 | The Purgatory of Saint Patrick |  |
234
SCENE II.
—A WILD MOUNTAIN DISTRICT; A LAKE IN THE DISTANCE.POLONIA appears upon the slope of a mountain; she descends slowly to the stage.
POLONIA.
To Thee, O Lord! my spirit climbs,
To Thee from every lonely hill
I burn to sacrifice my will
A thousand and a thousand times.
And such my boundless love to Thee,
I wish each will of mine a living soul could be.
Would that my love I could have shown
By bearing for thy sake, instead
Of that poor crown that press'd my head,
Some proud, imperial, golden crown—
Some empire, which the sun surveys
Through all its daily course and gilds with constant rays.
This humble home, 'neath rocks uphurl'd,
In which I dwell, though poor and small,
Compared to this great mountain-wall,
Is the eighth wonder of the world—
The smallest cave that in it lies
Exceeds the halls of kings in majesty and size.
Far better on some natural lawn,
To see the morn its gems bestrew,
Or watch it weeping pearls of dew
Within the white arms of the dawn;
Or view, before the sun, the stars
Drive o'er the brighten'd plain their swiftly fading cars.
Far better to behold, when free,
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The shining chariot of the day
Go down amid the western sea—
Better in darkness and in light,
My voice should speak thy praise, O Lord, by day and night!
Than to endure the inner strife—
The specious glare, but real weight
Of pomp, and power, and pride, and state,
And all the vanities of life:
How would we shudder could we deem
That life itself, in truth, is but a fleeting dream!
Enter LUDOVICO.
LUDOVICO.
True to my purpose, on I go,
[Aside.
With footsteps strong, and bosom brave,
Looking for that mysterious cave
Where the pitying Heavens will show
How my salvation I may gain
By bearing in this life the Purgatorial pain:
[To POLONIA.
Divinest woman! if you be
A dweller in this lonely ground,
Or in the neighbouring hills around,
The shortest way point out to me,
That leads unto the wondrous cave,
Where penitential man his living soul may save.
POLONIA.
Fortunate traveller, to whom
This boon was granted at thy birth,
To seek that treasure which the earth
Conceals within its richest womb—
Well can I guide thee on thy way,
For this, and this alone, amid these wilds I stay.
This mountain, do you see?
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I see
[Aside.
My death in it.
POLONIA.
Oh! woe and fear!
[Aside.
My soul! what man is this that's here?
LUDOVICO.
I cannot think that it is she?
[Aside.
POLONIA.
Can it be he whom now I scan?
[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
It is that hapless maid!
[Aside.
POLONIA.
It is that wretched man!
[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
It may be only an illusion,
Sent to dazzle and mislead,
My intent to change—Proceed:
[To POLONIA.
POLONIA.
Can it be for my confusion,
[Aside.
Man's dread enemy doth send
This spectre in my path?
LUDOVICO.
You do not speak.
POLONIA.
Attend:
This monstrous hill, with rocks bestrown,
Full well the dreaded secret knows,
But no one to its centre goes
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He who would see this wondrous cave
Must in a bark put forth and tempt the lake's dark wave:
Revenge doth seek to burst its chain,
[Aside.
But pity doth its rage subdue.
LUDOVICO.
My days their darksome hours renew,
[Aside.
Since I behold her once again.
POLONIA.
What feelings in my bosom blend!
[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
I feel as I were dead!—You do not speak.
POLONIA.
Attend!—
This darksome lake doth all surround
Yon hill that cleaves the heavens' deep blue—
A cross whose level wave, by you,
An easy pathway may be found;
And in the middle of the isle
A convent's sacred walls beneath the sunlight smile;
Some holy monks inhabit there,
And for this task alone they live,
With pious zeal to freely give
The helping hand, the strengthening prayer—
Confession, and the Sacred Mass,
And ev'ry pious aid to all who thither pass,
Telling them what they first must do
Before they dare presume to go,
Alive, within the realm of woe—
Let not this enemy subdue
[Aside.
My soul, O Lord!
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My hopes are fair,
[Aside.
Let me not feel, O Lord! the anguish of despair!
Seeing before my startled sight
My greatest, deepest crime arise:
Let not the fiend, my soul, that tries,
Subdue me in this dreadful fight.
POLONIA.
What greater foe could vengeance lend
[Aside.
Than he who standeth here?
LUDOVICO.
You do not speak:
POLONIA.
Attend:
LUDOVICO.
With quicker words your story tell,
For well I know my soul doth need
That I should go with swifter speed!
POLONIA.
And me it doth import as well
That you should go away.
LUDOVICO.
Agreed!
Now, woman, point the way to where my path doth lead.
POLONIA.
No one accompanied can pass
Across the bosom of this lake.
But each a little bark must take
And try alone the rippling glass,
Being in that most trying strait,
The lord of his own deeds—the master of his fate.
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Beside the shore the boat doth lie,
And trusting in the Lord on high,
Embark upon the crystal wave
Of this remote and lonely sea.
LUDOVICO.
My life and all I have, O bark! I trust to thee,
And thus confide me to thy care:
But, O my soul! I shake with fear,
For it a coffin doth appear,
In which, presumptuously I dare
To try this dark and icy tide!
[He enters within.
POLONIA.
Do not return, proceed, and in the Lord confide!
LUDOVICO,
within.
Victory! victory is mine,
Polonia, for before thy sight
My spirit has not quailed.
POLONIA.
To flight
Have I too made my wrath resign
Here in this Babylonian realm.
LUDOVICO.
The seeming shape you wear doth not my soul o'erwhelm,
Although you take a well-known form
To turn me from my path astray,
And make me falter on my way.
POLONIA.
Badly thy fear doth thee inform,
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For I, Polonia's self, alone am standing here:
The same your murderous dagger slew,
Who by the Heavens' mysterious grace
Live in this wild and desert place,
And feel more peace than e'er I knew.
LUDOVICO.
Since I confess, with sorrowing heart,
The many sinful scenes in which I've play'd my part,
Do thou pronounce my pardon too.
POLONIA.
You have my pardon and my prayers.
LUDOVICO.
Naught from my breast my firm faith scares.
POLONIA.
Ever confide in it.
LUDOVICO.
Adieu!
POLONIA.
Adieu!
LUDOVICO.
May God his wrath restrain!
POLONIA.
And may he bring you back victorious once again!
[Exit.
| The Purgatory of Saint Patrick | |