The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: PoetryByron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
General
The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: Poetry
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
English drama; English poetry
_Doge_. My time is hers.
_Enter_ MARINA.
_Mar._ My Lord, if I intrude--
Perhaps you fain would be alone?
_Doge_. Alone!
Alone, come all the world around me, I
Am now and evermore. But we will bear it.
_Mar._ We will, and for the sake of those who are,
Endeavour----Oh, my husband!
_Doge_. Give it way: 70
I cannot comfort thee.
_Mar._ He might have lived,
So formed for gentle privacy of life,
So loving, so beloved; the native of
Another land, and who so blest and blessing
As my poor Foscari? Nothing was wanting
Unto his happiness and mine save not
To be Venetian.
_Doge_. Or a Prince's son.
_Mar._ Yes; all things which conduce to other men's
Imperfect happiness or high ambition,
By some strange destiny, to him proved deadly. 80
The Country and the People whom he loved,
The Prince of whom he was the elder born,
And----
_Doge_. Soon may be a Prince no longer.
_Mar._ How?
_Doge_. They have taken my son from me, and now aim
At my too long worn diadem and ring.
Let them resume the gewgaws!
_Mar._ Oh, the tyrants!
In such an hour too!
_Doge_. 'Tis the fittest time;
An hour ago I should have felt it.
_Mar._ And
Will you not now resent it?--Oh, for vengeance!
But he, who, had he been enough protected, 90
Might have repaid protection in this moment,
Cannot assist his father.
_Doge_. Nor should do so
Against his Country, had he a thousand lives
Instead of that----
_Mar._ They tortured from him. This
May be pure patriotism. I am a woman:
To me my husband and my children were
Country and home. I loved _him_--how I loved him!
I have seen him pass through such an ordeal as
The old martyrs would have shrunk from: he is gone,
And I, who would have given my blood for him, 100
Have nought to give but tears! But could I compass
The retribution of his wrongs!--Well, well!
I have sons, who shall be men.
_Doge_. Your grief distracts you.
_Mar._ I thought I could have borne it, when I saw him
Bowed down by such oppression; yes, I thought
That I would rather look upon his corse
Than his prolonged captivity:--I am punished
For that thought now. Would I were in his grave!
_Doge_. I must look on him once more.
_Mar._ Come with me!
_Doge_. Is he----
_Mar._ Our bridal bed is now his bier, 110
_Doge_. And he is in his shroud!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account