University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An apartment communicating with the garden: glass doors thrown open in the moonlight: Cosmo and Demetria.
Cos.
Now, as thou sit'st, absorbed and motionless,
Checkered with silvery gleams and quivering shadows,
Thou look'st some pale, fair statue garlanded,
Some Nymph, or Muse, such as the old Greek herdsmen
Imagined haunting round their wood-girt temples!
Or, if a nun-like fancy please thee better,
One of the choir, (as holy legends have it,)
Heard tuning their clear strings and glancing viols
In the blue depths of such a night as this!—
Nor word? nor smile?—I'll improvise no more.—
Sure, never goddess lovelier, or more mute,
Drew homage to her pedestal.

Dem.
O, Cosmo,
This is a sacred anniversary,
An ever-hallowed season, when my heart
Is busy with the past; and thy return
But freshens sad remembrance.

Cos.
Think me not
Incapable of sympathy.—Thou know'st
How dear I loved her.—But to be, once more,
At Belvederé turns me to a prattler.

Dem.
Hither we came, that last sad night, to breathe
The freshness. There she sat.—I see, still see
The pale light on her cheek, and in her eyes
The fatal brightness! O, could I recount
Her thoughts—anticipations—retrospects!—
The treasury of past years, our happy years,
Was opened,—when no parting e'er was thought on;—
When thou wert here, and dwelt as one of us.
Remind him (so she said) of my fond love,
And bid him be a brother to my orphans.

Cos.
(snatching her hand.)
Then hear, Demetria—

Dem.
Not on this vigil,—
'T is hers,—'t is consecrated solemnly,—
And images of grief are up before me.
I joy that thou art here, at last; yet O!
What a drear interval!—While she remained,
Sweet sympathy was left; but when she parted,
My broken heart went with her to the tomb.
For, Cosmo, I despaired—ever to meet thee,
So lengthened and so dismal seemed the time.—

Cos.
But now, my gentle one, the dark dream 's o'er:
We wake, we wake, to blissful certainty.
Dwell, now, on brighter days,—on the fair future,—
And deem the sainted parent we adore
Looks down with blessings and approval.

Dem.
Ah!
She promised—sometimes to be near me,—oft
To hover round me,—if such favor might be.

(A lively measure strikes up beyond the garden wall.
Cos.
Savoyards!—O! the jocund strain
Chimes here; but o'er the wild Hungarian hills,
When years divided me from Italy,
Beshrew the rogues! they minted from me tears
As fast as florins.—Merry vagabonds!—
Come,—shall we list their lays?—or whither wilt thou?—
Come forth awhile; for like familiar faces
The slopes and shadows of the garden look;—
Heavenly, to me, after my weary exile!
How oft, by night, by day, has this dear scene
Stood in my fancy visible as now!—
Let us revisit the old myrtle walk:—
Rememberest thou our last hour there?—Come, come,
We sin against the heavens to be in doors.

(They pass into the garden.)