POLITIAN. Thou wilt not fight with me, didst
Shall I be baffled thus ?-now this is well;
Didst say thou darest not? Ha!
I dare not-dare not
Hold off thy hand-with that beloved name
So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee-
I cannot-dare not.
Now, by my halidom I do believe thee !—coward, I do believe thee! CASTIGLIONE. Ha!-coward!—this may not be! [Clutches his sword, and staggers towards POLITIAN, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl.
Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting
That in this deep humiliation I perish,
For in the fight I will not raise a hand
Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home
Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon
Am I not-am I not sorely-grievously tempted
To take thee at thy word? But, mark me, sir,
Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare
For public insult in the streets-before
The eyes of the citizens. I'll follow thee-
Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee
Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovestBefore all Rome I'll taunt thee, villain-I'll taunt thee,
Dost hear? with cowardice-thou wilt not fight me? Thou liest thou shalt! [Exit.
Now this indeed is just !
Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!
! NOTHING earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill-
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That, like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours-
Yet all the beauty-all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers-
Adorn yon world afar, afar-
'Twas a sweet time for Nesace-for there
Her world lay lolling on the golden air,
Near four bright suns-a temporary rest-
An oasis in desert of the blest.
Away-away-'mid seas of rays that roll
Empyrean splendour o'er th' unchained soul-
The soul that scares (the billows are so dense)
Can struggle to its destined eminence-
To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,
And late to ours, the favoured one of God-
But, now, the ruler of an anchored realm,
She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm,
And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,
Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.
Now happiest, loveliest in yon lonely Earth,
Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth
(Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star,
Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar,
It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt),
She looked into Infinity—and knelt.
Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled—
Fit emblems of the model of her world—
Seen but in beauty-not impeding sight
Of other beauty glittering thro' the light-
A wreath that twined each starry form around,
And all the opaled air in colour bound.
I
All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed
Of flowers of lilies such as reared the head
On the fair Capo Deucato,2 and sprang
So eagerly around about to hang
Upon the flying footsteps of-deep pride-
Of hers who loved a mortal-and so died.
The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
Upreared its purple stem around her knees :
And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnamed—
Inmate of highest stars, where erst it shamed
All other loveliness its honied dew
(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew),
Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from heaven,
And fell on gardens of the unforgiven
In Trebizond-and on a sunny flower
So like its own above that, to this hour,
It still remaineth, torturing the bee
With madness, and unwonted reverie :
In heaven, and all its environs, the leaf
And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief
Disconsolate linger-grief that hangs her head,
Repenting follies that full long have fled,
Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,
Like guilty beauty, chastened, and more fair :
Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light,
She fears to perfume, perfuming the night :
And Clytia pondering between many a sun,
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