The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chapter 317 : _Glycine._ And what if even now, on that same ridge, 15 A speck should rise, and still

_Glycine._ And what if even now, on that same ridge, 15 A speck should rise, and still enlarging, lengthening, As it clomb downwards, shape itself at last To a numerous cavalcade, and spurring foremost, Who but Sarolta's own dear lord returned From his high emba.s.sy?

_Sarolta._ Thou hast hit my thought! 20 All the long day, from yester-morn to evening, The restless hope fluttered about my heart.

Oh we are querulous creatures! Little less Than all things can suffice to make us happy; And little more than nothing is enough 25 To discontent us.--Were he come, then should I Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place.

_Glycine._ But our best sports belike, and gay processions Would to my lord have seemed but work-day sights 30 Compared with those the royal court affords.

_Sarolta._ I have small wish to see them. A spring morning With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops (Each orbed drop an orb of glory in it) 35 Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement Lord Casimir's wish alone would have made sacred: But, in good truth, his loving jealousy Did but command, what I had else entreated.

_Glycine._ And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, 40 Been wedded to the n.o.blest of the realm, So beautiful besides, and yet so stately----

_Sarolta._ Hus.h.!.+ Innocent flatterer!

_Glycine._ Nay! to my poor fancy The royal court would seem an earthly heaven, Made for such stars to s.h.i.+ne in, and be gracious. 45

_Sarolta._ So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!

Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee, In its mere self cold, drear, colourless void, Seen from below and in the large, becomes The bright blue ether, and the seat of G.o.ds! 50 Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?

And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?

_Glycine._ Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole, For we danced round it.

_Sarolta._ Ah, Glycine! why, Why did you then betroth yourself?

_Glycine._ Because 55 My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me!

_Sarolta._ Yes, at my lord's request, but never wished, My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.

Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife.

_Glycine._ Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam! 60 To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him, And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska But I shall tremble.

_Sarolta._ Not with fear, I think, For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage.

[_Exit GLYCINE into the cottage, SAROLTA continues her speech looking after her._

Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, 65 And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion, Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine, A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel More as a mother than a mistress to thee!

Thou art a soldier's orphan! that--the courage, 70 Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!

Thou art sprung too of no ign.o.ble blood, Or there's no faith in instinct!

[_Angry voices and clamour within._

_Re-enter GLYCINE._

_Glycine._ Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants, 75 And my lord's steward, Laska, at their head, Have come to search for old Bathory's son, Bethlen, that brave young man! 'twas he, my lady, That took our parts, and beat off the intruders, And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him 80 With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.

Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This way!

Lady Sarolta's here.-- [_Calling without._

_Sarolta._ Be calm, Glycine.

_Enter LASKA and_ Servants _with OLD BATHORY._

_Laska (to Bathory)._ We have no concern with you! What needs your presence?

_Old Bathory._ What! Do you think I'll suffer my brave boy 85 To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians, And leave it to their malice,--yes, mere malice!-- To tell its own tale?

[_LASKA and_ Servants _bow to Lady SAROLTA._

_Sarolta._ Laska! What may this mean?

_Laska._ Madam! and may it please your ladys.h.i.+p!

This old man's son, by name Bethlen Bathory, 90 Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he, On yester-eve, being his lords.h.i.+p's birth-day, Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir: The lord high steward of the realm, moreover----

_Sarolta._ Be brief! We know his t.i.tles!

_Laska._ And moreover 95 Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.

And furthermore, said witnesses make oath, Led on the a.s.sault upon his lords.h.i.+p's servants; Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman, His badge of livery of your n.o.ble house, 100 And trampled it in scorn.

_Sarolta (to the Servants who offer to speak)._ You have had your spokesman!

Where is the young man thus accused?

_Old Bathory._ I know not: But if no ill betide him on the mountains, He will not long be absent!

_Sarolta._ Thou art his father? 105

_Old Bathory._ None ever with more reason prized a son; Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.

But more than one, now in my lady's presence, Witnessed the affray, besides these men of malice; And if I swerve from truth----

_Glycine._ Yes! good old man! 110 My lady! pray believe him!

_Sarolta._ Hush, Glycine Be silent, I command you. [_Then to BATHORY._ Speak! we hear you!

_Old Bathory._ My tale is brief. During our festive dance, Your servants, the accusers of my son, Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort, 115 To our village maidens. He (could he do less?) Rose in defence of outraged modesty, And so persuasive did his cudgel prove, (Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to women Are always cowards) that they soon took flight, 120 And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters, Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words Which their own threats provoked.

_Sarolta._ Old man! you talk Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect To the livery of our house?

_Old Bathory._ Even such respect 125 As the sheep's skin should gain for the hot wolf That hath begun to worry the poor lambs!

_Laska._ Old insolent ruffian!

_Glycine._ Pardon! pardon, madam!

I saw the whole affray. The good old man Means no offence, sweet lady!--You, yourself, 130 Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians!

Shame on you!

_Sarolta._ What! Glycine? Go, retire! [_Exit GLYCINE._ Be it then that these men faulted. Yet yourself, Or better still belike the maidens' parents, Might have complained to us. Was ever access 135 Denied you? Or free audience? Or are we Weak and unfit to punish our own servants?

_Old Bathory._ So then! So then! Heaven grant an old man patience!

And must the gardener leave his seedling plants, Leave his young roses to the rooting swine 140 While he goes ask their master, if perchance His leisure serve to scourge them from their ravage?

_Laska._ Ho! Take the rude clown from your lady's presence!

I will report her further will!