University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

The Ocean between the rocks and the Islet.
Atalantis, Leon, and Nea. Onesimarchus approaching with his Legions.
Onesi.
Ha! what is here—what fearful change is this?—
The rock of spells o'erthrown, and Atalant,
Again with wand restored, and, at her side,
The lowly instrument of her release.
I did not guard against a thing of earth,
And he hath wrought this ruin of my hopes.
She smiles upon him too—perchance she loves—
Hell!—that I cannot blast her with a look,
And him, the minion, that hath won her love!—
He shall not live, to triumph in that love,
Enjoying raptures still denied to me.
Rise waters—lift your heads—mount up and soar,
Engulfing all that may not ride upon ye;
And thou, dismember'd shore, again descend,
Down to the oozy depths from whence thou cam'st—
I need thee nothing farther—sink, I say.

[He waves his wand and the island descends.
Atal.
Now, Leon, place thy hand within mine own;
Fear not the billows—hearken not their roar,—
They cannot harm thee, thus accompanied.

Leon.
And ye, fair skies, farewell. Thou fatal isle,
Which robb'd me of my best beloved, farewell!
I sorrow not to see thee downward go,
Troubling no mariner hence. One long last look,
Ye bright clouds, that remind me of my home—
My country, all, farewell. Oh, never more
Shall my eyes gladden with your glimpse again.
Now Isabel, I come!

Atal.
Thou hast no fear,
Dear Leon, from this danger?

Leon.
Little now,
Since, in the wonders that are shown to me,
I yield me to the fullest faith in all
That thou hast promised me.

Atal.
Thou soon shalt see,
How, as to me, these waters shall become
Familiar to thy nature. Thou wilt glide
Unharm'd between their billows, which shall lift
Thy form, with friendly succor, as thou will'st,
Making their arms thy servants.

Leon.
I believe,—
And round thy waist, sweet Atalant, I twine,
Fearless, my confident arm and murmur not.
I would not look upon the skies again,
That witness'd my late ruin; and the seas,
That wrought it all, beget no terrors now.—
We do not sink.

Atal.
Not yet!—Behold afar,
Where, gathering, grow vast legions—angry forms,
Gigantic, that in masses, or alone,
Dart onward, with a glittering panoply
That flames the crests of ocean far and wide,
While roll the constant thunders of the gong,
That calls them still to rise.

Leon.
I see! I see!

Atal.
These are the armies of my own domain,
Led by my gallant brothers. They go forth,
To fight and conquer this Onesimarch,
Who, strong in trick and artifice alone,
Will never meet them in the open field.
Already, see, he shrinks;—his hosts retire,
And his fierce rule departs.

Leon.
The land is gone!

Atal.
Yes, down we sink, and thou art all mine own:
I bear thee on the waters, for a while,
To prove the power I have to succor thee.
Now for the calm retreat, by ocean girt,
And stormy waves protected—now with me!
There in the sunny hours that lapse away,
Like angel messengers, and leave no pain,
Thy heart shall grow to gladness. Life shall be
A sweet, rich, gracious time,—a pure estate,
Beyond the strifes that trouble it with man:—
Free from controlling crowds—free from the jar,
The heat, the noise, the dust of human care.
Nature shall blight thee never, nor disease
Bind thee in loathsome sheets; nor tempests rise
To blasts thy fields, dispute thy fondest hope,
And, from thy wearied and exhausted heart,
Drink the sweet life-blood of thy innocent joy.
The breeze shall rather soothe thee with a breath,
Robb'd from celestial gardens. The blue waves,
Shall roll their tribute honors to thy feet;
Upon their bosom, many an offering placed,
Of fruits, fresh wafted from far Indian isles
Wooing thee with their fragrance. In the air,
Nature shall cast her odors, and thine eye
Shall never ope but to behold some new
And most luxuriant freshness in her form;
And, I shall love thee too, and toil untired
To give thee back the maiden whom thou seek'st.

Leon.
Ah! if thou couldst!—but no! The hope is vain,
And the wish idle. Yet the love thou givest,
Might well compensate, to this baffled heart,
The loss which still it weeps.

Atal.
Oh! do not weep.
I'll love thee in all fortunes. At the morn,
I'll lead thee through our waters, 'mid our caves,
Where, in unconscious brightness, cluster gems
Had set your world on fire. There shall you mark
Glad sea-maids that, attending on our steps,
Fill their deep shells with song; and, when the sun
Shines burningly at noon, in coral groves,
Thy head well pillow'd on my happy breast,
I'll sit and watch thy slumbers, blest to soothe
Thy ever beating pulse, and kiss thy lips,
When, murmuring in thy sleep, thou speak'st the name,
Of her thou still hast loved.

Leon.
No more of her.
I go with thee, sweet Atalant.—We sink!

Chorus of Sea-Nymphs as the island descends.