Julio Romano or, The force of the passions. An epic drama. In six books. By Charles Bucke |
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| IV. |
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| IV. |
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| IV. | SCENE IV. |
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 | Julio Romano |  |
SCENE IV.
Platform before the portal of the Castle; with which it is connected by a draw-bridge.In the distance stands the keep, presenting a dark, shattered, aspect, as struck by lightning. Several oak
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Enter Lepardo, leading Fontano and Floranthe; followed by the King and Vercelli, disguised as Pilgrims, and bearing pastoral staffs.
Lep.
This is the spot. Remain ye here:—I will
Return this instant. Royal sir, forgive
The poverty of the greeting; since 'tis you
Put the command upon me. I'll return
Within a moment, if the signor's here.
[Exit into the castle.
King
(to Vercelli).
Wave thy hand gently.
Ver.
Sire,—the army answers.
King.
Safe then; let him be guilty as he may.
Flor.
(aside.)
I shall not now assume the owl,
For them to take me for a fool.
No; I shall take another guise;
And then, perhaps, they'll take me to be wise.
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Rom.
Hail, noble signor; welcome to these walls.
And you, most reverend palmers, hail;—all hail!
Ye found him in the wilderness, I'm told,
And undertook to guide his steps to Venice.
For that my thanks, as well as his. 'Tis many,
Ay, many a year,—since I have seen thee, signor.
Nine, ten, eleven;—yet I should have known
Thy form and countenance, seen thee where I might.
Alas! what crimes have we committed, sire,
That we should be thus martyrdized? What deed,
Just, generous, noble, has Schidoni done,
That he should revel in the power to make
This earth a worthless wilderness to us?
Fon.
The storm is temper'd to the guiltless head!
King.
Hence the deep sighs and sorrows of to-day
Should act as signs of comfort for the morrow.
Rom.
(aside.)
Then I'm more guilty, than I thought I was.
Flor.
(aside.)
Now I shall show them, I'm a fool no longer.
Fra.
The boy, I vow, who ran away last night.
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The boy, you took to be an—idiot!
'Tis mean to see a titled crowd,
All listless, in a palace wait;
But sweet to hear the laughter loud
Of children at a cottage gate;
When, from the dingle or the bourn,
They hail their brother's safe return.
All listless, in a palace wait;
But sweet to hear the laughter loud
Of children at a cottage gate;
When, from the dingle or the bourn,
They hail their brother's safe return.
Rom.
A fool, a fool; I took him for a fool!
Flo.
Sweet, sweet, it is;—but far more sweet,
For children, sires, and friends, to meet;
When Fate has will'd an absence dread,
Or each believes the other dead.
Fra.
Nay, we are brothers, if thou art a poet.
Let us shake hands. Too delicate for a boy!
Dig, my young master; harrow, or keep sheep.
You'll gain no credit for such hands as those.
Flo.
I shall not ask their exercise from you;
Of that be sure: and if thou art a poet,
Quit the dear trade;—'t will never make thy fortune.
Of that be sure: and if thou art a poet,
Quit the dear trade;—'t will never make thy fortune.
Poets? Alas—their hopes, unblest,
Forbid their souls to taste of rest.
In vain the glittering morn appears,
They wake to pain, they wake to tears.
In vain the starless nights return;
The silence makes their bosoms burn;
While listless, restless, wild and wan,
Through life's harsh scene they wander on.
Forbid their souls to taste of rest.
In vain the glittering morn appears,
They wake to pain, they wake to tears.
In vain the starless nights return;
The silence makes their bosoms burn;
While listless, restless, wild and wan,
Through life's harsh scene they wander on.
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I must confess, I took thee for a fool.
Flo.
The spacious world is full of wonders. If
The wise turn fools, why may not fools turn wise?
Nay, most men's wisdom, I have heard, is nought,
But folly drest up to a worldling's liking.
Fra.
Well—I confess, I took thee for a fool!
(To Romano)
One word with thee, sir. Dost thou know—? the lady—
Rom.
Well; what of her?
Fra.
The daughter of Fontano!
Rom.
Nay now, thou wear'st the motley coat thyself.
Fra.
If she herself knows who her father is,
She is his daughter;—for she told me so.
Rom.
(to Fontano.)
Signor, with me. Come; follow; I will show thee,
What will more deeply captivate thy soul,
Than hope can indicate. Good sirs, no parley:
But come at once. The oak, all sear'd and wither'd,
Bud shall as fresh, as when its towering branches
Show'd afar off the sovereign of the forest.
Lilies shall spring, where hemlock once shed poison;
And where old ravens croak'd, young nightingales shall sing.
Thy daughter—come; I'll lead thee to her; come
Fon.
A dream;—a dream!
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Reality. Come on.
I'd give the universe to be as thou art;
Blind; ay, and lame, and indigent, and scorn'd;
The very refuse of the world; could I,
As thou wilt soon, behold a daughter's form,
And drink paternal rapture from her lips.
Nay, not one word;—the pilgrims will excuse thee.
[Exeunt Romano, Fontano, &c. &c.
King.
(to Vercelli.)
The fair Lavinia in a haunt like this?
What can this mean? I hope no treason lurks
Beneath a mask of courtesy. Yet truth
Sat on his lips, or Nature is delusive.
Come; let us trust: true confidence is Royal.
Staffs, too, of pilgrims must command some reverence.
Should it prove true, We shall rejoice as much,
As if Rome, Piedmont, Tuscany, and Venice,
All, were united to the throne of Naples.
[Exeunt.
| Julio Romano | |