Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

An Apartment in Cæsario's Palace. Cæario seated alone in deep thought.
Cæsario,
[rising]
How vain is wealth! how vain is glitt'ring pomp,
And all the gilded Majesty of Kings,
To stem the torrent of a troubled soul,
And calm the anguish of a tortur'd breast!
Alas! though deck'd with all the pageant state
Of mighty Princes—though at my command
Obedient vassals humbly prostrate bend,
And trembling wait the mandates of their lord;
Still, still for ever will my conscience wake
Such frightful images, such hideous forms,
That hell itself, to tear the world let loose
With all its terrors and chaotic shapes,
Could scarcely raise a more terrific crowd!

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The Ghost of Bertram, (Oh, much injur'd Count!)
Freezes my soul to horror with its frown—
See! see! his eye-balls glare with livid fire,
His matted locks distain'd with clotted blood
Like meteors stream; and from that ghastly wound
(My guilty deed!) there flows a stream of blood—
'Tis all a vision—Fancy's idle dream,
Imagination!—Oh! 'tis he himself!
See how he points, as if to bid the fiends,
Like hungry vultures, seize their trembling prey!
Oh save me, save me, from that horrid frown,
That threat'ning look, which stabs my beating heart.
Off, Phantom, off! It beckons me to come,
And justly meet the punishment of guilt!
Proceed, infernal spectre! I'm prepared
(Though thou shouldst lead me to the gates of hell)
To follow—courage from despair I gain—
Nought can abash me—I'm myself again.
He's gone! once more—and once more, silence guilt;

167

When thou art absent, nought Cæsario fears:
At men to tremble never was he doom'd—
But far be absent scenes of death and strife,
A milder theme now occupies my mind;
Deceitful Cupid has his entrance found
Within my breast, and Isabella's charms
Have quickly kindled in this aching heart
An eager, ardent, never dying flame:
But, see, my friend the Count Sebastian comes:
His crafty genius may my plans effect.

Enter Sebastian.
Seb.—
Hail, my thrice honor'd liege, Cæsario hail;
May heav'n be kind, and prosper all thy days!
But why, my lord, that gloom upon thy brow?
Why speak thy looks such sharp and pensive care?
What inward anguish preys upon thy soul,
And makes thee deaf to ev'ry soothing friend?
If aught thou wilt, Sebastian can perform:
His hand—his heart—his services command—
In me a firm and faithful friend you'll find,
Able of hand, and vigorous of mind.

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Cæ.—
Then list Sebastian—a most ardent flame
Rages within me, and my peace destroys:
Nor ever truly happy can I be
Until my love's fair object I possess.
Alonzo's daughter surely thou hast seen,
And seen the secret cause of all my woes.
When first I saw her, lost in stupid gaze,
Amaz'd I stood; and as by magic spell
Fix'd to the earth, I rivetted remain'd.
So bright her eyes, that not a gem exists
Of fairer lustre in Golconda's mines;
Her cheeks like roses in their morning pride,
Array'd with blushing beauty fairly shone;
Her lov'ly ringlets with celestial grace,
That softly wav'd on her majestic neck,
Pure as Arabian silk, and bright as gold,
E'en Eve might envy, and her own despise:
Her slender form that Venus' self might grace,
Could move the flinty breast, and sooth a heart
Hard as the stone, or adamantine rock,
And melt the savage who delights in blood:
Her whiter breast outvies the Alpine snow:

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How fair the tint of her vermilion lip!
Her balmy breath more sweet than zephyr's breeze,
Exceeds the fragrance of the southern gale:
In short—obtain her—be it how it may—
I must—I will. A convent's gloom contains
This lov'ly treasure, this perfection's pride.
So now, as twilight spreads its dusky gloom
O'er all the earth, and night's o'ershad'wing veil
Will soon envelope all, do thou prepare
Two sable cloaks, which will our forms disguise:
Then bid a chosen gallant band ascend
The outer ramparts, while we hold a parle
With the proud Abbess: and the signal giv'n,
Break through the portal, seize the trembling maid,
And bear her off in triumph—haste—despatch!

Seb.—
I will, my lord, your high behest obey;
On me depend—I will effect the deed.

[Exit Sebastian.

170

ACT III.

Scene III.—

Cæsario's Dying Speech.
Enter Cæsario, in haste.
Cæ.—
Fight! fight, my men! one gallant effort more! [Exit and Returns.

All! all is lost! now, human aid is vain
My lost, my vanquish'd fortunes to retrieve!
The die is cast—the fatal hour is come,
When the dread-fierce Cæsario's self must sink,
Wrapt in the cold, the icy grasp of death!
'Tis true I've fall'n—but still, despising odds,
E'en fortune's self I dar'd, untam'd, oppose:
Strove spite of fate to stem the torrent's tide;
And dar'd be valiant, while I dar'd be free!
'Tis all in vain! 'tis the decree of Heav'n,
The threaten'd vengeance of my former crimes!
Yet, though 'tis so—no trampling foe shall lay
With pompous boast my honours in the dust.
Mine own rough arm shall close my bright career,
Myself exulting, as myself I slay!
Yes, though each pow'r to crush me now combine,

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I'll fall, the glory of my honor'd line:
In death itself my noble birth will prove,
A splendid victim of ambition—love:
Destruction's verge, and dark abyss defy,
And once a conq'ror, still unconquer'd die!
Yes, my bright course of radiant glory run,
I'll face my end like India's tropic sun;
Give one bright blaze of fierce and bloody light,
Then sink, wide flaming, in eternal night.
And though thus conscious of approaching fate,
I now must perish, yet will perish great:
And future ages shall through time admire,
This last bright flashing of heroic fire!

[Stabs himself, and falls.
Alarum.
Hark! hark! the rout's began! Oh, for my strength!
My wonted strength!—one hour of vigour—No!—
The gushing blood denies it!—still once more

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My sword I'll wield—stand friends—fight—'tis in vain!—
Thus sink my fortunes!—Off, base weakness!—oh!

[Dies.