Masks

Live it down! as you have spoken
You could live it ere you knew
What love was--“a bauble broken,
Foolish, of a thing untrue.”--
You, Viola, with your beauty,
Cloistered, die a nun? No! you--
You must wed: it is your duty.

There’s your poniard; for the second
In this tazza dropped: the blood
On it scarcely hard.... I reckoned
Happily that hour we stood
There upon your palace-stairway,
How, with the Franciscan hood
Cowled, I said, there was a bare way.

In the minster there I found it--
Our revenge. I saw him, wild,
Stalking towards the church: around it
Dogged him, marking how he smiled
In the moonlight where I waited.
When the great clock, beating, dialed
Ten, I knew he would be mated.

Heaven or my better devil!--
Hardly had his sword and plume
Vanished in the dark, when, level
On the long lagoon, did loom,
Under moonlight-woven arches,
Her slim gondola: all gloom:
One tall gondolier: no torches.

Dusky gondolas kept bringing
Revellers: and far the night
Rang with instruments and singing.--
From the imbricated light
Of the oar-vibrating water,
Gliding up the stairway, white,
Velvet-masked,--the count’s own daughter!

Quick I met her: whispered, “Flora,
Gaston.--Mia, till they go,
One brief moment here, Siora.--
She’ll perceive us--she, below,
See! the duchess’ diamonds sparkling
Round the inviolable glow
Of her throat--there, dimly darkling:

“That’s Viola!” ... Thus I drew her
In the church’s ancient pile--
Under her black mask I knew her,
By her chin, her lips, her smile.
Through one marble-foliated
Window fell the moon-rays. While
All the maskers passed we waited.

I had drawn the dagger. Turning
Called her by her name. Some lie
Of a passion sighed, her burning
Hand in mine; when, stalking by,
In the square, his form bejeweled
Gleamed. My very blood burned dry
With the hate his presence fueled.

Our revenge! up-pushing slightly
Cowl, the mask fell, and revealed
Balka, as the poniard whitely
Flashed. The hollow nave re-pealed
One long shriek the loft repeated.
Swift, I stabbed her thrice. She reeled
Dead. I thought of you, the heated

Horror on my hands; and tarried
Still as silence. Drawn aside
On her face the mask hung, married
To its camphor-pallor: wide
Eyes with terror--stone. One second
I regretted; then defied
All remorse. Your promise beckoned;

And I left her. Love had pointed
Me this way. I walked the way
Clear-eyed and ... it has anointed
Us fast lovers?--Do not say,
Now, that you will go and nun it!
For this man who scorned you?--Nay!--
Live to hate him! You ’ve begun it.