GERALDI SFORZA;

A DRAMATIC TALE, IN FOUR SCENES.

[Continued from p. 380.]

SCENE III.-The Palace Gardens.

JULIAN, ISABEL, VERONICA..

Jul. Oh! it is said, my Isabel, that Heaven
Hath closed the gates of Eden on mankind,
And Paradise no longer blooms; but we
Have found, that innocent and faithful hearts
Can make their own Elysium: Bounteous God
Still blesses his creations. What a scene
Of glory is around us; not a cloud
O'ershades the radiance of the summer sky:
Turquoise and gold, the multitudinous stars
Peep from the tender azure: Zephyr's breath,
In gentlest sighs, scatters a silv'ry shower
From the rich blossoms of the orange-trees,
And wafts their precious odours on its wings.

Ver. The flowers drop balm, and trooping fairies haste To gather in their harvest, ere the bee

Hath roused his drowsy head. Soft music steals
From yonder bubbling spring, for little elves
Float in the liquid diamond, singing strains
Of love, and hope, and joy. Oh, the broad day
Hath none of these delights, sweet Fancy shrinks
From the betraying sun, and chooses night
To smile upon her witchery.

Isa.

'Tis fair,

'Tis wondrous beautiful; but did the night
Come clothed in all its terrors, it must bring
Joy to thine Isabel, my Julian; we

By stern necessity divorced by day,
Breathe and exist but in the twilight hour.

Jul. My wild idolatry could wish that night
Should reign for ever; and these fairy bowers
Form all our universe. Amid the crush
Of dark tumultuous passions, which the soul
Must combat in its worldly intercourse,
I sigh and languish for the tranquil hour,
That links me with celestial beings; souls
Who know no sin, nor sorrow, but by name.

Ver. Come, we will sit upon this mossy bank ;
And though 't were easier to count the stars
Than number our perfections, thou wilt strive
To execute the task. Behold my lap
Is filled with flowers; Flora never owned
A richer treasure, and the prize shall be

The wreath that Isabel delights in. See
What deep bright tints dye these carnations;
Are they too proud and gaudy for thy sweet
Simplicity? Here is the delicate,

The pale pink rose, the gentle hyacinth,
Who, ere the steril wintry winds are hush'd,
In pity opes her silken bells to chide
The lingering spring; here is the jessamine,
Whose silver stars will suit thy dark locks well;
The gay jonquil, Titania's ample tent,
And violets, where Puck delights to hide.

Isa. We must indulge her fancy, Julian;
Repose beside me on this turf; my head
Has sought its dearest pillow on thy breast;
My Veronica feasts her gentle eyes

Upon her fragile treasures: Come now, Love,
Tax thy invention, or thy memory,

With such a tale as suits this hour of bliss.

Jul. Shall it be framed of love, or war? The lay

Of some soft troubadour, or armed knight?

Or shall I steal from Tasso's flowing verse

The story of the warrior maid, or sing
Armida's Paradise less fair than this?
The tower of Ugolino were a tale
'Too dark and horrible.

I know not why, but gloomy images
Alone present themselves, unnatural
And fierce revenge, and disappointed love-

But true love, sweet, is seldom fortunate.

Isa. Are we not happy, Julian? My heart, Swelled with the fulness of its bliss, beats high:

Thou 'rt mine-I know thou 'rt mine. Thy wedded wifeOh! as I clasp thee in my arms, I feel

Earth hath no purer blessing in its gift.

Jul. The early Christian, as he poured his soul

Before the holy altar, reared at night

Mid silent wildernesses, felt a pang

Steal through his breast;-he longed in open day
To worship at the shrine. My Isabel,

I hold thee next to Heaven, my love, my faith,
Disdains concealment: as the martyr died,
Acknowledging his God, I too would brave
All peril, to proclaim before the world
My title to thy love; the hallowed name
Of wife springs to my eager lips; mine arms
Are stretched to clasp thee; and my fond eyes gaze
In passionate devotion:-I must check

The tender impulse; play the hypocrite,

And school each guarded phrase to cold respect.
Isa. Oh, whilst I hang upon the melody

Of thy loved voice, list to the tender vow,
And wreathe my fingers in the crisped curls.

That cluster o'er thy brow, no cankered care
Will dare intrude; and were there no restraint
Upon my foolish fondness, thou would soon
Grow weary, Julian, and mope, and pine,
Like a caged turtle for thy liberty.

Jul. You wrong me by the thought, my beauteous queen; I were unfit to share the joys of heaven,

If I could tire of Eden. Do not chide

Thy meek lip knows not chiding; do not sigh

To hear thy Julian confess; even bliss
Like this is dearly purchased: 'gainst my king
I have offended, and my conscious soul
Dares not to commune with its dearest friend;
Geraldi Sforza, from his searching eye

I turn abashed; our free uncumbered speech,
Where thought met thought, and every wish appeared,
Seems cramped and circumscribed.

Isa.

Thou art my world!

And whilst I hear thee speak, and see thee smile

In fond approval, my devoted soul

Is rapt in bliss.-Oh Julian! Julian!
It is not thus thou lov'st me-every day
I bend my knee in impious mockery
Before my father, kiss his hallowed brow
With treason on my lips, and force my tongue
To utter hollow words, mere sounding air.-
My heart subdued, not hardened by my love,
Weeps o'er its filial disobedience, yet

I would not be restored to that sweet state
Of innocence that bless'd my youth; 'tis joy
Even to suffer for thee, so entire

And perfect is my love.-Veronica,

Help me to sail against this cold, proud man,
Geraldi Sforza, who usurps my place

Within my husband's heart.

Julian.

She is absorbed

In some sweet dream ;' dear Veronica wake,

Convince this wayward girl, that she hath wronged
Our gallant friend; pour forth thine eloquence,
Or will thy timid modesty deny

Thy love for brave Geraldi ?

Veron.

Thou hast loosed

My silent tongue, and 'twill now wanton. Praise,

Oh it must fall beneath his worth, he stands

Unmoved on glory's pinnacle; no fierce
And mad ambition fires his even soul,
The meanest objects of creation share

His tenderness and bounty-far above

His own renown he prized his country's peace,
The happiness of others-human life,
By heroes little valued, never fell

An useless sacrifice at his command.
How beautiful, and like a god he stood,
Amid the grateful people he had saved
From war's red scourge: his eagle eye was bent
In gentle fondness o'er them. Chronicled
In brass and marble to a distant age,

His deeds shall proudly stand: but oh, above
Earth's bright renown, for him the widow's prayer
The orphan's blessing shall ascend to Heaven.
Jul. The dearest meed of valour, is the praise
That flows from pure unsullied female lips;
Fair Veronica, 'tis the proudest boast

Of brave Geraldi, that his deeds have won
Thy virtuous love. Kings may bestow rich gifts,
Honours, and titles, Fame may twine a wreath
Of bright and fadeless laurels, and the soul
That covets immortality must prize

The splendid trophies. Yet the human heart
Will sigh for something dearer. What is life
Unblest by sweet affection? Isabel,
Canst thou imagine aught that could console
Thy Julian for the loss of thy loved smile?

Isa. Oh flatterer, as false as thou art fair,
I think thou dost not love me; what new oath
Wilt thou invent? I'll not believe a vow
That I have heard before.

I will return.

Ver.

"Tis time that thou wert gone

The day is dawning fast; fly, Julian;

I must re-lock the gate, for Isabel

Is grown too careless, and will let the sun
Illume the parting hour.

Isa.

Farewell! Farewell!

Dear Julian, since it must be so, at night

Remember love thy weeping Isabel.

The Gate of the Garden.

Ver. Are they not sland'rous poets who have styled The god of love a vagrant truant boy?.

'Tis sixteen months, I think, since thou hast played The faithful fond adoring lover. Fie,

What a bad fashion dost thou set at court.

Nay, nay, confess the truth, thy love is feigned.

Jul. It is the very essence of my being; life

Were valueless without it; love creates
A Paradise of bliss, and who would wake
From dreams delicious to a dull cold world?
Like the imperishable sun, my love
Burns with a constant, inexhaustible
And ardent fire. Oh, sooner shall the orb
Forsake its pillow on the western wave,
And seek another breast, than I exchange
snowy bosom-

That

Sfor.

[Sforza rushing forward and stabbing him. Traitor false foul fiend!

Amid accursed spirits thy base soul

Shall howl through dread eternity-Despair!
For 'tis Geraldi Sforza strikes!

Ver.

Oh heaven!

[Enter Isabel.

It is impossible,

Thy husband, Princess Isabel? No, no.
There stands his guilty wretched paramour.

Jul. Fly, Sforza, I am dying; thy rash hand
Has slain thy truest friend. My Isabel,

Forgive him; life is ebbing fast.My wife,
Live for the sake of our unhappy child.
Clasp me again within thy sweet embrace;
I die, my Isabel! These rigid arms

Cannot return thy pressure. Bless thee, Heaven!

Where is Geraldi Sforza? There were words
Still keener than thy sword; my dying breath
Proclaims my unstained friendship.-Seek in flight
Thy safety.- Wipe these heavy damps, my love,
From off my brow. Oh, even thy fragrant breath
Oppresses me. My last, last prayers are-

Isa.

Wretch !

Complete thy work; bury within my breast
Thy fatal sword.

Sfor.
Hell has again ingulfed
The demon who betrayed me to this deed.
I have not murdered Julian. The fiend,
Though ravenous for blood, had felt a thrill
Of gentle pity in his fire-seared breast,
And staid mine arm.- -My Veronica, too,
How cold and pale she lies beside him ;` soon,
Sweet innocent, thou wilt awake to pangs

Of ceaseless torture.- -What wild shriek was there!

Am I the cause? Again it tears mine ears,

Rings through my brain.- -It is his wretched wife.

[Dies.