 | Gemma of The Isles |  |
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Scene IV.
—Night. Gemma asleep in her chamber. Mermaids singing in the sea below.Mer.
Cruel, cruel beauty! sweetly sleeping
Whilst we bear away thy murdered lover!
Mermaid sisters wringing hands and weeping!
Gemma sleeps, her wedding crown above her!
Whilst we bear away thy murdered lover!
Mermaid sisters wringing hands and weeping!
Gemma sleeps, her wedding crown above her!
Hark, oh, hark! a trembling in the dark!
'T is the chime, wild with triumphant crime,
Far and wide that rings to wake the bride,
Cursed already to the end of time.
'T is the chime, wild with triumphant crime,
Far and wide that rings to wake the bride,
Cursed already to the end of time.
Bear him hence, ere every isle and rock
In the cruel clamour takes a part,
And the din as in a dream shall knock
On the doors of his deep-sleeping heart.
In the cruel clamour takes a part,
And the din as in a dream shall knock
On the doors of his deep-sleeping heart.
Faithful sorrow weeps the livelong night,
Treacherous joy arises with the sun!
Woe to bride and bridegroom whose delight
Dances on the grave of love undone!
Treacherous joy arises with the sun!
Woe to bride and bridegroom whose delight
Dances on the grave of love undone!
Weep for her who loved him, weep for her
In her pale green glistening halls below
Doomed to sit, and desolately hear
All the happy ships sweep to and fro,
In her pale green glistening halls below
Doomed to sit, and desolately hear
All the happy ships sweep to and fro,
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Hear his name to brave old northern rhyme
Wildly chanted, in an oft-told tale—
She, the while, a ghost of by-gone time,
Cares no more to watch the passing sail—
Wildly chanted, in an oft-told tale—
She, the while, a ghost of by-gone time,
Cares no more to watch the passing sail—
Never more her coralled head shall raise,
Whilst her maids with backward streaming hair,
Lips that pant with haste, and glowing face,
In their joy drop down to tell her he is there.
Whilst her maids with backward streaming hair,
Lips that pant with haste, and glowing face,
In their joy drop down to tell her he is there.
Northern Iceberg! with thy spires of pride,
Sweeping ruin o'er a wintry sea—
Wherefore didst thou trust the melting tide?
Soft and treacherous summer vanquished thee!
Sweeping ruin o'er a wintry sea—
Wherefore didst thou trust the melting tide?
Soft and treacherous summer vanquished thee!
Let us go! Sea-sisters, let us go!
Loud, and loud, and louder, bell on bell!
Woe, oh, woe! for ever, ever woe!
Faster! faster! Fatal bride, farewell!
Loud, and loud, and louder, bell on bell!
Woe, oh, woe! for ever, ever woe!
Faster! faster! Fatal bride, farewell!
Naxiotes singing beneath the window.
Nax.
Up, beautiful bride!
Earth's night-dream is over!
Thine angel smiles by—
He waits to confide
Thy life to thy lover—
Then back to the sky.
Earth's night-dream is over!
Thine angel smiles by—
He waits to confide
Thy life to thy lover—
Then back to the sky.
True love at thy feet
His purple hath spread,
The altar is dressed—
And Hope comes to meet
With star-circled head
Her snowy-veiled guest.
His purple hath spread,
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And Hope comes to meet
With star-circled head
Her snowy-veiled guest.
Yet pause where thou art,
Ere the rapturous spring
To the last golden height!
Ecstatic young heart,
Oh, pause on the wing
Of thy dizzy delight!
Ere the rapturous spring
To the last golden height!
Ecstatic young heart,
Oh, pause on the wing
Of thy dizzy delight!
Behind a closed door
When footsteps draw near,
With tidings of bliss—
One heart-bound, no more—
One rapture like fear—
Such a moment is this!
When footsteps draw near,
With tidings of bliss—
One heart-bound, no more—
One rapture like fear—
Such a moment is this!
When joy becomes real,
That flash of sensation—
That moment's perfume—
Hope's wondrous ideal,
And rich expectation,
Thou canst not resume.
That flash of sensation—
That moment's perfume—
Hope's wondrous ideal,
And rich expectation,
Thou canst not resume.
The heart-beat when first
The minstrel-hand runs
O'er preluding chords,
Is lost in the burst
Which dazzles at once
With music and words.
The minstrel-hand runs
O'er preluding chords,
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Which dazzles at once
With music and words.
Awake, and arise!
In thy splendour and pride,
To the altar away!—
From earth to the skies,
Ring joy to the bride
Who is wedded to-day!
In thy splendour and pride,
To the altar away!—
From earth to the skies,
Ring joy to the bride
Who is wedded to-day!
Enter Zilia, Mistress of the Robes, and Attendants.
Zil.
Wake, Gemma! Wake, my Princess! Lo, they bring
Your wedding-robe—arise!
Gem.
Oh, where am I?
Do you hear them singing! When the angels open
The gates of Paradise to happy souls,
Such sounds as these, I think, must crowd the air.
How glorious life is! Does the world shine thus
On every wedding morn?
Zil.
Brides have charmed eyes—
Though haply not all brides wear in their crown
Such flowers of beauty, youth, and love as you do,
Whose life is but a poem, set to music.
For us, time moves in prose. On days like these,
O'er the dead level of a woman's life
Rises one royal moment like a sun—
One that I trust will never set for you,
Leaving all gray behind it.
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Stay! How strange!
What I have just remembered was no dream!
I heard, as I do live—last night I heard,
When darkness was just freshening into twilight,
Voices that sang in Danish from the shore.
How could it be? And strangest still of all,
It was a dirge, a beautiful slow dirge—
Of many voices harp-like and confused,
Yet tuned to one rich harmony of sorrow.
My sense was wrapped in a thin veil of sleep,
Which never stirred, and yet I heard it all—
Gemma sleeps, her wedding crown above her!
Those very words are ringing in my ear,
And yet it was a dirge.
Zil.
'T was but a dream.
There is no creature sings or speaks that tongue
In one of all your isles. But do not tell
Lorenzo that your dreams heard Danish songs.
A Lady
(aside to the Mistress of the Robes).
To dream of dirges on a wedding-morn!
What sort of omen do you call that?
M. of the Robes.
Hush!
No evil omen to so rich a cheek,
And to such fresh young eyes.
Another Lady.
What, if ill news
Await us of my lord Lorenzo?
M. of the Robes.
Nay!
What foolish fancies! All is well and shall be!
Madam, the time advances.
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See, the room
Is all ablaze with gold and purple gifts
Already, from the north, south, east, and west!
Now let my son's belov'd and peerless bride
Put on her splendour.
M. of the Robes.
Sure th' imperial spouse
Of Palæologus, upon her throne,
Ne'er looked more sumptuous!
Zil.
Lo, the cestus stiff
With broidered silver, waits to bind in folds
This fabric, glowing from a Persian loom;
And pearls, like showers of dewdrops, for your hair—
(The divers stole them from your mermaid-sisters);
And last, this flashing crown of argent, mixed
With living bloom from the bride's myrtle bough!
See, all is ready here.
Gem.
Dearest princess,
Will they be long arraying me? my heart
So flutters!
Zil.
'T is for your Lorenzo's eyes!
[The Mistress of the Robes and Attendants array Gemma for the wedding.
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