University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

GONDIBERT and ULFINORE.
Gondibert.
Blest be the Hour which brought me to this Seat
Of Piety and Peace: may Ev'ning crown it
With all the softest Purple of the Sky:
The Hour when Astragon receiv'd me first
With hospitable Arms, and heal'd my Wounds.
'Twas then I learn'd the Vanity of Fame:
Then Virtue open'd all her Charms upon me,
Her modest Charms, superior to the Blaze
Of courtly Pomp, and brighter than a Crown.

Ulfinore.
Yes;—then his Daughter taught your Soul to languish,
The Flame of Glory sicken'd into Love.
When Virtue courts us in so fair a Form,
No wonder Pomp and Kingdoms fade before Her.

Gondibert.
Yes, I must own, my Friend, my gentle Ulfinore,
Thou dear Companion of my Youth, I own
That Birtha triumphs in my yielded Heart;
My Heart, my Life, my Soul, my All are Birtha's:
And can I blame my Passion? can you blame it?
For, oh, her Truth is matchless as her Beauty!
Such winning Innocence, such spotless Graces,
So Young, so full of Tenderness and Love!
By Heaven, my Ulfinore, She's more than Woman!

Ulfinore.
She shou'd be more: for royal Rhodolinda
Cou'd never steal your Breast into a Sigh.
This Heiress to the Crown of Lombardy,
This Rhodolinda, tho' she doats upon you,
And pines her Life away, must weep in Vain,
Neglected for the Daughter of poor Astragon.

Gondibert.
Is She not rich in all her Father's Virtues?
Then what are Crowns to Virtue, Love and Birtha?
Is She not fairer than the Morning Light?
Is She not softer than the Ev'ning Dews
That kiss, then melt away upon the Flow'rs?
Chaster than Lillies clad in Summer-Fragrance?
And sweeter than the rosy Mouth of Spring?
But You have seen Her often:—then She loves me,
She loves me with such dear Excess of Fondness—
I pity Monarchs while I sigh before Her.

Ulfinore.
I find She hangs so close around his Heart,
No Hopes, alass, no hopes are left for me.
[Aside.
'Tis strange that Birtha, by her Father tutour'd,
Ev'n with a stoical Severity,
That She, unknown to Galantry and Courts,
So soon shou'd learn to Love, should melt so soon.

Gondibert.
To love is Nature; Love's the Law of Kindness;
Springs from a Look, a Sigh, perhaps, a Tear;
Bathes in the Blushes of a Virgin-Cheek,
Or flutters round a Bosom's heaving Hills.
But, oh, when Harmony of Souls is blended
Into this softest, best of Passions, Love;
When Honour beams on Honour, 'tis a Flame
Which Art can never raise; a Holy Union,
A golden Chain of Hearts let down from Heav'n.
'Tis silent as the Whisper of a Genius,
Which breaths Delight into a good Man's Soul,
First tunes his Mind, and sweetens every Passion,
Then opens Heav'n upon his dazzled Senses,
That pant for sacred Bliss and burn with Rapture!

Ulfinore.
But strove She not to hide her Passion from you?
Did She not blush whene're you sigh'd your Vows,
And dy'd upon her Hand? For tender Virgins,
Tho' their soft Bosoms swell with warmest Wishes,
Pretend a Coldness foreign to their Hearts.
Oh? How I long to hear what must undoe me!

[Aside.
Gondibert.
I'll tell Thee all the Progress of our Love,
For I believe Thee faithful in thy Friendship,
And my whole Breast is thine, my secret Soul.
When first my Wounds confin'd me to my Chamber,
She waited on me with assiduous Care,
Compassionately sweet! She seem'd a Guardian,
Sent from the Skies in Pity to relieve me.
Her charmful Presence soften'd pain away.
Whene're her tender Fingers dress'd my Wounds,
A pleasing Anguish tingel'd through my Veins,
And Sighs unbidden, soft, and thick, stole from me,
Whene're I sigh'd, She thought they rose from Pain,
And wept a Show'r of simpathizing Sorrow.
But when, like dewy Morn, She shone in Tears,
In beauteous Tears—O Ulfinore!—O Heav'n!—
Love dip'd his Arrows in the falling Crystal:
The busy Graces gather'd, e're they fell,
The liquid Pearls, which trembled down her Cheek,
To sparkle on the Arm and Neck of Venus.

Ulfinore.
Contain yourself, dear Sir: But did she weep?

Gondibert.
She wept: I saw the silver-streaming Show'r,
Which fell like Drops of Fire upon my Heart.
But when I talk'd of Love, and of her Conquest,
Quick Waves of Scarlet floated through her Cheeks,
And dy'd Them in the Morning's deepest Red,
Just as if Modesty herself had chose
A Throne of Coral there, and Crown of Roses.
An artless Fondness languish'd o'er her Features;
And, lifted up and down by sudden Starts,
Her Bosom rose and fell as soft and white,
As rising Lillies or as falling Snow.
She sigh'd, deny'd; she melted, and withdrew.
I saw the Woman stealing on her Soul,
And look'd and vow'd, and swore such tender Things,
As stop'd her backward Flight and won her Heart.
E're since we liv'd within the Skies!—the Hours
Are wing'd away with Love and downy Joys.
Our Kisses are so pure, so warm with Innocence,
Our Sighs so glowing, yet so chastly sweet,
That Zephyrs waft them on their gentle Wings,
As grateful Incense, to the Throne of Love.

Ulfinore.
O State of Bliss!

Gondibert.
But, Ulfinore, retire;
My Birtha, at her promis'd Hour, attends me.
And yet, observe Her;—oh! observe her Beauties:
That Face, illumin'd by her brighter Mind;
That easy, unaffected, graceful Port!
And then her Softness, her entrancing Softness!
She smiles the Spring, and blushes-almost-Heav'n!
Mark how the flowing Wonders of her Breast,
Impatient of Confinement, pant for Freedom,
And seem to struggle with their silken Bonds!
See how her Lips,—I taste Them while I see Them—
Swell sweetly-pouting with nectareal Dew,
To feed and satisfy the thirsty Soul.
What living Purple animates her Cheeks!
'Tis not the Blood of Youth and Flush of Health
That mantles high and kindles up her Charms:
No!—it is more!—the very Health of Virtue,
The Mark and Tincture of immortal Bloom.
—I fly on all the Wings of Love to meet Her.

[Exit Ulfinore.