The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy

Chorus (CAJETAN)      The princely strife is o'er, and say,       What sport shall wing the slow-paced hours,      And cheat the tedious day?       With hope and fear's enlivening zest       Disturb the slumber of the breast,       And wake life's dull, untroubled sea       With freshening airs of gay variety.One of the Chorus (MANFRED)      Lovely is peace! A beauteous boy,       Couched listless by the rivulet's glassy tide,       'Mid nature's tranquil scene,      He views the lambs that skip with innocent joy,       And crop the meadow's flowering pride: —      Then with his flute's enchanting sound,      He wakes the mountain echoes round,       Or slumbers in the sunset's ruddy sheen,       Lulled by the murmuring melody.      But war for me! my spirit's treasure,      Its stern delight, and wilder pleasure:      I love the peril and the pain,      And revel in the surge of fortune's boisterous main!A second (BERENGAR)      Is there not love, and beauty's smile      That lures with soft, resistless wile?      'Tis thrilling hope! 'tis rapturous fear      'Tis heaven upon this mortal sphere;      When at her feet we bend the knee,      And own the glance of kindred ecstasy      For ever on life's checkered way,       'Tis love that tints the darkening hues of care      With soft benignant ray:      The mirthful daughter of the wave,       Celestial Venus ever fair,      Enchants our happy spring with fancy's gleam,      And wakes the airy forms of passion's golden dream.First (MANFRED)       To the wild woods away!       Quick let us follow in the train      Of her, chaste huntress of the silver bow;       And from the rocks amain      Track through the forest gloom the bounding roe,       The war-god's merry bride,      The chase recalls the battle's fray,       And kindles victory's pride: —      Up with the streaks of early morn,       We scour with jocund hearts the misty vale,      Loud echoing to the cheerful horn       Over mountain – over dale —      And every languid sense repair,      Bathed in the rushing streams of cold, reviving air.Second (BERENGAR)      Or shall we trust the ever-moving sea,      The azure goddess, blithe and free.      Whose face, the mirror of the cloudless sky,      Lures to her bosom wooingly?       Quick let us build on the dancing waves      A floating castle gay,      And merrily, merrily, swim away!      Who ploughs with venturous keel the brine      Of the ocean crystalline —      His bride is fortune, the world his own,      For him a harvest blooms unsown: —       Here, like the wind that swift careers      The circling bound of earth and sky,      Flits ever-changeful destiny!      Of airy chance 'tis the sportive reign,      And hope ever broods on the boundless mainA third (CAJETAN)      Nor on the watery waste alone       Of the tumultuous, heaving sea; —      On the firm earth that sleeps secure,       Based on the pillars of eternity.      Say, when shall mortal joy endure?      New bodings in my anxious breast,        Waked by this sudden friendship, rise;      Ne'er would I choose my home of rest       On the stilled lava-stream, that cold        Beneath the mountain lies       Not thus was discord's flame controlled —      Too deep the rooted hate – too long       They brooded in their sullen hearts      O'er unforgotten, treasured wrong. In warning visions oft dismayed,       I read the signs of coming woe;      And now from this mysterious maid       My bosom tells the dreaded ills shall flow:      Unblest, I deem, the bridal chain       Shall knit their secret loves, accursed      With holy cloisters' spoil profane.      No crooked paths to virtue lead;      Ill fruit has ever sprung from evil seed!BERENGAR   And thus to sad unhallowed rites   Of an ill-omened nuptial tie,   Too well ye know their father bore   A bride of mournful destiny,   Torn from his sire, whose awful curse has sped   Heaven's vengeance on the impious bed!   This fierce, unnatural rage atones   A parent's crime – decreed by fate,   Their mother's offspring, strife and hate!

[The scene changes to a garden opening on the sea.

BEATRICE (steps forward from an alcove. She walks to and fro with an agitated air, looking round in every direction. Suddenly she stands still and listens)   No! 'tis not he: 'twas but the playful wind   Rustling the pine-tops. To his ocean bed   The sun declines, and with o'erwearied heart   I count the lagging hours: an icy chill   Creeps through my frame; the very solitude

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