 | Julia ; Or, The Italian Lover |  |
SCENE II.
To her Olympia.[Julia.]
Return'd so speedily, my gentle friend?
Your cares are so preventive of my wishes,
I shall begin to expect beyond all bounds,
And grow presuming from too much indulgence.
OLYMPIA.
From Fulvia and her son I bring, my Julia,
A thousand kind endearments. Both together
With cordial acceptation heard your message,
And presently both mean to visit you.
JULIA.
Why does not pleasure kindle through my frame,
And mount up to my cheek, at such glad tidings?
The time has been, I should have glow'd at this,
20
But my repining heart deserves no blessings.
OLYMPIA.
To labour to forget, I know, is vain;
The fond endeavour toils against itself,
And deeper graves the idea 'twould efface;
Yet there are means—
JULIA.
Unprofitable all.
How have I dragg'd about this weary load,
Through every change of place and circumstance!
I mingled with the young, the gay, the happy;
Forcing a hollow smile at giddy joy,
While my pale heart sat mocking it within:
The arrow sticking here, from scene to scene
You led my sad insensibility,
The objects varying, but my soul the same.
OLYMPIA.
Too much, I fear, we try'd, and you endur'd
Our well-meant, unavailing services.
JULIA.
Could I forbear, I would not weep, Olympia;
Indeed I would not; for it pains my friends.
'Twas such a black, unapprehended horrour,
So sudden, and so dreadfully consummate,
I sometimes for a moment close my eyes,
And strive to think, I've had a hideous dream;
That, quite awake, 'twill vanish from my brain;
That, still he lives, and I again shall see him:
Ah, no! the short illusion is the dream;
Claudio, thy death the dire reality.
21
The volume of his days too soon was clos'd;
But grace and honour had so fill'd the record,
Each page out-weigh'd a long life's history.
JULIA.
This was the hour, when my dear father came,
Trembling and pale, to falter out the tidings.
That instant, mighty ruler of our fates!
Had thy exterminating arm reach'd here,
These floods of bitter tears, this black despair,
Had not been number'd with the sins of Julia.
OLYMPIA.
Tame languid minds, whose course glides dully on,
Yield, as the stream to the sharp severing keel,
To close as quickly on each transient wound;
But woe's deep traces never leave thy breast.
JULIA.
Was I not mad, Olympia? I remember,
I felt the stab in Genoa.—When I wak'd,
The place, nor aught around me, were the same:
I saw the smooth Bisagnio, as I lay,
Rolling his quiet tide beneath my window;
It seem'd Elysium, and the peaceful shades
Where guiltless lovers are no more divided.
OLYMPIA.
But now, my friend, collect your fortitude;
Nor start, when you behold your Claudio's image
Recall'd to life, and blooming in Marcellus:
I know, he'll soon be here.
22
Why should I dread it?—
Disus'd even to the shadow of a joy,
My sickly apprehension plays the coward:
Yet I will see him.
OLYMPIA.
You turn pale, my Julia;
Shall I forbid his coming?
JULIA.
No. This weakness
Will pass away. A treacherous hectick wastes me:
I shall not suffer long.—Is he so like,
So very like his brother?
OLYMPIA.
Features, stature,
Almost the same. Somewhat a bolder air,
Yet gentle still; and (youthful as he is)
A little frown of discontented thought
Casts o'er his brow a momentary shade,
That seems not native to his generous aspect.
JULIA.
In such an aspect was my paradise.
But now pale lead lies on that mouldering face:
Whose beams shot rapture once to Julia's bosom.
OLYMPIA.
By nature fram'd for every genial bliss,
Turn, gently turn, from that cold retrospect!
And there is one—
JULIA.
I know whom you would name.
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Then smile, and name him for me.
JULIA.
No, I cannot;
I cannot smile, and name Mentevole:
But yet, I much respect him.
OLYMPIA.
Bare respect
For passion such as his!
JULIA.
Olympia, spare me;
In this alone I must seem obstinate.
OLYMPIA.
Alas, poor brother!
[aside.
JULIA.
Hark! my father comes;
Hold him a little moment in discourse;
I would not have him see I had been weeping.
[Julia retires a little.
| Julia ; Or, The Italian Lover | |