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Full to overflowing be!

And, with sweetest harmony,

[move

Let birds, and flowers, and leaves, and all things

To love, only to love.

Let nothing meet her eyes

But signs of Love's soft victories;

Let nothing meet her ear

But sounds of Love's sweet sorrow;

So that from faith no succour may she borrow,
But, guided by my spirit blind
And in a magic snare entwined,
She may now seek Cyprian.
Begin, while I in silence bind

My voice, when thy sweet song thou hast begun.

A VOICE WITHIN.

What is the glory far above

All else in human life?

ALL.

Love! love!

[While these words are sung, the DEMON goes out at one door, and JUSTINA enters at another.

THE FIRST VOICE.

There is no form in which the fire

Of love its traces has impressed not.
Man lives far more in love's desire
Than by life's breath soon possessed not.
If all that lives must love or die,

All shapes on earth, or sea, or sky,
With one consent to Heaven cry
That the glory far above
All else in life is,

ALL

Love ! O love !

JUSTINA.

Thou melancholy thought, which art
So fluttering and so sweet, to thee
When did I give thee liberty
Thus to afflict

my

heart? What is the cause of this new power Which doth my fevered being move, Momently raging more and more? What subtle pain is kindled now Which from my heart doth overflow Into my senses ?

ALL.

Love, O love!

JUSTINA.

'Tis that enamoured nightingale
Who gives me the reply :
He ever tells the same soft tale
Of passion and of constancy
To his mate, who, rapt and fond,
Listening sits, a bough beyond.
Be silent, Nightingale !No more

Make me think, in hearing thee
Thus tenderly thy love deplore,
If a bird can feel his so,
What a man would feel for me.
And, voluptuous vine, O thou
Who seekest most when least pursuing,-
To the trunk thou interlacest
Art the verdure which embracest,
And the weight which is its ruin,-
No more, with green embraces, vine,
Make me think on what thou lovest,-
For whilst thou thus thy boughs entwine,
I fear lest thou shouldst teach me, sophist,
How arms might be entangled too.

Light-enchanted sunflower, thou
Who gazest ever true and tender
On the sun's revolving splendour,
Follow not his faithless glance
With thy faded countenance,
Nor teach my beating heart to fear,
If leaves can mourn without a tear,
How eyes must weep! 0 Nightingale,
Cease from thy enamoured tale,
Leafy vine, unwreath thy bower,
Restless sunflower, cease to move, -
Or tell me all, what poisonous power
Ye use against me.-

ALL.
Love! love! love!

JUSTINA,

It cannot be! Whom have I ever loved ?
Trophies of my oblivion and disdain,
Floro and Lelio did I not reject ?
And Cyprian ? -

She becomes troubled at the name of CYPRIAN

Did I not requite him With such severity, that he has fled Where none has ever heard of him again ?Alas! I now begin to fear that this May be the occasion whence desire grows bold, As if there were no danger. From the moment That I pronounced to my own listening heart, Cyprian is absent, O miserable me! I know not what I feel !

(More calmly.

It must be pity
To think that such a man, whom all the world
Admired, should be forgot by all the world,
And I the cause.

[She again becomes troubled.

And yet if it were pity, Floro and Lelio might have equal share, For they are both imprisoned for my sake.

[Calmly. Alas! what reasonings are these? It is Enough I pity him, and that, in vain, Without this ceremonious subtlety. And woe is me! I know not where to find him

now, Even should I seek him through this wide world.

[blocks in formation]

Enter DÆMOX.

DÆMON.

Follow, and I will lead thee where he is.

JUSTINA.

And who art thou, who hast found entrance hither,
Into my chamber through the doors and locks ?
Art thou a monstrous shadow which my madness
Has formed in the idle air?

DÆMON.

No. I am one
Called by the thought which tyrannizes thee
From his eternal dwelling ; who this day
Is pledged to bear thee unto Cyprian.

JUSTINA.

So shall thy promise fail. This agony
Of passion which afflicts my heart and soul
May sweep imagination in its storm ;
The will is firm.

DÆMON

Already half is done
In the imagination of an act.
The sin incurred, the pleasure then remains ;
Let not the will stop half way on the road.

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