Thy sire and I will crush the snake!
He kiss'd her forehead as he spake,
And Geraldine in maiden wise,
Casting down her large bright eyes,
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine
She turn'd her from Sir Leoline;
Softly gathering up her train,
That o'er her right arm fell again;
And folded her arms across her chest,
And couch'd her head upon her breast,
And look'd askance at Christabel
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!
A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy,
And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head,
Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye,
And with somewhat of malice and more of dread,
At Christabel she look'd askance :-
One moment-and the sight was fled!
But Christabel, in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground,
Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound;
And Geraldine again turn'd round,
And like a thing, that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She roll'd her large bright eyes divine
Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,
She nothing sees-no sight but one!
The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resign'd
To this sole image in her mind:
And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate!
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance
With forced, unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view
As far as such a look could be,
In eyes so innocent and blue.
And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused awhile, and inly pray'd:
Then falling at the Baron's feet,
"By my mother's soul do I entreat
That thou this woman send away!"
She said and more she could not say;
For what she knew she could not tell,
O'ermaster'd by the mighty spell.
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
Sir Leoline? Thy only child
Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,
So fair, so innocent, so mild
The same, for whom thy lady died.
O by the pangs of her dear mother,
Think thou no evil of thy child!
For her, and thee, and for no other,
She pray'd the moment ere she died;
Pray'd that the babe for whom she died
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
Sir Leoline!
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,
Her child and thine?
Within the Baron's heart and brain
If thoughts like these had any share,
They only swell'd his rage and pain,
And did but work confusion there.
His heart was cleft with pain and rage,
His cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild,
Dishonor'd thus in his old age;
Dishonor'd by his only child,
And all his hospitality
To the insulted daughter of his friend
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end-
He roll'd his eye with stern regard
Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
And said in tones abrupt, austere,
Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
I bade thee hence! The Bard obey'd;
And, turning from his own sweet maid,
'The aged knight, Sir Leoline,
Led forth the lady Geraldine!
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
A LITTLE child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks
That always finds and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true)!
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.
Remorse is as the heart in which it grows: If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews
Marquis Valdez, Father to the two brothers, and of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy,
Donna Teresa's Guardian.
DON ALVAR, the eldest son.
It is a poison-tree that, pierced to the inmost, Weeps only tears of poison.
A portrait which she had procured by stealth
(For ever then it seems her heart foreboded
Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry),
A portrait of herself with thrilling hand
She tied around my neck, conjuring me
With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred
To my own knowledge: nor did she desist,
Till she had won a solemn promise from me,
That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it
Till
my return. Yet this the assassin knew,
Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.
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The Belgic states: there join'd the better cause;
And there too fought as one that courted death!
Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying,
In death-like trance: a long imprisonment follow'd.
The fullness of my anguish by degrees
Waned to a meditative melancholy;
And still, the more I mused, my soul became
More doubtful, more perplex'd; and still Teresa,
Night after night, she visited my sleep,
Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful,
Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me!
Yes, still, as in contempt of proof and reason,
I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless!
Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here
In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.-
The Moorish robes ?—
Some furlong hence.
Secrete the boat there.
All, all are in the sea-cave,
I bade our mariners
That it remains uninjured.
I will first seek to meet Ordonio's-wife!
If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk,
And this the hour; her words, her very looks
Will acquit her or convict.
And Alvar's brother.
I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son
Love him for himself,
Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez;
But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain
Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves,
And could my heart's blood give him back to thee,
I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts;
Thy dying father comes upon my soul
With that same look, with which he gave thee to me,
I held thee in my arms a powerless babe,
While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty
Fix'd her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this,
That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom,
And with slow anguish wear away thy life,
The victim of a useless constancy.
I must not see thee wretched.
Ill-barter'd for the garishness of joy!
If it be wretched with an untired eye
To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;
Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,
My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze,
To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again
All past hours of delight! If it be wretched
To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there,
To go through each minutest circumstance
Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures
Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;
* (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid
Will they not know you? And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft
Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes,
s on my grave and gazes at the moon;
haply, in some more fantastic mood,
o be in Paradise, and with choice flowers
2uild up a bower where he and I might dwell,
ind there to wait his coming! O my sire!
ly Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness
That eats away the life, what were it, think you,
I in a most assured reality
He should return, and see a brother's infant
Smile at him from my arms?
Dh, what a thought! [Clasping her forehead.
Captured in sight of land!
From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower
We might have seen-
Hail, reverend father! what may be the business?
MONVIEDRO.
My Lord, on strong suspicion of relapse
To his false creed, so recently abjured,
The secret servants of the inquisition
Have seized her husband, and at my command
To the supreme tribunal would have led him,
His capture, not his death. But that he made appeal to you, my Lord,
As surety for his soundness in the faith.
Though lessen'd by experience what small trust
The asseverations of these Moors deserve,
Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name,
Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honor
The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers,
Thus far prevail'd with me that-
Alas! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale
Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio
Saw both the pirate and his prize go down,
In the same storm that baffled his own valor,
And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes:
Gallant Ordonio! (pauses; then tenderly). O beloved
Wouldst thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar,
And most delight his spirit, go, make thou
His brother happy, make his aged father
Sink to the grave in joy.
For mercy's sake,
Press me no more! I have no power to love him.
His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow,
Chill me like dew damps of the unwholesome night:
My love, a timorous and tender flower,
Closes beneath his touch.
You wrong him, maiden!
You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well
To character by such unkindly phrases
The stir and workings of that love for you
Which he has toil'd to smother, "T was not well,
Nor is it grateful in you to forget
I am much beholden to your high opinion,
Which so o'erprizes my light services.
[Then to ALHADRA.
I would that I could serve you; but in truth
Your face is new to me.
My mind foretold me,
That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez,
'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio,
That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely
Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors,
Should prove the patron of this infidel!
The guarantee of a Moresco's faith!
Now I return.
My Lord, my husband's name
Is Isidore. (ORDONIO starts.)-You may remember it:
Three years ago, three years this very week,
You left him at Almeria.
MONVIEDRO.
Palpably false!
Not till my husband's free! I may not do it.
I will stay here.
TERESA (aside).
Who is this Isidore?
This very week, three years ago, my Lord (You needs must recollect it by your wound), You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! [TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and With your permission, my dear Lord, horror. ORDONIO's appearance to be collected I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze. [Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO, and ORDONIO.
MONVIEDRO (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO).
What! is he ill, my Lord? how strange he looks!
VALDEZ (angrily).
You press'd upon him too abruptly, father,
The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted.
ORDONIO (starting as in sudden agitation).
O Heavens! I? I-doted? (then recovering himself).
Yes! I doted on him.
[ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage,
VALDEZ follows, soothing him.
TERESA (her eye following ORDONIO).
I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard?
Is my heart hard? that even now the thought
Should force itself upon me ?-Yet I feel it!
The drops did start and stand upon his forehead!
I will return. In very truth, I grieve
To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman!
ALHADRA (to TERESA).
O gentle lady! make the father stay,
Until my Lord recover. I am sure,
That he will say he is my husband's friend.
Stay, father! stay! my Lord will soon recover.
ORDONIO (as they return, to Valdez).
Strange, that this Monviedro
Should have the power so to distemper me!
Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son!
My Lord, I truly grieve————
Tut! name it not.
A sudden seizure, father! think not of it.
As to this woman's husband, I do know him.
I know him well, and that he is a Christian.
I hope, my Lord, your merely human pity
Doth not prevail-
"Tis certain that he was a Catholic;
What changes may have happen'd in three years,
I cannot say; but grant me this, good father:
Myself I'll sift him: if I find him sound,
You'll grant me your authority and name
To liberate his house.
MONVIEDRO.
Your zeal, my Lord,
And your late merits in this holy warfare,
Would authorize an ampler trust-you have it.
I will attend you home within an hour.
Meantime, return with us and take refreshment.
I was a Moresco!
They cast me, then a young and nursing mother,
Into a dungeon of their prison-house,
Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light,
No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air,
It was a toil to breathe it! when the door,
Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed
One human countenance, the lamp's red flame
Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down.
Oh miserable! by that lamp to see
My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread
Brought daily for the little wretch was sickly-
My rage had dried away its natural food.
In darkness I remain'd-the dull bell counting,
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