Opas. But Egilona

Sis. Vainly she upbraids Roderigo.

Opas. She divorces him, abjures, And carries vengeance to that hideous height Which piety and chastity would shrink To look from, on the world, or on themselves.

Sis. She may forgive him yet.

Opas. Ah, Sisabert! Wretched are those a woman has forgiven: With her forgiveness ne’er hath love returned. Ye know not till too late the filmy tie That holds heaven’s precious boon eternally To such as fondly cherish her; once go Driven by mad passion, strike but at her peace, And, though she step aside from broad reproach, Yet every softer virtue dies away. Beaming with virtue inaccessible Stood Egilona; for her lord she lived, And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high: All thoughts were on her—all, beside her own. Negligent as the blossoms of the field, Arrayed in candour and simplicity, Before her path she heard the streams of joy Murmur her name in all their cadences, Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade, Reflect her image; but acknowledged them Hers most complete when flowing from her most. All things in want of her, herself of none, Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feet Unfelt and unregarded: now behold The earthly passions war against the heavenly! Pride against love, ambition and revenge Against devotion and compliancy: Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted; And coming nearer to our quiet view The original clay of coarse mortality Hardens and flaws around her.

Sis. Every germ Of virtue perishes, when love recedes From those hot shifting sands, the female heart.

Opas. His was the fault; be his the punishment ’Tis not their own crimes only, men commit, They harrow them into another’s breast, And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain.

Sis. Yes, blooming royalty will first attract These creatures of the desert—now I breathe More freely—she is theirs if I pursue The fugitive again—he well deserves The death he flies from—stay! Don Julian twice Called him aloud, and he, methinks, replied. Could not I have remained a moment more, And seen the end? although with hurried voice He bade me intercept the scattered foes, And hold the city barred to their return. May Egilona be another’s wife Whether he die or live! but oh!—Covilla— She never can be mine! yet she may be Still happy—no, Covilla, no—not happy, But more deserving happiness without it. Mine never! nor another’s—’tis enough. The tears I shed no rival can deride; In the fond intercourse, a name once cherished Will never be defended by faint smiles, Nor given up with vows of altered love. And is the passion of my soul at last Reduced to this? is this my happiness? This my sole comfort? this the close of all Those promises, those tears, those last adieus, And those long vigils for the morrow’s dawn?

Opas. Arouse thee! be thyself. O Sisabert, Awake to glory from these feverish dreams: The enemy is in our land—two enemies— We must quell both—shame on us, if we fail.

Sis. Incredible! a nation be subdued Peopled as ours!

Opas. Corruption may subvert What force could never.

Sis. Traitors may.

Opas. Alas If traitors can, the basis is but frail. I mean such traitors as the vacant world Echoes most stunningly: not fur-robed knaves Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound’s ear Against benighted famished wanderers; While with remorseless guilt they undermine Palace and shed, their very father’s house, O blind! their own, their children’s heritage, To leave more ample space for fearful wealth. Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe, Call it some very meek and hallowed name, Some known and borne by their good forefathers, And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin. These are the plagues heaven sends o’er every land Before it sink, the portents of the street, Not of the air, lest nations should complain Of distance or of dimness in the signs, Flaring from far to Wisdom’s eye alone: These are the last! these, when the sun rides high, In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling, Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies. Ye who behold them spoil field after field, Despising them in individual strength, Not with one torrent sweeping them away Into the ocean of eternity, Arise! despatch! no renovating gale, No second spring awaits you—up, begone— If you have force and courage even for flight— The blast of dissolution is behind.

Sis. How terrible! how true! what voice like thine Can rouse and warn the nation! if she rise, Say, whither go, where stop we?

Opas. God will guide. Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction; The rest is heaven’s: must we move no step Because we cannot see the boundaries Of our long way, and every stone between?

Sis. Is not thy vengeance for the late affront, For threats and outrage and imprisonment—

Opas. For outrage, yes—imprisonment and threats I pardon him, and whatsoever ill He could do me.

Sis. To hold Covilla from me! To urge her into vows against her faith, Against her beauty, youth, and inclination, Without her mother’s blessing, nay without Her father’s knowledge and authority— So that she never will behold me more, Flying afar for refuge and for help Where never friend but God will comfort her—

Opas. These, and more barbarous deeds were perpetrated.

Sis. Yet her proud father deigned not to inform Me, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war, Me, whom he called his son, before I hoped To merit it by marriage or by arms. He offered no excuse, no plea; expressed No sorrow; but with firm unfaltering voice Commanded me—I trembled as he spoke— To follow where he led, redress his wrongs, And vindicate the honour of his child. He called on God, the witness of his cause, On Spain, the partner of his victories, And yet amid these animating words Rolled the huge tear down his unvisored face— A general swell of indignation rose Through the long line, sobs burst from every breast, Hardly one voice succeeded—you might hear The impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain: But when the gates flew open, and the king In his high car came forth triumphantly, Then was Count Julian’s stature more elate; Tremendous was the smile that smote the eyes Of all he passed. “Fathers, sons, and brothers,” He cried, “I fight your battles, follow me! Soldiers, we know no danger but disgrace!” “Father, and general, and king,” they shout, And would proclaim him: back he cast his face, Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth; It kindled vengeance through the Asturian ranks, And they soon scattered, as the blasts of heaven Scatter the leaves and dust, the astonished foe.

Opas. And doubtest thou his truth?

Sis. I love—and doubt— Fight—and believe: Roderigo spoke untruths— In him I place no trust; but Julian holds Truths in reserve—how should I quite confide!

Opas. By sorrows thou beholdest him oppressed; Doubt the more prosperous: march, Sisabert, Once more against his enemy and ours: Much hath been done, but much there still remains.