The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Part 16

_Jac. (aside_). 'Tis time.

(_Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read._)

_Lal_. "It in another climate, so he said, Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!"

(_pauses--turns over some leaves and resumes_.)

"No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower-- But Ocean ever to refresh mankind Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind"

Oh, beautiful!--most beautiful!--how like To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!

O happy land! (_pauses_) She died!--the maiden died!

O still more happy maiden who couldst die!

Jacinta!

(_Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes_.)

Again!--a similar tale Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!

Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play-- "She died full young"--one Bossola answers him-- "I think not so--her infelicity Seemed to have years too many"--Ah, luckless lady!

Jacinta! (_still no answer_.) Here's a far sterner story-- But like--oh, very like in its despair-- Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily A thousand hearts--losing at length her own.

She died. Thus endeth the history--and her maids Lean over her and keep--two gentle maids With gentle names--Eiros and Charmion!

Rainbow and Dove!--Jacinta!

_Jac_.

(_pettishly_). Madam, what is it?

_Lal_. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind As go down in the library and bring me The Holy Evangelists?

_Jac_. Pshaw!

(_Exit_)

_Lal_. If there be balm For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there!

Dew in the night time of my bitter trouble Will there be found--"dew sweeter far than that Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill."

(_re-enter Jacinta, and throws a volume on the table_.)

There, ma'am, 's the book.

(_aside_.) Indeed she is very troublesome.

_Lal_.

(_astonished_). What didst thou say, Jacinta?

Have I done aught To grieve thee or to vex thee?--I am sorry.

For thou hast served me long and ever been Trustworthy and respectful.

(_resumes her reading_.)

_Jac_. (_aside_.) I can't believe She has any more jewels--no--no--she gave me all.

_Lal_. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.

How fares good Ugo?--and when is it to be?

Can I do aught?--is there no further aid Thou needest, Jacinta?

_Jac_. (_aside_.) Is there no _further_ aid!

That's meant for me. I'm sure, madam, you need not Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

_Lal_. Jewels! Jacinta,--now indeed, Jacinta, I thought not of the jewels.

_Jac_. Oh, perhaps not!

But then I might have sworn it. After all, There's Ugo says the ring is only paste, For he's sure the Count Castiglione never Would have given a real diamond to such as you; And at the best I'm certain, madam, you cannot Have use for jewels _now_. But I might have sworn it.

(_Exit_)

(_Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table--after a short pause raises it_.)

_Lal_. Poor Lalage!--and is it come to this?

Thy servant maid!--but courage!--'tis but a viper Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!

(_taking up the mirror_) Ha! here at least's a friend--too much a friend In earlier days--a friend will not deceive thee.

Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst) A tale--a pretty tale--and heed thou not Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.

It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks, And beauty long deceased--remembers me, Of Joy departed--Hope, the Seraph Hope, Inurned and entombed!--now, in a tone Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible, Whispers of early grave untimely yawning For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true!--thou liest not!

_Thou_ hast no end to gain--no heart to break-- Castiglione lied who said he loved---- Thou true--he false!--false!--false!

(_While she speaks, a monk enters her apartment and approaches un.o.bserved_)

_Monk_. Refuge thou hast, Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things!

Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

_Lal.

(arising hurriedly_). I _cannot_ pray!--My soul is at war with G.o.d!

The frightful sounds of merriment below; Disturb my senses--go! I cannot pray-- The sweet airs from the garden worry me!

Thy presence grieves me--go!--thy priestly raiment Fills me with dread--thy ebony crucifix With horror and awe!

_Monk_. Think of thy precious soul!

_Lal_. Think of my early days!--think of my father And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home, And the rivulet that ran before the door!

Think of my little sisters!--think of them!

And think of me!--think of my trusting love And confidence--his vows--my ruin--think--think Of my unspeakable misery!----begone!

Yet stay! yet stay!--what was it thou saidst of prayer And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith And vows before the throne?

_Monk_. I did.

_Lal_. 'Tis well.

There _is_ a vow 'twere fitting should be made-- A sacred vow, imperative and urgent, A solemn vow!

_Monk_. Daughter, this zeal is well!

_Lal_. Father, this zeal is anything but well!

Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?

A crucifix whereon to register This sacred vow? (_he hands her his own_.) Not that--Oh! no!--no!--no (_shuddering_.) Not that! Not that!--I tell thee, holy man, Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!

Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,-- _I_ have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting The deed--the vow--the symbol of the deed-- And the deed's register should tally, father!

(_draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high_.) Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine Is written in heaven!