Act III: Scene III

DON JOHN.In any less than she, so swift a passion,So unreserved, so reckless, had repelled.In her 't is godlike. Our mutual loveWas born full-grown, as we gazed each on each.Nay, 't was not born, but like a thing eternal,It WAS ere we had consciousness thereof;No growth of slow development, but perfectFrom the beginning, neither doomed to end.Her garden breathes her own warm, southern beauty,Glowing with dewy and voluptuous bloom.Here I am happy--happy to dream and waitIn rich security of bliss. I knowHow brief an interval divides us now.She hastes to meet me with no less impatienceThan mine to clasp her in my arms, to pressHeart unto heart, and see the love withinThe unfathomable depths of her great eyes.She comes. Maria!

MARIA.My lord! you have been waiting?

DON JOHN.Darling, not long; 't was but my restless loveThat drove me here before the promised hour.So were I well content to wait through agesUpon the threshold of a joy like this,Knowing the gates of heaven might ope to meAt any moment.

MARIA.Your love is less than mine,For I have counted every tedious minuteSince our last meeting.

DON JOHN.I had rather speakLess than the truth to have you chide me thus;Yet if you enter in the lists with me,Faith match with faith, and loyal heart with heart,I warrant you, the jealous god of love,Who spies us from yon pomegranate bush,Would crown me victor.

MARIA.Why should we compete?Who could decide betwixt two equal truths,Two perfect faiths?

DON JOHN.The worship of my lifeWill be slight payment for your boundless trust.Look we nor forth nor back, are we not happy?Heaven smiles above our heads with all her stars.The envious day forced us apart, the wingOf obscure night protects and shelters us.Now like a pure, night-blooming flower, puts forthThe perfect blossom of our love. Oh, leanThy royal head upon my breast; assure meThat this unheard-of bliss is no fond dream.Cling to me, darling, till thy love's dear burdenTake root about my heart-strings.

MARIA (after a pause).Did you not hearA sound, a cry? Oh, God! was it my father?

DON JOHN.Naught save the beating of our hearts I heard.Be calm, my love; the very air is hushed.Listen, the tinkle of the fountain yonder,

The sleepy stir of leaves, the querulous pipeOf some far bird--no more.

MARIA.I heard, I heard!A rude voice called me. Wherefore did it comeTo snatch me from that dream of restful love?Tell me you will--I have lost all for you!

DON JOHN.To-morrow you will laugh at fears like these.You have lost naught--you have but won my love.Lose not your faith in that--your shield and weapon.

MARIA.I tremble still in every limb. Good-night,I must be gone. To-morrow when you come,Be wary with my father; he is fierceIn love and hatred. Listen and look, my lord.If one dared say to me but yester-mornThat I would meet at night a stranger youthIn mine own garden, talk with him of love,And hint a thought against the Spagnoletto,I had smitten with this bauble such a one.Kiss me, my Juan, once again. Good-night.