Poems (Whitney)/The cenci's dream
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THE CENCI'S DREAM,
(IN THE NIGHT PREVIOUS TO HER EXECUTION.)
Cover me, mother of God, with silence and pity!
Let the noise of the pleaders cease, the jar of their wranglings—
And all the confusion of crowds, the gazing and wonder!
And again, as of old, when the sunshine awoke and laughed through me,
We twain, little brother of mine, little Rocco and I,
Will go each with an arm round the other, out into the fields.
My Rocco, he died, as we know;—I remember, I shuddered,
And gasped, as if heaven had drawn all its breath in, for horror.
But then he was safe, he and Cristo, no worse could befall them;
And together they lay, with the twilight upon them, the darkness
Of earth yet unpassed, and white dawnings of peace. But somehow
My Rocco is with me, is here—comes hitherto measure
An hour for once by: its sunshine.—And, darling, to wander
With thee is so good! to glide o'er the sunset Campagna,
As if we had wings; and- we have,—and gaze in the fire-well
That sucks back the broad day to its heart—and watch in returning
The procreant east, as it slowly heaps up towards the zenith,
I's violet and rose, for a twelve-hour's remembrance and promise
To earth in her darkness!—Such heart-ease I feel,and such gladness!
Thou leadest—I follow—and see, of all fields for reposing,
Thou alightest with me here!—here, where heart's-ease is growing and purpling
The infinite level—And O, dost thou cover me with it?
Head, bosom and arms, with the wealth more than regal?—and leaning
Thy forehead to mine, make better their breath with thine own,
As thou murmurest deeply, "Poor child," O, at that, how mine eyes
Grow dark all at once, with wild tears! O, what I have suffered,
The angels may know, who can bear it—but never thou, darling!
Let the noise of the pleaders cease, the jar of their wranglings—
And all the confusion of crowds, the gazing and wonder!
And again, as of old, when the sunshine awoke and laughed through me,
We twain, little brother of mine, little Rocco and I,
Will go each with an arm round the other, out into the fields.
My Rocco, he died, as we know;—I remember, I shuddered,
And gasped, as if heaven had drawn all its breath in, for horror.
But then he was safe, he and Cristo, no worse could befall them;
And together they lay, with the twilight upon them, the darkness
Of earth yet unpassed, and white dawnings of peace. But somehow
My Rocco is with me, is here—comes hitherto measure
An hour for once by: its sunshine.—And, darling, to wander
With thee is so good! to glide o'er the sunset Campagna,
As if we had wings; and- we have,—and gaze in the fire-well
That sucks back the broad day to its heart—and watch in returning
The procreant east, as it slowly heaps up towards the zenith,
I's violet and rose, for a twelve-hour's remembrance and promise
To earth in her darkness!—Such heart-ease I feel,and such gladness!
Thou leadest—I follow—and see, of all fields for reposing,
Thou alightest with me here!—here, where heart's-ease is growing and purpling
The infinite level—And O, dost thou cover me with it?
Head, bosom and arms, with the wealth more than regal?—and leaning
Thy forehead to mine, make better their breath with thine own,
As thou murmurest deeply, "Poor child," O, at that, how mine eyes
Grow dark all at once, with wild tears! O, what I have suffered,
The angels may know, who can bear it—but never thou, darling!
"Little sister beloved,—through what paths the Infinite leads us,
That we miss not the beautiful end, which, below our horizon,
Smiles upward to Him, who could guess? his ministers know we,
Nor by presence, nor sign, nor like favor. To one sends he a mother,
With patience and motherly urgings, to mould the young spirit
To faultless proportions, to strength and high-hearted endurance;—
With like end to another, it may be, a father like ours.
Thou hast 'suffered!' O fearful to think, since in hatred, he struck us,
From life and thy side, what tortures and fear may have rent thee!
But round thee at darkest, some pure-eyed intelligence waited,
And anguished to show thee one glimpse of the Highest's arcana.
And if, overwrought and o'ermaddened, thou bad'st erred and stumbled,
The Blessed himself would have hastened to lift and forgive thee.
But listen, and know what great joy may be thine in the future!"
That we miss not the beautiful end, which, below our horizon,
Smiles upward to Him, who could guess? his ministers know we,
Nor by presence, nor sign, nor like favor. To one sends he a mother,
With patience and motherly urgings, to mould the young spirit
To faultless proportions, to strength and high-hearted endurance;—
With like end to another, it may be, a father like ours.
Thou hast 'suffered!' O fearful to think, since in hatred, he struck us,
From life and thy side, what tortures and fear may have rent thee!
But round thee at darkest, some pure-eyed intelligence waited,
And anguished to show thee one glimpse of the Highest's arcana.
And if, overwrought and o'ermaddened, thou bad'st erred and stumbled,
The Blessed himself would have hastened to lift and forgive thee.
But listen, and know what great joy may be thine in the future!"
O Rocco, thou see'st how my face is all kindled at thine!
"This flower, which thy sweet body crushes, wherewithal too, I mantle
And hide thee from trouble, is only the mortal foreshadow
Of beds of unperishing sweet and contentment, which yonder
In ineffable azure we make thee;—but in regions of twilight,
We spread for our father, the rue—great meadows of rue—
Round and under still, rue—which means sorrow, and sorrow, and sorrow."
And hide thee from trouble, is only the mortal foreshadow
Of beds of unperishing sweet and contentment, which yonder
In ineffable azure we make thee;—but in regions of twilight,
We spread for our father, the rue—great meadows of rue—
Round and under still, rue—which means sorrow, and sorrow, and sorrow."
O pity!—some heart's-ease for him, too!
"Nay, listen! when ages
And ages have told their slow tale in the rock, there shall haply
Go forth on its timorous venture to heaven, some breathing,
Sigh of a soul for its lost and never-returning,—
For a love that was trampled, a peace that was murdered, a goodness
Flung back with incredible mockings—and thenceforth our father,
With gradual change, shall fade from the place of his anguish;
Fade thence and grow into light, till the angels who dwell there,
Distinguish and hasten to meet him. Could'st thou see, little sister,
How fair he will be in that luminous air—and fatherly tender!"
And ages have told their slow tale in the rock, there shall haply
Go forth on its timorous venture to heaven, some breathing,
Sigh of a soul for its lost and never-returning,—
For a love that was trampled, a peace that was murdered, a goodness
Flung back with incredible mockings—and thenceforth our father,
With gradual change, shall fade from the place of his anguish;
Fade thence and grow into light, till the angels who dwell there,
Distinguish and hasten to meet him. Could'st thou see, little sister,
How fair he will be in that luminous air—and fatherly tender!"
O Christ, may this be!
"If earth nourish one being—an angel
More constant than spring, with its delicate myrtle, who shall labor
And watch to the end;—resisting. and watching through darkness,
And wrestling with demons to win him, she shall plant in his spirit
Some germ of a faith in the ever unchangeable love
And goodness eternal, that, little by little, shall gather,
And grow, and redeem him;—as, deep in the fire of even,
Is born the soft ray of the planet, and night through its silence,
Throbs surely and slow to its fulness of stars. And thou—
Thou only wilt do this—wilt do it and save him—thou Angel!"
More constant than spring, with its delicate myrtle, who shall labor
And watch to the end;—resisting. and watching through darkness,
And wrestling with demons to win him, she shall plant in his spirit
Some germ of a faith in the ever unchangeable love
And goodness eternal, that, little by little, shall gather,
And grow, and redeem him;—as, deep in the fire of even,
Is born the soft ray of the planet, and night through its silence,
Throbs surely and slow to its fulness of stars. And thou—
Thou only wilt do this—wilt do it and save him—thou Angel!"
How I shrieked! how I tore up the stillness! O pardon, grave judges,
Awful—black-bearded—there waiting to sentence! but Rocco,
My brother, was here—and. whither he went, most strangely
I saw not. Perhaps he returned into bliss—and it may be,
He goes to spread meadows of rue—other meadows of rue—
Rue, under and round, which means sorrow, and sorrow, and sorrow.
Awful—black-bearded—there waiting to sentence! but Rocco,
My brother, was here—and. whither he went, most strangely
I saw not. Perhaps he returned into bliss—and it may be,
He goes to spread meadows of rue—other meadows of rue—
Rue, under and round, which means sorrow, and sorrow, and sorrow.