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On the stilled lava-stream, that cold

Beneath the mountain lies

Not thus was discord's flame controlled-

Too deep the rooted hate-too long

They brooded in their sullen hearts

O'er unforgotten, treasured wrong. In warning visions oft dismayed,

I read the signs of coming woe;

And now from this mysterious maid

My bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow:

Unblest, I deem, the bridal chain

Shall knit their secret loves, accursed

With holy cloisters' spoil profane.

No crooked paths to virtue lead;

Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed!

BERENGAR.

And thus to sad unhallowed rites

Of an ill-omened nuptial tie,

Too well ye know their father bore

A bride of mournful destiny,

Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has sped

Heaven's vengeance on the impious bed!

This fierce, unnatural rage atones

A parent's crime-decreed by fate,

Their mother's offspring, strife and hate!

[The scene changes to a garden opening on the sea.

BEATRICE (steps forward from an alcove. She walks to and fro with an

agitated air, looking round in every direction. Suddenly she

stands still and listens).

No! 'tis not he: 'twas but the playful wind

Rustling the pine-tops. To his ocean bed

The sun declines, and with o'erwearied heart

I count the lagging hours: an icy chill

Creeps through my frame; the very solitude

And awful silence fright my trembling soul!

Where'er I turn naught meets my gaze-he leaves me

Forsaken and alone!

And like a rushing stream the city's hum

Floats on the breeze, and dull the mighty sea

Rolls murmuring to the rocks: I shrink to nothing

With horrors compassed round; and like the leaf,

Borne on the autumn blast, am hurried onward

Through boundless space.

Alas! that e'er I left

My peaceful cell-no cares, no fond desires

Disturbed my breast, unruffled as the stream

That glides in sunshine through the verdant mead:

Nor poor in joys. Now-on the mighty surge

Of fortune, tempest-tossed-the world enfolds me

With giant arms! Forgot my childhood's ties

I listened to the lover's flattering tale-

Listened, and trusted! From the sacred dome

Allured-betrayed-for sure some hell-born magic

Enchained my frenzied sense-I fled with him,

The invader of religion's dread abodes!

Where art thou, my beloved? Haste-return-

With thy dear presence calm my struggling soul!

[She listens.

Hark! the sweet voice! No! 'twas the echoing surge

That beats upon the shore; alas! he comes not.

More faintly, o'er the distant waves, the sun

Gleams with expiring ray; a deathlike shudder

Creeps to my heart, and sadder, drearier grows

E'en desolation's self.

[She walks to and fro, and then listens again.

Yes! from the thicket shade

A voice resounds! 'tis he! the loved one!

No fond illusion mocks my listening ear.

'Tis louder-nearer: to his arms I fly-

To his breast!

[She rushes with outstretched arms to the extremity

of the garden. DON CAESAR meets her.

DON CASAR. BEATRICE.

BEATRICE (starting back in horror)

What do I see?

[At the same moment the Chorus comes forward.

DON CAESAR.

Angelic sweetness! fear not.

[To the Chorus.

Retire! your gleaming arms and rude array

Affright the timorous maid.

[To BEATRICE.

Fear nothing! beauty

And virgin shame are sacred in my eyes.

[The Chorus steps aside. He approaches and takes her hand.

Where hast thou been? for sure some envious power

Has hid thee from my gaze: long have I sought thee:

E'en from the hour when 'mid the funeral rites

Of the dead prince, like some angelic vision,

Lit with celestial brightness, on my sight

Thou shonest, no other image in my breast

Waking or dreaming, lives; nor to thyself

Unknown thy potent spells; my glance of fire,

My faltering accents, and my hand that lay

Trembling in thine, bespoke my ecstasy!

Aught else with solemn majesty the rite

And holy place forbade:

The bell proclaimed

The awful sacrifice! With downcast eyes,

And kneeling I adored: soon as I rose,

And caught with eager gaze thy form again,

Sudden it vanished; yet, with mighty magic

Of love enchained, my spirit tracked thy presence;

Nor ever, with unwearied quest, I cease

At palace gates, amid the temple's throng,

In secret paths retired, or public scenes,

Where beauteous innocence perchance might rove,

To mark each passing form-in vain; but, guided

By some propitious deity this day

One of my train, with happy vigilance,

Espied thee in the neighboring church.

[BEATRICE, who had stood trembling with averted eyes,

here makes a gesture of terror.

I see thee

Once more; and may the spirit from this frame

Be severed ere we part! Now let me snatch

This glad, auspicious moment, and defy

Or chance, or envious demon's power, to shake

Henceforth my solid bliss; here I proclaim thee,

Before this listening warlike train my bride,

With pledge of knightly honors!

[He shows her to the Chorus.

Who thou art,

I ask not: thou art mine! But that thy soul

And birth are pure alike one glance informed

My inmost heart; and though thy lot were mean,

And poor thy lowly state, yet would I strain thee

With rapture to my arms: no choice remains,

Thou art my love-my wife! Know too, that lifted

On fortune's height, I spurn control; my will

Can raise thee to the pinnacle of greatness-

Enough my name-I am Don Caesar! None

Is nobler in Messina!

[BEATRICE starts back in amazement. He remarks her agitation,

and after a pause continues.

What a grace

Lives in thy soft surprise and modest silence!

Yes! gentle humbleness is beauty's crown-

The beautiful forever hid, and shrinking

From its own lustre: but thy spirit needs

Repose, for aught of strange-e'en sudden joy-

Is terror-fraught. I leave thee.

[Turning to the Chorus.

From this hour

She is your mistress, and my bride; so teach her

With honors due to entertain the pomp

Of queenly state. I will return with speed,

And lead her home as fits Messina's princess.

[He goes away.

BEATRICE and the Chorus.

Chorus (BOHEMUND).

Fair maiden-hail to thee

Thou lovely queen!

Thine is the crown, and thine the victory!

Of heroes to a distant age,

The blooming mother thou shalt shine,

Preserver of this kingly line.

(ROGER).

And thrice I bid thee hail,

Thou happy fair!

Sent in auspicious hour to bless

This favored race-the god's peculiar care.

Here twine the immortal wreaths of fame

And evermore, from sire to son,

Rolls on the sceptered sway,

To heirs of old renown, a race of deathless name!

(BOHEMUND).

The household gods exultingly

Thy coming wait;

The ancient, honored sires,

That on the portals frown sedate,

Shall smile for thee!