 | Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous |  |
141
SCENE V.
Shouts of victory, hurry and confusion.—DONNA MARIA, sola.Maria.
The clarion roars and scatter'd parties fly,
Confusion, tumult, hurry and dismay,
O'erspread each guilty face.—
Confusion, tumult, hurry and dismay,
O'erspread each guilty face.—
What mean the rumours that assail my ear?—
Throw down their arms—as cowards fly the field!—
Could the brave Cortes thus forsake their lord?—
My throbbing heart augurs a thousand ills,
That shake my frame and terrify my soul,
As if I saw their new flown ghosts advance,
Just reeking from the carnage of the field;
Yet feel within a manly force of mind
Urging to deeds heroic and sublime,
Which but to name, one half my timid sex,
Would fall the victims of their own despair.
Throw down their arms—as cowards fly the field!—
Could the brave Cortes thus forsake their lord?—
My throbbing heart augurs a thousand ills,
That shake my frame and terrify my soul,
As if I saw their new flown ghosts advance,
Just reeking from the carnage of the field;
Yet feel within a manly force of mind
Urging to deeds heroic and sublime,
Which but to name, one half my timid sex,
Would fall the victims of their own despair.
I scorn the feeble soul that cannot brave,
With magnanimity, the storms of life.
Then why disturb'd with these ill omen'd fears?—
Yet what am I, if my Padilla falls?—
Ah! if the dastard citizens have fled—
Just anger'd heaven surely has decreed
That on the point of Charles's conquering sword,
Each vestige of their ancient rights should die.
With magnanimity, the storms of life.
Then why disturb'd with these ill omen'd fears?—
Yet what am I, if my Padilla falls?—
Ah! if the dastard citizens have fled—
Just anger'd heaven surely has decreed
That on the point of Charles's conquering sword,
Each vestige of their ancient rights should die.
I'll wander down to yonder darksome grove,
(And prostrate fall before th' etherial king,
Who holds his empire o'er a jarring world,
Makes peace and freedom smile at his command,
Or the fell tyrant's suffer'd to succeed,
To chain the will, or manacle the mind;)
There will I calm my agitated breast,
Dry off those tears which, starting, have betray'd
The soften'd weakness of a female mind.
(And prostrate fall before th' etherial king,
Who holds his empire o'er a jarring world,
Makes peace and freedom smile at his command,
Or the fell tyrant's suffer'd to succeed,
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There will I calm my agitated breast,
Dry off those tears which, starting, have betray'd
The soften'd weakness of a female mind.
Enter SOCIA.
Socia.
Fly, dearest lady—save thyself and son—
And let the faithful Socia guard thy steps.
Maria.
Is all then lost—and is Don Juan slain?—
Tell the whole tale, and set my soul on fire,
Ere yet it freeze with agony and doubt.
Socia.
Haste, my dear mistress—fly these cruel scenes
Of murder, rapine, perfidy and blood.
The routed troops, with hasty frighted steps,
All backward tread, nor could Don Juan's zeal,
His valour, virtue, fortitude or fame,
Subdue their fears and rally them again,
Nor damp the ardour of the hot pursuit.
Maria.
And does he live to glut their barb'rous rage?
Or did some seraph catch the hero's breath,
His latest sight to see his country free,
And gently waft his kindred soul away?
Socia.
Our foes may boast that victory was theirs;
But royal ranks lie weltering on the plain
Where Juan's blood has mark'd the glorious spot.
Yet lose no time, for hither hastes a guard
To seize and drag to Conde Haro's tent
The wife and infant of my much lov'd lord.
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Alas! my child—my son—my darling boy!
The fairest virtues beam in his young eye;
Each dawning grace sits blooming on his cheek,
And speaks him heir of all his father's fame.
Shall he, an orphan on the world be toss'd,
And lose his name among a group of slaves?
Forbid it, heaven!—a mother's fears
Shall not disarm my heart.—
Socia.
I thought the strength of thy superiour mind
Could nobly brave the worst that fate could do.
Maria.
It shall—come, lead me on—
To my Padilla's tomb—
His clay cold corpse I'll bathe in streams of blood,
Drawn from his foes, and sprinkled o'er his grave.
The cypress gloom, in dark fix'd shades shall bow,
And weeping willows drop a silent tear,
'Till rolling years see the last sands run out,
When wither'd Time throws down his useless glass,
And shrouds beneath eternity's big orb.
Socia.
If thou would'st be more wretched than thy lord,
Then weep and linger—thoughtless of thy son.
Maria.
Go, bring him hither—rob'd in funeral pomp—
Attended by my retinue and guards;
I will not fly—Toledo yet is strong:
Maria ne'er will drag a wretched life,
To wail Don Juan's fate in vulgar grief:
Nor yet in slavery meet a lingering death,
Beneath a tyrant's foot.
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Though the rough surges in loud tempests roar,
'Till the rude billows meet the lowering clouds—
I never will despair, till my soul flies
And mixes with the bold exalted shades,
The stern brow'd spirits of the feudal lords—
Who now bend down, and frowning from the skies,
Chide back their dastard sons to take the field,
Bravely to fight—to conquer or to die.
Socia.
My heart misgives—I fear thy rash resolve,
Yet I obey.—
[Exit Socia.
Maria.
Ye powers who sit in judgment o'er the world,
Or ye malignant fiends who blast our hopes,
Grant Charles's restless soul may be condemn'd
With Sisyphus to roll in endless pain,
Up the Tartarean hill—the load of empire—
That envy'd bauble which mankind adore;
Then drag him down, successlessly to weep,
This shadow hunted long in human blood.
[Exit.
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