Sylvia or, The May Queen. A Lyrical Drama. By George Darley |
 |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| IV. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
Scene VII.
|
| VIII. |
| IX. |
 | Sylvia |  |
Scene VII.
The fairy camp, with tents displayed,
Squadrons and glittering files arrayed
In strict battalia o'er the plain:
Gay trumpets sound the shrill refrain;
From field to field loud orders ring,
And couriers scour from wing to wing.
On a soft ambling jennet-fly
And girt with elfin chivalry
Who mingle in suppressed debate,
Rides forth the pigmy Autocrat.
Her ivory spear swings in its rest,
Close and succinct her martial vest
Tucked up above her snowy knee,
A miniature Penthesilee!
Her Amazonian nymphs beside
Their queen, at humble distance ride;
Encased in golden helms their hair,
In corslets steel their bosoms fair,
With trowsered skirt loopt strait and high
Upon the limb's white luxury,
That clasps so firm, yet soft, each steed
Thinks himself manfully bestrid,
And snorts and paws with fierce delight,
Proud of his own young Maiden-knight,
Whose moony targe at saddle-bow
Hangs loose, and glimmers as they go.
Squadrons and glittering files arrayed
In strict battalia o'er the plain:
Gay trumpets sound the shrill refrain;
From field to field loud orders ring,
And couriers scour from wing to wing.
On a soft ambling jennet-fly
And girt with elfin chivalry
194
Rides forth the pigmy Autocrat.
Her ivory spear swings in its rest,
Close and succinct her martial vest
Tucked up above her snowy knee,
A miniature Penthesilee!
Her Amazonian nymphs beside
Their queen, at humble distance ride;
Encased in golden helms their hair,
In corslets steel their bosoms fair,
With trowsered skirt loopt strait and high
Upon the limb's white luxury,
That clasps so firm, yet soft, each steed
Thinks himself manfully bestrid,
And snorts and paws with fierce delight,
Proud of his own young Maiden-knight,
Whose moony targe at saddle-bow
Hangs loose, and glimmers as they go.
Now breathe your fifes and roll your drums,
'Tis the Queen's Majesty that comes!
Morgana.
'Tis the Queen's Majesty that comes!
Look out! look out!—Floretta should be here;
Or Osmé whom we sent—
[Exeunt scouts.
Nephon, droop not,
Thou didst perform thy careful duty well!
195
The punishment he suffers: To neglect
The warning that thou gav'st him ere he past
Insolent o'er the bounds, where his perdition
Gaped for him, like the monster of the Nile,
In every brake and jungle!
Nephon.
Madam, indeed,
I told him 'twas a fiendish stratagem,
To lure him over, but he would not hear;
Stampt when I plucked his skirt, and swung his sword
Round by the wrist, so that I'd lost my hold
And hand together, but I let him go.
Morgana.
I know, I saw it; thou art not to blame.
Proud of his azure weapon, he would cope
With those who scorn it, as they do the edge
Of bladed feather, or those grassy swords
Which our soft tourneyers wield—
(Cry without.)
A messenger!
Enter Osme.
Morgana.
Where is thy sister? hast thou seen her, say?
Osme.
Here comes the elve, weeping her silent way:
196
So lost in grief the wretch appears,
Her head she hides between her wings,
And cannot tell her tale for tears!
Morgana.
The Maid is lost!—Arm! arm, ye warlike elves!
With potent virtues now endue yourselves;
Lay by your puppet words and spears and shields,
We must prepare for other fights and fields.
Mount! mount with me in clouds the blackening sky!
War be the word, and Battle be the cry!
| Sylvia | |