4a href=”http://www.djo.org.uk/indexes/authors/mary-louisa-boyle.html?tmpl=component” target=”_blank”>Mary Louisa Boyle (1810 – 1890) was born into the family of the Earl of Cork and Orrery. She was friends with Dickens, Browning and Landor and published widely in verse and prose. The Bride of Melcha; a Dramatic Poem was published in London in 1844.
THE BRIDAL OF MELCHA ACT I.
Scene I. — Room in the King’s Palace,
Enter Feargus and his Sister.
Feargus. And trust me so far, sister, in my place
You ‘d feel as I do — act as I have done.
The heart, whose beats are measured in your breast,
Would flutter, stop, and then begin to knock
Against its prison walls, and cry so loud
‘Twould drown the feebler accents of your lips,
Did they essay to speak, ‘mid such a din.
The will that would surmount all obstacles —
The mind that would o’errule the destiny —
Ay, that same eagerness which dances now
In thy dark eye, and plays around thy lip —
Believe me, Mora, all would be subdued,
Deadened, and overpowered by such a presence.
Mora. No, by my troth! — by every hope I hold
Of peace and freedom to the land I love,
Were I a man, a lover as thou art,
I ‘d work another way: I ‘d gain her heart
With vows of faith, devotion, and the like —
With praises of her beauty — which in vain
You waste upon the wind, that does not care
To waft them to her ear — with half the tales
You lavish on your sister. Night and morn
I ‘d haunt her path: I ‘d stand beside her door
To bid her sleep in peace, or wake in joy:
And when the envious walls concealed her form,
My voice should follow though my steps were checked.
Or I would send melodious messages
Of love — of hopeful, daring, dauntless love!
Fear. Yet tell me, Mora, hast thou never read, —
When for a few short years thy eager mood
Was curbed and guided by the sisterhood
Of Holy Oswald, — hast thou never read
Some sacred legend of a spotless maid,
Whose innocence and purity were spells
To bind, and to unloose? Beneath whose gaze
The powers of earth fell down, and were dismayed —
Before whose modest speech the babbling tongue
Of eloquence was mute, while pious awe
And silent wonder filled the minds of men!