Poems, translated and original

_A Garden, near the palace of_ CONTARINI. _On one side the palace of the Spanish ambassador._

_Enter_ FOSCARINI.

Foscarini. She would repel me! but I’ll see her once Before we part for ever: claim her pardon. How could I deem her worthless! Oh, what wild Playthings of fortune we--who if the cup We drink hath aught of bitter--dash it down-- And madly spurn the sweetness in the dregs! We tear the wound--and hate the balm that heals it!

_Enter_ TERESA.

Teresa!

Teresa. Signor--

Foscarini. So cold! then all I feared is true: You love me not!

Teresa. Hush--busy torturer! Should I be here, else?

FOSCARINI (_bitterly_.)

Such was not your welcome When last we met!

Teresa. And is all else unchanged? Look in my face, and read what I have borne Since then.

Foscarini. Alas! so wasted and so wan-- Yet never half so lovely!

Teresa. Why--that’s well-- If burning sorrow could dry up life’s springs-- But they flow on--though every fount is sealed That could renew them. Strange--that life should cling But closer as we strive to shake it off! And mock its tenement, though that be worn Too thin to harbor it!

Foscarini. Nay--you talk wildly.

Teresa. Oh, there has been a weary fever here, That scorched--and scorched--as it would sear my brain, ’Till that grew wayward. All things seemed a vision, ‘Measureless, shadowy--strange--yet dim and fleeting’-- But I’m awake now!

Foscarini. Awake to keener grief, I would not add to it!

Teresa. You pity me! You have forgiven me! All my fault and wrong, And suffering--you know!

Foscarini. All--but too well. I know you guiltless.

Teresa. No--you know not half The wild, bad thoughts I’ve cherished.--Foscarini, I’ve wished thee dead! I’ve looked upon the sky When the fierce tempest blackened it--and hoped-- And hoped its wings would sweep thee to destruction! Invoked the hoary mountain rocks to crush thee! Prayed, as I ne’er before have prayed for weal Of thine or mine--for death--ere thou shouldst come To find me thus.--Why art thou here?

Foscarini. I come To look on you once more; to hear your voice Even in these groves--where we were wont to meet In happy hours----

Teresa. Speak not, speak not of them! They’re angels, whose accusing voice to heaven Doth tell of broken faith, and trampled hopes, And injured goodness! They have baneful influence They made me what I am!

Foscarini. Mine own Teresa! Let me so call you now--blame not yourself For what hath severed us. I blame you not. Heaven doth attest my truth, I hold you now, As pure, as guiltless of all wrong--as when I first believed you.

Teresa. Oh! thou wilt not hate me! I bless thee for it! That fear has wrought so oft My thoughts to bitterness! It was a phantom That haunted me, and mocked my tears! No--no! Thy pity, like the angel of Heaven’s mercy, Will smile--and smile--and soothe me as I pass Down to the cold and welcome grave--and then-- When I am dead--thou’lt think on me--weep for me-- Wilt thou not, Foscarini?

Foscarini. Listen to me! The victim hath no duties. That forced vow Which came not from the heart, and bears no sanction Of the consenting will, Heaven did not register.

Teresa. What mean you?

Foscarini. You are mine! Good spirits have heard Our vows, and sealed those bonds, which mortal hands Can never loose. Far from this hated land Shine skies as bright--and fields as verdant bloom To bless the fond and true. Escape with me. The ship is waiting--let it bear us far To some propitious clime, where no regrets Or misery shall pursue us.

Teresa. Ha! a fitting Companion to your flight! a fugitive wife! Whose wife? ’Tis well--peace I have lost--and you Would take all that remains!

Foscarini. Forgive--forgive me! ’Twas but a thought of madness. It is past. I’ll not offend again. Now shall you know What he can dare, who loses you!

Teresa. What frenzy Gleams in your eye! No--Foscarini--no! You could not do so wild, so fierce a wrong, Because the blossom of young life is blighted, To pluck its stem of verdure from the root! Live--for my sake! Hence from this wretched city, Where you are watched, and sought for, as the bloodhound Doth seek his prey! Go--go! we may not meet On earth again.

‘FOSCARINI.

‘So wretched----

‘TERESA.

‘Happier far ‘Than I, since you in liberty may weep; ‘While I in secret, chided, must pour forth ‘The bitter drops that burn where’er they fall. ‘Remain not here’--we part----

_Enter_ MATILDA, _hastily._

Matilda. Begone--with speed! You’re traced, and to this spot. Your husband comes With men and torches to arrest him. Hence! [_to_ FOSCARINI. Not that way! There they throng the path! This side! You may escape them there! [_points in the direction of the Spanish palace._

TERESA (_withholding him._)

No! no! not there!

Matilda. It is the only way.

Teresa. The Spaniard dwells there! ’Tis death to enter these forbidden walls! Is it not so decreed?

Foscarini. ’Tis infamy To you, if I remain!

Teresa. You shall not go. What is a name to me? Stay--I’ll reveal All--all to Contarini; I will plead Even at his feet! He’ll hear me, and will save you!

Foscarini. You know him not; he’d spurn you, and his slaves Would scoff at you. No--no--I choose my death, Rather than your disgrace!

TERESA (_clinging to him._)

Break not my hold! I caused thy danger--I alone! I’ll shield thee With my entwining arms. They shall not strike-- Or if they do--mine--mine--shall be the death!

Foscarini. Love! love! my fate Preserves me for embrace so blest as this, Only when I must break from it! Oh! death Would have such sweetness thus! [_footsteps heard._ Hence--let me go! They’ll not arrest me. I will never fall, Trust me, by hands ignoble, while this weapon Can serve me truly! [_breaks from her, and exit._

_Enter_ CONTARINI _and_ STENO, _with servants bearing torches_.

Contarini. Ha! the traitor fled! But one way’s open. Steno--haste--withdraw Your trusty men, and search within the walls Of yonder palace. He is proved a traitor.

[_Exeunt_ STENO _and servants_.

He’s in my toils--and you--so fair and false----

(_Tumult--the report of a pistol heard._)

Teresa. Lost! lost!

(_Re-enter_ STENO _and servants, dragging in_ FOSCARINI, _who is wounded. The curtain falls._)