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_ ACT V - SCENE I
Exterior of the Castle of Alarcos in the valley of Arlanzon.
[Enter the COUNTESS.]
COUN.
I would recall the days gone by, and live
A moment in the past; if but to fly
The dreary present pressing on my brain,
Woe's omened harbinger. In exiled love
The scene he drew so fair! Ye castled crags,
The sunbeam plays on your embattled cliffs,
And softens your stern visage, as his love
Softened our early sorrows. But my sun
Has set for ever! Once we talked of cares
And deemed that we were sad. Men fancy sorrows
Until time brings the substance of despair,
And then their griefs are shadows. Give me exile!
It brought me love. Ah! days of gentle joy,
When pastime only parted us, and he
Returned with tales to make our children stare;
Or called my lute, while, round my waist entwined,
His hand kept chorus to my lay. No more!
O, we were happier than the happy birds;
And sweeter were our lives than the sweet flowers;
The stars were not more tranquil in their course,
Yet not more bright! The fountains in their play
Did most resemble us, that as they flow
Still sparkle!
[Enter ORAN.]
Oran, I am very sad.
ORAN.
Cheer up, sweet lady, for the God of all
Will guard the innocent.
COUN.
Think you he'll come
To visit us? Methinks he'll never come.
ORAN.
He's but four leagues away. This vicinage
Argues a frequent presence.
COUN.
But three nights--
Have only three nights past? It is an epoch
Distant and dim with passion. There are seasons
Feelings crowd on so, time not flies but staggers;
And memory poises on her burthened plumes
To gloat upon her prey. Spoke he of coming?
ORAN.
His words were scant and wild, and yet he murmured
That I should see him.
COUN.
I've not seen him since
That fatal night, yet even that glance of terror--
I'd hail it now. O, Oran, Oran, think you
He ever more will love me? Can I do
Aught to regain his love? They say your people
Are learned in these questions. Once I thought
There was no spell like duty--that devotion
Would bulwark love for ever. Now, I'd distil
Philtres, converse with moonlit hags, defile
My soul with talismans, bow down to spirits,
And frequent accursed places, all, yea all--
I'd forfeit all--but to regain his love.
ORAN.
There is a cloud now rising in the west,
In shape a hand, and scarcely would its grasp
Exceed mine own, it is so small; a spot,
A speck; see now again its colour flits!
A lurid tint; they call it on our coast
'The hand of God;' I for when its finger rises
From out the horizon, there are storms abroad
And awful judgments.
COUN.
Ah! it beckons me.
ORAN.
Lady!
COUN.
Yes, yes, see now the finger moves
And points to me. I feel it on my spirit.
ORAN.
Methinks it points to me--
COUN.
To both of us.
It may be so. And what would it portend?
My heart's grown strangely calm. If there be chance
Of storms, my children should be safe. Let's home. _
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Read previous: Act 4 - Scene 4
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