But--I _can_ leave them,
children
as they are,
To teach you to be less a child.
To teach you to be less a child.
Byron
_ Aye, there it is; 'tis like a mother's curse
Upon my soul--the mark is set upon me.
The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,
Their hands upheld each other by the way,
Their tents were pitched together--I'm alone. 190
_Mar. _ You shall be so no more--I will go with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ My best Marina! --and our children?
_Mar. _ They,
I fear, by the prevention of the state's
Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties
As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),
Will not be suffered to proceed with us.
_Jac. Fos. _ And canst thou leave them?
_Mar. _ Yes--with many a pang!
But--I _can_ leave them, children as they are,
To teach you to be less a child. From this
Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted 200
By duties paramount; and 'tis our first
On earth to bear.
_Jac. Fos. _ Have I not borne?
_Mar. _ Too much
From tyrannous injustice, and enough
To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,
Which, as compared with what you have undergone
Of late, is mercy.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! you never yet
Were far away from Venice, never saw
Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,
While every furrow of the vessel's track
Seemed ploughing deep into your heart; you never 210
Saw day go down upon your native spires[bo]
So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,
And after dreaming a disturbed vision
Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.
_Mar. _ I will divide this with you. Let us think
Of our departure from this much-loved city,
(Since you must _love_ it, as it seems,) and this
Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.
Our children will be cared for by the Doge,
And by my uncles; we must sail ere night. 220
_Jac.
Upon my soul--the mark is set upon me.
The exiles you speak of went forth by nations,
Their hands upheld each other by the way,
Their tents were pitched together--I'm alone. 190
_Mar. _ You shall be so no more--I will go with thee.
_Jac. Fos. _ My best Marina! --and our children?
_Mar. _ They,
I fear, by the prevention of the state's
Abhorrent policy, (which holds all ties
As threads, which may be broken at her pleasure),
Will not be suffered to proceed with us.
_Jac. Fos. _ And canst thou leave them?
_Mar. _ Yes--with many a pang!
But--I _can_ leave them, children as they are,
To teach you to be less a child. From this
Learn you to sway your feelings, when exacted 200
By duties paramount; and 'tis our first
On earth to bear.
_Jac. Fos. _ Have I not borne?
_Mar. _ Too much
From tyrannous injustice, and enough
To teach you not to shrink now from a lot,
Which, as compared with what you have undergone
Of late, is mercy.
_Jac. Fos. _ Ah! you never yet
Were far away from Venice, never saw
Her beautiful towers in the receding distance,
While every furrow of the vessel's track
Seemed ploughing deep into your heart; you never 210
Saw day go down upon your native spires[bo]
So calmly with its gold and crimson glory,
And after dreaming a disturbed vision
Of them and theirs, awoke and found them not.
_Mar. _ I will divide this with you. Let us think
Of our departure from this much-loved city,
(Since you must _love_ it, as it seems,) and this
Chamber of state, her gratitude allots you.
Our children will be cared for by the Doge,
And by my uncles; we must sail ere night. 220
_Jac.
