FullReads

DON CAESAR.

Blest be the hands
The ministers of thy care! Oh, ever rich
Of counsels was a parent’s love!

ISABELLA.

But more
Than Nature’s mighty voice, a warning dream
Impelled to save my child: while yet unborn
She slumbered in my womb, sleeping I saw
An infant, fair as of celestial kind,
That played upon the grass; soon from the wood
A lion rushed, and from his gory jaws,
Caressing, in the infant’s lap let fall
His prey, new-caught; then through the air down swept
An eagle, and with fond caress alike
Dropped from his claws a trembling kid, and both
Cowered at the infant’s feet, a gentle pair.
A monk, the saintly guide whose counsels poured
In every earthly need, the balm of heaven
Upon my troubled soul, my dream resolved.
Thus spoke the man of God: a daughter, sent
To knit the warring spirits of my sons
In bonds of tender love, should recompense
A mother’s pains! Deep in my heart I treasured
His words, and, reckless of the Pagan seer,
Preserved the blessed child, ordained of heaven
To still your growing strife; sweet pledge of hope
And messenger of peace!

DON MANUEL

(embracing his brother).
There needs no sister
To join our hearts; she shall but bind them closer.

ISABELLA.

In a lone spot obscure, by stranger hands
Nurtured, the secret flower has grown; to me
Denied the joy to mark each infant charm
And opening grace from that sad hour of parting;
These arms ne’er clasped my child again! her sire,
To jealousy’s corroding fears a prey,
And brooding dark suspicion, restless tracked
Each day my steps.

DON CAESAR.

Yet three months flown, my father
Sleeps in the tranquil grave; say, whence delayed
The joyous tidings? Why so long concealed
The maid, nor earlier taught our hearts to glow
With brother’s love?

ISABELLA.

The cause, your frenzied hate,
That raging unconfined, e’en on the tomb
Of your scarce buried father, lit the flames
Of mortal strife. What! could I throw my daughter
Betwixt your gleaming blades? Or ‘mid the storm
Of passion would ye list a woman’s counsels?
Could she, sweet pledge of peace, of all our hopes
The last and holy anchor, ‘mid the rage
Of discord find a home? Ye stand as brothers,
So will I give a sister to your arms!
The reconciling angel comes; each hour
I wait my messenger’s return; he leads her
From her sequestered cell, to glad once more
A mother’s eyes.

DON MANUEL.

Nor her alone this day
Thy arms shall fold; joy pours through all our gates;
Soon shall the desolate halls be full, the seat
Of every blooming grace. Now hear my secret:
A sister thou hast given; to thee I bring
A daughter; bless thy son! My heart has found
Its lasting shrine: ere this day’s sun has set
Don Manuel to thy feet shall lead his bride,
The partner of his days.

ISABELLA.

And to my breast
With transport will I clasp the chosen maid
That makes my first-born happy. Joy shall spring
Where’er she treads, and every flower that blooms
Around the path of life smile in her presence!
May bliss reward the son, that for my brows
Has twined the choicest wreath a mother wears.

DON CAESAR.

Yet give not all the fulness of thy blessing
To him, thy eldest born. If love be blest,
I, too, can give thee joy. I bring a daughter,
Another flower for thy most treasured garland!
The maid that in this ice-cold bosom first
Awoke the rapturous flame! Ere yonder sun
Declines, Don Caesar’s bride shall call thee mother.