Prometheus Bound (Browning, 1833)/The Death-Bed of Teresa Del Riego
THE DEATH-BED OF TERESA DEL RIEGO.
Si fia muta ogni altra cosa, al fine
Parlerà il mio morire,
E ti dirà la morte il mio martire.
The room was darken’d; but a wan lamp shed
Its light upon a half-uncurtain’d bed,
Whereon the widow’d sate. Blackly as death
Her veiling hair hung round her, and no breath
Came from her lips to motion it. Between
Its parted clouds, the calm fair face was seen
In a snow paleness and snow silentness,
With eyes unquenchable, whereon did press
A little, their white lids, so taught to lie,
By weights of frequent tears wept secretly.
Her hands were clasp'd and raised—the lamp did fling
A glory on her brow's meek suffering.
Beautiful form of wom&n! seeming made
Alone to shine in mirrors, there to braid
The hair and zone the waist—to garland flowers—
To walk like sunshine through the orange bowers—
To strike her land's guitar—and often see
In other eyes how lovely hers must be—
Grew she acquaint with anguish? Did she sever
For ever from the one she loved for ever,
To dwell among the strangers? Ay! and she,
Who shone most brightly in that festive glee.
Sate down in this despair most patiently.
Some hearts are Niobes! In griefs down-sweeping,
They turn to very stone from over-weeping,
And after, feel no more. Hers did remain
In life, which is the power of feeling pain,
Till pain consumed the life so call'd below.
She heard that he was dead!—she ask'd not how—
For he was dead! She wail'd not o'er his urn,
For he was dead—and in her hands, should burn
His vestal flame of honor radiantly.
Sighing would dim its light—she did not sigh.
She only died. They laid her in the ground,
Whereon th' unloving tread, and accents sound
Which are not of her Spain. She left behind,
For those among the strangers who were kind
Unto the poor heart-broken, her dark hair.
It once was gauded out with jewels rare;
It swept her dying pillow—it doth lie
Beside me, (thank the giver) droopingly,
And very long and bright! Its tale doth go
Half to the dumb grave, half to life-time woe,
Making the heart of man, if manly, ring
Like Dodonæan brass, with echoing.