The Vigil of Venus and Other Poems by Q - Q
THE VIGIL OF VENUS
AND OTHER POEMS BY
"Q"
1912
TO MAURICE HEWLETT
HEWLETT! as ship to ship
Let us the ensign dip.
There may be who despise
For dross our merchandise,
Our balladries, our bales
Of woven tales;
Yet, Hewlett, the glad gales
Favonian! And what spray
Our dolphins toss'd in play,
Full in old Triton's beard, on Iris' shimmering veils!
Scant tho' the freight of gold
Commercial in our hold,
Paestum, Eridanus
Perchance have barter'd us
'Bove chrematistic care
CONTENTS
THE VIGIL OF VENUS
PERVIGILIUM VENERIS
THE REGENT--A DRAMA IN ONE ACT
POEMS
EXMOOR VERSES
VASHTI'S SONG
SATURN
DERELICTION
TWO FOLK SONGS
THE SOLDIER
THE MARINE
MARY LESLIE
JENIFER'S LOVE
TWO DUETS
THE STATUES AND THE TEAR
NUPTIAL NIGHT
HESPERUS
CHANT ROYAL OF HIGH VIRTUE
ENVOY
CORONATION HYMN
THREE MEN OF TRURO
ALMA MATER
CHRISTMAS EVE
THE ROOT
TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME A BOX OF VIOLETS
OF THREE CHILDREN CHOOSING A CHAPLET OF VERSE
EPILOGUE: TO A MOTHER, ON SEEING HER SMILE REPEATED
IN HER DAUGHTER'S EYES
THE VIGIL OF VENUS
The _Pervigilium Veneris_--of unknown authorship, but clearly belonging
to the late literature of the Roman Empire--has survived in two MSS.,
both preserved at Paris in the _Bibliotheque Nationale_.
Of these two MSS. the better written may be assigned (at earliest) to
the close of the seventh century; the other (again at earliest) to the
close of the ninth. Both are corrupt; the work of two illiterate
copyists who--strange to say--were both smatterers enough to betray
their little knowledge by converting _Pervigilium_ into _Per Virgilium_
(_scilicet_, "by Virgil"): thus helping us to follow the process of
thought by which the Middle Ages turned Virgil into a wizard. Here and
there the texts become quite silly, separately or in consent; and just
where they agree in the most surprising way--_i.e._ in the arrangement
of the lines--the conjectural emendator is invited to do his worst by a
note at the head of the older Codex, "Sunt vero versus xxii"--"There are
rightly twenty-two lines."
This has started much ingenious guess-work. But no really convincing
rearrangement has been achieved as yet; and I have been content to take
the text pretty well as it stands, with a few corrections upon which
most scholars agree. With a poem of "paratactic structure" the best of
us may easily go astray by transposing lines, or blocks of lines, to
correspond with _our_ sequence of thought; and I shall be content if,
following the only texts to which appeal can be made,[1] my translation
be generally intelligible.
It runs pretty closely, line for line, with the original; because one
may love and emulate classical terseness even while despairing to rival
it. But it does not attempt to be literal; for even were it worth doing,
I doubt if it be possible for anyone in our day to hit precisely the
note intended by an author or heard by a reader in the eighth century.
Men change subtly as nations succeed to nations, religions to religions,
philosophies to philosophies; and it is a property of immortal poetry to
shift its appeal. It does not live by continuing to mean the some thing.
It grows as we grow. We smile, for instance, when some interlocutor in a
dialogue of Plato takes a line from the _Iliad_ and applies it seriously
_au pied de la lettre_. We can hardly conceive what the great line
conveyed to him; but it may mean something equally serious to us, though
in a different way.
[1] Facsimiles of the two Codices can be studied in a careful edition of
the _Pervigilum_ by Mr Cecil Clementi, published by Mr B.H. Blackwell of
Oxford, 1911.
PERVIGILIUM VENERIS
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet_.
Ver novum, ver jam canorurn, vere natus orbis est;
Vere concordant amores, vere nubunt alites,
Et nemus comam resolvit de maritis imbribus.
Cras amorum copulatrix inter umbras arborum 5
Inplicat casas virentes de flagello myrteo:
Cras Dione jura dicit fulta sublimi throno.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet_.
_To-morrow--What news of to-morrow?
Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew_!
It is Spring, it is chorussing Spring; 'tis the birthday of Earth, and
for you!
It is Spring; and the Loves and the birds wing together and woo to accord
Where the bough to the rain has unbraided her locks as a bride to
her lord.
For she walks--she our Lady, our Mistress of Wedlock--the woodlands
atween, 5
And the bride-bed she weaves them, with myrtle enlacing, with curtains
of green.
Look aloft! list the law of Dione, sublime and enthroned in the blue:
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew_!
Tunc liquore de superno spumeo et ponti globo,
Caerulas inter catervas, inter et bipedes equos, 10
Fecit undantem Dionen de maritis imbribus.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quiqiie amavit cras amet_.
Ipsa gemmis purpurantem pingit annum floribus,
Ipsa surgentes papillas de Favoni spiritu
Urget in toros tepentes; ipsa roris lucidi 15
Noctis aura quem relinquit, spargit umentes aquas.
Et micant lacrimae trementes de caduco pondere:
Time was that a rain-cloud begat her, impregning the heave of the deep,
'Twixt hooves of sea-horses a-scatter, stampeding the dolphins as
sheep. 10
Lo! arose of that bridal Dione, rainbow'd and besprent of its dew!
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew_!
She, she, with her gem-dripping finger enamels the wreath of the year;
She, she, when the maid-bud is nubile and swelling winds--whispers anear,
Disguising her voice in the Zephyr's--"So secret the bed! And thou
shy?" 15
She, she, thro' the hush'd humid Midsummer night draws the dew from on
high;
Dew bright with the tears of its origin, dew with its weight on the bough,
Gutta praeceps orbe parvo sustinet casus suos.
En, pudorem florulentae prodiderunt purpurae:
Umor ille quern serenis astra rorant noctibus 20
Mane virgineas papillas solvit umenti peplo.
Ipsa jussit mane ut udas virgines nubant rosae;
Fusa Paphies de cruore deque Amoris osculis
Deque gemmis deque flammis deque solis purpuris,
Cras ruborem qui latebat veste tectus ignea 25
Unico marita nodo non pudebit solvere.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet_.
Misdoubting and clinging and trembling--"Now, now must I fall? Is it now?"
Star-fleck'd on the stem of the brier as it gathers and falters and flows,
Lo! its trail runs a ripple of fire on the nipple it bids be a
rose, 20
Yet englobes it diaphanous, veil upon veil in a tiffany drawn
To bedrape the small virginal breasts yet unripe for the spousal of dawn;
Till the vein'd very vermeil of Venus, till Cupid's incarnadine kiss,
Till the ray of the ruby, the sunrise, ensanguine the bath of her bliss;
Till the wimple her bosom uncover, a tissue of fire to the view, 25
And the zone o'er the wrists of the lover slip down as they reach to undo.
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew_!
Ipsa nymphas diva luco jussit ire myrteo:
It puer comes puellis. Nee tamen credi potest
Esse Amorem feriatum, si sagittas vexerit. 30
Ite, nymphae, posuit arma, feriatus est Amor;
Jussus est inermis ire, nudus ire jussus est,
Neu quid arcu, neu sagitta, neu quid igne Iaederet;
Sed tamen nymphse cavete, quod Cupido pulcher est;
Est in armis totus idem quando nudus est Amor! 35
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit eras amet_.
Conpari Venus pudore mittit ad te virgines:
"Go, maidens," Our Lady commands, "while the myrtle is green in the
groves,
Take the Boy to your escort." "But ah!" cry the maidens, "what trust
is in Love's
Keeping holiday too, while he weareth his archery, tools of his
trade?" 30
"Go! he lays them aside, an apprentice released; ye may wend unafraid.
See, I bid him disarm, he disarms; mother-naked I bid him to go,
And he goes mother-naked. What flame can he shoot without arrow or bow?"
Yet beware ye of Cupid, ye maidens! Beware most of all when he charms
As a child: for the more he runs naked, the more he's a strong
man-at-arms. 35
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew!
"Lady Dian"--Behold how demurely the damsels approach her and sue--
Una res est quam rogamus: cede, virgo Delia,
Ut nemus sit incruentum de ferinis stragibus.
Ipsa vellet ut venires, si deceret virginem: 40
Jam tribus choros videres feriatos noctibus
Congreges inter catervas ire per saltus tuos,
Floreas inter coronas, myrteas inter casas:
Nee Ceres nee Bacchus absunt, nee poetarum Deus;
De tenente tota nox est pervigilia canticis: 45
Regnet in silvis Dione; tu recede, Delia.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet_.
Hear Venus her only petition! Dear maiden of
Delos, depart!
Let the forest be bloodless to-day, unmolested the
roe and the hart!
Holy huntress, thyself she would bid be her guest, 40
could thy chastity stoop
To approve of our revels, our dances--three
nights that we weave in a troop
Arm-in-arm thro' thy sanctu'ries whirling, till faint
and dispersed in the grove
We lie with thy lilies for chaplets, thy myrtles for
arbours of love:
And Apollo, with Ceres and Bacchus to chorus--
song, harvest, and wine--
Hymns thee dispossess'd, "'Tis Dione who reigns! 45
Let Diana resign!"
O, the wonderful nights of Dione! dark bough,
with her star shining thro'!
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have
loved, love anew!_
Jussit Hyblaeis tribunal stare diva floribus;
Praeses ipsa jura dicit, adsederunt Gratiae.
Hybla, totos funde floras quidquid annus adtulit; 50
Hybla, florum rumpe vestem quantus AEtnae campus est.
Ruris hic erunt puellae, vel puellae montium,
Quaeque silvas, quaeque lucos, quaeque fontes incolunt:
Jussit omnes adsidere mater alitis dei,
Jussit et nudo puellas nil Amori credere. 55
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet._
She has set up her court, has Our Lady, in Hybla,
and deckt it with blooms:--
With the Graces at hand for assessors Dione dispenses
her dooms.
Now burgeon, O Hybla! put forth and abound, till 50
Proserpina's field,
To the foison thy lap overflowing its laurel of Sicily
yield.
Call, assemble the nymphs--hamadryad and dryad--
the echoes who court
From the rock, who the rushes inhabit, in ripples
who swim and disport.
"I admonish you maids--I, his mother, who suckled
the scamp ere he flew--
An ye trust to the Boy flying naked, some pestilent 55
prank ye shall rue."
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have
loved, love anew!_
Et rigentibus virentes ducit umbras floribus:
Cras erit quum primus AEther copulavit nuptias,
Et pater totum creavit vernis annum nubibus,
In sinum maritus imber fluxit almae conjugis, 60
Unde fetus mixtus omnes aleret magno corpore.
Ipsa venas atque mentem permeanti spiritu
Intus occultis gubernat procreatrix viribus,
Perque coelum, perque terras, perque pontum
subditum
Pervium sui tenorem seminali tramite 65
She has coax'd her the shade of the hazel to cover
the wind-flower's birth.
Since the day the Great Father begat it, descending
in streams upon Earth;
When the Seasons were hid in his loins, and the
Earth lay recumbent, a wife,
To receive in the searching and genital shower the 60
soft secret of life.
As the terrible thighs drew it down, and conceived,
as the embryo ran
Thoro' blood, thoro' brain, and the Mother gave all
to the making of man,
She, she, our Dione, directed the seminal current to
creep,
Penetrating, possessing, by devious paths all the
height, all the deep.
She, of all procreation procuress, the share to the 65
furrow laid true;
Inbuit, jussitque mundum nosse nascendi vias.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit
cras amet._
Ipsa Trojanos nepotes in Latinos transtulit,
Ipsa Laurentem puellam conjugem nato dedit;
Moxque Marti de sacello dat pudicam virginem; 70
Romuleas ipsa fecit cum Sabinis nuptias,
Unde Ramnes et Quirites proque prole posterum
Romuli matrem crearet et nepotem Caesarem.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras
amet._
She, she, to the womb drave the knowledge, and open'd the ecstasy through.
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew!_
Her favour it was fill'd the sail of the Trojan for Latium bound;
Her favour that won her Aeneas a bride on Laurentian ground,
And anon from the cloister inveigled the Virgin, the Vestal,
to Mars; 70
As her wit by the wild Sabine rape recreated her Rome for its wars,
With the Ramnes, Quirites, together ancestrally proud as they drew
From Romulus down to our Caesar--last, best of that bone, of that thew.
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew!_
Rura fecundat voluptas: rura Venerem sentiunt: 75
Ipse Amor puer Dionse rure natus dicitur.
Hunc ager, cum parturiret ipsa, suscepit sinu:
Ipsa florum delicatis educavit osculis.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras,
amet_.
Ecce jam super genestas explicant tauri latus, 80
Quisque tutus quo tenetur conjugali foedere:
Subter umbras cum maritis ecce balantum greges;
Et canoras non tacere diva jussit alites.
Pleasure planteth a field; it conceives to the passion, 75
the pang, of his joy.
In a field was Dione in labour delivered of Cupid the
Boy;
And the field in its fostering lap from her travail
received him: he drew
Mother's milk from the delicate kisses of flowers;
and he prosper'd and grew--
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have
loved, love anew!_
Lo! behold ye the bulls, with how lordly a flank 80
they besprawl on the broom!--
Yet obey the uxorious yoke, and are tamed to
Dione her doom.
Or behear ye the sheep, to the husbanding rams
how they bleat to the shade!
Or behear ye the birds, at the Goddess' command
how they sing unafraid!
Jam loquaces ore rauco stagna cycni perstrepunt;
Adsonat Terei puella subter umbram populi, 85
Ut putes motus amoris ore dici musico,
Et neges queri sororem de marito barbaro.
Ilia cantat, nos tacemus. Quando ver venit meum?
Quando fiam uti chelidon, ut tacere desinam?
Perdidi Musam tacendo, nec me Apollo respicit; 90
Sic Amyclas, cum tacerent, perdidit silentium.
_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras
amet_.
Be it harsh as the swannery's clamour that shatters the hush of the lake,
Be it dulcet as where Philomela holds darkling the poplar awake, 85
So melting her soul into music, you'd vow 'twas her passion, her own,
She plaineth--her sister forgot, with the Daulian crime long-agone.
Hark! Hush! Draw around to the circle ... Ah, loitering Summer! Say when
For me shall be broken the charm, that I chirp with the swallow again?
I am old; I am dumb; I have waited to sing till Apollo withdrew-- 90
So Amyclae a moment was mute, and for ever a wilderness grew.
_Now learn ye to love who loved never--now ye who have loved, love anew,_
_To-morrow!--to-morrow!_
TO
CHARLES THURSBY
THE "ONLIE BEGETTER"
THE REGENT
A DRAMA IN ONE ACT
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CARL'ANTONIO, _Duke of Adria_
TONINO, _his young son_
LUCIO; _Count of Vallescura, brother to the Duchess_
CESARIO, _Captain of the Guard_
GAMBA, _a Fool_
OTTILIA, _Duchess and Regent of Adria_
LUCETTA, _a Lady-in-Waiting_
FULVIA, _a Lady of the Court_
_Courtiers, Priests, Choristers, Soldiers, Mariners,
Townsfolk, etc._
_The Scene is the Ducal Palace of Adria, in the N. Adriatic_
_The Date, 1571_
THE REGENT
SCENE.--_A terraced courtyard before the Ducal Palace.
Porch and entrance of Chapel, R. A semicircular
balcony, L., with balustrade and marble seats, and an
opening whence a flight of steps leads down to the
city. The city lies out of sight below the terrace;
from which, between its cypresses and statuary, is
seen a straight stretch of a canal; beyond the canal are
sand-hills and the line of the open sea. Mountains,
L., dip down to the sea and form a curve of the
coast._
_As the curtain rises, a crowd of town and country
folk is being herded to the back of the terrace by the
Ducal Guard, under Cesario. Within the Chapel, to_
_the sound of an organ, boys' voices are chanting the
service of the Mass._
_Cesario, Gamba the Fool, Guards, Populace._
_Cesario._ Way there! Give room! The Regent comes from Mass.
Guards, butt them on the toes--way there! give room!
Prick me that laggard's leg-importunate fools!
_Guards._ Room for the Regent! Room!
[_The sacring bell rings within the Chapel._
_Cesario._ Hark there, the bell!
[_A pause. Men of the crowd take off their caps._
Could ye not leave, this day of all the year,
Your silly suits, petitions, quarrels, pleas?
Could ye not leave, this once in seven years,
Our Lady to come holy-quiet from Mass.
Lean on the wall, and loose her cage-bird heart,
To lift and breast and dance upon the breeze.
Draws home her lord the Duke?
_Crowd._ Long live the Duke!
_Cesario._ The devil, then! Why darken his approach?
_Gamba (from the bench where he has been mending his
viol)._ Because, Captain, 'tis a property knaves
and fools have in common--to stand in their own
light, as 'tis of soldiers to talk bad logic. That
knave, now--he with the red nose and the black
eye--the Duke's colours, loyal man!--you clap
an iron on his leg, and ask him why he is not
down in the city, hanging them out of window!
Go to: you are a soldier!
_Cesario._ And you a Fool, and on your own showing
stand in your own light.
_Gamba._ Nay, neither in my own light, nor as a
Fool. So should myself stand between the sun
and my shadow; whereas I am not myself--these
seven years have I been but the shadow of a
Fool. Yet one must tune up for the Duke.
_(Strikes his viol and sings.)_
"Bird of the South, my Rondinello----"
Flat-Flat!
_Cesario (calling up to watchman on the Chapel roof)._ Ho there! What news?
_A Voice._ Captain, no sail!
_Cesario._ Where sits
The wind?
_Voice._ Nor' west, and north a point!
_Cesario._ Perchance
They have down'd sail and creep around the flats.
_Gamba (tuning his viol)._ Flats, flats! the straight horizon, and the life
These seven years laid by rule! The curst canal
Drawn level through the drawn-out level sand
And thistle-tufts that stink as soon as pluck'd!
Give me the hot crag and the dancing heat,
Give me the Abruzzi, and the cushioned thyme--
Brooks at my feet, high glittering snows above.
What were thy music, viol, without a ridge?
[_Noise of commotion in the city below._
_Cesario_. Watchman, what news?
_A Voice_. Sir, on the sea no sail!
_One of the Crowd_. But through the town below a horseman spurs--
I think, Count Lucio! Yes--Count Lucio!
He nears, draws rein, dismounts!
_Cesario_. Sure, he brings news.
_Gamba_. I think he brings word the Duke is sick;
his loyal folk have drunk so much of his
health.
[_A murmur has been growing in the town below. It
breaks into cheers as Count Lucio comes springing
up to the terrace._
_Enter Lucio._
_Lucio._ News! Where's the Regent? Eh? is Mass not said?
Cesario, news! I rode across the dunes;
A pilot--Nestore--you know the man--
Came panting. Sixteen sail beyond the point!
That's not a galley lost!
_Crowd._ Long live the Duke!
_Lucio._ Hark to the tocsin! I have carried fire--
Wildfire! Why, where's my sister? I've a mind--
[_He strides towards the door of the Chapel; but
pauses at the sound of chanting within, and
comes back to Cesario._
Man, are you mute? I say the town's aflame
Below! But here, up here, you stand and stare
Like prisoners loosed to daylight. Rub your eyes,
Believe!
_Cesario (musing)._ It has been long.
_Lucio._ As tapestry
Pricked out by women's needles; point-device
As saints in fitted haloes. Yet they stab,
Those needles. Oh, the devil take their tongues!
_Cesario._ Why, what's the matter?
_Lucio._ P'st! another lie
Against the Countess Fulvia; and the train
Laid to my sister's ear. Cesario,
My sister is a saint--and yet she married:
Therefore should understand ... Would saints, like cobblers,
Stick but to business in this naughty world!
Ah, well! the Duke comes home.
_Cesario._ And what of that?
_Lucio._ Release!
_Cesario._ Release?
_Lucio (mocking a chant within the Chapel)._ From priests and petticoats
Deliver us, Good Lord!
_Gamba (strikes a chord on viol). AMEN!_
_Cesario._ Count Lucio,
These seven years agone, when the Duke sailed,
You were a child--a pretty, forward boy;
And I a young lieutenant of the Guard,
Burning to serve abroad. But that day, rather,
I clenched my nails over an inward wound:
For that a something manlier than my years--
Look, bearing, what-not--by the Duke not miss'd,
Condemned me to promotion: I must bide
At home, command the Guard! 'Tis an old hurt,
But scalded on my memory.... Well, they sailed!
And from the terrace here, sick with self-pity,
Wrapped in my wrong, forgetful of devoir,
I watch'd them through a mist--turned with a sob--
Uptore my rooted sight--
There, there she stood;
Her hand press'd to her girdle, where the babe
Stirred in her body while she gazed--she gazed--
But slowly back controlled her eyes, met mine;
So--with how wan, how small, how brave a smile!--
Reached me her hands to kiss ...
O royal hands!
What burdens since they have borne let Adria tell.
But hear me swear by them, Count Lucio--
Who slights our Regent throws his glove to me.
_Lucio._ Why, soothly, she's my sister!
_Cesario._ 'But the court
Is dull? No masques, few banquetings--and prayers
Be long, and youth for pastime leaps the gate?'
Yet if the money husbanded on feasts
Have fed our soldiery against the Turk,
Year after year, and still the State not starved;
Was't not well done? And if, responsible
To God, and lonely, she has leaned on God
Too heavily for our patience, was't not wise?--
And well, though weary?
_Lucio._ I tell you, she's my sister!
_Cesario._ Well, an you will, bridle on that. Lord Lucio,
You named the Countess Fulvia. To my sorrow,
Two hours ago I called on her and laid her
Under arrest.
_Lucio._ The devil! For what?
_Cesario._ For that
A lady, whose lord keeps summer in the hills
To nurse a gouty foot, should penalize
His dutiful return by shutting doors
And hanging out a ladder made of rope,
Or prove its safety by rehearsing it
Upon a heavier man.
_Lucio._ I'll go to her.
Oh, this is infamous!
_Cesario._ Nay, be advised:
No hardship irks the lady, save to sit
At home and feed her sparrows; nor no worse
Annoy than from her balcony to spy
(Should the eye rove) a Switzer of the Guard
At post between her raspberry-canes, to watch
And fright the thrushes from forbidden fruit.
_Lucio._ Infamous! infamous!
_Cesario._ Enough, my lord:
The Regent!
[_Doors of the Chapel open. The organ sounds,
with voices of choir chanting the recessional.
The Court enters from Mass, attending the
Regent Ottilia and her son Tonino. She wears
a crown and heavy dalmatic. Her brother
Lucio, controlling himself with an effort, kisses
her hand and conducts her to the marble bench,
which serves for her Chair of State. She bows,
receiving the homage of the crowd; but, after
seating herself, appears for a few moments unconscious
of her surroundings. Then, as her
rosary slips from her fingers and falls heavily
at her feet, she speaks._
_Regent._ So slips the chain linking this world with Heaven,
And drops me back to earth: so slips the chain
That hangs my spirit to the Redeemer's cross
Above pollution in the pure swept air
Whereunder frets this hive: so slips the chain--
_(She starts up)_--God! the dear sound! Was that his anchor dropped?
Speak to the watchman, one! Call to the watch!
What news?
_Cesario._ Aloft! What news?
_Voice above._ No sail as yet!
_Regent._ Ah, pardon, sirs! My ears are strung to-day,
And play false airs invented by the wind.
Methought a hawse-pipe rattled ...
_Gamba (chants to his viol). Shepherds, see--
Lo! What a mariner love hath made me!_
_Regent._ What chants the Fool?
_Gamba._ Madonna, 'tis a trifle
Made by a silly poet on wives that stand
All night at windows listening the surf--
_Now he comes! Will he come? Alas! no, no!_
_Lucio._ Peace, lively! Madam, there is news--brave news!
I'm from the watch-house. There the pilots tell
Of sixteen sail to the southward! Sixteen sail,
And nearing fast!
_Regent._ Praise God! dear Lucio!
[_She has seated herself again. She takes Lucio's
hand and speaks, petting it._
What? Glowing with my happiness? That's like you.
But for yourself the hour, too, holds release.
_Lucio (between sullenness and shame, with a glance at
Cesario)._ "Release?"
_Regent._ You will forgive? I have great need
To be forgiven: sadly I have been slack
In guardianship, and by so much betrayed
My promise to our mother's passing soul.
Myself in cares immersed, I left the child
Among his toys--and turn to find him man--
But yet so much a boy that boyhood can
_(Wistfully)_ Laugh in his honest eyes? Forgive me, Lucio!
Tell me, whate'er have slackened, there has slipped
No knot of love. To-morrow we'll make sport,
Be playmates and invent new games, and old--
Wreath flowers for crowns--