I see the colour comes[ax] 130
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed!
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed!
Byron
Fos.
_ Limbs!
how often have they borne me[42]
Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimmed
The gondola along in childish race,
And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,
Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;
While the fair populace of crowding beauties, 100
Plebeian as patrician, cheered us on
With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal! --How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 110
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they waxed fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens
As showed that I had searched the deep: exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and, drawing deep
The long-suspended breath, again I spurned
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 120
My track like a sea-bird. --I was a boy then.
_Guard_. Be a man now: there never was more need
Of manhood's strength.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_looking from the lattice_). My beautiful, my own,
My only Venice--_this is breath_! Thy breeze,
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness! How unlike
The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,
Which howled about my Candiote dungeon,[43] and
Made my heart sick.
_Guard_.
I see the colour comes[ax] 130
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed! --I dread to think on't.
_Jac. Fos. _ They will not banish me again? --No--no,
Let them wring on; I am strong yet.
_Guard_. Confess,
And the rack will be spared you.
_Jac. Fos. _ I confessed
Once--twice before: both times they exiled me.
_Guard_. And the third time will slay you.
_Jac. Fos. _ Let them do so,
So I be buried in my birth-place: better
Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.
Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimmed
The gondola along in childish race,
And, masqued as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,
Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;
While the fair populace of crowding beauties, 100
Plebeian as patrician, cheered us on
With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible,
And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands,
Even to the goal! --How many a time have I
Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more daring,
The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair,
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine,
Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 110
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft,
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making
My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen
By those above, till they waxed fearful; then
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens
As showed that I had searched the deep: exulting,
With a far-dashing stroke, and, drawing deep
The long-suspended breath, again I spurned
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 120
My track like a sea-bird. --I was a boy then.
_Guard_. Be a man now: there never was more need
Of manhood's strength.
_Jac. Fos. _ (_looking from the lattice_). My beautiful, my own,
My only Venice--_this is breath_! Thy breeze,
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness! How unlike
The hot gales of the horrid Cyclades,
Which howled about my Candiote dungeon,[43] and
Made my heart sick.
_Guard_.
I see the colour comes[ax] 130
Back to your cheek: Heaven send you strength to bear
What more may be imposed! --I dread to think on't.
_Jac. Fos. _ They will not banish me again? --No--no,
Let them wring on; I am strong yet.
_Guard_. Confess,
And the rack will be spared you.
_Jac. Fos. _ I confessed
Once--twice before: both times they exiled me.
_Guard_. And the third time will slay you.
_Jac. Fos. _ Let them do so,
So I be buried in my birth-place: better
Be ashes here than aught that lives elsewhere.
