Part 4

NOW to Aurora borne by dappled steeds, The sacred gate of orient pearl and gold, Smitten with Lucifer’s light silver wand, Expanded slow to strains of harmony: The waves beneath in purpling rows, like doves Glancing with wanton coyness tow’rd their queen, Heaved softly; thus the damsel’s bosom heaves When from her sleeping lover’s downy cheek, To which so warily her own she brings Each moment nearer, she perceives the warmth Of coming kisses fanned by playful dreams. Ocean and earth and heaven was jubilee. For ’twas the morning pointed out by Fate When an immortal maid and mortal man Should share each other’s nature knit in bliss. The brave Iberians far the beach o’erspread Ere dawn with distant awe; none hear the mew, None mark the curlew flapping o’er the field; Silence held all, and fond expectancy. Now suddenly the conch above the sea Sounds, and goes sounding through the woods profound. They, where they hear the echo, turn their eyes, But nothing see they, save a purple mist Roll from the distant mountain down the shore: It rolls, it sails, it settles, it dissolves— Now shines the nymph to human eye revealed, And leads her Tamar timorous o’er the waves. Immortals crowding round congratulate The shepherd; he shrinks back, of breath bereft: His vesture clinging closely round his limbs Unfelt, while they the whole fair form admire, He fears that he has lost it, then he fears The wave has moved it, most to look he fears. Scarce the sweet-flowing music he imbibes, Or sees the peopled ocean; scarce he sees Spio with sparkling eyes, and Beroe Demure, and young Ione, less renowned, Not less divine, mild-natured; Beauty formed Her face, her heart Fidelity; for gods Designed, a mortal too Ione loved. These were the nymphs elected for the hour Of Hesperus and Hymen; these had strewn The bridal bed, these tuned afresh the shells, Wiping the green that hoarsened them within: These wove the chaplets, and at night resolved To drive the dolphins from the wreathéd door. Gebir surveyed the concourse from the tents, The Egyptian men around him; ’twas observed By those below how wistfully he looked, From what attention with what earnestness Now to his city, now to theirs, he waved His hand, and held it, while they spake, outspread. They tarried with him, and they shared the feast. They stooped with trembling hand from heavy jars The wines of Gades gurgling in the bowl; Nor bent they homeward till the moon appeared To hang midway betwixt the earth and skies. ’Twas then that leaning o’er the boy beloved, In Ocean’s grot where Ocean was unheard, “Tamar!” the nymph said gently, “come awake! Enough to love, enough to sleep, is given, Haste we away.” This Tamar deemed deceit, Spoken so fondly, and he kissed her lips, Nor blushed he then, for he was then unseen. But she arising bade the youth arise. “What cause to fly?” said Tamar; she replied, “Ask none for flight, and feign none for delay.” “Oh, am I then deceived! or am I cast From dreams of pleasure to eternal sleep, And, when I cease to shudder, cease to be!” She held the downcast bridegroom to her breast, Looked in his face and charmed away his fears. She said not “Wherefore leave I then embraced You a poor shepherd, or at most a man, Myself a nymph, that now I should deceive?” She said not—Tamar did, and was ashamed. Him overcome her serious voice bespake. “Grief favours all who bear the gift of tears! Mild at first sight he meets his votaries And casts no shadow as he comes along: But after his embrace the marble chills The pausing foot, the closing door sounds loud, The fiend in triumph strikes the roof, then falls The eye uplifted from his lurid shade. Tamar, depress thyself, and miseries Darken and widen: yes, proud-hearted man! The sea-bird rises as the billows rise; Nor otherwise when mountain floods descend Smiles the unsullied lotus glossy-haired. Thou, claiming all things, leanest on thy claim Till overwhelmed through incompliancy. Tamar, some silent tempest gathers round!” “Round whom?” retorted Tamar; “thou describe The danger, I will dare it.” “Who will dare What is unseen?” “The man that is unblessed.” “But wherefore thou? It threatens not thyself, Nor me, but Gebir and the Gadite host.” “The more I know, the more a wretch am I.” Groaned deep the troubled youth, “still thou proceed.” “Oh, seek not destined evils to divine, Found out at last too soon! cease here the search, ’Tis vain, ’tis impious, ’tis no gift of mine: I will impart far better, will impart What makes, when winter comes, the sun to rest So soon on ocean’s bed his paler brow, And night to tarry so at spring’s return. And I will tell sometimes the fate of men Who loosed from drooping neck the restless arm Adventurous, ere long nights had satisfied The sweet and honest avarice of love; How whirlpools have absorbed them, storms o’er-whelmed, And how amid their struggles and their prayers The big wave blackened o’er the mouths supine: Then, when my Tamar trembles at the tale, Kissing his lips half open with surprise, Glance from the gloomy story, and with glee Light on the fairer fables of the gods. Thus we may sport at leisure where we go Where, loved by Neptune and the Naiad, loved By pensive Dryad pale, and Oread The spritely nymph whom constant Zephyr wooes, Rhine rolls his beryl-coloured wave; than Rhine What river from the mountains ever came More stately! most the simple crown adorns Of rushes and of willows interwined With here and there a flower: his lofty brow Shaded with vines and mistletoe and oak He rears, and mystic bards his fame resound. Or gliding opposite, th’ Illyrian gulf Will harbour us from ill.” While thus she spake, She touched his eyelashes with libant lip, And breathed ambrosial odours, o’er his cheek Celestial warmth suffusing: grief dispersed, And strength and pleasure beamed upon his brow. Then pointed she before him: first arose To his astonished and delighted view The sacred isle that shrines the queen of love. It stood so near him, so acute each sense, That not the symphony of lutes alone, Or coo serene or billing strife of doves, But murmurs, whispers, nay the very sighs Which he himself had uttered once, he heard. Next, but long after and far off, appear The cloud-like cliffs and thousand towers of Crete, And further to the right, the Cyclades: Phoebus had raised and fixed them, to surround His native Delos and aërial fane. He saw the land of Pelops, host of gods, Saw the steep ridge where Corinth after stood Beckoning the serious with the smiling arts Into the sunbright bay; unborn the maid That to assure the bent-up hand unskilled Looked oft, but oftener fearing who might wake. He heard the voice of rivers; he descried Pindan Peneus and the slender nymphs That tread his banks but fear the thundering tide; These, and Amphrysos and Apidanus And poplar-crowned Spercheus, and reclined On restless rocks Enipeus, whore the winds Scattered above the weeds his hoary hair. Then, with Pirene and with Panope, Evenus, troubled from paternal tears, And last was Achelous, king of isles. Zacynthus here, above rose Ithaca, Like a blue bubble floating in the bay. Far onward to the left a glimmering light Glanced out oblique, nor vanished; he inquired Whence that arose, his consort thus replied— “Behold the vast Eridanus! ere long We may again behold him and rejoice. Of noble rivers none with mightier force Rolls his unwearied torrent to the main.” And now Sicanian Etna rose to view: Darkness with light more horrid she confounds, Baffles the breath and dims the sight of day. Tamar grew giddy with astonishment And, looking up, held fast the bridal vest; He heard the roar above him, heard the roar Beneath, and felt it too, as he beheld, Hurl, from earth’s base, rocks, mountains, to the skies. Meanwhile the nymph had fixed her eyes beyond, As seeing somewhat, not intent on aught. He, more amazed than ever, then exclaimed, “Is there another flaming isle? or this Illusion, thus passed over unobserved?” “Look yonder,” cried the nymph, without reply, “Look yonder!” Tamar looked, and saw afar Where the waves whitened on the desert shore. When from amid grey ocean first he caught The heights of Calpé, saddened he exclaimed, “Rock of Iberia! fixed by Jove and hung With all his thunder-hearing clouds, I hail Thy ridges rough and cheerless! what though Spring Nor kiss thy brow nor cool it with a flower, Yet will I hail thee, hail thy flinty couch, Where Valour and where Virtue have reposed.” The nymph said, sweetly smiling, “Fickle man Would not be happy could he not regret! And I confess how, looking back, a thought Has touched and tuned or rather thrilled my heart, Too soft for sorrow and too strong for joy: Fond foolish maid, ’twas with mine own accord It soothed me, shook me, melted, drowned, in tears. But weep not thou; what cause hast thou to weep? Wouldst thou thy country? wouldst those caves abhorred, Dungeons and portals that exclude the day? Gebir, though generous, just, humane, inhaled Rank venom from these mansions. Rest, O king In Egypt thou! nor, Tamar! pant for sway. With horrid chorus, Pain, Diseases, Death, Stamp on the slippery pavement of the proud, And ring their sounding emptiness through earth. Possess the ocean, me, thyself, and peace.” And now the chariot of the Sun descends, The waves rush hurried from his foaming steeds, Smoke issues from their nostrils at the gate, Which when they enter, with huge golden bar Atlas and Calpe close across the sea.

SEVENTH BOOK.

WHAT mortal first by adverse fate assailed, Trampled by tyranny or scoffed by scorn, Stung by remorse or wrung by poverty, Bade with fond sigh his native laud farewell? Wretched! but tenfold wretched who resolved Against the waves to plunge th’ expatriate keel Deep with the richest harvest of his land! Driven with that weak blast which Winter leaves Closing his palace gates on Caucasus, Oft hath a berry risen forth a shade; From the same parent plant another lies Deaf to the daily call of weary hind; Zephyrs pass by and laugh at his distress. By every lake’s and every river’s side The nymphs and Naiads teach Equality; In voices gently querulous they ask, “Who would with aching head and toiling arms Bear the full pitcher to the stream far off? Who would, of power intent on high emprise, Deem less the praise to fill the vacant gulf Then raise Charybdis upon Etna’s brow?” Amid her darkest caverns most retired, Nature calls forth her filial elements To close around and cruel that monster _Void_: Fire, springing fierce from his resplendent throne, And Water, dashing the devoted wretch Woundless and whole with iron-coloured mace, Or whirling headlong in his war-belt’s fold. Mark well the lesson, man! and spare thy kind. Go, from their midnight darkness wake the woods, Woo the lone forest in her last retreat: Many still bend their beauteous heads unblest And sigh aloud for elemental man. Through palaces and porches evil eyes Light upon e’en the wretched, who have fled The house of bondage or the house of birth; Suspicions, murmurs, treacheries, taunts, retorts, Attend the brighter banners that invade; And the first horn of hunter, pale with want, Sounds to the chase, the second to the war. The long awaited day at last arrived, When, linked together by the seven-armed Nile, Egypt with proud Iberia should unite. Here the Tartesian, there the Gadite tents Rang with impatient pleasure: here engaged Woody Nebrissa’s quiver-bearing crew, Contending warm with amicable skill; While they of Durius raced along the beach And scattered mud and jeers on all behind. The strength of Bætis too removed the helm And stripped the corslet off, and staunched the foot Against the mossy maple, while they tore Their quivering lances from the hissing wound. Others push forth the prows of their compeers, And the wave, parted by the pouncing beak, Swells up the sides, and closes far astern: The silent oars now dip their level wings, And weary with strong stroke the whitening wave. Others, afraid of tardiness, return: Now, entering the still harbour, every surge Runs with a louder murmur up their keel, And the slack cordage rattles round the mast. Sleepless with pleasure and expiring fears Had Gebir risen ere the break of dawn, And o’er the plains appointed for the feast Hurried with ardent step: the swains admired What so transversely could have swept the dew; For never long one path had Gebir trod, Nor long, unheeding man, one pace preserved. Not thus Charoba: she despaired the day: The day was present; true; yet she despaired. In the too tender and once tortured heart Doubts gather strength from habit, like disease; Fears, like the needle verging to the pole, Tremble and tremble into certainty. How often, when her maids with merry voice Called her, and told the sleepless queen ’twas morn, How often would she feign some fresh delay, And tell them (though they saw) that she arose. Next to her chamber, closed by cedar doors A bath of purest marble, purest wave, On its fair surface bore its pavement high: Arabian gold enchased the crystal roof, With fluttering boys adorned and girls unrobed: These, when you touch the quiet water, start From their aërial sunny arch, and pant Entangled mid each other’s flowery wreaths, And each pursuing is in turn pursued. Here came at last, as ever wont at morn, Charoba: long she lingered at the brink, Often she sighed, and, naked as she was, Sat down, and leaning on the couch’s edge, On the soft inward pillow of her arm Rested her burning cheek: she moved her eyes; She blushed; and blushing plunged into the wave. Now brazen chariots thunder through each street, And neighing steeds paw proudly from delay. While o’er the palace breathes the dulcimer, Lute, and aspiring harp, and lisping reed; Loud rush the trumpets bursting through the throng And urge the high-shouldered vulgar; now are heard Curses and quarrels and constricted blows, Threats and defiance and suburban war. Hark! the reiterated clangour sounds! Now murmurs, like the sea or like the storm, Or like the flames on forests, move and mount From rank to rank, and loud and louder roll, Till all the people is one vast applause. Yes, ’tis herself, Charoba—now the strife To see again a form so often seen! Feel they some partial pang, some secret void, Some doubt of feasting those fond eyes again? Panting imbibe they that refreshing sight To reproduce in hour of bitterness? She goes, the king awaits her from the camp: Him she descried, and trembled ere he reached Her car, but shuddered paler at his voice. So the pale silver at the festive board Grows paler filled afresh and dewed with wine; So seems the tenderest herbage of the spring To whiten, bending from a balmy gale. The beauteous queen alighting he received, And sighed to loose her from his arms; she hung A little longer on them through her fears: Her maidens followed her, and one that watched, One that had called her in the morn, observed How virgin passion with unfueled flame Burns into whiteness, while the blushing cheek Imagination heats and Shame imbues. Between both nations drawn in ranks they pass: The priests, with linen ephods, linen robes, Attend their steps, some follow, some precede, Where clothed with purple intertwined with gold Two lofty thrones commanded land and main. Behind and near them numerous were the tents As freckled clouds o’erfloat our vernal skies, Numerous as wander in warm moonlight nights, Along Meander’s or Cayster’s marsh, Swans pliant-necked and village storks revered. Throughout each nation moved the hum confused, Like that from myriad wings o’er Scythian cups Of frothy milk, concreted soon with blood. Throughout the fields the savoury smoke ascends, And boughs and branches shade the hides unbroached. Some roll the flowery turf into a seat, And others press the helmet—now resounds The signal—queen and monarch mount the thrones. The brazen clarion hoarsens: many leagues Above them, many to the south, the heron Rising with hurried croak and throat outstretched, Ploughs up the silvering surface of her plain. Tottering with age’s zeal and mischief’s haste Now was discovered Dalica; she reached The throne, she leant against the pedestal, And now ascending stood before the king. Prayers for his health and safety she preferred, And o’er his head and o’er his feet she threw Myrrh, nard, and cassia, from three golden urns; His robe of native woof she next removed, And round his shoulders drew the garb accursed, And bowed her head and parted: soon the queen Saw the blood mantle in his manly cheeks, And feared, and faltering sought her lost replies, And blessed the silence that she wished were broke. Alas! unconscious maiden! night shall close, And love and sovereignty and life dissolve, And Egypt be one desert drenched in blood. When thunder overhangs the fountain’s head, Losing its wonted freshness every stream Grows turbid, grows with sickly warmth suffused: Thus were the brave Iberians when they saw The king of nations from his throne descend. Scarcely, with pace uneven, knees unnerved, Reached he the waters: in his troubled ear They sounded murmuring drearily; they rose Wild, in strange colours, to his parching eyes; They seemed to rush around him, seemed to lift From the receding earth his helpless feet. He fell—Charoba shrieked aloud—she ran— Frantic with fears and fondness, mazed with woe, Nothing but Gebir dying she beheld. The turban that betrayed its golden charge Within, the veil that down her shoulders hung, All fallen at her feet! the furthest wave Creeping with silent progress up the sand, Glided through all, and raised their hollow folds. In vain they bore him to the sea, in vain Rubbed they his temples with the briny warmth: He struggled from them, strong with agony, He rose half up, he fell again, he cried “Charoba! O Charoba!” She embraced His neck, and raising on her knee one arm, Sighed when it moved not, when it fell she shrieked, And clasping loud both hands above her head, She called on Gebir, called on earth, on heaven. “Who will believe me? what shall I protest? How innocent, thus wretched! God of gods, Strike me—who most offend thee most defy— Charoba most offends thee—strike me, hurl From this accursed land, this faithless throne. O Dalica! see here the royal feast! See here the gorgeous robe! you little thought How have the demons dyed that robe with death. Where are ye, dear fond parents! when ye heard My feet in childhood pat the palace-floor, Ye started forth and kissed away surprise: Will ye now meet me! how, and where, and when? And must I fill your bosom with my tears, And, what I never have done, with your own! Why have the gods thus punished me? what harm Have ever I done them? have I profaned Their temples, asked too little, or too much? Proud if they granted, grieved if they withheld? O mother! stand between your child and them! Appease them, soothe them, soften their revenge, Melt them to pity with maternal tears— Alas, but if you cannot! they themselves Will then want pity rather than your child. O Gebir! best of monarchs, best of men, What realm hath ever thy firm even hand Or lost by feebleness or held by force! Behold thy cares and perils how repaid! Behold the festive day, the nuptial hour!” Thus raved Charoba: horror, grief, amaze, Pervaded all the host; all eyes were fixed; All stricken motionless and mute: the feast Was like the feast of Cepheus, when the sword Of Phineus, white with wonder, shook restrained, And the hilt rattled in his marble hand. She heard not, saw not, every sense was gone; One passion banished all; dominion, praise, The world itself was nothing. Senseless man! What would thy fancy figure now from worlds? There is no world to those that grieve and love. She hung upon his bosom, pressed his lips, Breathed, and would feign it his that she resorbed; She chafed the feathery softness of his veins, That swelled out black, like tendrils round their vase After libation: lo! he moves! he groans! He seems to struggle from the grasp of death. Charoba shrieked and fell away, her hand Still clasping his, a sudden blush o’erspread Her pallid humid cheek, and disappeared. ’Twas not the blush of shame—what shame has woe?— ’Twas not the genuine ray of hope, it flashed With shuddering glimmer through unscattered clouds, It flashed from passions rapidly opposed. Never so eager, when the world was waves, Stood the less daughter of the ark, and tried (Innocent this temptation!) to recall With folded vest and casting arm the dove; Never so fearful, when amid the vines Rattled the hail, and when the light of heaven Closed, since the wreck of Nature, first eclipsed, As she was eager for his life’s return, As she was fearful how his groans might end. They ended: cold and languid calm succeeds; His eyes have lost their lustre, but his voice Is not unheard, though short: he spake these words: “And weepest thou, Charoba! shedding tears More precious than the jewels that surround The neck of kings entombed! then weep, fair queen, At once thy pity and my pangs assuage. Ah! what is grandeur, glory—they are past! When nothing else, not life itself, remains, Still the fond mourner may be called our own. Should I complain of Fortune? how she errs, Scattering her bounty upon barren ground, Slow to allay the lingering thirst of toil? Fortune, ’tis true, may err, may hesitate, Death follows close nor hesitates nor errs. I feel the stroke! I die!” He would extend His dying arm; it fell upon his breast: Cold sweat and shivering ran o’er every limb, His eyes grew stiff, he struggled and expired.

COUNT JULIAN.

CHARACTERS.

COUNT JULIAN.

RODERIGO, _King of Spain_.

OPAS, _Metropolitan of Seville_.

SISABERT, _betrothed to_ COVILLA.

MUZA, _Prince of Mauritania_.

ABDALAZIS, _Son of_ MUZA.

TARIK, _Moorish Chieftain_.

COVILLA, _Daughter of_ JULIAN.

EGILONA, _Wife of_ RODERIGO.

HERNANDO, OSMA, RAMIRO, &c. } _Officers_.

FIRST ACT: FIRST SCENE.

_Camp of_ JULIAN.

OPAS. JULIAN.

_Opas_. See her, Count Julian: if thou lovest God, See thy lost child.

_Jul._ I have avenged me, Opas, More than enough: I only sought to hurl The brands of war on one detested head, And die upon his ruin. O my country! O lost to honour, to thyself, to me, Why on barbarian hands devolves thy cause, Spoilers, blasphemers!

_Opas_. Is it thus, Don Julian, When thy own offspring, that beloved child, For whom alone these very acts were done By them and thee, when thy Covilla stands An outcast and a suppliant at thy gate, Why that still stubborn agony of soul, Those struggles with the bars thyself imposed? Is she not thine? not dear to thee as ever?

_Jul._ Father of mercies! shew me none, whene’er The wrongs she suffers cease to wring my heart, Or I seek solace ever, but in death.

_Opas_. What wilt thou do then, too unhappy man?

_Jul._ What have I done already? All my peace Has vanished; my fair fame in after-times Will wear an alien and uncomely form, Seen o’er the cities I have laid in dust, Countrymen slaughtered, friends abjured!

_Opas_. And faith?

_Jul._ Alone now left me, filling up in part The narrow and waste intervals of grief: It promises that I shall see again My own lost child.

_Opas_. Yes, at this very hour.