it now, The heavy tread of mail-clad multitudes, Like thunder-showers upon the forest paths.
Her. Ay, earth knows well the omen of that sound; And she hath echoes, like a sepulchre’s, Pent in her secret hollows, to respond Unto the step of death!
Gon. Hark! how the wind Swells proudly with the battle-march of Spain? Now the heart feels its power! A little while Grant me to Eve, my God! What pause is this?
Her. A deep and dreadful one! The serried files Level their spears for combat; now the hosts Look on each other in their brooding wrath, Silent, and face to face.
Voices heard without, chanting.
Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit! rest thee now! E’en while with ours thy footsteps trode His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die.
Elm. (to Gonzalez.) It is the death-hymn o’er thy daughter’s bier! But I am calm; and e’en like gentle winds, That music, through the stillness of my heart, Sends mournful peace.
Gon. Oh! well those solemn tones Accord with such an hour, for all her life Breathed of a hero’s soul!
[A sound of trumpets and shouting from the plain.]
Her. Now, now they close! Hark! what a dull dead sound Is in the Moorish war-shout! I have known Such tones prophetic oft. The shock is given-- Lo! they have placed their shields before their hearts, And lower’d their lances with the streamers on, And on their steeds bent forward! God for Spain! The first bright sparks of battle have been struck From spear to spear, across the gleaming field!-- There is no sight on which the blue sky looks To match with this! ’Tis not the gallant crests,
Nor banners with their glorious blazonry; The very nature and high soul of man Doth now reveal itself!
Gon. Oh, raise me up, That I may look upon the noble scene!-- It will not be!--That this dull mist would pass A moment from my sight! Whence rose that shout, As in fierce triumph?
Her. (clasping his hands.) Must I look on this? The banner sinks--’tis taken!
Gon. Whose?
Her. Castile’s!
Gon. O God of Battles!
Elm. Calm thy noble heart; Thou wilt not pass away without thy meed. Nay, rest thee on my bosom.
Her. Cheer thee yet! Our knights have spurr’d to rescue. There is now A whirl, a mingling of all terrible things, Yet more appalling than the fierce distinctness Wherewith they moved before! I see tall plumes All wildly tossing o’er the battle’s tide, Sway’d by the wrathful motion, and the press Of desperate men, as cedar boughs by storms. Many a white streamer there is dyed with blood, Many a false corslet broken, many a shield Pierced through! Now, shout for Santiago, shout! Lo! javelins with a moment’s brightness cleave The thickening dust, and barded steeds go down With their helm’d riders! Who, but One, can tell How spirits part amidst that fearful rush And trampling-on of furious multitudes?
Gon. Thou’rt silent!--See’st thou more? My soul grows dark.
Her. And dark and troubled, as an angry sea, Dashing some gallant armament in scorn Against its rocks, is all on which I gaze! I can but tell thee how tall spears are cross’d, And lances seem to shiver, and proud helms To lighten with the stroke! But round the spot Where, like a storm-fell’d mast, our standard sank, The heart of battle burns.
Gon. Where is that spot?
Her. It is beneath the lonely tuft of palms, That lift their green heads o’er the tumult still, In calm and stately grace.
Gon. There didst thou say? Then God is with us, and we must prevail! For on that spot they died: my children’s blood Calls on th’ avenger thence!
Elm. They perish’d there! --And the bright locks that waved so joyously To the free winds, lay trampled and defiled Even on that place of death! O Merciful! Hush the dark thought within me!
Her. (with sudden exultation.) Who is he, On the white steed, and with the castled helm, And the gold-broider’d mantle, which doth float E’en like a sunny cloud above the fight; And the pale cross, which from his breastplate gleams With star-like radiance?
Gon. (eagerly.) Didst thou say the cross?
Her. On his mail’d bosom shines a broad white cross, And his long plumage through the dark’ning air Streams like a snow-wreath.
Gon. That should be--
Her. The king! Was it not told to us how he sent, of late, To the Cid’s tomb, e’en for the silver cross, Which he who slumbers there was wont to bind O’er his brave heart in fight?[284]
Gon. (springing up joyfully.) My king! my king! Now all good saints for Spain! My noble king! And thou art there! That I might look once more Upon thy face! But yet I thank thee, heaven! That thou hast sent him, from my dying hands Thus to receive his city!
[He sinks back into Elmina’s arms.
Her. He hath clear’d A pathway midst the combat, and the light Follows his charge through yon close living mass, E’en as a gleam on some proud vessel’s wake Along the stormy waters! ’Tis redeem’d-- The castled banner; it is flung once more, In joy and glory, to the sweeping winds! There seems a wavering through the Paynim hosts-- Castile doth press them sore--now, now rejoice!
Gon. What hast thou seen?
Her. Abdullah falls! He falls! The man of blood!--the spoiler!--he hath sunk In our king’s path! Well hath that royal sword Avenged thy cause, Gonzalez! They give way, The Crescent’s van is broken! On the hills, And the dark pine-woods, may the infidel Call vainly, in his agony of fear, To cover him from vengeance! Lo! they fly! They of the forest and the wilderness Are scatter’d, e’en as leaves upon the wind! Woe to the sons of Afric! Let the plains, And the vine mountains, and Hesperian seas, Take their dead unto them!--that blood shall wash Our soil from stains of bondage.
Gon. (attempting to raise himself.) Set me free! Come with me forth, for I must greet my king, After his battle-field!
Her. Oh, blest in death! Chosen of heaven, farewell! Look on the Cross, And part from earth in peace!
Gon. Now, charge once more! God is with Spain, and Santiago’s sword Is reddening all the air! Shout forth “Castile!” The day is ours! I go; but fear ye not! For Afric’s lance is broken, and my sons Have won their first good field! [He dies.
Elm. Look on me yet! Speak one farewell, my husband!--must thy voice Enter my soul no more! Thine eye is fix’d-- Now is my life uprooted--and ’tis well.
[A sound of triumphant music is heard, and many Castilian Knights and Soldiers enter.]
A Cit. Hush your triumphal sounds, although ye come E’en as deliverers! But the noble dead, And those that mourn them, claim from human hearts Deep silent reverence.
Elm. (rising proudly.) No, swell forth, Castile! Thy trumpet music, till the seas and heavens, And the deep hills, give every stormy note Echoes to ring through Spain! How, know ye not That all array’d for triumph, crown’d and robed With the strong spirit which hath saved the land, E’en now a conqueror to his rest is gone? Fear not to break that sleep, but let the wind Swell on with victory’s shout!--He will not hear-- Hath earth a sound more sad?
Her. Lift ye the dead, And bear him with the banner of his race Waving above him proudly, as it waved O’er the Cid’s battles, to the tomb wherein His warrior sires are gather’d. [They raise the body.
Elm. Ay, ’tis thus Thou shouldst be honour’d! And I follow thee, With an unfaltering and a lofty step, To that last home of glory. She that wears In her deep heart the memory of thy love, Shall thence draw strength for all things; till the God Whose hand around her hath unpeopled earth, Looking upon her still and chasten’d soul, Call it once more to thine!
(To the Castilians.) Awake, I say! Tambour and trumpet, wake! And let the land Through all her mountains hear your funeral peal. --So should a hero pass to his repose.
[Exeunt omnes.
[284] This circumstance is recorded of King Don Alfonso, the last of that name. He sent to the Cid’s tomb for the cross which that warrior was accustomed to wear upon his breast when he went to battle, and had it made into one for himself, “because of the faith which he had, that through it he should obtain the victory.”--Southey’s Chronicle of the Cid.
[CRITICAL ANNOTATIONS ON THE “SIEGE OF VALENCIA.”
“Of ‘The Siege of Valencia’ we say little, for we by no means consider it as the happiest of Mrs Hemans’s efforts. Not that it does not contain, nay, abound with fine passages; but the whole wants vigour, coherence, and compression. The story is meagre, and the dialogue too diffuse.”--The Rev. Dr Morehead in Constable’s Magazine for September 1823.
“The ‘Tales and Historic Scenes,’ ‘The Sceptic,’ ‘The Welsh Melodies,’ ‘The Siege of Valencia,’ and ‘The Vespers of Palermo,’” says Delta, “may all be referred to this epoch of her literary career, and are characterised by beauties of a high and peculiar stamp. With reference to the two latter, it must be owned, that if the genius of Mrs Hemans was not essentially dramatic, yet that both abound with high and magnificent bursts of poetry. It was not easy to adapt her fine taste and uniformly high-toned sentiment to the varied aspects of life and character necessary to the success of scenic exhibition; and she must have been aware of the difficulties that surrounded her in that path. If these cannot, therefore, be considered as successful tragedies, they hold their places as dramatic poems of rich and rare poetic beauty. Indeed, it would be difficult, from the whole range of Mrs Hemans’s writings, to select any thing more exquisitely conceived, more skilfully managed, or more energetically written, than the Monk’s tale in ‘The Siege of Valencia.’ The description of his son, in which he dwells with parental enthusiasm on his boyish beauty and accomplishments--of his horror at that son’s renunciation of the Christian faith, and leaguing with the infidel--and of the twilight encounter, in which he took the life of his own giving--are all worked out in the loftiest spirit of poetry.”--Biographical Memoir, p. 16-17.
“‘The Siege of Valencia,’ ‘The Last Constantine,’ and other poems, were published in the course of the year 1823. This volume was marked by more distinct evidences of originality than any of Mrs Hemans’s previous works. None of her after poems contain finer bursts of strong, fervid, indignant poetry than ‘The Siege of Valencia;’ its story--a thrilling conflict between maternal love and the inflexible spirit of chivalrous honour--afforded to her an admirable opportunity of giving utterance to the two master interests of her mind. It is a tale that will bear a second reading--though, it must be confessed that, as in the case of ‘The Vespers of Palermo,’ somewhat of a monotony of colouring is thrown over its scenes by the unchanged employment of a lofty and enriched phraseology, which would have gained in emphasis by its being more sparingly used. Ximena, too, all glowing and heroic as she is, stirring up the sinking hearts of the besieged citizens with her battle-song of the Cid, and dying as it were of that strain of triumph--is too spiritual, too saintly, wholly to carry away the sympathies. Our imagination is kindled by her splendid, high-toned devotion--our tears are called forth by the grief of her mother, the stately Elmina, broken down, but not degraded, by the agony of maternal affection, to connive at a treachery she is too noble wholly to carry through. The scenes with her husband are admirable; some of her speeches absolutely startle us with their passion and intensity--the following, for instance:--
‘Love! love! there are soft smiles and gentle words,’” etc.
--Chorley’s Memorials of Mrs Hemans, p. 110-12.
“‘The Siege of Valencia’ is a dramatic poem, but not intended for representation. The story is extremely simple. The Moors, who besiege Valencia, take the two sons of the governor, Gonzalez, captive, as they come to visit their father, and now the ransom demanded for them is the surrender of the city: they are to die if the place is not yielded up. Elmina, the mother of the boys, and Ximena, their sister, are the remaining members of a family to which so dreadful an option is submitted. The poem is one of the highest merit. The subject is of great dignity, being connected with the defence of Spain against the Moors; and at the same time it is of the greatest tenderness, offering a succession of the most moving scenes that can be imagined to occur in the bosom of a family. The father is firm, the daughter is heroic, the mother falters. She finds her way to the Moorish camp, sees her children, forms her plan for betraying the town, and then is not able to conceal her grief and her design from her husband. He immediately sends a defiance to the Moors, his children are brought out and beheaded, a sortie is made from the besieged city: finally, the king of Spain arrives to the rescue; the wrongs of Gonzalez are avenged; he himself dies in victory; and the poem closes with a picture of his wife, moved by the strongest grief, of which she is yet able to restrain the expression. The great excellence of the poem lies in the description of the struggle between the consciousness of duty and maternal fondness. We believe none but a mother could have written it.”--Professor Norton, in North American Review for April 1827.
“The graceful powers of Mrs Hemans in the same walk which had been trodden so grandly by Miss Baillie, were manifested in her ‘Vespers of Palermo’, and her ‘Siege of Valencia.’ The latter is a noble work, and as a poem ranks with her highest productions, though it is filled too uniformly perhaps with the spirit of her own mind, to be very distinctively dramatic. It has indeed variety, but less of the variety of human nature, than of a godlike and exalted nature, which belongs to few among mankind, and to them, perhaps, only in strange and terrible crises. The steadfastness of the paternal chieftain, the sterner enthusiasm of the priest, the mother’s maddening affection, and the gentle heroism of the melancholy Ximena are drawn with individuality, but it is the individuality of a common greatness, the apparent appropriation to many of an essence really the same in all. In her own heart the poetess found this pure essence; and when she created her Christian patriots at Valencia, she but translated herself into a new dialect of manners and motives. Of this one elevated material she has, however, made fine dramatic use. The language, while faultless in its measured music, has passion to swell its cadences; the loftiness is never languid; and the flow of the verse is skilfully broken into the animated abruptness suitable to earnest dialogue. There are many, too, of those sudden glimpses of profound truth in which the energy of passion seems to force its rude way, in a moment, into regions of the heart that philosophy would take hours to survey with its technical language. Thus, when the iron-hearted monk is telling the story of his son’s disgrace,--
’Elmina. He died?
Hernandez. Not so! --Death! death! Why, earth should be a paradise To make that name so fearful! Had he died, With his young fame about him for a shroud, I had not learn’d the might of agony To bring proud natures low! No! he fell off---- Why do I tell thee this? What right hast thou To learn how pass’d the glory from my house? Yet listen. He forsook me! He that was As mine own soul forsook me!--trampled o’er The ashes of his sires!--ay, leagued himself Even with the infidel, the curse of Spain; And, for the dark eye of a Moorish maid, Abjured his faith, his God! Now, talk of death!
“The whole of the scene to which the passage belongs, is moulded in the highest spirit of tragic verse. The bewilderment of the mother betrayed into guilt by overpowering affection, and the death of the beautiful enthusiast Ximena, are sketched in a style of excellence little inferior; and the peculiar powers of Mrs Hemans’s poetry, less dramatic than declamatory, have full scope in the spirit-stirring address of the latter to the fainting host of Valencia, as she lifts in her own ancient city the banner of the Cid, and recounts the sublime legend of his martial burial. Spain and its romances formed the darling theme of Mrs Hemans’s muse; and before leaving the subject, she gives us her magnificent series of ballads, the ‘Songs of the Cid,’ which meet us at the close of the drama, as if to form an appropriate chorus to the whole.”--William Archer Butler, Introductory Notice to National Lyrics and Songs for Music. Dublin: 1838.]
Miscellaneous Poems.
SONG.
FOUNDED ON AN ARABIAN ANECDOTE.
Away! though still thy sword is red With life-blood from my sire, No drop of thine may now be shed To quench my bosom’s fire; Though on my heart ’twould fall more blest Than dews upon the desert’s breast.
I’ve sought thee midst the sons of men, Through the wide city’s fanes; I’ve sought thee by the lion’s den, O’er pathless, boundless plains; No step that mark’d the burning waste, But mine its lonely course hath traced.
Thy name hath been a baleful spell, O’er my dark spirit cast; No thought may dream, no words may tell, What there unseen hath pass’d: This wither’d cheek, this faded eye, Are seals of thee--behold! and fly!
Hath not my cup for thee been pour’d Beneath the palm-tree’s shade? Hath not soft sleep thy frame restored Within my dwelling laid? What though unknown--yet who shall rest Secure--if not the Arab’s guest?
Haste thee! and leave my threshold-floor Inviolate and pure! Let not thy presence tempt me more, --Man may not thus endure! Away! I bear a fetter’d arm, A heart that burns--but must not harm.
Begone! outstrip the swift gazelle! The wind in speed subdue! Fear cannot fly so swift, so well, As vengeance shall pursue; And hate, like love in parting pain, Smiles o’er one hope--we meet again!
To-morrow--and th’ avenger’s hand, The warrior’s dart is free! E’en now, no spot in all thy land, Save this, had shelter’d thee; Let blood the monarch’s hall profane,-- The Arab’s tent must bear no stain!
Fly! may the desert’s fiery blast Avoid thy secret way! And sternly, till thy steps be past, Its whirlwinds sleep to-day! I would not that thy doom should be Assign’d by heaven to aught but me.
ALP-HORN SONG.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF TIECK.
What dost thou here, brave Swiss? Forgett’st thou thus thy native clime-- The lovely land of thy bright spring-time? The land of thy home, with its free delights, And fresh green valleys and mountain heights? Can the stranger’s yield thee bliss?
What welcome cheers thee now? Dar’st thou lift thine eye to gaze around? Where are the peaks, with their snow-wreaths crown’d? Where is the song, on the wild winds borne, Or the ringing peal of the joyous horn, Or the peasant’s fearless brow?
But thy spirit is far away! Where a greeting waits thee in kindred eyes. Where the white Alps look through the sunny skies, With the low senn-cabins, and pastures free, And the sparkling blue of the glacier-sea, And the summits clothed with day!
Back, noble child of Tell! Back to the wild and the silent glen, And the frugal board of peasant-men! Dost thou seek the friend, the loved one, here?-- Away! not a true Swiss heart is near, Against thine own to swell!
THE CROSS OF THE SOUTH.
[The beautiful constellation of the Cross is seen only in the southern hemisphere. The following lines are supposed to be addressed to it by a Spanish traveller in South America.]
In the silence and grandeur of midnight I tread, Where savannahs in boundless magnificence spread, And bearing sublimely their snow-wreaths on high, The far Cordilleras unite with the sky.
The fir-tree waves o’er me, the fire-flies’ red light With its quick-glancing splendour illumines the night; And I read in each tint of the skies and the earth, How distant my steps from the land of my birth.
But to thee, as thy lode-stars resplendently bum In their clear depths of blue, with devotion I turn, Bright Cross of the South! and beholding thee shine, Scarce regret the loved land of the olive and vine.
Thou recallest the ages when first o’er the main My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain, And planted their faith in the regions that see Its unperishing symbol emblazon’d in thee.
How oft in their course o’er the oceans unknown, Where all was mysterious, and awful, and lone, Hath their spirit been cheer’d by thy light, when the deep Reflected its brilliance in tremulous sleep!
As the vision that rose to the Lord of the world,[285] When first his bright banner of faith was unfurl’d; Even such, to the heroes of Spain, when their prow Made the billows the path of their glory, wert thou.
And to me, as I traversed the world of the west, Through deserts of beauty in stillness that rest; By forests and rivers untamed in their pride, Thy hues have a language, thy course is a guide.
Shine on!--my own land is a far distant spot, And the stars of thy sphere can enlighten it not; And the eyes that I love, though e’en now they may be O’er the firmament wandering, can gaze not on thee!
But thou to my thoughts art a pure-blazing shrine, A fount of bright hopes and of visions divine; And my soul, as an eagle exulting and free, Soars high o’er the Andes to mingle with thee.
[285] Constantine.
THE SLEEPER OF MARATHON.
I lay upon the solemn plain, And by the funeral mound, Where those who died not there in vain, Their place of sleep had found.
’Twas silent where the free blood gush’d, When Persia came array’d-- So many a voice had there been hush’d, So many a footstep stay’d.
I slumber’d on the lonely spot So sanctified by death; I slumber’d--but my rest was not As theirs, who lay beneath.
For on my dreams, that shadowy hour, They rose--the chainless dead-- All arm’d they sprang, in joy, in power, Up from their grassy bed.
I saw their spears, on that red field, Flash as in time gone by-- Chased to the seas without his shield, I saw the Persian fly.
I woke--the sudden trumpet’s blast Call’d to another fight: From visions of our glorious past, Who doth not wake in might?
TO MISS F. A. L. ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
What Wish can Friendship form for thee, What brighter star invoke to shine?-- Thy path from every thorn is free, And every rose is thine!
Life hath no purer joy in store, Time hath no sorrow to efface; Hope cannot paint one blessing more Than memory can retrace!
Some hearts a boding fear might own, Had Fate to them thy portion given, Since many an eye, by tears alone, Is taught to gaze on heaven!
And there are virtues oft conceal’d, Till roused by anguish from repose; As odorous trees no balm will yield, Till from their wounds it flows.
But fear not thou the lesson fraught With Sorrow’s chastening power to know; Thou need’st not thus be sternly taught “To melt at others’ woe.”
Then still, with heart as blest, as warm, Rejoice thou in thy lot on earth; Ah! why should Virtue dread the storm, If sunbeams prove her worth?
WRITTEN ON THE FIRST LEAF OF THE ALBUM OF THE SAME.
What first should consecrate as thine, The volume, destined to be fraught With many a sweet and playful line, With many a pure and pious thought?
It should be, what a loftier strain Perchance less meetly would impart; What never yet was pour’d in vain,-- The blessing of a grateful heart--
For kindness, which hath soothed the hour Of anxious grief, of weary pain, And oft, with its beguiling power, Taught languid Hope to smile again.
Long shall that fervent blessing rest On thee and thine; and, heavenwards borne, Call down such peace to soothe thy breast, As thou wouldst bear to all that mourn.
TO THE SAME;
ON THE DEATH OF HER MOTHER.
Say not ’tis fruitless, nature’s holy tear, Shed by affection o’er a parent’s bier! More blest than dew on Hermon’s brow that falls, Each drop to life some latent virtue calls, Awakes some purer hope, ordain’d to rise, By earthly sorrow strengthen’d for the skies; Till the sad heart, whose pangs exalt its love, With its lost treasure, seeks a home--above.
But grief will claim her hour,--and He whose eye Looks pitying down on nature’s agony, He, in whose love the righteous calmly sleep, Who bids us hope, forbids us not to weep! He, too, hath wept--and sacred be the woes Once borne by Him, their inmost source who knows, Searches each wound, and bids His Spirit bring Celestial healing on its dove-like wing!
And who but He shall soothe, when one dread stroke Ties, that were fibres of the soul, hath broke? Oh! well may those, yet lingering here, deplore The vanish’d light, that cheers their path no more! Th’ Almighty hand, which many a blessing dealt, Sends its keen arrows not to be unfelt! By fire and storm, heaven tries the Christian’s worth, And joy departs, to wean us from the earth, Where still too long, with beings born to die, Time hath dominion o’er Eternity.
Yet not the less, o’er all the heart hath lost, Shall Faith rejoice, when Nature grieves the most. Then comes her triumph! through the shadowy gloom, Her star in glory rises from the tomb, Mounts to the day-spring, leaves the cloud below, And gilds the tears that cease not yet to flow! Yes, all is o’er! fear, doubt, suspense are fled-- Let brighter thoughts be with the virtuous dead! The final ordeal of the soul is past, And the pale brow is seal’d to heaven at last![286]
And thou, loved spirit! for the skies mature, Steadfast in faith, in meek devotion pure; Thou that didst make the home thy presence bless’d Bright with the sunshine of thy gentle breast, Where peace a holy dwelling-place had found, Whence beam’d her smile benignantly around; Thou, that to bosoms widow’d and bereft Dear, precious records of thy worth hast left, The treasured gem of sorrowing hearts to be, Till heaven recall surviving love to thee!
O cherish’d and revered! fond memory well On thee, with sacred, sad delight, may dwell! So pure, so blest thy life, that Death alone Could make more perfect happiness thine own. He came: thy cup of joy, serenely bright, Full to the last, still flow’d in cloudless light; He came--an angel, bearing from on high The all it wanted--Immortality!
[286] “Till we have sealed the servants of God in their foreheads.”--Revelation.
FROM THE SPANISH OF GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
Divine Eliza!--since the sapphire sky Thou measur’st now on angel wings, and feet Sandall’d with immortality--oh, why Of me forgetful? Wherefore not entreat To hurry on the time, when I shall see The veil of mortal being rent in twain, And smile that I am free?
In the third circle of that happy land, Shall we not seek together, hand in hand, Another lovelier landscape, a new plain, Other romantic streams and mountains blue, And other vales, and a new shady shore, When I may rest, and ever in my view Keep thee, without the terror and surprise Of being sunder’d more!
FROM THE ITALIAN OF SANNAZARO.
Oh! pure and blessèd soul, That, from thy clay’s control Escaped, hast sought and found thy native sphere, And from thy crystal throne Look’st down, with smiles alone, On this vain scene of mortal hope and fear;
Thy happy feet have trod The starry spangled road, Celestial flocks by field and fountain guiding; And from their erring track Thou charm’st thy shepherds back, With the soft music of thy gentle chiding.
Oh! who shall Death withstand-- Death, whose impartial hand Levels the lowest plant and loftiest pine! When shall our ears again Drink in so sweet a strain, Our eyes behold so fair a form as thine!
APPEARANCE OF THE SPIRIT OF THE CAPE TO VASCO DE GAMA.
(TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE LUSIAD OF CAMOENS.)
Propitious winds our daring bark impell’d O’er seas which mortal ne’er till then beheld, When as one eve, devoid of care, we stood Watching the prow glide swiftly through the flood, High o’er our heads arose a cloud so vast, O’er sea and heaven a fearful shade it cast: Awful, immense, it came! so thick, so drear, Its gloomy grandeur chill’d our hearts with fear, And the dark billow heaved with distant roar, Hoarse, as if bursting on some rocky shore.
Thrill’d with amaze, I cried, “Supernal Power! What mean the omens of this threatening hour! What the dread mystery of this ocean-clime, So darkly grand, so fearfully sublime?” Scarce had I spoke, when lo! a mighty form, Tower’d through the gathering shadows of the storm; Of rude proportions and gigantic size, Dark features, rugged beard, and deep-sunk eyes; Fierce was his gesture, and his tresses flew, Sable his lips, and earthly pale his hue. Well may I tell thee that his limbs and height, In vast dimensions and stupendous might, Surpass’d that wonder, once the sculptor’s boast, The proud Colossus of the Rhodian coast. Deep was his voice--in hollow tones he spoke, As if from ocean’s inmost caves they broke; And but that form to view, that voice to hear, Spread o’er our flesh and hair cold deadly thrills of fear.
“O daring band!” he cried, “far, far more bold Than all whose deeds recording fame has told; Adventurous spirits! whom no bounds of fear Can teach one pause in rapine’s fierce career; Since, bursting thus the barriers of the main, Ye dare to violate my lonely reign, Where, till this moment, from the birth of time, No sail e’er broke the solitude sublime: Since thus ye pierce the veil by Nature thrown O’er the dark secrets of the Deep Unknown, Ne’er yet reveal’d to aught of mortal birth, Howe’er supreme in power, unmatch’d in worth-- Hear from my lips what chastisements of fate, Rash, bold intruders! on your course await! What countless perils, woes of darkest hue, Haunt the vast main and shores your arms must yet subdue!
“Know that o’er every bark, whose fearless helm Invades, like yours, this wide mysterious realm, Unmeasured ills my arm in wrath shall pour, And guard with storms my own terrific shore! And on the fleet, which first presumes to brave The dangers throned on this tempestuous wave, Shall vengeance burst, ere yet a warning fear, Have time to prophesy destruction near!
“Yes, desperate band! if right my hopes divine, Revenge, fierce, full, unequall’d, shall be mine! Urge your bold prow, pursue your venturous way-- Pain, Havoc, Ruin, wait their destined prey! And your proud vessels, year by year, shall find (If no false dreams delude my prescient mind) My wrath so dread in many a fatal storm, Death shall be deem’d misfortune’s mildest form.
* * * * *
“Lo! where my victim comes!--of noble birth, Of cultured genius, and exalted worth, With her,[287] his best beloved, in all her charms, Pride of his heart, and treasure of his arms! From foaming waves, from raging winds they fly, Spared for revenge, reserved for agony! Oh! dark the fate that calls them from their home, On this rude shore, my savage reign, to roam, And sternly saves them from a billowy tomb, For woes more exquisite, more dreadful doom! --Yes! he shall see the offspring, loved in vain, Pierced with keen famine, die in lingering pain; Shall see fierce Caffres every garment tear, From her, the soft, the idolised, the fair; Shall see those limbs, of nature’s finest mould, Bare to the sultry sun, or midnight cold, And, in long wanderings o’er a desert land, Those tender feet imprint the scorching sand.
“Yet more, yet deeper woe, shall those behold Who live through toils unequall’d and untold! On the wild shore, beneath the burning sky, The hapless pair, exhausted, sink to die! Bedew the rock with tears of pain intense, Of bitterest anguish, thrilling every sense; Till in one last embrace, with mortal throes, Their struggling spirits mount from anguish to repose!”
As the dark phantom sternly thus portray’d Our future ills, in Horror’s deepest shade,-- “Who then art thou?” I cried. “Dread being, tell Each sense thus bending in amazement’s spell!” --With fearful shriek, far echoing o’er the tide, Writhing his lips and eyes, he thus replied: “Behold the genius of that secret shore Where the wind rages and the billows roar-- That stormy Cape, for ages mine alone, To Pompey, Strabo, Pliny, all unknown! Far to the southern pole my throne extends, That hidden rock, which Afric’s region ends. Behold that spirit, whose avenging might, Whose fiercest wrath your daring deeds excite.”
* * * * *
Thus having said, with strange, terrific cries, The giant-spectre vanish’d from our eyes; In sable clouds dissolved--while far around, Dark ocean’s heaving realms his parting yells resound!
[287] Don Emmanuel de Sonsa, and his wife, Leonora de Sà.
A DIRGE.
Weep for the early lost!-- How many flowers were mingled in the crown Thus, with the lovely, to the grave gone down, E’en when life promised most! How many hopes have wither’d! They that bow To heaven’s dread will, feel all its mysteries now.
Did the young mother’s eye Behold her child, and close upon the day, Ere from its glance th’ awakening spirit’s ray In sunshine could reply? --Then look for clouds to dim the fairest morn! Oh! strong is faith, if woe like this be borne.
For there is hush’d on earth A voice of gladness--there is veil’d a face, Whose parting leaves a dark and silent place By the once-joyous hearth; A smile hath pass’d, which fill’d its home with light, A soul, whose beauty made that smile so bright!
But there is power with faith! Power, e’en though nature o’er the untimely grave Must weep, when God resumes the gem He gave; For sorrow comes of Death, And with a yearning heart we linger on, When they, whose glance unlock’d its founts, are gone!
But glory from the dust, And praise to Him, the merciful, for those On whose bright memory love may still repose With an immortal trust! Praise for the dead, who leave us, when they part, Such hope as she hath left--“the pure in heart!”
1823.
TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.
TO VENUS.
I. , ODE XXX
Oh! leave thine own loved isle, Bright Queen of Cyprus and the Paphian shores! And here in Glycera’s fair temple smile, Where vows and incense lavishly she pours.
Waft here thy glowing son; Bring Hermes; let the Nymphs thy path surround, And youth, unlovely till thy gifts be won, And the light Graces with the zone unbound.
TO HIS ATTENDANT.
I. , ODE XXXVIII
I hate the Persian’s costly pride: The wreaths with bands of linden tied-- These, boy, delight me not; Nor where the lingering roses bide Seek thou for me the spot. For me be naught but myrtle twined-- The modest myrtle, sweet to bind Alike thy brows and mine, While thus I quaff the bowl, reclined Beneath th’ o’erarching vine.
TO DELIUS.
II. , ODE III
Firm be thy soul!--serene in power, When adverse fortune clouds the sky; Undazzled by the triumph’s hour, Since, Delius, thou must die--
Alike, if still to grief resign’d, Or if, through festal days, ’tis thine To quaff, in grassy haunts reclined, The old Falernian wine--
Haunts where the silvery poplar-boughs Love with the pine’s to blend on high, And some clear fountain brightly flows In graceful windings by.
There be the rose with beauty fraught, So soon to fade, so brilliant now; There be the wine, the odours brought, While time and fate allow!
For thou, resigning to thine heir Thy halls, thy bowers, thy treasured store, Must leave that home, those woodlands fair, On yellow Tiber’s shore.
What then avails it, if thou trace From Inachus thy glorious line? Or, sprung from some ignoble race, If not a roof be thine?
Since the dread lot for all must leap Forth from the dark revolving urn, And we must tempt the gloomy deep, Whence exiles ne’er return.
TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA.
III. , ODE XIII
Oh! worthy fragrant gifts of flowers and wine, Bandusian fount, than crystal far more bright! To-morrow shall a sportive kid be thine, Whose forehead swells with horns of infant might: Ev’n now of love and war he dreams in vain, Doom’d with his blood thy gelid wave to stain.
Let the red dog-star burn!--his scorching beam Fierce in resplendence shall molest not thee! Still shelter’d from his rays, thy banks, fair stream! To the wild flock around thee wandering free, And the tired oxen from the furrow’d field, The genial freshness of their breath shall yield.
And thou, bright fount! ennobled and renown’d Shalt by thy poet’s votive song be made; Thou and the oak with deathless verdure crown’d, Whose boughs, a pendant canopy, o’ershade Those hollow rocks, whence, murmuring many a tale, Thy chiming waters pour upon the vale.
TO FAUNUS.
III. , ODE XVIII
Faunus! who lovest the flying nymphs to chase, Oh, let thy steps with genial influence tread My sunny fields, and be thy fostering grace Soft on my nursling groves and borders shed;
If, at the mellow closing of the year, A tender kid in sacrifice be thine, Nor fail the liberal bowls to Venus dear, Nor clouds of incense to thine antique shrine.
Joyous each flock in meadow herbage plays, When the December feast returns to thee; Calmly the ox along the pasture strays, With festal villagers from toil set free.
Then from the wolf no more the lambs retreat, Then shower the woods to thee their foliage round; And the glad labourer triumphs that his feet In triple dance have struck the hated ground.
DE CHATILLON; OR, THE CRUSADERS.
A TRAGEDY.[288]
[“About this time, Mrs Hemans was engaged in the composition of another tragedy, entitled ‘De Chatillon, or, The Crusaders;’ in which, with that deference to fair criticism which she was always ready to avow, and to act upon, she made it her purpose to attempt a more compressed style of writing, avoiding that redundancy of poetic diction which had been censured as the prevailing fault of ‘The Vespers.’ It may possibly be thought that in the composition in question she has fallen into the opposite extreme of want of elaboration; yet, in its present state, it is, perhaps, scarcely amenable to criticism--for, by some strange accident, the fair copy transcribed by herself was either destroyed or mislaid in some of her subsequent removals, and the piece was long considered as utterly lost. Nearly two years after her death, the original rough MS., with all its hieroglyphical blots and erasures, was discovered amongst a mass of forgotten papers; and it has been a task of no small difficulty to decipher it, and complete the copy now first given to the world. Allowances must, therefore, be made for the disadvantages under which it appears,--thus deprived of her own finishing touches, and with no means of ascertaining how far it may differ from the copy so unaccountably missing.”--Memoir, p. 80-1.]
[288] First published in Edition of Collected Works, vol. iv. 1840.
Dramatis Personæ
Rainier de Chatillon, A French Baron. Aymer, His Brother. Melech, A Saracen Emir. Herman, } Knights. Du Mornay,} Gaston, A Vassal of Rainier’s. Urban, A Priest. Sadi.
Moraima, Daughter of Melech.
Knights, Arabs, Citizens, &c.
Act I, Scene I — Before the gates of a city in Palestine.
Urban, Priests, Citizens, at the gates. Others looking from the walls above.
Urb. (to a Citizen on the walls above.) You see their lances glistening? You can tell The way they take?
Cit. Not yet. Their march is slow; They have not reach’d the jutting cliff, where first The mountain path divides.
Urb. And now?
Cit. The wood Shuts o’er their track. Now spears are flashing out-- It is the banner of De Chatillon. (Very slow and mournful military music without.) This way! they come this way!
Urb. All holy saints Grant that they pass us not! Those martial sounds Have a strange tone of sadness! Hark, they swell Proudly, yet full of sorrow.
Rainier de Chatillon enters with knights, soldiers, &c.
Welcome, knights! Ye bring us timely aid! men’s hearts were full Of doubt and terror. Brave De Chatillon! True soldier of the Cross! I welcome thee; I greet thee with all blessing! Where thou art There is deliverance!
Rai. (bending to receive the Priest’s blessing.) Holy man, I come From a lost battle.
Urb. And thou bring’st the heart Whose spirit yields not to defeat.
Rai. I bring My father’s bier.
Urb. His bier! I marvel not To see your brow thus darken’d! And he died, As he had lived, in arms?
Rai. (gloomily.) Not, not in arms-- His war-cry had been silenced. Have ye place Amidst your ancient knightly sepulchres For a warrior with his sword? He bade me bear His dust to slumber here.
Urb. And it shall sleep Beside our noblest, while we yet can call One holy place our own! Heard you, my lord, That the fierce Kaled’s host is on its march Against our city?
Rai. (with sudden exultation.) That were joy to know! That were proud joy!--Who told it?--there’s a weight That must be heaved from off my troubled heart By the strong tide of battle! Kaled!--ay, A gallant name! How heard you?
Urb. Nay, it seem’d As if a breeze first bore the rumour in. I know not how it rose; but now it comes Like fearful truth, and we were sad, thus left Hopeless of aid or counsel--till we saw----
Rai. (hastily.) You have my brother here?
Urb. (with embarrassment.) We have; but he----
Rai. But he--but he!--Aymer de Chatillon! The fiery knight--the very soul o’ the field-- Rushing on danger with the joyous step Of a hunter o’er the hills!--is that a tone Wherewith to speak of him? I heard a tale-- If it be true--nay, tell me!
Urb. He is here: Ask him to tell thee.
Rai. If that tale be true----
(He turns suddenly to his companions.)
--Follow me, give the noble dead his rites, And we will have our day of vengeance yet, Soldiers and friends!
[Exeunt omnes.
Act I, Scene II — A Hall of Oriental architecture, opening upon gardens. A fountain in the centre.
Aymer de Chatillon, Moraima.
Mor. (bending over a couch on which her brother is sleeping.)
He sleeps so calmly now; the soft wind here Brings in such lulling sounds! Nay, think you not This slumber will restore him? See you not His cheek’s faint glow?
Aym. (turning away.) It was my sword which gave The wound he dies from!
Mor. Dies from! say not so! The brother of my childhood and my youth, My heart’s first friend!--Oh! I have been too weak, I have delay’d too long! He could not sue, He bade me urge the prayer he would not speak, And I withheld it! Christian, set us free! You have been gentle with us! ’tis the weight, The bitter feeling, of captivity Which preys upon his life!
Aym. You would go hence?
Mor. For his sake!
Aym. You would leave me! ’Tis too late! You see it not--you know not, that your voice Hath power in its low mournfulness to shake Mine inmost soul?--that you but look on me, With the soft darkness of your earnest eyes, And bid the world fade from me, and call up A thousand passionate dreams, which wrap my life As with a troubled cloud? The very sound Of your light step hath made my heart o’erflow, Even unto aching, with the sudden gush Of its deep tenderness! You know it not? --Moraima!--speak to me!
Mor. (covering herself with her veil.) I can but weep! Is it even so?--this love was born for tears! Aymer! I can but weep! (going to leave him, he detains her.)
Aym. Hear me, yet hear me! I was rear’d in arms; And the proud blast of trumpets, and the shouts Of banner’d armies--these were joy to me, Enough of joy! Till you!--I look’d on you-- We met where swords were flashing, and the light Of burning towers glared wildly on the slain-- And then----
Mor. (hurriedly.) Yes! then you saved me!
Aym. Then I knew, At once, what springs of deeper happiness Lay far within my soul; and they burst forth Troubled and dash’d with fear--yet sweet! I loved! Moraima! leave me not!
Mor. For us to love! Oh! is’t not taking sorrow to our hearts, Binding her there? I know not what I say! How shall I look upon my brother? Hark! Did he not call? (she goes up to the couch.)
Aym. Am I beloved? She wept With a full heart! I am! and such deep joy Is found on earth! If I should lose her now! If aught---- [an attendant enters. (To attendant.) You seek me!--why is this?
Att. My lord, Your brother and his knights----
Aym. Here! are they here? The knights--my brother, saidst thou?
Att. Yes, my lord, And he would speak with you.
Aym. I see--I know-- (To attendant.) Leave me! I know why he is come: ’tis vain, They shall not part us!
(Looking back on Moraima as he goes out.)
What a silent grace Floats round her form! They shall not part us! no!
[Exit--Scene closes.
Act I, Scene III — A square of the city--a church in the background.
Rainier de Chatillon.
Rai. (walking to and fro impatiently.) And now, too! now! My father unavenged, Our holy places threaten’d, every heart Task’d to its strength! A knight of Palestine Now to turn dreamer, to melt down his soul In love-lorn sighs; and for an infidel! --Will he lift up his eyes to look on mine? Will he not----hush!
Aymer enters. (They look on each other for a moment without speaking.)
Rai. (suppressing his emotion.) So brothers meet! You know Wherefore I come?
Aym. It cannot be; ’tis vain. Tell me not of it!
Rai. How! you have not heard?
(Turning from him.)
He hath so shut the world out with his dreams, The tidings have not reach’d him! or perchance Have been forgotten! You have captives here?
Aym. (hurriedly.) Yes, mine! my own--won by the right of arms! You dare not question it.
Rai. A prince, they say, And his fair sister:--is the maid so fair?
Aym. (turning suddenly upon him.) What, you would see her!
Rai. (scornfully.) I!--oh, yes! to quell My soul’s deep yearnings! Let me look on swords. Boy, boy! recall yourself!--I come to you With the last blessing of our father!
Aym. Last! His last!--how mean you? Is he----
Rai. Dead?--yes! dead. He died upon my breast.
Aym. (with the deepest emotion.) And I was here! Dead!--and upon your breast! You closed his eyes-- While I--he spoke of me?
Rai. With such deep love! He ever loved you most! His spirit seem’d To linger for your coming.
Aym. What! he thought That I was on my way! He look’d for me? And I----
Rai. You came not! I had sent to you, And told you he was wounded.
Aym. Yes--but not-- Not mortally!
Rai. ’Twas not that outward wound-- That might have closed; and yet he surely thought That you would come to him! He call’d on you When his thoughts wander’d! Ay, the very night, The very hour he died, some hasty step Enter’d his chamber--and he raised his head, With a faint lightning in his eyes, and ask’d If it were yours! That hope’s brief moment pass’d-- He sank then.
Aym. (throwing himself upon his brother’s neck.) Brother! take me to his grave, That I may kneel there, till my burning tears, With the strong passion of repentant love, Wring forth a voice to pardon me!
Rai. You weep! Tears for the garlands on a maiden’s grave! You know not how he died!
Aym. Not of his wound?
Rai. His wound!--it is the silent spirit’s wound, We cannot reach to heal! One burning thought Prey’d on his heart.
Aym. Not--not--he had not heard-- He bless’d me, Rainier?
Rai. Have you flung away Your birthright? Yes! he bless’d you!--but he died --He whose name stood for Victory’s--he believed The ancient honour from his gray head fall’n, And died--he died of shame!
Aym. What feverish dream----
Rai. (vehemently.) Was it not lost, the warrior’s latest field, The noble city held for Palestine Taken--the Cross laid low? I came too late To turn the tide of that disastrous fight, But not to rescue him. We bore him thence Wounded, upon his shield----
Aym. And I was here!
Rai. He cast one look back on his burning towers, Then threw the red sword of a hundred fields To the earth--and hid his face! I knew, I knew His heart was broken! Such a death for him! --The wasting--the sick loathing of the sun-- Let the foe’s charger trample out my life, Let me not die of shame! But we will have--
Aym. (grasping his hand eagerly.)Yes! vengeance!
Rai. Vengeance! By the dying once, And once before the dead, and yet once more Alone with heaven’s bright stars, I took that vow For both his sons! Think of it, when the night Is dark around you, and in festive halls Keep your soul hush’d, and think of it!
A low Chant of female voices, heard from behind the scenes.
Fall’n is the flower of Islam’s race! Break ye the lance he bore, And loose his war-steed from its place: He is no more--
Single voice. No more! Weep for him mother, sister, bride! He died, with all his fame--
Single voice. He died!
Aym. (_Pointing to a palace, and eagerly speaking to his attendant, who enters._) Came it not thence? Rudolf, what sounds are these?
Att. The Moslem prince, your captive--he is dead: It is the mourners’ wail for him.
Aym. And she-- His sister--heard you--did they say she wept?
[Hurrying away.
Rai. (indignantly.) All the deep stirring tones of honour’s voice In a moment silenced! [Solemn military music.
(A funeral procession, with priests, &c., crosses the background to enter the church.)
Rai. (following Aymer and grasping his arm.) Aymer! there--look there! It is your father’s bier!
Aym. (returning.) He bless’d me, Rainier? You heard him bless me? Yes! you closed his eyes: He look’d for me in vain!
[He goes to the bier, and bends over it, covering his face.
Act II, Scene I — A room in the Citadel.
Rainier, Aymer, Knights, assembled in council.
A Knight. What! with our weary and distracted bands To dare another field! Nay, give them rest.
Rai. (impatiently.) Rest! and that sleepless thought----
Knight. These walls have strength To baffle siege. Let the foe gird us in-- We must wait aid; our soldiers must forget That last disastrous day.
Rai. (coming forward.) If they forget it, in the combat’s press May their spears fail them!
Knight. Yet, bethink thee, chief.
Rai. When I forget it----how! you see not, knights! Whence we must now draw strength. Send down your thoughts Into the very depths of grief and shame, And bring back courage thence! To talk of rest! How do they rest, unburied on their field, Our brethren slain by Gaza? Had we time To give them funeral rites? and ask we now Time to forget their fall? My father died-- I cannot speak of him! What! and forget The infidel’s fierce trampling o’er our dead? Forget his scornful shout? Give battle now, While the thought lives as fire lives!--there lies strength! Hold the dark memory fast! Now, now--this hour! --Aymer, you do not speak!
Aym. (starting.) Have I not said? Battle!--yes, give us battle!--room to pour The troubled spirit forth upon the winds, With the trumpet’s ringing blast! Way for remorse! Free way for vengeance!
All the Knights. Arm! Heaven wills it so!
Rai. Gather your forces to the western gate! Let none forget that day! Our field was lost, Our city’s strength laid low--one mighty heart Broken! Let none forget it!
[Exeunt.
Act II, Scene II — Garden of a Palace.
Moraima.
Mor. Yes! his last look--my brother’s dying look Reproach’d me as it faded from his face. And I deserved it! Had I not given way To the wild guilty pleadings of my heart, I might have won his freedom! Now, ’tis past. He is free now!
Aymer enters, armed as for battle.
Aymer! you look so changed!
Aym. Changed!--it may be. A storm o’ the soul goes by Not like a breeze! There’s such a fearful grasp Fix’d on my heart! Speak to me--lull remorse! Bid me farewell!
Mor. Yes! it must be farewell! No other word but that.
Aym. No other word! The passionate, burning words that I could pour From my heart’s depths! ’Tis madness! What have I To do with love? I see it all--the mist Is gone--the bright mist gone! I see the woe, The ruin, the despair! And yet I love, Love wildly, fatally! But speak to me! Fill all my soul once more with reckless joy! That blessèd voice again!
Mor. Why, why is this? Oh! send me to my father! We must part.
Aym. Part!--yes, I know it all! I could not go Till I had seen you! Give me one farewell, The last--perchance the last!--but one farewell, Whose mournful music I may take with me Through tumult, horror, death!
[A distant sound of trumpets.
Mor. (starting.) You go to battle!
Aym. Hear you not that sound? Yes! I go there, where dark and stormy thoughts Find their free path!
Mor. Aymer! who leads the foe? (Confused.) I meant--I mean--my people! Who is he, My people’s leader?
Aym. Kaled. (Looking at her suspiciously.) How! you seem-- The name disturbs you!
Mor. My last brother’s name!
Aym. Fear not my sword for him!
Mor. (turning away.) If they should meet! I know the vow he made. (To Aymer.) If thou--if thou Shouldst fall!
Aym. Moraima! then your blessèd tears Would flow for me? then you would weep for me?
Mor. I must weep tears of very shame; and yet-- If--if your words have been love’s own true words, Grant me one boon!
[Trumpet sounds again.
Aym. Hark! I must hence. A boon! Ask it, and hold its memory to your heart, As the last token, it may be, of love So deep and sad.
Mor. Pledge me your knightly faith!
Aym. My knightly faith, my life, my honour--all, I pledge thee all to grant it!
Mor. Then, to-day, Go not this day to battle! He is there, My brother Kaled!
Aym. (wildly.) Have I flung my sword Down to dishonour?
[Going to leave her--she detains him.
Mor. Oh! your name hath stirr’d His soul amidst his tents, and he had vow’d, Long ere we met, to cross his sword with yours, Till one or both should fall. There hath been death Since then, amongst us; he will seek revenge. And his revenge--forgive me!--oh! forgive! --I could not bear that thought!
Aym. Now must the glance Of a brave man strike me to the very dust! Ay, this is shame. [Covering his face. (Turning wildly to Moraima.)
You scorn me too? Away!--She does not know What she hath done! [Rushes out.
Act II, Scene III — Before a gateway within the city.
Rainier, Herman, Knights, Men-at-arms, &c.
Her. ’Tis past the hour.
Rai. (looking out anxiously.) Away! ’tis not the hour-- Not yet! When was the battle’s hour delay’d For a Chatillon? We must have come too soon! All are not here.
Her. Yes, all!
Rai. They came too soon! [Going up to the knights. Couci, De Foix, Du Mornay--here, all here! And he the last!--my brother! (To a Soldier.) Where’s your lord? (Turning away.) Why should I ask, when that fair Infidel----
Aymer enters.
The Saracen at our gates--and you the last! Come on, remember all your fame!
Aym. (coming forward in great agitation.) My fame! --Why did you save me from the Paynim’s sword, In my first battle?
Rai. What wild words are these?
Aym. You should have let me perish then--yes, then! Go to your field and leave me!
Knights. (thronging round him.) Leave you!
Rai. Aymer! Was it your voice?
Aym. Now talk to me of fame! Tell me of all my warlike ancestors, And of my father’s death--that bitter death! Never did pilgrim for the fountains thirst As I for this day’s vengeance! To your field! --I may not go!
Rai. (turning from him.) The name his race hath borne Through a thousand battles--lost! (Returning to Aymer.) A Chatillon! Will you live and wed dishonour?
Aym. (covering his face.) Let the grave Take me and cover me! I must go down To its rest without my sword!
Rai. There’s some dark spell upon him! Aymer, brother! Let me not die of shame! He that died so Turn’d sickening from the sun!
Aym. Where should I turn? [Going up abruptly to the knights. Herman--Du Mornay! ye have stood with me I’ the battle’s front--ye know me! ye have seen The fiery joy of danger bear me on As a wind the arrow! Leave me now--’tis past!
Rai. (with bitterness.) He comes from her!--the infidel hath smiled, Doubtless, for this.
Aym. I should have been to-day Where shafts fly thickest, and the crossing swords Cannot flash out for blood!--Hark! you are call’d!
[Wild Turkish music heard without. The background of the scene becomes more and more crowded with armed men.
Lay lance in rest!--wave, noble banners! wave! [Throwing down his sword. Go from me!--leave the fallen!
Her. Nay, but the cause? Tell us the cause!
Rai. (approaching him indignantly.) Your sword--your crested helm And your knight’s mantle--cast them down! your name Is in the dust!--our father’s name! The cause? --Tell it not, tell it not! [Turning to the soldiers and waving his hand. Sound, trumpets! sound! On, lances! for the Cross!
[Military music. As the knights march out, he looks back at Aymer.
I would not now Call back my noble father from the dead, If I could with but a breath!--Sound, trumpets, sound!
[Exeunt knights and soldiers.
Aym. Why should I bear this shame? ’tis not too late! [Rushing after them, he suddenly checks himself. My faith! my knightly faith pledged to my fall!
[Exit.
Act II, Scene IV — Before a Church.
Groups of Citizens passing to and fro. Aymer standing against one of the pillars of the church in the background, and leaning on his sword.
1st Cit. (to 2d.) From the walls, how goes the battle?
2d Cit. Well, all well, Praise to the Saints! I saw De Chatillon Fighting, as if upon his single arm The fate o’ the day were set.
3d Cit. Shame light on those That strike not with him in their place!
1st Cit. You mean His brother? Ay, is’t not a fearful thing That one of such a race--a brave one too-- Should have thus fallen?
2d Cit. They say the captive girl Whom he so loved, hath won him from his faith To the vile Paynim creed.
Aym. (suddenly coming forward.) Who dares say that? Show me who dares say that! [They shrink back--he laughs scornfully. Ha! ha! ye thought To play with a sleeper’s name!--to make your mirth As low-born men sit by a tomb, and jest O’er a dead warrior! Where’s the slanderer? Speak!
A Citizen enters hastily.
Cit. Haste to the walls! De Chatillon hath slain The Paynim chief! [They all go out.
Aym. Why should they shrink? I, I should ask the night To cover me! I that have flung my name Away to scorn! Hush! am I not alone? [Listening eagerly. There’s a voice calling me--a voice i’ the air-- My father’s!--’Twas my father’s! Are the dead, Unseen, yet with us? Fearful!
(Loud shouts without, he rushes forward exultingly.)
’Tis the shout Of victory! We have triumph’d!--We! my place Is midst the fallen!
[Music heard, which approaches, swelling into a triumphant march. Knights enter in procession, with banners, torch-bearers, &c. The gates of the church are thrown open, and the altar, tombs, &c. within, are seen illuminated. Knights pass over, and enter the church. One of them takes a torch, and lifts it to Aymer’s face in passing. He strikes it down with a sword; then, seeing Rainier approach, drops the sword, and covers his face.
Aym. (grasping Rainier by the mantle, as he is about to pass.) Brother! forsake me not!
Rai. (suddenly drawing his sword, and showing it him.) My sword is red With victory and revenge! Look--dyed to the hilt! --We fought--and where were you?
Aym. Forsake me not!
Rai. (pointing with his sword to the tombs within the church.) Those are proud tombs! The dead, the glorious dead, Think you they sleep, and know not of their sons In the mysterious grave? We laid him there! --Before the ashes of your father, speak! Have you abjured your faith?
Aym. (indignantly.) Your name is mine--your blood--and you ask this! Wake him to hear me answer!--Have you? No! --You have not dared to think it.
[Breaks from him, and goes out.
Rai. (entering the church, and bending over one of the tombs.) Not yet lost! Not yet all lost! He shall be thine again! So shalt thou sleep in peace!
Music and Chorus of Voices from the church.
Praise, praise to heaven! Sing of the conquer’d field, the Paynim flying,-- Light up the shrines, and bid the banners wave! Sing of the warrior for the red-cross dying-- Chant a proud requiem o’er his holy grave! Praise, praise to heaven! Praise!--lift the song through night’s resounding sky! Peace to the valiant for the Cross that die! Sleep soft, ye brave!
Act III, Scene I — A platform before the Citadel. Knights entering.
Her. (to one of the Knights.) You would plead for him?
Knight. Nay, remember all His past renown!
Her. I had a friend in youth-- This Aymer’s father had him shamed for less Than his son’s fault--far less! We must accuse him;--he must have his shield Reversed--his name degraded.
Knight. He might yet--
All the Knights. Must his shame cleave to us? We cast him forth-- We will not bear it.
Rainier enters.
Rai. Knights! ye speak of him-- My brother--was’t not so? All silent! Nay, Give your thoughts breath! What said ye?
Her. That his name Must be degraded.
Rai. Silence! ye disturb The dead. Thou hear’st, my father! [Going up indignantly to the Knights. Which of ye Shall first accuse him? He, whose bold step won The breach at Ascalon ere Aymer’s step, Let him speak first! He that plunged deeper through the stormy fight, Thence to redeem the banner of the Cross, On Cairo’s plain, let him speak first! Or he Whose sword burst swifter o’er the Saracen, I’ the rescue of our king, by Jordan’s waves-- I say, let him speak first!
Her. Is he not an apostate?
Rai. No, no, no! If he were that, had my life’s blood that taint, This hand should pour it out! He is not that.
Her. Not yet.
Rai. Not yet, nor ever! Let me die In a lost battle first!
Her. Hath he let go Name--kindred--honour--for an infidel, And will he grasp his faith?
Rai. (after a gloomy pause.) That which bears poison--should it not be crush’d What though the weed look lovely? [Suddenly addressing Du Mornay You have seen My native halls, Du Mornay, far away In Languedoc?
Du Mor. I was your father’s friend-- I knew them well.
Rai. (thoughtfully.) The weight of gloom that hangs-- The very banners seem to droop with it-- O’er some of those old rooms! Were we there now, With a dull wind heaving the pale tapestries, Why, I could tell you---- [Coming closer to Du Mornay. There’s a dark-red spot Grain’d in the floor of one--you know the tale?
Du Mor. I may have heard it by the winter fires, --Now ’tis of things gone by.
Rai. (turning from him displeased.) Such legends give Some minds a deeper tone. (To Herman.) If you had heard That tale i’ the shadowy tower----
Her. Nay, tell it now!
Rai. They say the place is haunted--moaning sounds Come thence at midnight--sounds of woman’s voice.
Her. And you believe----
Rai. I but believe the deed Done there of old. I had an ancestor-- Bertrand, the lion-chief--whose son went forth (A younger son--I am not of his line) To the wars of Palestine. He fought there well-- Ay, all his race were brave; but he return’d, And with a Paynim bride.
Her. The recreant!--say, How bore your ancestor?
Rai. Well may you think It chafed him--but he bore it--for the love Of that fair son, the child of his old age. He pined in heart, yet gave the infidel A place in his own halls.
Her. But did this last?
Rai. How should it last? Again the trumpet blew, And men were summon’d from their homes to guard The city of the Cross. But he seem’d cold-- That youth! He shunn’d his father’s eye, and took No armour from the walls.
Her. Had he then fallen? Was his faith wavering?
Rai. So the father fear’d.
Her. If I had been that father----
Rai. Ay, you come Of an honour’d lineage. What would you have done?
Her. Nay, what did he?
Rai. What did the lion-chief? [Turning to Du Mornay. Why, thou hast seen the very spot of blood On the dark floor! He slew the Paynim bride. Was it not well? (He looks at them attentively, and as he goes out exclaims--) My brother must not fall!
Scene II.--A deserted Turkish burying-ground in the city--tombs and stones overthrown--the whole shaded by dark cypress-trees.
Mor. (leaning over a monumental pillar, which has been lately raised.) He is at rest;--and I!--is there no power In grief to win forgiveness from the dead? When shall I rest? Hark! a step--Aymer’s step! The thrilling sound! [She shrinks back as reproaching herself. To feel that joy even here! Brother! oh, pardon me!
Rai. (entering, and slowly looking round.) A gloomy scene! A place for----Is she not an infidel? Who shall dare call it murder? [He advances to her slowly, and looks at her. She is fair-- The deeper cause! Maid, have you thought of death Midst these old tombs?
Mor. (shrinking from him fearfully.) This is my brother’s grave.
Rai. Thy brother’s! That a warrior’s grave had closed O’er mine--the free and noble knight he was! Ay, that the desert-sands had shrouded him Before he look’d on thee!
Mor. If you are his-- If Aymer’s brother--though your brow be dark, I may not fear you!
Rai. No? why, thou shouldst fear The very dust o’ the mouldering sepulchre, If it had lived, and borne his name on earth! Hear’st thou?--that dust hath stirr’d, and found a voice, And said that thou must die!
Mor. (clinging to the pillar as he approaches.) Be with me, heaven! You will not murder me?
Rai. (turning away.) A goodly word To join with a warrior’s name!--a sound to make Men’s flesh creep. What!--for Paynim blood Did he stand faltering thus--my ancestor-- In that old tower? [He again approaches her--she falls on her knees.
Mor. So young, and thus to die! Mercy--have mercy! In your own far land If there be love that weeps and watches for you, And follows you with prayer--even by that love Spare me--for it is woman’s! If light steps Have bounded there to meet you, clinging arms Hung on your neck, fond tears o’erflow’d your cheek, Think upon those that loved you thus, for thus Doth woman love! and spare me!--think on them; They, too, may yet need mercy! Aymer, Aymer! Wilt thou not hear and aid me?
Rai. (starting.) There’s a name To bring back strength! Shall I not strike to save His honour and his life? Were his life all----
Mor. To save his life and honour!--will my death---- [_She rises and stands before him, covering her face hurriedly._ Do it with one stroke! I may not live for him!
Rai. (with surprise.) A woman meet death thus!
Mor. (uncovering her eyes.) Yet one thing more-- I have sisters and a father. Christian knight! Oh! by your mother’s memory, let them know I died with a name unstain’d.
Rai. (softened and surprised.) And such high thoughts from her!--an infidel! And she named my mother!--Once in early youth From the wild waves I snatch’d a woman’s life; My mother bless’d me for it (slowly dropping his dagger)--even with tears She bless’d me. Stay, are there no other means? (Suddenly recollecting himself.) Follow me, maiden! Fear not now.
Mor. But he-- But Aymer--
Rai. (sternly.) Wouldst thou perish? Name him not!-- Look not as if thou wouldst! Think’st thou dark thoughts Are blown away like dew-drops? or I, like him, A leaf to shake and turn i’ the changing wind? Follow me, and beware! [She bends over the tomb for a moment, and follows him.
Aymer enters, and slowly comes forward from the background.
Aym. For the last time--yes! it must be the last! Earth and heaven say--the last! The very dead Rise up to part us! But one look--and then She must go hence for ever! Will she weep? It had been little to have died for her-- I have borne shame. She shall know all! Moraima! Said they not She would be found here at her brother’s grave? Where should she go? Moraima! There’s the print Of her step--what gleams beside it? (Seeing the dagger, he takes it up.) Ha! men work Dark deeds with things like this! [Looking wildly and anxiously around. I see no----blood! [Looking at the dagger. Stain’d!--it may be from battle; ’tis not--wet. [Looks round, intently listening; then again examines the spot. Ha!--what is this? another step in the grass!-- Hers and another’s step! [He rushes into the cypress-grove.
Act III, Scene III — A hall in the citadel, hung with arms and banners.
Rainier, Herman--Knights in the background, laying aside their armour.
Her. (coming forward and speaking hurriedly.) Is it done? Have you done it?
Rai. (with disgust.) What! you thirst For blood so deeply?
Her. (indignantly.) Have you struck, and saved The honour of your house?
Rai. (thoughtfully to himself.) The light i’ the soul Is such a wavering thing! Have I done well?
(To Herman).
Ask me not! Never shall they meet again. Is ’t not enough?
Aymer enters hurriedly with the dagger, and goes up with it to several of the knights, who begin to gather round the front.
Aym. Whose is this dagger?
Rai. (coming forward and taking it.) Mine.
Aym. Yours! yours!--and know you where--
Rai. (about to sheath it, but stopping.) Oh! you do well So to remind me! Yes! it must have lain In the Moslem burial-ground--and that vile dust-- Hence with it! ’tis defiled. [Throws it from him.
Aym. If such a deed---- Brother! where is she?
Rai. Who?--what knight hath lost A Ladye-love?
Aym. Could he speak thus, and wear That scornful calm, if----No! he is not calm. What have you done?
Rai. (aside.) Yes! she shall die to him!
Aym. (grasping his arm.) What have you done--speak!
Rai. You should know the tale Of our dark ancestor, the Lion-Chief, And his son’s bride.
Aym. Man! man! you murder’d her! [Sinking back. It grows so dark around me! She is dead! (Wildly.) I’ll not believe it! No! she never look’d Like what could die! [Goes up to his brother. If you have done that deed----
Rai. (sternly.) If I have done it, I have flung off shame From my brave father’s house!
Aym. (in a low voice to himself.) So young, and dead!--because I loved her--dead!
(To Rainier).
Where is she, murderer? Let me see her face. You think to hide it with the dust!--ha! ha! The dust to cover her! We’ll mock you still: If I call her back, she’ll come! Where is she?--speak! Now, by my father’s tomb! but I am calm.
Rai. Never more hope to see her!
Aym. Never more! [Sitting down on the ground. I loved her, so she perish’d!--All the earth Hath not another voice to reach my soul, Now hers is silent! Never, never more! If she had but said farewell!--(Bewildered.) It grows so dark! This is some fearful dream. When the morn comes I shall wake. ----My life’s bright hours are done!
Rai. I must be firm.
(Takes a banner from the wall, and brings it to Aymer.)
Have you forgotten this? We thought it lost, But it rose proudly waving o’er the fight In a warrior’s hand again! Yours, Aymer! yours! Brother! redeem your fame!
Aym. (putting it from him.) The worthless thing! Fame! She is dead!--give a king’s robe to one Stretch’d on the rack! Hence with your pageantries Down to the dust!
Her. The banner of the Cross! Shame on the recreant! Cast him from us!
Rai. Boy! Degenerate boy! Here, with the trophies won By the sainted chiefs of old in Paynim war Above you and around; the very air, When it but shakes their armour on the walls, Murmuring of glorious deeds; to sit and weep Here for an Infidel! My father’s son, Shame! shame! deep shame!
Knights. Aymer de Chatillon! Go from us, leave us!
Aym. (starting up.) Leave you! what! ye thought That I would stay to breathe the air you breathe!-- And fight by you! Murderers! I burst all ties! [Throws his sword on the ground before them. There’s not a thing of the desert half so free!
(To Rainier.)
You have no brother! Live to need the love Of a human heart, and steep your soul in fame To still its restless yearnings! Die alone! Midst all your pomps and trophies--die alone! [Going out, he suddenly returns. Did she not call on me to succour her? Kneel to you--plead for life? The Voice of Blood Follow you to your grave! [Exit.
Rai. (with emotion.) Alas! my brother! The time hath been, when in the face of Death I have bid him leave me, and he would not! (Turning to the Knights.) Knights! The Soldan marches for Jerusalem-- We’ll meet him on the way.
Act IV, Scene I — Camp of Melech, the Saracen Emir.
Melech, Sadi, Soldiers.
Mel. Yes! he I mean--Rainier de Chatillon! Go, send swift riders o’er the mountains forth, And through the deserts, to proclaim the price I set upon his life!
Sadi. Thou gav’st the word Before; it hath been done--they are gone forth.
Mel. Would that my soul could wing them! Didst thou heed To say his life? I’ll have my own revenge! Yes! I would save him from another’s hand! Thou said’st he must be brought alive?
Sadi. I heard Thy will, and I obey’d.
Mel. He slew my son-- That was in battle--but to shed her blood! My child Moraima’s! Could he see and strike her? A Christian see her face, too! From my house The crown is gone! Who brought the tale?
Sadi. A slave Of your late son’s, escaped.
Mel. Have I a son Left? speak, the slave of which? Kaled is gone-- And Octar gone--both, both are fallen-- Both my young stately trees, and she my flower-- No hand but mine shall be upon him, none!-- [A sound of festive music without. What mean they there? [An attendant enters.
Att. Tidings of joy, my chief!
Mel. Joy!--is the Christian taken?
Moraima enters, and throws herself into his arms.
Mor. Father! Father! I did not think this world had yet so much Of aught like happiness!
Mel. My own fair child! Is it on thee I look indeed, my child? [Turning to attendants. Away, there!--gaze not on us! Do I hold Thee in my arms! They told me thou wert slain. Rainier de Chatillon, they said----
Mor. (hurriedly.) Oh, no! Twas he that sent thee back thy child, my father.
Mel. He! why, his brother Aymer still refused A monarch’s ransom for thee!
Mor. (with a momentary delight.) Did he thus? [Suddenly checking herself. --Yes! I knew well! Oh! do not speak of him!
Mel. What! hath he wrong’d thee? Thou hast suffer’d much Amongst these Christians! Thou art changed, my child. There’s a dim shadow in thine eye, where once---- But they shall pay me back for all thy tears With their best blood.
Mor. (alarmed.) Father! not so, not so! They still were gentle with me. But I sat And watch’d beside my dying brother’s couch Through many days: and I have wept since then-- Wept much.
Mel. Thy dying brother’s couch!--yes, thou Wert ever true and kind.
Mor. (covering her face.) Oh! praise me not! Look gently on me, or I sink to earth; Not thus!
Mel. No praise! thou’rt faint, my child, and worn: The length of way hath----
Mor. (eagerly.) Yes! the way was long, The desert’s wind breath’d o’er me. Could I rest?
Mel. Yes! thou shalt rest within thy father’s tent. Follow me, gentle child! Thou look’st so changed.
Mor. (hurriedly.) The weary way,--the desert’s burning wind---- [Laying her hand on him as she goes out. Think thou no evil of those Christians, father!-- They were still kind.
Act IV, Scene II — Before a Fortress amongst Rocks, with a Desert beyond.--Military Music.
Rainier de Chatillon--Knights and Soldiers.
Rai. They speak of truce?
The Knights. Even so. Of truce between The Soldan and our King.
Rai. Let him who fears Lest the close helm should wear his locks away, Cry “truce,” and cast it off. I have no will To change mine armour for a masquer’s robe, And sit at festivals. Halt, lances, there! Warriors and brethren! hear. I own no truce-- I hold my life but as a weapon now Against the infidel! He shall not reap His field, nor gather of his vine, nor pray To his false gods--no! save by trembling stealth, Whilst I can grasp a sword! Wherefore, noble friends, Think not of truce with me!--but think to quaff Your wine to the sound of trumpets, and to rest In your girt hauberks, and to hold your steeds Barded in the hall beside you. Now turn back, [He throws a spear on the ground before them. Ye that are weary of your armour’s load: Pass o’er the spear, away!
They all shout. A Chatillon! We’ll follow thee--all! all!
Rai. A soldier’s thanks! [Turns away from them agitated. There’s one face gone, and that a brother’s! (Aloud.) War!-- War to the Paynim--war! March and set up On our stronghold the banner of the Cross, Never to sink! [_Trumpets sound. They march on, winding through the rocks with military music._
Enter Gaston, an aged vassal of Rainier’s, as an armed follower--Rainier addresses him.
You come at last! And she--where left you her? The Paynim maid?
Gas. I found her guides, my lord, Of her own race, and left her on the way To reach her father’s tents.
Rai. Speak low!--the tale Must rest with us. It must be thought she died. I can trust you.
Gas. Your father trusted me.
Rai. He did, he did!--my father! You have been Long absent, and you bring a troubled eye Back with you. Gaston! heard you aught of him?
Gas. Whom means my lord?
Rai. (impatiently.) Old man, you know too well-- Aymer, my brother.
Gas. I have seen him.
Rai. How! Seen him! Speak on.
Gas. Another than my chief Should have my life before the shameful tale!
Rai. Speak quickly.
Gas. In the desert, as I journey’d back, A band of Arabs met me on the way, And I became their captive. Till last night--
Rai. Go on! Last night?
Gas. They slumber’d by their fires-- I could not sleep; when one--I thought him one O’ the tribe at first--came up and loosed my bonds, And led me from the shadow of the tents, Pointing my way in silence.
Rai. Well, and he-- You thought him one o’ the tribe.
Gas. Ay, till we stood In the clear moonlight forth;--and then, my lord----
Rai. You dare not say ’twas Aymer?
Gas. Woe and shame! It was, it was!
Rai. In their vile garb too?
Gas. Yes, Turban’d and robed like them.
Rai. What!--did he speak?
Gas. No word, but waved his hand, Forbidding speech to me.
Rai. Tell me no more!-- Lost, lost--for ever lost! He that was rear’d Under my father’s roof with me, and grew Up by my side to glory!--lost! Is this My work?--who dares to call it mine? And yet, Had I not dealt so sternly with his soul In its deep anguish----What! he wears their garb I’ the face of heaven? You saw the turban on him? You should have struck him to the earth, and so Put out our shame for ever!
Gas. Lift my sword Against your father’s son!
Rai. My father’s son! Ay, and so loved!--that yearning love for him Was the last thing death conquer’d! See’st thou there?
[The banner of the Cross is raised on the fortress.
The very banner he redeem’d for us I’ the fight at Cairo! No! by yon bright sign, He shall not perish! This way--follow me-- I’ll tell thee of a thought. (Suddenly stopping him.) Take heed, old man! Thou hast a fearful secret in thy grasp: Let me not see thee wear mysterious looks. But no! thou lovest our name!--I’ll trust thee, Gaston!
[Exeunt.
Scene III.--An Arab Encampment round a few palm-trees in the Desert--Watch-fires in the background.--Night.
Several Arabs enter with Aymer.
Arab Chief. Thou hast fought bravely, stranger; Now, come on To share the spoil.
Aym. I reck not of it. Go, Leave me to rest.
Arab. Well, thou hast earn’d thy rest With a red sabre. Be it as thou wilt. [They go out.--He throws himself under a palm-tree.
Aym. This were an hour--if they would answer us. --They from whose viewless world no answer comes-- To hear their whispering voices. Would they but Speak once, and say they loved! If I could hear thy thrilling voice once more, It would be well with me. Moraima! speak!
Rainier enters disguised as a dervise.
Moraima, speak! No! the dead cannot love!
Rai. What doth the stranger here!--is there not mirth Around the watch-fires yonder?
Aym. Mirth!--away!-- I’ve naught to do with mirth. Begone!
Rai. They tell Wild tales by that red light; would’st thou not hear Of Eastern marvels?
Aym. Hence! I heed them not.
Rai. Nay, then hear me!
Aym. Thee!
Rai. Yes, I know a tale Wilder than theirs.
Aym. (raising himself in surprise.) Thou know’st!--
Rai. (without minding, continues.) A tale of one Who flung in madness to the reckless deep A gem beyond all price.
Aym. My day is closed. What is aught human unto me?
Rai. Yet mark! His name was of the noblest--dost thou heed?-- Even in a land of princely chivalry; Brightness was on it--but he cast it down.
Aym. I will not hear--speak’st thou of chivalry?
Rai. Yes! I have been upon thy native hills. There’s a gray cliff juts proudly from their woods, Crown’d with baronial towers--rememberest thou? And there’s a chapel by the moaning sea-- Thou know’st it well--tall pines wave over it, Darkening the heavy banners, and the tombs. Is not the cross upon thy fathers’ tombs!-- Christian! what dost thou here?
Aym. (starting up indignantly.) Man! who art thou Thy voice disturbs my soul. Speak! I will know Thy right to question me.
Rai. (_throwing off his disguise, stands before him in the full dress of a Crusader._) My birth-right!--look!
Aym. Brother! (Retreating from him with horror.) --Her blood is on your hands!--keep back!
Rai. (scornfully.) Nay, keep the Paynim’s garb from touching mine. Answer me thence!--what dost thou here?
Aym. You shrink From your own work!--you, that have made me thus! Wherefore are you here? Are you not afraid To stand beneath the awful midnight sky, And you a murderer? Leave me.
Rai. I lift up No murderer’s brow to heaven!
Aym. You dare speak thus!-- Do not the bright stars, with their searching rays, Strike through your guilty soul? Oh, no!--tis well, Passing well! Murder! Make the earth’s harvests grow With Paynim blood!--Heaven wills it! The free air, The sunshine--I forgot--they were not made For infidels. Blot out the race from day! Who talks of murder? Murder! when you die Claim your soul’s place of happiness i’ the name Of that good deed!
(In a tone of deep feeling.)
If you had loved a flower I would not have destroy’d it!
Rai. (with emotion.) Brother!
Aym. (impetuously.) No!-- No brother now. She knelt to you in vain; And that hath set a gulf--a boundless gulf-- Between our souls. Your very face is changed-- There’s a red cloud shadowing it: your forehead wears The marks of blood--her blood!
(In a triumphant tone.)
But you prevail not! You have made the dead The mighty--the victorious! Yes! you thought To dash her image into fragments down, And you have given it power--such deep sad power, I see naught else on earth!
Rai. (aside.) I dare not say she lives.
(To Aymer, holding up the cross of his sword.)
You see not this! Once by our father’s grave I ask’d, and here, I’ the silence of the waste, I ask once more-- Have you abjured your faith?
Aym. Why are you come To torture me? No, no! I have not. No! But you have sent the torrent through my soul, And by their deep strong roots torn fiercely up Things that were part of it--inborn feelings, thoughts-- I know not what I cling to!
Rai. Aymer! yet Heaven hath not closed its gates! Return, return, Before the shadow of the palm-tree fades I’ the waning moonlight. Heaven gives time. Return, My brother! By our early days--the love That nurtured us!--the holy dust of those That sleep i’ the tomb!--sleep! no, they cannot sleep! Doth the night bring no voices from the dead Back on your soul?
Aym. (turning from him.) Yes--hers!
Rai. (indignantly turning off.) Why should I strive? Why doth it cost me these deep throes to fling A weed off? [Checking himself. Brother, hath the stranger come Between our hearts for ever? Yet return-- Win back your fame, my brother!
Aym. Fame again! Leave me the desert!--leave it me! I hate Your false world’s glittering draperies, that press down Th’ o’erlabour’d heart! They have crush’d mine. Your vain And hollow-sounding words are wasted now: You should adjure me by the name of him That slew his son’s young bride!--our ancestor-- That were a spell! Fame! fame!--your hand hath rent The veil from off your world! To speak of fame, When the soul is parch’d like mine! Away! I have join’d these men because they war with man, And all his hollow pomp! Will you go hence? (Fiercely.) Why do I talk thus with a murderer? Ay, This is the desert, where true words may rise Up unto heaven i’ the stillness! Leave it me!-- The free wild desert!
Arab Chief enters.
Arab. Stranger, we have shared The spoil, forgetting not----A Christian here! Ho! sons of Kedar!--’tis De Chatillon! This way!--surround him! There’s an Emir’s wealth Set on his life! Come on!
[Several Arabs rush in and surround Rainier, who, after vainly endeavouring to force his way through them, is made prisoner.
Rai. And he stands there To see me bought and sold! Death, death!--not chains!
[Aymer, who has stood for a moment as if bewildered, rushes forward, and strikes down one of the Arabs.
Aym. Off from my brother, infidel! [The others hurry Rainier away. (Recollecting himself.) Why, then, heaven Is just! So! now I see it! Blood for blood! [Again rushing forward. No! he shall feel remorse! I’ll rescue him, And make him weep for her! [Exit.
Act V, Scene I — A Hall in the Fortress occupied by De Chatillon’s followers
Knights listening to a Troubadour.
Her. No more soft strains of love. Good Vidal, sing The imprison’d warrior’s lay. There’s a proud tone Of lofty sadness in it.
Troubadour sings.
’Twas a trumpet’s pealing sound! And the knight look’d down from the Paynim’s tower, And a Christian host in its pride and power Through the pass beneath him wound. “Cease awhile, clarion! clarion, wild and shrill. Cease! let them hear the captive’s voice--be still!
“I knew ’twas a trumpet’s note! And I see my brethren’s lances gleam, And their pennons wave by the mountain-stream, And their plumes to the glad wind float. “Cease awhile, clarion! &c.
“I am here with my heavy chain! And I look on a torrent sweeping by, And an eagle rushing to the sky, And a host to its battle-plain! Cease awhile, clarion! &c.
“Must I pine in my fetters here? With the wild wave’s foam, and the free bird’s flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight, And the trumpet in mine ear? Cease awhile, clarion!” &c.[289]
Aymer enters hurriedly.
Aym. Silence, thou minstrel! silence!
Her. Aymer, here! And in that garb! Seize on the renegade! Knights he must die!
Aym. (scornfully.) Die! die!--the fearful threat! To be thrust out of this same blessed world, Your world--all yours! (Fiercely.) But I will not be made A thing to circle with your pomps of death, Your chains, and guards, and scaffolds! Back! I’ll die As the free lion dies! [Drawing his sabre.
Her. What seek’st thou here?
Aym. Naught but to give your Christian swords a deed Worthier than----Where’s your chief? in the Paynim’s bonds! Made the wild Arabs’ prize! Ay, heaven is just! If ye will rescue him, then follow me: I know the way they bore him!
Her. Follow thee! Recreant! deserter of thy house and faith! To think true knights would follow thee again! ’Tis all some snare--away!
Aym. Some snare! Heaven! heaven! Is my name sunk to this? Must men first crush My soul, then spurn the ruin they have made? --Why, let him perish!--blood for blood!--must earth Cry out in vain? Wine, wine! we’ll revel here! On, minstrel, with thy song!
Troubadour continues the song.
“They are gone--they have all pass’d by! They in whose wars I had borne my part, They that I loved with a brother’s heart, They have left me here to die! Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast! Sound, for the captive’s dream of hope is past!”
Aym. (starting up.) That was the lay he loved in our boyish days-- And he must die forsaken! No, by heaven! He shall not! Follow me! I say your chief Is bought and sold! Is there no generous trust Left in your souls? De Foix, I saved your life At Ascalon! Du Mornay, you and I On Jaffa’s wall together set our breasts Against a thousand spears! What! have I fought Beside you, shared your cup, slept in your tents, And ye can think---- [Dashing off his turban. Look on my burning brow! Read if there’s falsehood branded on it--read The marks of treachery there!
Knights, (gathering round him.) No, no! come on! To the rescue! lead us on! we’ll trust thee still!
Aym. Follow, then!--this way. If I die for him, There will be vengeance! He shall think of me To his last hour! [Exeunt.
[289] “She preferred in music whatever was national and melancholy; and her strains adapted for singing were, of course, framed to the tones most congenial to the temperament of her own mind. How successfully wed to the magic of sweet sound many of her verses have been by her sister, no lover of music need to be reminded. The ‘Roman Girl’s Song’ is full of a solemn classic beauty; and, in one of her letters, it is said that of ‘The Captive Knight’ Sir Walter Scott never was weary. Indeed, it seems in his mind to have been the song of Chivalry, representative of the English; as the Flowers of the Forest was of the Scottish; the Cancionella Española of the Spanish; and the Rhine Song of the Germans.”--Biographical Sketch by Delta, 1836.
Of all Mrs Hemans’s lyrics set to music, ‘The Captive Knight’ has been the most popular, and deservedly so. It has indeed stirred many a heart “like the sound of a trumpet.”--Chorley’s Memorials.