Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/398

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382
OTHO THE GREAT.
[Exit. Conrad. I leave you to your thoughts.
 Auranthe (sola). Down, down, proud temper! down, Auranthe's pride!Why do I anger him when I should kneel?Conrad! Albert! help! help! What can I do?O wretched woman! lost, wreck'd, swallow'd up,Accursed, blasted! O, thou golden Crown,Orbing along the serene firmamentOf a wide empire, like a glowing moon;And thou, bright sceptre! lustrous in my eyes,—There—as the fabled fair Hesperian tree,Bearing a fruit more precious! graceful thing,Delicate, godlike, magic! must I leaveThee to melt in the visionary air,Ere, by one grasp, this common hand is madeImperial? I do not know the timeWhen I have wept for sorrow; but methinksI could now sit upon the ground, and shedTears, tears of misery. O, the heavy day!How shall I bear my life till Albert comes?Ludolph! Erminia! Proofs! O heavy day!Bring me some mourning weeds, that I may 'tireMyself, as fits one wailing her own death:And throw these jewels from my loathing sight,—Fetch me a missal, and a string of beads,—A cup of bitter'd water, and a crust,—I will confess, O holy Abbot!—How!What is this? Auranthe! thou fool, dolt,Whimpering idiot! up! up! act and quell!I'm safe! Coward! why am I in fear?
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