Poems, translated and original

TERESA’S _chamber_. TERESA, _in bridal robes, sitting at a table, with writing materials_.

Teresa. I cannot write to him! If I would guide The pen, my hand refuses to record The tale it ought to tell. Oh, fatal hand! Which soon must seal my shame, well dost thou shrink To do the accusing office!--Foscarini! Yet may I breathe that name! the walls about me Will not yet hear it as a guilty sound, But softly echo back the whispered word, As if their stones could pity!-- To-night! to-night! I’m strangely calm. So long I’ve pondered on it, It seems that even despair has lost its keenness, And only sits a thick and leaden weight Upon my soul. I’ve wept, alas! so much, The founts of grief are dry, and will not yield A drop to soften me!

_Enter_ MATILDA.

Why have you come?

Matilda. Forgive me--’tis not meet You should be left alone with sombre thoughts At such an hour.

Teresa. It is not late.

Matilda. Look out-- The sun has long since set.

Teresa. Some envious cloud It is, that hides his beams.

Matilda. No! it is night-- The summit of yon gilded cupola, Where last the hues of sunset ever linger, Has long been wrapt in gloom!

Teresa. Is it not strange I should regret the daylight?

Matilda. Come--no more Of these sad musings. You have cherished them ’Till your fair cheek is pale, and unbecoming A youthful bride. Why look--these radiant pearls, Whose pure transparence should have suited well With your fresh brow, will find their whiteness shamed.

Teresa. Matilda!

Matilda. Here--these flowers are fresh; I’ll wreathe them In the full wavings of your hair. I’ll braid it In dark, rich folds upon your temples. Ah! That form, so stately, yet so full of grace, That high fair front--they will indeed proclaim you The queen of loveliness, to every eye That seeks you in its homage!

Teresa. Hush! Matilda-- Waste not your idle praises.

Matilda. I will keep them For other ears. But should I not be proud To deck you for your nuptials?

TERESA (_shuddering_.)

No!

Matilda. Look not So sadly. True--you love not Contarini;-- But who among us thinks to wed for love, When wealth, and rank, and power, and all that’s dear To woman’s heart, do beckon us to seize them! Oh! trust me! love’s a bauble, fit to toy with-- But like the shining plaything of the child, To be thrown by, when riper years bestow Far richer gifts, and teach him ’twas a trifle He prized before!

Teresa. Nay, nay--I need not this. My heart is senseless. It is cold--cold--cold! Steeled in an apathy more deep than wo, Which even keen thought can never pierce again. What nights of feverish unrest I’ve borne, What days of weeping and of bitterness, When I have schooled me to a mocking calmness, While my heart ached within! But all is past! My spirit is a waste o’er which hath raged The desolating fire, to leave its trace In blackened ruins!--I can feel no more! Would that I could! I’d rather bear the gnawing Of anguish, than this dull, dead, frozen void, In which all sense is buried!

Matilda. Would the harp Soothe you? or shall I sing those cheerful songs That once you loved to hear?

Teresa. No--no--the sound Would be a mockery.--Yet, if time urge not, I’d have you read to me that mournful tale We oft have read together--of a maid Compelled like me to nuptials she abhorred,-- Who fled to death’s arms to escape that bridal, And sleeps within the grave of him she loved.

Matilda. Nay--nay--you shall not hear so sad a story!

Teresa. It cannot move me. Hers was a bold spirit, That dared to spurn the chain, and purchase peace Even at the price of life.--Would I could be Like her!

Matilda. Teresa!

Teresa. Fear me not--my hands Are cowards; ‘and my veins were never meant ‘To flow with blood like that which nourishes ‘Heroic hearts.’--There’s something in death’s aspect, Even when he smiles, that human spirits quail at! ‘The foolish skin doth creep--and the frame shudder, ‘At thought of what awaits them--the dusk pall-- ‘The narrow house--the clay cold living tenants--’

Matilda. Holy St. Mary! Are such thoughts as these Meet for a festival?

Teresa. A festival! True--there’s a noble festival at hand! Yes--yes--I will be passive.--Deck me out A victim--oh, how truly!--At the altar, Say--must I wear a smile!

Matilda. Oh! not like that! No--do not smile--the veil will hide your face.--

Teresa. Will it? that’s well.--I fear me it would shame The gay surrounding group.--They are not wont To see such revellers. My looks would wither More roses than will deck the festal hall!

Matilda. Talk not so strangely!

Teresa. Strangely? am I changed?

Matilda. Oh, sadly!

Teresa. I rejoice--I would be changed! Who comes? [_Enter two female attendants._

ATTENDANT.

My lady, will you go?

Teresa. Whither?

Matilda. Do you forget? but a few moments Remain--

ATTENDANT.

My lord enquires for you. The guests Are even now assembled.

Teresa. It is well. I’ll follow you. [_Exeunt._