Elmina _rises from the steps of the Altar_.
_Elm._ The clouds are fearful that o’erhang thy ways,
O thou mysterious heaven! It cannot be
That I have drawn the vials of thy wrath
To burst upon me, through the lifting up
Of a proud heart elate in happiness!
No! in my day’s full noon, for me life’s flowers
But wreath’d a cup of trembling; and the love,
The boundless love, my spirit was form’d to bear,
Hath ever, in its place of silence, been
A trouble and a shadow, tinging thought
With hues too deep for joy! I never look’d
On my fair children, in their buoyant mirth
Or sunny sleep, when all the gentle air
Seem’d glowing with their quiet blessedness,
But o’er my soul there came a shuddering sense
Of earth, and its pale changes; e’en like that
Which vaguely mingles with our glorious dreams--
A restless and disturbing consciousness
That the bright things must fade! How have I shrunk
From the dull murmur of th’ unquiet voice,
With its low tokens of mortality,
Till my heart fainted midst their smiles!--their smiles!
Where are those glad looks now?--Could they go down
With all their joyous light, that seem’d not earth’s,
To the cold grave? My children!--righteous heaven!
There floats a dark remembrance o’er my brain
Of one who told me, with relentless eye,
That _this_ should be the hour!
Ximena _enters_.
_Xim._ They are gone forth
Unto the rescue!--strong in heart and hope,
Faithful, though few!--My mother, let thy prayers
Call on the land’s good saints to lift once more
The sword and cross that sweep the field for Spain,
As in old battle; so thine arms e’en yet
May clasp thy sons! For me, my part is done!
The flame which dimly might have linger’d yet
A little while, hath gather’d all its rays
Brightly to sink at once. And it is well!
The shadows are around me: to thy heart
Fold me, that I may die.
_Elm._ My child! what dream
Is on thy soul? Even now thine aspect wears
Life’s brightest inspiration!
_Xim._ Death’s!
_Elm._ Away!
Thine eye hath starry clearness; and thy cheek
Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue,
Than tinged its earliest flower!
_Xim._ It well may be!
There are far deeper and far warmer hues
Than those which draw their colouring from the founts
Of youth, or health, or hope.
_Elm._ Nay, speak not thus!
There’s that about thee shining which would send
E’en through _my_ heart a sunny glow of joy,
Were’t not for these sad words. The dim cold air
And solemn light, which wrap these tombs and shrines
As a pale gleaming shroud, seem kindled up
With a young spirit of ethereal hope
Caught from thy mien!--Oh no! this is not death!
_Xim._ Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain,
Put on his robes of beauty when he comes
As a deliverer? He hath many forms--
They should not all be fearful! If his call
Be but our gathering to that distant land,
For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst,
Why should not its prophetic sense be borne
Into the heart’s deep stillness, with a breath
Of summer-winds, a voice of melody,
Solemn, yet lovely! Mother, I depart!--
Be it thy comfort, in the after-days,
That thou hast seen me thus!
_Elm._ Distract me not
With such wild fears! Can I bear on with life
When thou art gone?--thy voice, thy step, thy smile,
Pass’d from my path! Alas! even now thine eye
Is changed--thy cheek is fading!
_Xim._ Ay, the clouds
Of the dim hour are gathering o’er my sight;
And yet I fear not, for the God of Help
Comes in that quiet darkness! It may soothe
Thy woes, my mother! if I tell thee now
With what glad calmness I behold the veil
Falling between me and the world, wherein
My heart so ill hath rested.
_Elm._ Thine!
_Xim._ Rejoice
For her that, when the garland of her life
Was blighted, and the springs of hope were dried,
Received her summons hence; and had no time,
Bearing the canker at th’ impatient heart,
To wither; sorrowing for that gift of heaven,
Which lent one moment of existence light
That dimm’d the rest for ever!
_Elm._ How is this?
My child, what mean’st thou?
_Xim._ Mother! I have loved,
And been beloved! The sunbeam of an hour,
Which gave life’s hidden treasures to mine eye,
As they lay shining in their secret founts,
Went out and left them colourless. ’Tis past--
And what remains on earth? The rainbow mist
Through which I gazed, hath melted, and my sight
Is clear’d to look on all things as they are!--
But this is far too mournful! Life’s dark gift
Hath fall’n too early and too cold upon me!--
Therefore I would go hence!
_Elm._ And thou hast loved
Unknown----
_Xim._ Oh! pardon, pardon that I veil’d
My thoughts from thee! But thou hadst woes enough,
And mine came o’er me when thy soul had need
Of more than mortal strength! For I had scarce
Given the deep consciousness that I was loved
A treasure’s place within my secret heart,
When earth’s brief joy went from me!
’Twas at morn
I saw the warriors to their field go forth,
And he--my chosen--was there amongst the rest,
With his young, glorious brow! I look’d again:
The strife grew dark beneath me--but his plume
Waved free above the lances. Yet again--
It had gone down! and steeds were trampling o’er
The spot to which mine eyes were riveted,
Till blinded by th’ intenseness of their gaze!--
And then--at last--I hurried to the gate,
And met him there!--I met him!--on his shield,
And with his cloven helm, and shiver’d sword,
And dark hair steep’d in blood! They bore him past:
Mother!--I saw his face! Oh! such a death
Works fearful changes on the fair of earth,
The pride of woman’s eye!
_Elm._ Sweet daughter, peace!
Wake not the dark remembrance; for thy frame--
_Xim._ There will be peace ere long. I shut my heart,
Even as a tomb, o’er that lone silent grief,
That I might spare it thee!--But now the hour
Is come, when that, which would have pierced thy soul,
Shall be its healing balm. Oh! weep thou not,
Save with a gentle sorrow!
_Elm._ Must it be?
Art thou indeed to leave me?
_Xim._ (_exultingly._) Be thou glad!
I say, rejoice above thy favour’d child!
Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought,
Joy, for the peasant when his vintage-task
Is closed at eve!--But most of all for her,
Who, when her life had changed its glittering robes
For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling
So heavily around the journeyers on,
Cast down its weight--and slept!
_Elm._ Alas! thine eye
Is wandering--yet how brightly! Is this death!
Or some high wondrous vision? Speak, my child!
How is it with thee now?
_Xim._ (_wildly._) I see it still!
’Tis floating, like a glorious cloud on high,
My father’s banner! Hear’st thou not a sound?
The trumpet of Castile! Praise, praise to heaven!
--Now may the weary rest!--Be still!--Who calls
The night so fearful?----
[_She dies._
_Elm._ No! she is not dead!
Ximena!--speak to me! Oh yet a tone
From that sweet voice, that I may gather in
One more remembrance of its lovely sound,
Ere the deep silence fall! What, is all hush’d?--
No, no!--it cannot be! How should we bear
The dark misgivings of our souls, if heaven
Left not such beings with us? But is this
Her wonted look?--too sad a quiet lies
On its dim fearful beauty! Speak, Ximena!
Speak! My heart dies within me! She is gone,
With all her blessed smiles! My child! my child!
Where art thou?--Where is that which answer’d me,
From thy soft-shining eyes?--Hush! doth she move?
One light lock seem’d to tremble on her brow,
As a pulse throbb’d beneath;--’twas but the voice
Of my despair that stirr’d it! She is gone!
[_She throws herself on the body._
Gonzalez _enters wounded_.
_Elm._ (_rising as he approaches._)
I must not now be scorn’d!--No, not a look.
A whisper of reproach! Behold my woe!--
Thou canst not scorn me now!
_Gon._ Hast thou heard _all_?
_Elm._ Thy daughter on my bosom laid her head,
And pass’d away to rest! Behold her there,
Even such as death hath made her![283]
_Gon._ (_bending over_ Ximena’s _body_.) Thou art gone
A little while before me, O my child!
Why should the traveller weep to part with those,
That scarce an hour will reach their promised land,
Ere he too cast his pilgrim staff away,
And spread his couch beside them?
_Elm._ Must it be
Henceforth enough that _once_ a thing so fair
Had its bright place amongst us! Is this all
Left for the years to come? We will not stay!
Earth’s chain each hour grows weaker.
_Gon._ (_still gazing upon_ Ximena.) And thou’rt laid
To slumber in the shadow, blessed child!
Of a yet stainless altar, and beside
A sainted warrior’s tomb! Oh, fitting place
For thee to yield thy pure heroic soul
Back unto him that gave it! And thy cheek
Yet smiles in its bright paleness!
_Elm._ Hadst thou seen
The look with which she pass’d!
_Gon._ (_still bending over her._) Why, ’tis almost
Like joy to view thy beautiful repose!
The faded image of that perfect calm
Floats, e’en as long-forgotten music, back
Into my weary heart! No dark wild spot
On _thy_ clear brow doth tell of bloody hands
That quench’d young life by violence! We’ve seen
Too much of horror, in one crowded hour,
To weep for aught so gently gather’d hence!
--Oh! _man_ leaves other traces!
_Elm._ (_suddenly starting._) It returns
On my bewilder’d soul? Went ye not forth
Unto the rescue? And thou’rt here alone!
--Where are my sons?
_Gon._ (_solemnly._) We were too late!
_Elm._ Too late!
Hast thou naught else to tell me?
_Gon._ I brought back
From that last field the banner of my sires,
And my own death-wound.
_Elm._ Thine!
_Gon._ Another hour
Shall hush its throbs for ever. I go hence,
And with me----
_Elm._ No! Man _could_ not lift his hands--
Where hast thou left thy sons?
_Gon._ I _have_ no sons.
_Elm._ What hast thou said?
_Gon._ That now there lives not one
To wear the glory of mine ancient house,
When I am gone to rest.
_Elm._ (_throwing herself on the ground, and speaking
in a low hurried voice._)
In one brief hour, all gone!--and _such_ a death!
I see their blood gush forth!--their graceful heads!
--Take the dark vision from me, O my God!
And such a death for _them_! I was not there!
They were but mine in beauty and in joy,
Not in that mortal anguish! All, all gone!--
Why should I struggle more?--What _is_ this Power,
Against whose might, on all sides pressing us,
We strive with fierce impatience, which but lays
Our own frail spirits prostrate?
(_After a long pause._) Now I know
Thy hand, my God!--and they are soonest crush’d
That most withstand it! I resist no more.
[_She rises._
A light, a light springs up from grief and death,
Which with its solemn radiance doth reveal
Why we have thus been tried!
_Gon._ Then I may still
Fix my last look on thee, in holy love,
Parting, but yet with hope!
_Elm._ (_falling at his feet._) Canst thou forgive?
Oh, I have driven the arrow to thy heart,
That should have buried it within mine own,
And borne the pang in silence! I have cast
Thy life’s fair honour, in my wild despair,
As an unvalued gem upon the waves,
Whence thou hast snatch’d it back, to bear from earth,
All stainless, on thy breast. Well hast thou done--
But I--canst thou forgive?
_Gon._ Within this hour
I’ve stood upon that verge whence mortals fall,
And learn’d how ’tis with one whose sight grows dim,
And whose foot trembles on the gulf’s dark side.
Death purifies all feeling: we will part
In pity and in love.
_Elm._ Death! And thou too
Art on thy way! Oh, joy for thee, high heart!
Glory and joy for thee! The day is closed,
And well and nobly hast thou borne thyself
Through its long battle-toils, though many swords
Have enter’d thine own soul! But on my head
Recoil the fierce invokings of despair,
And I am left far distanced in the race,
The lonely one of earth! Ay, this is just.
I am not worthy that upon my breast
In this, thine hour of victory, thou shouldst yield
Thy spirit unto God!
_Gon._ Thou art! thou art!
Oh! a life’s love, a heart’s long faithfulness,
Even in the presence of eternal things,
Wearing their chasten’d beauty all undimm’d,
Assert their lofty claims; and these are not
For one dark hour to cancel! We are here,
Before that altar which received the vows
Of our unbroken youth; and meet it is
For such a witness, in the sight of heaven,
And in the face of death, whose shadowy arm
Comes dim between us, to record th’ exchange
Of our tried hearts’ forgiveness. Who are they,
That in one path have journey’d, needing not
Forgiveness at its close?
_A_ Citizen _enters hastily_.
_Cit._ The Moors! the Moors!
_Gon._ How! is the city storm’d?
O righteous heaven! for this I look’d not yet!
Hath all been done in vain? Why, then, ’tis time
For prayer, and then to rest!
_Cit._ The sun shall set,
And not a Christian voice be left for prayer,
To-night, within Valencia. Round our walls
The Paynim host is gathering for th’ assault,
I And we have none to guard them.
_Gon._ Then my place
Is here no longer. I had hoped to die
E’en by the altar and the sepulchre
Of my brave sires; but this was not to be!
Give me my sword again, and lead me hence
Back to the ramparts. I have yet an hour,
And it hath still high duties. Now, my wife!
Thou mother of my children--of the dead--
Whom I name unto thee in steadfast hope--
Farewell!
_Elm._ No, _not_ farewell! My soul hath risen
To mate itself with thine; and by thy side,
Amidst the hurling lances, I will stand,
As one on whom a brave man’s love hath been
Wasted not utterly.
_Gon._ I thank thee, heaven!
That I have tasted of the awful joy
Which thou hast given, to temper hours like this
With a deep sense of thee, and of thine ends
In these dread visitings!
(_To_ Elmina.) We will not part,
But with the spirit’s parting.
_Elm._ One farewell
To her, that, mantled with sad loveliness,
Doth slumber at our feet! My blessed child!
Oh! in thy heart’s affliction thou wert strong,
And holy courage did pervade thy woe,
As light the troubled waters! Be at peace!
Thou whose bright spirit made itself the soul
Of all that were around thee! And thy life
E’en then was struck and withering at the core!
Farewell! thy parting look hath on me fallen,
E’en as a gleam of heaven, and I am now
More like what thou hast been. My soul is hush’d;
For a still sense of purer worlds hath sunk
And settled on its depths with that last smile
Which from thine eye shone forth. Thou hast not lived
In vain! My child, farewell!
_Gon._ Surely for thee
Death had no sting, Ximena! We are blest
To learn one secret of the shadowy pass,
From such an aspect’s calmness. Yet once more
I kiss thy pale young cheek, my broken flower!
In token of th’ undying love and hope
Whose land is far away.
[_Exeunt._
[283] “La voilà, telle que la mort nous l’a faite!”--Bossuet, _Oraisons
Funèbres_.