Scene IV — A Hall within the Palace.
Sebastian, Sylveira.
Sylv. Whence art thou, stranger?—what wouldst thou with me?
There is a fiery wildness in thy mien
Startling and almost fearful.
Seb. From the stern,
And vast, and desolate wilderness, whose lord
Is the fierce lion, and whose gentlest wind
Breathes of the tomb, and whose dark children make
The bow and spear their law, men bear not back
That smilingness of aspect, wont to mask
The secrets of their spirits midst the stir
Of courts and cities. I have look’d on scenes
Boundless, and strange, and terrible; I have known
Sufferings which are not in the shadowy scope
Of wild imagination; and these things
Have stamp’d me with their impress. Man of peace,
Thou look’st on one familiar with th’ extremes
Of grandeur and of misery.
Sylv. Stranger, speak
Thy name and purpose briefly, for the time
Ill suits these mysteries. I must hence; to-night
I feast the lords of Spain.
Seb. Is that a task
For King Sebastian’s friend?
Sylv. Sebastian’s friend!
That name hath lost its meaning. Will the dead
Rise from their silent dwellings, to upbraid
The living for their mirth? The grave sets bounds
Unto all human friendship.
Seb. On the plain
Of Alcazar full many a stately flower,
The pride and crown of some high house, was laid
Low in the dust of Afric; but of these
Sebastian was not one.
Sylv. I am not skill’d
To deal with men of mystery. Take, then, off
The strange dark scrutiny of thine eye from mine
What mean’st thou?—Speak!
Seb. Sebastian died not there.——
I read no joy in that cold doubting mien.
Is not thy name Sylveira?
Sylv. Ay.
Seb. Why, then,
Be glad! I tell thee that Sebastian lives!
Think thou on this—he lives! Should he return—
For he may yet return—and find the friend
In whom he trusted with such perfect trust
As should be heaven’s alone—mark’st thou my words?—
Should he then find this man, not girt and arm’d,
And watching o’er the heritage of his lord,
But, reckless of high fame and loyal faith,
Holding luxurious revels with his foes,
How would thou meet his glance?
Sylv. As I do thine,
Keen though it be, and proud.
Seb. Why, thou dost quail
Before it! even as if the burning eye
Of the broad sun pursued thy shrinking soul
Through all its depths.
Sylv. Away! he died not there!
He should have died there, with the chivalry
And strength and honour of his kingdom, lost
By his impetuous rashness.
Seb. This from thee?
Who hath given power to falsehood, that one gaze
At its unmask’d and withering mien, should blight
High souls at once? I wake. And this from thee?
There are, whose eyes discern the secret springs
Which lie beneath the desert, and the gold
And gems within earth’s caverns, far below
The everlasting hills: but who hath dared
To dream that heaven’s most awful attribute
Invested his mortality, and to boast
That through its inmost folds his glance could read
One heart, one human heart? Why, then, to love
And trust is but to lend a traitor arms
Of keenest temper and unerring aim,
Wherewith to pierce our souls. But thou, beware!
Sebastian lives!
Sylv. If it be so, and thou
Art of his followers still, then bid him seek
Far in the wilds, which gave one sepulchre
To his proud hosts, a kingdom and a home,
For none is left him here.
Seb. This is to live
An age of wisdom in an hour! The man
Whose empire, as in scorn, o’erpass’d the bounds
E’en of the infinite deep; whose Orient realms
Lay bright beneath the morning, while the clouds
Were brooding in their sunset mantle still,
O’er his majestic regions of the West;
This heir of far dominion shall return,
And, in the very city of his birth,
Shall find no home! Ay, I will tell him this,
And he will answer that the tale is false,
False as a traitor’s hollow words of love;
And that the stately dwelling, in whose halls
We commune now—a friend’s, a monarch’s gift,
Unto the chosen of his heart, Sylveira,
Should yield him still a welcome.
Sylv. Fare thee well!
I may not pause to hear thee, for thy words
Are full of danger, and of snares, perchance
Laid by some treacherous foe. But all in vain.
I mock thy wiles to scorn.
Seb. Ha! ha! The snake
Doth pride himself in his distorted cunning,
Deeming it wisdom. Nay, thou go’st not thus.
My heart is bursting, and I will be heard.
What! know’st thou not my spirit was born to hold
Dominion over thine? Thou shalt not cast
Those bonds thus lightly from thee. Stand thou there,
And tremble in the presence of thy lord!
Sylv. This is all madness.
Seb. Madness! no, I say—
’Tis Reason starting from her sleep, to feel,
And see, and know, in all their cold distinctness,
Things which come o’er her, as a sense of pain
O’ th’ sudden wakes the dreamer. Stay thee yet;
Be still. Thou’rt used to smile and to obey;
Ay, and to weep. I have seen thy tears flow fast,
As from the fulness of a heart o’ercharged
With loyal love. Oh! never, never more
Let tears or smiles be trusted! When thy king
Went forth on his disastrous enterprise,
Upon thy bed of sickness thou wast laid,
And he stood o’er thee with the look of one
Who leaves a dying brother, and his eyes
Were fill’d with tears like thine. No! not like thine:
His bosom knew no falsehood, and he deem’d
Thine clear and stainless as a warrior’s shield,
Wherein high deeds and noble forms alone
Are brightly imaged forth.
Sylv. What now avail
These recollections?
Seb. What! I have seen thee shrink,
As a murderer from the eye of light, before me:
I have earn’d (how dearly and how bitterly
It matters not, but I have earn’d at last)
Deep knowledge, fearful wisdom. Now, begone!
Hence to thy guests, and fear not, though arraign’d
E’en of Sebastian’s friendship. Make his scorn
(For he will scorn thee, as a crouching slave
By all high hearts is scorn’d) thy right, thy charter
Unto vile safety. Let the secret voice,
Whose low upbraidings will not sleep within thee,
Be as a sign, a token of thy claim
To all such guerdons as are shower’d on traitors,
When noble men are crush’d. And fear thou not:
’Tis but the kingly cedar which the storm
Hurls from his mountain throne—th’ ignoble shrub,
Grovelling beneath, may live.
Sylv. It is thy part
To tremble for thy life.
Seb. They that have look’d
Upon a heart like thine, should know too well
The worth of life to tremble. Such things make
Brave men, and reckless. Ay, and they whom fate
Would trample should be thus. It is enough—
Thou may’st depart.
Sylv. And thou, if thou dost prize
Thy safety, speed thee hence.
[Exit Sylveira.
Seb. (alone.) And this is he
Who was as mine own soul: whose image rose,
Shadowing my dreams of glory with the thought
That on the sick man’s weary couch he lay,
Pining to share my battles!
Chorus.
Ye winds that sweep
The conquer’d billows of the western deep,
Or wander where the morn
Midst the resplendent Indian heavens is born,
Waft o’er bright isles and glorious worlds the fame
Of the crown’d Spaniard’s name:
Till in each glowing zone
Its might the nations own,
And bow to him the vassal knee
Whose sceptre shadows realms from sea to sea.
Seb. Away—away! this is no place for him
Whose name hath thus resounded, but is now
A word of desolation.
[Exit.