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

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 thy laboring breast. This day, impatient,
Thy lips have burst the seal; and unconstrained
Confess a lover's joy; – the gladdening chase,
The Olympian coursers, and the falcon's flight
Can charm no more: – soon as the sun declines
Beneath the ruddy west, thou hiest thee quick
To some sequestered path, of mortal eye
Unseen – not one of all our faithful train
Companion of thy solitary way.
Say, why so long concealed the blissful flame?
Stranger to fear – ill-brooked thy princely heart
One thought unuttered.

Ever on the wing
Is mortal joy; – with silence best we guard
The fickle good; – but now, so near the goal
Of all my cherished hopes, I dare to speak.
To-morrow's sun shall see her mine! no power
Of hell can make us twain! With timid stealth
No longer will I creep at dusky eve,
To taste the golden fruits of Cupid's tree,
And snatch a fearful, fleeting bliss: to-day
With bright to-morrow shall be one! So smooth
As runs the limpid brook, or silvery sand
That marks the flight of time, our lives shall flow
In continuity of joy!

Already
Our hearts, my prince, with silent vows have blessed
Thy happy love; and now from every tongue,
For her – the royal, beauteous bride – should sound
The glad acclaim; so tell what nook unseen,
What deep umbrageous solitude, enshrines
The charmer of thy heart? With magic spells
Almost I deem she mocks our gaze, for oft
In eager chase we scour each rustic path
And forest dell; yet not a trace betrayed
The lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps marked
Of this mysterious fair.

The spell is broke!
And all shall be revealed: now list my tale: —
'Tis five months flown, – my father yet controlled
The land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;
Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,
And mimic warfare of the chase; —
One day, —
Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toil
On yonder woody ridge: – it chanced, pursuing
A snow-white hind, far from your train I roved
Amid the forest maze; – the timid beast,
Along the windings of the narrow vale,
Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,
Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distant
Beyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,
Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,
Sudden she vanished: – from my horse quick springing,
I followed: – lo! the poor scared creature lay
Stretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,
That strove with fond caress of her fair hands
To still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;
And motionless – my spear, in act to strike,
High poised – while she, with her large piteous eyes
For mercy sued – and thus we stood in silence
Regarding one another.
How long the pause
I know not – time itself forgot; – it seemed
Eternity of bliss: her glance of sweetness
Flew to my soul; and quick the subtle flame
Pervaded all my heart: —
But what I spoke,
And how this blessed creature answered, none
May ask; it floats upon my thought, a dream
Of childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my sense
Returned, I felt her bosom throb responsive
To mine, – then fell melodious on my ear
The sound, as of a convent bell, that called
To vesper song; and, like some shadowy vision
That melts in air, she flitted from my sight,
And was beheld no more.

Thy story thrills
My breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbed
The sanctuary, and for the bride of heaven
Burned with unholy passion! Oh, remember
The cloister's sacred vows!

Thenceforth one path
My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still
Of young desires – new felt my being's aim,
My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns
His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,
With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star; —
So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,
My hopes and longings centred all. No sun
Sank in the western waves, but smiled farewell
To two united lovers: – thus in stillness
Our hearts were twined, – the all-seeing air above us
Alone the faithful witness of our joys!
Oh, golden hours! Oh, happy days! nor Heaven
Indignant viewed our bliss; – no vows enchained
Her spotless soul; naught but the link which bound it
Eternally to mine!

Those hallowed walls,
Perchance the calm retreat of tender youth,
No living grave?

In infant innocence
Consigned a holy pledge, ne'er has she left
Her cloistered home.

But what her royal line?
The noble only spring from noble stem.

A secret to herself, – she ne'er has learned
Her name or fatherland.

And not a trace
Guides to her being's undiscovered springs?

An old domestic, the sole messenger
Sent by her unknown mother, oft bespeaks her
Of kingly race.

And hast thou won naught else
From her garrulous age?

Too much I feared to peril
My secret bliss!

What were his words? What tidings
He bore – perchance thou know'st.

Oft he has cheered her
With promise of a happier time, when all
Shall be revealed.

Oh, say – betokens aught
The time is near?

Not distant far the day
That to the arms of kindred love once more
Shall give the long forsaken, orphaned maid —
Thus with mysterious words the aged man
Has shadowed oft what most I dread – for awe
Of change disturbs the soul supremely blest:
Nay, more; but yesterday his message spoke
The end of all my joys – this very dawn,
He told, should smile auspicious on her fate,
And light to other scenes – no precious hour
Delayed my quick resolves – by night I bore her
In secret to Messina.