Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| XV. |
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| XIII. | XIII. |
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| XVIII. |
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 | Marcian Colonna |  |
XIII.
“It was no dream, for often since that hour
The star has flashed, and I have felt its power,
('Twas in my moodier moments,) and my soul
Seemed languishing for blood, and there did roll
Rivers of blood beside me, and my hands,
As tho' I had obeyed my Fate's commands,
Were smeared and sanguine, and my throbbing brow
Grew hot and blistered with the fire within,
And my heart withered with a secret sin,
And my whole heart was tempested: it grew
Larger methought with passion—even now
I feel it swell within me, and a flood
Of fiery wishes, such as man ne'er knew,
Seem to consume me. Sometimes I have stood
Looking at Heaven—for Hope, with these sad eyes,
In vain—for I was born a sacrifice.
What Hope was there for me, a murderer?
What lovely? nothing—yes I err, I err.”
The star has flashed, and I have felt its power,
('Twas in my moodier moments,) and my soul
Seemed languishing for blood, and there did roll
Rivers of blood beside me, and my hands,
As tho' I had obeyed my Fate's commands,
Were smeared and sanguine, and my throbbing brow
Grew hot and blistered with the fire within,
And my heart withered with a secret sin,
And my whole heart was tempested: it grew
Larger methought with passion—even now
I feel it swell within me, and a flood
Of fiery wishes, such as man ne'er knew,
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Looking at Heaven—for Hope, with these sad eyes,
In vain—for I was born a sacrifice.
What Hope was there for me, a murderer?
What lovely? nothing—yes I err, I err.”
“Yes,—mixed with these wild visionings, a form
Descended, fragile as a summer cloud,
And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm:
I never saw her face, and yet I bowed
Down to the dust, as savage men, they say,
Adore the sun in countries far away.
I felt the music of her words like balm
Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm
As the great forest lion that lay down
At Una's feet, without a single moan,
Vanquish'd by love, or as the herds that hung
Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung.
—I never saw her,—never: but her voice
Was the whole world to me. It said ‘Rejoice,
For I am come to love thee, youth, at last,
To recompence thy pains and sorrow past.
No longer now, amongst the mountains high,
Shalt thou over thy single destiny
Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all
Have worshipped like a shrine, have left the hall
Of my proud parents, and without a sigh,
Am come to roam by caverns and by floods,
And be a dweller with thee in the woods.”
Descended, fragile as a summer cloud,
And with her gentle voice she stilled the storm:
I never saw her face, and yet I bowed
Down to the dust, as savage men, they say,
Adore the sun in countries far away.
I felt the music of her words like balm
Raining upon my soul, and I grew calm
As the great forest lion that lay down
At Una's feet, without a single moan,
Vanquish'd by love, or as the herds that hung
Their heads in silence when the Thracian sung.
—I never saw her,—never: but her voice
Was the whole world to me. It said ‘Rejoice,
For I am come to love thee, youth, at last,
To recompence thy pains and sorrow past.
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Shalt thou over thy single destiny
Mourn: I am come to share it. I, whom all
Have worshipped like a shrine, have left the hall
Of my proud parents, and without a sigh,
Am come to roam by caverns and by floods,
And be a dweller with thee in the woods.”
“—Here let me pause, for now I must not say,
How she, my gentle spirit, fades away;
And now, and now—Alas! and must I die,
The martyr of a crime I cannot shun?
What have I—what have my dead fathers done,
That thus from age to age a misery
Is seared and stamped upon us? Shall it be
For ever thus? It shall not. I will run
My race as fearless as the summer sun,
When clouds come not, and like his course above
Shall mine be here, below, all light and love.”
How she, my gentle spirit, fades away;
And now, and now—Alas! and must I die,
The martyr of a crime I cannot shun?
What have I—what have my dead fathers done,
That thus from age to age a misery
Is seared and stamped upon us? Shall it be
For ever thus? It shall not. I will run
My race as fearless as the summer sun,
When clouds come not, and like his course above
Shall mine be here, below, all light and love.”
| Marcian Colonna | |