They mix with our Provençals, and assume With what a bitter and unnatural effort FIRST NOBLE. Is this Vittoria fair? SECOND Noble. Of a most noble mien; but yet her beauty FIRST NOBLE. Hush! they come. Enter ERIBERT, VITTORIA, CONSTANCE, and others. ERIBERT. Welcome, my noble friends!-there must not lower Behold my bride! NOBLES. Receive our homage, lady! VITTORIA. I bid all welcome. May the feast we offer Prove worthy of such guests! ERIBERT. Look on her, friends! And say, if that majestic brow is not Meet for a diadem? VITTORIA. "Tis well, my lord! When memory's pictures fade, 'tis kindly done To brighten their dimm'd hues! FIRST NOBLE (apart). Mark'd you her glance? SECOND NOBLE (apart). What eloquent scorn was there! yet he, th' elate Of heart, perceives it not. ERIBERT. Now to the feast! Constance, you look not joyous. I have said That all should smile to-day. CONSTANCE. Forgive me, brother! The heart is wayward, and its garb of pomp At times oppresses it. Voices of woe, and prayers of agony Unto my soul have risen, and left sad sounds ERIBERT. But, being as you are, Not thus ignobly free, command your looks (They may be taught obedience) to reflect The aspect of the time. VITTORIA. And know, fair maid! That if in this unskill'd, you stand alone Amidst our court of pleasure. ERIBERT. To the feast! Now let the red wine foam!-There should be mirth When conquerors revel!-Lords of this fair isle! Your good swords' heritage, crown each bowl, and pledge The present and the future! for they both Look brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride? VITTORIA. Yes, Eribert !-thy prophecies of joy Have taught e'en me to smile. ERIBERT. "Tis well. To day I have won a fair and almost royal bride; VITTORIA. It is strange, but, oft, 'Midst festal songs and garlands, o'er my soul E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long: Of life is rapture; should we pass, I say, At once from such excitements to the void And silent gloom of that which doth await us— ERIBERT. They ill beseem the hour. Banish such dark thoughts! VITTORIA. There is no hour Of this mysterious world, in joy or woe, But they beseem it well!-Why, what a slight, FIRST NOBLE (aside). What mean her words? SECOND NOBLE. There's some dark mystery here. ERIBERT. No more of this! Pour the bright juice which Etna's glowing vines Yield to the conquerors! And let music's voice Dispel these ominous dreams!-Wake, harp and song! Swell out your triumph! |