Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz A Spasmodic Tragedy |
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| 15. | SCENE XV. |
 | Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz |  |
147
SCENE XV.
A Barren Moor.—Night—Mist and fog.Enter Firmilian.
They're hot upon my traces! Through the mist
I heard their call and answer—and but now,
As I was crouching 'neath a hawthorn bush,
A dark Familiar swiftly glided by,
His keen eyes glittering with the lust of death.
If I am ta'en, the faggot and the pile
Await me! Horror! Rather would I dare,
Like rash Empedocles, the Etna gulf,
Than writhe before the slaves of bigotry.
Where am I? If my mind deceives me not,
Upon that common where, two years ago,
An old blind beggar came and craved an alms,
Thereby destroying a stupendous thought
Just bursting in my mind—a glorious bud
Of poesy, but blasted ere its bloom!
I bade the old fool take the leftward path,
Which leads to the deep quarry, where he fell—
At least I deem so, for I heard a splash—
But I was gazing on the gibbous moon,
And durst not lower my celestial flight
To care for such an insect-worm as he!
I heard their call and answer—and but now,
As I was crouching 'neath a hawthorn bush,
A dark Familiar swiftly glided by,
His keen eyes glittering with the lust of death.
If I am ta'en, the faggot and the pile
Await me! Horror! Rather would I dare,
Like rash Empedocles, the Etna gulf,
Than writhe before the slaves of bigotry.
Where am I? If my mind deceives me not,
Upon that common where, two years ago,
An old blind beggar came and craved an alms,
148
Just bursting in my mind—a glorious bud
Of poesy, but blasted ere its bloom!
I bade the old fool take the leftward path,
Which leads to the deep quarry, where he fell—
At least I deem so, for I heard a splash—
But I was gazing on the gibbous moon,
And durst not lower my celestial flight
To care for such an insect-worm as he!
How cold it is! The mist comes thicker on.
Ha!—what is that? I see around me lights
Dancing and flitting, yet they do not seem
Like torches either—and there's music too!
I'll pause and listen.
Ha!—what is that? I see around me lights
Dancing and flitting, yet they do not seem
Like torches either—and there's music too!
I'll pause and listen.
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
Follow, follow, follow!
Over hill and over hollow;
It is ours to lead the way,
When a sinner's footsteps stray—
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On his doubtful path along.
Hark, hark! The watch-dogs bark.
There's a crash, and a splash, and a blind man's cry,
But the Poet looks tranquilly up at the sky!
FIRMILIAN.
Is it the echo of an inward voice,
Or spirit-words that make my flesh to creep,
And send the cold blood choking to my heart?
I'll shift my ground a little—
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
Flicker, flicker, flicker!
Quicker still, and quicker.
Four young men sate down to dine,
And still they passed the rosy wine;
Pure was the cask, but in the flask
There lay a certain deadly powder—
Ha! his heart is beating louder!
150
Garcia Perez lifeless lay!
Hark! his mother wails Alphonzo,
Never more shall strong Alonzo
Drink the wine of Ildefronso.
FIRMILIAN.
O horror! horror! 'twas by me they died;
I'll move yet farther on—
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
In the vaults under
Bursts the red thunder;
Up goes the cathedral,
Priest, people, and bedral!
Ho! ho! ho! ho!
FIRMILIAN.
My brain is whirling like a potter's wheel!
O Nemesis!
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The Muses sing in their charmèd ring,
And Apollo weeps for him who sleeps,
Alas! on a hard and a stony pillow—
Haverillo! Haverillo!
FIRMILIAN.
I shall go mad!
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
Give him some respite—give him some praise—
One good deed he has done in his days;
Chaunt it, and sing it, and tell it in chorus—
He has flattened the cockscomb of Apollodorus!
FIRMILIAN.
Small comfort that! The death of a shard-beetle,
Albeit the poorest and the paltriest thing
That crawls round refuse, cannot weigh a grain
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That hangs above me! O me miserable!
I'll grope my way yet further.
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
Firmilian! Firmilian!
What have you done to Lilian?
There's a cry from the grotto, a sob by the stream,
A woman's loud wailing, a little babe's scream!
How fared it with Lilian,
In the pavilion,
Firmilian, Firmilian?
FIRMILIAN.
Horror! I'm lost!—
Chorus of Ignes Fatui.
Ho! ho! ho!
Deep in the snow
Lies a black maiden from Africa's shore!
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You never shall wake her—
She'll roam through the glens of the Atlas no more!
Stay, stay, stay!
This way—this way—
There's a pit before, and a pit behind,
And the seeing man walks in the path of the blind!
[Firmilian falls into the quarry. The Ignes Fatui dance as the curtain descends.
FINIS.
| Firmilian : Or The Student of Badajoz | |