Desultory Thoughts in London Titus and Gisippus, with Other Poems. By Charles Lloyd |
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Titus and Gisippus.
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 | Desultory Thoughts in London |  |
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Titus and Gisippus.
Magnanima menzogna! or quando è il vero,
Si bello, che si possa a te preporre?—
Tasso. Canto 2; stanza 22.
Si bello, che si possa a te preporre?—
Tasso. Canto 2; stanza 22.
161
1
“Go to Sophronia,” Gisippus cried,“And tell her what I've said.” To Titus so,—
A youthful Roman, who profoundly sigh'd
From his inmost heart, and press'd with heaviest woe,
The former spake. Sophronia was his bride!—
To-morrow was their nuptial feast. But, lo!—
As chance would have it, claims of urgent need
From Athens drew him with reluctant speed.
2
From Athens he must go this very eve,And not before to-morrow's dawn return,
No time had he to ask his fair one's leave,
No time to say, farewell! A long sojourn
In the same dwelling, so did interweave
The hearts of these two youths, that each did yearn
With more than a friend's love towards the other;
Each seem'd to each far dearer than a brother.
162
3
A faint response did Titus make: his friend,To this, in thought much troubled, no heed paid.
Gisippus, who his swift car did ascend,
Beyond the city walls was soon convey'd.
Titus, when he was out of sight, did bend
His slow and tottering step—like one dismay'd—
Towards his chamber: there, upon his bed,
He threw his form, and passionately said,—
4
“Gisippus, what hast thou on me impos'd?'Twere death! 'twere madness! worse,—it were a crime!
To follow thy injunctions! Thus disclos'd
Would be that love which I, so long a time,
Have smother'd in my breast. Thou hast repos'd
For months in fullest confidence.—Sublime
In thy own passion for the passive maid,
Thou, by thy perfect trust, art self-betray'd.
5
“Hadst thou not been by thy own love possess'd,Did not each feeling towards Sophronia tend,
Ere now the dreadful secret of my breast
Had made thee see a traitor in thy friend.—
Oh, Heaven, what agony hath been the guest
Of this distracted heart! Remorse can rend,
No more than it rends me, those whom the gods
To torment doom in nethermost abodes.
163
6
“What crime is there that I have not conceiv'd?Seduction! Murder! Breach of every vow!
Are all familiar inmates! Not achiev'd,
Because not dared; not since I disallow
Their black suggestions: or, because bereav'd,
Have, in past moments, been the when and how!
I am a torment to myself! nay, more,
My heart is canker'd to the very core!
7
“If I am in her presence, certain 'tisThat my pent passion will be thus betray'd;
My trembling knees, my faultering voice, will this
Clearly make manifest; and by the shade
Of pale despondency alone, I wis,
Will all my inward conflicts be display'd.
Lovers are lynx-eyed: by too many a token,
Although unutter'd, will my love be spoken!
8
“Yet something must be done! Sophronia waits;—This evening waits Gisippus' dear approach;
To-morrow;—and th' inexorable Fates
Cannot reclaim her from his nuptial couch!—
I burn!—I rave!—To-morrow's sun rebates
All farther expectation! Then I touch
My sorrow's crisis! If that morrow's sun
See her his bride, my thread of life is spun!
164
9
“Could I another send? This must not be!Secret his going is;—nor must be told
To mortal ear! Nor, though unknown the plea
For mystery, right, by any means, I hold
To break the covenant of secrecy.—
The task is left to me, to see the cold,
Questionless, faint, and unexpressive lip,—
Whose honey he this night was doom'd to sip,—
10
“Wax pale, relax, and quiver, while I say,My truant comrade disappoints thy hope.
Can I bear this? Can I see her the prey
Of sorrow for another? See her mope;
Now come, now go, restless, and in dismay?—
And must I be the chosen one to cope
With baffled wishes, from her breast remove
Doubt, and drink poison from that nest of love?
11
“Have I not, with unheard-of fortitude,From her dear dwelling check'd my eager feet?
How oft have I seem'd like a thing endued
With two-fold faculties; when in the street
165
That path, I seemed to stop; and when retreat
From thence I made, I seem'd to go: and so,
My life was worn in endless to and fro.—
12
“Have I not oft Gisippus' questions braved?Hath he not oft upbraided me with wrong,
And slight done to his passion, if I craved
Excuse, when he, with importuning tongue,
Urged me to visit her? Oft have I waived
Such assignation, when so fierce and strong
Impulse did goad me to behold his bride,
That it perplex'd me much my pangs to hide!
166
13
“And shall I now, e'en when I thought almostThe conflict conquer'd, when I thought to-morrow
Would free me from so perilous a post,
Plunge with deliberate rashness in such sorrow?
Before,—as now, thou hast done, to my cost,—
Thou ne'er from any exigence didst borrow
A purpose so impatient of delay;
Didst so imperiously thy will betray.”
14
“What had ere now chanc'd I can scarcely tell,Had not that sickness laid me on my bed,
From whence it seems as if by miracle,—
And as by fever, by my passion fed,
Giving false strength,—that I am so far well
As to be rais'd! Ah, let it not be said
'Till love, unhappy love, have been endured,
That any soul to suffering is inured.”
15
“Then of that old man think! Of Chræmes think!Gisippus' father, lately dead! Of him,
Oh think! Doth not thy graceless bosom shrink,
Oh Titus, would'st thou not that limb by limb
Thou wert torn piecemeal, rather than so sink
In abjectness, that, when e'en to the brim
His son sees joy's cup full, thy hands distraught
Shall dash it from him, ere he quaff the draught?
167
16
“Dost thou not owe to him far more than life?Or far, far more than that which life sustains?
To whom dost thou owe that thy mind is rife,
Or was, with glorious thoughts, and loftiest strains
Of lofty Bards? How often when the strife
Of a long sickness, fraught with dreariest pains,
Which brought him to his grave, press'd on him hard,
Would he his own pangs not seem to regard,
17
“While with one feeble hand my hand he press'd;And with the other that of his sole child,
His son? And was it not his last behest,
Spoken with tearful cheeks and accents mild,
That in Gisippus' and in Titus' breast
A lasting love should burn? And then he smil'd;—
Yes, the old dying Chræmes smil'd, when we
Bow'd to his meek request assentingly!”
18
“Who bore with all the turbulence of my youth?And all my wayward moods and froward ways?
Who was it praised me, ere he could in truth
Praise me, that I one day might merit praise?
Who was it put off, my fierce heart to soothe,
The old man's character in life's last days;
Smother'd his sufferings, that he so might be
Companion to my immaturity?”
168
19
“And shall this be my recompense, for suchImmensity of obligation? This?—
That I shall, when his only son doth touch
Upon the very brink of earthly bliss,
Plant thorns and daggers in the nuptial couch?—
Tear her from him, from whose electric kiss
He drinks in rapture? Oh, forbid it, ye
Powers, that preside o'er faith and amity!”
20
“Affection, Reverence, Gratitude, and Love,Friendship, and Truth, ah, whither are ye fled?
Passion, Desire, are all I now can prove;
And if by Virtue I am sometimes led,
'Tis but in form! Because I can't remove
At once, the trammels round me she hath spread.
Sophronia! See Sophronia? I'm undone!—
Like life's worst plague her presence should I shun!—
21
“But I have pledg'd myself to go:—and goI must!—But will, alas! my tottering feet
To her threshold bear me? and if 'twere e'en so,
Will my parch'd quivering lips his words repeat?—
Will not these throbbing nerves, these veins, whose flow
Of madden'd blood makes audibly to beat
My bursting heart,—which seems as if 'twere wrung
With life's last conflict,—paralyze my tongue?”
169
22
“But go I must! The motives, on the whichGisippus tore himself from hence, require
The strictest secrecy: if known, a breach,
As he himself confess'd, they might inspire
Betwixt his bride and him. He could not reach
Then the high summit of his heart's desire?—
Let me not think on that! My brain turns round!—
In that one thought all good resolve is drown'd!”
23
That he might not have time to think how greatHis danger was, that danger he defied!
His course he bent towards Sophronia's gate.—
Or ere he saw Gisippus' destin'd bride,
Ye gentles listen to me, while I state
Who the maid was whom him it terrified
So much to meet: while I to you display
The source of his love for Sophronia.—
24
Sophronia was a maid of gentle birth,But little known, less seen, and never prais'd; Within the precincts of her lonely hearth
On her Gisippus only fondly gaz'd,
170
And regal sentiments, this maid was rais'd
To pitch of noblest feeling. In her cell,
Save an aged mother, none with her did dwell.—
25
Besides that she was sprung from noble line,—By chances, though fall'n hence, not here to be
Recounted,—none could rightfully confine
Gisippus' choice, since, of both parents, he
Was now bereft. This maid did he incline
To make his wife, and when betroth'd was she,
He, from the loom t' exempt her, whence she gain'd
A pittance small, her mother which sustain'd,
26
With generous interference, ere he wasTheir frequent inmate, had conjur'd the dame
Once, in Sophronia's absence, from his mass
Of wealth ancestral, stipend small to claim.—
'Twas told Sophronia, that this sum did pass
Into their hands, by death of one, by name
Known only to her, a far kinsman, who
Had left her this sum with preamble due.—
27
One day to Titus he divulg'd his choice,And ask'd his friend, (as one their hearts were, so
One was their dwelling,) kindly to rejoice,
Since in his path Fortune had chanc'd to throw
171
Had caus'd his heart so fervently to glow,
That, finding he could not her charms withstand,
At last he'd challeng'd her t' accept his hand.—
28
“Now all,” exclaimed Gisippus, “that I wantIs your approval. Come with me, and see
This modest paragon.” Titus did grant
His prayer at once, and cried, “most willingly!”
Ah, from that hour, poor youth, thy life was scant
Of hope and joy: all pleasure fled from thee!—
In one rash look thou gav'st thyself away;
And shadow of thyself wert from that day!—
29
Titus, of noble parents, noble son;—From Rome was sent to Chræmes by his sire,
Who this youth, and Gisippus, plac'd with one
Who, in their bosoms, did the love inspire
Of virtuous lore, who both of them had won
To all which worthily good men admire.
The man who thus had nurtur'd these for fame,
Was Aristippus!—A distinguish'd name!—
30
In Titus, now, is all his labour lost.From that day forth he pines, and pines. At last,
Once near Piræus while he was engross'd,
Watching the ocean-billows as they pass'd,
172
A bow-shot from the shore. She seem'd aghast.
The place was rocky, and the swelling wave,
Threaten'd her momently a watery grave.—
31
From Salamis she came, where she had beenTo see some kinsman of her buried sire;
The urgent peril, in which she was seen,
From Titus instant succour did require.
O'er the boat's side he saw her white arm lean;
Wave after wave, now higher, and now higher,
Broke o'er it, as the small skiff 'twould immerge;
And, worse than this, rocks lurk'd beneath the surge.
32
His robe he flung on earth, and in the sea,Thoughtless of danger, plung'd without delay;
Scarce had two waves roll'd o'er him, scarce was he
Beheld a second time to brave the spray
And surging swell, which threaten'd yawningly
His strenuous toil to terminate for aye,
When, just as she the name of Titus shriek'd,
Sophronia's boat against a rock was wreck'd.—
33
He plung'd amain! She sank; and, as it seem'd,Never to rise! The parting ocean clos'd
Over her gulphing form, you would have deem'd
That strength of ten men then did interpose
173
Her on whom secretly his heart repos'd.
One moment was her gleamy robe beheld;
The next 'twas lost! Her doom a faint groan knell'd!
34
Madden'd by agony, by transport strung,With panting toss the boisterous sea he clave,
And as his strenuous arms he backward flung,
His black locks floated on the foamy wave.—
Now must the deed be done! E'en now among
Those rocks must he now snatch her from the grave,
Or all is lost for ever, he too lost!
For ne'er had he surviv'd whom he lov'd most!—
35
Prone 'mid the rocks he dives! He's gone for aye!—Thus would have cried who saw him disappear:
But, as it chanc'd, upon that stormy day
Not one was gazing from Piræus' pier.—
Two mariners who brought Sophronia
From Salamis, so much were, by their fear
And present danger, overcome, that they,
Their own escape, for nothing would delay.—
36
Prone 'mid the rocks he dives! Long time had heBeen now invisible! At last he rose,
Bearing in his right arm triumphantly
The dearest burthen it did e'er enclose.
174
Drove landward, so that ere again he throws
His other arm to dash away the billow,
He gain'd a footing on the ebbing shallow.—
37
He is on land; on safe land is he come:Sophronia's head he pillows on a stone:
A death-like paleness hath usurp'd her bloom;
Her head falls lapsing on his shoulder. None
Were there to give him aid! He fears her doom
Is seal'd for evermore! At last a groan
Burst from her livid lips, and then the word
“Titus” he heard, or fancied that he heard!—
38
Where was he then? From death to life restor'd!—From hell to heaven! To rapture from despair!
His hand he now lays on that breast ador'd;
And now her pulse he feels; and now—(beware,
Beware, rash youth!) his lips draw in a hoard
Of perfume from her lips, which though they were
Still clos'd, yet oft the inarticulate sigh,
Issuing from thence, he drank with ecstasy.
39
Still were they cold; her hands were also cold;Those hands he chaf'd, and perhaps to restore
To her chill paly lips their warmth, so bold
He grew, he kiss'd those pale lips o'er and o'er.
175
Their wonted rubeous hue, he dared do more;—
He glued his mouth to them, and breath'd his breath
To die with her, or rescue her from death.—
40
Thou art undone, mad youth! The fire of loveBurn'd so intensely in his throbbing veins,
That, had she been a statue, he might prove
A new Pygmalion, and the icy chains
Of death defy. Well then might he remove
The torpor which her o'erwrought frame sustains.—
If sweet, revival from such menac'd death;
More sweet, revival by a lover's breath!
41
She feels the delicate influence through her thrill,And with seal'd eye lay in a giddy trance,
Scarce dare she open them, when had her will
On this been bent, she felt the power to glance
Their lights on him. No, with a lingering skill—
Oh, blame her not!—she did awhile enhance
The bliss of that revival, by a feign'd
Or half-feign'd shew of conflict still sustain'd.
42
At last, she look'd!—They look'd!—Eye met with eye!The whole was told! The lover, and the lov'd,
The ador'd, and the adorer, ecstasy
Never 'till then experienc'd—swiftly prov'd!—
176
They were forgotten! Transport unreprov'd,
This was his guerdon; this his rich reward!
An hour's oblivion with Sophronia shar'd!
43
Then all the world was lost to them, in oneFulness of unimaginable bliss!—
Infinity was with them! and the zone
Unbound whence Venus sheds upon a kiss
Nectareous essences, and raptures known
Ne'er save to moments unprepar'd as this!
And in that earnest impulse did they find
Peace and intensity, alike combin'd!
44
To frame such joy, these things are requisite;A lofty nature; the exalting stress
Of stimulating trials; which requite,
And antecedent sorrows, doubly bless.
Consummate sympathies, which souls unite;
And a conjuncture, whence no longer press
Impulses—long as these delights we prove—
From one thing foreign to the world of love.
45
This could not last! Not merely would a word;—A gesture would, a look, dissolve the charm!—
Could home be mention'd, nor the thought restor'd,
To her remembrance, of Gisippus' warm
177
Of transient bliss, and be ye safe from harm,
Ye fond, fond pair! But think not joys so high
Can be inwoven with reality!
46
At last a swift revulsion through her frameAnd o'er her countenance stole: a sudden pause!
Her eyes, which had imbib'd a piercing flame,
Fell at once rayless; and her bosom draws
One in-pent sigh; one look imploring came
O'er her fine face! Titus knew well the cause
Of this so sudden change: he dar'd not speak;
He dar'd not move; dar'd not its reason seek!
47
Some minutes they were silent. Night advanc'd;Titus, towards himself, Sophronia press'd,
But dumb he stood; upward she faintly glanc'd
A look upbraiding, and upon his breast—
Gently reclining—lay like one entranc'd!
No longer now was happiness her guest.
She starts! She cries “Gisippus!”—All is told!—
Cold fell the word, on bosoms still more cold!
48
They rose, and crept along in silentness.—Sophronia reach'd her home, but nothing said,
E'en to her mother, of her past distress.
Her threshold past not Titus.—Thence he fled,
178
Like to a madman madden'd more with dread!
Nor ever of this night, or of its spell
Of mighty love, did he breathe syllable!
49
Not that between Sophronia and the youthAgreement had been made to hide the thing;
But, such a consciousness of the whole truth
Each felt, and such remorse did either wring,
That nothing, from each passion-sealed mouth,
Of what had chanc'd could e'en a whisper wring.
From that time they ne'er met, from that time ne'er
Did Titus see Sophronia any where.
50
The youth himself divulg'd, in that strong fitOf anguish which his spirit did sustain,
When to his care Gisippus did commit
The trust, by which he doom'd him to explain
His absence to Sophronia,—that love lit
Such malady in every fev'rous vein
That life with death long struggled. 'Twas e'en so!—
E'en now his health was but an empty shew.
51
Yet love a hectic o'er his cheek did spread;Love lent a liquid lustre to his eyes,
179
Upon his vitals, none did recognize
That, from a gnawing restlessness—a dread
Of stillness, and of solitude,—did rise
All that fictitious strength, which they believ'd,
From convalescence sprung, and health retriev'd!
52
Such Titus was. Such had his intercourseBeen with Sophronia! I will not detain
My patient hearers with a long discourse
Touching the cause Gisippus did sustain
From his troth'd bride that night such strange divorce:
If ye consent to listen to my strain,
That will, like many other things, in time,
Be in the record of this simple rhyme.
53
But to return to Titus. On he went,Or rather totter'd, 'till he touch'd the latch
Of poor Sophronia's dwelling. Well nigh spent
With agitation, he essay'd to catch,
Or ere he lifted it, some argument
Of hopeful augury; and he did watch,
Dumb and immoveable, that dreary night,
To hear her dreaded voice, or footstep light.
54
And if a glimpse of light chequer'd the ground,Fall'n from her window, how his pulses throbb'd!
180
He heard each far-off busy noise which robb'd
The dark night of its silence! Not a sound
At last was heard, save when the pine-tree sobb'd
To the cold wintry wind. The city hum,
Heard for a time, portentously was dumb!
55
“I must!” at length he cried; and 'twas despairThat help'd him to confront despair at last:
“I must!” he cried, and when he least could bear
The thing he did, he smote the door in haste.
The latch was stirr'd, the door's hinge did he hear
Creaking, as if the hand, which held it fast,
Open'd it apprehensively. The well-
Known form he saw; and on the earth he fell.
56
How long that trance remain'd he might not know;Who can Sophronia's troubled state pourtray,
When on the threshold,—spectacle of woe,—
Helpless,—her unacknowledg'd lover lay
Stiff as in death! She knew not if to go;—
And to behold him perish could she stay?
Her mother, as it chanc'd, from ailment slight,
Had to her couch repair'd at fall of night.
57
What could she do? She drew his form supine,Panting for breath, and faint, along the floor;
181
Upon her lap, when she had clos'd the door.
With sedulous care, she brought some spicy wine,
Which, she had heard, was potent to restore
Life's lapsed functions, and bedew'd with this
His livid lips, which often she did kiss.—
58
Oft to his nostrils, did her hand applySome subtle essences; his temples chill,
Chafing them with her soft hand inwardly,
She bath'd with juice which potent herbs distil.
“Titus, my Titus!” often would she cry:—
And tax'd her memory for it's little skill
In arts medicinal. But his strong trance
Baffled awhile her earnest vigilance.
59
It was a piteous sight to see the maid,Sustaining that fine form exanimate;—
Adown her cheek the big drops slowly stray'd,
Then on her lover fell. A precious freight!—
Could not these balmy tear-drops then pervade
The seat of sense, and rouse him from that state
Of death-like inanition! If they fail'd,
Could any mortal succour have avail'd?—
60
His bosom heaves, a struggling sigh escapes!His fix'd, glaz'd eyes their vacant orbs unseal;
182
Chaotic visions o'er his spirit steal!
He fancies that beneath him grimly gapes
A trackless gulph; with fear he seems to reel.—
Upright he sat. My Titus! murmur'd she:—
And he laugh'd loudly with a fearful glee!
61
Down, down, upon her bended knees she slid,And threw her arms around his neck, and press'd
His faint brows to her cheek, and then she hid
His clammy face in her enamour'd breast.—
Meanwhile, her tears,—as if they had been bid
To be the almoners of her behest,
As fraught with eloquence,—did trickle down
His cheek, and neck, and forehead, one by one.—
62
He felt the piteous drops, and rais'd his eye;“Sophronia,” breath'd he faintly: then oppress'd,
Sank down again, as if resolv'd to die,
And thus “take up his everlasting rest.”
Murmur to murmur, now, and sigh to sigh,
Scarce audibly responded, and the breast
Both of the maiden, and the lover, heav'd
Groans, which seem'd as of life they them bereav'd.—
183
63
First spake Sophronia. “Was this wisely done?”“Not wisely, nor yet wilfully,” replied
The wretched youth: “no, I am sent upon
Another's errand. He, of whom the bride
Thou art, from Athens is this evening gone;
On errand which he would to none confide;
Not e'en to me! Whom he to thee has sent,
To advertise thee of this strange event:—
64
“For strange it well may seem that one should goFrom thy dear presence, when to-morrow morn
Will bring so measureless an overflow
Of the best joys which can on earth be born.
'Tis well the cause for this I do not know,
For this parch'd tongue, and this sunk heart forlorn
Scarcely the power of utterance to me spare;
Grief such as mine cannot long parley bear.”
65
This said, he paus'd. “Gisippus gone from hence!”—Exclaim'd Sophronia, “nor I know the cause;
That noble bosom never knew pretence;
Nor e'er evaded honour's sacred laws!”
“No, never, never!” Titus cried, “and thence
I am entrusted”—“Whence this sudden pause?”
Sophronia cried, “It is too hard a task!”
Titus rejoin'd, “Why did my friend this ask?”
184
66
“But I am sure he honours me too much,Me on unworthy errand to commend;
Though he told not his journey's cause, I vouch
It had a good one, or his dearest friend
He ne'er had its contaminating touch
Suffer'd t' approach. Gisippus to defend
Thus, is my duty. I almost forget
That he's my rival when the mighty debt
67
“Of Love I owe him rushes on my heart!”—Oh, the nobility of men of old!
Rivals they were; one did the other thwart;
Gisippus, Titus' dearest aims controul'd;
From him did he uncourteously depart;
Him had he bade a message to unfold
Which clave his heart in twain; yet, with prompt phrase,
That Rival, to his mistress, doth he praise!
185
68
“Be strong, be strong!” exclaim'd Sophronia—“Moment of weakness has been ours, alas!
But thou hast made me think whom we betray;
Hast made me blush at the surrender base”—
“Stop!” Titus cries, “never shall such a day
As this, upon the earth's astonish'd face
Behold me more! My life—for this alone
Can do it fitly—shall for this atone.”
69
Who has e'er seen the weeping statue standOf childless Niobe, may perhaps guess
The pale despondency, which, as with band
Of desolation, did all hope suppress,
So that not one word could her tongue command!
How could she other than with tenderness
Upbraid her lover for such dire resolve?—
Yet one kind word her virtue would dissolve!—
70
It is a hard lot when we are so chain'dBy duty, and such fiery influence
Of passion o'er the madden'd breast hath reign'd,
That we—lest by a conflict too intense
We should be self-betray'd—become constrain'd
To wear the armour of indifference:
Which, the more feign'd, more needful the loath'd task
With it's mail'd adamant the whole man to mask!
186
71
At such a time, a gesture, look, or tear,Will mar the stoutest resolution;
That stern arbitrement which months did rear,
A fond “farewel,” a mandate to be gone,
A dumb look, cause at once to disappear;
Two parting lovers make for ever one!—
So felt Sophronia. One that so well lov'd,
Could she then banish? Could she see unmov'd?
72
She knew not where to look, nor what to say;—She felt the claim of him who was not there;
She knew he lov'd her, and that as the day,
Honest his words, honest his feelings, were.
And though 'twas strange Titus might not convey
What caus'd his absence, 'twas a deed so rare,
A deed so much with all his deeds at strife,
Exception seem'd it to his rule of life.—
73
'Twere hard to suffer, of a life unblam'd,One deed to soil the uniformity;
And she who was for honour justly fam'd
Was little prone t' equivocating plea.—
E'en had he wrong'd her, she had never claim'd—
E'en in most absolute emergency—
Right to recriminate. Though she might faulter,
She knew an upright conscience ne'er could palter.
187
74
What shall she do! What not do?—Titus stoodBefore her the dumb statue of despair;
His voiceless look more eloquently sued
Than most persuasive words: he did not dare,
Except at intervals, e'en to intrude
A stolen glance. The big drops here and there
On his brow trembled. From his labouring heart
Quick spasmy pulses o'er his face did dart.—
75
Big was the hour with fate! For utterance, far,Far, too forlorn were they! Yet could they fly?—
To all beneath day's universal star
That each ador'd, “farewel, for ever!” cry?—
For ever, in one moment, being bar
Of every hope? For ever from the eye
Of each, the other banish; and exclude
That, without which, earth were a solitude?—
76
To tell the pang the virtuous bosom knowsWhen ruthless passion hath usurp'd its seat,
Would ask for words of fire! Can tongue disclose
The agony when bursting bosoms meet,
And yet strict rectitude doth interpose
Between their wish, and that fruition sweet
Of hearts entwin'd, when love—delirious elf!
Makes each in each obtain a second self?—
188
77
Only minds noble thus can nobly love;—And noble minds are to themselves a law;—
None ever such an ecstasy could prove
Who knew not virtue's consecrating awe.—
He that could easily restraints remove,
Soon from his being will those powers withdraw;—
The powers of passion, as of rectitude:—
And be exempted from such conflict rude.—
78
At last, with reckless agony o'ercome,Titus his arms around Sophronia threw,
His very soul seem'd as 'twould leave its home,
And with his breath rush forth, as he did glue
His lips on hers, “Now let what will come, come!”
He cried.—“Existence ne'er till now, I knew!—
“The present,—future,—I alike defy!—
I feel victorious e'en o'er destiny!”
79
“Thou shalt not leave me! Thou shalt never leave!—Nor ever, ever, from my arms be torn!—
He that, of thy charms, could himself bereave
One moment,—though all nature him did warn
To such surrender,—I can ne'er forgive!—
Object is he of everlasting scorn!
I now retract all that erewhile I spoke;
And from this moment throw off friendship's yoke.”
189
80
“Titus!” Sophronia plaintively exclaim'd,Yet half rebukingly. She could no more!—
Though piteous tenderness her face inflam'd,
The impress of displeasure still it bore.—
As he beheld her, while he fain had fram'd
Excuse for that which—e'en to his heart's core—
He felt repentant to have said, the rush
Of contrite tears o'er all his face did gush—
81
He that erewhile had like a statue stood,Smote with dumb anguish, reckless with despair:
He whose glaz'd eyes, as they her form pursu'd,
Till now emitted an unnatural glare,
From him, that instant, burst a copious flood
Of tears: her ready tears the signal share.—
Fly,—fly,—rash youth! Oh fly! For thou art lost,
By thee, the threshold not this instant cross'd—
82
Their souls did melt in mutual sympathy;In the delirious luxury of woe!
Oh, say that love can guerdon worthily,
If e'en unhappy Love such bliss can know.—
Yes, there is more of real ecstasy
In every trickling tear that then did flow,
Mingling in one sweet stream, than ever yet
The world gave, when it paid its mightiest debt.
190
83
Whisper'd expressions, inarticulate words,Sobs interrupted, mix'd with weeping sighs,
These were the dainty almoners of hoards
Of secret consolation love applies.
Who can plead poverty, though fate affords,
But once, such solace to life's destinies?
The soul that once has lov'd, from thence enjoys
A charter, beggaring all earthly toys!—
84
It gains an insight in the human heart,And all its earthly mysteries thence can know;—
A Rubicon has past, which has the art
A new baptismal essence to bestow!
It wears a precious gem, whose rays can dart
Into all labyrinths of human woe,
And thence extracts, as if by chemic care,
Sweetness from torment, transport from despair.—
85
In brief, new sense it gains! NobilityOf imprescriptible and holy birth!—
Higher than that which waits on ancestry;
And still more high than that whose puny worth
191
Finally, of all feelings of this earth
Next to religion, it may well take place;
With such high gifts man's spirit doth it grace.—
86
Such was their love, a love in aim as pureAnd lofty, as in passion 'twas intense;
A love, which, being felt, must aye endure,
Long as the soul in flesh has residence.
A love which all can sacrifice:—though poor,
Which deems itself most wealthy, while the sense
Of honour lasts; this is the perilous test
Which lost, 'tis curs'd, though with fruition bless'd.
87
And, though in all oppos'd, yet this retain'd,With which 'tis rich e'en in the midst of woe;
I challenge any one t' have ascertain'd
That ever true love did a comfort know,
Where lawless bliss by lawless means was gain'd:—
Esteem may well be felt without love's glow,
But frail as tender bloom of fruit matur'd,
Love never forfeited esteem endur'd.—
88
But to return. For I have long digress'dFrom the two lovers, then in perilous plight;
When each the other had awhile caress'd;
And when love's paroxysm at such height
192
Of threaten'd danger,—yes, when e'en most bright
Love's lamp did burn,—that honourable pair
Stood, once more sever'd from each other, there.
89
“Farewel”—cried Titus, mournfully. “Farewel,”Exclaim'd Sophronia—they felt all had been
That now could be! they dar'd not longer dwell
In persevering in the past-gone scene.
At first 'twas impulse. Now 'twere to rebel
Against awaken'd honour, when the skreen
By conscience was remov'd, which did preclude
Thought of the issue of such passionate mood.
90
“Farewel—farewel.” And now a silent graspOf her cold hand, and one despairing look,—
Or ere the night-air caught his shuddering gasp,
Was all the further leave of her he took.
How he that night the portal did unclasp
Of his love's dwelling, how his heart could brook
The last farewel,—soon as the door did close,
Were thoughts that, in his breast, self-question'd, rose.
91
Again he rush'd toward the door—'twas fast!In at the window peep'd—'twas darkness all!
How long that spasm of the heart did last,
Which held him, like a statue, in mute thrall,
193
What a keen agony from him did call
Each leaf that fell, the slightest breeze that stirr'd;
The slightest glimpse, or glimmer that appear'd!
92
He dar'd not cry “Sophronia!” far too muchHe wish'd to see her, far too much he held
Her name in passionate reverence, to avouch—
E'en though by keenest agony compell'd—
Such wish e'en to the ear of night; to touch
Once more e'en but her garment's hem, had thrill'd
His heart with ecstasy; and how he could
Have left her, he a whit not understood.
93
“A little moment since the power was mine,To see, or not to see thee!” thus he cried;
“And now how agonizingly I pine
Soe'er, thy further presence is denied.
What nameless gulph is that, which can't combine
The present with the past! not Hell doth hide
A drearier curse, than that curse which doth dwell
In that one little word—impossible!
94
“What would I now give to be where I was!I seem to have fall'n from Heaven to the shade
Of death! swift thought can in a moment pass
Over that gulph, which I can never tread.
194
That bliss which Fate upon my being shed,
Would I regain, it now must effort be!
No! ne'er returns a once spurn'd destiny!
95
And well he knew, that, could he now retrieveIn form, what he had lost, he never could
Recover it in spirit! We deceive
Ourselves egregiously, when understood
The same thing twice to be the same! Bereave
Pleasure of charms, with which it is endued,
By inexpectancy, and though the same
In all besides, 'tis pleasure but in name!
96
How could he feel, if he an effort madeOnce more to see Sophronia, that he was
O'ercome by impulse? ere aware, betray'd
Into the depths of passion? No, what has
195
Which would the maze of ecstasy repass,
Beholds, with blazing sword, a spectre glare
Across its path, and cry “beware—beware!”
97
Like to a shadow, which behind us lies,Not seen, 'till we our onward path retrace,
This ghost is only met by those rash eyes
Which would look on the unveil'd elfish face
Of painted passion; 'tis but her disguise
That charms us. Seek we once more to embrace
Her with premeditation, we shall find
That she seem'd only fair, since we were blind.
98
Thus when Rogero first Alcina lov'd,She seem'd endow'd with superhuman charms,
And preternatural ecstasies he prov'd,
All centred in her fascinating arms;
But when brief interval had him remov'd
From her enticements, and when reason arms
His new-brac'd soul, and he on her did gaze
A second time, a foul witch he surveys.
99
It is th' involuntary, which doth giveAll charm, to all that charms in passion's trance;
196
As well, to make it the same thing t'advance
Up a steep hill, or down that hill to drive
In prone career, as to desire—with glance
Of retrospect, to find identity
In objects we prospectively did see!
100
The wretch feels, who upon the very brinkDoth stand of possibility of bliss,
And yet that bliss is lost, as those who sink,
Unfathomably gulph'd in some abyss:
When the strain'd eye with agony doth shrink
From needful succour, that so near them is,
It seems as if, in mockery, sent by Fate,
The moment's agony to aggravate.
101
Breathless he lay, her lattice frame beneath;Breathless he watch'd a light move to and fro;
The thin partition seem'd his frame to writhe,
Which he between her and himself did know:
And once, when he believ'd he heard her breathe
Faintly his name, an interval his woe
Was all forgotten; through his night-chill'd frame,
There swiftly rush'd a warm suffusing flame.
102
But this could not long last. Upon his soulThen fell the icy fingers of despair.
197
His form convuls'd: the bitter biting air
He heeded not; nor, though that night the growl
Of thunder, and the lightning's lurid glare
Career'd above, and fell on him thick rains,
Was he aware that he their shock sustains.
103
Shaken by recent malady was he;His seeming strength from weakness but arose:
To cope with such a strong hostility
Of adverse passions, and endure its throes,
So ill accords with such infirmity,
That his wild brain, impatient of such woes,
Became delirious, and fantastic forms
Danc'd o'er his vision in terrific swarms.
104
Through Athens' streets now wildly did he fly,Clenching his hands, and tearing his black hair;
And oft from time to time he rais'd a cry—
“Sophronia! my Sophronia! where, oh where
Hast thou conceal'd thyself? yon lofty sky,
Or the profoundest deep, or earth, or air,
Or night, or day, or the remotest clime,
Or strength of men or gods, or length of time,
105
“Shall not secure thee from my potent grasp!Thou shalt be mine!—I swear thou shalt be mine!
198
Of Jove himself!—though Neptune's watery brine
Have merg'd thee thousand fathoms deep!”—with gasp
Of sudden death, then seem'd he to resign
His o'erwrought powers: headlong, he fell beside
A crystal well, which near a path did glide.
106
That path contiguous to a road did lie,Which from Piræus' Port towards Athens led;
As it did chance Gisippus came thereby,
Having his unimparted errand sped.
Scarce had the morning dawn'd; the troubled sky,
'Mid billowy clouds, was streak'd with lurid red;
And earth; and heaven; the trees which, ere that night,
Thick foliag'd stood, all spake the past storm's might.
107
Towards winter autumn then was verging:—then,For the first season, with unmuffled face,
Had winter dar'd to stalk thro' ev'ry scene,
And rob the pale earth of that lingering grace
Of tints, of flowers, of leaves, which seem'd to lean,
With a meek trust, in the prolong'd embrace
Of nature: for the first time, then arose
The distant mountains clad with morning snows.
199
108
Upon the half-stripp'd branches, which did bendTo the wild blast, here droop'd a yellow leaf,
And there a brown one. With day's light did blend
A sombre shade which spoke of nature's grief.—
To the eager air the season seem'd to lend
A piercing shrewdness; and if still a sheaf
Broke the long furrows' level, soddening rains
Had smear'd its golden hue with dingy stains.
109
The leaves whirl'd eddying towards the plashy ground;Their lustre gone, the shrivell'd flow'rets droop'd;
And, from afar, on every side around,
Were heard deep bodings, as if tempests, coop'd
In viewless caves, thence issued with profound
And gusty menaces: the night-wolf whoop'd
A dismal requiem to the waning year:—
All sights look'd sorrow, and all sounds breath'd fear.
110
Th' autumnal moon with pale and watery faceWestward was verging, and her shadowy rim
Thin, floating, mist-like clouds, seem'd to embrace;
Hovering about her, as if they would dim
Her silver light; so shorn her golden grace,
So like a spectre did her glances swim
On that cold morning's brow, that she might well
The demon seem that wove its blighting spell.
200
111
Gisippus, as I said, prone in his car,With brandish'd whip along that road did steer;
On whose near pathway, he, while yet afar,
Thought that a human body did appear.
His chariot wheels now doubly rapid are;
Soon he approaches; and, with what severe
And stupid horror,—I need not declare—
He saw his dearest Titus lying there!
112
Titus his head did raise; his eyes did glare;And, with unnatural laugh, he cried “avaunt!”
“Who art thou, who presumptuously would'st dare
To speak to me? Wherefore dost thou thus haunt
My privacy? Whoe'er thou art, beware!—
I well know how t' avenge the cruel taunt
Of heartless foes! Friends I have none! Not one!
No! With Sophronia every friend is gone!”
113
“I am Gisippus. Dost thou not recallMy mien, my voice?” his weeping friend replied:—
“Gisippus? Art thou he? That criminal
That could forsake so an expecting bride?—
Thy voice is death to me! Would I for all
The earth contains, have any want supplied
By thee? I know thee not! There is betwixt
Thee, and myself, a bottomless gulph fix'd.”—
201
114
“Thou art ill!” Gisippus said, “and can I quitThee, to the bitter biting of this blast?—
No, take my arm, and deign with me to sit
In yonder chariot. It will soon be past,
This dreadful agony! It is most fit
That a friend's ear should hear what thus hath cast
This frenzy on thee: that a dear friend's care
Should soothe thy sorrows, and those sorrows share.”
115
“Leave me! Oh leave me! I am not thy friend!Nor art thou mine!” with terrible voice exclaim'd
Titus: “and e'en one hour to condescend
To sit beside thee, I should be asham'd.
No, speedily from this place thy course bend!—
Visit thy”—here a deep-drawn groan proclaim'd
The speaker's inward anguish, and a pulse
Of agony his countenance did convulse.—
116
“What is it ails thee?” cried Gisippus. “Nought,”—Titus replied, and on his feet he rose,
And swifter than the glance of swiftest thought,
A bow-shot distant from his friend he goes.—
He could no more. With fantasy distraught,
And faultering knees, again on earth he throws
His labouring form, and utter'd a deep cry,
Like to one pierc'd with speechless agony.—
202
117
Gisippus follow'd him, and bade a slave,Who held his foaming coursers, thitherward
With him to go: and he of one did crave
Assistance, who along that path-way far'd.
“Stranger, a little help I fain would have
To lift a friend, who long with me has shar'd
All life's enjoyments, and who, as you see,
Is stretch'd on earth by strange infirmity.”
118
Quickly these three repair'd where he did lieWeltering in blood; for such his pangs had been,
That, by them sore convuls'd, an artery
Had burst internally, from whose unseen
And dangerous cicatrice, most copiously
The blood gush'd forth. By this had Titus been,
Ere now, so weaken'd, that 'twas all in vain
For him, Gisippus' efforts to restrain.
119
Into the chariot was he lifted; nextGisippus also mounted, and with scourge,
The mettled steeds, like one with care perplex'd,
Swiftly along the smooth road did he urge.—
His soul with inward wretchedness was vex'd,
And though in care for Titus he did merge
Other solicitudes, still o'er him came
Strange feelings from Sophronia's quoted name.—
203
120
His dwelling now they reach'd, and on his bedWas Titus laid; a servant was despatch'd
A skilful leech to find. Gisippus laid
His hand on Titus' hand, and fondly watch'd
His infirm friend, of every breath afraid
That for a little moment could have catch'd
His rous'd attention, and forgetting quite
Sophronia, and each matrimonial rite.
121
Sophronia meantime tardily obey'dThe morn's returning call. Upon her bed
That night her dizzy head she had not laid:
Her thoughts not once that sad night had been led
To dream of her near nuptials. O'er the maid
A passion infinite had likewise shed
Thoughts of infinity: she was entranc'd;
Reality before her faintly glanc'd.—
122
The past, the future, both to her were lost;Or, if not lost, the real did but seem
An obscure terror, now and then which cross'd
Her soul, like lightning's instantaneous gleam.
She was with passion utterly engross'd:—
Those who have been so, know that its strong dream
Defies external things, their pressure spurns,
As th' alchymist to gold each metal turns.
204
123
So doth the rapt soul modify the dullAnd obligatory concerns of life,
Through mediation of one powerful,
Imperative impression, that the strife
From duty and desire sprung, which oft pull
Contrarious ways, and this strange world,—so rife
With disappointment,—are compell'd to teem
With tributary rills, for one deep stream.
124
Thus far'd it with Sophronia. She had feltThat preternatural passion which doth change
All things into itself; and love had dealt
Its treasures out with such profusion strange,
That fear nor froze her heart, nor hope did melt:
No, through infinity her thoughts did range.
Yes, love is infinite. Sophronia prov'd,
Love from idolatry not far remov'd.
125
Return we now to Titus. In his trance,Gisippus, whence his troubled heart was torn,
Had gather'd. With an anxious countenance,
Symptoms he watch'd of convalescence born.—
He had a tale to tell too, whence that glance
Of fiery frenzy, from that eye forlorn
Might be dispell'd; and hope, his faded bloom,
And death-like features, once more re-illume.
205
126
The son of Æsculapius much did urgeQuiet, and little converse, to the weak
And outworn patient. Though upon the verge
Of death he seem'd, still oft, with many a shriek,
His sleep was broken; th' unrelenting scourge
Of passion on his shaken frame did wreak
Its cruel torment. Yet while thus he seem'd
To death doom'd, of Sophronia's form he dream'd.
127
“Sophronia;” still “Sophronia,” from his lipsIn smother'd accents now, and now in loud
And frantic exclamation, utter'd, keeps
His friend beside him haunted with a crowd
Of sad forebodings. Now his forehead drips
With the big sweat drops which profusely flow'd
From his sunk temples, and his hands, when press'd,
His fever's burning virulence attest.—
128
Then to himself Gisippus said, “No moreWill I delay, but to Sophronia go,
And, in her ear, the story will I pour
Of this mysterious spectacle of woe.”
Her presence deem'd he likeliest to restore
(From words that Titus, now in accents low,
And now, with loud shrieks, utter'd) his lost sense:
Such was his trust in love's mute eloquence.
206
129
With this resolve Sophronia's door he gain'd:He told his heavy tale, and begg'd the maid—
If any pity in her bosom reign'd,
Although his bride she were,—that by her aid
Titus' disease might somewhat be restrain'd:
He told her how he found him, and he said,
“On thee he ever calls; thy name repeats;
And oft thy presence earnestly entreats.—
130
“Whate'er of this the cause is, it may be,Since thus thy image hath his soul impress'd,
That thou may'st rouse him from his agony:—
Something, I doubt not, rankles in his breast,
Which, more or less, hath reference to thee.
Thou knowest, rather than be dispossest
Of his dear friendship and society,
In the most cruel torments would I die.”
131
Sophronia, guessing well the cause of allGisippus told her; hating to deceive;
And careless then of what might her befall,
So much the agonies of yester eve
Had wrought upon her, and so much the thrall
Of love was she; did, in few words, unweave
The mystery to Gisippus, and made clear
That which so marvellous did erst appear.
207
132
“I blame you both,” Gisippus cried, “was e'erAny thing mine, in such a sense, till now
That Titus equally had not a share
In it? Although thou hast to me the vow
Sworn of fidelity, yet could the care
Of my own selfish happiness allow
Me to despise another's claim, e'en though
That other had been my most mortal foe?”
133
“But when I find that those I love the mostAre bound in ties reciprocally fond,
And that each might not, at my private cost,
Build their own happiness,—that each has plann'd,
With love magnanimous towards me engross'd,
To sacrifice their all; far, far beyond
All power of speech, I feel, at the same time,
Self-shame, and reverence for their love sublime!
134
“Oh, that I were omnipotent! yet stillI will do all that in my power doth lie!
Haste with me; try if thou, by thy fond skill,
By thy sweet tones of voice, and by that eye,—
(Whose dewy glance, since it hath power to kill,—
For surely Titus will, not succour'd, die,—
Must have the power life's functions to restore:)
Can'st make him what he was in days of yore!”
208
135
Sophronia listen'd with a yielding heart;She thought she ne'er so well Gisippus lov'd;
Nor had he ever to her, that the art
Of eloquence was his, so plainly prov'd.
In spite of every effort tears did start:
She could not answer him: but as she mov'd
Towards the door, made manifest, by signs,
That she to do his will not disinclines.
136
She threw a veil over her virgin face;Her arm involuntarily became
Plac'd within his; and with a pensive grace,
Betwixt alacrity and maiden shame,
As sister with a brother, did she pace
Tottering towards th' abode from whence he came.
But when he paus'd before that house which held
All she lov'd best, what fears her bosom thrill'd!
137
And as she cross'd the vestibule, and clombStair after stair, how beat her fluttering breast!
A deadly paleness had usurp'd her bloom;
And scarce her faultering knees the power possess'd
To bear her weight. How awful was the gloom,
And how unutterably the silence press'd
Of the sick dwelling on her sinking heart!
How does her very foot-fall make her start!
209
138
Ah yes, how powerful must those feelings be,Which that same gloom and silence did excite,
Since they are by a lover's malady
Produc'd, and her upon whose heart they smite
Is object of his fond idolatry.
Moments in life there are which do unite
Feeling which incommunicable is,
And to Sophronia such a moment this!—
139
'Tis but this instant that she knows him hers:And the next instant she may find him dead,
Or in extremity which but defers
Death, and to unimaginable dread
Changes despair. Her thoughts are harbingers
Of joy, of grief, of hope, of fear! Thus led
Rather than going, trembling more and more,
Herself she now finds at his chamber door.—
140
Can she proceed? A little moment shePauses, and leans upon Gisippus' breast;
Her agonizing heart beats audibly;
She pants for breath, and pale as one the guest
Of his last narrow house, such ecstasy
Of hope and fear her spirit now possess'd,
That e'en her very hope appears to wear
The mien of fear; and palsies like despair.—
210
141
Sophronia now in Titus' presence stands,O'er his pale form with pious care she bends;
His brow she presses with her ivory hands;
And to his stricken soul her soft voice sends
Music, which, by degrees, dissolves the bands
Of frenzy: towards her face his look ascends;
He feels her tears drop on his burning cheek;
He sees her countenance, and hears her speak.—
142
How fondly does she gaze upon his form!Her heart so full of hope is, since she knows
He now is hers, so sanguine, and so warm
Her feelings thence resulting, that they close—
So potent is their visionary charm—
Each avenue to thought which can suppose
It even possible that he may die:—
Love seems to promise immortality!—
143
“She's thine!” exclaim'd Gisippus.—“Both of youHave, by the gods, unjustly dealt with me!”
“No,” said Sophronia, “'twas because we knew
The measure of your soul's nobility,
That we resolv'd ne'er should to us accrue
Joy, with your joy in contrariety.
'Twas reverence for your worth more than the troth
Plighted to you, which eterniz'd my oath.”
211
144
“Nor ever, ever, had that oath been broken,Although in keeping it my heart had burst!
Had I lov'd Titus, had I not sure token
Of lofty sentiment in him seen first?
Had he to me deliberately spoken
A word which had thy claim in me aspers'd,
That lofty feeling he had then disclaim'd;
And him had I abjur'd, of him asham'd.”
145
“Soft: soft,” cried Titus in a faultering tone,“This is too much for feeble breast to bear;
The stress of gratitude which weighs me down—
Contrast 'twixt present joy and past despair,
These are enough t' oppress a spirit grown
Feeble, and sensitive from recent care!
Spare me, oh spare! Not let joys too intense
O'erwhelm my spirit with their influence.”
146
“Sit thou, Sophronia, here; and sit thou there,Gisippus!” Titus cried, while with a hand
Feeble, to both he beckon'd to repair
To each side of his couch. Thus in the band
Of cordial love these three united were.—
Not long did Titus' malady withstand,
Of these two friends, the fond solicitude.—
As love had shorn, so love his strength renew'd.
212
147
It was a pleasant sight to see this maidAnd noble youth, each with the other vie,
Who most could furnish necessary aid
To mitigate their patient's malady.—
Nor was there any that his pillow laid,—
No other that his medicines did supply,—
No one his slight meals serv'd at fitting time,—
Save this fond maiden, and that youth sublime.—
148
Gisippus never, by a jealous look,When perseveringly Sophronia serv'd
His friend, betray'd that he not well could brook
For Titus that her love should be reserv'd.
Although their friend's infirmity forsook
Him daily more and more, yet never swerv'd
This faithful pair from their fond offices,
'Till quite were fled all symptoms of disease.—
149
Sometimes Gisippus hinted, that, when strongTitus should once more be, he would unfold
A tale, which would prove that to him no wrong
This pair did, by their love so uncontroul'd.—
'Twas hard on this theme to unchain his tongue.—
A fear lest they at greater price should hold,
Than it deserv'd, his self-surrender'd love;—
This, to reveal this mystery, him did move:
213
150
On th' other hand, he had a tale to tellOf a suppress'd and smother'd passion: how
Could he so manage this, how fully dwell
On all its incidents, and on the brow
Of the innocent Sophronia, not compel
A self-humiliating flush to glow?—
He spake of this, but so mysteriously,
That his defects the bard must need supply.—
151
Thus somewhat still is left for me to say;But what I have to say will still augment
The miracle—not one of every day—
Of glorious feeling, which the glad event
Of this my little story will display.—
Into that mass of generous intent
Gisippus had contributed, though none
Of this had once conceiv'd suspicion.—
152
As I have said, Gisippus much was press'dBy his father's friends, and his own friends, to wed;
Long time, in vain, they often had address'd
To him this suit; at last, by fortune led,
He with Sophronia met; and, though his breast
By impulses of passion was not fed,
Yet such approvance mild he entertain'd
For her, as soon his resolution chain'd.—
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153
It chanc'd some months after he had decreedT' espouse Sophronia, that a voyage he made
To Salamis! Ah, little did he heed
His own betrayal, 'till he was betray'd!
Love, passionate, fervent love, he there indeed
First felt, then meeting with an orphan maid,
Whose wondrous charms, black eyes, and bosom fair,
Made him her victim 'ere he was aware.—
154
This love he saw too was reciprocal!What could he do? he had not power to say
That he had pledg'd himself beyond recall!—
Nor had he power to tear himself away!—
Dallying 'twixt duty and desire; the thrall
Of passion's potency, day after day,
The hour he fix'd to go:—the hour past by;
Till he lost will, as well as power, to fly!—
155
So long did this continue, that, at last,He felt that he had, with himself, the maid
Too much ensnar'd: long as his time was pass'd
In her society, might be delay'd
All explanation: but he saw so fast
Her love was rivetted, that, unbetray'd
In honour, from her side he could not steal,
Nor his ties with another not reveal.
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156
This very thraldom finish'd his undoing.His earlier love untold, how could he fly?
How could he thus her path with thorns be strewing?
Evading thus, he fix'd his destiny!—
When their near separation he was ruing,
He saw a tear gather in Lesbia's eye.
At last, perplex'd, or what to do, or what
To leave undone, he hurried from the spot.
157
All his frank utterance now from him was fled;The ghost of what he was did he return;
And though he was by honour so much led
As at each treach'rous subterfuge to spurn,
Still now those marriage ties he view'd with dread,
For which, or ere this voyage, he did yearn;
Sleepless his nights, tedious his days, were now,
Yet not one jot does he retract his vow.
158
Gisippus, ere from Athens he did roam,Having betroth'd Sophronia, but unknown
To her, had means devis'd to make her home
More fraught with comfort by a well-tim'd boon.
In generous souls, nothing doth more illume
The light of love, than kindness it hath shewn.
If to the debtor this the donor bind,
Still more doth giving fix the noble mind.
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159
Love knows not obligation! It is more,Far, far more, than repaid by power to bless!
Knows not humiliation! Crœsus' store
Could not augment that love, or make it less!
True love so many times doth o'er and o'er
Give to reciprocation mightier stress
Than to the accidents of property;
That never they commensurate can be!
160
Gisippus lov'd Sophronia with a loveMore holy, and more lofty, since he knew
That portion of the comfort she did prove
As a creation from his bounty grew.
And so, for this, he honour'd her above
Those, o'er whose fate no influence could ensue
From his decision, that the thought, with scorn
He entertain'd, of leaving her forlorn.
161
Could he now leave her? He, to her, who didNot only all her little stores impart.
217
The secret treasures of her virgin heart?
“Honour, such ignominious thought forbid!—
No, let me henceforth try with ev'ry art,
In blessing her, though I be leagu'd with sorrow,
Some comfort from another's joy to borrow.”
162
Such had his resolution been, in suchHad he persisted, though his anxious friends
Saw that somewhat internally did touch
His wonted cheer: still ne'er Gisippus lends
An ear to their inquiries; but, as much
As in him lies, to other topic bends
Officious scrutinies about his fate:
Diverting them from his own inward state.
163
Thus had he now persisted many weeks:—The espousals with Sophronia were decreed,—
The day was fix'd, and though in him all speaks
Of inward conflict, still he seem'd indeed
So bent to baffle fortune's future freaks,—
In nuptial pomp to Hymen's fane to lead
The meek Sophronia, that not one surmises
From alienated love, that conflict rises.
164
Not long had he to Athens been return'd,When tidings by a letter he receiv'd,
218
Her, so his seeming perfidy had griev'd,—
That she had sicken'd; and the fire that burn'd
Within her, so entirely had bereav'd
Her both of health and hope, that not a friend
Who knew, but deem'd her life was near its end.
165
Farther he learn'd, that, for the needful aidOf skill'd physicians, with which Athens teems,
Lesbia's associates did at length persuade
Her to leave Salamis: that love-lorn themes
Too potent o'er her infirm state forbade
Her to proceed to Athens, where she deems
She oft may see Gisippus, who still sways
Her bleeding heart, though life for such love pays.
166
This Lesbia had not to himself divulg'd,But one to whom she had confess'd the truth,
A faithful friend, who long had been indulg'd
With all the secret feelings of her youth,
Without her privity, had this promulg'd;
Lesbia had charg'd this female friend, in sooth,
The message which succeeded this to send:
Thus her commission she did but extend.
167
Lastly he reads, that, ere her form be laidLow in the tomb, that, he would once bestow
219
Not to recriminate for a broken vow;
Not with a secret purpose to persuade
Him to engarland her dejected brow
With Hymen's wreath, but rather to receive
Her last farewel, and, forgiv'n, to forgive.
168
'Twas for this cause Gisippus did arrangeHis flight from Athens. He had not betray'd
The cause to Titus, for a deed so strange.
Nor, had he known it, had he of it made
Advantage, 'till how fortunate such change
Of love, he to his friend had first display'd.
E'en force of love could not seduce his mind
To tell a secret to his care consign'd.
169
Gisippus only said that he must wendOn business of such import, that he fear'd
E'en to say he must go, save to a friend
By whom with large allowance would be heard
Of honourable surmise, whate'er did tend
To cast suspicion on him. “Youth rever'd!”
He farther cried, “Thou to my bride repair,
And tidings of my going to her bear.
170
“I will not tell thee wherefore I go hence;—But thou may'st well think cause of import high
220
Say to Sophronia, that this mystery
I will unfold to her, but that mere pretence
She may not deem it, I on thee rely
To be my messenger of this same theme:—
Thou knowest well, so highly I esteem
171
“Thy noble qualities, I would not useE'en thy assistance, though thou art my friend,
And dearest friend, in cause which would abuse
Thy high integrity; or condescend—
E'en though no other being I could chuse—
To make thee serve an ignominious end.
From what in past times thou hast known of me
Trust, that I'm thus reserv'd reluctantly.”
172
Two causes to this mystery did urgeGisippus. Needlessly he did not chuse
The secret of poor Lesbia to emerge
From its concealment; and as much he rues,
With something that might slight be deem'd, to scourge
The innocent Sophronia. Thus he views—
Though 'tis abhorring from his manly will—
Keeping to secresy the lesser ill.
173
He to Piræus went; by any means,To see if he perchance could reconcile
221
From all complaint; a faint and patient smile
Stole o'er her countenance, when first he gains
To her access. He could not without guile
Longer delay to tell her of his fate:
To feign her love unknown were now too late.
174
Not that, ere this, he had assum'd pretenceOf ignorance for any purpose base:
But he fear'd, since her love was so intense,
That e'en frank converse would that love increase.
E'en though he had but tried his eloquence
To cause that passion in her heart to cease,
He knew that, in such case, while we dissuade,
A soft dissuasion lends persuasion aid.
175
This, more than aught else, him did reconcileTo quit her so abruptly, when he fled
From Salamis. He knew she must revile
The deed, but he had rather she were led
To hate him, if, by hatred, she meanwhile
Could gain some respite from her love, now fed
By passionate thoughts. Could she regain peace lost
His fame would he forego, whate'er the cost.
176
Thus, as in all things he had ever done,A gen'rous nature did he manifest:
222
'Twas that, from want of strength, he had repress'd
Earlier departure. E'en as light o'th' sun
He Lesbia lov'd; and this love he prov'd best
By yielding that he held more dear—to her—
Than love itself!—his spotless character!—
177
Not one remonstrance, or complaining word,She spake. Gisippus now was sorely press'd.—
To her he own'd, that, so might be restor'd
Her self-respect, that also, in his breast,
Like passion glow'd; and farther he implor'd
Her to believe, that honour—which suppress'd
All declaration of his love;—and love—
Which from the ador'd object could not move;—
178
And fear—that, if he left her, unexplain'dThe cause of his deportment, she might think
That he the cruel scheme had entertain'd
To gain her heart, and then retreating shrink
From manly overtures;—these motives reign'd,—
And none but these;—when on distraction's brink
So many days he linger'd, broken hearted;
So often taken leave, yet ne'er departed!—
179
She spake not;—nor complain'd;—nor answer'd him,—But a soft hectic stole across her cheek;
223
And with a smile her lips made answer meek.
Gisippus, when he saw each well-form'd limb
So shrunk and feeble; when he saw her weak
And trembling hand stretch'd forth in fond reserve,
From duty's stern behest did almost swerve.—
180
But though she thus was wan, she was too proudTo let him his exculpatory plea
Conclude; and oft upon his hand she bow'd,
And told him, “foolish 'twas for her to be
So thoughtful;” then, (as if with shame allow'd,)
She somewhat hinted at a malady,
Which with her family descent was blended:—
A generous falsehood truth could not have mended.
181
Gisippus left her, promising to comeAnd see her oft; and, as he did return,
He was devising how he might presume
To make Sophronia this misfortune learn.—
Not only his high heart could not find room
T' admit the thought, but at it did he spurn,
Of hiding from Sophronia what he knew;
E'en though from her reproof on him it drew.
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182
And he exclaim'd oft, “Had she said one word;One angry accent had poor Lesbia spoken;
How had she then reliev'd me! But 'twas hard,
'Twas very hard, to see that heart half broken,—
Sustain'd with such an exquisite regard
To self-complacency in me! The yoke, then,
That now I bear, had been half lessen'd;—nay,—
Had seem'd as nothing,—had she seem'd the prey
183
Of petulant feelings! But to see her, so—So very meek! To see her head reclin'd
Upon her bosom with such patient woe;
To see a smile perpetually design'd
Feign'd satisfaction o'er her face to throw;—
To see her thus resolv'd the blame to find
In herself wholly;—this unmans me quite!—
And makes my agony most exquisite!”—
184
Such thought was he revolving when he foundTitus upon the causeway. His joy guess,
Ye who can do it, when he saw unbound—
With happy prospect Lesbia to possess—
His extricated honour: also crown'd
Sophronia with full peace and happiness;—
And all this springing from th' unravelment
Of that strange clue which Titus did torment.
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185
Joy, it is said, suits not the poet's themeSo well as grief; or here I might have scope
T' embody many a fantastic dream
Of present happiness, and future hope!—
The arch-physician, Love, so well did seem
With Lesbia's, Titus' maladies to cope,
That, ere a month, caressing and caress'd,
Gisippus, she; and him, Sophronia bless'd!
“But Myrrha, sleepless with the unconquer'd fire,
Broods o'er the furies of her wild desire.
Now she despair'd; to try she now decreed;
And shame forbade, and passion urg'd, the deed:
While incompatible temptations rend,
She feels the conflict, but foresees no end:
The racking whirl makes all her soul its prey;
She stay'd, and wish'd to go: she went, and wish'd to stay.”
“At virgo Cinyreïa pervigil igni
Carpitur indomito: furiosaque vota retractat.
Et modò desperat, modò vult tentare; pudetque,
Et cupit; et, quod agat, non invenit.”
Broods o'er the furies of her wild desire.
Now she despair'd; to try she now decreed;
And shame forbade, and passion urg'd, the deed:
While incompatible temptations rend,
She feels the conflict, but foresees no end:
The racking whirl makes all her soul its prey;
She stay'd, and wish'd to go: she went, and wish'd to stay.”
“At virgo Cinyreïa pervigil igni
Carpitur indomito: furiosaque vota retractat.
Et modò desperat, modò vult tentare; pudetque,
Et cupit; et, quod agat, non invenit.”
Ovidii Metamorphoseon, lib. 10, v. 369.
Here
Will I take up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.
Will I take up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.
Romeo and Juliet.
O gran bontà de' Cavalieri antiqui!—
Eran rivali, eran di Fè diversi,
E si sentian degli aspri colpi iniqui
Per tutta la persona anco dolersi;
E pur per selve oscure, e calli iniqui
Insieme van, senza sospetto aversi.
Eran rivali, eran di Fè diversi,
E si sentian degli aspri colpi iniqui
Per tutta la persona anco dolersi;
E pur per selve oscure, e calli iniqui
Insieme van, senza sospetto aversi.
Ariosto, Canto primo, stanza 22.
The author, perhaps, here may be pardoned in making an observation, which at first sight may appear more trifling than it really will be found to be on further reflection, since it is capable of such ample application, though the instance in which he exemplifies it may lay him open to animadversion. Let any one recollect when a particular party or excursion have been more than usually gratifying, and in consequence he has endeavoured a second time to promote such a party or excursion— though in externals every thing was the same the second time as the first—did he ever find the second answer?
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