The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy. Friedrich von Schiller

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                   I bring another joy;

         My staff is green with flourishing shoots.

         DON CAESAR (taking him aside).

                               Oh, tell me

         Thy gladsome message.

                     All is happiness

         On this auspicious day; long sought, the lost one

         Is found.

               Discovered! Oh, where is she? Speak!

         Within Messina's walls she lies concealed.

         A ruddy glow mounts in my brother's cheek,

         And pleasure dances in his sparkling eye;

         Whate'er the spring, with sympathy of love

         My inmost heart partakes his joy.

                           Come, lead me;

         Farewell, Don Manuel; to meet again

         Enfolded in a mother's arms! I fly

         To cares of utmost need.

                      Make no delay;

         And happiness attend thee!

                       How thy looks

         Awake my soul to transport! Yes, my brother,

         We shall be friends indeed! This hour is bright

         With glad presage of ever-springing love,

         That in the enlivening beam shall flourish fair,

         Sweet recompense of wasted years!

                           The blossom

         Betokens goodly fruit.

                     I tear myself

         Reluctant from thy arms, but think not less

         If thus I break this festal hour – my heart

         Thrills with a holy joy.

                      Obey the moment!

         Our lives belong to love.

                       What calls me hence —

         Enough! thou leav'st thy heart.

                          No envious secret

         Shall part us long; soon the last darkening fold

         Shall vanish from my breast.

                        Attend! Forever

         Stilled is our strife; he is my deadliest foe,

         Detested as the gates of hell, who dares

         To blow the fires of discord; none may hope

         To win my love, that with malicious tales

         Encroach upon a brother's ear, and point

         With busy zeal of false, officious friendship.

         The dart of some rash, angry word, escaped

         From passion's heat; it wounds not from the lips,

         But, swallowed by suspicion's greedy ear,

         Like a rank, poisonous weed, embittered creeps,

         And hangs about her with a thousand shoots,

         Perplexing nature's ties.

                       Wondering, my prince,

         I gaze, for in thy looks some mystery

         Strange-seeming shows: scarce with abstracted mien

         And cold thou answered'st, when with earnest heart

         Thy brother poured the strain of dear affection.

         As in a dream thou stand'st, and lost in thought,

         As though – dissevered from its earthly frame —

         Thy spirit roved afar. Not thine the breast

         That deaf to nature's voice, ne'er owned the throbs

         Of kindred love: – nay more – like one entranced

         In bliss, thou look'st around, and smiles of rapture

         Play on thy cheek.

                   How shall my lips declare

         The transports of my swelling heart? My brother

         Revels in glad surprise, and from his breast

         Instinct with strange new-felt emotions, pours

         The tide of joy; but mine – no hate came with me,

         Forgot the very spring of mutual strife!

         High o'er this earthly sphere, on rapture's wings,

         My spirit floats; and in the azure sea,

         Above – beneath – no track of envious night

         Disturbs the deep serene! I view these halls,

         And picture to my thoughts the timid joy

         Of my sweet bride, as through the palace gates,

         In pride of queenly state, I lead her home.

         She loved alone the loving one, the stranger,

         And little deems that on her beauteous brow

         Messina's prince shall 'twine the nuptial wreath.

         How sweet, with unexpected pomp of greatness,

         To glad the darling of my soul! too long

         I brook this dull delay of crowning bliss!

         Her beauty's self, that asks no borrowed charm,

         Shall shine refulgent, like the diamond's blaze

         That wins new lustre from the circling gold!

         Long have I marked thee, prince, with curious eye,

         Foreboding of some mystery deep enshrined

         Within СКАЧАТЬ