Scene II
(Night. The Valley of Violets. Enter Endea in search
of Count Julian.)
Endea
(falling on her knees and praying to the Moon.)
Daughter of Heaven! bright Angel of the Night!
Have ye no Julian in the realms of light,
In whose bright presence ye can bask in joy?
Oh! if ye have, look down upon me now,
And from that Land where Julian says is God,
Send me some token in your hallowed beams,
How thou dost live continuing still to love—
Pale—pale with ever looking on his face—
Sister! for thine is unrequited love!
And let thy vigils teach me how to wait!
I knew that he must stand, ere long, before
The Ten fair Virgins of the Purple Hills,
And there give out his dying soul to God!
Oh! thou fair Moon! image of that sweet peace
Which never more can come to this sad heart!
Come through the Orange-scented groves of Night,
Dewy with Nature's tears—beaded with thine—
(For now I feel them falling on my cheeks—
My palid cheeks—palid as thine—more pale—)
And pour upon my heart thy healing!
Shed down from thy pale face of mild silence,
Part of the peace which thy pure heart doth know
And make my weary soul as calm as thine!
Melt from the Heaven of my poor soul, oh, Moon,
The sorrow—clouds which hang about it now,
Hiding from it the face divine of Joy—
That blue-eyed Dove of Immortality
Which flew down out of God's great Golden Throne,
And in the tender roseleaves of my heart
When Love first haunted me in heavenly Dreams,
There built its nest, until the Vulture—griefs
That nestle there, made it their inocent prey!
Or, if not melt, gild them with thy pure beams,
That I may have light, once more on my soul,
Before I go down to the narrow grave
From whence I never more shall come again!
Oh! Julian! Julian! how my heart doth beat,
Shaking my lips like roseleaves in the air,
Until I bend like Willows in the storm—
Nearly uprooted all my tree of life—
Merely to mention thy sweet, heavenly name!—
Oh! Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
Subdue this stormy sorrow of my soul!
If there is any Medicine in Heaven,
Oh! bring it down to me in thy sweet beams—
For thy mild splendor is the aid I want!
That is the Aegis that my soul requires!
For Julian says the Sun of Righteousness
Descends from Heaven with healing in its beam!
Be thou my sun of Righteousness, Oh! Moon!
Make mild this deathless fever of my heart—
Subdue this tender tumult of my soul—
With which I die—by which I love—my life—
My living death! Oh, I shall surely die!
For if it leaves me without being cured,
I shall be cold in death when it abates!
Then help, oh, Moon! if thou canst help me—help!
I go—thine eyes are weeping on me now!
My locks are wet—wet with thine own pure tears!
And all the stars seem mourning for me now!
(Exit)
