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Read Ebook: Rosamund Queen of the Lombards: A Tragedy by Swinburne Algernon Charles
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Ebook has 408 lines and 18384 words, and 9 pages
Albovine, I had at heart a simple thing to crave And thought not on thy flatteries--as I think not Now. Knowest thou not my handmaid Hildegard Free-born, a noble maiden?
ALBOVINE.
And a fair As ever shone like sundawn on the snows.
ROSAMUND.
I had at heart to plead for her with thee.
ALBOVINE.
Plead? hast thou found her noble maidenhood Ignobly turned unmaidenlike? I may not Lightly believe it.
ROSAMUND.
Believe it not at all. Wouldst thou think shame of me--lightly? She loves As might a maid whose kin were northern gods The fairest-faced of warriors Lombard born, Thine Almachildes.
ALBOVINE.
If he loves not her, More fool is he than warrior even, though war Have wakened laughter in his eyes, and left His golden hair fresh gilded, when his hand Had won the crown that clasps a boy's brows close With first-born sign of battle.
ROSAMUND.
No such fool May live in such a warrior; if he love not Some loveliness not hers. No face as bright Crowned with so fair a Mayflower crown of praise Lacked ever yet love, if its eyes were set With all their soul to loveward.
ALBOVINE.
Ay?
ROSAMUND.
I know not A man so fair of face. I like him well. And well he hath served and loves thee.
ALBOVINE.
Ay? The boy Seems winsome then with women.
ROSAMUND.
Hildegard Hath hearkened when he spake of love--it may be, Lightly.
ALBOVINE.
To her shall no man lightly speak. Thy maiden and our natural kin is she. Wilt thou speak with him--lightly?
ROSAMUND.
If thou wilt, Gladly.
ALBOVINE.
The boy shall wait upon thy will.
What would she now?
ROSAMUND.
All I am is thine.
ALBOVINE.
Mine? God might come from heaven to worship thee. Thine eyes outlighten all the stars: thy face Leaves earth no flower to worship.
ROSAMUND.
How should earth Worship her children? Nought it is in me, My lord's dear love it is, that makes me seem Fair.
ALBOVINE.
How thou liest thou knowest not. Rosamund, What hast thou done to be so beautiful?
ROSAMUND.
The sun has left thine eyes half blind.
ALBOVINE.
I dare not Kiss thee, or stare straight-eyed against the sun.
ROSAMUND.
Kiss me. Who knows how long the lord of life May spare us time for kissing? Life and love Are less than change and death.
ALBOVINE.
What ghosts are they? So sweet thou never wast to me before. The woman that is God--the God that is Woman--the sovereign of the soul of man, Our fathers' Freia, Venus crowned in Rome, Has lent my love her girdle; but her lips Have robbed the red rose of its heart, and left No glory for the flower beyond all flowers To bid the spring be glad of.
ROSAMUND.
Summer and spring May cleanse and heal the heart of man no more Than winter may, or withering autumn. Sire, Husband and lord, I have a woful word To speak against a man beloved of thee, A man well worth all glory man may give-- Against thine Almachildes.
ALBOVINE.
Has the boy Transgressed again in awless heat of speech And kindled wrath in thee against him--thee, Who stood'st between my wrath and him?
ROSAMUND.
I would His were no more transgression than of speech. He hath wronged--I bid thee ask of me no more-- A noble maiden. Till her shame be healed, Her name is dead upon my lips and his, Who is yet not all ignoble.
ALBOVINE.
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