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I see thee
Once more; and may the spirit from this frame
Be severed ere we part! Now let me snatch
This glad, auspicious moment, and defy
Or chance, or envious demon’s power, to shake
Henceforth my solid bliss; here I proclaim thee,
Before this listening warlike train my bride,
With pledge of knightly honors!

[He shows her to the Chorus.]

Who thou art,
I ask not: thou art mine! But that thy soul
And birth are pure alike one glance informed
My inmost heart; and though thy lot were mean,
And poor thy lowly state, yet would I strain thee
With rapture to my arms: no choice remains,
Thou art my love–my wife! Know too, that lifted
On fortune’s height, I spurn control; my will
Can raise thee to the pinnacle of greatness–
Enough my name–I am Don Caesar! None
Is nobler in Messina!

[BEATRICE starts back in amazement. He remarks
her agitation, and after a pause continues.]

What a grace
Lives in thy soft surprise and modest silence!
Yes! gentle humbleness is beauty’s crown–
The beautiful forever hid, and shrinking
From its own lustre: but thy spirit needs
Repose, for aught of strange–e’en sudden joy–
Is terror-fraught. I leave thee.

[Turning to the Chorus.]

From this hour
She is your mistress, and my bride; so teach her
With honors due to entertain the pomp
Of queenly state. I will return with speed,
And lead her home as fits Messina’s princess.

[He goes away.]

BEATRICE and the Chorus.

Chorus

(BOHEMUND).

Fair maiden–hail to thee
Thou lovely queen!
Thine is the crown, and thine the victory!
Of heroes to a distant age,
The blooming mother thou shalt shine,
Preserver of this kingly line.

(ROGER).

And thrice I bid thee hail,
Thou happy fair!
Sent in auspicious hour to bless
This favored race–the god’s peculiar care.
Here twine the immortal wreaths of fame
And evermore, from sire to son,
Rolls on the sceptered sway,
To heirs of old renown, a race of deathless name!

(BOHEMUND).

The household gods exultingly
Thy coming wait;
The ancient, honored sires,
That on the portals frown sedate,
Shall smile for thee!
There blooming Hebe shall thy steps attend;
And golden victory, that sits
By Jove’s eternal throne, with waving plumes
For conquest ever spread,
To welcome thee from heaven descend.

(ROGER.)

Ne’er from this queenly, bright array
The crown of beauty fades,
Departing to the realms of day,
Each to the next, as good and fair,
Extends the zone of feminine grace,
And veil of purity:–
Oh, happy race!
What vision glads my raptured eye!
Equal in nature’s blooming pride,
I see the mother and the virgin bride.

BEATRICE

(awaking from her reverie).

Oh, luckless hour!
Alas! ill-fated maid!
Where shall I fly
From these rude warlike men?
Lost and betrayed!
A shudder o’er me came,
When of this race accursed–the brothers twain–
Their hands embrued with kindred gore,
I heard the dreaded name;
Oft told, their strife and serpent hate
With terror thrilled lay bosom’s core:–
And now–oh, hapless fate!
I tremble, ‘mid the rage of discord thrown,
Deserted and alone!

[She runs into the alcove.

Chorus

(BOHEMUND).

Son of the immortal deities,
And blest is he, the lord of power;
His every joy the world can give;
Of all that mortals prize
He culls the flower.

(ROGER).

For him from ocean’s azure caves
The diver bears each pearl of purest ray;
Whate’er from nature’s boundless field
Or toil or art has won,
Obsequious at his feet we lay;
His choice is ever free;
We bow to chance, and fortune’s blind decree.