16
UGOLINO.
And yield thy sceptre to the golden morrow,
Rising like joy o'er the black clouds of sorrow. [Exit r.
Rising like joy o'er the black clouds of sorrow. [Exit r.
SCENE III.—The Rialto. Ugolino discovered leaning against the ballustrudes watching the moon, which is just setting in the distance.
Count. Down, thou bright lamp of heaven, get thee down,
And hide thy brilliancy beneath the wave,
Which leaps to thee, ere thou sink'st to rest,
Down to thy ocean bed, and leave the earth,
To darkness suited to the direful act,
Which here must be committed—Down, fair queen,
From thy star-spangled throne; or if thou need'st
Must look upon this deed, let thy pale cheek
Assume the dusky red which mantles o’er it,
When 'midst the thick unwholesome atmosphere,
Thou ridest angrily from out the east. [The moon sinks.
She's gone—
Now let me hail thy rising beams revenge,
Thou art the sun, which Persian like, I worship,
Snake crown'd divinity! on thee I call,
Come forth in all thy awful majesty,
And let thy flames consume the Holocaust,
I offer at thy blood besprinkled shrine. [Noise, l.
A footstep—'tis Serassi's! O! black hate,
How quicken'd are thy senses—Like a vulture,
Which from afar, scents the hot stream of slaughter,
Thine ear, with horrid certainty, drinks up,
The sound of thy unthinking victim's feet,
Tho' echo fail to catch it—Thou good sword,
Do thy work sure, and I will hallow thee. [Stands aside, l. u. i.
Enter Serassi, f. e. l.
Ser. What could she fear would happen at Monteno's,
That she should pray me with such earnestness,
Not to go thither? Well, it matters not:
The night is lovely, though the moon is down,
And ere I seek my home I'll walk awhile;
The air blows freshly here from off the water,
And the vain stars are in its mirror gazing
Upon their own bright images. Olympia!
How often have we stood upon this spot, and as the
Moon hung o'er the quiet stream,
Like some fond lover o'er his sleeping fair
Held sweet communion, which the envious breeze,
Would now and then break off, by faintly wafting
The ditty of some distant gondolier,
To which his well plied oar kept faithful time.
Here will I walk, and think upon to-morrow—
Count. (coming forward r.) Its sun shall rise but on thy corse, Serassi
Ser. How now, what means this? Ugolino! [draws.
And hide thy brilliancy beneath the wave,
Which leaps to thee, ere thou sink'st to rest,
Down to thy ocean bed, and leave the earth,
To darkness suited to the direful act,
Which here must be committed—Down, fair queen,
From thy star-spangled throne; or if thou need'st
Must look upon this deed, let thy pale cheek
Assume the dusky red which mantles o’er it,
When 'midst the thick unwholesome atmosphere,
Thou ridest angrily from out the east. [The moon sinks.
She's gone—
Now let me hail thy rising beams revenge,
Thou art the sun, which Persian like, I worship,
Snake crown'd divinity! on thee I call,
Come forth in all thy awful majesty,
And let thy flames consume the Holocaust,
I offer at thy blood besprinkled shrine. [Noise, l.
A footstep—'tis Serassi's! O! black hate,
How quicken'd are thy senses—Like a vulture,
Which from afar, scents the hot stream of slaughter,
Thine ear, with horrid certainty, drinks up,
The sound of thy unthinking victim's feet,
Tho' echo fail to catch it—Thou good sword,
Do thy work sure, and I will hallow thee. [Stands aside, l. u. i.
Enter Serassi, f. e. l.
Ser. What could she fear would happen at Monteno's,
That she should pray me with such earnestness,
Not to go thither? Well, it matters not:
The night is lovely, though the moon is down,
And ere I seek my home I'll walk awhile;
The air blows freshly here from off the water,
And the vain stars are in its mirror gazing
Upon their own bright images. Olympia!
How often have we stood upon this spot, and as the
Moon hung o'er the quiet stream,
Like some fond lover o'er his sleeping fair
Held sweet communion, which the envious breeze,
Would now and then break off, by faintly wafting
The ditty of some distant gondolier,
To which his well plied oar kept faithful time.
Here will I walk, and think upon to-morrow—
Count. (coming forward r.) Its sun shall rise but on thy corse, Serassi
Ser. How now, what means this? Ugolino! [draws.
