University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE THIRD.

Rosmunda, Almachilde, Soldiers.
Ros.
Already the acclamatory shouts,
The festive banners waving to the wind,
And the demeanour of the stately ranks,
All, all proclaim it; thou art conqueror.

Al.
Saved, and secure, and victor, thou dost see me;
But not by my own prowess. Life and power,
Freedom and conquest, Ildovaldo only
Confers on me this day. He was my shield;
He my magnanimous defender: he,
In my behoof, such proofs of valour gave
As far surpass my powers of recompense.

Ros.
If I conjecture rightly, thy sublime,
Impetuous valour had impell'd thee thither
Where most the danger raged. Ah, little then,
Didst thou recall to mind the agonies,
The tears, the apprehensions of Rosmunda.
Thou know'st how much I fear'd thy too great valour.
Yet in the promise which thou mad'st to me
Before the battle, not to expose thyself
Incautiously or vainly, I confided.
This I besought of thee; and thou to me
Didst swear compliance; ah! what should I be,
Tell me, bereft of thee? My throne is nothing,
My life is nothing, if with thee not shared.

Al.
Thee, and thy fondness, I recall'd to mind.
But I was forced, by bravely meeting death,
To shew myself Rosmunda's worthy spouse,
And worthy of the crown of Lombardy.
How could I, in the camp, save with my sword,
Make an atonement for that fatal blow
Wrought by my guilty hand?

Ros.
What? dost thou dare
Profess repentance that thou hast avenged me?

Al.
Ah, yes! 'Tis not the vengeance, but the mode
By which that vengeance was obtain'd, that grieves me:
And which I shall eternally regret.
To cleanse my character from such a stain,
I was compell'd, e'en to the latest drop,
With reckless prodigality, to spill
My tainted blood. I heard myself proclaim'd,
With fulminating vehemence, a traitor,
By Clefi and his heroes: I confess,
That to the centre of my guilty heart
The well-deserved, insufferable name
Resounded. I deny it not, that then,
Mindless of all except my impeach'd honour,
Where most the combatants and weapons thicken'd,
I fling myself: with unimaginable rage
Desperate, I wheel in circles my bright sword;
And with its trusty blade give ample proof
That I far less deserved the name of traitor
Than that of hero. Instantly around me,
Of slain, and of disabled warriors,
Mountains are piled: when my good charger falls,
Beneath my weight transfix'd; on earth I spring;
But on the ground, slippery with blood, my foot
Ill planted, slips, so that I fall again.
Swiftly the hostile troops conglomerate,
And with their strength collected rush on me.
In vain my impotent and baffled sword
Gives ill-aim'd proofs of its expiring prowess.
When swifter than the lightening's vollied flash,
'Mid troops, and spears, and shrieks, and swords, and blows,
With a few followers, Ildovaldo opens,
E'en to my side, opens a fearful track.
The assailants instantaneously disperse;
To right and left they fly; in complete rout,
Broken, they slink away. My followers
Having resumed their courage, on their heels
Press irresistibly; their griding swords
Obtain an ample harvest; whence, at once,
The uncertain fortune of the day is changed
To overthrow, and universal carnage.

Ros.
At length I breathe: at length thou'rt safe: I fear'd
No other obstacle to thy success
Than that of thy imprudent hardihood.
Already 'mid the chiefest of this realm
Was Ildovaldo rank'd; now will he be
Second to none but thee.

Al.
And towards him
So much more grateful I am bound to be,
E'en in proportion, as before the fight
Some envious miscreants sought to render him
By me the more suspected. He it was
Whose foresight warn'd me not to trust the aid
Of Alaric, long deferred, and haply faithless.
More than the assistance of a thousand others
His sword avails: he is my chosen champion:
And he not only has with triumph closed
The fortunes of the day, but of the war.
Fame, though with different and discordant tongues,
Yet with them all speaks prodigies of him.
That Clefi now is in his hands a prisoner;
Now that he's wounded mortally by him;
And there are those who furthermore affirm
That he is slain already. I refused
To trace the footsteps of the fugitives:
I am accustom'd only to behold
The faces of my foes: but their defeat,
By Ildovaldo's lofty hardihood
Ere now is consummated. I rely
On him implicitly; he, in one day,
This menacing array of hostile strength
Hath utterly abolish'd by his skill.

Ros.
I grieve that Alaric's retarded arms
Had not a share in this day's victory.
Yet not the less with him will I preserve
My faith inviolate. In future times
He may assist us; and, which is a point
Of more importance for us to remember,
Us he can always injure. 'Tis decreed
Romilda should be his: this I to her
Already have announced. Wouldst thou believe it,
She dares deny her hand to Alaric!

Al.
Oh! can I hope so much? ... And can she dare
So much to hope?

Ros.
Yes. But in vain denies it:
I have inform'd her that to-morrow's dawn
Must witness her departure. Rather would I
Forfeit my throne than thus betray my faith.

Al.
But yet ... compassion for the unhappy daughter.

Ros.
Daughter of whom? compassion, dost thou say?
What do I hear? Should she who is the child
Of him who slew my sire be aught but wretched?

Al.
It seems to me, that by severe commands
We should not sadden this victorious day.
Romilda is the last remaining issue
Of the ancient kings of Lombardy: e'en yet
We on the throne are insecurely seated:
Each subject here doth cherish in his heart
The recollection of the martial virtues,
And of the rapidly increasing power
Of Alboino, their legitimate lord.
The Lombards, led by his victorious steps,
Have ravaged, bound in fetters, or have burn'd
The whole of Italy, far as the Po
Doth water her, far as the Appenine,
The Alps, and the Adriatic sea extend.
The slaughter of a king so prosperous
Entails on us a mighty stress of care,
Inveterate hatred, and incessant peril.
Tired of an arbitrary king, the people
Presumed to raise the standard of revolt:
'Twas easy to repress them: since the veterans
Preferr'd the undivided sway of one.
But if the troops should see the daughter wronged
Of their once great commander, who could then
To their allegiance trust? And what are we,
Tell me, bereft of them?

Ros.
To me it happens,
Without a precedent, and unexpected,
That thou to-day, in an affair of state,
Shouldst feel discordantly from what I feel.
Arms I resign to thee; but, in my palace,
Who shall prevent me from being absolute
In arts of peace? Ah, do thou come to give
To nature the repose it so much wants!
'Gainst open hostile arms thou art to me
A shield: but each less noble care, unmeet
For a proud warrior, to me belongs.