 | Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country |  |
SCENE IX.
Enter Cristina, Mariana, and Attendants.Cristina.
Forbid it Shame! Forbid it Virgin Modesty!
No, no, my Friend, Gustavus ne'er shall know it.
O I am over-paid with conscious Pleasure;
The Sense but to have sav'd that wond'rous Man,
Is still a smiling Cherub in my Breast,
And whispers Peace within.
Mar.
'Tis strange a Man, of his high Note and Consequence,
Shou'd so evade the busy Search of Thousands;
That six long Months have shut him from Enquiry,
And not an Eye can trace him to his Covert.
Cristina.
Once 'twas not so, each Infant lisp'd, Gustavus!
It was the fav'rite Name of ev'ry Language,
His slightest Motions fill'd the World with Tidings;
Wak'd he, or slept, Fame watch'd th' important Hour,
And Nations told it round.
Mar.
I've heard, my Princess,
What Time Gustavus lay detain'd in Denmark,
Your royal Father sought the Hero's Friendship,
And offer'd ample Terms of Peace and Amity.
Cristina.
He did; he offer'd that, my Mariana,
For which contending Monarchs su'd in vain,
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But I was slighted, slighted by a Captive,
Tho' Kingdoms swell'd my Dower.
Mar.
Amazement fix me,
Rejected by Gustavus!
Cristina.
Yes, Mariana;—but rejected nobly.
Not Worlds cou'd win him to betray his Country!
Had he consented, I had then despis'd him.
What's all the gaudy Glitter of a Crown?
What, but the glaring Meteor of Ambition,
That leads a Wretch benighted in his Errors,
Points to the Gulph, and shines upon Destruction.
Mar.
You wrong your Charms, whose Pow'r might reconcile
Things opposite in Nature—Had he seen you!—
Cristina.
He has, my Mariana, he has seen me.
I'll tell thee—yet while inexpert of Years,
I heard of bloody Spoils, the Waste of War,
And dire conflicting Man; Gustavus' Name
Superior rose, still dreadful in the Tale:
Then first he seiz'd my Infancy of Soul,
As somewhat fabl'd of gigantic Fierceness,
Too huge for any Form; he scar'd my Sleep,
And fill'd my young Idea. Not the Boast
Of all his Virtues, Graces only known
To him, and heav'nly Natures! cou'd erase
The strong Impression; 'till that wond'rous Day
In which he met my Eyes. But O, O Heav'n!
O Love, and all ye cordial Pow'rs of Passion!
What then was my Amazement! he was chain'd,
Was chain'd, my Mariana! Like the Robes
Of Coronation, worn by youthful Kings,
He drew his Shackles. The Herculean Nerve
Braced his young Arm; and soften'd in his Cheek
Liv'd more than Woman's Sweetness! Then his Eye!
His Mein! his native Dignity! He look'd,
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And all were Slaves around.
Mar.
Did he observe you?
Cristina.
He did: for as I trembl'd, look'd and sigh'd;
His Eyes met mine; he fix'd their Glories on me.
Confusion thrill'd me then, and secret Joy,
Fast throbbing, stole its Treasures from my Heart,
And mantling upward, turn'd my Face to Crimson.
I wish'd—but did not dare to look—he gaz'd;
When sudden, as by Force, he turn'd away,
And would no more behold me.
| Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country | |