The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume I Part 44

DON JOHN.

There spake my heroine.

The King, my father, bids me to repair Unto Palermo.

MARIA.

Shall we sail to-night?

DON JOHN.

My Princess! Thou recoilest not from all Thou must endure, ere I can openly Claim thee my wife!

MARIA.

The pangs of purgatory Were lightly borne with such a heaven in view.

I were content with one brief hour a day, s.n.a.t.c.hed from the toils of war and thy high duties, To gaze on thy dear face--to feel thy hand, Even as now a stay and a caress.

DON JOHN.

Angel, I have no thanks. May G.o.d forget me When I forget this hour! So, thou art firm-- Ready this night to leave thy home, thy kin, Thy father?

MARIA (solemnly).

I am ready and resolved.

Yet judge me not so lightly as to deem I say this with no pang. My love were naught, Could I withdraw it painlessly at once From him round whose colossal strength the tendrils Of mine own baby heart were taught to twine.

I speak not now as one who swerves or shrinks, But merely, dear, to show thee what sharp tortures I, nowise blind, but with deliberate soul, Embrace for thee.

DON JOHN.

How can I doubt the anguish So rude a snapping of all ties must smite Thy tender heart withal? Yet, dwell we not On the brief pain, but on the enduring joys.

If Ribera's love be all thou deemest, He will forgive thy secret flight, thy--

MARIA.

Secret!

May I not bid farewell? May I not tell him Where we are bound? How soon he may have hope To hear from me--to welcome me, thy Princess?

I dare not leave him without hope.

DON JOHN.

My child, Thou art mad! We must be secret as the grave, Else are we both undone. I have given out That I depart in princely state to-morrow.

Far from the quay a bark awaiteth us.

I know my man. Shrouded by careful night, We will set secret sail for Sicily.

Once in Palermo, thou mayst write thy father-- Sue for his pardon--tell him that, ere long, When I have won by cautious policy King Philip's favor, thou shalt be proclaimed Princess of Austria.

MARIA (who has hung upon his words with trembling excitement, covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears).

I cannot! no! I cannot!

DON JOHN (scornfully).

I feared as much. Well, it is better thus.

I asked thee not to front the "worst of ills That envious fate could heap upon thy head"-- Only a little patience. 'T was too much; I cannot blame thee. 'T is a loving father.

I, a mere stranger, had naught else to hope, Matching my claim with his.

MARIA (looks at him and throws herself at his feet).

Oh, pardon, pardon!

My Lord, my Prince, my husband! I am thine!

Lead wheresoe'er thou wilt, I follow thee.

Tell me a life's devotion may efface The weakness of a moment!

DON JOHN (raising her tenderly and embracing her).

Ah, mine own!

SCENE III.

Morning. The studio. Enter RIBERA.

RIBERA.

How laughingly the clear sun s.h.i.+nes to-day On storm-drenched green, and cool, far-glittering seas!

When she comes in to greet me, she will blush For last night's terrors. How she crouched and shuddered At the mere thought of the wild war without!

Poor, clinging women's souls, what need is theirs Of our protecting love! Yet even on me The shadow of the storm-cloud seemed to breed.

Through my vexed sleep I heard the thunder roll; My dreams were ugly--Well, all that is past; To-day my spirit is renewed. 'T is long Since I have felt so fresh.

[He seats himself before his easel and takes up his brush and palette, but holds them idly in his hand.]

Strange, she still sleeps!

The hour is past when she is wont to come To bless me with the kiss of virgin love.

Mayhap 't was fever in her eyes last night Gave them so wild a glance, so bright a l.u.s.tre.

G.o.d! if she should be ill!

[He rises and calls.]

Luca!

Enter LUCA.

LUCA.

My lord?

RIBERA.

Go ask Fiametta if the mistress sleeps-- If she be ailing--why she has not come This morn to greet me.

[Exit LUCA.]