I can no more; my prayers – my tears are vain: —
'Tis well! obey the demon in your hearts!
Fulfil your dread intent, and stain with blood
The holy altars of your household gods; —
These halls that gave you birth, the stage where murder
Shall hold his festival of mutual carnage
Beneath a mother's eye! – then, foot to foot,
Close, like the Theban pair, with maddening gripe,
And fold each other in a last embrace!
Each press with vengeful thrust the dagger home,
And "Victory!" be your shriek of death: – nor then
Shall discord rest appeased; the very flame
That lights your funeral pyre shall tower dissevered
In ruddy columns to the skies, and tell
With horrid image – "thus they lived and died!"
[She goes away; the BROTHERS stand as before.
How have her words with soft control
Resistless calmed the tempest of my soul!
No guilt of kindred blood be mine!
Thus with uplifted hands I prey;
Think, brothers, on the awful day,
And tremble at the wrath divine!
Thou art my elder – speak – without dishonor
I yield to thee.
One gracious word, an instant,
My tongue is rival in the strife of love!
I am the guiltier – weaker —
Say not so!
Who doubts thy noble heart, knows thee not well;
The words were prouder, if thy soul were mean.
It burns indignant at the thought of wrong —
But thou – methinks – in passion's fiercest mood,
'Twas aught but scorn that harbored in thy breast.
Oh! had I known thy spirit thus to peace
Inclined, what thousand griefs had never torn
A mother's heart!
I find thee just and true:
Men spoke thee proud of soul.
The curse of greatness!
Ears ever open to the babbler's tale.
Thou art too proud to meanness – I to falsehood!
We are deceived, betrayed!
The sport of frenzy!
And said my mother true, false is the world?
Believe her, false as air.
Give me thy hand!
And thine be ever next my heart!
[They stand clasping each other's hands, and regard each other in silence.
I gaze
Upon thy brow, and still behold my mother
In some dear lineament.
Her image looks
From thine, and wondrous in my bosom wakes
Affection's springs.
And is it thou? – that smile
Benignant on thy face? – thy lips that charm
With gracious sounds of love and dear forgiveness?
Is this my brother, this the hated foe?
His mien all gentleness and truth, his voice,
Whose soft prevailing accents breathe of friendship!
[After a pause.
Shall aught divide us?
We are one forever!
[They rush into each other's arms.
Why stand we thus, and coldly gaze,
While Nature's holy transports burn?
No dear embrace of happier days
The pledge – that discord never shall return!
Brothers are they by kindred band;
We own the ties of home and native land.
[Both CHORUSES embrace.
A MESSENGER enters.
Rejoice, my prince, thy messenger returns
And mark that beaming smile! the harbinger
Of happy tidings.
Health to me, and health
To this delivered state! Oh sight of bliss,
That lights mine eyes with rapture! I behold
Their hands in sweet accord entwined; the sons
Of my departed lord, the princely pair
Dissevered late by conflict's hottest rage.
Yes, from the flames of hate, a new-born Phoenix,
Our love aspires!
I bring another joy;
My staff is green with flourishing shoots.
DON CAESAR (taking him