ILAMEA

A DRAMATIC IDYLL

ILAMEA

SEE, how the sun now dips his glorious rays

In yonder crystal lake, and changes its
Pellucid face to sheet of molten gold!
How grand and beautiful his state, to sit
Enthroned on high, far into distant space,
And know that life in all its varied forms
Throughout the universe subsists upon
His smiles!

COUNT

Now, rather watch the fleecy clouds, which weave

And interweave with one another, like

Fair soul with soul commingling close, that

Seek no new condition for continuance

Of bliss, but sweet propinquity.

Fair lady, even so would life near thee

Be one long dream of joy. Thou fill'st the space Encircling thee with influence divine,

That gives my soul a strange new element

On which to live.

Ilamea, I love thee; chide me not,

My sweet, for Love is peremptory-prompt,

And will bide no hiding. Why should I try
To put on some disguise? Thou knowest full well
In sweetest thraldom I am daily held,

And bright the moments speed when thou art near.

How quickly time hath fled since errand of
My own brought me to Rome! When just returned
From roaming distant lands, Fate sent me here.
While on my proper business, oft I heard
Of the beautiful Ilamea; she

As talented as beautiful, as chaste

As either. Then good Fortune smiled; I met
This queen of women, her I made my friend;
Friendship hath ripened into love, yes, love
All strong, abiding, fervent, pure, to last

A long eternity.

[Count kneels.

Mine is no passion born of mere desire,
Because thou art so fair. Ripe Womanhood
Becomes thee, who so full of knowledge art,
And versed in works of lettered heroes great,
Thyself no less. And I have studied well
The deep imaginings of thine own pen,
And there reflected shines the beauty of

Thy soul. Nay, blush not thus, I know not how
I should express a thousandth part of all
My thoughts concerning thee. Can little babe

To its fond mother tell the reason why

It clings so closely, frets that it may lie
Upon her bosom soft?

Ah, no! it is mere instinct at the first;

It hath no power of thought or speech; its cries
Are Nature's eloquence. Even so, unused
To framing language suited to my thought,
In such a case as this, I needs must plead
An infant's helplessness, and throw myself
Upon thy mercy. Know, a cause so new
And strange as this unutterable joy,
This gradual change-completion of myself—
This absorption of another soul in mine,
Is inexpressible, and utterance fails;

I did exist before, but now I LIVE,

For Love hath made Ilamea mine own!

ILAMEA

[She motions him to rise.

Oh, say not so, my lord, and cease to plead

Thy suit.

I must not dare not listen it.

On me the sun of Love may never shine;

Know then, nor love, nor wedded bliss, nor aught

Of happiness can ever be for me.

Henceforward I must tread my path alone;

'Tis vain to say thou lovest me; if 'twere
Now possible to give a thousand times
More love to me than what thou sayest,
I could not take it.

COUNT

This surely is a jest, Ilamea!

'Tis the cruel coquetry of thy sex

That's bubbling up within thee! Yet I thought Thee far beyond such trifling. Cultured, clear

Thy mind; thy soul all perfect-beautiful,