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

         Forth from my silent chamber's deep recesses,

         Gray Fathers of the State, unwillingly

         I come; and, shrinking from your gaze, uplift

         The veil that shades my widowed brows: the light

         And glory of my days is fled forever!

         And best in solitude and kindred gloom

         To hide these sable weeds, this grief-worn frame,

         Beseems the mourner's heart. A mighty voice

         Inexorable – duty's stern command,

         Calls me to light again.

                      Not twice the moon

         Has filled her orb since to the tomb ye bore

         My princely spouse, your city's lord, whose arm

         Against a world of envious foes around

         Hurled fierce defiance! Still his spirit lives

         In his heroic sons, their country's pride:

         Ye marked how sweetly from their childhood's bloom

         They grew in joyous promise to the years

         Of manhood's strength; yet in their secret hearts,

         From some mysterious root accursed, upsprung

         Unmitigable, deadly hate, that spurned

         All kindred ties, all youthful, fond affections,

         Still ripening with their thoughtful age; not mine

         The sweet accord of family bliss; though each

         Awoke a mother's rapture; each alike

         Smiled at my nourishing breast! for me alone

         Yet lives one mutual thought, of children's love;

         In these tempestuous souls discovered else

         By mortal strife and thirst of fierce revenge.

         While yet their father reigned, his stern control

         Tamed their hot spirits, and with iron yoke

         To awful justice bowed their stubborn will:

         Obedient to his voice, to outward seeming

         They calmed their wrathful mood, nor in array

         Ere met, of hostile arms; yet unappeased

         Sat brooding malice in their bosoms' depths;

         They little reek of hidden springs whose power

         Can quell the torrent's fury: scarce their sire

         In death had closed his eyes, when, as the spark

         That long in smouldering embers sullen lay,

         Shoots forth a towering flame; so unconfined

         Burst the wild storm of brothers' hate triumphant

         O'er nature's holiest bands. Ye saw, my friends,

         Your country's bleeding wounds, when princely strife

         Woke discord's maddening fires, and ranged her sons

         In mutual deadly conflict; all around

         Was heard the clash of arms, the din of carnage,

         And e'en these halls were stained with kindred gore.

         Torn was the state with civil rage, this heart

         With pangs that mothers feel; alas, unmindful

         Of aught but public woes, and pitiless

         You sought my widow's chamber – there with taunts

         And fierce reproaches for your country's ills

         From that polluted spring of brother's hate

         Derived, invoked a parent's warning voice,

         And threatening told of people's discontent

         And princes' crimes! "Ill-fated land! now wasted

         By thy unnatural sons, ere long the prey

         Of foeman's sword! Oh, haste," you cried, "and end

         This strife! bring peace again, or soon Messina

         Shall bow to other lords." Your stern decree

         Prevailed; this heart, with all a mother's anguish

         O'erlabored, owned the weight of public cares.

         I flew, and at my children's feet, distracted,

         A suppliant lay; till to my prayers and tears

         The voice of nature answered in their breasts!

         Here in the palace of their sires, unarmed,

         In peaceful guise Messina shall behold

         The long inveterate foes; this is the day!

         E'en now I wait the messenger that brings

         The tidings of my sons' approach: be ready

         To give your princes joyful welcome home

         With reverence such as vassals may beseem.

         Bethink ye to fulfil your subject duties,

         And leave to better wisdom weightier cares.

         Dire was their strife to them, and to the State

         Fruitful of ills; yet, in this happy bond

         Of peace united, know that they are mighty

         To stand against a world in arms, nor less

         Enforce their sovereign will against yourselves.

                     Diego!

                         Honored mistress!

         Old faithful servant, then true heart, come near me;

         Sharer of all a mother's woes, be thine

         The sweet communion of her joys: my treasure

         Shrined in thy heart, my dear and holy secret

         Shall pierce the envious veil, and shine triumphant

         To cheerful day; too long by harsh decrees,

         Silent and overpowered, affection yet

         Shall utterance find in Nature's tones of rapture!

         And this imprisoned heart leap to the embrace

         Of all it holds most dear, returned to glad