ntradiction! to forget
'What my memory would preserve?'
And thus my pain in straits like these,
Must needs despise the only sure
Remedial means of partial ease--
That is--to perish of the cure
Rather than die of the disease.
Then not in wailing or in fretting,
My love, accept thy fate, but let
This victory o'er myself, to thee
Bring consolation, pride, and glee,
Since what I wish not to forget
'Is the memory I 'm regretting.'

CHRYSANTHUS.
'T is not through the voice alone
Music breathes its soft enchantment.[10]
All things that in concord blend
Find in music their one language.
Thou with thy delicious sweetness [To Nisida]
Host my heart at once made captive;--
Thou with thy melodious verses [To Cynthia]
Hast my very soul enraptured.
Ah! how subtly thou dost reason!
Ah! how tenderly thou chantest!
Thou with thy artistic skill,
Thou with thy clear understanding.
But what say I? I speak falsely,
For you both are sphinxes rather,
Who with flattering words seduce me
But to ruin me hereafter:--
Leave me; go: I cannot listen
To your wiles.

NISIDA.
My lord, oh! hearken
To my song once more.

CYNTHIA.
Wait! stay!

NISIDA.
Why thus treat with so much harshness
Those who mourn thy deep dejection?

ESCARPIN.
Oh! how soon they 'd have an answer
If they asked of me these questions.
I know how to treat such tattle:
Leave them, sir, to me.

CHRYSANTHUS.
My senses
'Gainst their lures I must keep guarded:
They are crocodiles, but feigning
Human speech, so but to drag me
To my ruin, my destruction.

NISIDA.
Since my voice will still attract thee,
'T is of little use to fly me.

CYNTHIA.
Though thou dost thy best to guard thee,
While I gloss the words she singeth
To my genius thou must hearken.

CHRYSANTHUS (aside.)
God whom I adore! since I
Help myself, Thy help, oh! grant me!

NISIDA.
"Ah! the joy" . . . . (she becomes confused.
But what is this?
Icy torpor coldly fastens
On my hands; the lute drops from me,
And my very breath departeth.

CYNTHIA.
Since she cannot sing; then listen
To this subtle play of fancy:
"Love, if thou 'rt my god" . . . . (she becomes confused.
But how,
What can have my mind so darkened
What my memory so confuses,
What my voice can so embarrass?

NISIDA.
I am turned to frost and fire,
I am changed to living marble.

CYNTHIA.
Frozen over i