Page:Felicia Hemans in The Court Magazine Volume IV 1834.pdf/10

Embitters death. Oh! that I had not seen
The woes I cause thee!
ANTONIETTA.
Husband of my youth!
Of my bright days, thou who didst make them bright;
Read thou my heart! the pangs of death are there,
And yet, e'en now—I would not but be thine.
CARMAGNOLA.
Full well I know how much I lose in thee:
Oh! make me not too deeply feel it now.
MATILDA.
The homicides!
CARMAGNOLA.
No, sweet Matilda, no!
Let no dark thought of rage or vengeance rise
To cloud thy gentle spirit, and disturb
These moments—they are sacred. Yes! my wrongs
Are deep, but thou forgive them, and confess,
That, e'en midst all the fulness of our woe,
High, holy joy remains.——Death! Death!—our foes,
Our most relentless foes, can only speed
Th' inevitable hour. Oh! man hath not
Invented death for man; it would be then
Maddening and insupportable:—from Heaven
'Tis sent, and Heaven doth temper all its pangs
With such blest comfort, as no mortal power
Can give or take away. My wife! my child!
Hear my last words—they wring your bosoms now
With agony, but yet, some future day,
'Twill soothe you to recal them. Live, my wife!
Sustain thy grief, and live! this ill-starred girl
Must not be reft of all. Fly swiftly hence,
Conduct her to thy kindred, she is theirs,
Of their own blood—and they so loved thee once!
Then, to their foe united, thou becam'st
Less dear; for feuds and wrongs made warring sounds
Of Carmagnola's and Visconti's names.
But to their bosoms thou wilt now return
A mourner, and the object of their hate
Will be no more.—Oh! there is joy in death!
And thou, my flower! that 'midst the din of arms,
Wert born to cheer my soul, thy lovely head
Droops to the earth! Alas! the tempest's rage
Is on thee now. Thou tremblest, and thy heart
Can scarce contain the heavings of its woe.
I feel thy burning tears upon my breast;
I feel, and cannot dry them. Dost thou claim
Pity from me, Matilda? Oh! thy sire
Hath now no power to aid thee, but thou know'st
That the forsaken have a Father still
On high. Confide in him, and live to days
Of peace, if not of joy; for such to thee
He surely destines. Wherefore hath he poured
The torrent of affliction on thy youth,
If to thy future years be not reserved
All his benign compassion? Live! and soothe
Thy suffering mother. May she to the arms