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,
Is it red with blood?

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,
And thence goes freezing to the very heart?

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
Alive, but for the eyes-such deadly eyes!

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.
Guido. Marina, Marina-where thy image lies,
There must be brightness-or perchance they glance
And glimmer like the lamp before it dies.

Oh, do not vex my soul with hopes impossible!
My hours are ending.

Mar.

[Clock strikes.

Nay, they shall not! Hark!
The hour-four-five-hark!-six!-the very time!
And, lo! thou art alive! My love—dear love—
Now cast this cruel phantasm from thy brain-
This wilful, wild delusion-cast it off!

The hour is come-and gone! What! not a word!
What, not a smile, even, that thou livest for me !
Come, laugh and clap your hands as I do—come.
Or kneel with me, and thank th' eternal God
For this blest passover! Still sad! still mute!-
Oh, why art thou not glad, as I am glad,

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
Than Fate hath doomed me. I am his elect,
That even now forestalls thy little light,

And steals with cold infringement on my breath:
Already he bedims my spiritual lamp,
Not yet his due-not yet-quite yet, though Time,
Perchance, to warn me, speaks before his wont:
Some minutes' space my blood has still to flow-
Some scanty breath is left me still to spend
In very bitter sighs.

But there's a point, true measured by my pulse,
Beyond or short of which it may not live

By one poor throb. Marina, it is near.
Mar. Oh, God of heaven!

Guido.

Ay, it is very near.

Therefore, cling now to me, and say farewell
While I can answer it. Marina, speak!
Why tear thine helpless hair? it will not save
Thy heart from breaking, nor pluck out the thought
That stings thy brain. Oh, surely thou hast known
This truth too long to look so like Despair?

Mar. O, no, no, no!-a hope-a little hope-
I had erewhile-but I have heard its knell.
Oh, would my life were measured out with thine—
All my years numbered-all my days, my hours,
My utmost minutes, all summed up with thine!
Guido. Marina-

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.
All our acts of life are pre-ordained,
And each pre-acted, in our several spheres,
By ghostly duplicates. They sway our deeds
By their performance. What if mine hath been
To be a prophet and foreknow my doom?
If I had closed my eyes, the thunder then
Had roared it in my ears; my own mute brain
Had told it with a tongue. What must be, must.
Therefore I knew when my full time would fall;
And now-to save thy widowhood of tears—
To spare the very breaking of thy heart,
I may not gain even a brief hour's reprieve!
What seest thou yonder?

What wilt thou? dost thou speak?-Methought I heard thee Just whispering. He is dead!-O God! he's dead !