 | Gemma of The Isles |  |
ACT V.
Several years are supposed to have passed since the last Act.Scene I.
—Venice. A Banquet in the Doge's Palace. The Doge, Zilia, Lorenzo, the Princess of Cyprus, &c.All.
Health to Lorenzo and his royal bride!
Lor.
I thank you, noble fellow-countrymen,
For my beloved consort and myself.
Zil.
Hark! Music from the gondolas below!
The noblest concert of rejoicing voices
That Venice can lend breath to, fits the hour—
Why, what a mournful prelude! What means that?
95
Song.
Life is flowing—oh, how slow!
To its sea of rest below;
From its fountains in the past,
Life is flowing—oh, how fast!
Let it flow through joy or woe,
It will find the sea at last.
To its sea of rest below;
From its fountains in the past,
Life is flowing—oh, how fast!
Let it flow through joy or woe,
It will find the sea at last.
If mine eyes were not so dim,
Filled with tears up to the brim,
I could trace the changing stream
Backwards, by its silver gleam,
Where the happy lilies swim,
Rocking in an idle dream.
Filled with tears up to the brim,
I could trace the changing stream
Backwards, by its silver gleam,
Where the happy lilies swim,
Rocking in an idle dream.
Softly went my boat along,
In and through the flowery throng
That smiled out upon the sun,
But I never gathered one.
I have passed those lilies long,
But my voyage is not done.
In and through the flowery throng
That smiled out upon the sun,
But I never gathered one.
I have passed those lilies long,
But my voyage is not done.
Other boats have passed me by,
Dancing—oh, so merrily!
Wings of cobweb, light and frail,
These shall in the race prevail.
I can only look and sigh,
I toil on without a sail.
Dancing—oh, so merrily!
Wings of cobweb, light and frail,
These shall in the race prevail.
I can only look and sigh,
I toil on without a sail.
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Sometimes little isles I see
Smiling greenly forth on me;
Others pause, with joyful feet
To search out each cool retreat,
But I pass them sighingly,
Drifting onward through the heat.
Smiling greenly forth on me;
Others pause, with joyful feet
To search out each cool retreat,
But I pass them sighingly,
Drifting onward through the heat.
Now the shady night is here,
Now the cold sad stars appear;
Once I wished the day was done,
Now I wish I had the sun.
But what matter? Death is near,
And my course will soon be run.
Now the cold sad stars appear;
Once I wished the day was done,
Now I wish I had the sun.
But what matter? Death is near,
And my course will soon be run.
Lor.
Sweet bride, you should have heard far other strains.
Zil.
Whence came that singer? Let him be dismissed.
Lor.
It was a kindred spirit sang to mine—
Methinks that song would fit my dying day.
Zil.
Hush, lest the Princess hear!—What, talk of death,
The very day you bring so proudly home
A radiant royal bride from o'er the sea,
The breathing goddess of your poet-dreams?
Lor.
I brought once o'er the sea another bride.
Zil.
Ah! You remind me! Yes, this very day
Indeed it was—how many years ago!
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Told the sad story of her own rash deed.
Lor.
Hush, there's another song! Let us hear this.
Song.
Not to-day—oh, not to-day!
This day I devote to sorrow—
Let me have this once my way,
I will talk and laugh to-morrow.
This day I devote to sorrow—
Let me have this once my way,
I will talk and laugh to-morrow.
Let me find a place to weep,
For my heart is full of tears—
'Tis the funeral feast I keep
Of my youth's departed years.
For my heart is full of tears—
'Tis the funeral feast I keep
Of my youth's departed years.
Let me call to memory's board
Guests of long and long ago—
All the stars I so adored,
All that have beguiled me so.
Guests of long and long ago—
All the stars I so adored,
All that have beguiled me so.
All the madness of my youth,
All its hope, and all its love—
Nature struggling against truth,
Angel-pitied from above!
All its hope, and all its love—
Nature struggling against truth,
Angel-pitied from above!
Save when dreaming in the dark,
Now I scarcely can be sure
I am he, so gay a bark
On so vain a voyage bore.
Now I scarcely can be sure
I am he, so gay a bark
On so vain a voyage bore.
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I would live as I have lived,
In that wond'rous world again—
Broad awake, and undeceived,
Act the drama of my pain
In that wond'rous world again—
Broad awake, and undeceived,
Act the drama of my pain
Once more through. All present pleasure
Seen beside old grief, turns pale—
Life was dealt in fuller measure,
Framed upon a larger scale;
Seen beside old grief, turns pale—
Life was dealt in fuller measure,
Framed upon a larger scale;
And the day of days, whose gloom
Stands most sacredly apart,
Is that day when Gemma's doom
Rang a death-bell in my heart.
Stands most sacredly apart,
Is that day when Gemma's doom
Rang a death-bell in my heart.
Zil.
This is some blundering idler.
Doge.
What's this folly?
Why does this whining serenader come
On such an eve beneath my palace walls?
Bid him begone on pain of chastisement.
Lor.
(to Zilia)
You see I still am fated to recall
That other bride, that other wedding day.
Zil.
That luckless song! How chanced he on that name?
But fill a goblet with this wine of Cyprus,
And drown therein the useless memory.
Lor.
I will go seek a yet more potent cordial.
[Exit.
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Atten.
My lord, the singer you have heard below,
By birth a Naxiote, of a noble race,
And skilled in music, wanders o'er the world,
Stricken, they say, with melancholy madness,
This many a year since the last Duchess died,
Drowned on his native shores.
Prin.
Alas!
Doge.
Strange tale.
Zil.
Poor lover! wrecked by an insensate dream.
My royal daughter, and my noble guests,
Forgive, I pray, my son's strange-seeming absence.
'Tis but a faintness—anxious hopes and fears
Too long have strained his brain.
Doge.
Is my son ill?
Re-enter Lorenzo.
Zil.
No—here he comes to answer for himself,
Smiling—but, heaven! how pale.
Lor.
Pardon, my Princess!
This ill-timed faintness is already over.
I am strengthened now with eagle gaze to bear
The sunbeams of my dazzling happiness.
Prin.
And yet, my lord, you look but like a ghost
That haunts his funeral feast.
Lor.
Perhaps 'tis mine
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I am not quite a ghost yet.
Prin.
How you jest!
Lor.
That cordial whose rare virtue so revived me,
You see, has briskly mounted to my brain.
[The banquet proceeds.
Zil.
My son! My son! Lorenzo! He is dead.
[The Princess shrieks. All rise in confusion.
L.
| Gemma of The Isles | |