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IV
The gardens of a Palace -- Moonlight Lalage and Politian. Lalge. And dost thou speak of love
To me, Politian? -- dost thou speak of love
To Lalage? -- ah, woe -- ah, woe is me!
This mockery is most cruel -- most cruel indeed! Politian. Weep not! oh, sob not thus! -- thy bitter tears
Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage --
Be comforted! I know -- I know it all,
And still I speak of love. Look at me, brightest
And beautiful Lalage! -- turn here thine eyes!
Thou askest me if I could speak of love,
Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen.
Thou askest me that -- and thus I answer thee --
Thus on my bended knee I answer thee. (kneeling.)
Sweet Lalage, I love thee -- love thee -- love thee;
Thro` good and ill -- thro` weal and wo I love thee.
Not mother, with her first-born on her knee,
Thrills with intenser love than I for thee.
Not on God`s altar, in any time or clime,
Burned there a holier fire than burneth now
Within my spirit for thee. And do I love? (arising.)
Even for thy woes I love thee- even for thy woes-
Thy beauty and thy woes. Lal. Alas, proud Earl,
Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me!
How, in thy father`s halls, among the maidens
Pure and reproachless of thy princely line,
Could the dishonored Lalage abide?
Thy wife, and with a tainted memory-
MY seared and blighted name, how would it tally
With the ancestral honors of thy house,
And with thy glory? Pol. Speak not to me of glory!
I hate- I loathe the name; I do abhor
The unsatisfactory and ideal thing.
Art thou not Lalage and I Politian?
Do I not love- art thou not beautiful-
What need we more? Ha! glory!- now speak not of it.
By all I hold most sacred and most solemn-
By all my wishes now- my fears hereafter-
By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven-
There is no deed I would more glory in,
Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory
And trample it under foot. What matters it-
What matters it, my fairest, and my best,
That we go down unhonored and forgotten
Into the dust- so we descend together.
Descend together- and then- and then, perchance- Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pol. And then, perchance
Arise together, Lalage, and roam
The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,
And still- Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pol. And still together- together. Lal. Now Earl of Leicester!
Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts
I feel thou lovest me truly. Pol. Oh, Lalage! (throwing himself upon his knee.)
And lovest thou me? Lal. Hist! hush! within the gloom
Of yonder trees methought a figure passed-
A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless-
Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless. (walks across and returns.)
I was mistaken -- `twas but a giant bough
Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian! Pol. My Lalage -- my love! why art thou moved?
Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience` self,
Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,
Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind
Is chilly -- and these melancholy boughs
Throw over all things a gloom. Lal. Politian!
Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land
With which all tongues are busy -- a land new found --
Miraculously found by one of Genoa --
A thousand leagues within the golden west?
A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,
And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests,
And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds
Of Heaven untrammelled flow -- which air to breathe
Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter
In days that are to come? Pol. O, wilt thou -- wilt thou
Fly to that Paradise -- my Lalage, wilt thou
Fly thither with me? There Care shall be forgotten,
And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all.
And life shall then be mine, for I will live
For thee, and in thine eyes -- and thou shalt be
No more a mourner -- but the radiant Joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all; -- oh, wilt thou -- wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me? Lal. A deed is to be done --
Castiglione lives! Pol. And he shall die! (exit) Lal. (after a pause.) And- he- shall- die!- alas!
Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?
Where am I?- what was it he said?- Politian!
Thou art not gone- thou are not gone, Politian!
I feel thou art not gone- yet dare not look,
Lest I behold thee not; thou couldst not go
With those words upon thy lips- O, speak to me!
And let me hear thy voice- one word- one word,
To say thou art not gone,- one little sentence,
To say how thou dost scorn- how thou dost hate
My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou art not gone-
O speak to me! I knew thou wouldst not go!
I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durst not go.
Villain, thou art not gone- thou mockest me!
And thus I clutch thee- thus!- He is gone, he is gone
Gone- gone. Where am I?- `tis well- `tis very well!
So that the blade be keen- the blow be sure,
`Tis well, `tis very well- alas! alas!
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