 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
SCENE II.
Sophia,solus. [After a pause.]
“In thee I smile, I flourish, and I live;
“And should some envious chance thy verdure blight,
“Alone I stand, deserted, and distress'd:
“To ev'ry joy to ev'ry comfort lost.”
“And should some envious chance thy verdure blight,
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“To ev'ry joy to ev'ry comfort lost.”
Almighty Pow'r! in pity to my sire,
Launch thy destroying lightnings at this head.
Oh let me die, ere yet my shame be known!
Launch thy destroying lightnings at this head.
Oh let me die, ere yet my shame be known!
“A spotless name!”—Distraction to reflect!
That name, he deems so spotless, and so pure,
Shall soon be branded with a harlot's shame.
Oh Roldan! Roldan! wherefore didst thou thus
My peace destroy, and then to branded Scorn,
To Grief, to Anguish yield me up a prey?
That name, he deems so spotless, and so pure,
Shall soon be branded with a harlot's shame.
Oh Roldan! Roldan! wherefore didst thou thus
My peace destroy, and then to branded Scorn,
To Grief, to Anguish yield me up a prey?
The shorten'd shades these spreading beeches yield
Declare the long-expected season past
When the dear traitor promis'd to be here.
Alas the while! how is he alter'd now!
The time has been when, with impatient step,
And mind distract with thousand hopes and fears,
He, full an hour before the appointed clock,
Would to the spot repair, and chide the sun,
Whose envious chariot, he would swear, stood still,
To intercept the season of delight.
Declare the long-expected season past
When the dear traitor promis'd to be here.
Alas the while! how is he alter'd now!
The time has been when, with impatient step,
And mind distract with thousand hopes and fears,
He, full an hour before the appointed clock,
Would to the spot repair, and chide the sun,
Whose envious chariot, he would swear, stood still,
To intercept the season of delight.
But ah! among the brambles, flow'ret-clad,
Which skirt on either side yon narrow walk,
Methinks I hear—'Tis so. My Roldan comes.
—But oh! how slow!—Where are the eagle wings,
With which Impatience us'd to aid his feet?—
Alas! this coldness doubles ev'ry pang.
Oh anguish! cruel Roldan! Oh despair!
Which skirt on either side yon narrow walk,
Methinks I hear—'Tis so. My Roldan comes.
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With which Impatience us'd to aid his feet?—
Alas! this coldness doubles ev'ry pang.
Oh anguish! cruel Roldan! Oh despair!
[Leans in a disconsolate attitude against the scene.]
| Poems on Various Subjects | |