GUIDO AND MARINA. A DRAMATIC SKETCH. [GUIDO, having given himself up to the pernicious study of magic and astrology, casts his nativity, and resolves that at a certain hour of a certain day he is to die. MARINA, to wean him from this fatal delusion, which hath gradually wasted him away, even to the verge of death, advances the hour-hand of the clock. He is supposed to be seated beside her in the garden of his palace at Venice.] Guido. Clasp me again! My soul is very sad; And hold thy lips in readiness near mine, Lest I die suddenly. Clasp me again! 'Tis such a gloomy day! Mar. Nay, sweet, it shines. Guido. Nay, then, these mortal clouds are in mine eyes. Clasp me again!-ay, with thy fondest force, Give me one last embrace. Mar. Love, I do clasp thee! Guido. Then closer-closer-for I feel thee not; Unless thou art this pain around my heart. Thy lips at such a time should never leave me. Mar. What pain-what time, love? Art thou ill? Alas! I see it in thy cheek. Come, let me nurse thee. Here, rest upon my heart. Guido. Stay, stay, Marina. Look !-when I raise my hand against the sun, Mar. Alas! my love, what wilt thou? Thy hand is red-and so is mine-all hands Show thus against the sun. Guido. All living men's, Marina, but not mine. Hast never heard How death first seizes on the feet and hands, Mar. Yea, love I know it; but what then?-the hand I hold, is glowing. Guido. But my eyes!-my eyes! Look there, Marina-there is death's own sign. I have seen a corpse, E'en when its clay was cold, would still have seemed So dull and dim! Marina, look in mine! Mar. Ay, they are dull. No, no-not dull. but bright: I see myself within them. Now, dear love, Discard these horrid fears that make me weep. Oh, do not vex my soul with hopes impossible! Mar. [Clock strikes. Nay, they shall not! Hark! The hour is come-and gone! What! not a word! That death forbears thee? Nay, hath all my love Been spent in vain, that thou art sick of life? Guido. Marina, I am no more attached to death And steals with cold infringement on my breath: But there's a point, true measured by my pulse, By one poor throb. Marina, it is near. Guido. Ay, it is very near. Therefore, cling now to me, and say farewell Mar. O, no, no, no!-a hope-a little hope- Mar. Let me weep-no, let me kneel To God-but rather thee-to spare this end That is so wilful. Oh, for pity's sake! Pluck back thy precious spirit from these clouds Oh! turn from death, That smother it with death. And do not woo it with such dark resolve, To make me widowed. Guido. I have lived my term. Mar. No-not thy term-not the natural term Of one so young. Oh! thou hast spent thy years In sinful waste upon unholy— Guido. Marina. Hush! Mar. Nay, I must. Oh! cursed lore, That hath supplied this spell against thy life. Unholy learning-devilish and dark— Study!-O God! O God!-how can thy stars Be bright with such black knowledge? Oh, that men Should ask more light of them than guides their steps At evening to love! Guido. Hush, hush, oh hush! Thy words have pained me in the midst of pain. True, if I had not read, I should not die; For, if I had not read, I had not been. |