JUSTINA; music within. [They sing within.]
A VOICE. What is the glory far above,
All else that life can give?
CHORUS OF VARIOUS VOICES. Love love.
A VOICE. No creature lives on which love's flame
Has not impressed its burning seal,
The man feels more who love doth feel
Than when Life's breath first warmed his frame.
Love owns one universal claim,--
To Love, it only needs To Be,--
Whether a bird, a flower, a tree:
Then the chief glory, far above
All else in life must be....
CHORUS [within]. Love, love.
JUSTINA [alarmed and restless]. Fancy, flatter that thou art,
Though thou should'st be sad to-day,
When did I to thee impart,
In this strange and sudden way,
Licence to afflict my heart?
What thus makes my pulses move?
What strange fire is this I prove
Which each moment doth increase?
Ah! this pain that ends my peace,
This sweet unrest, ah, what?
CHORUS. Love, love.
JUSTINA [more composed]. 'Tis that enamoured nightingale
Who thus gives me the reply:--
To his partner in the vale
Listening on a bough hard by
Warbling thus his tuneful wail.
Cease, sweet nightingale, nor show
By thy softly witching strain
Trilling forth thy bliss and woe,
How a man might feel love's pain,
When a bird can feel his so.
No: it was that wanton vine
That in fond pursuit has sought
The tall tree it doth entwine,
Till the green weight it hath brought
Makes the noble trunk decline.
Green entwining boughs that hold
What you love in your embrace,
Make my fancy not too bold:--
Ah, if boughs thus interlace,
How would clasping arms infold!--
And if not the vine, 'twill be
That bright sunflower which we see
Turning with its tearful eyes
To its sun-god in the skies,
Whatsoe'er his movements be.
Flower thy watch no longer keep,
Drooping leaflets fold in sleep,
For the fond thought reappears,
Ah, if leaves can shed such tears,
What are those that eyes can weep!
Cease then, lyrist of the grove,
Leafy vine, unclasp thy arms,
Fickle flower, no longer move,
And declare, these poisoned charms
That you use, what yields?
CHORUS [within]. Love, love.
JUSTINA. Love! it cannot be. Its chain
Have I ever worn for man?
No, the fond deceit is vain.
All received a like disdain,
Lelius, Florus, Cyprian.
Lelius did I not despise?
Florus did I not detest?
Cyprian, the good and wise,
[She pauses at Cyprian's name and
resumes for a time her unquiet manner.
Spurn with such a haughty breast,
That he vanished from my eyes,
As if frightened by their ire?--
Where he went I do not know.
But save this, the faintest fire
Love e'er lit, ne'er dared to glow
In the depths of my desire.
Yes, for since I said that he
Should submit without appeal
Never more my face to see,
Ah, I know and what I feel!--
[She grows calmer.
Pity it must surely be,
That a man so widely known
Should through love of me be lost,
When he pays at such a cost
For the preference he has shown.
[She becomes troubled again.
Were it pity though, 'tis true,
The same pity I should give
Lelius and to Florus too,
Who in separate dungeons live,
Ah! for daring me to woo.
[She grows calmer.
But my thoughts, ye mutinous crew,
If my pity is enough
It should not be clogged by you.
Still your promptings press me so,
That I feel in my despair,
Where he is, if I could know,
I to seek him now would go.
* * * * *