POLITIAN. Thou wilt not fight with me, didst
Shall I be baffled thus ?-now this is well;
Didst say thou darest not? Ha!
I dare not-dare not
Hold off thy hand-with that beloved name So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee- I cannot-dare not.
Now, by my halidom I do believe thee !—coward, I do believe thee! CASTIGLIONE. Ha!-coward!—this may not be! [Clutches his sword, and staggers towards POLITIAN, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl.
Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting
That in this deep humiliation I perish,
For in the fight I will not raise a hand
Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home
Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon
Am I not-am I not sorely-grievously tempted To take thee at thy word? But, mark me, sir, Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare For public insult in the streets-before The eyes of the citizens. I'll follow thee- Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee
Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovestBefore all Rome I'll taunt thee, villain-I'll taunt thee,
Dost hear? with cowardice-thou wilt not fight me? Thou liest thou shalt! [Exit.
Now this indeed is just !
Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!
! NOTHING earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day Springs from the gems of Circassy- O! nothing earthly save the thrill Of melody in woodland rill- Or (music of the passion-hearted) Joy's voice so peacefully departed That, like the murmur in the shell, Its echo dwelleth and will dwell- Oh, nothing of the dross of ours- Yet all the beauty-all the flowers That list our Love, and deck our bowers- Adorn yon world afar, afar-
'Twas a sweet time for Nesace-for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns-a temporary rest- An oasis in desert of the blest.
Away-away-'mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendour o'er th' unchained soul- The soul that scares (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destined eminence- To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, And late to ours, the favoured one of God- But, now, the ruler of an anchored realm, She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.
Now happiest, loveliest in yon lonely Earth, Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt), She looked into Infinity—and knelt.
Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled— Fit emblems of the model of her world— Seen but in beauty-not impeding sight Of other beauty glittering thro' the light- A wreath that twined each starry form around, And all the opaled air in colour bound. I
All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed Of flowers of lilies such as reared the head On the fair Capo Deucato,2 and sprang So eagerly around about to hang
Upon the flying footsteps of-deep pride- Of hers who loved a mortal-and so died. The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Upreared its purple stem around her knees : And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnamed— Inmate of highest stars, where erst it shamed All other loveliness its honied dew
(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew), Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from heaven, And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond-and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie : In heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief Disconsolate linger-grief that hangs her head, Repenting follies that full long have fled, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, Like guilty beauty, chastened, and more fair : Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light, She fears to perfume, perfuming the night : And Clytia pondering between many a sun,
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