University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A gallery hung with pictures. Victoria discovered in conversation with Rosinberg, Basil, Albini, and Isabella.
Vict.
(to Ros.)
It is indeed a work of wondrous art. (To Isab.)

You call'd Francisco here?

Isab.
He comes even now.

Enter Attendant.
Vict.
(to Ros.)
He will conduct you to the northern gall'ry;
Its striking shades will call upon the eye,
To point its place there needs no other guide.

[Exeunt Ros. and Attendant.
Bas.
Ah! do not banish me these few short moments:
Too soon they will be gone! for ever gone!

Vict.
If they are precious to you, say not so,
But add to them another precious day.
A lady asks it.

Bas.
Ah, madam! ask the life-blood from my heart!
Ask all but what a soldier may not give.

Vict.
'Tis ever thus when favours are denied;
All had been granted but the thing we beg;
And still some great unlikely substitute,
Your life, your soul, your all of earthly good,
Is proffer'd in the room of one small boon.
So keep your life-blood, gen'rous, valiant lord,
And may it long your noble heart enrich,
Until I wish it shed. (Bas. attempts to speak).

Nay, frame no new excuse;
I will not hear it.

[She puts out her hand as if she would shut his mouth, but at a distance from it; Bas. runs eagerly up to her, and presses it to his lips.
Bas.
Let this sweet hand indeed its threat perform,
And make it heav'n to be for ever dumb!
(Vict. looks stately and offended — Basil kneels.)
O pardon me! I know not what I do.
Frown not, reduce me not to wretchedness;
But only grant —

Vict.
What should I grant to him,
Who has so oft my earnest suit denied?

Vict.
(raising him).
Well, Basil, this good promise is thy pardon.
I will not wait your noble friend's return,
Since we shall meet again.—
You will perform your word?

Bas.
I will perform it.

Vict.
Farewell, my lord.

[Exit, with her ladies.
Bas.
(alone).
“Farewell, my lord.” O! what delightful sweetness!
The music of that voice dwells on the ear!
“Farewell, my lord!”—Ay, and then look'd she so—
The slightest glance of her bewitching eye,
Those dark blue eyes, commands the inmost soul.
Well, there is yet one day of life before me,
And, whatsoe'er betide, I will enjoy it.
Though but a partial sunshine in my lot,
I will converse with her, gaze on her still,
If all behind were pain and misery.
Pain! Were it not the easing of all pain,
E'en in the dismal gloom of after years,
Such dear remembrance on the mind to wear,
Like silv'ry moon-beams on the 'nighted deep,
When heav'n's blest sun is gone?
Kind mercy! how my heart within me beat
When she so sweetly pled the cause of love!
Can she have lov'd? why shrink I at the thought?
Why should she not? no, no, it cannot be—
No man on earth is worthy of her love.
Ah! if she could, how blest a man were he!
Where rove my giddy thoughts? it must not be.
Yet might she well some gentle kindness bear;
Think of him oft, his absent fate inquire,
And, should he fall in battle, mourn his fall.
Yes, she would mourn — such love might she bestow;
And poor of soul the man who would exchange it
For warmest love of the most loving dame!
But here comes Rosinberg — have I done well?
He will not say I have.

Enter Rosinberg.
Ros.
Where is the princess?
I'm sorry I return'd not ere she went.

Bas.
You'll see her still.

Ros.
What, comes she forth again?

Bas.
She does to-morrow.

Ros.
Thou hast yielded then.

Bas.
Come, Rosinberg, I'll tell thee as we go:
It was impossible I should not yield.

Ros.
O Basil! thou art weaker than a child.

Bas.
Yes, yes, my friend, but 'tis a noble weakness,
A weakness which hath greater things achiev'd
Than all the firm determin'd strength of reason.
By heav'n! I feel a new-born pow'r within me,
Shall make me twenty-fold the man I've been
Before this fated day.

Ros.
Fated indeed! but an ill-fated day,
That makes thee other than thy former self.
Yet let it work its will; it cannot change thee
To aught I shall not love.

Bas.
Thanks, Rosinberg! thou art a noble heart.
I would not be the man thou couldst not love
For an imperial crown.

[Exeunt.