Yolanda of Cyprus. Rice Cale Young

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СКАЧАТЬ Yolanda!

      Yolanda. Say… No use.

      Too late.

      Berengere. His step?

      Yolanda. Oh, unmistakable;

      Along the corridor. Go!

      [The curtains are thrown back.

      Amaury (at the threshold). My Yolanda!

      [Hastens down and takes her, passive, in his arms. Berengere goes.

      My, my Yolanda!..

      [Kisses her.

      To touch you is as triumph to the blood,

      Is as the boon of battle to the strong!

      Yolanda. Amaury, no; release me and say why

      You come: The Saracens – ?

      Amaury. Not of them now!

      [Bends back her head.

      But of some tribute incense to this beauty,

      Dear as the wind wafts from undying shrines

      Of mystery and myrrh!

      I'd have the eloquence of quickened moons

      Pouring upon the midnight magicly,

      To say all I have yearned,

      Now, with your head pillowed upon my breast!

      Slow sullen speech, come to my soldier lips,

      Rough with command, and impotent of softness!

      Come to my lips! or fill so full my eyes

      That the unutterable shall seem as sweet

      To my Yolanda. But … how, how now? tears?

      [Lifts her face.

      Yolanda. Amaury —

      Amaury. What have I done? Too pronely pressed

      You to this coat of steel?

      Yolanda. No, no.

      Amaury. My words,

      Or silence, then?

      Yolanda. Amaury, no, but sweet,

      Sweet as the roses of Damascus crusht,

      Your silence is! and sweeter than the dream

      Of April nightingale on Troados,

      Or gushing by the springs of Chitria,

      Your every word of love! Yet – yet – ah, fold me,

      Within your arms oblivion and hold me,

      Fast to your being press me, and there bless me

      With breathèd power of your manhood's might.

      Amaury!..

      Amaury. This I cannot understand.

      Yolanda (freeing herself). Nothing – a folly – groundless frailty.

      Amaury. You've been again at some old tale of sorrow,

      [Goes to the lectern.

      Pining along the pages of a book —

      This, telling of that Italy madonna

      Whose days were sad – I have forgotten how.

      Is it not so?

      Yolanda. No, no. The tears of women

      Come as the air and sighing of the night,

      We know not whence or why.

      Amaury. Often, perhaps.

      I am not skilled to tell. But never these!

      They are of trouble known.

      Yolanda. Yet now forget them.

      Amaury. It will not leave my heart that somehow – how

      I cannot fathom – Camarin —

      Yolanda (lightly, to stop him). No farther!

      Amaury. That Camarin of Paphos is their cause. —

      Tell me —

      Yolanda. Yes, that I love thee!

      Amaury. Tell me —

      Yolanda. Love thee!

      As sea the sky! and as the sky the wind!

      And as the wind the forest! As the forest —

      What does the forest love, Amaury? I

      Can think of nothing!

      Amaury. Tell me then you have

      Never a moment of you yielded to him,

      That never he has touched too long this hand —

      Till evermore he must, even as I —

      Nor once into your eyes too deep has gazed!

      You falter? darken?

      Yolanda. Would he ne'er had come

      Into these halls! that it were beautiful,

      Holy to hate him as the Lost can hate.

      Amaury. But 'tis not?

      Yolanda. God shall judge him.

      Amaury. And not you?

      Yolanda. Though he is weak, there is within him —

      Amaury. That

      Which women trust? and you?

      [Berengere enters. He turns to her.

      Mother?

      Berengere. A runner,

      A soldier of your troop within the forts

      Has come with word.

      Amaury (starting). Mother!

      Berengere. It is ill news?

      I've seen that СКАЧАТЬ