University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Da Riva. Colonna, Olimpia, and Diana, discovered, the first looking out of a window. A funeral-bell is tolling at intervals.
Colonna.
By the moving of the crowd the funeral comes.
No;—yet I thought I heard the Choristers.

Diana.
You did. Hark now—
[A faint sound of Choristers.
And now like some sweet sigh
Of heaven and earth it pauses.—You look sadder,
Signor Colonna, than you thought you should,
Within this festal week.

Colonna.
'Faith, gentle lady,
I'd rather hear upon a winter's night,
A dozen trumpets of the enemy
Blow 'gainst my nestled cheek, than this poor weakness,
Which comes to pass us, standing idly thus,
Swallowing the lumpish sorrow in one's throat,
'Twixt rage and pity.

Olimpia.
I have noted oft,
That eyes, that have kept dry their cups of tears,
The moment they were touch'd by music's fingers,
Trembled, brimfull.

Diana.
It is the meeting, love,
Of beauty so divine, with earth so weak.
We swell within us with immortal thoughts,
And then take pity on the feeble riddle,
That lies thus cold, and thus rebuked in death.

[Choristers resume, and continue during the dialogue.
Colonna.
I heard as I came in, one who has seen her
Laid on the bier, say that she looks most heavenly.

Diana.
I saw her lately, as you'll see her now,
Lying but newly dead, her blind sweet looks
Border'd with lilies, which her pretty maiden,
'Twixt tears and kisses, put about her hair,
To show her spotless life, and that wrong man
Dared not forbid, for very piteous truth;
And as she lay thus, not more unresisting
Than all her life, I pitied even him,
To think, that let him weep, or ask her pardon
Never so much, she could not answer more.

Colonna.
They turn the corner now, and now they pass.
[The Choristers suddenly become loud, and are heard passing underneath the window. After they have passed, Colonna resumes.
Farewell, sweet soul! Death and thy patient life
Were so well match'd, I scarce can think thee alter'd.
Enter Da Riva.
How now, Da Riva? Found you not Antonio,
That thus you look amazed? What is't? No harm
To his poor self?

Da Riva.
None, none; to him, or any;
None that shall be; monstrous, and strange, and horrible,
As ignorance of the peril might have made it.

Colonna, Olimpia, and Diana.
To whom?

Da Riva.
Prepare to hear, and to endure,
A chance, the very hope of which is awful,
It raises up a vision with a look
So mixed of life and death.

Colonna, Olimpia, and Diana.
What is it?

Da Riva.
You,
Colonna, will to Antonio instantly,
To keep him ignorant till all be known:
You, my sweet friends, with me, to seek some nest
Of balm and comfort, close upon the spot,
Against a chance—Think me not mad, but hearken.

Diana.
He has murdered her! He thought to murder her,
And his hand failed.

Olimpia.
Poison! Oh Heavens!

Colonna.
Pray, calm them.

Da Riva.
Scarcely ten minutes had I left you here,
When Fiordilisa, paler than her mistress,
Found me with Giulio by Antonio's door.

Colonna.
You have not seen him then?

Da Riva.
Yes;—the poor maiden
Told us of an appearance she had noted
All night about the lips of the dear lady
Which made her call to mind stories, too true,
Of horrors in the dreadful pestilence,
Of hasty shrouds, sleeps found to have been sleeps only,
And gentle creatures grown so desperate,
That they had raised their hands against their lives
For waking to the sense of life itself.

Olimpia.
Where now they bear her!

Diana.
Not unknown.

Colonna.
Be tranquil,
Watch has been set?

Da Riva.
And will look close till morn.
Giulio, from time to time, 'twixt them and us,
Will fly with news; and meantime sweep we all
Each to our tasks, and bless the hope that sets them.
If true, oh think where but in sleep she lies:
If vain, she still will bless us from the skies.

[Exeunt.