 | Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous |  |
SCENE V.
DON FRANCIS and DONNA MARIA.Maria.
To make atonement for the guilt of men,
Altars are dress'd, and saintly relics shine:—
Instead of real sanctity of heart
They churches decorate with costly gifts:—
But reason, bursting from a sable cloud,
On a bright throne erects her regal stand,
And gives new sanctions from the voice of God,
To free the mind from superstition's reign.
Altars are dress'd, and saintly relics shine:—
Instead of real sanctity of heart
They churches decorate with costly gifts:—
But reason, bursting from a sable cloud,
On a bright throne erects her regal stand,
And gives new sanctions from the voice of God,
To free the mind from superstition's reign.
No fables, legends, dreams, or monkish tales,
Shake my firm purpose, or disarm my mind,
When duty calls to make my country free.
Shake my firm purpose, or disarm my mind,
When duty calls to make my country free.
The churches' treasures were our last resort,
And, join'd by all the matrons of my train,
In weeds of woe, and sable garments dress'd,
I kneel'd before the consecrated shrines,
And ask'd a blessing on my country's cause;
But 'twas to him whose sanction seals the claim,
Of peace and freedom to the human race,
I bow'd my soul, and rais'd my suppliant prayer,
That when a spark from chaos' womb had burst,
And light diffus'd o'er all the western world,
It might not be to gild a tyrant's car,
And make mankind the pageants of his will;
I then dismantled all the sacred shrines.
And, join'd by all the matrons of my train,
In weeds of woe, and sable garments dress'd,
114
And ask'd a blessing on my country's cause;
But 'twas to him whose sanction seals the claim,
Of peace and freedom to the human race,
I bow'd my soul, and rais'd my suppliant prayer,
That when a spark from chaos' womb had burst,
And light diffus'd o'er all the western world,
It might not be to gild a tyrant's car,
And make mankind the pageants of his will;
I then dismantled all the sacred shrines.
Francis.
Hah!—durst thou venture on so bold a deed!—
Leap priestly bounds—invade the churches' rights—
Disrobe the saints, and risque the public hate!—
Maria.
Necessity must sanctify the deed.—
Francis.
Thy soul was form'd to animate the arm
Of some illustrious, bold, heroic chief,
And not to waste its glorious fire away,
Beneath the weakness of a female form.
Maria.
Men rail at weaknesses themselves create,
And boldly stigmatize the female mind,
As though kind nature's just impartial hand
Had form'd its features in a baser mould:
But nice distinctions in the human soul,
Adopted follies, or inherent vice,
May be discuss'd in calmer times than these:—
We'll reason then—if possible regain
Whatever nature, or its author gave.
But Juan waits, and fortune's on the wing:
The fickle goddess waves her glossy plume,
And holds an era in the life of man,
When all is hung suspended on his choice;
Election made, judiciously he stands
On the proud summit of all human fame;
But judgment once erroneously form'd
Oft fixes his ill fate through life's career;
While a strong current bears him down the tide,
And wrecks his peace on every ripling stream.
And boldly stigmatize the female mind,
As though kind nature's just impartial hand
Had form'd its features in a baser mould:
But nice distinctions in the human soul,
Adopted follies, or inherent vice,
May be discuss'd in calmer times than these:—
We'll reason then—if possible regain
Whatever nature, or its author gave.
But Juan waits, and fortune's on the wing:
The fickle goddess waves her glossy plume,
115
When all is hung suspended on his choice;
Election made, judiciously he stands
On the proud summit of all human fame;
But judgment once erroneously form'd
Oft fixes his ill fate through life's career;
While a strong current bears him down the tide,
And wrecks his peace on every ripling stream.
The morn may smile propitious on our cause—
May make us free, or more completely slaves:—
Unrive the manacles, or drive the bolts,
And clank the shackles round the Spanish world.
Canst thou forget the soft Louisa's tears,
And chase her brother through the field of blood?
Thou, like a lion leaping on his prey,
Must aim thy javelin at De Haro's heart.
May make us free, or more completely slaves:—
Unrive the manacles, or drive the bolts,
And clank the shackles round the Spanish world.
Canst thou forget the soft Louisa's tears,
And chase her brother through the field of blood?
Thou, like a lion leaping on his prey,
Must aim thy javelin at De Haro's heart.
Francis.
Name not Louisa—I would forget she lives—
Or that she is the sister of my foe
Mistaken man!—he deprecates this war
That lights his country in a wasting flame;
But thinks the era of her freedom lost,
Since first Ximenes' artful subtile wiles,
Threw such a weight in the despotic scale,
A standing army at the sov'reign's nod,
Which makes the monarch master of the laws,
And gives at will both liberty and life.
Yet Conde Haro has a noble soul,
Nor is less virtuous than truly brave.
Maria.
Virtue must spring from the maternal line
If it adorns the Conde Haro's breast.
116
Tomorrow proves him what the world reports,
And weaves a garland to adorn his brow,
Or leaves his trunk a headless sacrifice,
To stamp fresh glory on Don Juan's name.
Maria.
Go, hasten on, and not a moment lose;
Remind the soldiers of Segovia's rights—
Review the battles fought on Ebro's banks—
Assure them all is safe, if they're but brave.
The sword maintains what their forefathers won.
[Exeunt.
| Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous | |