The Confession Of Don Carlos.[1]

(Imitated from the Spanish.)

O tell me not of broken vow-- I speak a firmer passion now; O tell me not of shattered chain-- The link shall never burst again! My soul is fixed as firmly here As the red sun in his career, As victory on Mina’s crest Or tenderness in Rosa’s breast; Then do not tell me, while we part, Of fickle flame and roving heart; While youth shall bow at beauty’s shrine, That flame shall glow--that heart be thine.

Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell The fate thy malice knows so well? I may not disobey thee!--yes! Thou bidst me--and I will confess: See how adoringly I kneel: Hear how my folly I reveal: My folly!--chide me if thou wilt, Thou shalt not, canst not, call it guilt:-- And when my faithlessness is told, Ere thou hast time to play the scold, I’ll haste the fond rebuke to check, And lean upon the snowy neck, Play with its glossy auburn hair, And hide the blush of falsehood there.

Inez, the innocent and young, First shared my heart, and waked my song; We were both harmless, and untaught To love as fashionables ought; With all the modesty of youth We talked of constancy and truth, Grew fond of music and the moon, And wandered on the nights of June To sit beneath the chesnut tree, While the lonely stars shone mellowly, Shedding a pale and dancing beam On the wave of Guadalquivir’s stream. And aye we talked of faith and feelings, With no distrustings, no concealings; And aye we joyed in stolen glances, And sighed, and blushed, and read romances. Our love was ardent and sincere, And lasted, Rosa--half a-year! And then the maid grew fickle-hearted,-- Married Don Josè--so we parted. At twenty-one I’ve often heard My bashfulness was quite absurd; For, with a squeamishness uncommon, I feared to love a married woman.

Fair Leonora’s laughing eye Again awaked my song and sigh: A gay intriguing dame was she, And fifty Dons of high degree, That came and went as they were bid, Dubbed her the Beauty of Madrid. Alas! what constant pains I took To merit one approving look! I courted valour and the muse, Wrote challenges and billets-doux; Paid for sherbet and serenade, Fenced with Pegru and Alvarade; Fought all the bull-fights like a hero, Studied small talk and the Bolero: Played the guitar--and played the fool, That out of tune--this out of rule. I oft at midnight wandered out, Wrapt up in love and my capoté, To muse on beauty and the skies, Cold winds--and Leonora’s eyes.

Alas! when all my gains were told, I’d caught a Tartar--and a cold. And yet, perchance, that lovely brow Had still detained my captive vow-- That clear blue eye’s enchanting roll Had still enthralled my yielding soul,-- But suddenly a vision bright Came o’er me in a veil of light, And burst the bonds whose fetters bound me, And brake the spell that hung around me, Recalled the heart that madly roved, And bade me love, and be beloved. Who was it broke the chain and spell? Dark-eyed Castilian! thou canst tell!

And am I faithless!--woe the while! What vow but melts at Rosa’s smile? For broken vows, and faith betrayed, The guilt is thine, Castilian maid!

The tale is told, and I am gone: Think of me, loved and only one, When none on earth shall care beside How Carlos lived, or loved, or died! Thy love on earth shall be to me A bird upon a leafless tree, A bark upon a hopeless wave, A lily on a tombless grave, A cheering hope, a living ray, To light me on a weary way.

And thus is love’s confession done: Give me thy parting benison; And, ere I rise from bended knee, To wander o’er a foreign sea Alone and friendless,--ere I don My pilgrim’s hat and sandal shoon, Dark-eyed Castilian! let me win Forgiveness sweet for venial sin; Let lonely sighs, and dreams of thee, Be penance for my perjury!

MARRIAGE.

What, what is Marriage? Harris, Priscian! Assist me with a definition.-- “Oh!” cries a charming silly fool, Emerging from her boarding-school-- “Marriage is--love without disguises, It is a--something that arises From raptures and from stolen glances, To be the end of all romances; Vows--quarrels--moonshine--babes--but hush! I mustn’t have you see me blush.”

“Pshaw!” says a modern modish wife, “Marriage is splendour, fashion, life; A house in town, and villa shady, Balls, diamond bracelets, and ‘my lady;’ Then for finale, angry words, Some people’s--‘obstinate’s--‘absurds!’ And peevish hearts, and silly heads, And oaths, and bêtes, and separate beds.”

An aged bachelor, whose life Has just been sweetened with a wife, Tells out the latent grievance thus: “Marriage is--odd! for one of us ’Tis worse a mile than rope or tree, Hemlock, or sword, or slavery; An end at once to all our ways, Dismission to the one-horse chaise; Adieu to Sunday car, and pig, Adieu to wine, and whist, and wig; Our friends turn out,--our wife’s are clapt in; ’Tis ‘Exit crony,’--‘Enter captain!’ Then hurry in a thousand thorns,-- Quarrels, and compliments,--and horns. This is the yoke, and I must wear it; Marriage is--hell, or something near it!”

“Why, marriage,” says an exquisite, Sick from the supper of last night, “Marriage is--after one by me! I promised Tom to ride at three.-- Marriage is--’gad! I’m rather late; La Fleur--my stays! and chocolate!-- Marriage is--really, though, ’twas hard To lose a thousand on a card; Sink the old Duchess!--three revokes! ’Gad! I must fell the abbey oaks: Mary has lost a thousand more!-- Marriage is--’gad! a cursed bore!”

Hymen, who hears the blockheads groan, Rises indignant from his throne, And mocks their self-reviling tears, And whispers thus in Folly’s ears: “O frivolous of heart and head! If strifes infest your nuptial bed, Not Hymen’s hand, but guilt and sin, Fashion and folly, force them in; If on your couch is seated Care, I did not bring the scoffer there; If Hymen’s torch is feebler grown, The hand that quenched it was your own; And what I am, unthinking elves, Ye all have made me for yourselves!”