The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy. Friedrich von Schiller
Читать онлайн книгу.The fickle good; – but now, so near the goal
Of all my cherished hopes, I dare to speak.
To-morrow's sun shall see her mine! no power
Of hell can make us twain! With timid stealth
No longer will I creep at dusky eve,
To taste the golden fruits of Cupid's tree,
And snatch a fearful, fleeting bliss: to-day
With bright to-morrow shall be one! So smooth
As runs the limpid brook, or silvery sand
That marks the flight of time, our lives shall flow
In continuity of joy!
Already
Our hearts, my prince, with silent vows have blessed
Thy happy love; and now from every tongue,
For her – the royal, beauteous bride – should sound
The glad acclaim; so tell what nook unseen,
What deep umbrageous solitude, enshrines
The charmer of thy heart? With magic spells
Almost I deem she mocks our gaze, for oft
In eager chase we scour each rustic path
And forest dell; yet not a trace betrayed
The lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps marked
Of this mysterious fair.
The spell is broke!
And all shall be revealed: now list my tale: —
'Tis five months flown, – my father yet controlled
The land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;
Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,
And mimic warfare of the chase; —
One day, —
Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toil
On yonder woody ridge: – it chanced, pursuing
A snow-white hind, far from your train I roved
Amid the forest maze; – the timid beast,
Along the windings of the narrow vale,
Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,
Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distant
Beyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,
Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,
Sudden she vanished: – from my horse quick springing,
I followed: – lo! the poor scared creature lay
Stretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,
That strove with fond caress of her fair hands
To still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;
And motionless – my spear, in act to strike,
High poised – while she, with her large piteous eyes
For mercy sued – and thus we stood in silence
Regarding one another.
How long the pause
I know not – time itself forgot; – it seemed
Eternity of bliss: her glance of sweetness
Flew to my soul; and quick the subtle flame
Pervaded all my heart: —
But what I spoke,
And how this blessed creature answered, none
May ask; it floats upon my thought, a dream
Of childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my sense
Returned, I felt her bosom throb responsive
To mine, – then fell melodious on my ear
The sound, as of a convent bell, that called
To vesper song; and, like some shadowy vision
That melts in air, she flitted from my sight,
And was beheld no more.
Thy story thrills
My breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbed
The sanctuary, and for the bride of heaven
Burned with unholy passion! Oh, remember
The cloister's sacred vows!
Thenceforth one path
My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still
Of young desires – new felt my being's aim,
My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns
His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,
With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star; —
So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,
My hopes and longings centred all. No sun
Sank in the western waves, but smiled farewell
To two united lovers: – thus in stillness
Our hearts were twined, – the all-seeing air above us
Alone the faithful witness of our joys!
Oh, golden hours! Oh, happy days! nor Heaven
Indignant viewed our bliss; – no vows enchained
Her spotless soul; naught but the link which bound it
Eternally to mine!
Those hallowed walls,
Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,
No living grave?
In infant innocence
Consigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she left
Her cloistered home.
But what her royal line?
The noble only spring from noble stem.
A secret to herself, – she ne'er has learned
Her name or fatherland.
And not a trace
Guides to her being's undiscovered springs?
An old domestic, the sole messenger
Sent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks her
Of kingly race.