« EelmineJätka »
• The gods forbid us to indulge our loves, • But oh! I cannot bear thy hate and live!
PORTI U S. • Talk not of love, thou never knew'ft its force : I've been deluded, led into a dream, • Of fancied bliss. O Lucia, cruel inaid ! Thy dreadful vow, loaden with death, ftill sounds stunn'd ears.
What shall I say or do? Quick, let us part! perdition's in thy presence, • And horror dwells about thee!hah, 'the faint's ! · Wretch, that I am! what has my rashness done! · Lucia, thou injur'd innocence! thou best « And loveliest of thy sex? awake, my Lucia, • Or Portius rushes on his sword to join thee. '-Her iinprecations reach not to the to.nb,
They shut not out fociety in death.-
But hah! she moves ! life wanders
and down • Through all her face, and lights up every charm.
LUCIA. • O, Portius, was this well!---to frown on her - That lives upon thy smiles ! to call in doubt · The faith of one expiring at thy feet, « That loves thee more than ever woman lov'd!
-What do I say? my half-recover'd sense Forgets the vow in which my soul is bound. • Destruction stands betwixt us! we must part.
PORTIUS. Name not the word, my frighted thoughts run back, • And stanie into madness at the found.
" What would'st thou have me do i consider well
· The train of ills our love wou'd draw behind it.'
Think, Portius, think thou feeft thy dying brother
Stabbd at his heart, and all besmeard with blood,
Storming at heav'n and thee! thy awful fire
Sternly demands the cause, th' accursed cause,
That robs him of his fon! poor Marcia trembles,
Then tears her hair, and frantie in her griefs
Calls out on Lucia! what could Lucia answer,
Or how stand up in such a scene of forrow?
To my confusion, and eternal grief,
I must approve the sentence that deitroys me,
The mist, that hung about my mind, clears up:
And now, athwart the terrors that thy vow
Has planted round thee, thou appear'it more fair,
More amiable, and rifelt in thy charms
Lovelieft of women! heay'n is in thy soul,
Beauty and virtue shine for ever round thee,
Bright’ning each other ! thou art all divine !
Portius, no more! thy words thoot thro' my heart,
Melt my resolves, and turn me all to love.
Why are those tears of fondness in thy eyes,
Why heaves thy heart? why swells thy soul with forrow?
It foftens me too much-farewel, my Purtius,
Farewel, tho' death is in the found; for ever!
PORT I US.
Stay, Lucia, stay! what dost thou say? For ever?
L U C I A.
Have I not sworn? if, Portius, thy success,
Must throw thy brother on his fate, farewel,
Oh, how shall I repeat the word! For ever!
PORT IU S.
Thus o'er the dying lamp, th' unsteady flame
Hangs quivering on a point, leaps off by fits,
And falls again, as loth to quit its hold.
-Thou must not go, iny soul ftill hovers o'er thee,
And can't get loose.
If the firm Portius shake
To hear of parting, think what Lucia fuffers!
'Tis true; unruffled and serene I've met
The common accidents of life, but here
Such an unlook’d-for storm of ills falls on me,
It beats down all my strength, I cannot bear it,
We must not part.
What doft thou say? not part?
Haft thou forgot the vow that I have made ?
Are there not heav'ns, and gods, and thunder o'er us!
-But see, thy brother Marcus bends this way!
I ficken at the sight. Once more, farewel,
Farewel, and know thou wrong'st me, if thou think'st
Ever was love, or ever grief, like mine.
Portius, what hopes ? how stands fhe? am I doom'd To life or death?
What would'st thou have me say?
M A R CUS.
What means this pensive posture? thou appear'ft
Like one amazed and terrified.
PORT IU S.
M A R CUS. Thy down-cast looks, and thy disorder'd thoughts Tell me my fate. ask not the success My cause has found.
PORT IUS. I'm griev'd I undertook it.
M A R
M A R C U S.
What? does the barbarous maid insult my heart,
My aking heart! and triumph in my pains ?
That I could cast her from my thoughts for ever!
Away! you're too suspicious in your griefs ;
Lucia, though sworn never to think of love,
Compassionates your pains, and pities you.
M A R CU S.
Compassionates my pains, and pities me !
What is compassion when 'tis void of love ?
Fool that I was, to choose so cold a friend
To urge my cause! compassionates my pains !
Prythee what art, what rhetorick didft thou use
To gain the mighty boon? She pities me!
To one that alks the warm returns of love,
Compassion's cruelty, 'tis scorn, 'tis death
Marcus, no more! have I deserv'd this treatment?
What have I said! O Portius ! O forgive me !
A foul exasp'rated in ills falls out
With ev'ry thing, its friend, its self—but hah!
What means that shout, big with the sounds of war?
What new alarm?
PORT IU S.
A second, louder yet,