No! 'twere a double treachery, useless all;
'Tis then my firm resolve-the Doge must die!
EMILIA. Then hear, Lorenzo! hear my firm re
As firm and fix'd as thine is. Thou hast known
The strict conditions of my Father's will;
Wherein, to end the dire disputes that long
Had vex'd two noblest families in Venice,
In pledge of mutual amity and peace,
It was provided I should wed with thee,
Or that refusing, all his wealth should go
To the State's coffers, and myself remain
A life-long pensioner in a convent's walls.
Such was my Father's will, and heaven doth know
With what a deep and dear fidelity
I had fulfilled it, had I found thee such
As my young girlish fancy feign'd my love.
O! I had loved thee as ne'er woman loved,
Had shared thy dangers, and partook thy toils,
Lived but for thee, and died if 'twere to save thee.
Content alike in solitude or death,
So fame and fortune smiled upon my love!
But when I see thee, what I shrink to utter,
Allied with villains and the common foe,
Betraying thus thy country and thy God,
False to the one, a traitor to the other-
I see between us two a gulf so deep-
I dare not stand beside it.-I will hence,
And hie me to our Lady's lonely shrine,
That frowns so darkly o'er our Adrian Sea;
There, where devoted nuns, in cloister'd cells,
With pain and penance pass-what scarce is-life.
There, like a lamp that wastes within a tomb,
My flame of life shall linger to its socket,
And die, at length, in silence and in darkness.-
For know, rash scorner, that a weak young girl
Who knows of toil and suffering but by name,
Can brave them all, if Virtue bids the trial,
And e'en prefer imprisonment and death,
To life and love dishonoured with Lorenzo!
My Love took a rosebud, and fresh from its bower
This rose in her bosom she braided;
But no sooner 'twas twined, than, ungrateful, the flower Lost its bloom and its beauty, and faded.
And she wonders a flow'r should so quickly have died That in her own bosom she cherish'd;
Why it bloom'd, till the rose on her cheek it espied, Then envied, and pined till it perish'd!
TO A LADY ON HER MARRIAGE.
I WOULD not vainly strive to tell
How much I lose in losing thee-
I would not breathe the fond farewell,
Nor weeping say-remember me!
Oh no! for o'er thy nuptial hour
Let Joy alone assume the sway;
Let Love adorn thy bridal bower,
And Friendship hail the halcyon day.
And let not one remembrance rude
Mix, in that hour, its dark regret ;
No! nor a single thought intrude
Of one 'twere better to forget.
This thought, the while, shall bring repose, Shall almost hush despair to rest;
Amid the darkest of my woes,
'Tis bliss to know that thou art blest!
TO A LADY ON HER MARRIAGE.
Yet hear, if e'er distress should sting,
And Love forsake, and Friendship flee; If ought of solace I can bring,
Then, only then-remember me!
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