THE 
 
 . POETICAL AND DRAMATIC 
 WOB,KS - 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL TAILOR COLERIDGE. 
 
 NEW EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 
 
 NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY. 
 
 1855. 
 
' 
 
BOSTON: 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY, 
 
 NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY. 
 1855. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 4* 
 
 THE RTOIB OF THE ANCIENT MARINER, IN SEVEN 
 
 PARTS ................................. I 
 
 , V-REMORSE ; A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS ............ 23 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE FIRST PART OF WAL- 
 
 LENSTEIN ................................ 99 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN .................. 253 
 
 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE ........... ........... 362 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS : 
 
 on the Departing Year ...................... 390 
 
 V' TMonody on theJDcath of Chatterton .............. 395 > 
 
 Song of the Pixies ............................ 399 
 
 The Rose ................................... 403 
 
 The Kiss .' ................................... 404 
 
 _^ To a Young Ass ............................. 405 
 
 The Sigh .................................... 406 
 
 Domestic Peace .............................. 407 
 
 Epitaph on an Infant .......................... t&. 
 
 Lines ; written at the King's Arms, Ross .......... 408 
 
 Lines to a beautiful Spring in a Village .......... ib. 
 
 on a Friend who died of a Frenzy Fever, in- 
 
 uced by Calumnious Reports .............. 409 - - 
 
 To a Young Lady, with a Poem on the French Re- 
 
 volution .................................. 411 
 
 To a Friend, together with an unfinished Poem .... 412 
 
 Sonnet I. ' My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles". . 414 
 
 - II. On a discovery made too late ........ ib. 
 
 - III. ' Thou gentle Look" .............. 415 
 
 e^ 
 d 
 
1? CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 ^Sennet IV. To the River Otter 415 
 
 V. Composed while climbing Brockly Coomb 416 
 
 VI. "Sweet Mercy!" ib. 
 
 VII. "Bale Roamer thro' the Night!" .. 417 
 
 VIII. To the Author of The Robbers ib. 
 
 IX. Composed on a Journey homeward ; the 
 
 Author having received intelligence of the birth 
 
 of a Son 418 
 
 X. To a Friend, who asked how I felt when 
 
 the Nurse first presented my Infant to mqf .... 419 
 Reflections, on having left a Place of Retirement . . ib 
 
 Ode to Sara ' 421 
 
 Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire 424 
 
 ^JXo an Unfortunate Woman 426 
 
 Lines on observing a Blossom on the 1st of February 427 
 
 " The Hour when we shall meet again" 428 
 
 To C. Lloyd, on his proposing to domesticate with. 
 
 the Author 429* * 
 
 Religious Musings 431 
 
 Lines. " The piteous so^bs that choke the Virgin's ** 
 
 breath" . . .'. 444 
 
 Lines to Joseph Cottle 445 
 
 Lines on an Autumnal Evening 446 
 
 Lines. In the manner of Spencer 44!) 
 
 The Composition of a Kiss 451 
 
 To an Infant 452 
 
 On.the Christening of a Friend's Child ib. 
 
 Nightingale 45 1 
 
 ^ 457 
 
 yiThe Foster-mother's Tale 4GO 
 
 Lines addressed to a Friend, in Answer to a Melan- 
 choly Letter * 463 
 
 Sonnet 40-i 
 
THE RHYME 
 
 ^"^'^P f , 
 
 OP 
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 IN SEVEN PARTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 IT is an Ancient Mariner, 
 -, And he stoppeth one of three : 
 \r " By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye 
 Now wherefore stoppest me ? 
 
 The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
 x And I am next of kin ; 
 The guests are met, the feast is set, 
 May'st hear the merry din." 
 
 But still he holds the wedding-guest 
 
 " There was a ship," quoth he 
 " Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, 
 
 Mariner ! come with me." 
 
 X* He holds him with his skinny hand, 
 (*f~ <3uothTie, " There was a ship" 
 Y " Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard loon t 
 Or my staff shall make thee skip." 
 
 He holds him with his glittering eye 
 * The wedding-guest stood still 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 listens like a three years' child 
 The Mariner hath his will. 
 
 The wedding-gues^ sate^on a stone, 
 / He cannot cJiojoseTut hear : 
 
 And thus spake on that ancient man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner. 
 
 " The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared- 
 
 Merrily did we drop 
 J Below the kirk, below the hill, 
 Below the light-house top. 
 
 The sun came up upon the left, 
 J Out of the sea came he : 
 
 And he shone bright, and on the right 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 Higher and higher every day, 
 
 Till over the mast at noon" 
 The wedding-guest here beat his breast, 
 
 For he heard the loud bassoon. 
 
 The bride hath paced into the hall, 
 
 Red as a rose is she ; 
 ^/Nodding their heads before her gp 
 The merry minstrelsy. 
 
 The wedding-guest he beat his breast, 
 Yet he cannot choose but hear : 
 
 And thus spake on that ancient man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner : 
 
 i 
 
 " But now the north w'nd came more fierce, 
 
 There came a tempest strong ! 
 And southward still for days and weeks 
 
 Like chaff we drove along 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 1 
 
 And now there came both mist and snow, 
 / And it grew wondrous cold : 
 And ice mast-high came floating by 
 As green as emerald. 
 
 And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
 
 Did send a dismal sheen ; 
 Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken 
 
 The ice was all between. 
 
 The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 / The ice was all around : 
 ^ It crack'd and growl'd, and roared and howl'd, 
 A wild and ceaseless sound. 
 
 At length did cross an albatross, 
 
 ^Thorough the fog it cam^j 
 S As if if had been a Christian soul, 
 We hailed it in God's name. 
 
 The Mariners gave it biscuit-worms. 
 
 And round and round it flew : * 
 
 The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 
 
 The helmsman steered us through. 
 
 And a good south wind sprung up behind, 
 
 The albatross did follow ; 
 </ And every day for food or play 
 
 Came to the Mariner's hollo ! } 
 
 In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud 
 
 It perched for v espers nine, 
 ^ Whiles all the night through fog-smoke white 
 Glimmer'd the white moon-shine." 
 
 . " God save thee, Ancient Mariner ! 
 J* From the fiends that plague thee thus 1 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 Why look'st thou so?"" With my cross bow 
 I shot the albatross." 
 
 PART II. 
 
 " The sun now rose upon the right, 
 
 Out of the sea came he j 
 
 J Still hid in mist ; and on the left 
 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 And the good south wind still blew behind, 
 . But no sweet bird did follow, 
 Nor any day for food or play 
 Came to the Mariner's hollo ! 
 
 And I had done^n hellish thing, 
 
 And it would work 'em woe : 
 
 For all averred, I had killed the bird 
 
 That made the breeze to blow. 
 
 ^ I \ 
 
 ^*Nor dim nor red, like an angel's bead, \ 
 
 / The glorious sun uprist ; ,| 
 
 Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
 
 \ That brought the fog and mist. 
 VTwas right, said they, such birds to slay J 
 N SCliat bring the fog and mist. I 
 
 )( The breezes blew, the white foam flew, 
 / The furrow followed free : 
 We were the first that ever burst 
 Into that silent sea. 
 
 Down dropp'd the breeze, the sails dropp'd down, 
 ^ 'Twas sad as sad could be 
 And we did speak only to break 
 The silence of the sea. 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 6 
 
 All in a hot and copper sky 
 V* The bloody sun at noon, 
 
 Right up above the mast did stand, 
 No bigger than the moon. 
 
 Day after day, day after day, 
 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion, 
 *^ As idle as a painted ship 
 
 Upon a painted ocean. r 
 
 Water, water, every where, 
 . And all the boards did shrink ; 
 Water, water, every where, 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 The very deeps did rot : O Christ ! 
 
 That ever this should be ! 
 Yea, slimy things did crawl with leg* 
 
 Upon the slimy sea. 
 
 About, about, in reel and rout 
 
 The death-fires danced at night ; 
 The water, like a witch's oils, 
 
 Burnt green, and blue, and white. 
 
 /And some in dreams assured were 
 Of the spirit that plagued us so : 
 (Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
 \From the land of mist and snow. 
 
 And every tongue through utter drought 
 j WasjwjtherM at the root ; 
 
 We could not speak no more than if 
 We had been choked with soot. 
 
 Ah well-a-day ! what evil looks 
 Had I from old and young ! 
 B8 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 Instead of the cross the albatross 
 About my neck was hung. 
 
 f 
 
 I J 
 
 V 
 ^^ 
 
 PART III. 
 
 " So pass'd a weary time ; each throat 
 Was parched, and glazed each eye, 
 
 When, looking westward, I beheld 
 A something in the sky. 
 
 At first it seemed a little speck, 
 
 And then it seemed a mist : 
 It moved and moved, and took at last 
 
 A certain shape, I wist. 
 
 A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
 . And still it near'd and near'd ; 
 * And as if it dodged a water-sprite, 
 It plunged, and tacked, and veered. 
 
 With throat unslaked, with black lips baked, 
 / We could nor laugh nor wail, 
 Through utter drought all dumb we stood 
 JRllIJrit my arm and sucked the blood, 
 And cried, * a sail ! a sail I' 
 
 With throat unslaked, with black lips baked, 
 
 Agape they heard me call ! 
 J Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, 
 And all at once their breath drew in 
 
 As they were drinking all. * 
 
 4 See ! see !' I cried, * she tacks no more 1 
 
 Hither to work us weal 
 Without a breeze, without a tide 
 
 She steddies with upright keel !' 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 7 
 
 The western wave was all a flame, 
 
 The day was well nigh done ! 
 Almost upon the western wave * 
 
 Rested the broad bright sun ; 
 When that strange shape drove suddenly , 
 
 Betwixt us and the sun. ' ;j^ 
 
 And straight the sun was flecked with bare , 
 
 (Heaven's mother send us grace !) 
 As if through a dungeon grate he peered ; 
 
 With broad and burning face. i ^ 
 
 Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
 / How fast slie nears and nears ! 
 Are those her sails that glance in the sun 
 Like restless gossamers ? 
 
 6 Are those her ribs, through which the sun 
 Did peer, as through a grate ? 
 
 
 >And are those two all, all her crew, 
 That woman, and her mate ? 
 
 His bones were black with many a crack, 
 
 All black and bare, I ween ; 
 Jet-black and bare, save where with rust 
 Of mouldy damps and charnel crust 
 
 They were patched with purple and greeo. 
 
 f Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
 ^ Her locks were yellow as gold : 
 /Her skin was as wiiite as leprosy, 
 ( And she was far liker Death than he ; 
 V Her flesh made the still air cold. 
 
 The naked hulk alongside came, 
 * And the twain were playing dice ; 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 ' The game is done ! I've won, Pve won ' 
 Quoth she, and whistled thrice. 
 
 A gust of wind sterteup behind 
 
 And whistled throbgh his bones ; 
 Thro' thefcole of his eyes and the hole of his mouth 
 .Half- whistles and half- groans. 
 
 With never a whisper in the sea 
 
 Off darts the spectre- ship ; 
 
 hile clombe above the eastern bar 
 The horned moon, with one bright star 
 
 Almost between the tips. 
 
 One after one fr^the horned moon 
 ^/Listen, O stranger ! to me) 
 Each turned his face with a ghastly pang 
 And cursed me with his ee. 
 
 Four times fifty living men, 
 *"*tVith never a sigh or groan, 
 With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 
 They dropped down one by one. 
 
 Their souls did from their bodies fly, 
 They fled to bliss or woe ; 
 
 And every soul it passed me by, 
 Like the whiz of my cross-bow." 
 
 *J PAKT IV. 
 
 " I fear thee, Ancient Mariner ! 
 
 I fear thy skinny hand ; 
 And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 
 
 As is the ribbed sea-sand. 
 
 V 
 
THE ANCIENT MAKINERv 8 
 
 I fear thee and thy glittering eye, 
 And thy skinny hand so brown" - 
 
 " Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest 1 
 This body dropt not down. 
 
 lone, alone, all, all alone, 
 Alone on the wide, wide sea ; 
 And Christ would take no pity on 
 My soul in agony. 
 
 The many men so beautiful, 
 
 And they all dead did lie ! 
 And a million million slimy things 
 
 Lived on and so did I 
 
 I looked upon the rotting sea, 
 
 And drew my eyes away ; 
 I looked upon the ghastly deck, 
 
 And there the dead men lay. 
 
 Hooked to Heaven, and tried to pray; 
 
 But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
 A wicked whisper came and made 
 
 My heart as dry as dust. 
 
 I closed my lids and kept them close, 
 
 Till the balls like pulses beat ; 
 For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky 
 Lay like a load on my weary eye, 
 
 And the dead were at my feet. 
 
 The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 
 
 Nor rot nor reek did they ; 
 The looXwith which they looked on me, 
 
 Had never passed away. 
 
 An orphan's curse would drag to Hell 
 A spirit from on high : 
 
10 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 But ! more horrible than that 
 
 Is the curse in a dead man's eye 1 
 Seven davs. seven nights I saw that curse, 
 And yet I could not die. 
 
 The moving moon went up the sky, 
 
 And no where did abide : 
 Softly she was going up 
 
 And a star or two beside 
 
 Her beams bemocked the sultry main 
 
 Like April hoar-frost spread ; 
 But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 
 The charmed water burnt alway 
 
 A still and awful red. 
 i ^^~- Beyond the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watched the water-snakes : 
 They moved in tracks of shining white ; 
 And when they reared, the elfish light 
 
 Fell off in hoary flakes. 
 
 Within the shadow of the ship 
 ^X* I watched their rich attire : 
 
 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black 
 They coiled and swam ; and every track 
 Was a flash of golden fire. 
 
 O happy living things ! no tongue 
 Their beauty might declare ; 
 
 A spring of love gusht from my heart, 
 And I blessed them unaware ! 
 
 Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
 And I blessed them unaware 
 
 The self-same moment I could pray ; 
 
 And from my neck so free 
 The albatross fell off, and sank 
 
 Like lead into the sea." 
 
THE ANCIENT MAKINER. 11 
 
 PART V. 
 
 " O sleep, it is a gentle thing 
 
 Beloved from pole to pole ! 
 To Mary-queen the praise be given, 
 She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven 
 
 That slid into my soul. 
 
 The silly buckets on the deck 
 
 That had so long remained, 
 I dreamt that they were filled with dew, 
 
 And when I awoke it rained. 
 
 My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
 My garments all were dank ; 
 
 Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
 And still my body drank. 
 
 I moved and could not feel my limbs, 
 
 I was so light, almost 
 I thought that I had died in sleep, 
 
 And was a blessed ghost. 
 
 And soon I heard a roaring wind, 
 
 T t did not come anear j 
 But with its sound it shook the sails 
 
 That were so thin and sere. 
 
 The upper air burst into life, 
 And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 
 
 To and fro they were hurried about ; 
 
 And to and fro, and in and out 
 The wan stars danced between. 
 
 And the coming wind did roar more leu 1 
 And the sails did sigh 
 
12 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 And the rain poured down from one black cloud, 
 The moon was at its edge. 
 
 The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
 
 The moon was at its side ; 
 Like waters shot from some high crag, 
 The lightning fell with never a jag 
 
 A river steep and wide. 
 
 The loud wind never reached the ship, 
 
 Yet now the ship moved on ! 
 Beneath the lightning and the moon, 
 
 The dead men gave a groan. 
 
 , They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, 
 
 Nor spake, nor moved their eyes : 
 
 It had been strange, e'en in a dream 
 
 To have seen those dead men rise. 
 
 The helmsman steered, the ship moved on j 
 
 Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
 The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
 
 Where they were wont to do : 
 They raised their limbs like lifeless tools 
 
 We were a ghastly crew. 
 
 The body of my brother's son 
 
 Stood by me knee to knee : 
 The body and I pulled at one. rope, 
 
 But he said nought to me." 
 
 " I fear thee, Ancient Mariner !" 
 
 " Be calm, thou wedding-guest ! 
 'Twas not those souls, that fled in pain, 
 Which to their corses came again, 
 
 But a troop of spirits blest : 
 
 For when it dawned they dropped their arms, 
 And clustered round the mast : 
 
THE AJJClfiNT MARINER. 13 
 
 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouth*, 
 And from their bodies passed. 
 
 Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
 
 Then darted to the sun : 
 Slowly the sounds came back again 
 
 Now mixed, now one by one. 
 
 Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
 
 I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
 Sometimes all little birds that are 
 How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
 
 With their sweet jargoning : 
 
 And now 'twas like all instruments, 
 
 Now like a lonely flute : 
 And now it is an angel's song 
 
 That makes the heavens be mute. 
 
 It ceased : yet still the sails made on 
 
 A pleasant noise till noon, 
 A noise like of a hidden brook 
 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 Till noon we silently sailed on, 
 
 Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
 Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
 
 Moved onward from beneath. 
 
 Under the keel nine fathom deep 
 
 From the land of mist and snow 
 The spirit slid, and it was He 
 
 That made the ship to go. 
 The sails at noon left off their tune, 
 
 And the ship stood still also. 
 
 
 
14 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 The sun right up above the mast 
 Had fixed her to the ocean : 
 
 But in a minute she 'gan stir 
 With a short uneasy motion 
 
 Backwards and forwards half her length, 
 With a short uneasy motion. 
 
 Then^like a pawing horse let go, 
 
 She made a sudden bound ; 
 It flung the blood into my head, 
 
 And I fell into a swound. 
 
 How long in that same fit I lay, 
 
 I have not to declare j 
 But ere my living life returned. 
 I heard and in my soul discerned 
 
 Two voices in the air. 
 
 ' Is it he?' quoth one, ' Is this the man ? 
 
 By him who died on cross, 
 With his cruel bow he laid full low 
 
 The harmless albatross. 
 
 The spirit who bideth by himself 
 In the land of mist and snow, 
 He loved the bird that loved the man 
 Who shot him with his bow/ 
 
 The other was a softer voice, 
 
 As soft as honey dew : 
 Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 
 
 And penance more will do.' * 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINEB. 15 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 FIRST VOICR, 
 
 " ' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
 
 Thy soft response renewing 
 What makes that ship drive on so fast 7 
 
 What is the ocean doing ?' 
 
 SECOND YOICE. 
 
 ' Still as a slave before his lord, 
 
 The ocean hath no blast : 
 His great bright eye most silently 
 
 Up to the moon is cast 
 
 If he may know which, way to go, 
 For she guides him smooth or grim . 
 
 See, brother, see ! how graciously 
 She looketh down on him/ 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 ' But why drives on that ship so fast 
 Without or wave or wind V 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 1 The air is cut away before, 
 And closes from behind. 
 
 Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high, 
 
 Or we shall be belated : 
 For slow and slow that ship will go, 
 
 When the Mariner's trace is abated.' 
 
 I woke, and we were sailing on 
 
 As in a gentle weather : 
 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high 
 
 The dead men stood together. 
 
 c 2 
 
16 THE ANCIENT MARINE*. 
 
 All stood together on the deck, 
 
 For a charnel-dungeon fitter ; 
 All fixed on me their stony eyes 
 
 That in the moon did glitter. 
 
 The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
 
 Had never passed away ; 
 I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
 
 Nor turn them up to pray. 
 
 And now this spell was snapp'd : once more 
 
 I viewed the ocean green, 
 And look'd far forth, yet little saw 
 
 Of what had else been seen 
 
 Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And having once turn'd round, walks on 
 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows, a frightful fiend 
 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
 
 Nor sound nor motion made : 
 Its path was not upon the sea 
 
 In ripple or in shade. 
 
 It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek, 
 Like a meadow-gale of spring 
 
 It mingled strangely with my fears, 
 Yet it felt like a welcoming. 
 
 Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
 
 Yet she sailed softly too : 
 Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeae 
 
 On me alone it blew. 
 
THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 dream of joy ! is this indeed 
 The light-house top I see ? 
 
 Is this the hill ? Is this the kirk? 
 Is this mine own countree ? 
 
 We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, 
 
 And I with sobs did pray 
 ' O let me be awake, my God ! 
 
 Or let me sleep alway.' 
 
 The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 
 
 So smoothly it was strewn ! 
 And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
 
 And the shadow of the moon. 
 
 The rock shone bright, the kirk no less * 
 
 That stands above the rock : 
 The moonlight steeped in silentness 
 
 The steady weathercock. 
 
 And the bay was white with silent light, 
 
 Till rising from the same 
 Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
 
 In crimson colours came. 
 
 A little distance from the prow 
 Those crimson shadows were : 
 
 1 turned my eyes upon the deck 
 O Christ ! what saw I there ? 
 
 Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat ; 
 
 And by the holy rood 
 A man all light, a seraph -man. 
 
 On every corse there stood. 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand ; 
 It was a heavenly sight : 
 
18 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 They stood as signals to the land, 
 Each one a lovely light. 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand ; 
 
 No voice did they impart 
 No voice ; but O ! the silence sank 
 
 Like music on my heart. 
 
 But soon I heard the dash of oars, 
 
 I heard the pilot's cheer : 
 My head was turned perforce away, 
 
 And I saw a boat appear. 
 
 The pilot, and the pilot's boy, 
 
 I heard them coming fast : 
 De$r Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
 
 The dead men could not blast. 
 
 I saw a third 1 heard his voice ; 
 
 It is the hermit good ! 
 He singeth loud his godly hymns 
 
 That he makes in the wood. 
 He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 
 
 The albatross's blood." 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 " This hermit good lives in that wood 
 
 Which slopes down to the sea. 
 How loudly his sweet voice he rears 1 
 He loves to talk with Mariners 
 That come from a far countree. 
 
 He kneels at. morn, and noon, and eye- 
 He hath a cushion plump : 
 It is the moss that wholly hide* 
 The rotted old oak-stump. 
 
THE ANCIENT MAUINER. 19 
 
 The skiff-boat near'd ; I heard them talk, 
 
 ' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
 Where are those lights so many and fair 
 
 That signal made but now ?' 
 
 ' Strange, by my faith !' the hermit said 
 ' And they answered not our cheer. 
 
 The planks look warped, and see those sails 
 How thin they are and sere ! 
 
 I never saw aught like to them 
 Unless perchance it were 
 
 
 
 The skeletons of leaves that lag 
 
 My forest brook along : 
 When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
 And the owlet whoops to the wolf below 
 
 That eats the she- wolf s young/ 
 
 ' Dear Lord ! it has a fiendish look 
 
 (The pilot made reply) 
 I am a-feared.' ' Push on, push on !' 
 
 Said the hermit cheerily. 
 
 The boat came closer to the ship, 
 
 But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
 The boat came close beneath the ship, 
 
 And straight a sound was heard. 
 
 Under the water it rumbled on, 
 Still louder and more dread : 
 It reached the ship, it split the bay ; 
 The ship went down like lead. 
 
 Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound. 
 
 Which sky and ocean smote, 
 Like one that hath been seven days drowned 
 
 My body lay afloat : 
 
20 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 But, swift as dreams, myself I found 
 Within the pilot's boat. 
 
 Upon the whirl, were sank the ship, 
 The boat spun round and round, 
 
 And all was still, save that the hill 
 "Was telling of the sound. 
 
 I moved my lips : the pilot shrieked, 
 
 And fell down in a fit. 
 The holy hermit raised his eyes 
 
 And prayed where he did sit. 
 
 I took the oars : the pilot's boy, 
 
 Who now doth crazy go, 
 Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
 
 His eyes went to and fro, 
 < Ha ! ha !' quoth he ' full plain I see, 
 
 The devil knows how to row.' 
 
 And now all in my own countree 
 
 I stood on the firm land ! 
 The hermit stepped forth from the boat 
 
 And scarcely he could stand. 
 
 * O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man !' 
 
 The hermit crossed his brow. 
 ' Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say 
 
 What manner of man art thou V 
 
 Forthwith this frame of mind was wrenched 
 
 With a woeful agony, 
 Which forced me to begin my tale, 
 
 And then it left me free. 
 
 Since then, at an uncertain hour 
 That agony returns j 
 
THE ANCIENT MAR1NBR. 21 
 
 And till my ghastly tale is told 
 This heart within me burns. 
 
 I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
 
 I have strange power of speech ; 
 The moment that his face I see 
 I know the man that must hear me ; 
 
 To him my tale I teach. 
 
 What loud uproar bursts from that door ? 
 
 The wedding-guests are there ; 
 But in the garden-bower the bride 
 
 And bride-maids singing are ; 
 And hark the little vesper-bell 
 
 Which biddeth me to prayer. 
 
 O wedding-guest ! this soul hath been 
 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea : 
 So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
 
 Scarce seemed there to be. 
 
 O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
 
 'Tis sweeter far to me 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 With a goodly company : 
 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 And altogether pray, 
 While each to his Great Father bends, 
 Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
 And youths, and maidens gay. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ; But this I tell 
 
 To thee, thou wedding-guest ! 
 He prayeth well who loveth well 
 
 Both mail, and bird, ami beast. 
 
22 THE ANCIENT MARINER. 
 
 He prayeth best who loveth best, 
 All things both great and small : 
 
 For the dear God, who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all." 
 
 The Mariner whose eye is bright, 
 Whose beard with age is hoar, 
 
 Is gone ; and now the wedding-guest 
 Turned from the bridegroom's door. 
 
 He went like one, that hath been stunwed. 
 
 And is of sense forlorn : 
 A sadder and a wiser man 
 
 He rose the morrow morn. 
 
 REMORSE; 
 
 A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Marquis Valdes, Father to the two brothers, and Donna Teresa's 
 Guardian. 
 
 Don Alvar, the eldest son. 
 
 Don Ordonio, the youngest son. 
 
 Monviedro, a Dominican and Inquisitor. 
 
 Zulimez, the faithful attendant on Alvar. 
 
 Isidore, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian. 
 
 Familiars of the Inquisition. 
 
 Naomi. 
 
 Moors, Servants, &c. 
 
 Donna Teresa, an Orphan Heiress. 
 
 Alhadra, Wife to Isidore. 
 
 Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars 
 against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which 
 raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade th 
 wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death. 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada. 
 
 DON ALVAB, wrapt in a Boat-cloak, and ZULIMEZ 
 (a Moresco\ both as just landed. 
 
 Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us ! 
 
 Alv. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment 
 Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. 
 If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, 
 'Tis surely this after long years of exile 
 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, 
 To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. 
 Hail, Spain ! Granada, hail ! once more I press 
 Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers ! 
 
 Zul. Then claim your rights in it ! O, revered Don 
 
 Alvar, 
 
 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. 
 It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself, 
 And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt ! 
 
 Alo. Remember, Zulimez ! I am his brother : 
 Injured, indeed ! O deeply injured ! yet 
 Ordonio's brother. 
 
 Zul. Nobly-minded Alvar ! 
 
 This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye. 
 
 Alv. The more behoves it, I should rouse w'thin him 
 Remorse ! that I should save him from himself. 
 
 Zul. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows ! 
 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews 
 
REMORSE. 25 
 
 Of true repentance ; but if proud and gloomy, 
 It is a poison-tree that, pierced to the inmost, 
 Weeps only tears of poison. 
 
 Alv And of a brother, 
 
 Dare 1 hold this, unproved ? nor make one effort 
 To save him? Hear me, friend ! I have yet to tell thee, 
 That this same life, which he conspired to take, 
 Himself once rescued from the angry flood, 
 And at the imminent hazard of his own. 
 Add too my oath 
 
 Zul. You have thrice told already 
 
 The years of absence and of secrecy 
 To which a forced oath bound you : if in truth 
 A suborn'd murderer have the power to dictate 
 A binding oath 
 
 Alv. My long captivity 
 
 Left me no choice : the very Wish too languish'd 
 With the fond Hope that nursed it ; the sick babe 
 Droop'd at the bosom of its famish'd mother. 
 But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy ; 
 The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, 
 No motive could have tempted him to falsehood : 
 In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, 
 When, with abhorrence of his own black purpose, 
 The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, 
 Fell from his palsied hand 
 
 Zul. Heavy presumption ! 
 
 Alv. It weighed not with me Hark! I will tell thee 
 
 all: 
 
 As we pass'd by, I bade thee mark the base 
 Of yonder cliff 
 
 Zul. That rocky seat, you mean, 
 
 Shaped by the billows ? 
 
 Alv. There Teresa met me 
 
 The morning of the day of my departure. 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 1 
 
 We were alone : the purple hue of dawn 
 
 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, 
 
 And, blending with the blushes on her cheek, 
 
 Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light. 
 
 There seera'd a glory round us, and Teresa 
 
 The angel of the vision ! \Then with agitation. 
 
 Hadst thou seen 
 
 How in each motion her most innocent soul 
 Beam'd fortli and brighten'd, thou thyself wouldat 
 
 tell me, 
 
 Guilt is a thing impossible in her ! 
 She must be innocent ! 
 
 Zul. (with a sigh). Proceed, my Lord ! 
 
 Alv. A portrait which she had procured by stealth 
 (Tor ever then it seems her heart foreboded, 
 Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry), 
 A portrait of herself, with thrilling hand, 
 She tied around my neck, conjuring me 
 With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 
 To my own knowledge ; nor she desist, 
 Till she had won a solemn promise from me, 
 That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it 
 Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, 
 Knew that which none but she could have disclosed. 
 
 Zul. A damning proof ! 
 . Alv. My own life wearied me ! 
 
 And but for the imperative Voice within, 
 With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. 
 That Voice, which quell'd me, calm'd me : and I sought 
 The Belgic States : there join'd the better cause ; 
 And there too fought as one that courted death ! 
 , Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, 
 In death-like trance : a long imprisonment folio w'd. 
 The fullness of my anguish by degrees 
 Waned to a meditative melancholy j 
 
REMORSE. 27 
 
 And still, the more I mused, ray soul became 
 More doubtful, more perplex'd ; and still Teresa, 
 Night after night, she visited my sleep, 
 Now as a saintly sutferer, wan and tearful, 
 Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me ! 
 Yes, still, as in contempt of proof and reason, 
 I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless ! 
 Hear then my fix'd resolve : I'll linger here 
 In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain. 
 The Moorish robes ? 
 
 Zul. All, all are in the sea-cave, 
 
 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners 
 Secrete the boat there. 
 
 Alv. Above all, the picture 
 
 Of the assassination 
 
 Zul. Be assured 
 
 That it remains uninjured. 
 
 Alv. Thus disguised, 
 
 I will first seek to meet Ordonio's wife I 
 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, 
 And this the hour ; her words, her very looks 
 Will acquit her or convict. 
 
 Zul. Will they not know you ? 
 
 Alv. With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 
 Trust the disguise ; and as to my complexion, 
 My long imprisonment, the scanty food, 
 This scar, and toil beneath a burning sun, 
 Have done already half the business for us. 
 
 Add too my youth, when last we saw each other. / 
 
 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice\ 
 A hoarser note Besides, they think me dead : 
 And what the mind believes impossible, 
 The bodily sense is slow to recognize. 
 
 Zul. 'T is yours, Sir, to command ; mine to obev. 
 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, 
 
 
28 REMORSE. 
 
 Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, 
 1 will seek our mariners; and in the dusk 
 Transport whate'er we need to the small dell 
 In the Alpuxarras there where Zagri lived. 
 
 Alv. I know it well : it is the obscurest haunt 
 Of all the mountains [Both stand listening. 
 
 Voices at a distance ! 
 Let us away ! {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter TERESA and VALDEZ. 
 
 Ter. I hold Ordonio dear ; he is your son 
 And Alvar's brother. 
 
 Vol. Love him for himself, 
 
 Nor make the living wretched for the dead. 
 
 Ter. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord 
 
 Valdez ; 
 
 But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 
 Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living. 
 
 Vol. Heaven knows with what delight I saw your 
 
 loves, 
 
 And could my heart's blood give him back to thee, 
 I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts ; 
 Thy dying father comes upon my soul 
 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me ; 
 I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, 
 While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty 
 Fix'd her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, 
 That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 
 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, 
 The victim of a useless constancy. 
 I must not see thee wretched. 
 
 2V*- There arc woes 
 
 Ill-barter* d foi the garislmess of joy I 
 

 
 REMORSE. 29 
 
 If it be wretched with an untired eye 
 
 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean ; 
 
 Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, 
 
 My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze, \L^ 
 
 To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again 
 
 All past hours of delight ! If it be wretched 
 
 To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, 
 
 To go through each minutest circumstance 
 
 Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures 
 
 Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them ; 
 
 * (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 
 
 Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, 
 
 And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft 
 
 Hung with her lute, and play'd the self-same tune 
 
 He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow 
 
 Herself had made) if this be wretchedness, 
 
 And if indeed it be a wretched thing 
 
 To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine 
 
 That I had died, died just ere his return ! 
 
 Then see him listening to my constancy, 
 
 Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 
 
 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon ; 
 
 Or haply, in some more fantastic mood, 
 
 To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers 
 
 Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, 
 
 And there to wait his coming ! O my sire ! 
 
 My Alvar's sire ! if this be wretchedness 
 
 That eats away the life, what were it, think you, 
 
 If in a most assured reality 
 
 He should return, and see a brother's infant 
 
 Smile at him from my arms ? 
 
 * Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which 
 Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful 
 tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the 
 parenthesis. 
 
 T> 5 
 
80 REMORSE. 
 
 Oh, what a thought ! [Clasping herforeJiead 
 
 Vol. A thought ? even so ! mere thought ! an empty 
 
 thought. 
 The very week he promised his return 
 
 Ter. (abruptly'). Was it not then a busy joy to see 
 
 him 
 
 After those three years' travels ? we had no fears 
 The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter, 
 Almost endear'd his absence ! Yet the gladness, 
 The tumult of our joy ! What then if now 
 
 Vol. O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts, 
 Spite of conviction ! I am old and heartless ! 
 Yes, I am old I have no pleasant fancies 
 Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest 
 
 Ter. (with great tenderness) My father ! 
 
 Vol. The sober truth is all too much for me ! 
 I see no sail which brings not to my mind 
 The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 
 By the Algerine to perish with his captors ! 
 
 Ter. Oh no ! he did not ! 
 
 Vol. Captured in sight of land ! 
 From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower 
 We might have seen 
 
 Ter. His capture, not his death. 
 
 Vol. Alas ! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 
 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn ! my brave Ordonio 
 Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, 
 In the same storm that baffled his own valor, 
 And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes : 
 Gallant Ordonio ! (pauses; then tenderly}. O beloved 
 
 Teresa ! 
 
 Wouldst thou best prove thy faith to generous Aivar, 
 And most delight his spirit, go, make thou 
 His brother happy, make his aged father 
 Sink to the grave in joy. 
 
REMORSE. 31 
 
 7<er. For mercy's sake, 
 
 Press me no more ! I have no power to love him. 
 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow, 
 Chill me like dew damps of the unwholesome night : 
 My love, a timorous and tender flower, 
 Closes beneath his touch. 
 
 J^- You wrong him, maiden ! 
 
 You wrong him, by my soul ! Nor was it well 
 To character by such unkindly phrases 
 The stir and workings of that love for you 
 Which he has toil'd to smother. >T was not well, 
 Nor is it grateful in you to forget 
 His wounds and perilous voyages, and how, 
 With an heroic fearlessness of danger, 
 He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. 
 It was not well You have moved me even to tears. 
 
 Ter. Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez ! pardon me ! 
 It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 
 A most ungrateful speech ! But I am hurried 
 Beyond myself, if I but hear of one 
 Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not 
 Born in one day, like twins of the same parent ? 
 Nursed in one cradle ? Pardon me, my father ! 
 A six years' absence is a heavy thing ; 
 Yet still the hope survives 
 
 Vol. (looking forward). Hush ! 't is Monviedro. 
 
 Ter. The Inquisitor ! on what new scent of blood ? 
 
 Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA. 
 
 Monviedro (having first made his obeisance to 
 
 VALDEZ and TERESA). 
 
 Peace and the truth be with you ! Good my Lord, 
 My present need is with your son. 
 
 [Looking forward. 
 We have hit tne time. Here cornes he ! Yes, 't w he 
 
82 REMORSE. 
 
 Enter from the opposite side DON ORDONIO. 
 
 My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman 
 (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. 
 
 Ord. Hail, reverend father ! what may be the 
 business ? 
 
 Monv. My Lord, on strong suspicion of relapse 
 To his false creed, so recently abjured. 
 The secret servants of the Inquisition 
 Have seized her husband, and at my command 
 To the supreme tribunal would have led him, 
 But that he made appeal to you, my Lord, 
 As surety for his soundness in the faith. 
 Though lessen'd by experience what small trust 
 The asseverations of these Moors deserve, 
 Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 
 Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour 
 The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, 
 Thus far prevail'd with me that 
 
 Ord. Reverend father, 
 
 I am much beholden to your high opinion, 
 Which so o'erprizes my light services. 
 
 {Then to Alhadra. 
 
 I would that I could serve you : but in truth 
 Your face is new to me. 
 
 Monv. My mind foretold me, 
 
 That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 
 'T was little probable, that Don Ordonio, 
 That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely 
 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, 
 Should prove the patron of this infidel ! 
 The guarantee of a Moresco's faith ! 
 Now I return. 
 
 Alh. My Lord, my husband's name 
 Is Isidore. (Ordonio starts.} Y ou may remember it 
 
REMORSE. S3 
 
 Three years ago, three years this very week, 
 You left him at Almeria. 
 
 Monv. Palpably false ! 
 
 This very week, three years ago, my Lord 
 (You needs must recollect it by your wound), 
 / You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, 
 V The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar ! 
 
 [Teresa looks at Monviedro with disgust and 
 horror. Ordonio's appearance to be collected 
 from what follows. 
 
 Monviedro (to Valdez, and pointing at Ordonig). 
 What ! is he ill, my Lord ? how strange he looks ! 
 Val. (angrily}. You press'd upon him too abruptly, 
 
 father, 
 
 The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. 
 Ordonio (starting as in sudden agitation). 
 
 Heavens ? I? /doted ? (then recovering himself). 
 
 Yes ! I doted on him. 
 [ Ordonio walks to the end of the stage, 
 
 Valdez follows, soothing him. 
 Teresa (her eye following Ordonio). I do not, can 
 
 not, love him. Is my heart hard? 
 Is my heart hard ? that even now the thought 
 Should force itself upon me ? Yet I feel it ! 
 
 Monv. The drops did start and stand upon his fore- 
 head! 
 
 1 will return. "In very truth, I grieve 
 
 To have been the occasion. Ho ! attend me, woman ! 
 Alhadra (to Teresa). O gentle lady ! make the fa- 
 ther stay 
 
 Until my Lord recover. I am sure 
 That he will say he is my husband's friend. 
 
 Ter. Stay, father ! stay ! my Lord will soon recover. 
 Ordonio (as they return, to Valdez). Strange, that 
 ^ this Monviedro 
 
34 REMORSE. 
 
 Should have the power so to distemper me ! 
 
 Vol. Nay, 't was an amiable weakness, son ! 
 
 Mono. My Lord, I truly grieve 
 
 Ord. Tut ! name it not. 
 
 A sudden seizure, father ! think not of it, 
 As to this woman's husband, I do know him. 
 1 know him well, and that he is a Christian. 
 
 Monv. I hope, my Lord, your merely human pity 
 Both not prevail 
 
 Ord. 'T is certain that he was a Catholic ; 
 What changes may have happen'd in three years 
 I cannot say ; but grant me this, good father ; 
 Myself I'll sift him : if I find him sound, 
 You '11 grant me your authority and name 
 To liberate his house. 
 
 Monv. Your zeal, my Lord, 
 
 And your late merits in this holy warfare, 
 Would authorise an ampler trust you have it. 
 
 Ord. I will attend you home within an hour. 
 
 VaL Meantime, return with us and take refresh 
 ment. 
 
 Alh. Not till my husband's free ! I may not do it. 
 I will stay here. 
 
 Ter. (aside). Who is this Isidore ? 
 
 VaL Daughter ! 
 
 Ter. With your permission, my dear Lord, 
 I '11 loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze. 
 
 [Exeunt Valdez, Monviedro, and Ordonw. 
 
 Alh. Hah ! there he goes ! a bitter curse go with him, 
 A scathing curse ! 
 ( Then as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look). 
 
 You hate him, don't you, lady ! 
 Teresa (perceiving that Alhadra is conscious she luis 
 
 spoken imprudently). 
 Oh fear not me ! my he-art is sad tbi you. 
 
REMORSE. 36 
 
 Alh. These fell inquisitors ! these sons of blood ! 
 As I came on, his face so madden'd me, 
 That ever and anon I clutch' d my dagger 
 And half unsheathed it 
 
 Ter. Be more calm, I pray you. 
 
 Alh. And as he walked along the narrow path 
 Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager j 
 7 T was with hard toil I made myself remember 
 That his Familiars held my babes and husband. 
 To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, 
 And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 
 O, it had been most sweet ! 
 
 Ter. Hush ! hush for shame ! 
 
 Where is your woman's heart ? 
 
 Alh. O gentle lady ! 
 
 You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, 
 Many and strange ! Besides (ironically), I am a Chris- 
 tian, 
 And Christians never pardon 't is their faith ! 
 
 Ter. Shame fall on those who so have shown it to 
 thee! 
 
 Alh. I know that man : 't is well he knows not 
 
 me. 
 
 Five years ago (and he was the prime agent), 
 Five years ago the holy brethren seized me. 
 
 Ter. What might your crime be ? 
 
 Alh. I was a Moresco ! 
 
 They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, 
 Into a dungeon of their prison-house, 
 Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 
 No touch, no sound of comfort ! The black air, 
 It was a toil to breathe it ! when the door, 
 Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed 
 One human countenance, the lamp's red flame 
 Cower'd as it enter'd, and at once sunk down. 
 
30 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Oh miserable ! by that lamp to see 
 
 My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 
 
 Brought daily : for the little wretch was sickly 
 
 My rage had dried away its natural food. 
 
 In darkness I remain'd the dull bell counting, 
 
 Which haply told me, that the all-cheering Sun 
 
 Was rising on our garden. When I dozed, 
 
 My infant's meanings mingled with my slumbers 
 
 And waked me. If you were a mother, Lady, 
 
 I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises 
 
 And peevish cries so fretted on my brain 
 
 That I have struck the innocent babe in anger. 
 
 Ter. O Heaven ! it is too horrible to hear. 
 
 Alh. What was it then to suffer? 'T is most right 
 That such as you should hear it. Know you not, 
 What Nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal ? 
 Great Evils ask great Passions to redress them, 
 Atd Whirlwinds fitliest scatter Pestilence. 
 
 Ter. You were at length released ? 
 
 Alh. Yes, at length 
 
 I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven ! 
 'T was the first time my infant smiled. No more 
 For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, 
 A trance comes on which makes me o'er again 
 All I then was my knees hang loose and drag, 
 And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh, 
 That you would start and shudder ! 
 
 Ter. But your husband 
 
 Alh. A month's imprisonment would kill him, Lady. 
 
 Ter. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 Alh. He hath a lion's courage, 
 
 Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance ; 
 Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart 
 He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 
 Vot knowing what he loves, but loves it all 
 
REMORSE. 37 
 
 Enter ALVAR disguised as a MORESCO, and in 
 
 Moorish garments. 
 'Ter. Know you that stately Moor? 
 Alti. I know him not : 
 
 But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, 
 Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. 
 
 Ter. The Alpuxarras ? Does he know his danger, 
 So near this seat ? 
 
 Alh. He wears the Moorish robes too, 
 
 As in defiance of the royal edict. 
 
 [Alhadra advances to Alvar, who has walked to 
 the back of the stage near the rocks. Teresa 
 drops her veil. 
 Alh. Gallant Moresco ! An inquisitor, 
 
 Monviedro, of known hatred to our race 
 
 Alvar (interrupting her). You have mistaken me. 
 
 I am a Christian. 
 Alh. He deems, that we are plotting to ensnare 
 
 him: 
 
 Speak to him, Lady none can hear you speak, 
 And not believe you innocent of guile. 
 
 Ter. If aught enforce you to concealment, Sir 
 
 Alh. He trembles strangely. 
 
 [Alvar sinks down and hides his face in his robe. 
 Ter. See, we have disturb'd him. 
 
 [Approaches nearer to him. 
 I pray you think us friends uncowl your face, 
 For you seem faint, and the night breeze blows healing. 
 I pray you think us friends ! 
 
 Alvar (raising his head). Calm, very calm ! 
 'T is all too tranquil for reality ! 
 And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, 
 That voice, that innocent voice ! She is no traitress ! 
 Ter. Let us retire. (Haughtily to AUiadra). 
 
 [They advance to the front of the Stage. 
 
88 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Alliadra (with scorn). He is indeed a Christian. 
 Alvar (aside). She deems me dead, yet wears no 
 
 mourning garment ! 
 
 Why should my brother's wife wear mourning 
 garments ? 
 
 [To Teresa. 
 
 Your pardon, noble dame ! that I disturbed you : 
 I had just started from a frightful dream. 
 
 Ter. Dreams tell but of the Past, and yet, 'tis 
 
 said, 
 They prophecy 
 
 Alv. The Past lives o'er again 
 
 In its effects, and to the guilty spirit 
 The ever-frowning Present is its image. 
 Ter. Traitress! (Then aside). 
 
 What sudden spell overmasters me ? 
 Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman ? 
 [Teresa looks round uneasily, but gradually be- 
 comes attentive as Alvar proceeds in the 
 next speech. 
 
 Alv. I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant 
 With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid, 
 Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me : 
 For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her. 
 This maid, so idolized, that trusted friend 
 Dishonor'd in my absence, soul and body ! 
 Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 
 And murderers were subbrn'd against my life. 
 But by my looks, and most impassion'd words. 
 I roused the virtues that are dead in no man, 
 Even in the assassins' hearts ! they made their terms, 
 And thank'd me for redeeming them from murder. 
 Alh. You are lost in thought : hear him no more, 
 
 sweet Lady ! 
 Ter. From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, 
 
REMORSE. O ) 
 
 ArA slight things bring on me the idle mood J 
 Well, Sir, what happen'd then ? 
 
 Alv. On a rude rock, 
 
 A rock, me thought, fast by a grove of firs. 
 Whose thready leaves to the low-breathing gale 
 Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, 
 I stay'd as though the hour of death were pass'd, 
 And I were sitting in the world of spirits 
 For all things seem'd unreal ! There I sate 
 The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, 
 Black, sultry, close ! and ere the midnight hour, 
 A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear, 
 That woods, and sky, and mountains, seeci'd cue 
 
 havoc. 
 
 The second flash of lightning show'd a tree 
 Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous : 
 My soul work'd high, I bared my head to the storm, 
 And, with loud voice and clamorous agony, 
 / Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that made me, 
 ^ Pray'd that REMORSE might fasten on their hearts, 
 And cling with poisonous tooth, inextricable 
 As the gored lion's bite / 
 
 Ter. (shuddering). A fearful curse ! 
 
 Alh. (fiercely). But dreamt you not that you re- 
 
 turn'd and kill'd them ? 
 Dreamt you of no revenge ? 
 Alv. (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress). 
 
 She would have died. 
 
 Died in her guilt perchance by her own hands ! 
 And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds, 
 I might have met the evil glance of frenzy, 
 And leapt myself into an unblest grave ! 
 JL pray'd for the punishment that cleanseth hearts : 
 ' V For still i loved her ! 
 
 And you dreamt ail this ? 
 
40 REMORSE. 
 
 Ter. My soul is full of visions all as wild ! 
 
 Alh. There is no room in this heart for puling love- 
 tales. 
 
 Teresa (lifts up her veil, and advances to Alvar). 
 Stranger, farewell ! I guess not who you are, 
 Nor why you so address'd your tale to me. 
 Your mien is noble, and I own, perplexM me 
 With obscure memory of something past, 
 Which still escaped my efforts, or presented 
 Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long wishing. 
 If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling 
 Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream, 
 Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness 
 You have my sympathy, and so farewell ! 
 But if some undiscovered wrongs oppress you, 
 And you need strength to drag them into light, 
 The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, 
 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer j 
 Nor shall you want my favorable pleading. 
 
 [Exeunt Teresa and Alhadra. 
 
 Alv. (alone). 'T is strange ! It cannot be ! my Lord 
 
 Ordonio ! 
 
 Her Lord Ordonio ! Nay, I will not do it ! 
 I cursed him once and one curse is enough ! 
 How bad she look'd, and pale ! but not like guilt 
 And her calm tones sweet as a song of mercy ! 
 If the bad spirit retained his angel's voice, 
 Hell scarce were Hell. And why not innocent ? 
 Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her ? 
 But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honour ; 
 Ah ! there I am hamper'd. What if this were a lie 
 Framed by the assassin ? Who should tell it him, 
 If it were truth ? Ordonio would not tell him. 
 Yet why one lie ? all else, I know, was truth. 
 No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience ? 
 
REMORSE. 41 
 
 And she referred to me fondly, methought ! 
 Could she walk here if she had been a traitress ? 
 Here, where we play'd together in our childhood ? 
 Here, where we plighted vows ? where her cold cheek 
 Received my last kiss, when with suppressed feelings 
 She had fainted in my arms ? It cannot be ! 
 'T is not in Nature ! I will die, believing 
 That I shall meet her where no evil is, 
 No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips. 
 I'll haunt this scene no more ! live she in peace ! 
 Her husband ay, her husband I May this angel 
 New mould his canker'd heart ! Assist me, Heaven, 
 That I may pray for my poor guilty brother ! f Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A wild and mountainous country. Or- 
 donio and Isidore are discovered, supposed at a 
 little distance from Isidore's house. 
 
 Ord. Here we may stop : your house distinct in view, 
 Yet we secured from listeners. 
 
 Isi. Now indeed 
 
 My house ! and it looks cheerful as the clusters 
 Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, 
 That over-brows it ! Patron ! Friend ! Preserver I 
 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle 
 You gave it me : next rescued me from suicide, 
 When for my follies I was made to wander, 
 With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them 
 Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 
 Had been my bed and pillow. 
 
 Ord. Good Isidore 
 
 Why this to roe ? It is enough, you know it. 
 
 E & 
 
42 REMORSE. 
 
 Isi. A common trick of Gratitude, my Lord, 
 Seeking to ease her own full heart 
 
 Ord. Enough, 
 
 A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 
 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. 
 
 1st. And how, my Lord ? I pray you to name the 
 
 thing. 
 
 ^; J I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice 
 To pluck a weed you fancied ! 
 
 Ordonio (with embarrassment and hesitation). Why 
 that Lady 
 
 Isi. 'T is now three years, my Lord, since last I 
 
 saw you. 
 Have you a son, my Lord ? 
 
 Ord. O miserable [Aside 
 
 Isidore ! you are a man, and know mankind. 
 I told you what I wish'd now for the truth ! 
 She lov'd the man you kill'd. 
 
 Isidore (looking as suddenly alarmed). You jest, 
 my Lord ! 
 
 Ord. And till his death is proved, she will not 
 wed me. 
 
 Isi. You sport with me, my Lord ! 
 
 Ord. Come, come ! this foolery 
 
 Lives only in thy looks : thy heart disowns it ! 
 
 Isi. I can bear this, and any thing more grievous 
 From you, my Lord but how can I serve you here ? 
 
 Ord. Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture 
 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, 
 Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics 
 
 Isi. I am dull, my Lord ! I do not comprehend 
 you. 
 
 Ord. In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. 
 She hath no faith in Holy Church, 't is true : 
 Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense ! 
 
REMORSE. 43 
 
 Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. 
 She is alone enthusiast, sensitive. 
 Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye : 
 And such do love the marvellous too well 
 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy 
 With a strange music, that she knows not of- 
 With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, 
 Then leave, as one sure token of his death, 
 That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck 
 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. 
 
 1st. Will that be a sure sign ? 
 
 Ord. Beyond suspicion. 
 
 Fondly caressing him, her favor' d lover 
 (By some base spell he had bewitch' d her senses), 
 She whisper' d such dark fears of me, forsooth, 
 As made this heart pour gall into my veins, 
 And as she coyly bound it round his neck, 
 She made him promise silence ; and now holds 
 The secret of the existence of this portrait, 
 Known only to her lover and herself. 
 But I had traced her, stolen unnoticed on them, 
 And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. 
 
 /. But now I should have cursed the man who 
 
 told me 
 
 You could ask aught, my Lord, and I refuse 
 But this I cannot do. 
 
 Ord. Where lies your scruple ? 
 
 Isi. (with stammering). Why why, my Lord ! 
 You know you told me that the lady loved you, 
 Had loved you with incautious tenderness ; 
 That if the young man, her betrothed husband, 
 Returned, yourself, and she, and the honor of both 
 Must perish. Now, though with no tender scruples 
 Than those which being native to the heart, 
 Than those, my Lord, which merely being a man- - 
 
44 REMORSE. 
 
 Ordonio (aloud, though to express his contempt 
 he speaks in the third person). 
 
 This fellow is a Man he kill'd for hire 
 
 One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples ! 
 
 [ Then turning to Isidore. 
 
 These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammer- 
 ing 
 
 Pish, fool ! thou blunder'st through the hook of guilt, 
 Spelling thy villany. 
 
 Isi. My Lord my Lord, 
 
 I can bear much yes, very much from you ! 
 But there's a point where sufferance is meanness : 
 I am no villain never kill'd for hire 
 My gratitude 
 
 Ord. O ay your gratitude ! 
 
 *T was a well- sounding word what have you done 
 with it ? 
 
 Isi. Who proffers his past favours for my virtue 
 
 Ord. (with bitter scorn). Virtue ! 
 
 Isi. Tries to o'erreach me is a very sharper, 
 And should not speak of gratitude, my Lord. 
 I knew not 't was your brother ! 
 
 Ord. (alarmed). And who told you ? 
 
 V Isi. He himself told me. 
 
 Ord. Ha ! you talked with him ! 
 
 And those, the two Morescoes who were with you ? 
 
 Isi. Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga. 
 
 Ord. (in a low voice). Mv brother* 
 
 Isi. Yes, my Lord. I could not teli you ! 
 I thrust away the thought it drove me wild. 
 But listen to me now I pray you listen 
 
 Ord. Villain ! no more ! I'll hear no more of it. 
 
 Isi. My Lord, it much imports your future safety 
 That you should hear it. 
 
REMORSE 45 
 
 Ordonio (turning off from Isidore). Am not I a 
 
 man ! 
 
 >T is as it should be ! tut the deed itself 
 Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler ! 
 
 Isi. We met him in the very place you mention'd. 
 Hard by a grove of firs 
 
 Ord. Enough enough 
 
 Isi. He fought us valiantly, and wounded all ; 
 In fine, compell'd a parley. 
 
 Ord. (sighing as if lost in thought). Alvar ! bro- 
 ther ! 
 
 Isi. He offer'd me his purse 
 
 Ord. (with eager suspicion). Yes ? 
 
 Isi. (indignantly) Yes I spurn 'd it. 
 
 He promised us I know not what in vain ! 
 Then with a look and voice that overawed me, 
 He said, What mean you, friends ? my life is dear 
 I have a brother and a promised wife, 
 Who make life dear to me and if I fall, 
 That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance, 
 There was a likeness in his face to yours ; 
 I ask'd his brother's name : he said Ordonio, 
 Son of Lord Valdez ! I had well-nigh fainted. 
 At length I said (if that indeed / said it, 
 And that no Spirit made my tongue its organ), 
 That woman 's dishonoured by that brother, 
 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. 
 He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him, 
 He wore her portrait round his neck. He look'd 
 As he had been made of the rock that propt his 
 
 back 
 
 Ay, just as you look now only less ghastly ! 
 At length, recovering from his trance, he threw 
 His sword away, and bade us take his life, 
 It was not worth his keeping. 
 
16 REMORSE. 
 
 Ord. Andyoukill'dhim? 
 
 Oh blood-hounds ! maj 7 eternal wrath flame round vou! 
 He was his Maker's. Image undefaced ! [A pause 
 It siezes me by Hell, I will go on ! 
 What wouldst thou stop, man ? thy pale looks won't 
 save thee ! I A pause. 
 
 Oh cold cold cold ! shot through with icy cold ! 
 Isi. (aside). Were he alive, he had return'd ere 
 
 now 
 
 The consequence the same dead through this plot- 
 ting ! 
 
 Ord. O this unutterable dying away here 
 This sickness of the heart ! [A pause. 
 
 What if I went 
 
 And lived in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds ? 
 Ay ! that's the road to heaven ! O fool ! fool ! fool ! 
 
 [.4 pause. 
 
 What have I done but that which nature destined, 
 Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me ? 
 If good were meant, why were we made these beings ? 
 And if not meant 
 
 Isi. You are disturb'd, my Lord ! 
 
 Ordonio (starts, looks at him wildly ; then, after a 
 pause, during which his features are forced into 
 a smile.) 
 
 A gust of the soul ? i' faith, it overset me. 
 O 't was all folly all ! idle as laughter ! 
 Now, Isidore ! I swear that thou shalt aid me. 
 Isi. (in a low voice). I'll perish first ! 
 Ord. What dost thou mutter of? 
 
 Isi. Some of your servants know me, I am certain. 
 Ord. There's some sense in that scruple : but we'll 
 
 mask you. 
 
 Itt. They'll know iny gait: but stay: last right 
 I watch'd 
 
REMORSE. 47 
 
 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, 
 Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild flowers. 
 I had followed him at distance, seen him scale 
 Its western wall, and by an easier entrance 
 Stole after him unnoticed. There I mark'd 
 That, 'mid the chequer-work of light and shade, 
 With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowers 
 But 'those on which the moonlight fell: and once 
 I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard 
 Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employ men t. 
 
 Ord. Doubtless you question'd him ? 
 
 Isi. 'T was my intention, 
 
 Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. 
 But lo ! the stern Dominican, whose spies 
 Lurk everywhere, already (as it seem'd) 
 Had given commission to his apt familiar 
 To seek and sound the Moor ; who now returning, 
 Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway. 
 T, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him 
 In that lone place, again conceal'd myself, 
 Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, 
 And in your name, as Lord of this domain. 
 Proudly he answer'd, " Say to the Lord Ordonio, 
 He that can bring the dead to life again !" 
 
 Ord. A strange reply ! 
 
 Isi. Ay, all of him is strange. 
 
 He calPd himself a Christian, yet he wears 
 The Moorish robes, as if he courted death. 
 
 Ord. Where does this wizard live ? 
 
 Isi. (pointing to the distance). You see that brook- 
 let! 
 
 Trace its course backward : through a narrow opening 
 It leads you to the place. 
 
 Ord. How shall I know it ? 
 
 Isi. You cannot err. It is a small green dell 
 
48 REMORSE. 
 
 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, 
 And from its shape our peasants aptly call it 
 The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst 
 And round its banks tall wood that branches over 
 And makes a kind of fairy forest grow 
 Down in the water. At the further end 
 A puny cataract falls on the lake ; 
 And there, a curious sight ! you see its shadow 
 For ever curling like a wreath of smoke, 
 Up through the foliage of those fairy trees. 
 His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it. 
 
 Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of 
 
 the scene, and then turning round to Isidore). 
 Ha ! Who lurks there ? Have we been overheard ? 
 There, with the smooth high wall of slate-rock glit- 
 ters 
 
 Isi. 'Neath those tall stones, which, propping each 
 
 the other, 
 
 Form a mock portal with their pointed arch ! 
 Pardon my smiles ! ; T is a poor Idiot Boy, 
 Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, 
 His weak eyes seethed in most unmeanning tears. 
 And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head ; 
 And, staring at his bough from morn to sun-set, 
 See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises ! 
 
 Ord. ; T is well ! and now for this same Wizard's 
 Lair. 
 
 Isi. Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash 
 Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 
 O'er the old thatch. 
 
 Ord. I shall not fail to find it. 
 
 [Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE. 
 
REMORSE. 49 
 
 SCENE II. The Inside of a Cottage, around which 
 
 Flowers and Plants of various kinds are seen. 
 
 Discovers ALVAR, ZULIHEZ, and ALHADRA, as 
 
 on the point of leaving. 
 
 Alhadra (addressing Alvar). 
 
 Farewell, then ! and though many thoughts perplex me. 
 Aught evil or ignoble never can I 
 Suspect of thee ! If what thou seem'st thou art, 
 The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need 
 Of such a leader. 
 
 Alv. Noble-minded woman ! 
 
 Long time against oppression have I fought, 
 And for the native liberty of faith 
 Have bled, and suffer'd bonds. Of this be certain : 
 Time, as he courses onwards, still unrolls 
 The volume of Concealment. In the Future, 
 As. in the optician's glassy cylinder, 
 The indistinguishable blots and colours 
 Of the dim Past collect and shape themselves, 
 Upstarting in their own completed image 
 To scare or to reward. 
 
 I sought the guilty, 
 
 And what I sought I found : but ere the spear 
 Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form 
 Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose 
 To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart ! 
 
 Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, 
 Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee ; 
 For many are thy wrongs and thy soul noble. 
 Once more, farewell. [Exit Alhadra. 
 
 Yes, to the Belgic States 
 We will return. These robes, this stain'd complexion, 
 
00 BEMOliSE. 
 
 Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. 
 Whatever befalls us, the heroic Maurice 
 Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance 
 Of our past services. 
 
 Zul. And all the wealth, power, influence which is 
 
 yours, 
 You let a murderer hold ? 
 
 Alv. O faithful Zulimez ! 
 
 That my return involved Ordonio's death, 
 
 1 trust, would give me an unmingled pang, 
 Yet bearable : but when I see my father 
 Strewing his scant gray hairs, e'en on the ground, 
 Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa 
 Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants, 
 His infants poor Teresa ! all would perish, 
 
 All perish all ! and I (nay bear with me) 
 Could not survive the complicated ruin ! 
 
 Zul. (much affected}. Nay now ! I have distress' d 
 
 you you well know, 
 
 I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True, 'tis tiresome ! 
 You are a painter.* one of many fancies ! 
 
 * The following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as 
 explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as (if I may say so 
 without disrespect to the Public) to gratify my own feelings, the 
 passage being no mere fancy portrait ; but a slight, yet not unfaithful 
 profile of one, (Sir George Beaumont. Written 1814.) who still lives, 
 nobilitate felix, arte clarior vita collendissimus. 
 
 Zul. (speaking of Alvar in the third person). Such was the 
 
 noble Spaniard's own relation. 
 He told me, too, how in his early youth, 
 And his first travels, 't was his choice or chance 
 To make his long sojourn in sea-wedded Venice ; 
 There won the love of that divine old man, 
 Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian ! 
 Who, like a second and more lovely Nature, 
 Bv the sweet mystery of lines and colours 
 Changed the blank canvass to a magic mirror, 
 That made the Absent present ; and to Shadows 
 Gave light, depth, substance, blooir yea, thought anrt moUon. 
 
REMORSE. 51 
 
 You can call up past deeds, and make then! Ii* 
 On the blank canvass ! and each little herb. 
 That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, 
 
 You have learnt to name 
 
 Hark ! heard you not some footsteps ? 
 Alv. What if it were my brother coming onwards I 
 I sent a most mysterious message to him. 
 
 Enter ORDONIO. 
 Alv. (starting) It is he ! 
 Ordonio (to himself, as he enters). If I dis*in 
 
 guish'd right her gait and stature, 
 It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, 
 That pass'd me as I enter'd. A lit taper, 
 In the night air, doth not more naturally 
 Attract the night-flies round it, than a conjuror 
 Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. 
 
 [Addressing Alvar. 
 
 You know my name, I guess, if not my person. 
 I am Ordonio, son of the Lord Valdez. 
 Alv. (with deep emotion). The Son of Valdez ! 
 [Ordonio walks liesurely round the room, and looks 
 attentively at the plants. 
 
 He loved the old man, and revered his art : 
 
 And though of noblest birth and ample fortune, 
 
 The young enthusiast thought it no scorn, 
 
 But his inalienable ornament, 
 
 To be his pupil, and with filial zeal 
 
 By practice to appropriate the sage lessons, 
 
 Which the gay, smiling old man gladly gave. 
 
 The Art, he honour 'd thus, requited him ; 
 
 And in the following and calamitous years 
 
 Beguiled the hours of his captivity. 
 
 Alh, And then he framed this picture ? and unaided 
 By arts unlawful, spell, or talisman ! 
 
 Alv. A potent spell, a mighty talisman! 
 The imperishable memory of the deed 
 Sustain'd by love, and grief, and indignation! 
 So vivid were the forms within his brain, 
 Hi very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them I 
 v 9 
 
52 REMORSE. 
 
 Zulimez (to Alvar). Why, what ails you now f 
 How your hand trembles ! Alvar, speak ! what wish 
 you? 
 
 Alv. To fall upon his neck and weep forgiveness ! 
 
 Ord. (returning, and aloud). Pluck'd in the 
 
 moonlight from a ruined abbey 
 Those only, which the pale rays visited ? 
 O the unintelligible power of weeds, 
 When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er them. 
 Then they work miracles ! I warrant you, 
 There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks 
 Some serviceable imp. 
 
 There's one of you 
 Hath sent me a strange message. 
 
 Alv. I am he. 
 
 Ord. With you, then, I am to speak : 
 
 [Haughtily waving his hand to Zulimez. 
 And, mark you, alone. [Exit Zulimez. 
 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again !" 
 Such was your message, Sir ! You are no dullard, 
 But one that strips the outward rind of things ! 
 
 Alv. 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds, 
 That are all dust and rottenness within. 
 Wouldst thou I should strip such ? 
 
 Ord. Thou quibbling fool, 
 
 What dost thou mean ? Think'stthoul journey'd hither 
 To sport with thee ? 
 
 Alv. O no my Lord ! to sport 
 
 Best suits the gaiety of innocence. 
 
 Ord. (aside). O what a thing is man ! the wisest heart 
 A Fool ! a Fool that laughs at its own folly, 
 Yet still a fool ! [Looks round the Cottage. 
 
 You are poor ! 
 
 Alv. What follows thence ? 
 
 Ord. That you would fain be richer. 
 
REMORSE. 53 
 
 The Inquisition, too You comprehend me ? 
 You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power ? 
 Can quench the flame, and cure your poverty 
 And for the boon I ask of you, but this, 
 That you should serve me once for a few hours. 
 Alv. (solemnly). Thou art the son of Valdez ! would 
 
 to Heaven 
 That I could truly and for ever serve thee. 
 
 Ord. The slave begins to soften. [Aside., 
 
 You are my friend, 
 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 Nay, no defence to me ! The holy brethren 
 Believe these calumnies I know thee better. 
 (Then with great bitterness). Thou art a man, and 
 
 as a man I'll trust thee ! 
 Alv. (aside). Alas ! this hollow mirth Declare 
 
 your business. 
 
 Ord. I love a lady, and she would love me, 
 But for an idle and fantastic scruple. 
 Have you no servants here, no listeners ? 
 
 [ Ordonio steps to the door. 
 
 Alv. What, faithless too ? False to his angel wife ? 
 To such a wife ? Well mightst thou look so wan, 
 Ill-starr'd Teresa ! Wretch ! my softer soul 
 Is pass'd away, and I will probe his conscience ! 
 
 Ord. In truth this lady loved another man, 
 But he has perish'd. 
 
 Alv. What ! you kilPd him ! hey ? 
 
 Ord. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think's it? 
 Insolent slave ! how daredst thou 
 (Turns abruptly from Alvar, and then to himself '.) 
 
 Why [ what's this ! 
 
 T was idiocy ! I'll tie myself to an aspen, 
 And wear a fool's cap 
 
 Alvar. (watching his agifafwn). Fare thee w a 
 v X 
 
64 ItEMORSE. 
 
 T pity the, Ordonio, even to anguish. 
 
 [Alvar is retiring. 
 
 Ordonio (having "ecovered himself). Ho ! 
 
 [Calling to Alvar. 
 
 Alv. Be brief : what wish you ? 
 
 Ord. You are deep at bartering You charge yourself 
 At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. 
 
 Alv. I listen to you. 
 
 Ord. In a sudden tempest, 
 
 Did Alvar perish he, I mean the lover 
 The fellow 
 
 Alv. Nay, speak out ! 't will ease your heart 
 
 To call him villain ! Why stand'st thou aghast? 
 Men think it nalural to hate their rivals. 
 
 Ord. (hesitating}. Now, till she knows him dead, she 
 will not wed me. 
 
 Alv. (with eager vehemence). Are you not wedded 
 
 then ? Merciful Heaven ! 
 Not wedded to Teresa? 
 
 Ord. Why, what ails tliee ? 
 
 What, art thou mad? why look'st thou upward so? 
 Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air ? 
 
 Alv. (recollecting himself}. Proceed, I shall be silent, 
 [Alvar sits, and leaning on the table , hides his face 
 
 Ord. To Teresa ? 
 
 Politic wizard ! ere you sent that message, 
 You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient 
 In all my fortunes. Hah ! you prophesied 
 A golden crop ! Well, you have not mistaken 
 Be faithful to me, and I'll pay thee nobly. 
 
 Alv. (lifting up his head). Well ! and this lady ? 
 
 Ord. If we could make her certain of his death, 
 She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her, 
 She tied a litte portrait round his neck, 
 Entreating him to wear it. 
 
REMORSE* 65 
 
 Alv. (sighing}. Yes ! he did so ! 
 
 Ord. Why no ! he was afraid of accidents, 
 Of robberies, and shipwrecks, and the like, 
 In secrecy he gave it me to keep, 
 Till his return. 
 
 Alv. What ! he was your friend, then ! 
 
 Ord. (wounded and embarrassed}. I was his friend. 
 
 Now that he gave it me 
 
 This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard 
 Can call the dead man up he will not come 
 He is in heaven then there you have no influence : 
 Still there are tokens and your imps may bring you 
 Something he wore about him when he died, 
 And when the smoke of the incense on the altar 
 Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this picture. 
 What say you now ? 
 
 Alv. (after a pause). Ordonio, I will do it. 
 
 Ord. We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, 
 In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Valdez. 
 I will prepare him. Music too, -ana incense 
 (For I have arranged it Music, Altar, Incense), 
 All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, 
 And here, what you will value more, a purse. 
 Come early for your magic ceremonies. 
 
 Alv. I will not fail to meet you. 
 
 Ord. Till next we meet, farewell ! Exit Ordonw. 
 
 Alv. (alone, indignantly flings the purse away, and 
 gazes passionately at the portrait}. 
 
 And I did curse thee ? 
 
 At midnight ? on my knees ? and I believed 
 Thee perjured, thee a traitress ! Thee dishonoured ? 
 O blind and credulous fool ! O guilt of folly ! 
 Should not thy inarticulate Fondness, 
 Thy Infant Loves should not thy Maiden Vows 
 Have come upon thy heart ? And this sweet Irea^e, 
 
66 REMORSE. 
 
 Tied round ray neck with many a chaste endearment. 
 
 And thrilling hands, that made me weep and tremble 
 
 Ah, coward dupe ! to yield it to the miscreant, 
 
 Who spake pollution of thee ! barter for Life 
 
 This farewell Pledge, which with impassion'd Vow 
 
 I had sworn that I would grasp ev'n in my deathpang ! 
 
 I am unworthy of thy love, Teresa, 
 
 Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, 
 
 Which ever smiled on me ! Yet do not scorn me 
 
 I lisp'd thy name, ere I had learnt my mother's. 
 
 Dear Portrait ! rescued from a traitor's keeping, 
 
 I will not now profane thee, holy Image, 
 
 To a dark trick. That worst bad man shall find 
 
 A picture, which will wake the hell within him, 
 
 And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience. 
 
 ACT III, 
 
 SCENE. I. A Hall of Armory, with an Altar at the 
 back of the Stage. Soft Music from an instru- 
 ment of Glass or Steel. 
 VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's role, 
 
 are discovered. 
 
 Ord. This was two melancholy, father. 
 Vol. ' Nay, 
 
 My Alvar loved sad music from a child. 
 Once he was lost ; and after weary search 
 We found him in an open place in the wood, 
 To which spot he had follow'd a blind boy, 
 Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore 
 Some strangely moving notes : and these, he said, 
 Were taught him in a dream, Him we first saw 
 Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank : 
 And lower down poor Alvar, last asleep, 
 
REMORSE. 57 
 
 His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleased me 
 To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe 
 A silver toy his grandam had late given him. 
 Methinks I see him now as he then look'd 
 Even so ! He had outgrown his infant dress, 
 Yet still he wore it. 
 
 Alv. My tears must not flow ! 
 
 I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father ! 
 Enter TERESA, and Attendants. 
 
 Ter. Lord Valdez, you have ask'd my presence here, 
 And I submit ; but (Heaven bear witness for me) 
 My heart approves it not ! 'tis mockery. 
 
 Ord. Believe you then no preternatural influence ? 
 Believe you not that spirits throng around us ? 
 
 Ter. Say rather that I have imagined it 
 A possible thing : and it has soothed my soul 
 As other fancies have ; but ne'er seduced me 
 To traffic with the black and frenzied hope 
 That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. 
 (ToAlvar.') Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you here 
 On such employment ! With far other thoughts 
 I left you. 
 
 Ord. (aside). Ha ! he has been tampering with her ! 
 
 Alv. O high-soul'd maiden ! and more dear to me 
 Than suits the Stranger's name ! 
 
 I swear to thee 
 
 I will uncover all concealed guilt. 
 , Doubt, but decide not ! Stand ye from the altar. 
 
 \Here a strain of music is heard from behind the 
 scene. 
 
 Alv. With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm 
 I call up the Departed ! 
 
 Soul of Alvar ! 
 
 Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell ; 
 So may the Gates of Paradise, unbarr'd. 
 
58 REMORSE, 
 
 Cease thy swift toils ! since haply thou art one 
 Of that innumerable company 
 Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, 
 Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, 
 v <^ With noise too vast and constant to be heard : 
 Pitliest unheard ! For oh, ye numberless 
 And rapid travellers ! What ear unstunn'd, 
 What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against 
 The rushing of your congregated wings ? [Music, 
 Even now your living wheel turn o'er my head ! 
 
 [Music expressive of the movements and images 
 
 that follow. 
 
 Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desert sands, 
 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, 
 A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion 
 To the parched caravan that roams by night ! 
 And ye build upon the becalmed waves 
 That whirling pillar, which from Earth to Heaven 
 Stands vast, and moves in blackness ! Ye too split 
 The ice mount ! and with fragments many and huge 
 Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulfs 
 Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard skiff ! 
 Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye 
 
 dance, 
 
 Till from the blue swoln Corse the Soul toils out, 
 And joins your mighty Army. 
 
 [Here behind the scenes a voice sings the flirt* 
 
 words, " Hear, sweet Spirit." 
 
 Soul of Alvar ! 
 
 Hear the mild spell, and tempt no blacker Charm ? 
 Bv sighs unquiet, and the sickly pang 
 Of a half dead, yet still undying Hope, 
 Pass visible before our mortal sense ! 
 So shall the Church's clettnsing rites be trim*, 
 He; knells and masses that redeem tne Dead! 
 
REMOR&E. 59 
 
 SONSK 
 
 Behind tJie Scenes, accompanied by the fame Instru- 
 ment as before, 
 
 Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
 Lest a blacker charm compel ! 
 So shall the midnight breezes swell 
 With thy deep long-lingering kneU. 
 
 And at evening evermore, 
 
 In a Chapel on the shore, 
 
 Shall the Chanters sad and saintly, 
 
 Yellow tapers burning faintly, 
 
 Doleful Masses chant for thee, 
 
 Miserere Doniine ! 
 
 Hark ! the cadence dies away 
 
 On the yellow moonlight sea : 
 The boatmen rest their oars and say, 
 
 Miserere Domine ! [A long pause. 
 
 Ord. The innocent obey nor charm nor spell ! 
 My brcrther is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit, 
 Burst on our sight, a passing visitant ! 
 Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, 
 O ; t were a joy to me ! 
 
 Alv. A joy to thee ! 
 
 What if thou heard'st him now ! What if his spirit, 
 Re-enter' d its cold corse, and came upon thee 
 With many a stab from many a murderer's poniard ? 
 What if (his stedfast Eye still beaming Pity 
 And Brother's love) he turn'd his head aside, 
 Lest he should look at thee, and with one look 
 Hurl thee beyond all power of Penitence ? 
 
 Vol. These are unholy fancies ! 
 
 Ord. (struggling with his feelings). Yes, my father, 
 He is in Heaven ! 
 
60 REMORSE. 
 
 Alv. (still to Ordonio). But what if he had a bro- 
 ther, 
 
 Who had lived even so, that at his dying hour 
 The name of Heaven would have convulsed his face, 
 More than the death-pang ? 
 
 Vol. Idly prating man ! 
 
 Thou hast guess'd ill : Don Alvar's only brother 
 Stands here before thee a father's blessing on him ! 
 He is most virtuous. 
 
 Alv. (still to Ordonio). What, if his very virtues 
 Had pamper'd his swoln heart and made him proud ? 
 And what if Pride had duped him into guilt ? 
 Yet still he stalk'd a self-created God, 
 Not very bold, but exquisitely cunning ; 
 And one that at his Mother's looking-glass 
 Would force his features to a frowning sternness ? 
 Young Lord ! I tell thee, that there are such Beings 
 Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 
 To see these most proud men, that lothe mankind, 
 At every stir and buzz of coward conscience, 
 Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites ! 
 Away, away ! Now let me hear more music. 
 
 [Music again. 
 
 Ter. 'T is strange, I tremble at my own conjectures ! 
 But whatsoe'er it mean, I dare no longer 
 Be present at these lawless mysteries, 
 This dark provoking of the Hidden Powers ! 
 Already I affront if not high Heaven 
 Yet Alvar's Memory ! Hark ! I make appeal 
 Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence 
 To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek 
 That voice which whispers, when the still hea?t listens, 
 Comfort and faithful Hope I Let us retire. 
 
 Alv. (to Teresa anxiously). O full of faith and 
 guileless love ; thy Spirit 
 
REMORSE. 61 
 
 Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt 
 Surprise the guilty : thou art innocent ! 
 
 Exeunt Teresa and Attendants. 
 (Music as before}. 
 
 The spell is mutter'd Come, thou wandering Shape, 
 Who own'st no Master in a human eye, 
 Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, or foul j 
 If he be dead, O come ! and bring with thee 
 That which he grasp'd in death ! but if he live, 
 Some token of his obscure perilous life. 
 
 [The whole Music clashes into a Chorus. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Wandering Demons, hear the spell ! 
 Lest a blacker charm compel 
 [The incense on the altar tahesfire suddenly, and 
 an illuminated picture of Alvar's assassination 
 V is discovered, and having remained a few 
 
 seconds is then hidden by ascending flames. 
 Ord. (starting in great agitation). Duped ! dupedJ 
 
 duped ! the traitor Isidore ! 
 [At this instant the doors are forced open, J\fon- 
 viedro and the Familiars of the Inquisition, 
 Servants etc. enter and fill the stage. 
 Monv. First sieze the sorcerer ! suffer him not to 
 
 speak ! 
 
 The holy judges of the Inquisition 
 Shall hear his first words. Look you pale,LordValdez? 
 Plain evidence have we here of most foul sorcery. 
 There is a dungeon underneath this castle, 
 And as you hope for mild interpretation, 
 Surrender instantly the keys and charge of it. 
 
 Ord. (recovering himself as front stupor, to his Ser- 
 vants). 
 
 Why haste you not ? Off with him to the dungeon ! 
 
 [All rush out in tumult. 
 
02 REMORSE. 
 
 SCBNB, II. Interior of a Chapel with painter Win- 
 dows. 
 Enter TERESA. 
 
 Ter. When first I enter'd this pure spot, forebodings 
 Press' d heavy on my heart : but as I knelt, 
 Such calm unwonted bliss possess'd my spirit, 
 A trance so cloudless, that those sounds, hard by, 
 Of trampling uproar fell upon mine ear 
 As alien and unnoticed as the rain-storm 
 Beats on the roof of some fair banquet-room, 
 
 While sweetest melodies are warbling 
 
 Enter VALDEZ. 
 
 Vol. Ye pitying saints, forgive a father's blindness, 
 And extricate us from this net of peril ! 
 
 Ter. Who wakes anew my fears, and speaks of peril ? 
 
 VaL O best Teresa, wisely wert thou prompted ! 
 This was no feat of mortal agency ! 
 That picture Oh, that picture tells me all ! 
 With a fash of light it came, in flames it vanished, 
 Self-kindled, self-consumed : bright as thy Life, 
 Sudden and unexpected as thy Fate, 
 Alvar ! My son ! My son ! The Inquisitor 
 
 Ter. Torture me not ! But Alvar Oh of Alvar ? 
 
 VaL How often would he plead for these Morescoes ? 
 The brood accurst ! remorseless, coward murderers ! 
 
 Ter. (wildly). So ? so ? I comprehend you He 
 
 Val. (with averted countenance). He is no more ! 
 
 Ter. O sorrow ! that a father's voice should say this, 
 A father's heart believe it ! 
 
 Val. A worse sorrow 
 
 Are Fancy's wild hopes to a heart despairing ! 
 
 Ter. These rays that slant in through those 
 
 gorgeous windows, 
 From yon bright orb though colour'd as they pass, 
 
REMORSE. 68 
 
 Are they not Light ? Even so that voice, Lord Valdez ! 
 Which whispers to ray soul, though haply varied 
 By many a fancy, many a wistful hope, 
 Speaks yet the truth : and Alvar lives for me ! 
 
 Vol. Yes, for three wasting years, thus and no other, 
 He has lived for thee a spirit for thy spirit ! 
 My child, we must not give religious faith 
 To every voice which makes the heart a listener 
 To its own wish. 
 
 Ter. I breathed to the Unerring 
 
 Permitted prayers. Must those remain unanswered, 
 Yet impious sorcery, that holds no commune 
 Save with the lying Spirit, claim belief? 
 
 Val. O not to-day, not now for the first time 
 Was Alvar lost to thee 
 
 [Turning off, aloud, but yet as to himself. 
 
 Accurst assassins ! 
 
 Disarmed, o'erpower'd, despairing of defence, 
 At his bared breast he seem'd to grasp some relict 
 
 More dear than was his life 
 
 Ter. (with a faint shriek). O Heavens ! my portrait! 
 And he did grasp it in his death- pang ! 
 
 Off, false Demon, 
 That beat'st thy black wings close above my head ! 
 
 [Ordonio, enters with the keys of the dungeon 
 
 in his hand. 
 
 Hush! who comes here? The wizard Moor's em- 
 ployer ! 
 Moors were his murderers, you say ? Saints shield us 
 
 From wicked thoughts 
 
 \Valdez moves towards the hack of the stage to 
 meet Ordonio, and during the concluding 
 lines of Teresa's speech appears as eagerly 
 conversing with him. 
 
 Is Alvar dead ? what then ? 
 G 2 
 
64 REMORSE. 
 
 The nuptial rites and funeral shall be one 1 
 Here's no abiding-place for thee, Teresa 
 Away ! they see me not Thou seest me, Alvar ! 
 To thee I bend my course. But first one question, 
 One question to Ordonio. My limbs tremble 
 There I may sit unmark'd a moment will restore me. 
 
 [Retires out of sight. 
 
 Ord. (as he advances with Valdez). These are the 
 
 dungeon keys. Monviedro knew not 
 That I too had received the wizard message. 
 " He that can bring the dead to life again." 
 But now he is satisfied, I plann'd this scheme 
 To work a full conviction on the culprit, 
 And he intrusts him wholly to my keeping. 
 
 Vol. 'T is well, my son ! But have you yet dis- 
 
 cover'd 
 
 Where is Teresa ? what those speeches meant 
 Pride, and Hypocrisy, and Guilt, and Cunning ? 
 Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on you, 
 And you, I know not why, look'd pale and trembled 
 Why why, what ails you now ? 
 
 Ord. (confused). Me ? what ails me ? 
 A pricking of the blood It might have happened 
 At any other time. Why scan you me ? 
 
 Vol. His speech about the corse, and stabs and 
 
 murderers 
 Bore reference to the assassins 
 
 Ord. Duped ! duped ! duped! 
 The traitor, Isidore ! [A pause ; then wildly. 
 
 I tell thee, my dear father ! 
 I am most glad of this. 
 
 Vol. (confused). True Sorcery 
 Merits its doom ; and this perchance may guide ui 
 To th discovery of the murderers. 
 I hav their statures and their several faces 
 
REMORSE. 05 
 
 So present to me, that but once to meet them 
 Would be to recognize. 
 
 Ord. Yes ! yes ! we recognize them 
 I was benumb'd, and stagger'd up and down 
 Through darkness without light dark dark dark ! 
 My flesh crept chill, my limbs felt manacled, 
 As had a snake coil'd round them ! Now 't is sun- 
 shine, 
 And the blood dances freely through its channels ! 
 
 [Turns off abruptly ; then to himself 
 This is my virtuous, grateful Isidore ! 
 
 [Then mimicking Isidore's manner and voice. 
 " A common trick of gratitude, my lord ! " 
 Oh Gratitude ! a dagger would dissect 
 His " own full heart" 'twere good to see its colour. 
 
 Vol. These magic sights! O that I ne'er had 
 
 yielded 
 
 To your entreaties ! Neither had I yielded 
 But that, in spite of your own seeming faith, 
 I held it for some innocent stratagem, 
 Which Love had prompted to remove the doubts 
 Of wild Teresa by fancies quelling fancHs! 
 
 Ord. (in a slow voice, as reasoning to himself). 
 Love ! love ! and then we hate ! and what ? and 
 
 wherefore ? 
 
 Hatred and love ! Fancies opposed by fancies ! 
 What, if one reptile sting another reptile ! 
 Where is the crime ? The goodly face of Nature 
 Hath one disfeaturing stain the less upon it. 
 Are we not all predestined Transiency, 
 And cold Dishonour ? Grant it, that this hand 
 Had given a morsel to the nungry worms 
 Somewhat too early Where's the crime of this? 
 That this must needs bring on the idiocy 
 Of moist-eyed Penitence 't is like a dream ! 
 a 8 
 
BEMORSK. 
 
 Wild talk, ray son ! But thy excess of feel- 
 
 ing [Averting himself. 
 
 Ahnost, I fear, it hath unhinged his brain. 
 
 Ord. (now in soliloquy, and now addressing his 
 father : and just after the speech has com- 
 menced, Teresa reappears and advances 
 slowly}. 
 
 5ay, I had laid a body in the sun ! 
 Well ! in a month there swarm forth from the corse 
 A thousand, nay, ten thousand sentient beings 
 In place of that one man. Say, I had kilVd him ! 
 
 [Teresa starts, and stops, listening, 
 Yet who shall tell me, that each one and all 
 Of these ten thousand lives is not as happy 
 As that one life, which being push'd aside, 
 Made room for these unnumbered 
 
 VaL O mere madness ! 
 [Teresa moves hastily forwards, and places herself 
 
 directly before Ordonio. 
 Ord. (checking the feeling of surprize, and forcing hi$ 
 
 tones into an expression of playful courtesy.) 
 Teresa ? or fte Phantom of Teresa ? 
 
 Ter. Alas ! the Phantom only, if in truth 
 The substance of her Being, her Life's life, 
 Have ta'en it's flight through Alvar's death-wound 
 
 (A pause.} Where 
 
 (Even coward Murder grants the dead a grave) 
 O tell me, Valdez ! answer me, Ordonio ! 
 Where lies the corse of my betrothed husband ? 
 
 Ord. There, where Ordonio likewise would fain lie ! 
 In the sleep-compelling earth, in unpierced darkness . 
 For while we Live 
 An inward day that never, never sets, 
 Glares round the soul, and mocks the closing eye- 
 lids! 
 
REMORSE. 67 
 
 Over his rocky grave the Fir-grove sighs 
 
 A lulling ceaseless dirge ! 'T is well with HIM. 
 
 [Strides off in agitation towards the altar, but 
 
 returns as Valdez is speaking. 
 Ter. (recoiling with the expression appropriate to 
 
 the passsion). 
 
 The rock ! the fir-grove ! [To Valdez. 
 
 Didst thou hear him say it ? 
 Hush ! I will ask him. 
 
 Vol. Urge him not not now 
 This we beheld. Nor He nor I know more, 
 Than what tne magic imagery reveal'd. 
 
 The assassin, who press'd foremost of the three 
 
 Ord. A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful villain, 
 Whom I will strangle ! 
 
 Val. (looking with anxious disquiet ai his Son, yet 
 attempting to proceed with his description.) 
 
 While his two companions 
 
 Ord. Dead ! dead already ! what care we for the 
 
 dead? 
 
 Val. (To Teresa). Pity him ! soothe him ! disen- 
 chant his spirit ! 
 These supernatural shows, this strange disclosure, 
 And this too fond affection, which still broods 
 O'er Alvar's fate, and still burns to avenge it 
 These, struggling with his hopeless love for you, 
 Distemper him, and give reality 
 To the creatures of his fancy 
 
 Ord. Is it so? 
 
 Yes ! yes ! even like a child, that, too abruptly 
 Roused by a glare of light from deepest sleep, 
 Starts up bewilder'd and talks idly. 
 
 (Then mysteriously.) Father! 
 
 What if the Moors that made my brother's grave, 
 Even now were digging ours ? What if the bolt, 
 
68 REMORSE. 
 
 Though aim'd, I doubt not, at the son of Vaidez, 
 Yet miss'd its true aim when it fell on Aivar? 
 
 Val. Alvar ne'er fought against the Moors, say 
 
 rather, 
 
 He was their advocate ; but you had march'd 
 With fire and desolation through their villages 
 Yet he by chance was captured. 
 
 Ord. Unknown, perhaps, 
 
 Captured, yet, as the son of Valdez, raurder'd. 
 Leave all to me. Nay, whither, gentle Lady ? 
 
 Val. What seek you now ? 
 
 Ter. A better, surer light 
 
 To guide me 
 
 Both Val. and Ord. Whither? 
 
 Ter. To the only place 
 
 Where life yet dwells for me, and ease of heart. 
 These walls seem threatening to fall in upon me ! 
 Detain me not ! a dim Power drives me hence, 
 A.nd that will be my guide. 
 
 Val. To find a lover ! 
 
 Suits that a high-born maiden's modesty ? 
 
 folly and shame ! Tempt not my rage, Teresa ! 
 Ter. Hopeless, I fear no human being's rage. 
 
 And am I hastening to the arms O Heaven I 
 
 1 haste but to the grave of my beloved ! 
 
 [Exit, Valdez following after her. 
 Ord. This, then, is my reward ! and I must love her? 
 Scorn'd ! shudder'd at ! yet love her still ? yes ! yes ! 
 By the deep feelings of Revenge and Hate 
 I will still love her woo her win her too .' 
 (A pause) Isidore safe and silent, and the portrait 
 Found on the wizard he, belike, self-poisoned 
 
 To escape the crueller flames My snijl snouts 
 
 triumph ! 
 The mine is undermined ! Blood ! blood ! blood ! 
 
REMORSE. 69 
 
 They thirst for thy blood! thy blood, Ordonio ! 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 The hunt is up ! and in the midnight wood, 
 With lights to dazzle and with nets they seek 
 A timid prey : and lo ! the tiger's eye 
 Glares in the red flame of his hunter's torch ! 
 To Isidore I will dispatch a message, 
 And lure him to the cavern ! ay, that cavern ! 
 He cannot fail to find it. Thither I'll lure him, 
 Whence he shall never, never more return ! 
 
 [Looks through the side window. 
 A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea, 
 And now 't is gone I All shall be done to-night. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A cavern, dark, except where a f gleam of 
 moonlight is seen on one side at the farther end of 
 it; supposed to be cast on it from a crevice in a part 
 of the cavern out of sight. Isidore alone, an extin- 
 guished torch in his hand. 
 
 Id. Faith 'twas a moving letter very moving 
 " His life in danger, no place safe but this ! 
 'T was his turn now to talk of gratitude." 
 And yet but no 1 there can't be such a villain. 
 It cannot be ! 
 
 Thanks to that little crevice, 
 
 Which lets the moonlight in ! I'll go and sit by it. 
 To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 
 Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep- 
 Any thing but this crash of water-drops ! 
 These dull abortive sounds that fret the sileace 
 
70 REMORSE. 
 
 With puny thwartings and mock opposition i 
 So beats the death-watch to a dead man's ear. 
 
 [He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch (if 
 moonlight : returns after a minute's elapse* i* 
 an ecstasy of fear. 
 
 A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! 
 I was just in and those damn'd fingers of ice 
 Which clutch'd my hair up ! Ha ! what's that it 
 
 moved. 
 
 [Isidore stands staring at another recess in the 
 cavern. In the mean time Ordonio enters with 
 a torch, and halloos to Isidore. 
 1st. I swear that I saw something moving there ! 
 The moonshine came and went like a flash of light- 
 ning 
 
 I swear, I saw it move. 
 
 Ord. (goes into the recess, then returns, and witfi 
 great scorn). 
 
 A jutting clay stone 
 
 Props on the long lank weed, that grows beneath : 
 And the weed nods and drips. 
 
 Isi. (forcing a laugh faintly}. A jest to laugh at I 
 It was not that which scared me, good my Lord. 
 Ord. What scared you, then ! 
 Isi. You see that little rift ? 
 
 But first permit me ! 
 [Lights his torch 'at Ordonio' s, and while lighting it. 
 
 (A lighted torch in the hand, 
 Is no unpleasant object here one's breath 
 Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 
 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) 
 You see that crevice there ? 
 My torch extinguished by these water drops, 
 And marking that the moonlight came from thence, 
 I stept in to it, meaning to sit there ; 
 
REMORSE. 71 
 
 But scarcely had I measured twenty paces 
 
 My body bending forward, yea, overbalanced 
 
 Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink 
 
 Of a huge chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine 
 
 Filling the Void, so counterfeited Substance, 
 
 That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. 
 
 Was it my own fear ? 
 
 Fear too hath its instincts ! 
 (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, 
 And yet are Beings that live, yet not for the eye) 
 An arm of frost above and from behind me 
 Pluck'd up and snatch'd me backward. Merciful 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
 You smile ! alas, even smiles look ghastly here ! 
 My Lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. 
 
 Ord. It must have shot some pleasant feelings 
 through you. 
 
 1st. If every atom of a dead man's flesh 
 Should creep, each one with a particular life, 
 Yet all as cold as ever 'twas just so ! 
 Or had it drizzled needle points of frost 
 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald 
 
 Ord. (interrupting him). Why, Isidore, 
 
 I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled 
 I grant you, even a brave man for a moment 
 But such a panic 
 
 Isi. When a boy, my Lord ! 
 
 I could have sate whole hours beside that chasm. 
 Push'd in huge stones, and heard them strike ana 
 
 rattle 
 
 Against its horrid sides : then hung my head 
 Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments 
 Sank with faint crash in that still groaning well, 
 Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which nevei 
 A living thing came nearunless, perchance, 
 
72 REMORSE. 
 
 Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould 
 Close at its edge. 
 
 Ord. Art thou more coward now ? 
 
 Isi. Call him, that fears his fellow-man, a coward ! 
 I fear not man but this inhuman cavern, 
 It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. 
 JSeside (you'll smile, my Lord), but true it is, 
 My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted 
 By what had passed between us in the morning. 
 
 sleep of horrors ! Now run down and stared at 
 By Forms so hideous that they mock remembrance 
 Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, 
 
 But only being afraid stifled with Fear ! 
 
 While every goodly or familiar form 
 
 Had a strange power of breathing terror round me ! 
 
 1 saw you in a thousand fearful shapes ; 
 And, I entreat your lordship to believe me, 
 In my last dream 
 
 Ord. Well? 
 
 Isi. 1 was in the act 
 
 Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra 
 Waked me : she heard my heart beat. 
 
 Ord. Strange enough ! 
 
 Had you been here before ? 
 
 Isi. Never, my Lord ! 
 
 But mine eyes do not see it now more clearly, 
 Than in my dream I saw that very chasm. 
 
 Ord. (stands lost in thought, then after a pause). 
 I know not why it should be ! yet it is 
 
 Isi. What is, my Lord? 
 
 Ord. Abhorrent from our nature, 
 
 To kill a man 
 
 Isi. Except in self-defence. 
 
 Ord. Why, that's my case j and yet the soul recoils 
 from it 
 
REMORSE. . 73 
 
 T is so with me at least. But you, perhaps, 
 Have sterner feelings ! 
 
 Isi. "* Something troubles you. 
 
 How shall I serve you ? By the life you gave me, 
 By all that makes that life of value to me, 
 My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you. 
 Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, 
 If it be innocent ! But this, my Lord, 
 Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 
 No, nor propose, a wicked thing. The darkness, 
 When ten strides ofi^ we know 'tis cheerful moon- 
 
 light, 
 
 Collects the guilt, and crowds it round the heart. 
 It must be innocent. 
 
 [Ordonio darkly, and in the feeling of self -justifi- 
 cation, tells what he conceives of his own character 
 and actions, speaking of himself in the third 
 person. 
 
 Ord. Thyself be judge. 
 
 One of our family knew this place well. 
 Isi. Who? when? my Lord? 
 Ord. What boots it, who or when ? 
 Hang up thy torch I'll tell his tale to thee. 
 
 [They hang up their torches on some ridge in the 
 
 cavern. 
 
 He was a man different from other men, 
 And he despised them, yet revered himself. 
 Isi. (aside}. He ? He despised ? Thou 'rt speaking 
 
 of thyself ! 
 I am on my guard, however : no surprise. 
 
 [Then to Ordonio. 
 What! he was mad? 
 
 Ord. All men seem'd mad to him ! 
 
 Nature had made him for some other planet, 
 &ud press'd his soul into a human shape 
 
 H 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 By accident or malice. In this world 
 He found no fit companion. 
 
 Jsi. Of himself he speaks. * Mta. 
 
 Alas ! poor wretch ! 
 
 Mad men are mostly proud. 
 
 Ordt He walk'd alone, 
 
 And phantom thoughts unsought-for troubled him. 
 Something within would still be shadowing out 
 All possibilities ; and with these shadows 
 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happened, 
 A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest : 
 To this in moody murmur and low voice 
 He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep : 
 The man who heard him 
 
 Why didst thou look round ? 
 
 Id. I have a prattler three years old, my Lord ! 
 In truth he is my darling. As I went 
 From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep- 
 But I am talking idly pray proceed ! 
 And what did this man ? 
 
 Ord. With his human hand 
 
 He gave a substance and reality 
 To that wild fancy of a possible thing- 
 Well it was done ! \.Then very wildly. 
 
 Why babblest thou of guilt ? 
 The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. 
 And he whose tale I tell thee dost thou listen ? 
 
 Id. I would, my Lord, you were by my fire-side, 
 I'd listen to you with an eager eye, 
 Though you began this cloudy tale at midnight j 
 But I do listen pray proceed, my Lord. 
 
 Ord. Where was I ? 
 
 Isi. He of whom you tell the tale 
 
 Ord. Surveying all things with a quiet scorn, 
 Tamed himself down to living purposes, 
 
REMORSE, 75 
 
 The occupations and the semblances 
 Of ordinary men and such he seemM! 
 But that same over-ready agent he 
 
 Id. Ah ! what of him, my Lord ? 
 
 Ord. He proved a traitor, 
 
 Betray'd the mystery to a brother-traitor, 
 And they between them hatched a damned plot 
 To hunt him down to infamy and death. 
 What did the Valdez ? I am proud of the name. 
 Since he dared do it 
 
 [Ordonio grasps his sword, and turns off from 
 
 Isidore ; then after a pause returns. 
 4 Our links burn dimly. 
 
 1st. A dark tale darkly finished ! Nay, my lord 1 
 Tell what he did. 
 
 Ord. That which his wisdom prompted 
 He made that Traitor meet him in this cavern, 
 And here he kill'd the Traitor. 
 
 Isi. No! the fool! 
 
 He had not wit enough to be a traitor. 
 Poor thick-eyed beetle ! not to have foreseen 
 That he who gull'd thee with a w lumper* d lie 
 To murder his own brother, would not scruple 
 To murder tJiee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous, 
 And he could steal upon thee in the dark ! 
 
 Ord. Thou wouldst not then have come, if 
 
 Isi. O yes, my Lord ! 
 
 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward. 
 {Isidore throws off' his robe; shows himself armed, 
 and draws his sword. 
 
 Ord. Now this is excellent, and warms the blood ! 
 My heart was drawing back, drawing me back 
 With weak and womanish scruples. Now my Yep- 
 
 geance 
 
 Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien, 
 H 2 
 
76 REMORSE. 
 
 And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of- 
 Now will I kill thee, thankless slave ! and count it 
 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. 
 1st. And all my little ones fatherless 
 
 Die thou first. 
 
 [They fight ; Ordonio disarms Isidore, and in dis- 
 arming him throws Ids sword up that recess oppo- 
 site to which they were standing. Isidore hurries 
 into the recess with his torch, Ordonio follows 
 him ; a loud cry of " Traitor ! Monster ! " is 
 heard from the cavern, and in a moment Ordonio 
 returns alone. 
 Ord. I have hurl'd him down the chasm ! Treasoti 
 
 for treason. 
 
 He dreamt of it : henceforward let him sleep 
 A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. 
 His dream too is made out Now for his friend. 
 
 [Exit Ordonio. 
 
 SCENE II.* The interior Court of a Saracenic or 
 Gothic Castle, with the Iron Gate of a Dungeon 
 visible. 
 
 Ter. Heart-chilling Superstition ! thou canst glaze 
 Even Pity's eye with her own frozen tear. 
 
 * The following Scene, as unfit for the stage, was taken from the 
 Tragedy, in the year 1797, and published in the Lyrical Ballads. But 
 this work having been long out of print, I have been advised to reprint 
 it, as a Note to the second Scene of Act the Fourth. 
 
 Enter TERESA and SELMA. 
 
 Ter. T is said, he spake of you familiarly, 
 As mine and Alvar's common foster-mother. 
 
 Sel. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, 
 That join'd your names with mine ! O my sweet Ladr, 
 As often as I think of those dear times, 
 When you two little ones would stand, at eve, 
 On each side of my chair, and make me learn 
 All you had learnt in the day : and how to talk 
 
REMORSE. tf 
 
 In vain I urge the tortures that await him ,- 
 Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, 
 My second mother, shuts her heart against me ! 
 Well, I have won from her what most imports 
 
 In gentle phrase ; then bid me sing to you 
 
 Tis more like heaven to come, than what has been ! 
 
 Ter. But that entrance, Selma ? 
 
 Sel. Can no one hear ? It is a perilous tale I 
 
 Ter. No one. 
 
 Sel. My husoand's father told it me. 
 
 Poor old Sesina angels rest his soul ! 
 He was a woodman, and could fell and saw 
 With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam 
 Which props the banging wall of the old Chapel ? 
 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, 
 He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined 
 With thistle. beards, and such small locks of wool 
 As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, 
 And reared him at the then Lord Valdez' cost. 
 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. 
 A pretty boy, but most un teachable 
 He never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, 
 But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes, 
 And whistled, as he were a bird himself : 
 And all the autumn ' t was his only play 
 To gather seeds of wild Sowers, and to plant them 
 With earth and water on the stumps of trees. 
 A Friar, who gather'd simples in the wood, 
 A gray-hair'd man, he loved this little boy: 
 The boy loved him, and, when the friar taught him, 
 He soon could write with the pen ; and from that time 
 Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle. 
 So he became a rare and learned youth : 
 But O ! poor wretch 1 he read, and read, and read, 
 Till his brain turn'd ; and ere his twentieth year 
 He had unlawful thoughts of many things : 
 And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray 
 With holy men, nor in a holy place. 
 But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 
 The late Lord Valdez ne'er was wearied with him. 
 And once, as by the north side of the chapel 
 They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, 
 The earth heaved under them with such a groan, 
 That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fallen 
 Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frighten'4 
 H 3 
 
78 REMORSE. 
 
 The present need, this secret of the dungeon, 
 
 Known only to herself. A Moor ! a Sorcerer! 
 
 No, I have faith, that Nature ne'er permitted 
 
 Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, 
 
 I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborn'd him 
 
 To act some part in some unholy fraud ; 
 
 As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose 
 
 He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, 
 
 And that Ordonio meditates revenge ! 
 
 But my resolve is fix'd ! myself will rescue him, 
 
 And learn if haply he know aught of Alvar. 
 
 A fever seized him, and he made confession 
 
 Of all the heretical and lawless talk 
 
 Which brought this judgment : so the youth was seised. 
 
 And cast into that hole. My husband's father 
 
 Sobb'd like a child it almost broke his heart : 
 
 And once as he was working near this dungeon, 
 
 He heard a voice distinctly ; 't was the youth's, 
 
 Who sung a doleful song about green fields, 
 
 How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna 
 
 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, 
 
 And wander up and down at liberty. 
 
 He always doted on the youth, and now 
 
 His love grew desperate ; and defying death, 
 
 He made that cunning entrance I described, 
 
 And the young man escaped. 
 
 Ter. 'T is a sweet tale : 
 
 Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, 
 His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears. 
 And what became of him ? 
 
 Sel. He went on shipboard 
 
 With those bold voyagers who made discovery 
 Of golden lands. Sesina's younger brother 
 Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain, 
 He told Sesina, that the poor mad youth, 
 Soon after they arrived in that new world, 
 In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, 
 And all alone set sail by silent moonlight 
 Up a great river, great as any sea, 
 And ne'er was heard of more : but 't is supposed. 
 He lired and died among the savage men. 
 
REMORSE. 79 
 
 Enter VALDEZ. 
 
 Vol. Still sad and gazing at the massive door 
 Of that fell Dungeon which thou ne'er hadst sight of, 
 Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shaped it, 
 When the nurse still' d thy cries with unmeant threats. 
 Now by my faith, Girl ! this same wizard haunts thee ! 
 A stately man, and eloquent and tender 
 
 [With a sneer. 
 
 Who then need wonder if a lady sighs 
 Even at the thought of what these stern Domi- 
 nicans 
 
 Ter. (with solemn indignation). The horror of their 
 
 ghastly punishments 
 
 Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, 
 That I should feel too little for mine enemy, 
 If it were possible I could feel more, 
 Even though the dearest inmates of our household 
 Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are 
 
 Vol. Hush, thoughtless woman ! 
 
 Ter. Nay, it wakes within me 
 
 More than a woman's spirit. 
 
 Vol. No more of this 
 
 What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us ? 
 I dare not listen to you. 
 
 Ter. My honor'd Lord, 
 
 These were my Alvar's lessons ; and whene'er 
 I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, 
 As if to give a voice to the mute image. 
 
 y a l t We have mourn'd for Alvar. 
 
 Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. 
 Have I no other son ? 
 
 Ter. Speak not of him ! 
 
 That low imposture ! That mysterious picture ! 
 If this be madness, must I wed a madman ? 
 
80 REMORSK. 
 
 And if not madness, there is mystery, 
 And guilt doth lurk behind it. 
 
 Vol. Is this well ? 
 
 Ter. Yes, it is truth : saw you his countenance? 
 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, 
 Displaced each other with swift interchanges ? 
 
 that I had indeed the sorcerer's power ! 
 
 1 would call up before thine eyes the image 
 Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born ! 
 His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, 
 His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips ! 
 That spiritual and almost heavenly light 
 
 In his commanding eye his mien heroic, 
 Virtue's own native heraldry ! to man 
 Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. 
 Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread 
 Wide round In'm ! and when oft with swelling tears, 
 Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd 
 The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, 
 Oh, what a grief was there for joy to envy, 
 Or gaze upon enamour'd ! 
 
 O my father ! 
 
 Recall that morning when we knelt together, 
 And thou didst bless our loves ! O even now, 
 Even now, my sire ! to thy mind's eye present him, 
 As at that moment he rose up before thee, 
 Stately, with beaming look ! Place, place beside him 
 Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance ! 
 Then bid me (Oh thou couldst not) bid me turn 
 Fro-n him the joy, the triumph of our kind ! 
 To take in exchange that brooding man, who never 
 Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl. 
 
 Vul. Ungrateful woman ! I have tried to stiHe 
 An old man's passion ! was it not enough 
 That thou badst made my sou a restless man, 
 
KEMOB.SE. 81 
 
 Banish'd his health, and half unhinged his reason ; 
 But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion ? 
 And toil to blast his honour ? I am old, 
 A comfortless old man ! 
 
 Ter. O Grief! to hear 
 
 Hateful entreaties from a voice we love i 
 
 [Enter a Peasant and presents a letter to Valdez. 
 
 Val. (reading it). " He dares not venture hither ! '' 
 
 Why what can this mean ? 
 " Lest the familiars of the Inquisition, 
 That watch around my gates, should intercept him ; 
 But he conjures me, that without delay 
 I hasten to him for my own sake entreats me 
 To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd 
 He will reveal a secret, the joy of which 
 Will even outweigh the sorrow." Why what can 
 
 this be? 
 
 Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, 
 To have in me a hostage for his safety. 
 Nay, that they dare not ! Ho ! collect my servants ! 
 I will go thither let them arm themselves. 
 
 Exit Valdez. 
 
 Ter. (alone). The moon is high in heaven, and all 
 
 is hushM. 
 
 Yet, anxious listener I I have seem'd to hear 
 A low dead thunder mutter through the night, 
 As 't were a giant angry in his sleep. 
 O Alvar ! Alvar ! that they could return, 
 Those blessed days that imitated heaven, 
 When we two wont to walk at even-tide; 
 When we saw nought but beauty ; when we heard 
 The voice of that Almighty One who loved us 
 In every gale that breathed, and wave that murmur'd 1 
 O we have listened, even till high-wrought pleasure 
 Hath half assumed the countenance of grief, 
 
82 REMORSE. 
 
 And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 
 Of bliss, that press' d too heavy on the heart. 
 
 * [ A pause. 
 
 And this majestic Moor, seems he not one 
 Who, oft and long communing with my Alvar, 
 Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, 
 And guides me to him with reflected light ? 
 What if in yon dark dungeon coward Treachery 
 Be groping for him with envenom'd poniard 
 Hence, womanish fears, traitors to love and duty 
 I'll free him. [Exit Teresa. 
 
 SCENE III. The Mountains by moonlight. ALHA- 
 DBA alone in a Moorish dress. 
 
 Alh. Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn 
 
 seem 
 
 As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold ; 
 The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay, 
 The many clouds, the sea, the rocks, the sands, 
 Lie in the silent moonshine : and the owl, 
 (Strange ! very strange !) the screech-owl only 
 
 wakes ! 
 
 Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty ! 
 Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song 
 To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood. 
 Why such a thing am I ? Where are these men ? 
 I need the sympathy of human faces, 
 To beat away this deep contempt for all things, 
 Which quenches my revenge. Oh ! would to Alia, 
 The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed 
 To bring me food ! or rather that my soul 
 Could drink in life from the universal air ! 
 It were a lot divine in some small skiff 
 Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, 
 
. 
 
 REMORSE. 83 
 
 To float for ever with a careless course, 
 And think myself the only being alive ! 
 
 My children ! Isidore's children ! Son of Valdez, 
 This hath new-strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant ' 
 To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 
 Till she forgot even that she was a mother ! 
 [She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one 
 after another, from different parts of the stage, a 
 considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish 
 garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle 
 at a distance round Alhadra, and remain silent till 
 tJie second in command, Naomi, enters, distinguished 
 by his dress and armour, and by the silent obeisance 
 paid to him on his entrance by tJie other Moors. 
 
 Nao. Woman ! may Alia and the Prophet bless tlieu ! 
 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? 
 And why didst thou enjoin these Moorish garments? 
 
 Alh. (raising her eyes, and looking round on the 
 
 circle). 
 
 Warriors of Mahomet ! faithful in the battle ! 
 My countrymen ! Come ye prepared to work 
 An honourable deed ? And would ye work it 
 In the slave's garb ? Curse on those Christian robes ! 
 They are spell-blasted : and whoever wears them, 
 His arm shrinks withered, his heart melts away, 
 And his bones soften. 
 
 Nao. Where is Isidore ? 
 
 Alh. (in a deep low voice), This night I went from 
 
 forth my house, and left 
 His children all asleep : and he was living ! 
 And I return'd and found them still asleep, 
 But he had perish'd 
 
 All the Morescoes. Perish'd ? 
 
 Alh. He had perish'd! 
 
84 HEM O USE. 
 
 Sleep on, poor babes ! not one of you doth know 
 That he is fatherless a desolate orphan ! 
 Why should we wake them ? can an infant's arm 
 Revenge his murder? 
 
 One Moresco. (to another). Did she say his murder? 
 
 Nao. Murder ? Not murder'd ? 
 
 AUi. Murder'd by a Christian ! 
 
 [They all at once draw their sabres. 
 
 Alh. (to Naomi, who advances from the circle). 
 Brother of Zagri ! fling away thy sword ; 
 This is thy chieftain's ! [He steps forward to take it. 
 
 Dost thou dare receive it ? 
 For I have sworn by Alia and the Prophet, 
 No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart 
 Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword 
 Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez ! 
 
 [A pause. 
 Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer ! 
 
 Nao. He dies, by Alia. 
 
 All (kneeling}. By Alia ! 
 
 Alh. This night your chieftain arm'd himself, 
 And hurried from me. But I follow'd him 
 At distance, till I saw him enter there ! 
 
 Nao. The cavern ? 
 
 Alh. Yes, the mouth of yonder cavern. 
 After a while I saw the son of Valdez 
 Rush by with flaring torch ; he likewise enter'd. 
 There was another and a longer pause ; 
 Arid once, methought I heard the clash of swords ! 
 And soon the son of Valdez reappear'd : 
 He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, 
 And seem'd as he were mirthful ! I stood listening, 
 Impatient for the footsteps of my husband ! 
 
 Nao. Thou calledst him ? 
 
 Alh. I crept into the cavern 
 
REMORSE. 86 
 
 T was dark and very silent. [Then vnldly* 
 
 What saidst thou ? 
 
 No ! no ! I did not dare call Isidore, 
 Lest I should hear no answer ! A brief while, 
 Belike, I lost all thought and memory 
 Of that for which I came ! After that pause, 
 
 Heaven ! I heard a groan, and followed it : 
 And yet another groan, which guided me 
 Into a strange recess and there was light, 
 
 A hideous light ! his torch lay on the ground ; 
 It's flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink : 
 
 1 spake ; and whilst I spake, a feeble groan 
 
 Came from that chasm ! it was his last ! his death- 
 groan ! 
 
 Nao. Comfort her, Alia. 
 
 Alh. I stood in unimaginable trance 
 
 And agony that cannot be remember'd, 
 Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan ! 
 But I had heard his last : my husband's death-groan ! 
 
 Nao. Haste ! let us onward. 
 
 Alh. I look'd far down the pit- 
 
 My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment : 
 And it was stain'd with blood. Then first I shriek'd, 
 My eye-balls burnt, my brain grew hot as fire, 
 And all the hanging drops of the wet roof 
 Turn'd into blood I saw them turn to blood ! 
 And I was leaping wildly down the chasm, 
 When on the farther brink I saw his sword, 
 And it said, Vengeance ! Curses on my tongue ! 
 The moon hath moved in Heaven, and I am here, 
 And he hath not had vengeance ! Isidore I 
 Spirit of Isidore ! thy murderer lives ! 
 Away! away! 
 
 AIL Away! away! 
 
 [She rushes off, da following her. 
 
86 REMORSE. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Dungeon 
 ALVAR (alone) rises slowly from a bed ofreeas. 
 
 Alv. And this place my forefathers made for man ! 
 This is the process of our love and wisdom 
 To each poor brother who offends against us 
 Most innocent, perhaps and what if guilty ? 
 Is this the only cure ? Merciful God ! 
 Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up, 
 By ignorance and parching poverty, 
 His energies roll back upon his heart, 
 And stagnate and corrupt, till, changed to poison, 
 They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot ! 
 Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks : 
 And this is their best cure ! uncomforted 
 And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, 
 And savage faces, at the clanking hour, 
 Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon 
 By the lamp's dismal twilight ! So he lies 
 Circled with evil, till his very soul 
 Un moulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd 
 By sights of evermore deformity ! 
 With other ministrations thou, O Nature'. 
 Healest thy wandering and distemper'd chjld : 
 Thou'pourest on him thy soft influences, 
 Thy sunny hues, fair forma ; and breathing sweets ; 
 Thy melodies of words, and winds, and waters 1 
 Till he relent, and can no more endure 
 To be a jarring and a dissonant thing 
 Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; 
 But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, 
 rlis angry spirit heaPd and harmonized 
 
REMORSE. 87 
 
 By the benignant touch of love and beauty. 
 I am chill and weary ! Yon rude bench of stone, 
 In that dark angle, the sole resting-place ! 
 But the self-approving mind is its own light, 
 And life's best warmth still radiates from the heart 
 Where Love sits brooding, and an honest purpose. 
 
 [Retires out of sight. 
 
 Enter TERESA with a Taper. 
 
 Ter. It has chill' d my very life my own voice 
 
 scares me ! 
 
 Yet when I hear it not, I seem to lose 
 The substance of my being my strongest grasp 
 Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. 
 I seek to cheat the echo. How the half sounds 
 Blend with this strangled light ! Is he not here 
 
 [Looking round. 
 
 O for one human face here but to see 
 One human face here to sustain me. Courage ! 
 It is but my own fear ! The life within me, 
 It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, 
 Beyond which I scarce dare look onward ! Oh ! 
 
 [Shuddering. 
 
 If I faint ! If this inhuman den should be 
 At once my death-bed and my burial vault ! 
 [Faintly screams as Alvar emerges from the recess. 
 Alv. (rusJies tmvards her, and catches her as she is 
 falling}. 
 
 gracious Heaven ! it is, it is Teresa ! 
 
 1 shall reveal myself! The sudden shock 
 Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, 
 And Joy complete what Terror has begun. 
 O ye impetuous beatings here, be still ! 
 Teresa, best-beloved ! pale, pale, and cold . 
 Her pulse doth flutter ! Teresa! my Teresa i 
 
 i 2 
 
88 REMORS1S. 
 
 Ter. (recovering, loolis round wildly}. I heard a 
 
 voice ; but often in my dreams 
 I hear that voice ! and wake and try and try 
 To hear it waking ! but I never could 
 And 't is so now even so ! Well : he is dead 
 Murder'd, perhaps ! And I am faint, and feel 
 As if it were no painful thing to die ! 
 
 Alv. (eagerly}. Believe it not, sweet maid ! Believe 
 
 it not, 
 
 Beloved woman ! 'T was a low imposture, 
 Framed by a guilty wretch. 
 
 Ter. (retires from him, and feebly supports herself 
 against a pillar of the dungeon). 
 
 Ha! whoartthou? 
 Alv. (exceedingly affected). Suborn'd by his 
 
 brother 
 
 Ter. Didst thou murder him ? 
 
 And dost thou now repent ? Poor troubled man, 
 I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee ! 
 Alv. Ordonio he 
 
 fer. If thou didst murder him- 
 
 His spirit ever at the throne of God 
 Asks mercy for thee : prays for mercy for thee, 
 With tears in Heaven ! 
 
 Alv. Alvar was not murder'd. 
 
 Be calm ! Be calm, sweet maid ! 
 
 Ter. (wildly). Nay, nay, but tell me ! 
 
 [A pause ; then presses her forehead. 
 O 'tis lost again! 
 
 This dull confused pain 
 
 [.4 pause ; she gazes at Alvar. 
 
 Mysterious man ! 
 
 Methinks I cannot fear thee : for thine eye 
 Doth swim with love and pity Well ! Ordonio 
 Oh mv foreboding heart ! and he suborn'd thee, 
 
89 
 
 And thou didst spare his life ? Blessings shower on 
 
 thee, 
 
 As many as the drops twice counted o'er 
 In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa ! 
 
 Alv. I can endure no more. The Moorish Sor- 
 cerer 
 
 Exists but in the stain upon his face. 
 That picture 
 
 Ter. (advances towards him). Ha ! speak on ! 
 
 Alv. Beloved Teresa ! 
 
 It told but half the truth. O let this portrait 
 Tell all that Alvar lives that he is here ! 
 Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar. 
 
 [Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her. 
 
 Ter. (receiving the portrait). The same it is the 
 
 same. Ah ! who art thou ? 
 Nay I will call thee, ALVAR ! [She falls on his neck 
 
 Alv. O joy unutterable ! 
 
 But hark ! a sound as of removing bars 
 A t the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while 
 Conceal thyself, my love ! It is Ordonio. 
 For the honour of our race, for our dear father ; 
 O for himself too (he is still my brother) 
 Let me recall him to his nobler nature, 
 That he may wake as from a dream of murder ! 
 O let me reconcile him to himself, 
 Open the sacred source of penitent tears, 
 And be once more his own beloved Alvar. 
 
 Ter. O my all virtuous love ! I fear to leave thee 
 With that obdurate man. 
 
 Alv. Thou dost not leave me ! 
 
 But a brief while retire into the darkness: 
 O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee. 
 
 Ter. The sound of thy voice shall be my music ! 
 
 [Retiring, stie returns hastily and embraces Alvar. 
 l 3 
 
90 REMORSE. 
 
 Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? 
 Is it no dream ? thee in my arms, my Alvar ! [Exit. 
 [A noise at the Dungeon door. It opens, and 
 
 Ordonio enters, with a goblet in his hand. 
 Ord. Hail, potent wizard ! in my gayer mood 
 I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto, 
 And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought on thee. 
 Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, 
 Hast trick'd me foully ; yet I hate thee not. 
 Why should I hate thee ? this same world of ours, 
 'T is but a pool amid a storm of rain, 
 And we the air-bladders that course up and down, 
 And joust and tilt in merry tournament ; 
 And when one bubble runs foul of another, 
 
 [Waving his hand to Alvar. 
 The weaker needs must break. 
 
 4J I see thy heart ! 
 
 There is a frightful glitter in thine eye 
 "Which doth betray thee. Inly-tortured man ! 
 This is the revelry of a drunken anguish, 
 Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, 
 And quell each human feeling. 
 
 Ord. Feeling! feeling! 
 
 The death of a man the breaking of a bubble 
 'T is true I cannot sob for such misfortune ; 
 But faintness, cold and hunger curses on me 
 If willingly I e'er inflicted them ! 
 Come, take the beverage ; this chill place demands it. 
 [Ordonio proffers the goblet. 
 Alv. Yon insect on the wall, 
 Which moves this way and that its hundred limbs, 
 Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, 
 It were an infinitely curious thing! 
 But it has life, Ordonio ! life, enjoyment ! 
 And by the power of its miraculous will 
 
KEMORSB 01 
 
 Wields all the complex movements of its frame 
 
 Unerringly to pleasurable ends ! 
 
 Saw I that insect on this goblet's brim, 
 
 I would remove it with an anxious pity ! 
 
 Ord. What meanest thou ? 
 
 Alv. There 's poison in the wine. 
 
 Ord. Thou hast guess'd aright ; there 's poison in 
 
 the wine. 
 
 There J s poison in 't which of u <wo shall drink it ? 
 For one of us must die ! 
 
 Alv. Whom dost thou think me ? 
 
 Ord. The accomplice and sworn friend of Isidore. 
 
 Alv. I know him not. 
 
 And yet methinks I have heard the name but lately. 
 Means he the husband of the Moorish woman ? 
 Isidore ? Isidore ? 
 
 Ord. Good ! good ! that lie ! by heaven it has re- 
 stored me. 
 
 Now I am thy master! Villain ! thou shalt drink it, 
 Or die a bitterer death. 
 
 Alv. What strange solution 
 
 Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, 
 And drug them to unnatural sleep ? 
 
 [Alvar takes tlie goblet, and throwing it to the 
 
 ground with stern contempt. 
 f My master ! 
 
 Ord. Thou mountebank ! 
 
 Alv. Mountebank and villain ! 
 
 What then art thou ? For shame, put up thy sword ! 
 What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm ? 
 1 fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest ! 
 I speak, and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 
 And turn it to a motionless distraction ! 
 Thou blind self-worshipper ! thy pride, thy cunning, 
 Thy faith in universal vilknv. 
 
92 REMORSE. 
 
 Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn 
 
 For all thy humau brethren out upon them ! 
 
 What have they done for thee ? have they given thee 
 
 peace ? 
 
 Cured thee of starting in thy sleep ? or made 
 The darkness pleasant when thou wakest at midnight? 
 Art happy when alone ? Canst walk by thyself 
 With even step and quiet cheerfulness? 
 Yet, yet thou mayest be saved 
 
 Ord. (vacantly repeating the words). Saved? saved? 
 
 Alv. One pang ! 
 
 Could I call up one pang of true Remorse ! 
 
 Ord. He told me of the babes that prattled to him, 
 His fatherless little ones ! Remorse ! Remorse ! 
 Where gott'st thou that fool's word ? Curse on 
 
 Remorse ! 
 
 Can it give up the dead, or recompact 
 A mangled body ? mangled dash'd to atoms ! 
 Not all the blessings of a host of angels 
 Can blow away a desolate widow's curse ! 
 And though thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 
 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear ! 
 
 Alv. (almost overcome by his feelings). But Alvar 
 
 Ord. Ha ! it chokes thee in the throat, 
 
 Even thee ; and yet I pray thee speak it out ! 
 Still Alvar ! Alvar ! howl it in mine ear; 
 Heap it like coals of fire upon my heart, 
 And shoot it hissing through my brain ! 
 
 Alv. Alas ! 
 
 That day when thou didst leap from off the rock 
 Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, 
 And bore him to the strand ; then, son of Valdez, 
 How sweet and musical the name of Alvar ! 
 Then, then, Ordonio, he was dear to thee, 
 And thou wert dear to him ; Heaven only knows 
 
REHOUSE. 93 
 
 How very dear thou wert ! Why didst thou hate him P 
 
 heaven ! how he would fall upon thy neck, 
 And weep forgiveness ! 
 
 Ord. Spirit of the dead I 
 
 Methinks I know thee ! ha ! my brain turns wild 
 At its own dreams ! off off, fantastic shadow ! 
 
 Alv. I fain would tell thee what I am ! but dare not ! 
 
 Ord. Cheat ! villain ! traitor ! whatsoever thou be 
 
 1 fear thee, man ! 
 
 Ter. (rushing out and falling on Alvar's neck). 
 Ordonio ! 't is thy brother. 
 
 {Ordonio with frantic wildness runs upon Alvar 
 with his sword. Teresa flings herself on Ordo- 
 nio and arrests his arm. 
 
 Stop, madman, stop. 
 
 Alv. Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 
 Hide Alvar from thee ? Toil and painful wounds 
 And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, 
 Have marrM perhaps all trait and lineament 
 Of what I was ! But chiefly, chiefly, brother 
 My anguish for thy guilt ! 
 
 Ordonio Brother ! 
 Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me. 
 
 Ord. (drawing back and gazing at Alvar with a 
 countenance of at once awe and terror). 
 
 Touch me not ! 
 Touch not pollution, Alvar ! I will die. 
 
 [He attempts to fall on his sword: Alvar and 
 
 Teresa prevent him. 
 
 Alv. We will find means to save your honour. Live, 
 Oh live, Ordonio ! for our father's sake 1 
 Spare his gray hairs 1 
 
 Ter. And you may yet be happy. 
 
 Ord. O horror ! not a thousand years in heaven 
 Could recoinpose this miserable heart, 
 
94 REMORSE. 
 
 Or make it capable of one brief joy 1 
 
 Live ! live ! Why yes 1 't were well to live with you 
 
 For is it fit a villain should be proud ? 
 
 My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother! 
 
 [Kneeling. 
 Forgive me, Alvar I Curse me with forgiveness ! 
 
 Alv. Call back thy soul, Ordonio, and look round 
 
 thee: 
 Now is the time for greatness ! Think that Heaven 
 
 Ter. O mark his eye ! he hears not what you say. 
 
 Ord. (pointing at the vacancy}. Yes, mark his eye I 
 
 there ? s fascination in it ! 
 
 Thou saidst thou didst not know him That is he ! 
 He comes upon me ! 
 
 A l Vt Heal, O heal him, heaven ! 
 
 Ord. Nearer and nearer ! and I cannot stir ! 
 Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? 
 He would have died to save me, and I kill'cl him 
 A husband and a father ! 
 
 rp er Some secret poison 
 
 Drinks up his spirits ! 
 
 Ord. (fiercely, recollecting himself). Let thft eter- 
 nal Justice 
 
 Prepare my punishment in the obscure world 
 I will not bear to live to live O agony ! 
 And be myself alone my own sore torment! 
 
 [ The doors of tJie dungeon are broken open, and 
 in rushAlhadra, and the band ofMorescoes. 
 Alh. Seize first that man ! 
 
 [ Alvar presses onward to defend Ordonio. 
 Ord. Off, ruffians ! I have flung away my sword. 
 Woman, my life is thine ! to thee I give it ! 
 Off ! he that touches me with Ins hand of flesh, 
 I'll rend his limbs asunder ! I have strength 
 Wifli this trore arm to scatter you like ashes. 
 
HBMORSE. 93 
 
 Alh. My husband 
 
 Ord. Yes, I murder'd him most foully. 
 
 Alv. and Ter. O horrible! 
 
 Alh. Why didst thou leave his children ? 
 
 Demon, thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell 
 To lap their blood ! Then, then I might have harden'd 
 My soul in misery, and have had comfort. 
 I would have stood far off, quiet though dark, 
 And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 
 For a deep horror of desolation, 
 Too great to be one soul's particular lot ! 
 Brother of Zagri ! let me lean upon thee. 
 
 [Struggling to suppress her feelings. 
 The time is not yet come for woman's anguish. 
 I have not seen Ms blood Within an hour 
 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, 
 Where is our father ? I shall curse thee then ! 
 Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee 
 thence ! 
 
 Ter. He doth repent ! See, see, I kneel to thee ! 
 O let him live ! That aged man, his father 
 
 Alh. (sternly). Why had he such a son ? 
 
 [ Shouts from tJie distance of Kescue ! Rescue ! 
 Alvar ! Alvar ! and the voice of Valdez heard. 
 
 Alh. Rescue ? and Isidore's Spirit unavenged ? 
 The deed be mine ! [Suddenly stabs Ordonio. 
 
 Now take my life ! 
 
 Ord (staggering from the wound). Atonement ! 
 
 Alv. (while with Teresa supporting Ordonio}. Arm 
 
 of avenging Heaven, 
 
 Thou hast snatch'd from me my most cherish'd hope. 
 But go ! my word was pledged to thee. 
 
 Ord. Away ! 
 
 Brave not my father's rage ! I thank thee ! Thou 
 
 [Then turning his eyes languidly to Alvar. 
 
06 HEAIGKSE. 
 
 She hath avenged the blood of Isidore ! 
 
 I stood in silence like a slave before her, 
 
 That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, 
 
 And satiate this self-accusing heart 
 
 With bitterer agonies than death can give. 
 
 Forgive me, Alvar ! 
 
 Oh ! couldst thou forget me ! Dies. 
 
 [Alvar and Teresa bend over the body of Ordonio. 
 
 Alh. (to the Moors}. I thank thee, Heaven ! thou 
 
 hast ordain'd it wisely, 
 
 That still extremes bring their own cure. That point 
 In misery, which makes the oppressed Man 
 Regardless of his own life, makes him too 
 Lord of the Oppressor's Knew I a hundred men 
 Despairing, but not palsied by despair, 
 This arm should shake the Kingdoms of the World , 
 The deep foundations of iniquity 
 Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them ; 
 The strong-holds of the cruel men should fall, 
 Their Temples and their mountainous Towers should 
 
 fall; 
 
 Till Desolation seem'd a beautiful thing. 
 And all that were, and had the Spirit of Life, 
 Sang a new song to her who had gone forth, 
 Conquering and still to conquer ! 
 
 fAlfiadra hurries off with the Moors; the stage fills 
 with armed Peasants and Servants, Zulimez and 
 i aldez at their head. Valdez rushes into Alvar' s 
 arms. 
 
 Alv. Turn not thy face that way, my father ! hide, 
 Oh hide it from his eye ! Oh let thy joy 
 Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing. 
 
 {Both kneel to Valdez. 
 
 Vol. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, 
 Heaven ! 
 
REMORSE. 0? 
 
 Tcr. Me too, my father ? 
 
 Val. Bless, Oh bless my children ! 
 
 {Both rise. 
 
 Alv. Delights so full, if unalloy'd with grief, 
 Were ominous. In these strange dread events 
 Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, 
 That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. 
 Our inward monitress to guide or warn, 
 If listen'd to ; but if repelPd with scorn, 
 At length as dire Eemorse, she reappears, 
 Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears 1 
 Still bids, Remember ! and still cries, Too late ! 
 And while she scares us, goads us to our fate. 
 
I 
 
THE PICCOLOMINI; 
 
 OR 
 
 THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 & 29trama. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER. 
 
 PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 T was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstcin to this 
 translation; but I found that it must cither have occupied a space 
 wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been 
 merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than 
 they already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, like- 
 wise, of Schiller's " History of the Thirty Years' War" diminished 
 the motives thereto. In the translation 1 endeavoured to render my 
 Author literally wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences 
 of idiom ; but I am conscious, that in two or three short passages I 
 have been guilty of dilating the original ; and, from anxiety to give 
 the full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have 
 availed myself of no other liberties than those which Schiller had 
 permitted to himself, except the occasional breaking-up of the line 
 by the substitution of a trochee for an iambic ; of which liberty, so 
 t in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas. 
 
 S. T. COLERIDGE, 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Genrealissimo of the Imperial forces 
 
 in the thirty years' war. 
 Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant General. 
 
 Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiern. 
 Count Tertsky, the Commander of several regiments, and Brother* 
 
 in-law of Wallenstein. 
 
 Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein' s Confidant. 
 Isolani, General of the Croats. 
 
 Butler, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoon , 
 Tiefenbach, ~* 
 Don Maradas, f 
 
 Ooetz, C General under Wallenstein. 
 
 Kolatto, 
 
 Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-camp to Terteky. 
 The War Commissioner Von Questenberg, Imperial Envoy, 
 General Wrangle, Swedish Envoy. 
 Baptisia Sent, Astrologer. 
 
 Duchess of Friedland, Wife of Wallenstein. 
 T/iekla, her daughter, Princess of Friedland. 
 The Countess Tertsky, sister of the Duchesi. 
 
 A Cornet. 
 
 Several Colonels and Generals. 
 
 Pages and Attendants belonging to Wallenatota, 
 
 Attendants and Hoboists belonging to Tertsky. 
 
 The Master of the Cellar to Count Tertakj. 
 
 Valet de Cham.br e of Count Piccolomini. 
 
THE PICCOLOMINI, &c. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An old Gothic Chamber in the Council* 
 house at Pilsen, decorated with Colours and other 
 War Insignia. 
 
 ILLO, with BUTLER and ISOLANI. 
 
 Illo. YE have come late but ye are come ! The 
 
 distance, 
 Count Isolan, excuses your delay. 
 
 Iso. Add this too, that we come not empty handed. 
 At Dopauwert * it was reported to us, 
 A Sweedish caravan was on it's way, 
 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, % 
 Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats 
 Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize ! 
 We bring it hither 
 
 Illo. Just in time to baquet 
 
 The illustrious company assembled here. 
 
 But. 'Tis all alive ! a stirring scene here ! 
 
 Iso. Ay ! 
 
 The very churches are full of soldiers. 
 
 (Casts his eye around.) 
 And in the Council-house too, I observe, 
 You're settled, quite at home ! Well, well ! we soldiers 
 Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 
 
 Illo. We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments. 
 You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach, 
 Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, 
 
 * A town about twelve German miles N. E. of Ulm, 
 K3 
 
]02 THE PICCOLOMINI; OB, THR 
 
 The Piccolomini, both son and father 
 
 You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 
 From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only 
 Galas is wanting still, and Atringer. 
 
 But. Expect not Galas. 
 
 Illo. (hesitating). How so ? Do you know 
 
 Iso. (interrupting him) Max. Piccolomini here ? 
 
 O bring me to him. 
 
 I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago, 
 We were engaged with Mansfield hard by Dessau) 
 I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, 
 Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, 
 And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 
 Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. 
 The down was scarce upon his chin ! I hear 
 He has made good the promise of his youth, 
 And the full hero now is finished in him. 
 
 Illo. You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 
 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess * 
 From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon. 
 
 But. Both wife and daughter does the Duke call 
 
 hither ? 
 He crouds in visitants from all sides, 
 
 Iso. Hm ! 
 
 So much the better ! I had fram'd my mind 
 To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, 
 Of marches, and attacks, and batteries : 
 And lo ! the Duke provides, that something too 
 Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present 
 To feast our eyes. 
 
 Illo. (who has been standing in the attitude of me- 
 ditation, to Butler, whom he leads a little on 
 one side.) 
 
 Dukes in Germany being always reigning power*, their son* 
 ters are entitled Princes and Princesses. 
 
FIRST PART OP WALLENSTEIHT. 103 
 
 And how came you to know 
 
 That the Count Galas joins us not ? 
 
 But. Because 
 
 He importun'd me to remain behind. 
 
 Itto. (with warmth) And you ? You hold out 
 firmly ? 
 ( Grasping his hand with affection.) 
 
 Noble Butler! 
 
 But. After the obligation which the Duke 
 Had lay'd so newly on me 
 
 Itto. I had forgotten 
 
 A pleasant duty Major General, 
 I wish you joy ! 
 
 Iso. What, you mean of his regiment ? 
 I hear, too, that, to make the gift still sweeter, 
 The Duke has given him the very same 
 In which he first saw service, and since then, 
 Work'd himself, step by step, thro' each preferment, 
 From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives 
 A precedent of hope, a spur of action 
 To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance 
 An old deserving soldier makes his way. 
 
 But. I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no 
 I dare accept this your congratulation. 
 The Emperor has not yet confirmed th' appointment. 
 
 Iso. Sieze it, friend ! Sieze it ! The hand which in 
 
 that post 
 
 Plac'd you, is strong enough to keep you there, 
 Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers ! 
 
 Illo. Ay, if we would but so consider it ! 
 If we would all of us consider it so ! 
 The Emperor gives us nothing ; from the Duke 
 Comes all whate'er we hope, whatever we have. 
 
 Iso. (to Itto) My noble brother! did I tell you how 
 The Duke will satisfy my creditors ? 
 
104 THE PICCOLOMINJ J OR, THE 
 
 Will be himself my banker for the future, 
 
 Make me once more a creditable man ! 
 
 And this is now the third time, think of that ! 
 This kingly-minded man has rescued me 
 From absolute ruin, and restor'd my honour. 
 
 Illo. O that his power but kept pace with his wishes ! 
 Why, friend ! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. 
 But at Vienna, brother! there's the grievance ! 
 What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten 
 His arm, and, where they can, to clip his pinions. 
 Then these new dainty requisitions ! these, 
 Which this same Questenberg brings hither ! 
 
 But. Ay, 
 
 These requisitions of the Emperor 
 
 I too have heard about them ; but I hope 
 The Duke will not draw back a single inch ! 
 
 Illo. Not from his right most surely, unless first 
 From office ! 
 
 But. (shocked and confused) Know you aught 
 then ? You alarm me. 
 
 Iso. (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurry- 
 ing voice.} We should be ruin'd, every one of us ! 
 
 Illo. No more 1 
 
 Yonder I see our worthy friend * approaching 
 With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini. 
 
 But. (shaking his head significantly} I fear we 
 shall not go hence as we came. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter OCTAVIO, PICCOLOMINI, awe? QUESTENBERG. 
 Oct. (still in the distance} Ay, ay! more still J still 
 more new visiters ! 
 
 * Spoken with a sneer. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 105 
 
 Acknowledge, friend ! that never was a camp, 
 Which held at once so many heads of heroes. 
 
 (Approaching nearer.) 
 Welcome, Count Isolani ! 
 
 Iso. My noble brother, 
 
 Even now am I arriv'd ; it had been else my duty 
 
 Oct. And Colonel Butler trust me, I rejoice 
 Thus to renew acquaintance with a man 
 Whose worth and services I know and honour. 
 See, see, my friend ! 
 
 There might we place at once before our eyes 
 The sum of war's whole trade and mystery 
 
 (To Questenberg, presenting Butler and Iso- 
 lani at tfte same time to him.) 
 These two the total sum Strength and Despatch. 
 
 Ques. (to Octavio,) And lo ! betwixt them both 
 experienc'd Prudence ! 
 
 Oct. (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Iso- 
 lani.) 
 
 The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg, 
 The bearer of the Emperor's behests. 
 The long-tried friend and pati on of all soldiers, 
 We honour in this noble visite*. (Universal silence.) 
 
 lUo. (moving towards Quei+enberg .) 'Tis not the 
 
 first time, noble Ministei 
 You have shown our camp this 1 onour. 
 
 Ques. Oqpe 1 eforc 
 
 I stood before these colours. 
 
 Itto. Perchance, too, you rememl er where that was. 
 It was at Znaim * in Moravia, whero 
 You did present yourself upon the pa *t 
 Of th' Emperor, to supplicate our Dul e 
 That he would straight assume the chief 'ommand. 
 
 A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the Mgh road front 
 Vienna to Prague. 
 
106 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Ques. To supplicate? Nay, noble General! 
 So far extended neither my commission 
 (At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal 
 
 Illo. Well, well then to compel him, if you choose. 
 I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 
 Had suffered total rout upon the Lech. 
 Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, 
 Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing 
 Onwards into the very heart of Austria. 
 At that time you and Werdenberg appear'd 
 Before our General, storming him with prayers. 
 And menacing the Emperor's displeasure, 
 Unless he took compassion or *his wretchedness. 
 
 Iso. (steps up to them.} Yes, ves, 'tis comprehensible 
 
 enough, 
 
 Wherefore with your commission of to-day 
 You were not all too willing to remember 
 Your former one. 
 
 Ques. Why not, Count Isolan ? 
 
 No contradiction sure exists between them. 
 It was the urgent business of that time 
 To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand ; 
 And my commission of to-day instructs me 
 To free her from her good friends and protectors. 
 
 Illo. A worthy office ! After with our blood 
 We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 
 To be swept out of it is all our thanks, 
 The sole reward of all our hard-won victories. 
 
 Ques. Unless that wretched land be doom'd to suffer 
 Only a change of evils, it must be 
 Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe. 
 
 Illo. What ? 'Twas a favourable year ; the Boors 
 Can answer fresh demands already. 
 
 Ques. Nay, 
 
 If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds 
 
PIKST PAKT OF WALLENSTEIB . 107 
 
 I so. The war maintains the war. Are the Boon 
 
 ruin'd, 
 The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 
 
 Ques. And is the poorer by even so many subjects. 
 
 Iso. Poh ! We are all his subjects. 
 
 Ques. Yet with a difference, General ! The one fill 
 With profitable industry the purse, 
 The others are well skilPd to empty it. 
 The sword has made the Emperor poor ; the plough 
 Must reinvigorate his resources. 
 
 Iso. Sure ! 
 
 Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see 
 
 (examining with his eye the dress and orna- 
 ment of Questenberg) 
 Good store of gold that still remains uncoin'd. 
 
 Ques. Thank Heaven ! that means have been found 
 
 out to hide 
 Some little from the fingers of the Croats. 
 
 Illo. There ! The Stawata and the Martinitz, 
 On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, 
 To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians 
 Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 
 Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens 
 Driven from their house and home who reap no har- 
 vests 
 
 Save in the general calamity 
 Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock 
 The desolation of their country these 
 Let these, and such as these, support the war, 
 The fatal war, which they alone enkindled ! 
 
 But. And those state -parasites, who have their feet 
 So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, 
 Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 
 Snap at it with dog's hunger they, forsooth, 
 Would pare the soldier's bread , and cross his reckoning t 
 
108 THJi PICCOLOMINI J OR, THB 
 
 Iso. My life long will it anger me to think, 
 How when I went to court seven years ago, 
 To see about new horses for our regiments, 
 How from one antechamber to another 
 They dragg'd me on, and left me by the hour 
 To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering 
 Feast-fatten'd slaves, as if I had come thither 
 A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 
 That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, 
 Whom should they send me but a Capuchin I 
 Straight I began to muster up my sins 
 For absolution but no such luck for me ! 
 This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom 
 I was to treat concerning the army jorses : 
 And I was forced at last to quit the field, 
 The business unaccomplished. Afterwards 
 The Duke procured me, in three days, what I 
 Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 
 
 Ques. Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found 
 
 their way to us : 
 Too well I know we have still accounts to settle. 
 
 lllo. War is a violent trade ; one cannot always 
 Finish one's work by soft means- ; every trifle 
 Must not be blacken'd into sacrilege. 
 If we should wait till you, in solemn council, 
 With due deliberation had selected 
 The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, 
 Ffaith we should wait long. 
 "Dash! and through with it!" That's the better 
 
 watchword. 
 
 Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's na- 
 ture 
 
 To make the best of a bad thing once past. 
 A bitter and perplexed "What shall I do?" 
 Is worst to man than worst necessity. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 109 
 
 Qucs. Ay, doubtless, it is true ; the Duke does 
 
 spare us 
 The troublesome task of choosing. 
 
 But. Yes, the Duke 
 
 Cares with a father's feelings, for his troops ; 
 But how the Emperor feels for us, we see. 
 
 Ques. His cares and feelings all ranks share 
 
 alike, 
 Nor will he offer one up to another. 
 
 Iso. And therefore thursts he us into the deserts, 
 As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve 
 His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home. 
 
 Ques. (with a sneer) Count, this comparison you 
 make, not I. 
 
 But. Why, were we all the Court supposes us, 
 'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty. 
 
 Ques. You have taken liberty it was not given 
 
 you. 
 
 And therefore it becomes an urgent duty 
 To rein it in with curbs. 
 
 Oct. (interposing and addressing Questenbery). 
 
 My noble friend, 
 
 This is no more than a remembrancing 
 That you are now in camp, and among warriors. 
 The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. 
 Could he act daringly, unless he dar'd 
 Talk even so ? One runs into the other. 
 The boldness of this worthy officer, (pointing to 
 
 Butler.) 
 
 Which now has but mistaken in its mark, 
 Preserved when nought but boldness could preserve it, 
 To the Emperor his capital city, Prague, 
 In a most formidable mutiny 
 
 O f the whole garrison . (Military music at a distance.) 
 Hah ! here they come ! 
 
110 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Itto. The sentries are saluting them : this signal 
 Announces the arrival of the Duchess. 
 
 Oct. (to Questenberg.) Then my son Max. too has 
 
 return'd. 7 T\vas he 
 
 Fetched and attended them from Carnthen hither. 
 Iso. (to Illo). Shall we not go in company to 
 
 greet them ? 
 
 Illo. Well, let us go. Ho ! Colonel Butler come. 
 (To Octavio). You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we 
 
 meet 
 The noble Envoy at the General's palace. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Questenberg and Octavio. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO. 
 
 Ques. (with signs of aversion and astonishment}. 
 What have I not been forc'd to hear Octavio ! 
 What sentiments ! what fierce, uncurb'd defiance ! 
 And where this spirit universal 
 
 Oct. Hm ! 
 
 You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the 
 army. 
 
 Ques. Where must we seek then for a second host 
 To have the custody of this ? That Illo 
 Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then 
 This Butler too he cannot even conceal 
 The passionate workings of his ill intentions. 
 
 Oct. Quickness of temper irritated pride ; 
 'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. 
 I know a spell that will soon dispossess 
 The evil spirit in him. 
 
 Ques. (walking up and down in evident disquiet.) 
 
 Friend, friend ! 
 O ! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. Ill 
 
 Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 
 
 We saw it only with the courtier's eyes, 
 
 Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne. 
 
 We had not seen the War-chief, the Commander, 
 
 The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 
 
 'Tis quite another thing. 
 
 Here is no Emperor more the Duke is Emperor. 
 
 Alas, my friend ! alas, my noble friend ! 
 
 This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp 
 
 Strikes my hopes prostrate. 
 
 Oct. Now you see yourself 
 
 Of what a perilous kind the office is, 
 
 Which you deliver to me from the Court. 
 
 The least suspicion of the General 
 
 Costs me my freedom and my life, and would 
 But hasten his most desperate enterprise. 
 
 Ques. Where was our reason sleeping when we 
 
 trusted 
 
 This madman with the sword, and plac'd such power 
 In such a hand, I tell you, he'll refuse, 
 Flatly refuse, t'obey, and what he can, he will. 
 And then, th' impunity of his defiance 
 O ! what a proclamation of our weakness ! 
 
 Oct. D'ye think, too, he has brought his wife and 
 
 daughter 
 
 Without a purpose hither ? Here in camp ! 
 And at the very point of time, in which 
 We're arming for the war? That he has taken 
 These, the last pledges of his loyalty, 
 Away from out the Emperor's domains 
 This is no doubtful token of the nearness 
 Of some eruption ! 
 
 Ques. How shall we hold footing 
 
 Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 
 And threats us from all quarters ? Th' enemy 
 
312 THE PICCOLOMINI J OB, THB 
 
 Of tli' empire on our borders, now already 
 The master of the Danube, and still farther, 
 And farther still, extending every hour ! 
 In our interior, the alarum-bells 
 Of insurrection peasantry in arms 
 All orders discontented and the army, 
 Just in the moment of our expectation 
 Of aidance from it lo! this very army 
 Seduc'd, run wild, lost to all discipline, 
 Loosen'd, and rent asunder from the state 
 And from their sovereign, the blind instrument 
 Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon 
 Of fearful power, which at his will he wields ! 
 
 Oct. Nay, nay, friend ! let us not despair too soon, 
 Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds : 
 And many a resolute, who now appears 
 Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden, 
 Find in his breast a heart he wot not of, 
 Let but a single honest man speak out 
 The true name of his crime ! Remember too, 
 We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. 
 Counts Altringer and Galas have maintain'd 
 Their little army faithful to its duty, 
 And daily it becomes more numerous. 
 Nor can he take us by surprise : you know, 
 I hold him all encompass'd by my listeners. 
 Whatever he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing- 
 No step so small, but instantly I hear it ; 
 Yea, his own mouth discloses it. 
 
 Ques. 'Tis quite 
 
 Incomprehensible, that he detects not 
 The foe so near ! 
 
 Oct. Beware, you do not think 
 
 That I by lying arts, and complaisant 
 Hypocrisy, have skulk'd into his graces : 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIW. 113 
 
 Or with the sustenance of smooth professions 
 Nourish his all-confiding friendship ! No 
 CompelPd alike by prudence, and that duty 
 Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign, 
 To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet, 
 Never have I dup'd him with base counterfeits ! 
 
 Ques. It is the visible ordinance of heaven. 
 
 Oct. I know not what it is that so attracts 
 And links him both to me and to my son. 
 Comrades and friends we always were long habit, 
 Adventurous deeds perform'd in company, 
 And all those many and various incidents 
 Which store a soldier's memory with affections, 
 Had bound us long and early to each other 
 Yet I can name the day, when all at once 
 His heart rose on me, and his confidence 
 Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning 
 Before the memorable fight of Liitzner. 
 Urg'd by an ugly dream, I sought him out, 
 To press him to accept another charger. 
 At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 
 I found him in a sleep. When I had wak'd him, 
 And had related all my bodings to him, 
 Long time he star'd upon me, like a man 
 Astounded ; thereon fell upon my neck, 
 And manifested to me an emotion 
 That far outstripp'd the worth of that small service. 
 Since then his confidence has follow'd me 
 With the same pace that mine has fled from him. 
 
 Ques. You led your son into the secret ? 
 
 Oct. No ! 
 
 Ques. What ? and not warn him either what bad 
 
 hands 
 His lot has plac'd him in ? 
 
 Oct. I must perforce 
 
 L 3 
 
114 THE PICCOLOMINI | OR THE 
 
 Leave him in wardship to his innocence. 
 His young and open soul dissimulation 
 Is foreign to its habits Ignorance 
 Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, 
 The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit, 
 That make the Duke secure. 
 
 Ques. (anxiously). My honoured friend ! most highly 
 
 do I deem 
 
 Of Colonel Piccolomini yet if 
 Reflect a little 
 
 Oct. I must venture it, 
 
 Hush There he comes ! 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO, PICCOLOMINI, 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Max. Ha! there he is himself. Welcome my father ! 
 (He embraces his father. As he turns 
 round) he observes Questenberg, and draws 
 back with a cold and reserved air.) 
 You are engag'd, I see. I'll not disturb you. 
 
 Oct. How, Max? Look closer at this visiter, 
 Attention, Max. an old friend merits Rev'rence 
 Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 
 Max. (drily). Von Questenberg! Welcome if you 
 
 bring with you 
 Aught good to our head quarters. 
 
 Ques. (seizing his hand). Nay, draw not 
 
 Your hand away, Count Piccolomini ! 
 Not on mine own account alone I seiz'd it, 
 And nothing common will I say therewith. 
 
 (taking the hands of both). 
 Octavio Max. Piccolomini 
 O saviour names, and full of happy omen ! 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 115 
 
 Ne'er will her prosperous Genius turn from Austria, 
 While two such stars, with blessed influences 
 Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 
 
 Max. Heh! Noble minister ! You uiias your part. 
 You came not here to act a panegyric. 
 You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold U8 
 I must not be beforehand with my comrades. 
 
 Oct. (to Max.) He comes from court, where people 
 
 are not quite 
 So well contended with the duke, as here. 
 
 Max. What now have they contriv'd to find out in 
 
 him? 
 
 That he alone determines for himself 
 What he himself alone doth understand ? 
 Well, therein he does right, and will persist in't. 
 Heaven never meant him for that passive thing 
 That can be struck and hammered out to suit 
 Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance 
 To every tune of every minister. 
 It goes against his nature he can't do it. 
 He is possess'd by a commanding spirit, 
 And his too is the station of command. 
 And well for us it is so ! There exist 
 Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use 
 Their intellects intelligently. Then 
 Well for the whole, if there be found a man, 
 Who makes himself what nature destin'd him, 
 The pause, the central point of thousand thousands 
 Stands fix'd and stately, like a firm-built column, 
 Where all may press with joy and confidence. 
 Now such a man is Wallenstein ; and if 
 Another better suits the court no other 
 But such a one as he can serve the army. 
 
 Ques. The army? Doubtless! 
 
 Oct. (to Questenberg). Hush ! Suppress it friend I 
 
116 THE PICCOLOMINi; OR, THE 
 
 Unless some end were answer' d by the utterance. 
 Of him there you'll make nothing. 
 
 Max. (continuing}. In their distress 
 
 They call a spirit up, and when he comes, 
 Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread 
 
 him 
 
 More than the ills for which they call'd him up. 
 Th' uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 
 Like things of every day. But in the field, 
 Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt. 
 The personal must command, the actual eye 
 Examine. If to be the chieftain asks 
 All that is great in nature, let it be 
 Likewise his privilege to move and act 
 In all the correspondencies of greatness. 
 The oracle within him, that which lives, 
 He must invoke and question not dead books, 
 Nor ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 
 
 Oct. My son ! of those old narrow ordinances 
 Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights 
 Of priceless value, which oppress' d mankind 
 Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. 
 For always formidable was the league 
 And partnership of free power with free will. 
 The way of ancient ordinance, tho' it winds, 
 Is yet no devious way. Straight forwards goes 
 The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path 
 OFthe cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, 
 Shatt'ring that it may, reach, and shatt'ring what it 
 
 reaches. 
 
 My son ! the road, the human being travels, 
 That, on which Blessing comes and goes, doth follow 
 The river's course, the "/alley's playful windings, 
 Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, 
 Honouring the holy bounds of property ! 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIKT. 117 
 
 And thus secure, tho' late, leads to its end. 
 
 Ques. O hear your father, noble youth ! hear him, 
 Who is at once the hero and the man. 
 
 Oct. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee ! 
 A war of fifteen years 
 Hath been thy education and thy school. 
 Peace hast thou never witnessed ! There exists 
 A higher than the warrior's excellence. 
 In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 
 The vast and sudden deeds of violence, 
 Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, 
 These are not they, my son, that generate 
 The Calm, the Blissful, and th' enduring Mighty ! 
 Lo there ! the soldier, rapid architect ! 
 Builds his light town of canvass, and at once 
 The whole scene moves and bustles momently, 
 With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel ! 
 The motley market fills ! the roads, the streams 
 And crowded with new freights ; trade stirs and hurries ! 
 But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, 
 The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. 
 Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard 
 The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, 
 And the year's harvest is gone utterly. 
 
 Max. O let the Emperor make peace, my father ! 
 Most gladly would I give the blood-stain'd laurel 
 For the first violet * of the leafless spring, 
 Pluck'd in those quiet fields where I have journey'd ! 
 
 Oct. What ails thee ? What so moves thee all at 
 once? 
 
 Max. Peace have I ne'er beheld ? I have beheld it. 
 
 In the original : 
 
 Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb' ich bin mit Freuden, 
 Fur's erste Veilchen, das der Merz uns bringt j 
 Das duftige Pfand der neuverjdngten Erde. 
 
118 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 From thence am I come hither : O ! that sight, 
 It glimmers still before me, like some landscape 
 Left in the distance, some delicious landscape ? 
 My road conducted me thro' countries where 
 
 The war has not yet reach'd. Life, life, my father 
 
 My venerable father, life has charms 
 
 Which we have ne'er experienc'd. We have been 
 
 But voyaging a long its barren coasts, 
 
 Like some poor ever -roaming horde of pirates, 
 
 That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, 
 
 House on the wild sea with wild usages, 
 
 Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays 
 
 Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. 
 
 Whate'er in th' inland dales the land conceals 
 
 Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing, 
 
 Do we behold of that in our rude voyage. 
 
 Oct. (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness] , 
 
 And so your journey has reveal'd this to 
 
 you? 
 
 Max. 'Twas the first leisure of my life. tell me, 
 What is meed and purpose of the toil, 
 The painful toil, which robb'd me of my youth, 
 Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, 
 A spirit uninform'd, unornamented, 
 For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum, 
 The neighing war-horse, the air-shatt'ring trumpet, 
 The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty, 
 Word of command, and exercises of arms 
 There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this 
 To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart ! 
 Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not 
 This cannot be the sole felicity, 
 This cannot be man's best and only pleasures! 
 
 Oct. Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short 
 journey. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 119 
 
 Max. O ! day thrice lovely ! when at length the 
 
 soldier 
 
 Returns home into life ; when he becomes 
 A fellow-man among his fellow-men. 
 The colours are unfurl'd, the cavalcade 
 Marshals, and now the buz is hush'd, and hark ! 
 Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home ! 
 The caps and helmets are all garlanded 
 With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields. 
 The city gates fly open of themselves, 
 They need no longer the petard to tear them. 
 The ramparts are all fill'd with men and women, 
 With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 
 Kisses and welcomings upon the air, 
 Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. 
 From all the towers rings out the merry peal, 
 The joyous vespers of a bloody day. 
 
 liappy man, O fortunate .' for whom 
 
 The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, 
 The faithful tender arms with mute embracing. 
 
 Ques. (apparently much affected). O! that you 
 
 should speak 
 
 Of such a distant, distant time, and not 
 Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 
 
 Max. (turning round to him quick and vehement). 
 Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna ? 
 
 1 will deal openly with you, Questenberg. 
 Just now, as first I saw you standing here, 
 (Til own it to you freely) indignation 
 Crowded and press'd my inmost soul together. 
 'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye ! and the warrior, 
 1 1 is the warrior that must force it from you, 
 
 Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him, 
 Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows 
 Vhat else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 
 
120 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OK, THE 
 
 And tries to awaken confidence in th' enemy ; 
 
 Which yet 's the only way to peace : for if 
 
 War intermit not during war, how then 
 
 And whence can peace come ? Your own plagues fall 
 
 on you ! 
 
 Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 
 And here make I this vow, here pledge myself; 
 My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, 
 And my heart drain off, drop by drop ere ye, 
 Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO, PlCCOLOMINI. 
 
 Ques. Alas, alas ! and stands it so ? 
 
 (then in pressing and impatient tone) 
 What, friend ! and do we let him go away 
 In this delusion let him go away ? 
 Not call him back immediately, not open 
 His eyes upon the spot ? 
 
 Oct. (recovering himself out of a deep study). 
 
 He has now open'd mine, 
 And I see more than pleases me. 
 
 Ques. What is it ? 
 
 Oct. Curse on this journey ! 
 
 Ques. But why so ? What is it ? 
 
 Oct. Come, come along, friend ! I must follow up 
 The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes 
 Are open'd now, and I must use them. Come ! 
 (draws Questenberg on with him). 
 
 Ques. What now ? Where go you then ? 
 
 Oct. To her herself. 
 
 Ques. To 
 
 Oct. (interrupting him, and correcting himself). 
 To the Duke. Come, let us go. 'Tis done, ' tis done ! 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 121 
 
 I see the net that is thrown over him. 
 
 ! he returns not to me as he went. 
 Ques. Nay, but explain yourself. 
 Oct. And that I should not 
 
 Foresee it, not prevent this journey ! Wherefore 
 Did I keep it from him ? You were in the right. 
 
 1 should have warn'd him ! Now it is too late. 
 Ques. But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my 
 
 friend, 
 That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 
 
 Oct. (more collected). Come ! to the Duke's. 'Tis 
 
 close upon the hour 
 
 Which he appointed you for audience. Come ! 
 A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey ! 
 
 (He leads Questenberg off.) 
 
 SCENE VI. Changes to a spacious chamber in 
 the house of the Duke of Friedland. Servants 
 employed in putting the tables and cJiairs in order. 
 During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, 
 in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He 
 carries a white staff', with which he marks out Hue 
 quarters of the heaven. 
 
 1st Ser. Come to it lads, to it ! Make an end of it. 
 I hear the sentry call out, " Stand to your arms !" 
 They will be there in a minute. 
 
 2nd Ser. Why were we not told before that the 
 audience would be held there ? Nothing prepared no 
 orders no instructions 
 
 3rd Ser. Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber 
 countermanded ; that with the great worked carpet ? - 
 there one can look about one. 
 
 1st Ser. Nay, that you must ask the mathematician 
 there. He says it is an unlucky chamber. 
 
122 THE 1'ICCOLOMINI j OR, THE 
 
 2nd Ser. Poll! stuff and nonsense ! That's what 1 
 call a hum. A chamber is a chamber : what much 
 can the place signify in the affair ? 
 
 Seni (with gravity}. My son, there's nothing insig- 
 nificant, 
 
 Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing 
 lirst and most principal is place and time. 
 
 1st Ser. (to the Second,) Say nothing to him, Nai. 
 The Duke himself must let him have his own will. 
 
 Sent (counts the cfiairs, Jialf in a loud, half in a low 
 
 voice, till he comes to eleven, which he repeats.) 
 Eleven ! an evil number ! Set twelve chairs. 
 Twelve ! twelve signs hath the zodiac : fiv-e and seven, 
 The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve. 
 
 2nd Ser. And what may you have to object against 
 eleven ? I should like to know that, now. 
 
 Seni. Eleven is transgression ; eleven oversteps 
 The ten commandments. 
 
 2nd Ser. That's good ! and why do you call five a 
 holy number ? 
 
 Seni. Five is the soul of man : for even as man 
 Is mingled up of good and evil, so 
 The five is the first number that's made up 
 Of even and odd. 
 
 2nd Ser. The foolish old coxcomb ! 
 
 1st Ser. Ay ! let him alone though. I like to hear 
 him ; there is more in his words than can be seen at 
 first sight. 
 
 3rd Ser. Off! They come. 
 
 2nd Ser. There ! Out at the side door. 
 
 (Tliey hurry off, Seni follows slowly . A page brings 
 the staff of command on a red cushion, and places 
 it on the table near the Duke's chair. They are 
 announced from without, and the wings of the 
 door fly open.} 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 123 
 
 SCENE VII. WALLENSTEIN. DUCHESS. 
 
 Wai. You went then through Vienna, were presented 
 To the Queen of Hungary? 
 
 Duck. Yes ; and to the Empress to ; 
 
 And by both Majesties were we admitted 
 To kiss the hand. 
 
 Wai. And how was it receiv'd, 
 
 That I had sent for wife and daughter hither 
 To the camp, in winter time ? 
 
 Duck. I did even that 
 
 Which you commissioned me to do. I told them, 
 You had determin'd on our daughter's marriage, 
 And wish'd, ere yet you went into the field, 
 To show th' elected husband his betroth'd. 
 
 Wai. And did they guess the choice which I had 
 made? 
 
 Duch. They only hop'd and wish'd it may have 
 
 fallen 
 Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble. 
 
 Wai. And you what do you wish, Elizabeth ? 
 
 Duch. Your will, you know, was always mine. 
 
 Wai (after a pause). Well then ! 
 
 And in all else, of what kind and complexion 
 Was your reception at the court ? 
 
 (The Duchess casts her eyes on the ground, and 
 
 remains silent}. 
 Hide nothing from me. How were you receiv'd ? 
 
 Duch. O ! my dear lord, all is not what it was. 
 A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm 
 Has stolen into the bud. 
 
 Wai. Ay ! is it so ? 
 
 What, they were lax ? they fail'd of th' old respect ? 
 
 Duch. Not of respect. No honours were omitted, 
 No outward courtesy ; but in the place 
 M 2 
 
124 THE PICCOLOMINI J OB, THE 
 
 Of condescending, confidential kindness, 
 Familiar and endearing, there were given me 
 Only these honours and that solemn courtesy. 
 Ah ! and the tenderness which was put on, 
 It was the guise of pity, not of favour. 
 No ! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, 
 Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so 
 Not wholly so should she have been received. 
 
 Wai. Yes, yes ; they have ta'en offence. My latest 
 
 conduct, 
 They raiPd at it, no doubt. 
 
 Duch. O that they had ! 
 
 I have been long accustom'd to defend you, 
 To heal and pacify distemper' d spirits. 
 
 . No ; no one rail'd at you. They wrapp'd them up, 
 O Heaven ! in such oppressive, solemn silence ! 
 Here is no every-day misunderstanding, 
 No transient pique, no cloud that passes over; 
 Something most luckless, most unbeatable, 
 
 II us taken place. The Queen of Hungary 
 LVd formerly to call me her dear aunt, 
 And ever at departure to embrace me 
 
 Wai. Now she omitted it ? 
 
 Duch. (wiping away her tears, after a pause.') 
 She did embrace me, 
 But then first when I had already taken 
 My formal leave, and when the door already 
 Had clos'd upon me, then did she come out 
 In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself, 
 And press'd me to her bosom, more anguish 
 Than with tenderness. 
 
 Wai. (siezes her hand soothingly.) Nay now, coHect 
 
 yourself. 
 
 And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein. 
 And of our other friends there ? 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 125 
 
 Duck, (shaking her head)* I saw none. 
 
 Wai. TV Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont 
 To plead so warmly for me ? 
 
 Duch. Silent, silent ! 
 
 Wai. These suns then are eclipsed for us. Hence- 
 forward 
 Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light. 
 
 Duch. And were it were it, my dear lord, in that 
 Which mov'd about the Court in buz and whisper, 
 But in the country let itself be heard 
 Aloud in that which Father Lamormain 
 In sundry hints and 
 
 Wai. (eagerly). Lamormain ! what said he ? 
 
 Duch. That you're accused of having daringly 
 O'erstepp'd the power entrusted to you, charg'd 
 With traitorous contempt of th' Emperor 
 And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, 
 He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers. 
 That there's a storm collecting over you, 
 Of far more fearful menace than that former one 
 Which whirl' d you headlong down at Regensburg. 
 
 And people talk, said he, of Ah ! 
 
 (stifling extreme emotion.) 
 
 Wai. Proceed ! 
 
 Duch. I cannot utter it ! 
 
 Wai. Proceed I 
 
 Duch. They talk- - 
 
 Wai. Well! 
 
 Duch. Of a second (catches her voice 
 
 and hesitates.) 
 
 Wai. Second 
 
 Duch. More disgraceful 
 Dismission. 
 
 Wai. Talk they ? 
 
 (Strides across the chamber in vehement agitati<n\ 
 M 3 
 
126 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THH 
 
 O ! they force, they thrust me 
 With violence, against my own will, onward ! 
 
 Duch. (presses near to him, in intreaty.) O ! if there 
 
 yet be time, my husband ! If 
 By giving way and by submission, this 
 Can be averted my dear lord, give way ! 
 Win down your proud heart to it ! Tell that heart, 
 It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor, 
 Before whom you retreat. O let no longer 
 Low trickling malice blacken your good meaning 
 With abhor' d venomous glosses. Stand you up, 
 Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth, 
 And drive before you into uttermost shame 
 These slanderous liars ! Few firm friends have we. 
 You know it ! The swift growth of our good fortune 
 It hath but set us up, a mark for hatred. 
 What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour 
 Stand not before us ! 
 
 . SCENE VII. Enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, lead- 
 ing in her hand the PRINCESS THEKLA, richly 
 adorned with brilliants. 
 
 COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS. 
 
 Coun. How sister ? What already npon business, 
 
 (observing the countenance of the Duchess.) 
 And business of no pleasing kind I see, 
 Ere he has gladden'd at his child. The first 
 Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland ! father ! 
 This is thy daughter. 
 
 (Thekla approaches with a shy and timid air, and 
 
 bends herself as about to hiss his hand, he receives 
 
 her in his arms, and remains standing for some 
 
 time lost in the feeling of her pi*esence.) 
 
 Wai. Yes ; pure and lovely hath hope risen on me* 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 127 
 
 I take her as the pledge of greater fortune. 
 
 Duck. 'Twas but a little child when you departed 
 To raise up that great army for the Emperor : 
 And after, at the close of the campaign, 
 When you return'd home out of Pomerania, 
 Your daughter was already in the convent, . 
 Wherein she has remain'd till now. 
 
 Wai The while 
 
 We in the field here gave our cares and toils 
 To make her great, and fight her a free way 
 To the loftiest earthly good ; lo ! mother Nature 
 Within the peaceful silent convent walls 
 Has done her part, and out of her free grace 
 Hath she bestowed on the beloved child 
 The godlike ; and now leads her thus adorned 
 To meet her splendid fortune and my hope. 
 
 Duck, (to Thekla), Thou would'st not have recog- 
 
 <iiz'd thy father, 
 Would'st thou, my child ? She counted scarce eight 
 
 years 
 When last she saw your face. 
 
 T/iek. O yes, yes, mother ! 
 
 At the first glance ! My father is not alter'd. 
 The form, that stands before me, falsifies 
 No feature of the image that hath liv'd 
 So long within me ! 
 
 Wai The voice of my child ! 
 
 (then after a pause). 
 I was indignant at my destiny 
 That it denied me a man-child to be 
 Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune, 
 And re-illume my soon extinguish'd being 
 In a proud line of princes. 
 I wrong'd my destiny. Here upon this head. 
 So lovely in its maiden bloom, will I 
 
128 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THB 
 
 Let fall the garland of a life of war ; 
 Nor deem it lost, if only I wreath it, 
 Transmitted to a regal ornament, 
 Around these beauteous brows. 
 
 (He clasps her in his arms as Piccolomini enters.) 
 
 SCENE IX. Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI, and some 
 time after COUNT TERTSKY, the others remaining 
 as before. 
 
 Coun. There comes the Palladin who protected us. 
 Wai. Max. ! Welcome, ever welcome ! Always 
 
 wert thou 
 The morning star of my best joys ! 
 
 Max. My General 
 
 Wai. 'Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded 
 
 thee, 
 
 I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound 
 The father to thee, Max ! the fortunate father, 
 And this debt Friedland's self must pay. 
 
 Max. My prince ! 
 
 You made no common hurry to transfer it. 
 I come with shame. Yea, not without a pang ! 
 For scarce have I arriv'd here, scarce delivered 
 The mother and the daughter to your arms, 
 But there is brought to me from your equery 
 A splendid richly plated hunting dress, 
 
 So to remunerate me for my trouble 
 
 Yes, yes, remunerate me ! Since a trouble 
 It must be, a mere office, not a favour 
 Which I leapt forward to receive, and which 
 I came already with full heart to thank you for, 
 No ! 'twas not so intended, that my business 
 Should be my highest, best good fortune ? 
 
 (Tertshy enters, and delivers letters to tlie Duke 
 which he breaks open hurryingty.) 
 
FIRST PA.HT OF WALLBMSTEIW. 129 
 
 Coun. (to Max.) Remunerate your trouble ! For 
 
 his joy 
 
 He makes you recompence. 7 Tis not unfitting 
 For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel 
 So tenderly my brother it beseems 
 To show himself for ever great and princely. 
 
 Tkek. Then I too must have scruples of his love : 
 For his munificent hands did ornament me 
 Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me. 
 
 Max. Yes : 'tis his nature ever to be giving, 
 And making happy. 
 
 (He grasps the hand of the Duchess with still in~ 
 creasing warmth.) 
 
 How my heart pours out 
 Its all of thanks to him : O ! how I seem 
 To utter all things in the dear name Friedland. 
 While I shall live, so long will I remain 
 The captive of this name : in it shall bloom 
 My every fortune, every lovely hope. 
 Inextricably as in some magic ring 
 In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me ! 
 Coun. (who during this time has been anxiously 
 watching the Duke, and remarks that he is lost 
 in thought over the letters.) 
 My brother wishes us to leave him. Come. 
 
 Wai. (turns himself round quickly, collects himself, 
 and speaks with cheerfulness to the Duchess.) 
 Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp, 
 Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max. 
 Will now again administer your old office, 
 While we perform the sovereign's business here. 
 (Max. Piccolomini offers the Duchess his arm, 
 
 the Countess accompanies the Princess.') 
 Ter. (calling after him.) Max., we depend on seeing 
 you at the meeting. 
 
130 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THB 
 
 SCENE X. 
 WALLENSTEIN, COUNT IERTSK?. 
 
 Wai (in deep thought to himself.) She hath seen 
 
 all things as they are It is so, 
 And squares completely with my other notices. 
 They have determin'd finally in Vienna, 
 Hath given me my successor already ; 
 It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand, 
 The Emperor's delicate son ! he's now their saviour, 
 He's the new star that's rising now ! Of us 
 They think themselves already fairly rid, 
 And as we were deceas'd, the heir already 
 Is entering on possessionTherefore despatch ! 
 
 [As he turns round he observes Tertsky, and 
 
 gives him a letter. 
 
 Count Altringer will have himself excus'd, 
 And Galas too I like not this ! 
 
 Ter. And * f 
 
 Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, 
 One following the other. 
 
 Wai. Altringer 
 
 Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must forthwith 
 Send some one to him, that he let not in 
 The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. 
 
 Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader 
 
 In contraband negociations, he 
 
 Has shown himself again of late. What brings he 
 
 From the Count Thur 1 
 
 Ter. The Count communicates, 
 
 He has found out the Swedish chancellor 
 At Halberstadt, where the convention 's held, 
 Who says, you've tir'd him out, and that he'll have 
 No further dealings with you. 
 
 Wai. ^ n( ^ w ^y B0 
 
PIltST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 131 
 
 Ter. He says, you are never in earnest in your 
 
 speeches ; 
 
 That you decoy the Swedes to make fools of them, 
 Will league yourself with Saxony against them, 
 And at last make yourself a riddance of them 
 With a paltry sum of money. 
 
 Wai. So then, doubtless, 
 
 Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects 
 That I shall yield him some fair German tract 
 For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last, 
 On our own soil and native territory, 
 May be no longer our own lords and masters ! 
 An excellent scheme ! No, no ! They must be off, 
 Off, off ! away ! we want no such neighbours. 
 
 Ter. Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of 
 
 land 
 
 It goes not from your portion. If you win 
 The game, what matters it to you who pays it ? 
 
 Wai. Off with them, off! Thou understand^ not 
 
 this, 
 
 Never shall it be said of me, I parcelPd 
 My native land away, dismember' d Germany, 
 Betray'd it to a foreigner, in order 
 To come with stealthy tread, and filch away 
 My own share of the plunder. Never ! never ! 
 No foreign power shall strike root in the empire, 
 And least of all, these Goths ! these hunger-wolves f 
 Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances 
 T'wards the rich blessings of our German lands ! 
 I'll have their aid to cast, and draw my nets, 
 But not a single fish of all the draught 
 Shall they come in for. 
 
 Ter. You will deal, however, 
 
 More fairly with the Saxons ? They lose patience 
 While you shift ground and make so many curves. 
 
J32 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Say, to what purpose all these masks ! Your friends 
 Are plung'd in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. 
 There 's Oxenstein, there 's Arnheim neither knows 
 What he should think of your procrastinations. 
 And in the end I prove the liar ; all 
 Passes through me. I have not even your hand- writing. 
 Wai. I never give my hand- writing ; thouknovv'stit. 
 Ter. But how canitbe known that you're in earnest, 
 If the act follows not upon the word ? 
 You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 
 Your intercourses hithertoo with th' enemy, 
 You might have done with safety all you have done, 
 Had you meant nothing further than to gull him 
 For th' Emperor's service. 
 
 Wai. (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly 
 
 on Tertsky). 
 
 And from whence dost thou know 
 That I'm not gulling him for th' Emperor's service ? 
 Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you ? 
 Dost thou know me so well ? When made I thee 
 Th' intendant of my secret purposes ? 
 I am not conscious that I ever open'd 
 My inmost thoughts to thee. Th' Emperor, it is true 
 Hath dealt with me amiss ; and if I would, 
 I could repay him with usurious interest 
 For th' evil he hath done me. It delights me 
 To know my power ; but whether I shall use it, 
 Of that, I should have thought that thou could'st speak 
 No wiselier than thy fellows. 
 
 Ter. So hast thou always play'd thy game with us. 
 (Enter ILLO.) 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY. 
 Wai. How stand affairs without? Are they prepar'd ? 
 
PIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 133 
 
 lllo. You'll find them in the very mood you wish. 
 They know about the Emperor's requisitions, 
 And are tumultuous. 
 
 Wai. How hath Isolan 
 
 Declar'd himself? 
 
 lllo. He's yours both soul and body, 
 Since you built up again his Faro-bank. 
 
 Wai. And which way doth Kolatto bend? Ha&t tliou 
 Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodate? 
 
 lllo. What Piccolomini does, that they do too. 
 
 Wai. You mean, then, I may venture somewhat 
 with them ? 
 
 lllo. If you are assured of the Piccolomini. 
 
 Wai. Not more assur'd of mine own self. 
 
 Ter. And yet 
 
 1 would you trusted not so much to Octavio, 
 The fox I 
 
 Wai. Thou teachest me to know my man ? 
 Sixteen campaigns I have made wiih that old warrior. 
 Besides, I have his horoscope, 
 We both are born beneath like stars in short 
 
 (ivith an air of mystery). 
 To this belongs its own particular aspect. 
 If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest 
 
 lllo. There is among them all but this one voice, 
 You must not lay down the command. I hear 
 They mean to send a deputation to you. 
 
 Wai. If I'm in aught to bind myself to them, 
 They too must bind themselves to me. 
 
 lllo. Of course. 
 
 Wai. Their words of honour they must give, their 
 
 oaths 
 
 Give them in writing to me, promising 
 Devotion to my service unconditional. 
 
 lllo. Why not ? 
 
134 THE PICCOLOMINi; OR, THK 
 
 Ter. Devotion unconditional ? 
 The exception of their duties towards Austria 
 They'll always place among the premises. 
 With this reserve 
 
 Wai. (shaking his head). All unconditional / 
 No premises, no reserves. 
 
 Illo. A thought has struck me. 
 
 Does not Count Tertsky give us a set banquet 
 This evening ? 
 
 Ter. Yes; and all the Generals 
 
 Have been invited. 
 
 Illo (to Wallenstdn.) Say will you here fully 
 Commission me to use my own discretion ? 
 I'll gain for you the General's words of honour, 
 Even as you wish. 
 
 Wai. Gain me their signatures ! 
 
 How you come by them, that is your concern. 
 
 Illo. And if I bring it to you, black on white, 
 That all the leaders who are present here 
 Give themselves up to you, without condition ; 
 Say, will you then then will you show yourself 
 In earnest, and with some decisive action 
 Make trial of your luck ? 
 
 Wai. The signatures ! 
 
 Gain me the signatures. 
 
 Illo. Seize, seize the hour 
 
 Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment 
 In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. 
 To make a great decision possible, 
 O ! many things, all transient and all rapid, 
 Must meet at once : and, haply, they thus met 
 May, by that confluence, be enforc'd to pause 
 Time long enough or wisdom, though too short, 
 Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple ! 
 This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 
 
FIRST PART OP WALLENSTEIN. 135 
 
 Our best, our noblest, are assembled round you, 
 
 Their kinglike leader ! On your nod they wait. 
 
 The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune 
 
 Hath woven together in one potent web 
 
 Instinct with destiny, O ! let them not 
 
 Unravel of themselves. If you permit 
 
 These chiefs to separate so unanimous, 
 
 Bring you them not a second time together. 
 
 'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, 
 
 And every individual's spirit waxes 
 
 In the great stream of multitude. Behold, 
 
 They are still here, here still ! But soon the war 
 
 Bursts them once more asunder, and in small 
 
 Particular anxieties and interests 
 
 Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 
 
 Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day 
 
 Forgets himself, forc'd onward with the stream, 
 
 Will become sober, seeing but himself, 
 
 Feel only his own weakness, and with speed 
 
 Will face about, and march on in the old 
 
 High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, 
 
 And seek but to make shelter in good plight. 
 
 Wai. The time is not yet come. 
 
 Ter. So you say always. 
 
 But when will it be time ? 
 
 Wai. . When I shall say it. 
 
 Illo. You'll wait on the stars, and on their hours, 
 Till the earthly hour escapes you. O ! believe me, 
 In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. 
 Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, 
 This is your Venus ! and the sole malignant, 
 The only one that harmeth you, is Doubt ! 
 
 Wai. Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft 
 And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, 
 That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. 
 N 2 
 
136 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Thy visual power subdues no mysteries ; 
 Mole ey'd, thou may'st but burrow in the earth, 
 Blind as that sub terrestrial, who, with wan, 
 Lead-colour'd shine, lighted thee into life. 
 The common, the terrestrial, thou may'st see. 
 With serviceable cunning knit together, 
 The nearest with the nearest ; and therein 
 I trust thee and believe thee ! but whate'er 
 Full of mysterious import Nature waves, 
 And fashions in the depths the spirit's ladder, 
 That from this gross and visible world of dust 
 Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 
 Builds itself up ; on which the unseen powers 
 Move up and down on heavenly ministeries 
 The circles in the circles, that approach 
 The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit 
 These see the glance alone, the unseal'd eye, 
 Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre. 
 
 (He walks across the chamber, then returns, 
 
 standing, still proceeds), 
 The heavenly constellations make not merely 
 The day and night, summer and spring ; not merely 
 Signify to the husbandman the seasons 
 Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 
 That is the seed too of contingencies, 
 Strew'd on the dark land of futurity 
 In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate. 
 Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, 
 To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 
 And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses, 
 Whether the enemy of growth and thriving, 
 Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner. 
 Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile 
 Do you your part As yet I cannot say 
 What / shall do only, give way I will not 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 137 
 
 Depose me too they shall not. On these points 
 You may rely. 
 
 Page, (entering.) My Lords the Generals. 
 
 Wai. Let them come in. 
 
 SCENE XII. WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO. To 
 them enter QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO, and MAX. 
 PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER, ISOLANI, MARADAS, and 
 three other Generals. Walenstein motions Questen- 
 berg, who, in consequence, takes the chair directly 
 opposite to him, the others follow, arranging them" 
 selves according to their rank. There reigns a 
 momentary silence. 
 
 Wai. I have understood, 'tis true, the sum and im- 
 port 
 
 Of your instructions, Questenberg, have weighed them^ 
 And form'd my final, absolute resolve ; 
 Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals 
 Should hear the will of th' Emperor from your mouth. 
 May 't please you then to open your commission 
 Before these noble Chieftains. 
 
 Ques. I am ready 
 
 To obey you ; but will first entreat your Highness, 
 And all these noble Chieftains, to consider, 
 Th' Imperial dignity and sov'reign right 
 Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption. 
 
 Wai. We excuse all preface. 
 
 Ques. When his Majesty 
 
 The Emperor to his courageous armies 
 Presented in the person of Duke Friedland 
 A most experienced and renown' d commander, 
 He did it in glad hope and confidence, 
 To give thereby to the fortune of war 
 A rapid and auspicious change. The onset 
 Was favourable to his royal wishes. 
 v 
 
138 THE PICOOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Bohemia was deliver d from the Saxons, 
 
 The Swede's career of conquest check'd ! These lands 
 
 Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland 
 
 From all the streams of Germany ibrc'd hither 
 
 The scatter'd armies of the enemy, 
 
 Hither invok'd, as round one magic circle, 
 
 The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstein, 
 
 Yea, and that never-conquer'd King himself; 
 
 Here finally before the eye of Niirnberg, 
 
 The fearful game of battle to decide. 
 
 Wai. May't please you, to the point. 
 
 Ques. In Niirnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left 
 His fame inLiitzen's plains his life. But who 
 Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland 
 After this day of triumph, this proud day, 
 March'd toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 
 And vanish'd from the theatre of war ; 
 While the young Weimar hero forc'd his way 
 Into Franconia, to the Danube, like 
 Some delving winter stream, which, were it rushes, 
 Makes its own channel ; with such sudden speed 
 He march'd, and now at once 'fore Regensburg 
 Stood to th' affright of all good Catholic Christians. 
 Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince 
 Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need ; 
 The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke Friedland, 
 Seven horsemen couriers send he with th' entreaty : 
 He superadds his own, and supplicates, 
 Where as the sovereign lord he can command. 
 In vain his supplication ! At this moment 
 The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge, 
 Barters the general good to gratify 
 Private revenge and so falls Regensburg. 
 
 Wai Max., to what period of the war alludes he ? 
 My recollection fails me here. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 139 
 
 Max. He means 
 
 When we were in Silesia* 
 
 Wai. Ay! is it so? 
 
 But what had we to do there ? 
 
 Max. To beat out 
 
 The Swedes and Saxons from the province. 
 
 Wai. True. 
 
 In that description which the minister gave 
 I seem'd to have forgotten the whole war. 
 (to Questenberg.) 
 Well, but proceed a little. 
 
 Ques. Yes ! at length 
 
 Beside the river Oder did the Duke 
 Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields 
 Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms, 
 Subdued without a blow. And here, with others, 
 The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger 
 Deliver'd that long-practis'd stirrer-up 
 Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch 
 And kindler of this war, Matthias Thur. 
 But he had fallen into magnanimous hands ! 
 Instead of punishment he found reward, 
 And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss 
 The arch-foe of his Emperor. 
 
 Wai. (laugJis) I know, 
 
 I know you had already in Vienna, 
 Your windows and balconies all forestall'd 
 To see him on the executioner's cart. 
 I might have lost the battle, lost it too 
 With infamy, and still retain' d your graces 
 But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, 
 Oh ! tJuit the good folks of Vienna never, 
 No, never can forgive me. 
 
 Ques. So Silesia 
 
 Was freed, and all things loudly call'd the Duke 
 
140 THE PICOOLOMINI; OR, THE 
 
 Into Bavaria, now press'd hard on all sides. 
 
 And he did put his troops in motion ; slowly, 
 
 Quite at his ease, and by the longest road 
 
 He traverses Bohemia ; but ere ever 
 
 He hath tmce seen the enemy, faces round, 
 
 Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters, 
 
 Wai. The troops were pitiably destitute 
 Of every necessary, every comfort. 
 The winter came. What thinks his Majesty 
 His troops are made of? An't we men ? subjected 
 Like other men to wet, and cold, and all 
 The circumstances of necessity ? 
 O miserable lot of the poor soldier ! 
 Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 
 And when he goes away the general curse 
 Follows him on his rout. All must be seiz'd, 
 Nothing is given him. And compell'd to seize 
 From every man, he's every man's abhorrence. 
 Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa ! 
 Count Deodate ! Butler ! Tell this man 
 How long the soldiers' pay is in arrears. 
 
 But. Already a full year. 
 
 Wai. And 'tis the hire 
 
 That constitutes the hireling's name and duties. 
 The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant.* 
 
 Ques. Ah ! this is a far other tone from that 
 In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago. 
 
 Wai. Yes ! 'tis my fault, I know it : I myself 
 Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him. 
 
 * The original is not translatable into English ; 
 
 Und sein sold 
 
 Muss dem soldaten werden, darnach heist er. 
 It might perhaps have been thus rendered ; 
 
 "And for that which he sold his services, 
 The soldier must receive." 
 But a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 141 
 
 Nine years ago, during the Danish war, 
 
 1 rais'd him up a force, a mighty force, 
 
 Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him 
 
 Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony 
 
 The fury goddess of the war march'd on, 
 
 E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing 
 
 The terrors of his name. That was a time ! 
 
 In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine 
 
 Honour'd with festival and celebration 
 
 And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title 
 
 Of the third Jewel in his crown ! 
 
 But at the Diet, when the Princes met 
 
 At Regensburg, there, there the whole broke out, 
 
 There 'twas laid open, there it was made known, 
 
 Out of what money-bag I had paid the host. 
 
 And what was now my thanks, what had I now, 
 
 That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign, 
 
 Had loaded on myself the people's curses, 
 
 And let the Princes of the empire pay 
 
 The expences of this war, that aggrandizes 
 
 The Emperor alone What thanks had I ! 
 
 What ? I was offer' d up to their complaints, 
 
 Dismiss'd, degraded ! 
 
 Ques. But your highness knows 
 
 What little freedom he possess'd of action 
 In that disastrous Diet. 
 
 Wai. Death and hell ! 
 
 / had that which could have procur'd him freedom. 
 No ! since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me 
 To serve the Emperor at the empire's cost, 
 I have been taught far other trains of thinking 
 Of th' empire, and the Diet of the empire. 
 From th' Emperor, doubtless, I receiv'd this staff. 
 But now I hold it as the empire's general 
 For the common weal, the universal int'rest, 
 
142 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Ami no more for that one man's aggrandizement! 
 But to the point. What is it that's desir'd of me ? 
 
 Ques. First, his Imperial Majesty hath will'd, 
 That without pretexts of delay the army 
 Evacuate Bohemia. 
 
 Wai. In this season ? 
 
 And to what quarter wills the Emperor 
 That we direct our course ? 
 
 Ques. To the enemy. 
 
 His Majesty resolves, that Regensburg 
 Be purified from the enemy ere Easter, 
 That Luth'ranism may be no longer preach'd 
 In that cathedral, nor heretical 
 Defilement desecrate the celebration 
 Of that pure festival. 
 
 Wai. My generals, 
 
 Can this be realized ? 
 
 Illo 'Tis not possible. 
 
 But. It can't be realiz'd. 
 
 Ques. The Emperor 
 
 Already hath commanded Colonel Suys ? 
 To advance toward Bavaria. 
 
 Wai. What did Suys ? 
 
 Ques. That which his duty prompted. He ad 
 vanc'd ! 
 
 Wai. What ? he advanc'd ? And I, his general, 
 Had given him orders, peremptory orders, 
 Not to desert his station ! Stands it thus 
 With my authority ? Is this th' obedience 
 Due to my office, which being thrown aside 
 No war can be conducted ? Chieftains, speak I 
 You bo the judges, generals ! What deserves 
 That officer, who, of his oath neglectful, 
 Is guilty of contempt of orders ? 
 
 Illo. Death. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 143 
 
 Wai. (raising his voice) as all but Illo had remained. 
 
 silent, and seemingly scrupulous). 
 Count Piccoloraini, what has he deserved ? 
 
 Max. (after a long pause). According to the letter 
 
 of the law, 
 Death. 
 
 Iso. Death. 
 
 But. Death, by the laws of war. 
 
 \Questeriberg rises from his sea\, Wallenstein fol- 
 lows, all the rest rise. 
 
 Wai. To this the law condemns him, and not I. 
 And if I show him favour, 't will arise 
 From the reverence that I owe my Emperor. 
 
 Ques. If so, I can say nothing furthe*h-/*ere / 
 
 Wai. I accepted the command but oil conditions! 
 And this the first, that to the diminution 
 Of my authority, no human being, 
 Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled 
 To do aught, or to say aught, with the army. 
 If I stand warranter of the event, 
 Placing my honour and my head in pledge, 
 Needs must I have full mastery in all 
 The means thereto. What rendered this Gustavus 
 Resistless, and unconquer'd upon earth ? 
 This : that he was the monarch in his army j 
 A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, 
 Was never yet subdued but by his equal. 
 But to the point ! The best is yet to come. 
 Attend now, generals ! 
 
 Ques. The prince Cardinal 
 
 Begins his route at the approach of spring 
 From the Milanese ; and leads a Spanish army 
 Thro' Germany into the Netherlands. 
 That he may march secure and unimpeded. 
 *T is th' Emperor's will, you grant him a detachment 
 
144 THE PICCOLOMIKI J OR, THE 
 
 Of eight horse-regiments from the army here. 
 
 Wai. Yes, yes ! I understand ! Eight regiments ! 
 
 Well, 
 
 Bight well concerted, father Lamormain ! 
 Eight thousand horse ! Yes, yes ! 'T is as it should be ! 
 I see it coming. 
 
 Ques. There is nothing coming ; 
 All stands in front : the counsel of state-prudence, 
 The dictate of necessity ! 
 
 Wai. What then ? 
 
 What, my Lord Envoy ? May I not be suffer'd 
 To understand that folks are tir'd of seeing 
 The sword's hilt in my grasp : and that your court 
 Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use 
 The Spanish title, to drain off my forces, 
 To lead into the empire a new army 
 Unsubjected to my control. To throw me 
 Plumply aside. I am still too powerful for you 
 To venture that. My stipulation runs, 
 That all the Imperial forces shall obey me 
 Where'er the German is the native language. 
 Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals, 
 That take their route, as visiters, thro' the empire, 
 There stands no syllable in my stipulation. 
 No syllable ! And so the politic court 
 Steals in a tiptoe, and creeps round behind it ; 
 First makes me weaker, then to be dispens'd with, 
 Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow 
 And makes short work with me. 
 What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy ? 
 Straight-forward, man ! His compact with me pinches 
 The Emperor. He would that I mov'd off! 
 
 Well ! I will gratify him ! 
 
 [Here there commences an agitation among the 
 generals which increases continually. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 14$ 
 
 It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes ! 
 
 I see not yet, by what means they will come at 
 
 The moneys they have advanced, or how obtain 
 
 The recompense their services demand. 
 
 Still a new leader brings new claimants forward, 
 
 And prior merit superannuates quickly. 
 
 There serve here many foreigners i' the army, 
 
 And were the man in all else brave and gallant, 
 
 I was not wont to make nice scrutiny 
 
 After his pedigree or catechism. 
 
 This will be otherwise i* the time to come. 
 
 Well me no longer it concerns. [He seats himself. 
 
 Max. Forbid it Heaven, that it should come to this ! 
 Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation 
 The Emperor is abus'd it cannot be. 
 
 Iso. It cannot be ; all goes to instant wreck. 
 
 Wai. Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani ! 
 What we with toil and foresight have built up, 
 Will go to wreck all go to instant wreck. 
 What then ? another chieftain is soon found, 
 Another army likewise (who dares doubt it ?) 
 Will flock from all sides to the Emperor 
 At the first beat of his recruiting drum. 
 
 [During this speech, Isolani, Tertsky, Illo, and 
 Maradas, talk confusedly with great agitation. 
 
 Max. (busily, and passionately going from one to 
 
 another, and soothing them). 
 Hear, my commander ! Hear me, generals! 
 Let me conjure you, Duke ! Determine nothing, 
 Till we have met and represented to you 
 Our joint remonstrances. Nay, calmer ! Friends J 
 I hope all may be yet set right again. 
 
 Ter. Away ! let us away ! in th ; antechamber 
 Find we the others. \_Tliey go. 
 
 But. (to Questenberg). If good counsel gain 
 
H6 THE PICCOLOM1NI } OR, THE 
 
 Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy ! 
 You will be cautious how you show yourself 
 In public for some hours to come or hardly 
 Will that gold key protect you from mal-treatment. 
 
 [Commotions heard from without. 
 
 Wai. A salutary counsel Thou, Octavio ! 
 
 Wilt answer for the safety of our guest, 
 Farewell, Von Questenberg! 
 
 [Questenberg is about to speak. 
 
 Nay, not a word. 
 
 Not one word more of that detested subject ! 
 You have performed your duty We know how 
 To separate the office from the man. 
 
 [As Questenberg is going off with Octavio, Goetz, 
 Tiefenbach,\Kolatto, press in, several other 
 generals following them. 
 Goetz. Where 's he who means to rob .us of our 
 
 general ? 
 Tief. (at the same time). What are we forc'd to 
 
 hear ? That thou wilt leave us ? 
 Kol. (at the same time). We will live with thee, 
 
 we will die with thee. 
 
 Wai. (withstateliness, and pointing to lllo). There! 
 
 the Field-Marshal knows our will. [Exit. 
 
 [While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A small Chamber. 
 
 ILLO and TERTSKY. 
 Ter. Now for this evening's business ! How intend 
 
 you 
 
 To manage with the generals at the banquet ? 
 lllo. Attend ! We frame a formal declaration, 
 
FIRST PART OF "WALLENSTEIJT. 147 
 
 Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves 
 
 Collectively, to be and to remain 
 
 His both with life and limb, and not to spare 
 
 The last drop of our blood for him, provided 
 
 So doing we infringe no oath or duty 
 
 We may be under to the Emp'ror. Mark ! 
 
 This reservation we expressly make 
 
 In a particular clause, and save the conscience. 
 
 Now hear ! This formula so framed and worded 
 
 Will be presented to them for perusal 
 
 Before the banquet. No one will find in it 
 
 Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further ! 
 
 After the feast, when now the vap'ring wine 
 
 Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let 
 
 A counterfeited paper, in the which 
 
 This one particular clause has been left out, 
 
 Go round for signatures. 
 
 Ter. How ? think you then 
 
 That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath, 
 Which we had trick' d them into by a juggle ? 
 
 lllo. We shall have caught and cag'd them ! Let 
 
 them then 
 
 Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave 
 Loud as they may against our treachery, 
 At court their signatures will be believ'd 
 Far more than their most holy affirmations. 
 Traitors they are, and must be ; therefore wisely 
 Will make a virtue of necessity. 
 
 Ter. Well, well, it shall content me ; let but s/me- 
 
 thing 
 
 Be done, let only some decisive blow 
 Set us in motion. 
 
 lllo, Besides, 't is of subordinate importance 
 How, or how far, we may thereby propel 
 The generals. 'T is enough that we persuade 
 
148 THB PTCCOT^IJNI J OB, THE 
 
 The Duke, that they aie h&~Let him but act 
 In his determined mood, as if he had them, 
 And he will have them. Where he plunges in, 
 He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it. 
 
 Ter. His policy is such a labyrinth, 
 That many a time when I have thought myself 
 Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me 
 Ignorant of the ground where I was standing. 
 He *ends the enemy his ear, permits me 
 To write to them, to Arnheim, to Sesina ; 
 Himself comes forward blank and undisguised ; 
 Talks with us by the hour about his plans, 
 
 And when I think I have him off at once 
 
 He has slipp'd from me, and appears as if 
 He had no scheme, but to retain his place. 
 
 Itto. He give up his old plans! I'll tell you, 
 
 friend ! 
 
 His soul is occupied with nothing else, 
 Even in his sleep they are his thoughts, his dreams 
 That day by day he questions for this purpose 
 The motions of the planets 
 
 Ter. Aye, you know 
 
 This night, that is now coming, he with Seni 
 Shuts himself up in the astrological tower 
 To make joint observations for I hear 
 It is to be a night of weight and crisis, 
 And something great, and of long expectation, 
 Is to make its procession in the heaven. 
 
 77/0. Come ! be we bold and make despatch. The 
 
 work 
 
 In this next day or two must thrive and grow 
 More than it has for years. And let but only 
 Things first turn up auspicious here below 
 Mark what I say the right stars too will snow them- 
 selves. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIW. 148 
 
 Come, to the generals. All is in the glow, 
 And must be beaten while 't is malleable. 
 
 Ter. Do you go thither, Illo. I must stay 
 And wait here for the Countess Tertsky. Know, 
 That we too are not idle. Break one string, 
 A second is in readiness. 
 
 Illo. Yes ! Yes ! 
 
 I saw your Lady smile with such sly meaning. 
 What's in the wind ? 
 
 Ter. A secret. Hush ! she comes. 
 
 \Exit Illo. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 (The Countess steps out from a Closet.) 
 COUNT and COUNTESS TERTSKY. 
 
 Ter. Well is she coming ? I can keep him back 
 No longer. 
 
 Coun. She will be there instantly. 
 You only send him. 
 
 Ter. I am not quite certain, 
 
 I must confess it, Countess, whether or not 
 We are earning the Duke's thanks hereby. You 
 
 know, 
 
 No ray has broke out from him on this point. 
 You have o'erruFd me ; and yourself know best 
 How far you dare proceed. 
 
 Coun. I take it on me. 
 
 [Talking to herself, while she is advancing. 
 Here's no need of full powers and commissions 
 My cloudy Duke ! we understand each other 
 And without words. What, could I not unriddle 
 Wherefore the daughter should be sent for hither, 
 Why first he, and no other, should be chosen 
 To fetch her hither ? This sham of betrothing ter 
 o 3 
 
150 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 To a bridegroom,* when no one knows No ! no ! 
 This may blind others ! I see thro' thee, Brother! 
 But it beseems thee not, to draw a card 
 At such a game. Not yet ! It all remains 
 
 Mutely deliver'd up to my finessing 
 
 Well thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke 
 
 Friedland ! 
 In her who is thy sister. 
 
 Ser. (enters). The commanders ! 
 
 Ter. (to the Countess). Take care you heat his 
 
 fancy and affections 
 Possess him with a reverie, and send him, 
 Absent, and dreaming, to the banquet ; that 
 He may not boggle at the signature. 
 
 Coun. Take you care of your guests! Go, send 
 him hither. 
 
 Ter. All rests upon his undersigning. 
 
 Coun. (interrupting him). Go to your guests! 
 
 Hlo. (comes back). Where art staying, Tertsky ? 
 The house is full^ and all expecting you. 
 
 Ter. Instantly ! instantly ! [To the Countess. 
 
 And let him not 
 Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion 
 
 In the old man 
 
 Coun. A truce with your precautions i 
 
 [Exeunt Tertsky and lllo. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 Max. (peeping in on the stage shily). Aunt Tertskv ! 
 may I venture ? 
 
 * In Germany, after honourable addresses have been paid and for- 
 xnally accepted, the lovers are called Bride and Bridegroom, even 
 though the marriage should not take place till years afterwards. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIX. 151 
 
 [Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks 
 around him with uneasiness. 
 
 She's not here ! 
 Where is she? 
 
 Coun. Look but somewhat narrowly 
 
 In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie 
 ConceaPd behind that screen. 
 
 Max. There lie her gloves ! 
 
 [Snatches at them, but t/te Countess takes them 
 
 herself. 
 
 You unkind Lady ! You refuse me this 
 You make it an amusement to torment me. 
 
 Coun. And this the thank you give me for my 
 trouble ? 
 
 Max. O, if you felt the oppression at my heart ! 
 Since we've been here, so to constrain myself 
 With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances 
 These, these are not my habits ! 
 
 Coun. You have still 
 
 Many new habits to acquire, young friend ! 
 But on this proof of your obedient temper 
 I must continue to insist ; and only 
 On this condition can I play the agent 
 For your concerns. 
 
 Max. But wherefore comes she not ? 
 
 Where is she? 
 
 Coun. Into my hands you must place it 
 
 Whole and entire, Whom could you find, indeed, 
 More zealously affected to your interest ? 
 No soul on earth must know it not your father. 
 He must not above all. 
 
 Max. Alas ! what danger ? 
 
 Here is no face on which I might concentre 
 All, the enraptur'd soul stirs up within me. 
 O Lady ! tell me. Is all chang'd around me j 
 

 152 THE P1CCOLOMINI J OB, THE 
 
 Or is it only I ? 
 
 I find myself, 
 
 As among strangers ! Not a trace is left 
 Of all my former wishes, former joys. 
 Where has it vanish'd to ? There was a time 
 When ev'n, methought, with such a world as this, 
 I was not discontented. Now, how flat ! 
 How stale ! No life, no bloom, no flavour in it ! 
 My comrades are intolerable to me. 
 My father Even to him I can say nothing. 
 My arms, my military duties O ! 
 They are such wearying toys ! 
 
 Coun. But, gentle friend ! 
 
 I must intreat it of your condescension, 
 You would be pleas' d to sink your eye, and favour 
 With one short glance or two this poor stale world, 
 Where even now much, and of much moment, 
 Is on the eve of its completion. 
 
 Max. Something, 
 
 I can't but know, is going forward round me. 
 I see it gath'ring, crowding, driving on, 
 In wild uncustomary movements. Well, 
 ID due time, doubtless, it will reach even me. 
 Where think you I have been, dear lady ? Nay, 
 No raillery. The turmoil of the camp, 
 The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in. 
 The pointless jest, the empty conversation, 
 Oppressed and stifled me. I gasp'd for air 
 I could not breathe I was constrained to fly, 
 To seek a silence out for my full heart ; 
 And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness, 
 No smiling Countess ! In the church was I. 
 There is a cloister here to the heaven's gate,* 
 
 * I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloutcr, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIX. 163 
 
 Thither I went, there found myself alone. 
 Over the altar hung a holy mother ; 
 A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend 
 That I was seeking in this moment. Ah, 
 How oft have I beheld that glorious form 
 In splendour, mid extatic worshippers ; 
 Yet, still it rnov'd me not ; and now at once 
 Was my devotion cloudless as my love. 
 
 Coun. Enjoy your fortune and felicity ! 
 Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship 
 Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active. 
 Only be manageable when that friendship 
 Points you the road to full accomplishment. 
 How long may it be since you declared your passion ? 
 
 Max. This morning did I hazard the first word. 
 
 Coun. This morning the first time in twenty days? 
 
 Max. 'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here 
 And Nepomuck, where you had join'd us, and- 
 That was the last relay of the whole journey ! 
 In a balcony we were standing mute, 
 And gazing out upon the dreary field : 
 Before us the dragoons were riding onward, 
 The safe-guard which the duke had sent us heavy 
 The inquietude of parting lay upon me, 
 And trembling ventur'd I at length these words : 
 This all reminds me, noble maiden, that 
 To-day I must take leave of my good fortune. 
 A few hours more, and you will find a father, 
 Will see yourself surrounded by new friends, 
 And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger, 
 Lost in the many " Speak with my aunt Tertsky !" 
 
 the name of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have trans- 
 luted it in the former sense j but fearful of having made some blander, 
 I add the original: 
 
 En Ltt eiu Kloster hier zur Himmelsvforte. 
 
164 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THB 
 
 With hurrying voice she interrupted me. 
 She faulter'd. I beheld a glowing red 
 Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground 
 Rais'd slowly up, her eye met mine no longer 
 Did I control myself. 
 
 (The Princess Thekla appears at the door, and 
 remains standing, observed by the Countess, 
 but not by Piccolomini. 
 
 With instant boldness 
 
 I caught her in my arms, my mouth touch'd her's ; 
 There was a rustling in the room close by ; 
 It parted us 'Twas you. What since has happened, 
 You know. 
 
 Coun. (after a pause, with a stolen glance at Thekla)' 
 And is it your excess of modesty : 
 Or are you so incurious, that you do not 
 Ask me too of my secret ? 
 
 Max. Of your secret ? 
 
 Coun. Why, yes ! When in the instant after you 
 I stepp'd into the room, and found my niece there, 
 What she in this first moment of the heart, 
 Ta'en with surprise 
 
 Max. (with eagerness). Well ? 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX. 
 PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Thek. (to the Countess). Spare yourself the trouble. 
 That hears he better from myself.- 
 
 Max. (stepping backward). My Princess ! 
 What have you let her hear me say, aunt Tertsky ? 
 
 Thek. (to the Countess). Has he been here *ong ? 
 
 Coun. ' Yes ; and soon must go. 
 
 Where have you stay'd so long ? 
 
PTHST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 155 
 
 Alas ! my mother 
 Wept so again ! and I I see her suffer, 
 Yet cannot keep myself from being happy. 
 
 Max. Now once again I have courage to look on you. 
 To-day at noon I could not. 
 The dazzle of the jewels that play'd round you 
 Hid the beloved from me. 
 
 Thek. Then you saw me 
 
 With your eye only and not with your heart? 
 
 Max. This morning, when I found you in the circle 
 Of all your kindred, in your father's arms, 
 Beheld myself an alien in this circle, 
 O ! what an impulse felt I in that moment 
 To fall upon his neck, to call him father ! 
 But his stern eye o'erpower'd thes welling passion 
 It dar'd not but be silent. And those brilliants, 
 That like a crown of stars enwreath'd your brows, 
 They scar'd me too ! O wherefore, wherefore should he 
 At the first meeting spread as 'twere the bann 
 Of excommunication round you, wherefore 
 Dress up the angel as for sacrifice, 
 And cast upon the light and joyous heart 
 The mournful burthen of his station ? Fitly 
 May love dare woo for love ; but such a splendour 
 Might none but monarchs venture to approach. 
 
 Thek. Hush ! not a word more of this mummery. 
 You see how soon the burthen is thrown off. 
 
 (to the Countess). 
 
 He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not ? 
 'Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy I 
 He had quite another i ature on the journey 
 80 calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. 
 
 (to Max}. 
 
 It was my wish to see you always ao, 
 And never otherwise.! 
 
150 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Max. You find yourself 
 
 In your great father's arms, beloved lady ! 
 All in a new world, which does homage to you, 
 And which, were't only by its novelty, 
 Delights your eye. 
 
 Thek. Yes ; I confess to you 
 
 That many things delight me here : this camp, 
 This motley stage of warriors, which renews 
 So manifold the image of my fancy, 
 And binds to life, binds to reality, 
 What hitherto had but been present to me 
 As a sweet dream ! 
 
 Max. Alas ! not so to me. 
 
 It makes a dream of my reality. 
 Upon some island in the ethereal heights 
 I've liv'd for these last days. This mass of men 
 Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge 
 That, reconducting to my former life, 
 Divides me and my heaven. 
 
 Thek. The game of life 
 
 Looks cheerful, when one- carries in one's heart 
 The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game, 
 Which having once reviewM, I tura'd more joyous 
 Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss. 
 
 (breaking off, and in a sportive tone). 
 In this short time that I've been present here, 
 What new unheard-of things have I not seen ? 
 And yet they all must give place to the wonder 
 Which this mysterious castle guards. 
 
 Coun. (recollecting). And what 
 
 Can this be then ? Methought I was acquainted 
 With all the dusky corners of this house. 
 
 Thek. (smiling). Ay, but the road thereto is watchM 
 
 by spirits, 
 Two griffins still stand sentry at the door. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 157 
 
 Coun. (laughs') The astrological tower ! How nap- 
 pens it 
 
 That this same sanctuary, whose access 
 Is to all others so impracticable, 
 Opens before you e'en at your approach ? 
 
 Thek. A dwarfish old man with a friendly face 
 And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services 
 Were mine at first sight, open'd me the doors. 
 
 Max. That is the Duke's astrologer, old Seni. 
 
 Thek. He question'd me on many points ; forinstance, 
 When I was born, what month, and on what day, 
 Whether by day or in the night. 
 
 Coun. He wish'd 
 
 To erect a figure for your horoscope 
 
 Thek. My hand too he examin'd, shook his head 
 With much sad meaning, and the lines, methought, 
 Did not square over truly with his wishes. 
 
 Coun. Well, Princess, and what found you in this 
 
 tower? 
 
 My highest privilege has been to snatch 
 A side-glance, and away ! 
 
 Thek. It was a strange 
 
 Sensation that came o'er me, when at first 
 From the broad sunshine I stepp'd in ! and now 
 The narrowing line of day-light, that ran after 
 The closing door, was gone ; and all about me 
 J Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows 
 Fantastically cast. Here six or seven 
 Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me 
 In a half-circle. Each one in his hand 
 A sceptre bore, and on his head a star, 
 And in the tower no other light was there 
 But from these stars : all seem'd to come from then* 
 ' These are the planets,' said that low old man, 
 They govern worldly fates, and for that cause 
 p 
 
158 THE PICCOLOMINT J OB, THB 
 
 Are imag'd here as kings. He farthest from you, 
 Spiteful and cold, an old man melancholy, 
 With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn. 
 He opposite, the king with the red light. 
 An arm'd man for the battle, that is Mars : 
 And both these bring but little luck to man/ 
 But at his side a lovely lady stood, 
 The star upon her head was soft and bright, 
 And that was Venus, the bright star of joy. 
 On the left hand, lo ! Mercury with wings. 
 Quite in the middle glitter'd silver-bright 
 A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien ; 
 And this was Jupiter, my father's star, 
 And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon. 
 
 Max. O never rudely will I blame his faith 
 In the might of stars and angels ! 'Tis not merely 
 The human being's pride that people space 
 With life and mystical predominance ; 
 Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love 
 This visible nature, and this common world, 
 Is all too narrow : yea, a deeper import 
 Lurks in the legend told my infant years 
 Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. 
 For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place : 
 Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 
 And spirits ; and delightedly believes 
 Divinities, being himself divine. 
 1 he intelligible forms of ancient poets, 
 The fair humanities of old religion, 
 The power, the beauty, and the majesty, 
 That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 
 Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. 
 Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanJrh'd. 
 They live no longer in the faith of reason ! 
 
 ut still the heart doth need a language, still 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 159 
 
 Doth the old instinct bring back the old names. 
 And to yon starry world they now are gone, 
 Spirits or gods, that us'd to share this earth 
 With man as with their friend ; * and to the lover 
 Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 
 Shoot influence down : and even at this day 
 'Tis Jupiter who brings whatever is great, 
 And Venus who brings every thing that's fair ! 
 
 Thek. And if this be the science of the stars, 
 I too, with glad and zealous industry, 
 "Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. 
 It is a gentle and affectionate thought, 
 That in immeasurable heights above us, 
 At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, 
 With sparkling stars for flowers. 
 
 Coun. Not only roses, 
 
 But thorns too hath the heaven ; and well for you, 
 Leave they your wreath of love inviolate. 
 What Venus twin'd, the bearer of glad fortune, 
 The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces. 
 
 Max. Soon will his gloomy empire reach its close. 
 Blest be the general's zeal : into the laurel 
 Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting 
 Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish 
 Will have remain'd for his great heart ! Enough 
 Has he performed for glory, and can now 
 Live for himself and his. To his domains 
 Will he retire ; he has a stately seat 
 Of fairest view at Gitschin ; Reichenberg, 
 And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly 
 Even to the foot of the huge mountains here 
 Stretches the chace and covers of his forests j 
 
 * No more of talk, where god or angel guest, 
 With man, as with his friend familiar, us'd 
 To sit indulgent Paradise Lost, B. IX. 
 
 p 2 
 
160 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THB 
 
 His ruling passion, to create the splendid, 
 
 He can indulge without restraint ; can give 
 
 A princely patronage to every art, 
 
 And to all worth a sovereign's protection. 
 
 Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses 
 
 Coun. Yet I would have you look, and look again, 
 Before you lay aside your arms, young friend ! 
 A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it 
 That you should woo and win her with the sword. 
 
 Max. O that the sword could win her '. 
 
 Coun. What was that? 
 
 Did you hear nothing ? Seem'd, as if I heard 
 1 Tumult and larum in the banquet-room. 
 
 [Exit Countest. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 THEKLA and MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 Thek. (as soon as the Countess is out of sight, in a 
 
 quick low voice to Piccolomini). 
 Don't trust them ! They are false ! 
 Max. Impossible ! 
 
 Thek. Trust no one here but me. I saw at once, 
 They had a purpose. 
 
 Max. Purpose ! but what purpose ? 
 
 And how can we be instrumental to it ? 
 
 Thek. I know no more than you ; but yet, believe 
 
 me : 
 
 There's some design in this ! To make us happy, 
 To realize our union trust me, love ! 
 They but pretend to wish It. 
 
 Max. But these Tertskies 
 
 Why use we them at all ? Why not your mother ? 
 Excellent creature ! she deserves from us 
 A full and filial confidence. 
 
 She doth love you, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 161 
 
 Doth rate you high before all others but 
 But sucn a secret she would never have 
 The courage to conceal it from my father. 
 For her own peace of mind we must preserve it 
 A secret from her too. 
 
 Max. Why any secret ? 
 
 I love not secrets. Mark, what I will $0. 
 I'll throw me at your father's feet let him 
 Decide upon my fortunes ! He is true, 
 He wears no mask he hates all crooked ways 
 He is so good, so noble ! 
 
 Thek. (falls on his neck}. That are you ! 
 
 Max. You knew him only since this morn ; but I 
 Have liv'd ten years already in his presence, 
 And who knows whether in this very moment 
 He is not merely waiting for us both 
 To own our loves, in order to unite us. 
 
 You are silent ? 
 
 You look at me with such a hopelessness ! 
 What have you to object against your father? 
 
 Thek. I? Nothing. Only he 's so occupied 
 He has no leisure time to think about 
 The happiness of us two. 
 
 [Taking his hand tenderly. 
 
 Follow me ! 
 
 Let us not place too great a faith in men. 
 These Tertskies we will still be grateful to them 
 For every kindness, but not trust them further 
 
 Than tney deserve ; and in all else rely 
 
 On our own hearts ! 
 
 Max. O ! shall we e'er be happy ? 
 
 Thek. Are we not happy now ? Art thou not mine 1 
 Am I not thine ? There lives within mv soul 
 A lofty courage 't is love gives it me ! 
 1 ou^ht to be less open ought to hide 
 * 3 
 
102 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 My heart more from thee so decorum dictates. 
 But where in this place could'st thou seek for truth, 
 If in ray mouth thou did'st not find it? 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 To them enters the COUNTESS TERTSKY. 
 
 Coun. (in a pressing manner}. Come! 
 
 My husband sends me for you It is now 
 The latest moment. 
 
 [They net appearing to attend to what she says, 
 she steps between them. 
 Part you ! 
 
 Thek. 0, not yet ! 
 
 It has been scarce a moment. 
 
 Coun. Aye ? Then time 
 
 Flies swiftly with your Highness, Princess niece! 
 
 Max. There is no hurry, aunt. 
 
 Coun. Away ! away ! 
 
 The folks begin to miss you. Twice already 
 His father has ask'd for him. 
 
 Thek. Ha! his father? 
 
 Coun. You understand that, niece. 
 
 Thek. Why needs he 
 
 To go at all to that society ? 
 'T is not his proper company. Ihey may 
 Be worthy men, but he's too young for them. 
 In brief, he suits not such society. 
 
 Coun. You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly 
 here? 
 
 Thek. (with energy}. Yes, you have hit it, aunt ! 
 
 That is my meaning. 
 Leave him here wholly ! Tell the company 
 
 Coun. What? have you lost your senses, niece ? 
 Count, you remember the conditions. Come ! 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTKItf. 163 
 
 Max. (to Thekla). Lady, I must obey. Farewell, 
 
 dear lady ! 
 
 [Thekla turns away from him with a quick motion. 
 What say you then, dear lady ? 
 
 Thek. (without looking at him). Nothing. Go ! 
 
 Max. Can I, when you are angry 
 
 [He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands 
 silent a moment, then throws herself into his 
 arms ; he presses her fast to his heart. 
 Coun. Off ! Heavens ! if any one should come 
 Hark ! What 's that noise ? It comes this way. Off! 
 [Max. tears himself away out of her arms, and 
 goes. TJte Countess accompanies him. Thekla 
 follows him with her eyes at first, walks rest- 
 lessly across the room, then stops, and remains 
 standing, lost in thought. A guitar lies on tlie 
 table, she seizes it as by a sudden emotion, and- 
 after she has played awhile an irregular and 
 melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into 
 the music and sings. 
 
 Thekla. (Plays and sings.} 
 The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, 
 The damsel paces along the shore ; 
 The billows they tumble with might, with might ; 
 And she flings out her voice to the darksome night : 
 
 Her bosom is swelling with sorrow ; 
 The world it is empty, the heart will die, 
 There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky : 
 Thou Holy One, call thy child away ! 
 
 I've lived and loved, and that was to-day 
 
 Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.* 
 
 * I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal 
 fidelity, preserving; at the same time the Alcaic movement ; and have 
 therefore added the original with a prose translation. Some of ray 
 leaders may be more fortunate. 
 
164 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THH 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA. 
 Court. Fie, lady niece ! to throw yourself upon him, 
 Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, 
 And so must be flung after him ! For you, 
 Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought 
 It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself 
 More chary of your person. 
 
 Thekla. (Spielt und singt.) 
 Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn, 
 Das Magdlein wandelt an Ufers Grtin, 
 Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Maclit, 
 Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht, 
 
 Das Auge von Weinen getrUbet : 
 Das Herz ist gestorben, die Welt ist leer, 
 Und welter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr. 
 Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurttck, 
 Ich babe genossen das irdische Gluck, 
 
 Ich babe gelebt und geliebet. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 Thekla. (Plays and sings.) 
 
 The oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to 
 and fro on the green of the shore ; the wave breaks with might, with 
 might, and she sings out into the dark night, her eye discolour'd 
 with weeping: the heart is dead, the world is empty, and further 
 gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy One, call thy child 
 home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and 
 have loved. 
 
 I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which the 
 author of " The Tale of Rosamund Gray and Blind Margaret," has 
 favoured me, and which appears to me to have caught the happiest 
 manner of our old ballads. 
 
 The clouds are black'ning, the storms threat'ning, 
 
 The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan ; 
 Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, 
 Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, 
 
 Her eye upward roving : 
 The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, 
 
 In this world plainly all seemeth amiss ; 
 To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one, 
 I have partaken of all earth's bliss, 
 Both living and loving. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 165 
 
 Thek. (rising"). And what mean you ? 
 
 Coun. I mean, niece, that you should not have for- 
 gotten 
 
 Who you are, and who he is. But perchance 
 That never once occurr'd to you. 
 
 Thek. What then ? 
 
 Coun. That you 're the daughter of the Prince-duke 
 Friedland. 
 
 Thek. Well and what farther ? 
 
 Coun. What ? a pretty question ! 
 
 Thek. He was born that which we have but become. 
 He 's of an ancient Lombard family, 
 Son of a reigning princess. 
 
 Coun. Are you dreaming ? 
 
 Talking in sleep ? An excellent jest, forsooth I 
 We shall, no doubt, right courteously intreat him 
 To honour with his hand the richest heiress 
 In Europe. 
 
 Thek. That will not be necessary. 
 
 Coun. Methinks 'twere well tho' not to run the 
 hazard. 
 
 Thek. His father loves him, Count Octavio 
 Will interpose no difficulty 
 
 Coun. His! 
 
 His father ! his ! But yours's, niece, what of your's ? 
 
 Thek. Why I begin to think you fear his father, 
 So anxiously you hide it from the man : 
 His father, his, I mean. 
 
 Coun. (looks at her, as scrutinizing). Niece, you 
 are false. 
 
 Thek. Are you then wounded ? O, be friends with 
 me? 
 
 Coun. You hold your game for won already. Do 
 
 not 
 Triumph too soon 1 
 
166 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Thek. (interrupting her, and attempting to soot/ie 
 her). Nay now, be friends with me. 
 
 Coun. It is not yet so far gone. 
 
 Tfiek. I believe you. 
 
 Coun. Did you suppose your father had laid out 
 His most important life in toils of war, 
 Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, 
 Had banishM slumber from his tent, devoted 
 His noble head to care, and for this only, 
 To make a happier pair of you ? At length 
 To draw you from your convent, and conduct 
 In easy triumph to your arms the man 
 That chanc'd to please your eyes ! All this, methinks, 
 He might have purchas'd at a cheaper rate. 
 
 Thek. That which he did not plant for me, might yet 
 Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. 
 And if my friendly and affectionate Fate, 
 Out of his fearful and enormous being, 
 Will but prepare the joys of life for me 
 
 Coun. Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes. 
 Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art. 
 Into no house of joyance hast thou stepp'd, 
 For no espousals dost thou find the walls 
 Deck'd out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing. 
 Here is no splendour but of arms. Or think'st thou 
 That all these thousands are here congregated 
 To lead up the long dances at thy wedding ? 
 Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, 
 Thy mother's eye in tears : upon the balance 
 Lies the great destiny of all our house. 
 Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, 
 O thrust it far behind thee ! Give thou proof, 
 Thou 'rt the daughter of the Mighty his, 
 Who where he moves creates the wonderful. 
 Not to herself the woman must belong, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTBIW. 167 
 
 Annex'd and bound to alien destinies. 
 But she performs the best part, she the wisest, 
 Who can transmute the alien into self, 
 Meet and disarm necessity by choice : 
 And what must be, take freely to her heart, 
 And bear and foster it with mother's love. 
 
 Thek. Such ever was my lesson in the convent 
 I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself 
 Only as his his daughter his, the Mighty ! 
 His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me 
 From the far distance, waken'd in my soul 
 No other thought than this I am appointed 
 To offer up myself in passiveness to him. 
 
 Coun* That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it. 
 I and thy mother gave thee the example. 
 
 Thek. My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves 
 
 it 
 
 That I should offer up myself. In gladness 
 Him will I follow. 
 
 Coun. Not thy fate hath shown him ! 
 
 Thy heart, say rather 'twas thy heart, my child ! 
 
 Thek. Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulses. 
 I am all his ! His Present his alone 
 Is this new life, which lives in me. He hath 
 A right to his own creature. What was I 
 Ere his fair love infus'd a soul into me ? 
 
 Coun. Thou would'st oppose thy father then, should 
 
 he 
 Have otherwise determined with tfiy person? 
 
 (Thekla remains silent. The Countess continues.) 
 Thou meanest to force him to thy liking ? Child, 
 His name is Friedland. 
 
 TJiek. My name too is Friedland. 
 
 He shall have found a genuine daughter in me. 
 
 Coun. What ? he has vanquish'd all impediment, 
 
168 THE PICCOLOMINIJ OR THE, 
 
 And in the wilful mood of his own daughter 
 Shall a new struggle rise for him ? Child ! child i 
 As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone ; 
 The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, 
 I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, 
 I trust, it ne'er shall come. His will is yet 
 Unknown to me : 'tis possible, his aims 
 May have the same direction as thy wish. 
 But this can never, never be his will, 
 That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, 
 Should's e'er demean thee as a love sick maiden ; 
 And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself 
 Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever 
 Be destin'd to await him, yet, with sacrifices 
 The highest love can bring, must pay for it. 
 
 [Exit Countess. 
 Thek. (who during the last speech had been standing 
 
 evidently lost in her reflections.} 
 I thank thee for the hint. It turns 
 My sad presentiment to certainty. 
 And it is so ! Not one friend have we here, 
 Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves ! 
 
 she said rightly no auspicious signs 
 Beam on this covenant of our affections. 
 This is no theatre, where hope abides. 
 
 The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here. 
 And love himself, as he were arm'd in steel, 
 Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. 
 
 [Music fromihe banquet room is heard. 
 There's a dark spirit walking in our house, 
 And swiftly will the destiny close on us. 
 It drove me hither from my calm asylum, 
 It mocks my soul with charming witchery, 
 It lures me forward in a seraph's 
 
 1 see it near, I see it nearer floating, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 169 
 
 It draws, it pulls me with a god-like power 
 And lo ! the abyss and thither I am moving 
 I have no power within me not to move ! 
 
 [The music from the banquet room becomes louder. 
 O when a house is doom'd in fire to perish, 
 Many and dark heaven drives his clouds together, 
 Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights, 
 Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms. 
 * And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury, 
 Sling fire-brands at the burning edifice. 
 
 [Exit Tliekla. 
 
 SCENE VIII. A large saloon lighted up with festal 
 splendour ; in the midst of it, and in the centre of 
 the stage, a table richly set out, at which eight 
 generals are sitting, among whom are Ociavio 
 Piccolomini, Tertsky and Maradas. Right and 
 left of this, but farther bach, two other tables, at 
 each of which six persons are placed. The middle 
 door, which is standing open, gives to the prospect 
 a fourth table, with the same number of persons 
 More forward stands the sideboard. The whole 
 front of the stage is kept open for the pages and 
 servants in waiting. All is in motion. The band 
 of music belonging to Tertsky' s regiment march 
 across the stage, and draw up round tJie tables. 
 Before they are quite off from the front of the 
 stage, Max. Piccolomini appears ; Tertsky advances 
 
 * There are few, who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two 
 concluding lines of this soliloquy ; and still fewer, I would fain hope, 
 who would not have been more disposed to shudder, had I given a 
 faithful translation. For the readers of German I have added the 
 original :- 
 
 Blind-wQthend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude 
 Den Peclikranz in das brennende Gebaude. 
 
170 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 towards him with a paper, Isolani comes up to meet 
 him with a beaker or service -cup. 
 
 TERTSKY, ISOLANI, MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Iso. Here brother, what we love! Why, where 
 
 hast been ? 
 
 Off, to thy place quick ! Tertsky here has given 
 The mother's holiday wine up to free booty. 
 Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle. 
 Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving 
 At yonder table ducal crowns in shares ; 
 There's Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up, 
 With Eggenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's, 
 And all the great Bohemian feodalities. 
 Be nimble lad ! and something may turn up 
 For thee who knows? Off to thy place ! quick! march! 
 
 Tief. and Goetz (call out from the second and third 
 tables. 
 
 Count Piccolomoni ! 
 
 Ter. Stop, ye shall have him in an instant. Read 
 This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth, 
 The wording satisfies you. They've all read it, 
 Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe 
 His individual signature. 
 
 Max. (reads,) ' Ingratis servire nefas.' 
 
 Iso. That sounds to my ears very much like Latin, 
 And being interpreted, pray what may't mean ? 
 
 Ter. No honest man will serve a thankless master. 
 
 Max. f Inasmuch as our supreme commander, the 
 illustrious Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the 
 manifold affronts and grievances which he has received, 
 had expressed his dtermination to quit the Emperor, 
 but on our unanimous entreaty has graciously consented 
 to remain still with the army, and not to part from us 
 without our approbation thereof, so we, collectively 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 177 
 
 and each in particular, in the stead of an oath person- 
 ally taken, do hereby oblige ourselves likewise by him 
 honourably and faithfully to hold, and in no wise 
 whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready to shed 
 for his interests the last drop of our blood, so far, 
 namely, as our oath to the Emperor will permit. 
 (These last words are repeated by Isolani.) In testi- 
 mony of which we subscribe our names/ 
 
 Ter. Now ! are you willing to subscribe this paper? 
 
 Iso. Why should he not ? All officers of honour 
 Can do it, ay must do it. Pen and ink here ! 
 
 Ter. Nay, let it rest till after meal. 
 
 Iso. (drawing Max. along,) Come Max. 
 
 Both seat themselves at their table. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 TERTSKY, NEUMANN. 
 
 Ter. (beckons to Neumann who is waiting at the 
 side table, and steps forward with him to the 
 edge of the stage.) 
 
 Have you the copy with you, Neumann ? Give it. 
 It may be chang'd for the other? 
 
 Neu. I have copied it 
 
 Letter by letter, line by line ; no eye 
 Would e'er discover other difference, 
 Save only the omission of that clause, 
 According to your Excellency's order. 
 
 Ter. Right ! Lay it yonder, and away with this 
 It has perform'd its business to the fire with it 
 (Neumann lays the copy on the table, and steps 
 back again to the side table. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 ILLO (comes outjrom the second chamber,} TEBTSKT. 
 /Zfo. How goes it with young Piccolomini ? 
 
172 THE PICCOLCMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Ter. All right, I think. He has started no objection. 
 
 Illo. He is the only one I fear about 
 He and his father. Have an eye on both. 
 
 Ter. How looks it at your table ? You forget not 
 To keep them warm and stirring? 
 
 Illo. O quite cordial, 
 
 They are quite cordial in the scheme, We have them. 
 And 'tis as I predicted too. Already 
 It is the talk, not merely to maintain 
 The Duke in station. * Since we're once for all 
 Together and unanimous, why not/ 
 Says Montecuculi, * Ay, why not onward ? 
 And make conditions with the Emperor 
 There in his own Vienna ?' Trust me, Count, 
 Where it not for these said Piccolominj, 
 We might have spar'd ourselves the cheat. 
 
 Ter. And Butler? 
 
 How goes it there ? Hush ! 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 To them enter BUTLER/TOWI the second table. 
 
 But. Don't disturb yourselves. 
 
 Field Marshal, I have understood you perfectly, 
 Good luck be to the scheme ; and as for me, 
 
 (with an air of mystery.) 
 You may depend upon me. 
 
 Illo. (with vivacity.) May we, Butler ? 
 
 But. With or without the clause, all one to me ? 
 You undertand me ? My fidelity 
 The Duke may put to any proof I'm with him ! 
 Tell him so ! I'm the Emperor's officer, 
 As long as 'tis his pleasure to remain 
 The Emperor's general ! and Friedland's servant. 
 As soon as it shall please him to become 
 His owu lord. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 173 
 
 Ter. You would make a good exchange; 
 
 No stern economist, no Ferdinand 
 Is he to whom you plight your services. 
 
 But. (with a haughty look). I do not put up my 
 
 fidelity 
 
 To sale, Count Tertsky ! Haifa year ago 
 I would not have advis'd you to have made me 
 An overture to that, to which I now 
 Offer myself of my own free accord. 
 But that is past ! and to the Duke, Field Marshal, 
 I bring myself together with my regiment. 
 And mark you, 'tis my humour to believe, 
 The example which I give will not remain 
 Without an influence. 
 
 Illo. Who is ignorant, 
 
 That the whole army look to Colonel Butler, 
 As to a light that moves before them ? 
 
 But. Ey ? 
 
 Then I repent me not of that fidelity 
 Which for the length of forty years I held, 
 If in my sixtieth year of my old good name 
 Can purchase for me a revenge so full. 
 Start not at what I say, sir generals ! 
 My real motives they concern not you. 
 And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect 
 That this your game had crook'd my judgment or 
 That fickleness, quick blood, or such light cause. 
 Has driven the old man from the track of honour, 
 Which he so long had trodden. Come, my friends! 
 I'm not thereto determin'd with less firmness, 
 Because I know and have look'd steadily 
 At that on which I have determin'd. 
 
 Illo. Say, 
 
 And speak roundly, what are we to deem you '; 
 
 But. A friend! 1 give you here my hand! I'm your' 9 
 Q3 
 
174, THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 With all I have. Not only men, but money 
 
 Will the Duke want. Go, tell him, sirs ! 
 
 I've earn'd and laid up somewhat in his service, 
 
 I lend it him ; and is he ni)* survivor, 
 
 It has been already long ago bequeathM him. 
 
 He is my heir. For me, I stand alone 
 
 Here in the world ; nought know I of the feelings 
 
 That bind the husband to a wife and children, 
 
 My name dies with me, my existence ends. 
 
 Illo. 'Tis not your money that he needs a heart 
 Like your's weighs tons of gold down, weighs down 
 millions ! 
 
 But. I came a simple soldier's boy from Ireland 
 To Prague and with a master, whom I buried. 
 From lowest stable duty I climb'd up, 
 Such was the fate of war, to this high rank, 
 The plaything of a whimsical good fortune. 
 And Wallenstein too is a child of luck, 
 I love a fortune that is like my own. 
 
 Illo. All powerful souls have kindred with each 
 other. 
 
 But. This is an awful moment! to the brave, 
 To the determin'd, an auspicious moment. 
 The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the Main 
 To found a mighty dukedom. He of Halberstadt, 
 That Mansfeld wanted but a longer life 
 To have mark'd out with his good sword a lordship 
 That should reward his courage. Who of these 
 Equals our Friedland ? There is nothing, nothing 
 So high, but he may set the ladder to it ! 
 
 Ter. That spoken like a man ! 
 
 But. Do you secure the Spaniard and Italian 
 I'll be your warrant for the Scotchman Lesly. 
 Come ! to the company ! 
 
 Ter. Where is the master of the cellar ? Ho if 
 
FIRST PART OF W ALLEN STEIW. 174 
 
 Let the best wines come up. Ho ! cheerly, boy I 
 LUCK comes to-day, so give her hearty welcome. 
 
 [Jb'xeunt each, to ftis table. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 The Master of the Cellar advancing with Neumann. 
 Servants passing backwards and forwards. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. The best wine ! O ! if my old 
 mistress, his lady mother, could but see these wild 
 goings on, she would turn herself round in her grave. 
 Yes, yes, sir officer ! 'tis all down the hill with this 
 noble house ! no end, no moderation ! And this mar- 
 riage with the Duke's sister, a splendid connection, a 
 very splendid connection ! but I will tell you, sir 
 officer, it bodes no good. 
 
 Neu. Heaven forbid ! Why, at this very moment 
 the whole prospect is in bud and blossom ! 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. You think so ? Well, well, much 
 may be said on that head. 
 
 1st Ser. (comes). Burgundy for the fourth table. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. Now, sir lieutenant, if this an't 
 the seventieth flask 
 
 1st Ser. Why, the reason is, that German lord, 
 Tiefenbach, sits at that table. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (continuing his discourse to Neu- 
 mann). They are soaring too high. They would nvai 
 kings and electors in their pomp and splendour ; and 
 wherever the Duke leaps, not a minute does my gra- 
 cious master, the Count, loiter on the brink. (To the 
 servants). What do. you stand there listening for ? 
 I will let you know you have legs presently. Off! 
 see to the tables, see to the flasks ! Look there ! Count 
 Palfi has an empty glass before him I 
 
 Runner (comes). The great service-cup is wanted, 
 
176 THE PICCOLOMINJ ; OR, THE 
 
 sir ; that rich gold cup with the Bohemian arms on it. 
 The Count says you know which it is. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. Ay ! that was made for Frederick's 
 coronation by the artist William there was not such 
 another prize in the whole booty at Prague. 
 
 Run. The same ! a health is to go round in him 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (shaking his head while he fetches 
 and rinses the cup). This will be something for the 
 talebearers this goes to Vienna. 
 
 Neu. Permit me to look at it Well, this is a cup 
 indeed ! How heavy ! as well as it may be, being all 
 gold. And what neat things are emboss'd on it ! how 
 natural and elegant they look ! There, on that first 
 quarter, let me see. That proud Amazon there on 
 horseback, she that is taking a leap over the crosier 
 and mitres, and carries on a wand, a hat, together 
 with a banner, on which there's a goblet represented. 
 Can you tell me what all this signifies ? 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. The woman whom you see here 
 on horseback, is the free election of the Bohemian 
 crown. That is signified by the round hat, and by 
 that fiery steed on which she is riding. The hat is 
 the pride of man ; for he who cannot keep his hat 
 on before kings and emperors is no free man. 
 
 Neu. But what is the cup there on the banner ? 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. The cup signifies the freedom of 
 the Bohemian Church, as it was in our forefathers 7 
 times. Our forefathers, in the wars of the Hussites, 
 forced from the pope this noble privilege ; for the pope, 
 you know, will not grant the cup to any layman. 
 Your true Moravian values nothing beyond the cup ; 
 it is his costly jewel, and has cost the Bohemians their 
 precious blood in many and many a battle. 
 
 Neu. And what says that chart that harsjs in the 
 air there, over it all ? 
 
FIRST PART. OF WALLENSTEIN. 177 
 
 Mast, ef the Cel. That signifies the Bohemian 
 letter royal, which we lorcecl from the Emperor 
 Rodolpn a precious, never -to-be - enough valued 
 parcnment, that ' secures, to the new church the old 
 privileges of free ringing and open psalmody. But 
 since he of Steiermark has ruled over us, that is at an 
 end ; and after the battle at Prague, in which Count 
 Palatine Frederick lost crown and empire, our faith 
 hangs upon the pu"pit and the altararid our brethren 
 look at their homes over their shoulders j but the letter 
 royal the emperor himself cut to pieces with his scis- 
 sars. 
 
 Neu. Why, my good Master of the Cellar ! you are 
 deep read in the chronicles of your country ! 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. So were my forefathers, and for 
 that reason were they minstrels, and served under 
 Procopius and Ziska. Peace be with their ashes ! 
 Well, well ! they fought for a good cause tho' There 
 carry it up ! 
 
 Neu. Stay ! let me but look at this second quarter, 
 Look there ! That is, when at Prague Castle the Im- 
 perial Counsellors, Martinitz and Stawata were hurl'd 
 down head over heels. ; Tis even so ! there stands 
 Count Thur who commands it. 
 (Runner takes the service-cup and goes off with it.) 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. O let me never more hear of that 
 day. It was the three and twentieth of May, in the 
 year of our Lord one thousand, six hundred, and 
 eighteen. It seems to me as it were but yesterday 
 from that unlucky day it all began, all the heart-aches 
 of the country. Since that day it is now sixteen years, 
 and there has never once been peace on the earth. 
 
 (Health drank aloud at the second table.) 
 The Prince of Weimar ! Hurra ! 
 
 (At the third and fourth table.) 
 
178 THE PICCOLOMINI J OB, THE 
 
 Long live Prince William ! Long live Duke Ber- 
 nard ! Hurra! (Music strikes up.) 
 
 1st Ser. Hear'em ! Hear'em ! What an uproar ! 
 
 %nd Ser. (comes in running.) Did you hear ? They 
 have drunk the Prince of Weimar's health. 
 
 3rd Ser. The Swedish Chief Commander ! 
 
 1st Ser. (speaking at the same time.) The Lutheran ! 
 
 2nd Ser. Just before, when Count Deodate gave 
 out the Emperor's health, they were all as mum as a 
 nibbling mouse. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. Po, po ! When the wine goes in, 
 strange things come out. A good servant hears, and 
 hears not ! You should be nothing but eyes and feet 
 except when you're called to. 
 
 2nd Ser. (To tfte Runner, to whom he gives se- 
 cretly a flask of wine, keeping his eye upon the 
 Master of the Cellar, standing between Mm and 
 the Runner.) 
 
 Quick, Thomas, before the Master of the Cellar 
 looks this way 'tis a flask of Frontignac ! Snapp'd 
 it up at the third table Canst go off with it ? 
 
 Run. (hides it in his pocket,) All right ! 
 
 Exit the 2nd Servant. 
 
 3rd Ser. (aside, to the first.) Be on the hark, Jack ! 
 that we may have right plenty to tell to Father Quivoga 
 He will give us right plenty of absolution in return 
 for it. 
 
 1st Ser. For that very purpose lam always hav- 
 ing something to do behind Illo's chair. He is the 
 man for speeches to make you stare with. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (to Neumann.) Who, pray, may 
 that swarthy man be, he with the cross, that is chat- 
 ting so confidentially with Esterhats ? 
 
 Neu. Ay, he too is one of those to whom they confide 
 too much. He calls himself Maradas, a Spania-d is he. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 179 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (impatiently). Spaniard! Spaniard! 
 I tell you, friend, nothing good comes of those Spa- 
 niards. All these outlandish fellows* are little better 
 than rogues. 
 
 Neu. Fie, fie, you should not say so, friend. There 
 are among them our very best generals, and those on 
 whom the Duke at this moment relies the most. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (taking the flask out of the Run- 
 ner's pocket}. My son, it will be broken to pieces in 
 your pocket. 
 
 [ Tertsky hurries in, fetches away the paper, and 
 calls to a servant for pen and ink, and goes to 
 the back of the stage. 
 
 Mast, of the Cel. (to the Servants). The Lieutenant- 
 General stands up. Be on the watch. Now ! They 
 break up. Off, and move back the forms ! 
 
 {They rise at all the tables, the servants hurry off 
 the front of the stage to the tables ; part of the 
 guests come forwand. 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 
 OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI enters into conversation with 
 MARADAS, and both place themselves quite on the 
 edge of the stage on one side of the proscenium. 
 On the side directly opposite, MAX. PICCOLOMINI, 
 by himself, lost in thought, and taking no part in 
 anything that is going forward. The middle space 
 between both, but rather more distant from the edge 
 of the stage, is filled up by BUTLER, ISOLANI, 
 
 GrOETZ, TlEFENBACH, KOLATTO. 
 
 * There is a humour in the original which cannot be given in the 
 translation. " Die welschen alle," &c., which word in classical Ger- 
 man means the Italians alone ; but in its first sense, and at present in 
 the vulgar use of the word, signifies foreigners in general. Our word 
 wall-nuts, I suppose, means outlandish nuts Wallse nuces, in Ger- 
 BUU " Welsch-uusse." 
 
ISO THE PICCOLOMINI j OR, THE 
 
 Iso. (while the company is coming forward}. Good 
 night, good night, Kolatto ! Good night, Lieutenant- 
 General ! I should rather say, good morning. 
 
 Goetz. (to Tiefenbach). Noble brother! (making 
 t/te. usual compliment after meals.) 
 
 Tief. Ay ! 'twas a royal feast indeed. 
 
 Goetz. Yes, my Lady Countess understands these 
 matters. Her mother-in-law, heaven rest her soul, 
 taught her ! Ah ! that was a housewife for you. 
 
 Tief. There was not her like in all Bohemia for set- 
 ting out a table. 
 
 Oct. (aside to Maradas). Do me the favour to talk 
 to me talk of what you will or of nothing. Only 
 preserve the appearance at least of talking. I would 
 not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture that 
 there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive 
 observation. (He continues to fix his eye on the whole 
 following scene.) 
 
 Iso. (on the point of going). Lights, lights! 
 
 Ter. (advances with the paper to Isolani). Noble 
 brother ! two minutes longer ; here is something to 
 subscribe. 
 
 Iso. Subscribe as much as you like but you must 
 excuse me from reading it. 
 
 Ter. There is no need. It is the oath which you 
 have already read. Only a few marks of your pen 1 
 (Isolani hands over the paper to Octavio, respectfully.) 
 
 Ter. Nay, nay, first come, first served. There is no 
 precedence here. (Octavio runs over the paper with 
 apparent indifference. Tertshy watches him at some 
 distance.) 
 
 Goetz. (to Tertshy). Noble Count ! with your per- 
 mission Good night. 
 
 Ter. Where's the hurry ? Come, one other compos- 
 ing draught. (To the servants.) Ho I 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 181 
 
 Goetz. Excuse me an't able. 
 
 Ter. A thimble-full ! 
 
 Goetz. Excuse me. 
 
 Tief. (sits down). Pardon me, nobles. This stand- 
 ing does not agree with me. 
 
 Ter, Consult only your own convenience, General. 
 
 Tief. Clear at head, sound in stomach only my 
 legs won't carry me any longer. 
 
 Iso. (pointing at his corpulence}. Poor legs ! how 
 should they? Such an unmerciful load! (Octavio 
 subscribes his name, and reaches over the paper to 
 Tertsky, who gives it to Isolani ; and he goes to the 
 table to sign his name.} 
 
 Tief. 'Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought 
 it on. Out in all weathers ice and snow no help 
 for it. I shall never get the better of it all the. days of 
 my life. 
 
 Goetz. Why, in simple verity, your Swede makes 
 no nice inquiries about the season. 
 
 Ter. (observing Isolani, whose hand trembles exces- 
 sively r , so that he can scarcely direct his pen). Have 
 you had that ugly complaint long, noble brother ? 
 Despatch it. 
 
 Iso. The sins of youth ! I have already tried the 
 Chalybeate waters. Well I must bear it. (Tertsky 
 gives the paper to Maradas ; he steps to the table to 
 subscribe.) 
 
 Oct. (advancing to Butler). You are not over fond 
 of the orgies of Bacchus, Colonel ! I have observed 
 it. You would, I think, find yourself more to your 
 liking in the uproar of a battle, than of a feast. 
 
 But. I must confess, 'tis not in my way. 
 
 Oct. (stepping nearer to himfriendlily}. Nor in mine 
 ither, 1 can assure you ; and I am not a little glad, 
 jay much honoured Colonel Butler, that we agree so 
 it 
 
182 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 well in our opinions. A half dozen good friends at 
 most, at a small round table, a glass of genuine Tokay, 
 open hearts, and a rational conversation that's my 
 taste ! 
 
 But. And mine too, when it can be had. (Tlie paper 
 comes to Tiefenbach, who glances over it at the same 
 time with Goetz and Kolatto. Maradas in the mean 
 time returns to Octavio. All this takes place, the con- 
 versation with Butler proceeding uninterrupted.) 
 
 Oct. (introducing Maradas to Butler). Don Balt- 
 hasar Maradas ! likewise a man of our stamp, and long 
 ago your admirer. (Butler bows.) 
 
 Oct. (continuing). You are a stranger here 't was 
 but yesterday you arrived ; you are ignorant of the 
 ways and means here. 'T is a wretched place I know, 
 at our age, one loves to be snug and quiet What if 
 you moved your lodgings? Come, be my visitor. 
 (Butler makes a low bow.) Nay, without compliment! 
 For a friend like you, I have still a Corner remaining. 
 
 But. (coldly). Your obliged humble servant, my 
 Lord Lieutenant-General ! (The paper comes to But- 
 ler, who goes to the table to subscribe it. The front 
 of the stage is vacant, so that both the PiccolominV s, 
 each on the side where lie had been from the com- 
 mencement of the scene, remain alone.) 
 
 Oct. (after having some time watched his son in 
 silence, advances somewhat nearer to nim). You were 
 long absent from us, friend ! 
 
 Max. I urgent business detained me. 
 
 Oct. And, I observe, you are still absent. 
 
 Max. You know this crowd and bustle always 
 makes me silent. 
 
 Oct. (advancing still nearer). May I be permitted 
 to ask what the business was that detained you ? 
 Tertsky knows it without asking ! 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 183 
 
 Max. What does Tertsky know ? 
 
 Oct. He was the only one who did not miss yon. 
 
 Iso. (who has been attending to them from some 
 distance, steps up.) Well done, father I Rout out his 
 baggage ! Beat up his quarters ! There is something 
 there that should not be. 
 
 Ter. (with the paper}. Is there none wanting? 
 Have the whole subscribed ? 
 
 Oct. All. 
 
 Ter. (calling aloud). Ho ! Who subscribes ? 
 
 But. (to Tertsky). Count the names. There ought 
 to be just thirty. 
 
 Ter. Here is a cross. 
 
 Tief. That's my mark. 
 
 Iso. He cannot write ; but his cross is a good cross, 
 and is honour'd by Jews as well as Christians. 
 
 Oct. (presses on to Max.) Come, General ; let us 
 go. It is late. 
 
 Ter. One Piccoloinini only has signed. 
 
 Iso. (pointing to Max.) Look ! that is your man, 
 that statue there, who has had neither eye, ear, nor 
 tongue for us the whole evening. (Max. receives the 
 paper from Tertsky) which he looks upon vacantly.) 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 
 To these enter ILLO from the inner room. He has in 
 his hand the golden service-cup, and is extremely 
 distempered with drinking: GOETZ and BUTLER 
 follow him, endeavouring to keep him bach. 
 
 Illo. What do you want ? Let me go. 
 
 Goetz and But. Drink no more, Illo ! For hea- 
 ven's sake, drink no more. 
 
 lilo. (goes up to Octavio, and shakes him cordially 
 by the hand, and then drinks). Octavio I I bring this 
 
 R 2 
 
184 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OK, THE 
 
 to you ! Let all grudge be drowned in this friendly 
 bowl ! I know well enough, ye never loved me 
 Devil take me ! and I never loved you ! I am al- 
 ways even with people in that way ! Let what 's past 
 be past that is, you understand forgotten ! I esteem 
 you infinitely. (Embracing him repeatedly-) You 
 have not a dearer friend on earth than I but that you 
 know. The fellow that cries rogue to you, calls me 
 villain and I'll strangle him ! my dear friend ! 
 
 Ter. (whispering to Mm). Art in thy senses? For 
 heaven's sake, Illo ! think where you are. 
 
 Illo. (aloud). What do you mean? There are none 
 but friends here, are there ? (Looks rownd the whole 
 circle with a jolly and triumphant air.) Not a sneaker 
 among us, thank heaven ! 
 
 Ter. (to Butler, eagerly). Take him off with you, 
 force him off, I entreat you, Butler ! 
 
 But. (to Illo). Field-Marshal ! a word with you 
 (Leads him to tJie side-board.) 
 
 Illo. (cordially). A thousand for one ! Fill Fill it 
 once more up to the "brim To this gallant man's 
 health ! 
 
 Iso. (to Max, who aU the while has been staring on 
 the paper with fixed but vacant eyes) Slow and sure, 
 my noble brother ! Hast parsed it all yet ? Some 
 words yet to go thro' ? Ha? I 
 
 Max. (waking as from a dream). What am I to do? 
 
 Ter. and at the same time Iso. Sign your name. 
 (Octavio directs his eyes on him with intense anxiety.) 
 
 Max. (returns the paper). Let it stay till to- 
 morrow. It is business to-day I am not sufficiently 
 collected. Send it to me to-morrow. 
 
 Ter. Nay, collect yourself a little. 
 
 Iso. Awake, man ! awake ; Come, thy signature, 
 and have done with it! What? Thou art the youngest 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 185 
 
 in the whole company, and wouldest be wiser than all 
 of us together? Look there ! thy father has signed 
 we have all signed. 
 
 Ter. (to Octavio). Use your influence. Instruct 
 him. 
 
 Oct. My son is at the age of discretion. 
 
 Illo. (leaves the service-cup on the side-board). 
 What's the dispute ? 
 
 Ter. He declines subscribing the paper. 
 
 Max. I say, it may as well stay till to-morrow. 
 
 Illo. It cannot stay. We have all subscribed to it 
 and so must you. You must subscribe. 
 
 Max. Illo, good night. 
 
 Illo. No ! You come not off so. The Duke shall 
 learn who are his friends. (All collect round Illo and 
 Max.) 
 
 Max. What my sentiments are towards the Duke, 
 the Duke knows, every one knows what need of this 
 wild stuff? 
 
 Illo. This is the thanks the Duke gets for his parti- 
 ality to Italians and foreigners. Us Bohemians he 
 holds for little better than dullards nothing pleases 
 him but what's outlandish. 
 
 Ter. (in extreme embarrassment, to the commanders, 
 who at Illo's words give a sudden start, as preparing 
 to resent them). It is the wine that speaks, and not his 
 reason. Attend not to him, I entreat you. 
 
 Iso. (with a bitter laugh). Wine invents nothing : 
 it only tattles. 
 
 Illo. He who is not with me is against me. Your 
 tender consciences ! Unless they can slip out by a back- 
 door, by a puny proviso ! 
 
 Ter. (interrupting him). He is stark mad don't 
 listen to him. 
 
 Illo. (raising his voice to the highest pitch). Unless 
 R3 
 
186 THE PICCO.LOMINI; OR, THE 
 
 they can slip out by a proviso. What of the proviso ? 
 The devil take this proviso ! 
 
 Max. (has his attention roused, and looks again into 
 the paper). What is there here then of such perilous 
 import? You make me curious I must look close at it. 
 
 Ter. (in a low voice to Illo.) What are you doing, 
 Illo ? You are ruining us. 
 
 Tief. (to Kolatto). Ay, ay ! I observed, that before 
 we sat down to supper, it was read differently. 
 
 Goetz. Why, I seemed to think so too. 
 
 Iso. What do I care for that ? Where there stand 
 other names, mine can stand too. 
 
 Tief. Before supper there was a certain proviso 
 therein, or short clause, concerning our duties to the 
 Emperor. 
 
 But. (to one of the commanders.) For shame, for 
 shame! Bethink you. What is the main business 
 here ? The question now is, whether we shall keep our 
 General, or let him retire. One must not take these 
 things too nicely and over-scrupulously. 
 
 Iso. (to one of the generals}. Did the Duke make 
 any of these provisoes when he gave you your regiment? 
 
 Ter. (to Goetz). Or when he gave you the office of 
 army-purveyancer, which brings you in nearly a thou- 
 sand pistoles. 
 
 Illo. He is a rascal who makes us out to be rogues. 
 If there be any one that wants satisfaction, let him say 
 so. I am his man. 
 
 Tief. Softly, softly ! 'Twas but a word or two. 
 
 Max. (having read the paper gives it back). Till 
 to-morrow therefore ! 
 
 Illo. (stammering with rage and fury, loses all com- 
 mand over himself, and presents the paper to Max, 
 with one hand and his sword in the other). Subscribe 
 Judas ' 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 187 
 
 Iso. Out upon you, Illo ! 
 
 Oct., Ter., But. (all together). Down with theswcrd. 
 Max. (rushes on him suddenly and disarms him, 
 then to Count Tertsky.) Take him off to bed. 
 
 [Max. leaves the stage. Illo cursing and raving 
 is held back by some of tJie officers, and amidst 
 a universal confusion the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene, a Chamber in PiccolominVs Mansion. It is 
 
 Night. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 OCTAVIO PlCCOLOMINI. A VALET DE ClIAMBRE, 
 
 with Lights. 
 
 Oct. And when my son comes in, conduct him 
 
 hither. 
 What is the hour ? 
 
 Vol. 'Tis on the point of morning. 
 
 Oct. Set down the light. We mean not to undress. 
 You may retire to sleep. 
 
 \Exit Valet. Octavio paces, musing, across tJie 
 chamber. Max. Piccolomini enters unobserved, 
 and looks at his father for some moments in 
 silence. 
 
 Max. Art thou offended with me ? Heav'n knows 
 That odious business was no fault of mine. 
 'Tis true indeed, I saw thy signature. 
 What thou hast sanctioned, should not, it might seem 
 Have come amiss to me. But 'tis my nature 
 Thou know'st, that in such matters I must follow 
 My own light, not another's. 
 
 Oct. (goes up to him, and embraces him). Follow it, 
 O follow it still further, my best son ! 
 
THE PICCOLOMINI; OR, THK 
 
 To night, dear boy ! it hath more faithfully 
 Guided thee than th' example of thy father. 
 
 Max. Declare thyself less darkly. 
 
 Oct. I will do so. 
 
 For after what has taken place this night, 
 There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two. 
 
 f Both seat themselves. 
 Max. Piccolomini ! what think'st thou of 
 The oath that was sent round for signatures ? 
 
 Max. I hold it for a thing of harmless import, 
 Altho' I love not these set declarations. 
 
 Oct. And on no other ground hadst thou refused 
 The signature they fain had wrested from thee ? 
 
 Max. It was a serious business 1 was absent 
 
 The affair itself seem'd not so urgent to me. 
 
 Oct. Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion? 
 
 Max. Suspicion 1 what suspicion ? Not the least. 
 
 Oct. Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini ; 
 He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss. 
 
 Max. I know not what thou meanest. 
 
 Oct. I will tell thee. 
 
 Fain would they have extorted from thee, son, 
 The sanction of thy name to villany ; 
 Yea, with a single flourish of thy pen, 
 Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honour ! 
 
 Max. (rises). Octavio ! 
 
 Oct. Patience ! Seat yourself. Much yet 
 Hast thou to hear from me, friend ! hast for years 
 Liv'd in incomprehensible illusion. 
 Before thine eyes is treason drawing out 
 As black a web as e'er was spun from venom : 
 A power of hell overclouds thy understanding. 
 I dare no longer stand in silence dare 
 No longer see thee wandering on in darkness 
 Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIKT. 189 
 
 Max. My father ! 
 
 Yet, ere thou speak'st, a moment's pause of thought. 
 If j*0ur disclosures should appear to be 
 Conjectures only and almost I fear 
 They will be nothing further spare them ! I 
 Am not in that collected mood at present, 
 That I could listen to them quietly. 
 
 Oct. The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light, 
 The more impatient cause have I, my son, 
 To force it on thee. To the innocence 
 And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee 
 With calm assurance but I see the net 
 Preparing and it is thy heart itself 
 Alarms me for thine innocence that secret, 
 
 [fixing his eyes steadfastly on his son's face, 
 Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. 
 
 Max. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts 
 his eyes to the ground embarrassed. ] 
 
 Oct. (after a pause). Know, then, they are duping 
 
 thee ! a most foul game 
 
 With thee and with us all nay, hear me calmly 
 The Duke even now is playing. He assumes 
 The mask, as if he would forsake the army ; 
 And in this moment makes he preparations 
 That army from the Emperor to steal, 
 And carry it over to the enemy ! 
 
 Max. That low priest's legend I know well, but did 
 
 not 
 Expect to hear it from thy mouth. 
 
 Oct. That mouth, 
 
 From which thou hear'st it at this present moment 
 Doth warrant thee that it is no priest's legend. 
 
 Max. How mere a maniac they suppose the Duke. 
 What, he can meditate ? the Duke ? can dream 
 That he can lure away full thirty thousand 
 
190 THE PICCOLOMINI ' OR, THE 
 
 Tried troops and true, all honourable soldiers, 
 More than a thousand noblemen among them, 
 From oaths, from duty, from their honour lure them, 
 And make them all unanimous to do 
 A deed that brands them scoundrels ? 
 
 Oct. Such a deed, 
 
 With such a front of infamy, the Duke 
 Noways desires what he requires of us 
 Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing 
 He wishes, but to give the Empire peace. 
 And so, because the Emperor hates this peace, 
 Therefore the Duke the Duke \vi\lforce him to it. 
 All parts of the Empire will he pacify. 
 And for his trouble will retain in payment 
 (What he has already in his gripe) Bohemia ! 
 
 Max. Has he, Octavio, merited of us, 
 That we that we should think so vilely of him ? 
 
 Oct. What we would think is not the question here. 
 The affair speaks for itself and clearest proofs ! 
 Hear me, my son His not unknown to thee, 
 In what ill credit with the Court we stand. 
 But little dost thou know, or guess what tricks, 
 What base intrigues, what lying artifices, 
 Have been employed for this sole end to sow 
 Mutiny in the camp ! All bands are loos' d 
 Loos'd all the bands that link the officer 
 To his liege Emperor, all that bind the soldier 
 Affectionately to the citizen. 
 Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers 
 The state he's bound to guard. To such a height 
 'T is swoln, that at this hour the Emperor 
 Before his armies his own armies trembles j 
 Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears 
 The traitors' poniards, and is meditating 
 To hurry off and hide his tender offspring- 
 
FIRST PART OF W ALLEN STEIN. 191 
 
 Nut from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans 
 No ! from his own troops hide and hurry them ! 
 
 Max. Cease, cease ! thou tortur'st, shatter'st me. 
 
 I know 
 
 That oft we tremble at an empty terror ; 
 But the false phantasm brings a real misery. 
 
 Oct. It is no phantasm. An intestine war, 
 Of all the most unnatural and cruel, 
 Will burst out into flames, if instantly 
 We do not fly and stifle it. The Generals 
 Are many of them long ago won over ; 
 The subalterns are vacillating whole 
 Regiments and garrisons are vacillating. 
 To foreigners our strong holds are intrusted ; 
 To that suspected Shafgotch is the whole 
 Force of Silesia given up ; to Tertsky 
 Five Regiments, foot and horse to Isolani, 
 To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops. 
 
 Max. Likewise to both of us. 
 
 Oct. Because the Duke 
 
 Believes he has secur'd us means to lure us 
 Still further on by splendid promises. 
 To me he portions forth the princedoms Glatz 
 And Sagan ; and too plain I see the angel 
 With which he doubts not to catch thee. 
 
 Max. No ! no ! 
 
 I tell thee no ! 
 
 Oct. O open yet thine eyes ! 
 
 And to what purpose think'st thou he has call'd us 
 Hither to Pilsen ? To avail himself 
 Of our advice ? O when did Friedland ever 
 Need our advice ? Be calm, and listen to me. 
 To sell ourselves are we call'd hither, and 
 Decline we that to be his hostages. 
 Therefore doth noble Galas stand aloof; 
 
1Q"2 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Thy father, too, thou would'st not have seen here, 
 If higher duties had not held him fetter'd. 
 
 Max. He makes no secret of it needs make none 
 That we 're call'd hither for his sake he owns it. 
 He needs our aidance to maintain himself- 
 He did so much for us ; and 'tis but fair 
 That we, too, should do somewhat now for him. 
 
 Oct. And know'st thou what it is which we must 
 
 do? 
 
 That Illo's drunken mood betray'd it to thee. 
 Bethink thyself what hast thou heard, what seen ? 
 The counterfeited paper the omission 
 Of that particular clause, so full of meaning, 
 Does it not prove that they would bind us down 
 To nothing good ? 
 
 Max. That counterfeited paper 
 
 Appears to me no other than a trick 
 Of Illo's own device. These underhand 
 Traders in great men's interests, ever use 
 To urge and hurry all things to the extreme. 
 They see the Duke at variance with the court, 
 And fondly think to serve him, when they widen 
 The breach irreparably. Trust me, father, 
 The Duke knows nothing of all this. 
 
 Oct. It grieves me 
 
 That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter 
 A faith so specious ; but I may not spare thee ! 
 For this is not a time for tenderness. 
 Thou must take measures, speedy ones must act. 
 I therefore will confess to thee, that all 
 "Which I've intrusted to thee now that all 
 Which seems to thee so unbelievable, 
 That yes, I will tell thee (a pause) Max. I had ft all 
 From his own mouth from the Duke's mouth I had it. 
 
 Max. (in excessive agitation). No ! no ! never J 
 
FT.RST PART OF WALLEBTSTEIN. 193 
 
 Oct. Himself confided to me 
 
 What I, 't is true, had long before discovered 
 By other means himself confided to me, 
 That 't was his settled plan to join the Swedes j 
 And, at the head of the united armies, 
 Compel the Emperor 
 
 Max. He is passionate. 
 
 The court has stung him he is sore all over 
 With injuries and affronts ; and in a moment 
 Of irritation, what if he, for once, 
 Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man. 
 
 Oct. Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me ; 
 And having construed my astonishment 
 Into a scruple of his power, he showed me 
 His written evidences show'd me letters, 
 Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave 
 Promise of aidance, and defined th' amount. 
 
 Max. It cannot be ! can not be can not be ! 
 Dost thou not see, it cannot ! 
 Thou wouldest of necessity have shown him 
 Such horror, such deep loathing that or he 
 Had tak'n thee for his better genius, or 
 Thou stood'st not now a living man before me 
 
 Oct. I have laid open my objections to him, 
 Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness ; 
 But my abhorrence, the full sentiment 
 Of my whole heart that I have still kept sacred 
 To my own consciousness. 
 
 Max. And thou hast been 
 
 So treacherous ? That looks not like my father ! 
 I trusted not thy words, when thou didst tell me 
 Evil of him ; much less can I now do it. 
 That thou calumniatest thy own self. 
 
 Oct. I did not thrust myself into his secresy. 
 
 Max. Uprightness merited his confidence. 
 
 8 
 
194. THE PICCOLOMINI : OR, THE 
 
 Oct. He was no longer worthy of sincerity. 
 
 Max. Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy 
 Of thee, Octavio ! 
 
 Oct. Gave I him a cause 
 
 To entertain a scruple of my honour? 
 
 Max. That he did not, evinc'd his confidence. 
 
 Oct. Dear son, it is not always possible 
 Still to preserve that infant purity 
 Which the voice teaches in our inmost heart. 
 Still in alarm, for ever on the watch 
 Against the wiles of wicked men. e'en Virtue 
 Will sometimes bear away her outward robes 
 SoiPd in the wrestle with Iniquity. 
 This is the curse of every evil deed, 
 That, propagating still, it brings forth evil. 
 I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms j 
 I but perform my orders ; the Emperor 
 Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy, 
 Far better were it, doubtless, if we all 
 Obey'd the heart at all times ; but so doing, 
 In this our present sojourn with bad men, 
 We must abandon many an honest object. 
 'Tis now our call to serve the Emperor, 
 By what means he can best be serv'd the heart 
 May whisper what it will this is our call ! 
 
 Max. It seems a thing appointed, that to-day 
 I should not comprehend, not understand thee. 
 The Duke, thou say'st, did honestly pour out 
 His heart to thee, but for an evil purpose j 
 And thou dishonestly hast cheated him 
 For a good purpose ! Silence, I intreat thee 
 My friend thou stealest not from me 
 JLet me not lose my father ! 
 
 Oct. (suppressing resentment). As yet thou know'st 
 not all, my son. I Lava 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTBIW. 195 
 
 Yet somewhat to disclose to thee. 
 
 [After a pause. 
 Duke Friedland 
 
 Hath made his preparations. He relies 
 Upon his stars. He deems us unprovided, 
 And thinks to fall upon us by surprise. 
 Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already 
 The golden circle in his hand. He errs. 
 We too have been in action he but grasps 
 His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious ! 
 
 Max. O nothing rash, my sire. By all that's good 
 Let me invoke thee no precipitation . 
 
 Oct. With light tread stole he on his evil way, 
 And light tread hath Vengeance stole on after him. 
 Unseen she stands already, dark behind him 
 But one step more he shudders in her grasp ! 
 Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet 
 Thou know'st but his ostensible commission 
 He brought with him a private one, my son, 
 And that was for me only. 
 
 Max. May I know it ? 
 
 Oct. (seizes the patent}. Max ! 
 
 \_A pause. 
 
 In this disclosure place I in thy hands 
 
 The Empire's welfare and thy father's life. 
 Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein : 
 A powerful tie of love, of veneration, 
 Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth. 
 Thou nourishest the wish O let me still 
 Anticipate thy loitering confidence ! 
 The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself. 
 Yet closer to him 
 
 Max. Father 
 
 Oct. O my son ! 
 
 I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I 
 
190 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THB 
 
 Equally sure of Yhy collectedness ? 
 Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance, 
 f o enter this man's presence, when that I 
 Have trusted to thee his whole fate ? 
 
 Max. According 
 
 As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime. 
 
 \Octavio takes a paper out of his escrutoire, and 
 gives it to him. 
 
 Max. What? how ? a full imperial patent ! 
 
 Oct. Read rt. 
 
 Max. (just glances on it). Duke Friedland sen- 
 tenc'd and condemned ! 
 
 Oct. Even so. 
 
 Max. (throws down the paper). O this is too much ! 
 O unhappy error ! 
 
 Oct. Read on. Collect thyself. 
 
 Max. (after he has read further, with a look of 
 
 affright and astonishment on his father.) 
 How ! what ! Thou ! thou ! 
 
 Oct. But for the present moment, till the King 
 Of Hungary may safely join the army, 
 Is the command assigned to me. 
 
 Max. And think'st thou, 
 
 Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him ? 
 O never hope it ! Father ! father ! father ! 
 An inauspicious office is enjoin'd thee. 
 This paper here this ! and wilt thou enforce it? 
 The mighty, in the middle of his host, 
 Surrounded by his thousands, him would'st thou 
 Disarm degrade ! Thou art lost, both thou and all 
 of us. 
 
 Oct. What hazard I incur thereby, I know. 
 In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty 
 Will cover with his shield the imperial house, 
 And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness. 
 
FIRST PART OP WALLENSTEIIT. 197 
 
 The Emperor hath* true servants still ; and, even 
 Here in the camp, there are enough brave men. 
 Who for the good cause will fight gallantly. 
 The faithful have been warn'd< the dangerous 
 Are closely watch'd. I wait but the first step, 
 And then immediately 
 
 Max. What ! on suspicion ? 
 
 Immediately ? 
 
 Oct. The Emperor is no tyrant. 
 The deed alone he '11 punish, not the wish. 
 The Duke hath yet his destiny in his power. 
 Let him but leave the treason uncompleted, 
 He will be silently displaced from office, 
 And make way to his Emperor's royal son. 
 An honourable exile to his castles 
 Will be a benefaction to him rather 
 Than punishment. But the first open step 
 
 Max. What call'st thou such a step ? A wicked 
 
 step 
 
 Ne'er will he take ; but thou raight'st easily, 
 Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him. 
 
 Oct. Nay, howsoever punishable were 
 Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps 
 Which he hath taken openly, permit 
 A mild construction. It is my intention 
 To leave this paper wholly unenforc'd 
 Till some act is committed which convicts him 
 Of a high-treason, without doubt or plea, 
 And that shall sentence him. 
 
 Max. But who the judge ? 
 
 Oct. Thyself. 
 
 Max. For ever, then, this paper will lie Le. 
 
 Oct. Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be 
 
 prov'd. 
 After the counter-promise of this evening. 
 
198 THE PICCOLOMINI; OB, THB 
 
 It cannot be but he must deem himself 
 Secure of the majority with us ; 
 And of the army's general sentiment 
 He hath a pleasing proof in that petition 
 Which thoti deliver'st to him from the regiments. 
 Add this too I have letters that the Rhinegrave 
 Hath chang'd his route, and travels by forc'd marches 
 To the Bohemian Forest. What this purports, 
 Remains unknown ; and, to confirm suspicion, 
 This night a Swedish nobleman arriv'd here. 
 
 Max. I have thy word- Thou'lt not proceed to 
 
 action 
 Before thou hast convinc'd me me myself. 
 
 Oct. Is it possible ? Still, after all thou know'st, 
 Canst thou believe still in his innocence ? 
 
 Max. (with enthusiasm). Thy judgment may mis- 
 take j my heart cannot. 
 
 [Moderates his voice arid manner. 
 These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine, 
 But they expound not Friedland I have faith : 
 For as he knits his fortunes to the stars, 
 Even so doth he resemble them in secret, 
 Wonderful, still inexplicable courses ! 
 Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solv'd. 
 These smokes, at once, will kindle into flame 
 The edges of this black and stormy cloud 
 Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view 
 The Unapproachable glide out in splendour. 
 
 Oct. I will await it. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 OCTAVIO and MAX. as before. To them the VALET 
 OF THE CHAMBER. 
 
 Oct. How now, then ? 
 
 Vol. A despatch is at the door. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLER STEIN. 193 
 
 Oct. So early? From whom comes he then? Who 
 is it?" 
 
 Val That he refus'd to tell me. 
 
 Oct. Lead him in : 
 
 And, hark you let it not transpire. 
 
 [Exit Valet the Cornet steps in. 
 Ha ! Cornet is it you ? and from Count Galas ? 
 Give me your letters. 
 
 Cor. The Lieutenant-general 
 
 Trusted it not to letters. 
 
 Oct. And what is it ? 
 
 Cor. He bade me tell you Dare I speak openly 
 here? 
 
 Oct. My son knows all. 
 
 Cor. We have him. 
 
 Oct. Whom ? 
 
 Cor. Sisimi, 
 
 The old negociator. 
 
 Oct. (eagerly). And you have him ? 
 
 Cor. In the Bohemian forest, Captain Molirbrand 
 Found and secur'd him yester morning early : 
 He was proceeding then to Regensburg, 
 And on him were despatches for the Swede. 
 
 Oct. And the despatches 
 
 Cor. The Lieutenant-general 
 
 Sent them that instant to Vienna, and 
 The prisoner with them. 
 
 Oct. This is, indeed, a tiding ! 
 
 That fellow is a precious casket to us, 
 Enclosing weighty things. Was much found on 
 him? 
 
 Cor. I think, six packets, with Count Tertsky'a 
 arms. , 
 
 Oct. None in the Duke's own hand? 
 
 Cor. Not that I know 
 
200 THE PICCOLOMIKI ; Oil, THE 
 
 Oct. And old Sesina ? 
 
 Cor. He was sorely frighten'd, 
 
 When it was told him he must to Vienna. 
 But the Count Altringer bade him take heart, 
 Would he but make a full and free confession. 
 
 Oct. Is Altringer then with your Lord ? I heard 
 That he lay sick at Linz. 
 
 Cor. These three days past 
 
 He's with my master, the Lieutenant-general, 
 At Frauemburg. Already have they sixty 
 Small companies together, chosen men : 
 Respectfully they greet you with assurances, 
 That they are only waiting your commands. 
 
 Oct. In a few days may great events take place. 
 And when must you return ? 
 
 Cor. I wait your orders. 
 
 Oct. Remain till evening. 
 
 [Cornet signifies his assent and obeisance, and is 
 going. 
 
 No one saw you ha ? 
 
 Cor. No living creature. Thro' the cloister wicket 
 The Capuchins, as usual, let me in. 
 
 Oct. Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself con- 
 
 ceal'd. 
 
 I hold it probable, that yet ere evening 
 I shall despatch you. The development 
 Of this affair approaches : ere the day, 
 That even now is dawning in the heaven, 
 Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot 
 That :?yist deci^ v fortunes will be drawn. 
 
 [Exit Cornet. 
 
FIRST PART OF W ALLEN STEIN. 201 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 Oct. Well and what now, son ? All will soon be 
 
 clear ; 
 For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina. 
 
 Max. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene 
 has been in a violent and visible struggle of 
 feelings, at length starts as one resolved). 
 I will procure me light a shorter way. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Oct. Where now ? Remain here. 
 
 Max. To the Duke. 
 
 Oct. (alarmed). What 
 
 Max. (returning}. If thou hast believ'd that I shall 
 act 
 
 A. part in this thy play 
 
 Thou hast miscalculated on me grievously, 
 
 My way must be straight on. True with the tongue, 
 
 False with the heart I may not, cannot be : 
 
 Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me 
 
 As his friend trust me and then lull my conscience 
 
 With such low pleas as these : " I ask'd him not 
 
 He did it all at his own hazard and 
 
 My mouth has never lied to him." No, no ! 
 
 What a friend takes me for, that I must be. 
 
 I'll to the Duke ; ere yet this day is ended 
 Will I demand of him that he do save 
 His good name from the world, and with one stride 
 Break through and rend this fine-spun web o*" yours. 
 He can, he will ! I still am his believer. 
 Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters 
 May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him. 
 How far may not this Tertsky have proceeded 
 What may not he himself, too, have permitted 
 
202 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Himself to do, to snare the enemy, 
 The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save 
 His own mouth shall convict him nothing lessJ 
 And face to face will I go question him. 
 
 Oct. Thou wilt? 
 
 Max. I will, as sure as this heart beats. 
 
 Oct. I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee. 
 I calculated on a prudent son, 
 Who would have blest the hand beneficent 
 That pluckM him back from the abyss and lo ! 
 A fascinated being I discover, 
 Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders, 
 Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal. 
 Go, question him !- Be mad enough, I pray thee. 
 The purpose of thy father, of thy Emperor, 
 Go, give it up free booty ! Force me, drive me 
 To an open breach before the time. And now, 
 Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded 
 My secret purpose even to this hour, 
 And laid to sleep Suspicion's piercing eyes, 
 Let me have liv'd to see that mine own son, 
 With frantic enterprise, annihilates 
 My toilsome labours and state-policy. 
 
 Max. Aye this state-policy ! O how I curse it ! 
 You will some time, with your state-policy, 
 Compel him to the measure : it may happen, 
 Because ye are determined that he is guilty, 
 Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off, 
 You close up every outlet, hem him in 
 Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him- 
 Yes, ye, ye force him, in his desperation, 
 To set fire to his prison. Father ! father ! 
 That never can end well it cannot will not I 
 And let it be decided as it may, 
 I see with boding heart the near approach 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 203 
 
 Of an ill-starrM, unblest catastrophe. 
 For this great Monarch-spirit, if he fall, 
 Will drag a world into the ruin with him. 
 And as a ship, that midway on the ocean 
 Takes fire, at once, and with a thunder-burst 
 Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew 
 In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven ; 
 So will he, falling, draw down in his fall 
 All us, who are fix'd and mortis' d to his fortune. 
 Deem of it what thou wilt ; but pardon me, 
 That I must bear me on in my own way. 
 All must remain pure betwixt him and me ; 
 And, ere the day -light dawns, it must be known 
 Which I must lose my father, or my friend. 
 
 [During his exit the curtain drops 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene A room fitted up for astrological labours, 
 and provided with celestial charts, with globes, tele- 
 scopes, quadrants, and other mathematical instru- 
 ments. Seven colossal figures, representing the 
 planets, each with a transparent star of a different 
 colour on its head, stand in a semi-circle in the back- 
 ground, so that Mars and Saturn are nearest the 
 eye. The remainder of the scene, and its disposi- 
 tion, is given in the fourth scene of the second act. 
 There must be a curtain over the figures, which 
 may be dropped, and conceal them on occasions. 
 
 \In the fifth scene of this act it must be dropped ; but 
 in the seventh scene, it must be again drawn up 
 wholly or in part. 
 
 SCENE I. Wallenstein at a black table, on which a 
 speculum astrologicum is described with chalk. Seni 
 is taking observations through a window. 
 
204 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Wai. All well and now let it be ended, Seni. 
 
 Come, 
 
 The dawn commences, and Mars rules the hour. 
 We must give o'er the opera ion. Come, 
 We know enough. 
 
 Seni. Your Highness must permit me 
 
 Just to contemplate Venus. She's now rising : 
 Like as a sun, so shines she in the east. 
 
 Wai. She is at present in her perigee, 
 And shoots down now her strongest influences. 
 
 [Contemplating the figure on the table. 
 Auspicious aspect fateful in conjunction, 
 At length the mighty three corradiate ; 
 And the two stars of blessing, Jupiter 
 And Venus, take between them the malignant 
 Slily-malicious Mars, and thus compel 
 Into my service the old mischief-founder : 
 For long he view'd me hostilely, and ever 
 With beam oblique, or perpendicular, 
 Now in the quartile, now in the secundan, 
 Shot his red lightnings at my stars, disturbing 
 Their blessed influences and sweet aspects. 
 Now they have conquer'd the old enemy, 
 And bring him in the heavens a prisoner to me. 
 
 Seni. (who has come down from the window). 
 And in a corner house, your Highness think of that! 
 That makes each influence of double strength. 
 
 Wai. And sun and moon, too, in the sextile aspect, 
 The soft light with the veh'ment so I love it. 
 Sol is the heart, Luna the head of heaven. 
 Bold be the plan, fiery the execution. 
 
 Seni. And both the mighty lamina by no 
 Maleficus affronted. Lo ! Saturnus, 
 Innocuous, powerless, in cadente domo. 
 
 Wai. The empire of Saturnus is gone by I 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 205 
 
 Lord of the secret birth of things is he ; 
 
 Within the lap of earth, and in the depths 
 
 Of the imagination dominates ; 
 
 And his are all things that eschew the light. 
 
 The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance ! 
 
 For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now, 
 
 And the dark work, complete of preparation, 
 
 He draws by force into the realm of light. 
 
 Now must we hasten on to action, ere 
 
 The scheme, and most auspicious posture 
 
 Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight ; 
 
 For the heavens journey still, and sojourn not. 
 
 [There are knocks at the door. 
 There's some one knocking there. See who it is. 
 Ter. (from without). Open, and let me in. 
 Wai. Aye 'tis Tertsky. 
 
 What is there of such urgence ? We are busy. 
 
 Ter. (from without). Lay all aside at present, I 
 
 intreat you. 
 It suffers no delaying. 
 
 Wai. Open, Seni ! 
 
 [While Seni opens the door for Tertsky, Wallen- 
 
 stein draws the curtain over the figures. 
 Ter. (enters). Hast thou already heard it? He is 
 
 taken. 
 Galas has giv'n him up to the Emperor. 
 
 [Seni draws off the black table, and exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY. 
 
 Wai. (to Tertsky). Who has been taken ? Who is 
 
 given up ? 
 Ter. The man who knows our secrets, who knows 
 
 every 
 
 Negociation with the Swede and Saxon, 
 T 
 
200 TH PICCOLOMINI J 0^. THE 
 
 Thro' whose hands all and every thing has pass'd 
 Wai. (drawing lack). Nay, not Sesina ? Say, No ! 
 
 I intreat thee. 
 
 Ter. All on his road for Eegensburg to the Swede 
 He was plung'd down upon by Galas' agent, 
 Who had been long in ambush, lurking for him. 
 There must have been found on him my whole packei 
 To Thur, to Kinsky, to Oxenstiern, to Arnheim : 
 All this is in their hands ; they have now an insight 
 Into the whole our measures, and our motives. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 To them enters ILLO. 
 
 Itto. (to Tertsky). Has he heard it? 
 
 Ter. He has heard it. 
 
 Illo. (to Wallenstein). Think'st thou still 
 
 To make thy peace with the Emp'ror, to regain 
 His confidence ? E'en were it now thy wish 
 To abandon all thy plans, yet still they know 
 What thou hast wish'd ; then forwards thou must press j 
 Retreat is now no longer in thy power. 
 
 Ter. They have documents against us, and in hand, 
 Which show beyond all power of contradiction 
 
 Wai. Of ray hand-writing no iota. Thee 
 I punish for thy lies. 
 
 Illo. And thou believ'st 
 
 That what this man, that what thy sister's husband, 
 Did in thy name, will not stand on thy reck'ning ? 
 His word must pass for thy word with the Swede, 
 And not with those that hate thee at Vienna. 
 
 Ter. In writing thou gav'st ncthing But bethink 
 
 thee, 
 
 How far thou venturedst by word of mouth 
 With this Sesina ? And will he be silent ? 
 
FIRST PA.RT OF WALLENSTEIN. 207 
 
 If he can save himself by yielding up 
 Thy secret purposes, will he retain them ? 
 
 lllo. Thyself does not conceive it possible ; 
 And since they now have evidence authentic 
 How far thou hast already gone, speak ! tell us, 
 What art thou waiting for? Thou canst no longer 
 Keep thy command ; and beyond hope of rescue 
 Thou'rt lost, if thou resign'st it. 
 
 Wai. In the army 
 
 Lies my security. The army will not 
 Abandon me. Whatever they may know, 
 The power is mine, and they must gulp it down 
 And substitute I caution for my fealty ; 
 They must be satisfied, at least appear so. 
 
 lllo. The army, Duke, is thine now for this mo 
 
 ment 
 
 'Tis thine : but think with terror on the slow, 
 The quiet power of time. From open vi'lence 
 The attachment of thy soldiery secures thee 
 To-day to-morrow : but grant'st thou them a respite, 
 Unheard, unseen, they'll undermine that love 
 On which thou now dost feel so firm a footing, 
 With wily theft will draw away from thee 
 One after th' other 
 
 Wai. ; Tis a cursed accident ! 
 
 lllo. O I will call it a most blessed one, 
 If it work on thee as it ought to do, 
 Hurry thee on to action to decision 
 Tlie Swedish General 
 
 Wai. He's arriv'd ! Know'st thou 
 What his commission is 
 
 lUo. To thee alone 
 
 Will he intrust the purpose of his coming. 
 
 Wai. A cursed, cursed accident ! Yes, yes, 
 Sesina knows too much, and won't be silent. 
 
208 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Ter. He's a Bohemian fugitive and rebel, 
 His neck is forfeit. Can he save himself 
 At thy cost, think you he will scruple it ? 
 And if they put him to the torture, will he, 
 Will he y that dastardling, have strength enough 
 
 Wai. (lost in thought}. Their confidence is lost 
 
 irreparably ! 
 
 And I may act what way I will, I shall 
 Be and remain for ever in their thought 
 A traitor to my country. How sincerely 
 Soever I return back to my duty, 
 It will no longer help me 
 
 Itto. Ruin thee, 
 
 That it will do ! Not thy fidelity, 
 Thy weakness will be deem'd the sole occasion 
 
 Wai. (pacing up and down with extreme agitation.) 
 What ! I must realize it now in earnest, 
 Because I toy'd too freely with the thought ? 
 Accursed he who dallies with a devil ! 
 And must I I must realize it now 
 Now, while I have the power, it must take place ? 
 
 Itto. Now now ere they can ward and parry it ! 
 
 Wai. (looking at the paper of signatures}. I have 
 
 the General's words a written promise ! 
 Max. Piccolomini stands not here how's that ? 
 
 Ter. It was he fancied 
 
 Itto. Mere self-willedness. 
 
 There needed no such thing 'twixt him and you. 
 
 Wai. He is quite right there needeth no such thing. 
 The regiments, too, deny to march to Flanders 
 Have sent me in a paper of remonstrance, 
 And openly resisted the imperial orders. 
 The first step to revolt 's already taken. 
 
 Itto. Believe me, thou wilt find it far more eagy 
 To lead them over to the enemy 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 209 
 
 Than to the Spaniard. 
 
 Wai. I will hear, however, 
 
 What the Swede has to say to me. 
 
 lllo. (eagerly to Tertsky). Go, caii aim ! 
 
 He stauds without the door in waiting. 
 
 Wai. Stay ! 
 
 Stay yet a little. It hath taken me 
 All by surprise, it came too quick upon me ; 
 'Tis wholly novel, that an accident, 
 With its dark lordship, and blind agency, 
 Should force me on with it. 
 
 lllo. First hear him only, 
 
 And after weigh it. [Exeunt Tertsky and lllo. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Wai. (in soliloquy). Is it possible ? 
 
 Is't so ? I can no longer what I would? 
 No longer draw back at my liking ? I 
 Must do the deed, because I thought of it, 
 And fed this heart here with a dream ? Because 
 I did not scowl temptation from my presence, 
 Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, 
 Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, 
 And only kept the road, the access open ? 
 By the great God of Heaven ! It was not 
 My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolve. 
 I but amus'd myself with thinking of it. 
 The free-will tempted me, the power to do 
 Or not to do it. Was it criminal 
 To make the fancy minister to hope, 
 To fill the air with pretty toys of air, 
 And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'waid me t 
 Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not 
 The road of duty close beside me bat 
 
 T3 
 
210 THE PICCOLOMINi; OR, TIIR 
 
 One little step, and once more I was in it ! 
 
 Where am I ? Whither have I been transported T 
 
 No road, no track behind me, but a wall. 
 
 Impenetrable, insurmountable, 
 
 Rises obedient to the spells I mutter' d 
 
 And meant not my own doings tower behind me. 
 
 [Pauses and remains in deep thought. 
 A punishable man I seem, the guilt, 
 Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me ; 
 The equivocal demeanour of my life 
 Bears witness on my prosecutor's party ; 
 And even my purest acts from purest motives 
 Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss. 
 Were I that thing, for which I pass, that traitor, 
 A goodly outside I had sure reserved, 
 Had drawn the cov'rings thick and double round me, 
 Been calm and chary of my utterance. 
 But being conscious of the innocence 
 Of my intent, my uncorrupted will, 
 I gave way to my humours, to my passion : 
 Bold were my words, because my deeds were not. 
 Now every planless measure, chance event, 
 The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph, 
 And all the May-games of a heart overflowing, 
 Will they connect, and weave them all together 
 Into one web of treason ; all will be plan, 
 My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark, 
 Step tracing step, each step a politic progress ; 
 And out of all they'll fabricate a charge 
 So specious, that I must myself stand dumb. 
 I am caught in my own net, and only force, 
 Naught but a sudden rent can liberate me. 
 
 [Pauses again, 
 
 How else ! since that the heart's unbias'd instinct 
 Impell'd me to the daring deed which now 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 211 
 
 Necessity, self-preservation, orders* 
 
 Stern is the on-look of necessity, 
 
 Not without shudder may a human hand 
 
 Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny. 
 
 My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom. 
 
 Once sufferM to escape from its safe corner 
 
 Within the heart, its nursery and birth-place, 
 
 Sent forth into the foreign, it belongs 
 
 For ever to those sly malicious powers 
 
 Whom never art of man conciliated. 
 
 [Paces in agitation through the chamber, then 
 
 pauses, and, after the pause, breaks out again 
 
 into audible soliloquy. 
 
 What is thy enterprise ? thy aim ? thy object ? 
 Hast honestly confess'd it to thyself? 
 Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake, 
 Power on an ancient consecrated throne, 
 Strong in possession, founded in old custom ; 
 Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots 
 Fix'd to the people's pious nursery-faith. 
 This, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 
 That fear'd I not. I brave each combatant, 
 Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye, 
 Who full himself of courage kindles courage 
 In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible 
 The which I fear a fearful enemy, 
 Which in the human heart opposes me, 
 By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. 
 Not that, which full of life, instinct with pow'r, 
 Makes known its present being, that is not 
 The true, the perilously formidable. 
 O no ! it is the common, the quite common, 
 The thing of an eternal yesterday, 
 What ever was, and ever more returns, 
 Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling 1 
 
212 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 For of the wholly common is man made, 
 And custom is his nurse ! Woe then to them, 
 Who lay irreverent hands upon his old 
 House furniture, the dear inheritance 
 From his forefathers. For time consecrates ; 
 And what is grey with age becomes religion. 
 Be in possession, and thou hast the right, 
 And sacred will the many guard it for thee ! 
 
 [To the Page, who here enters. 
 The Swedish officer? Well, let him enter. 
 
 [The Page exit ; Wallenstein fixes his eye in deep 
 
 thought on the door. 
 
 Yet is it pure as yet ! the crime has come 
 Not o'er this threshold yet so slender is 
 The boundary that divideth life's two paths. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 WALLENSTEIN and WRANQEL. 
 
 Wai. (after having faced a searching look on 7dm). 
 Your name is Wrangel ? 
 
 Wran. Gustave Wrangel, General 
 
 Of the Sudermanian blues. 
 
 Wai. It was a Wrangel 
 
 Who injur'd me materially at Stralsund, 
 And by his brave resistance was the cause 
 Of th' opposition which that sea-port made. 
 
 Wran. It was the doing of the element 
 With which you fought, my Lord ! and not my merit. 
 TUe Baltic Neptune did assert his freedom ; 
 The sea and land, it seem'd, were not to serve 
 One and the same. 
 
 Wai. (makes the motion for him to take a seat, and 
 seats himself). 
 
 And where are your credentials ? 
 Come you provided with full powers, Sir General ? 
 
FIRST PART OF V A.LLENSTEIN. 213 
 
 Wran. There are so many scruples yet to solve 
 
 Wai (having read the credentials}. An able letter I 
 
 Ay he is a prudent, 
 
 Intelligent master, whom you serve, Sir General ! 
 The Chancellor writes me, that he but fulfils 
 His late departed Sovereign's own idea 
 In helping me to the Bohemian crown. 
 
 Wran. He says the truth. Our great King, now 
 
 in heaven, 
 
 Did ever deem most highly of your Grace's 
 Pre-eminent sense and military genius ; 
 And always the commanding intellect, 
 He said, should have command, and be the King. 
 Wai. Yes, he might say it safely. General 
 Wrangel, 
 
 [Taking his hand affectionately 
 Come, fair and open. Trust me, I was always 
 A Swede at heart. Ey ! that did you experience 
 Both in Silesia and at Nuremburg ; 
 I had you often in my power, and let you 
 Always slip out by some back door or other. 
 'Tis this for which the court can ne'er forgive me, 
 Which drives me to this present step : and since 
 Our interests so run in one direction, 
 E'en let us have a thorough confidence 
 Each in the other. 
 
 Wran. Confidence will come 
 
 Has each but only first security. 
 
 Wai. The Chancellor still, I see, does not quite trust 
 
 me, 
 
 And, I confess the game does not lie wholly 
 To my advantage Without doubt he thinks 
 Tf I can play false with the Emperor, 
 Who is my Sov'reign, I can do the like 
 With th' enemy, and that tJte one, too, were 
 
214 THE PTCCOLOMINI ; OR THE 
 
 Sooner to be forgiven me than the other. 
 Is not this your opinion too, Sir General ? 
 
 Wran. I have here an office merely, no opinion. 
 
 Wai. The Emperor hath urged me to the uttermost, 
 I can no longer honourably serve him. 
 For my security, in self-defence, 
 I take this hard step, which my conscience blames. 
 
 Wran. That I believe. So far would no one go 
 "Who was not forc'd to it. 
 
 [After a pause. 
 What may have impelled 
 Your princely Highness in this wise to act 
 Toward your Sovereign Lord the Emperor, 
 Beseems not us to expound or criticise. 
 The Swede is fighting for his good old cause, 
 With his good sword and conscience. This concur- 
 rence, 
 
 This opportunity, is in our favour, 
 And all advantages in war are lawful. 
 We take what offers without questioning ! 
 And if all have its due and just proportions 
 
 Wai. Of what then are ye doubting? Of my will? 
 Or of my power ? I pledg'd me to the Chancellor, 
 Would he trust me with sixteen thousand men, 
 That I would instantly go over to them 
 With eighteen thousand of the Emperor's troops. 
 
 Wran. Your Grace is known to be a mighty war- 
 chief, 
 
 To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus. 
 'Tis talk'd of still with fresh astonishment 
 How some years past, beyond all human faith, 
 You called an army forth, like a creation : 
 But yet 
 
 Wai. But yet? 
 
 Wran. But still the Chancellor thinks, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 215 
 
 It might yet be an easier thing from nothing 
 To call forth sixty thousand men of battle, 
 Than to persuade one-sixtieth part of them 
 
 Wai. What now ? Out with it, friend ! 
 
 Wran. To break their oaths. 
 
 Wai. And he thinks so ? He judges like a Swede, 
 And like a Protestant. You Lutherans 
 Fight for your bible. You are in t' rested 
 About the cause ; and with your hearts you follow 
 Your banners. Among you, whoe'er deserts 
 To the enemy, hath broken covenant 
 With two Lords at one time. We've no such fancies. 
 
 Wran. Great God in Heaven ! Have then the 
 
 people here 
 No house and home, no fire-side, no altar? 
 
 Wai. I will explain that to you, how it stands 
 The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it, 
 And has good cause to love it but this army, 
 That calls itself th' Imperial, this that houses 
 Here in Bohemia, this has none no country ; 
 This is an outcast of all foreign lands. 
 Unclaimed by town or tribe, to whom belongs 
 Nothing, except the universal sun. 
 
 Wran. But then the nobles and the officers ? 
 Such a desertion, such a felony, 
 It is without example, my Lord Duke, 
 In the world's history. 
 
 Wai. They are all mine 
 
 Mine unconditionally mine on all terms. 
 Not me, your own eyes you must trust. 
 
 [He gives him the paper containing the written 
 oath. Wrangel reads it through, and Jiaving 
 read it, lays it on the table, remaining silent. 
 
 So then? 
 Now comprehend you ? 
 
216 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, TUB 
 
 Wran. Comprehend, who can ! 
 
 My Lord Duke ! I will let the xiask drop yes ! 
 I've full powers for a -final settlement. 
 The Khinegrave stands but four days' march from 
 
 here 
 
 With fifteen thousand men, and only waits 
 For orders to proceed and join your army. 
 Those orders I give out, immediately 
 We're compromis'd. 
 
 Wai. What asks the Chancellor ? 
 
 Wran. (considerately), Twelve regiments, every 
 
 man a Swede my head 
 The warranty and all might prove at last 
 Only false play 
 
 Wai. (starting). Sir Swede! 
 
 Wran. (calmly proceeding). Am therefore forc'd 
 T' insist thereon, that he do formally, 
 Irrevocably break with th' Emperor, 
 Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland. 
 
 Wai. Come, brief, and open! What is the demand? 
 
 Wran. That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regi- 
 ments 
 
 Attach'd to th' Emperor, that he seize Prague, 
 And to the Swedes give up that city, with 
 The strong pass Egra. 
 
 Wai. That is much indeed I 
 Prague ? Egra's granted But but Prague ! 
 
 'T won't do. 
 
 I give you every security 
 Which you may ask of me in common reason- 
 But Prague Bohemia these, Sir General, 
 I can myself protect. 
 
 Wran. We doubt it not 
 
 But 'tis not the protection that is now 
 Our sole concern. We want security, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTBIN. 217 
 
 That we shall not expend our men and money 
 All to no purpose. 
 
 Wai. >Tis but reasonable. 
 
 Wran. And till we are indemnified, so long 
 Stays Prague in pledge. 
 
 Wai. Then trust you us so little I 
 
 Wran. (rising). The Swede, if he would treat well 
 
 with the German, 
 
 Must keep a sharp look-out. We have been calFd 
 Over the Baltic, we have sav'd the empire 
 From ruin with our best blood have we seaTd 
 The liberty of faith, and gospel truth. 
 But now already is the benefaction 
 No longer felt, the load alone is felt, 
 Ye look askance with evil eye upon us, 
 As foreigners, intruders in the empire, 
 And would fain send us, with some paltry sum 
 Of money, home again to our old forests. 
 No, no ! my Lord Duke ! no ! it never was 
 For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver, 
 That we did leave our King by the * Great Stone. 
 No, not for gold and silver have there bled 
 So many of our Swedish nobles neither 
 Will we, with empty laurels for our payment, 
 Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens 
 Will we remain,upon the soil, the which 
 Our monarch conquer'd for himself, and died. 
 
 Wai. Help to keep down the common enemy, 
 And the fair border land must needs be your's. 
 
 Wran. But when the common enemy lies vanquish'd, 
 Who knits together our new friendship then ? 
 We know, Duke Friedland ! though perhaps the Swede 
 
 * A great stone near Ltltzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body 
 of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle 
 in which brlost his life. 
 
218 THE PICCOLGMINI J OB, THE 
 
 Ought not t* have known it, that you carry on 
 
 Secret negotiations with the Saxons. 
 
 Who is our warranty, that we are not 
 
 The sacrifices in those articles 
 
 Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us, 
 
 Wai (rises). Think you of something better, Gustave 
 
 Wrangel ! 
 Of Prague no more. 
 
 Wran. Here my commission ends. 
 
 Wai. Surrender up to you my capital ! 
 Far liever would I face about, and step 
 Back to my Emperor. 
 
 Wran. If time Y et P ermits 
 
 Wai. That lies with me, even now, at any hour. 
 Wran. Some days ago, perhaps. To-day, no longer j 
 No longer since Sesina's been a prisoner. 
 
 [Wallenstein is struck, and silenced. 
 My Lord Duke, hear me We believe that you 
 At present do mean honourably by us. 
 Since yesterday we're sure of that and now 
 This paper warrants for the troops, there's nothing 
 Stands in the way of our full confidence. 
 Prague shall not part us. Hear! The Chancellor 
 Contents himself with Albstadt ; to your .Grace 
 He gives up Ratschin and the narrow side, 
 But Egra, above all, must open to us, 
 Ere we can think of any junction. 
 
 Wai. You, 
 
 You therefore must I trust, and you not me? 
 I will consider of your proposition. 
 
 Wran. I must intreat, that your consideration 
 Occupy not too long a time. Already 
 Has this negociation, my Lord Duke ; 
 Crept on into the second year. If nothing 
 Is settled this time, will the Chancellor 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLEN8TEIN. 219 
 
 Consider it as broken off for ever. 
 
 Wai. f e press me hard. A measure, such as this, 
 Ought to be thought of. 
 
 Wran. Ay ! but think of this too, 
 
 That sudden action only can procure it 
 Success think first of this your Highness. 
 
 [Exit Wrangel 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 WAILENSTEIN, TERTSKY, and ILLO (re-enter). 
 
 Ttto. Is' t all right ? 
 
 Ter. Are you compromis'd ? 
 
 1/70. This Swede 
 
 Went smiling from you. Yes ! you're compromis'd. 
 
 Wai. As yet is nothing settled : and (well weigh'd) 
 I feel myself inclined to leave it so. 
 
 Ter. How ? What is that ? 
 
 Wai. Come on me what may come, 
 
 The doing evil to avoid an evil 
 Cannot be good ! 
 
 Ter. Nay, but bethink you, Duke ? 
 
 Wai. To live upon the mercy of these Swedes ! 
 Of these proud-hearted Swedes ! I could not bear it. 
 
 lllo. Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant ? 
 Bring'st thou not more to them than thou receiv'st ? 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY.. 
 
 Wai. Who sent for you ? There is no business here 
 For women. 
 
 Coun. I am come to bid you joy. 
 
 Wai. Use thy authority, Tertsky, bid her go. 
 Coun. Come I perhaps too early ! I hope not. 
 u 2 
 
220 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Wai. Set not this tongue upon me, I intreat yon. 
 You know it is the weapon that destroys me. 
 I am routed, if a woman but attack me. 
 I cannot traffic in the trade of words 
 With that unreasoning sex. 
 
 Coun. I had already 
 
 Giv'n the Bohemians a king. 
 
 Wai (sarcastically). They have one, 
 In consequence, no doubt. 
 
 Coun. (to the others). Ha ! what new scruple? 
 
 Ter. The Duke will not. 
 
 Coun. He will not what he must! 
 
 Illo. It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced, 
 When folks begin to talk to me of conscience, 
 And of fidelity. 
 
 Coun. How ? then, when all 
 
 Lay in the far off distance, when the road 
 Stretch'd out before thine eyes interminably, 
 Then hadst thou courage and resolve , and now, 
 Now that the dream is being realized, 
 The purpose ripe, the issue ascertained, 
 Dost thou begin to play the dastard now? 
 Planu'd merely, 'tis a common felony ; 
 Accomplish'd, an immortal undertaking ; 
 And with success comes pardon hand in hand , 
 For all event is God's arbitrement. 
 
 Ser. (enters). The Colonel Piccolomini. 
 
 Coun. (hastily). Must wait. 
 
 Wai. I cannot see him now. Another time. 
 
 Ser. But for two minutes he intreats an audience ; 
 Of the most urgent nature is his business. 
 
 Wai. Who knows what he may bring us ? I will 
 hear him. 
 
 Coun. (laughs). Urgent for him, no doubt; but 
 thou mav'st wait. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 221 
 
 Wai. What is it? 
 
 Coun. Thou shalt be informed hereafter. 
 First let the Swede and thee be compromis'd. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Wai. If there were yet a choice : if yet some milder 
 Way of escape were possible I still 
 Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme. 
 
 Coun. Desir'st thou nothing further ? Such a way 
 Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off. 
 Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away 
 All thy past life ; determine to commence 
 A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too, 
 As well as Fame and Fortune. To Vienna 
 Hence to the Emperor kneel before the throne 
 Take a full coffer with thee say aloud, 
 Thou did'st but wish to prove thy fealty ; 
 Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede. 
 
 Illo. For that, too, 'tis too late. They know too much. 
 He would but bear his own head to the block. 
 
 Own. I fear not that. They have not evidence 
 To attaint him legally, and they avoid 
 The avowal of an arbitrary power. 
 They'll let the Duke resign without disturbance. 
 I see how all will end. The King of Hungary 
 Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself 
 Be understood, that then the Duke retires. 
 There will not want a formal declaration. 
 The young King will administer the oath 
 To the whole army ; and so all returns 
 To the old position. On some morrow morning 
 The Duke departs ; and now 'tis stir and bustle 
 Within his castles. He will hunt, and build, 
 Superintend his horses' pedigrees, 
 Creates himself a court, gives golden keys, , 
 And introduceth strictest ceremony 
 u 3 
 
222 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THB 
 
 In fine proportions, and nice etiquette ; 
 
 Keeps open table with high cheer ; in brief 
 
 Commenceth mighty King in miniature. 
 
 And while he prudently demeans himself, 
 
 And gives himself no actual importance, 
 
 He will be let appear whate'er he likes ; 
 
 And who dares doubt, that Friedland will appear 
 
 A mighty Prince to his last dying hour? 
 
 Well now, what then? Duke Friedland is, as others, 
 
 A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath rais'd 
 
 To price and currency, a Jonah's gourd, 
 
 An over-night creation of court-favour, 
 
 Which with an undistinguishable ease 
 
 Makes Baron or makes Prince. 
 
 Wai. (in extreme agitation). Take her away, 
 Let in the young Count Piccolomini. 
 
 Coun. Art thou in earnest ? I entreat thee ! Cuns^t 
 
 thou 
 
 Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave, 
 So ignominiously to be dried up ? 
 Thy life, that arrogated such a height, 
 To end in such a nothing ! To be nothing, 
 When one was always nothing, is an evil, 
 That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil ; 
 But to become a nothing, having been 
 
 Wai. (starts up in violent agitation). Show me a 
 
 way out of this stifling crowd, 
 Ye powers of aidance ! Show me such a way 
 As I am capable of going I 
 Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler ; 
 I cannot warm by thinking ; cannot say 
 To the good luck that turns her back upon me, 
 Magnanimously : * Go ! I need thee not/ 
 Cease I to work, I am annihilated, 
 Bangers nor'sacrifices will I shun, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIW. 223 
 
 If so I may avoid the last extreme ; 
 
 But ere I sink down into nothingness, 
 
 Leave off so little, who began so great, 
 
 Ere that the world confuses me with those 
 
 Poor wretches, whom a day creates and crumbles, 
 
 This age and after-ages* speak my name 
 
 With hate and dread j and Friedland be redemption 
 
 For each accursed deed ! 
 
 Coun. What is there here, then, 
 
 So against nature ? Help me to perceive it ! 
 O let not Superstition's nightly goblins 
 Subdue thy clear bright spirit ! Art thou bid 
 To murder ? with abhorrM accursed poniard, 
 To violate the breasts that nourished thee? 
 That were against our nature, that might aptly 
 Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken, f 
 Yet for a few, and for a meaner object, 
 Have ventured even this, ay, and performed it. 
 What is there in thy case so black and monstrous * 
 Thou art accused of treason whether with 
 Or without justice, is not now the question 
 Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly 
 Of the power which thou possessest. Friedland ! Duke! 
 Tell me, where lives that thing so meek and tame, 
 That doth not all his living faculties 
 Put forth in preservation of his life ? 
 What deed so daring, which necessity 
 And desperation will not sanctify " 
 
 * Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word 
 after- world, for posterity," Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen 
 Namen " might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: 
 Let world and after- world speak out my name, &c. 
 
 1 1 have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with 
 a literal translation of this line 
 
 "werth 
 
 Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregcn." 
 
224 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Wai. Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me: 
 He lov'd me ; he esteem'd me ; I was plac'd 
 The nearest to his heart. Full many a time 
 We, like familiar friends, both at one table, 
 Have banqueted together. He and I 
 And the young kings themselves held me the bason 
 Wherewith to wash me and is't come to this? 
 
 Coun. So faithfully preserv'st thou each small favour, 
 And hast no memory for contumelies? 
 Must I remind thee how at Kegensburg 
 This man repaid thy faithful services ? 
 All ranks and all conditions in the empire 
 Thou hadst wrong'd, to make him great, hadst loaded 
 
 on thee, 
 
 On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world. 
 No friend existed for thee in all Germany, 
 And why ? because thou hadst existed only 
 For th' Emperor. To th' Emperor alone 
 Clung Friedland in that storm which gather' d round 
 
 him 
 
 At Regensburg in the Diet ami he dropp'd thee ! 
 He let thee fall ! He let thee fall a victim 
 To the Bavarian, to that insolent ! 
 Depos'd, stript bare of all thy dignity 
 And power, amid the taunting of thy foes, 
 Thou wert let drop into obscurity. 
 Say not, the restoration of thy honour 
 Has made atonement for that first injustice. 
 No honest good-will was it that replaced thee, 
 The law of hard necessity replac'd thee, 
 Which they had fain oppos'd, but that they could not. 
 
 Wai. Not to their good wishes, that is certain, 
 Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted 
 For this high office ; and if I abuse it, 
 I shall therein abuse no confidence. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 2 
 
 Coun. Affection ! confidence ! They needed the* 
 Necessity, impetuous remonstrant ! 
 Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy, 
 Is serv'd, who'll have the thing and not the symbol, 
 Ever seeks out the greatest and the best, 
 And at the rudder places 7^^7w, e'en though 
 She had been forc'd to take him from the rabble 
 She, this Necessity, it was that plac'd thee 
 In this high office, it was she that gave thee 
 Thy letters patent of inauguration. 
 For, to the uttermost moment that they can, 
 This race still help theipselves at cheapest rate 
 With slavish souls, with puppets ! At the approach 
 Of extreme peril, when a hollow image 
 Is found a hollow image and no more, 
 Then falls the power into the mighty hands 
 Of nature, of the spirit giant-born, 
 Who listens only to himself, knows nothing 
 Of stipulations, duties, reverences ; 
 And like th' emancipated force of fire, 
 Unmaster'd scorches, ere it reaches them, 
 Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy. 
 
 Wai. 'Tis true ! they saw me always as I am 
 Always ! I did not cheat them in the bargain. 
 I never held it worth my pains to hide 
 The bold, all-grasping habit of my soul. 
 
 Coun. Nay rather thou hast ever shown thyself 
 A formidable man, without restraint ; 
 Hast exercis'd the full prerogatives 
 Of thy impetuous nature, which had been 
 Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not tkou, 
 Who hast still remain'd consistent with thyself, 
 But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee, 
 Intrusted such a power in hands they feared. 
 For, by the laws of spirit, in the right 
 
226 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Is every individual character 
 
 That acts in strict consistence with itself. 
 
 Self-contradiction is the only wrong. 
 
 Wert thou another being, then, when tfroii 
 
 Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire 
 
 And sword, and desolation, through the circles 
 
 Of -Germany, the universal scourge, 
 
 Didst mock all ordinances of the Empire, 
 
 The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst, 
 
 Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy, 
 
 All to extend thy Sultan's domination ? 
 
 Then was the time to break thee in, to curb 
 
 Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance. 
 
 But no ! the Emperor felt no touch of conscience, 
 
 What serv'd him pleas' d him, and without a murmur 
 
 He stamp'd his broad seal on these lawless deeds. 
 
 What at that time was right, because thou didst it 
 
 For him, to-day is all at once become 
 
 Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed 
 
 Against him. O most flimsy superstition ! 
 
 Wai. (rising). I never saw it in this light before. 
 'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated 
 Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly. 
 And even this prince's mantle, which I wear, 
 F owe to what were services to him, 
 But most hign misdemeanours 'gainst the empire. 
 
 Coun. Then betwixt thee and him (confess it, Fried- 
 land !) 
 
 The point can be no more than right and duty, 
 Only of power and th' opportunity. 
 That opportunity, lo ! it comes yonder, 
 Approaching with swift steeds ; then with a swing 
 Throw thyself up into the chariot seat, 
 Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent 
 Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 227 
 
 Of the now empty seat. The moment comes, 
 
 It is already here, when thou must write 
 
 The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. 
 
 The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, 
 
 The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 
 
 And tell thee, ' Now's the time ! ' The starry courses 
 
 Hast thou thy life long measur'd to no purpose ? 
 
 The quadrant and the circle, were they play-things ? 
 [Pointing to the different objects in the room. 
 
 The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven, 
 
 Hast pictur'd on these walls, and all around thee, 
 
 In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou plac'd 
 
 These seven presiding lords of destiny 
 
 For toys ? Is all this preparation nothing? 
 
 Is there no marrow in this hollow art, 
 
 That even to thyself it doth avail 
 
 Nothing, and has no influence over thee 
 
 In the great moment of decision ? 
 
 Wai. (during this last speech walks up and down 
 with inward struggles, labouring with pas- 
 sions; stops suddenly, stands still t then4nter- 
 rupting the Countess). 
 
 Send Wrangel to me I will instantly 
 
 Despatch three couriers 
 
 Illo. (hurrying out}. God in heaven be prais'd ! 
 Wai. It is his evil genius and mine. 
 
 Our evil genius ! It chastises him 
 
 Through me, the instrument of his ambition ; 
 
 And I expect no less than that revenge 
 
 E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard. 
 
 Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope 
 
 To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime 
 
 Has, in the moment of its perpetration, 
 
 Its own avenging angel dark misgiving, 
 
 An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. 
 
228 THE P1CCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 He can no longer trust me. Then no longer 
 
 Can I retreat so come that which must co'me, 
 
 Still destiny preserves its due relations j 
 
 The heart within us is its absolute 
 
 Vicegerent. [To Tertsky. 
 
 Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel 
 To my state-cabinet. Myself will speak to 
 The couriers. And despatch immediately 
 A servant for Octavio Piccolomini. 
 
 [To the Countess, who cannot conceal her triumph. 
 No exultation ! woman, triumph not ! 
 For jealous are the powers of destiny. 
 Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, 
 Encroach upon their rights and privileges. 
 We sow the seed, and they the growth determine. 
 
 [While he is making his exit, the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT. V. 
 Scene , as in the preceding Act. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 WALLENSTEIN, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Wai. (coming forward in conversation). He sends 
 
 me word from Linz, that he lies sick ; 
 But I have sure intelligence, that he 
 Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Galas. 
 Secure them both, and send them to me hither. 
 Remember, thou tak'st on thee the command 
 Of those saipe Spanish regiments, constantly 
 Make preparation, and be never ready ; 
 And if they urge thee to draw out against me, 
 Still answer yes, and stand as thou wert fetter'cL 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLEN STEIN. 229 
 
 I know, that it is doing thee a seivice 
 To keep thee out of action in this business. 
 Thou lov'st to linger on in fair appearances ; 
 Steps of extremity are not thy province, 
 Therefore have I sought out this part for thee, 
 Thou wilt this time be of most service to me 
 By thy inertness. The mean time, if fortune 
 Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know 
 What is to do. 
 
 Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Now go, Octavio. 
 
 This night must thou be off, take my own horses : 
 1 { iui hore I keep with me make short farewell 
 Trust me. I think we all shall meet again 
 In joy and thriving fortunes. 
 
 Oct. (to his son). I shall see you 
 
 Yet e'er 1 go. 
 
 SCENE II. .' A 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Max. (advances to him). My General ! 
 
 Wai. That am I no longer, if 
 
 Thou styl'st thyself the Emperor's officer. 
 
 Max. Then thou wilt leave the army General ? 
 
 Wai. I have renounced the service of the Emperor. 
 
 Max. And thou wilt leave the army ? 
 
 Wai. Bather hope I 
 
 To bind it nearer still and faster to me. 
 
 [JEfe seats himself. 
 
 Yes, Max, I have delayed to open it to thee, 
 Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike. 
 Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily 
 The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is 
 To exercise the single apprehension 
 
230 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 Where the sums square in proof ; 
 
 But where it happens, that of two sure evils 
 
 One must be taken, where the heart not wholly 
 
 Brings itself back from out the strife of duties. 
 
 There 'tis a blessing to have no election, 
 
 And blank necessity is grace and favour. 
 
 This is now present. : do not look behind thee 
 
 It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards ! 
 
 Think not ! judge not ! prepare thyself to act ! 
 
 The Court it hath determin'd on my ruin, 
 
 Therefore I will to be beforehand with them. 
 
 We'll join the Swedes right gallant fellows are they, 
 
 And our good friends. 
 
 [He stops himself, expecting Piccolomini's answer 
 I have ta'en thee by surprise. Answer me not. 
 I grant thee time to recollect thyself 
 
 [He rises, and retires to the back of the stage. 
 Max. remains for a long time motionless, in 
 a trance of excessive anguish. At his first 
 motion Wallenstein returns, and places himself 
 before him. 
 
 Max. My General, this day thou makest me 
 Of age to speak in my own right and person, 
 For till this day I have been spared the trouble 
 To find out my own road. Thee have I followed 
 With most implicit, unconditional faith, 
 Sure of the right path if I followed thee. 
 To day, for the first time, dost thou refer 
 Me to myself, and forcest me to make 
 Election between thee and my own heart. 
 
 Wai Soft cradled thee thy fortune till to-day : 
 Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport, 
 Indulge all lovely instincts, act for ever 
 With undivided heart. It can remain 
 No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 231 
 
 Start from each other. Duties strive with duties. 
 Thou must needs choose thy party in the war 
 Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him 
 Who is thy Emperor. 
 
 Max. War ! is that the name ? 
 
 War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence, 
 Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is. 
 Is that a good war, which against the Emperor 
 Thou wagest with the Emperor's own army ? 
 O God of Heaven ! what a change is this. 
 Beseems it me to offer such persuasion 
 To thee, who, like the fix'd star of the pole, 
 Wert all I gaz'd at on life's trackless ocean ? 
 O ! what a rent thou makest in my heart ! 
 The ingrained instinct of old reverence, 
 The holy habit of obediency. 
 Must I pluck life asunder from thy name ? 
 Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me 
 It always was as a god looking at me ! 
 Duke Wallenstein, its power is not departed : 
 The senses still are in thy bonds ; although 
 Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself. 
 
 Wai. Max., hear me. 
 
 Max. O ! do it not, I pray thee, do it not ! 
 There is a pure and noble soul within thee, 
 Knows not of this unblest, unlucky doing. 
 Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only 
 Which hath polluted thee and innocence, 
 It will not let itself be driven away 
 From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not, 
 Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce 
 All human creatures to disloyalty 
 Against the nobleness of their own nature. 
 'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief, 
 Which holdeth nothing noble in free-will, 
 x 2 
 
232 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 And trusts itself to impotence alone, 
 Made powerful only in an unknown power. 
 
 WaL The world will judge me sternly, I expect it. 
 Already have I said to my own self 
 All thou canst say to me. "Who but avoids 
 The extreme, can he by going around avoid it ? 
 But here there is no choice. Yes I must use 
 Or suffer violence so stands the case, 
 There remains nothing possible but that. 
 
 Max. O that is never possible for thee ! 
 'Tis the last desperate resource of those 
 Cheap souls, to whom their honour, their good name 
 Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep, 
 Which having staked and lost, they stake themselves 
 In the mad rage of gaming, Thou art rich, 
 And glorious ; with an unpolluted heart 
 Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest. 
 But he, who once hath acted infamy, 
 Does nothing more in this world. 
 
 Wai. (grasps his hand). Calmly, Max ! 
 Much that is great and excellent will we 
 Perform together yet. And if we only 
 Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon 
 Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended. 
 Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now, 
 That yet was deeply sullied in the winning. 
 To the evil spirit doth the earth belong, 
 Not to the good. All that the powers divine 
 Send from above, are universal blessings : 
 Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes, 
 But never yet was man enrich'd by them : 
 In their eternal realm no property 
 Is to be struggled for all there is general. | 
 The jewel, the all- valued gold we win 
 From the deceiving powers, deprav'd in nature. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEI^. 233 
 
 That dwell beneath the day and blessed sun-light. 
 Not without sacrifices are they rendered 
 Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth 
 That e'er retir'd unsullied from their service. 
 
 Max. Whatever is human, to the human being 
 Do I allow and to the vehement 
 And striving spirit readily I pardon 
 Th' excess of action ; but to thee, my general ! 
 Above all others make I large concession. 
 For thou must move a world, and be the master 
 He kills thee, who condemns thee to inaction. 
 So be it then ! maintain thee in thy post 
 By violence. Resist the Emperor, 
 And if it must be, force with force repel : 
 I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it. 
 But not not to the traitor yes ! the word 
 
 Is spoken out 
 
 Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon. 
 That is no mere excess ! that is no error 
 Of human nature that is wholly difPrent, 
 O that is black, black as the pit of hell ! 
 
 \Wallenstein betrays a sudden agitation. 
 Thou canst not hear it nam'd, and wilt tbou do it? 
 
 turn back to thy duty. That thou canst 
 
 1 hold it certain. Send me to Vienna. 
 
 I'll make thy peace for thee with th' Emperor. 
 He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He 
 Shall see the Duke ! with my unclouded eye, 
 And I bring back his confidence to thee. 
 
 Wai. It is too late. Thou know'st not what has 
 happen'd. 
 
 Max. Were it too late, and were things gone so far, 
 That a crime only could prevent thy fall, 
 Then fall ! fall honourably even as thou stood'st. 
 Lose the command. Go from the stage of wai 
 x 3 
 
234 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Tliou canst with splendour do it do it too 
 With innocence. Thou hast liv'd much for others, 
 At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee. 
 My destiny, I never part from thine. 
 
 Wai It is too late ! Even now, while thou art losing 
 Thy words, one after the other are the mile- stones 
 Left fast behind by my post couriers, 
 Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra, 
 
 [Max. stands as convulsed, with a gesture and 
 countenance expressing the most intense an- 
 guish. 
 
 Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forc'd. 
 / cannot give assent to my own shame 
 And ruin. Thou no thou canst not forsake me ! 
 So let us do, what must be done, with dignity, 
 With a firm step. What am I doing worse 
 Than did fam'd Caesar at the Rubicon, 
 When he the legions led against his country, 
 The which his country had deliver'd to him ? 
 Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost, 
 As I were, if I but disarm'd myself. 
 I trace out something in me of his spirit. 
 Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear. 
 
 [Max. quits him abruptly. Wa llenstein, startled 
 and overpowered, continues looking after 
 him, and is still in this posture when Tertsfiy 
 enters. 
 
 SC*NE III. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY. 
 
 Ter. Max. Piccolomini just left you ? 
 Wai Where is Wrangel ? 
 
 Ter. He is already gone. 
 Wai. In such a hurry ? 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 235 
 
 Ter. It is as if the earth had swallow'd him. 
 He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him. 
 I wish'd some words with him but he was gone. 
 How, when, and where, could no one tell me. Nay, 
 I half believe it was the devil himself; 
 A human creature could not so at once 
 Have vanish'd. 
 
 Illo. (enters). Is it true that thou wilt send 
 
 Octavio ? 
 
 Ter. How, Octavio ! Whither send him ? 
 
 Wai. He goes to Frauenberg, and will lead hither 
 The Spanish and Italian regiments. 
 
 Illo. No!- 
 
 Nay, Heaven forbid! 
 
 Wai. And why should Heaven forbid ? 
 
 Illo. Him ! that deceiver ! Would'st thou trust to 
 
 him 
 
 The soldiery ? Him wilt thou let slip from thee, 
 Now, in the very instant that decides us 
 
 Ter. Thou wilt not do this ! No ! I pray tfiee, no I 
 
 Wai. Ye are whimsical. 
 
 Illo. O but for this time, Duke, 
 
 Yield to our warning ! Let him not depart. 
 
 Wai. And why should I not trust him only this time, 
 Who have always trusted him ? What, then, has 
 
 happen'd 
 
 That I should lose my good opinion of him ? 
 In complaisance to your whims, not my own, 
 I must, forsooth, give up a rooted judgment. 
 Think not I am a woman. Having trusted him 
 E'en 'till to-day, to-day too will I trust him. 
 
 Ter. Must it be he he only ? Send another. 
 
 Wai. It must be he, whom I myself have chosen ; 
 He is well fitted for the business. Therefore 
 I gave it him. 
 
236 THE PICCOLOMINT ; OR, THE 
 
 lllo. Because he's an Italian 
 
 Therefore is he well fitted for the business. 
 
 Wai. I know you love them not nor sire nor son 
 Because I esteem them, love them visibly 
 Esteem them, love them more than you and others, 
 E'en as they merit. Therefore are they eye-blights, 
 Thorns in your foot-path. But your jealousies, 
 In what affect they me or my concerns? 
 Are they the worst to me because you hate them ? 
 Love or hate one another as you will, 
 I leave to each man his own moods and likings ; 
 Yet know the worth of each of you to me. 
 
 lllo. Von Questenberg, while he was here, was 
 
 always 
 Lurking about with this Octavio. 
 
 Wai. It happen'd with my knowledge and permission. 
 
 lllo. I know that secret messengers came to him 
 From Galas 
 
 Wai. That's not true. 
 
 lllo. O thou art blind 
 
 With thy deep-seeing eyes. 
 
 Wai Thou wilt not shake 
 
 My faith for me my faith, which founds itself 
 On the profoundest science. If 'tis false, 
 Then the whole science of the stars is false. 
 For know, I have a pledge from fate itself, 
 That he is the most faithful of my friends. 
 
 lllo. Hast thou a pledge, that this pledge is not false ? 
 
 Wai. There exist moments in the life of man, 
 When he is nearer the great Soul of the world 
 Than is man's custom, and possesses freely 
 The power of questioning his destiny : 
 And such a moment 'twas, when in the night 
 Before the action in the plains of Liitzen, 
 Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTBIIC. 237 
 
 look'd out far upon the ominous plain. 
 My whole life, past and future, in this moment 
 Before my mind's eye glided in procession, 
 And to the destiny of the next morning 
 The spirit, fill'd with anxious presentiment, 
 Did knit the most remov'd futurity. 
 Then said I also to myself, * So many 
 Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars, 
 And as on some great number set their all 
 Upon thy single head, and only man 
 The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day 
 Will come, when Destiny shall once more scatter 
 All these in many a several direction : 
 Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee,' 
 I yearn'd to know which one was faithfullest 
 Of all this camp included. Great Destiny, 
 Give me a sign I And he shall be the man, 
 Who, on th' approaching morning, comes the first 
 To meet me with a token of his love : 
 And thinking this, I fell into a slumber. 
 Then midmost in the battle was I led 
 In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult ! 
 Then was my horse kill'd under me ; I sank ; 
 And over me away, all unconcernedly, 
 Drove horse and rider and thus trod to pieces 
 I lay, and panted like a dying man. 
 Then seizM me suddenly a saviour arm. 
 It was Octavio's I awoke at once. 
 'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me. 
 My brother,' said he, ( do not ride to-day 
 The dapple, as you're wont ; but mount the horse 
 Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother 
 In love to me. A strong dream warn'd me so/ 
 It was the swiftness of this horse that snatch'd nw 
 Fi cnn the hot pursuit of Banuier's dragoons, 
 
238 THE PICCOLOMINI j OR, THB 
 
 My cousin rode the dapple on that day, 
 And never more saw I or horse or rider. 
 
 IHo. That was a chance. 
 
 Wai. (significantly). There's no such thing as 
 
 chance. 
 
 In brief, 'tis sign'd and seal'd that this Octavio 
 Is my good angel and now no word more. 
 
 \_He is retiring. 
 
 Ter. This is my comfort Max. remains our hostage. 
 
 Illo. And he shall never stir from here alive. 
 
 Wai. (stops and turns himself round). Are ye not 
 
 like the women, who, for ever 
 Only recur to their first word, altho' 
 One had been talking reason by the hour ? 
 Know, that the human being's thoughts and deeds 
 Are not, like ocean billows, blindly mov'd. 
 The inner world, his microcosmus, is 
 The deep shaft, out of which they spring eternally, 
 They grow by certain laws, like the tree's fruit 
 No juggling chance can metamorphose them. 
 Have I the human kernel first examin'd ? 
 Then I know, too, the future will and action. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Scene A Chamber mPiccoLOMiNi's Dwelling-house. 
 OCTAVIO, PICCOLOMINI, ISOLANI, entering. 
 
 Iso. Here am I Well ! who comes yet of the others ? 
 Oct. (with an air of mystery). But. first, a word 
 
 with you, Count Isolani. 
 Iso (assuming the same air of mystery}. Will it 
 
 explode, ha ? Is the Duke about 
 To make the attempt ? In me, friend, you may place 
 Full confidence. Nay, put me to the proof. 
 
FIRST PART OP WALLENSTBIW. 239 
 
 Oct. That may happen. 
 
 Iso. Noble brother, I am 
 
 Not one of those men who in words are valiant, 
 And when it comes to action skulk away. 
 The Duke has acted towards me as a friend, 
 
 God knows it is so ; and I owe him all 
 
 He may rely on my fidelity. 
 
 Oct. That will be seen hereafter. 
 
 Iso. Be on your guard. 
 
 All think not as I think ; and there are many 
 Who still hold with the Court yes, and they say 
 That those stolen signatures bind them to nothing, 
 
 Oct. I am rejoiced -to hear it. 
 
 Iso. You rejoice ! 
 
 Oct. That the Emperor has yet such gallant ser- 
 vants, 
 And loving friends. 
 
 Iso. Nay, jeer not, I in treat you. 
 
 They are no such worthless fellows, I assure you. 
 
 Oct. I am assured already. God forbid 
 That I should jest ! In very serious earnest, 
 I am rejoiced to see an honest cause 
 So strong. 
 
 Iso. The Devil! what! why, what means 
 
 this? 
 Are you not, then For what, then, am I here ? 
 
 Oct. That you may make full declaration, whether 
 You will be calPd the friend or enemy 
 Of the Emperor. 
 
 Iso. (with an air of defiance). That declaration, 
 
 friend, 
 
 I'll make to him in whom a right is placed 
 To put that question to me. 
 
 Oct. Whether, Count, 
 
 That right is mine, this paper may instruct you. 
 
240 THE riccoLOMiis'i ; OR, THE 
 
 Iso. (stammering). Why why what ! this is the 
 Emperor's hand and seal ! [^Reacts. 
 
 " Whereas, the officers collectively 
 Throughout our army will obey the orders 
 Of the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. 
 As from ourselves" Hem! Yes! so! Yes' 
 
 yes 
 
 i 
 
 I I give you joy, Lieutenant-General ! 
 
 Oct. And you submit you to the order ? 
 
 Iso. I 
 
 But you have taken me so by surprise 
 Time for reflection one must have 
 
 Oct. Two minutes. 
 
 Iso. My God ! but then the case is 
 
 Oct. Plain and simple. 
 
 You must declare you, whether you determine 
 To act a treason 'gainst your Lord and Sovereign, 
 Or whether you will serve him faithfully. 
 
 Iso. Treason !- My God ! But who talks then of 
 treason ? 
 
 Oct. That is the case. The Prince-duke is a 
 
 traitor 
 
 Means to lead over to the enemy 
 The Emperor's army.- Now, Count ! brief and full- 
 Say, will you break your oath to th' Emperor ? 
 Sell yourself to the enemy ? Say, will you ? 
 
 Iso. What mean you ? I I break my oath, d'ye 
 
 say, 
 
 To his Imperial Majesty ? 
 Did I say so ? When, when have I said that? 
 
 Oct. You have not said it yet not yet. This 
 
 instant 
 I wait to hear, Count, whether you will say it. 
 
 Iso. Aye ! that delights me now, that you yourself 
 Bear witness for me that I never said so. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Oct. And you renounce the Duke then ? 
 
 Iso. If he's planring 
 
 Treason why, treason breaks all bonds asunder. 
 
 Oct. And are determin'd, too, to fight against him ? 
 
 Iso. He has done me service but if he's a villain, 
 Perdition seize him ! All scores are rubb'd off. 
 
 Oct. I am rejoic'd that you're so well dispos'd. 
 This night break off in th' utmost secresy 
 With all the light -arm'd troops it must appear 
 As came the order from the Duke himself. 
 At Frauenbergfs the place of rendezvous ; 
 There will Count Galas give you further orders. 
 
 Iso. It shall be done. But you'll remember me 
 With th' Emperor how well-dispos'd you found me. 
 
 Oct. I will not fail to mention it honourably. 
 
 [Exit Isolani. A Servant enters. 
 What, Colonel Butler ! Show him up. 
 
 Iso. (returning). Forgive me, too, my bearish ways, 
 
 old father ! 
 
 Lord God ! how should I know, then, what a great 
 Person I had before me. 
 
 Oct. No excuses ! 
 
 Jso. I am a merry lad, and if at time 
 A rash word might escape me 'gainst the court 
 Amidst my wine you know no harm was meant. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Oct. You need not be uneasy on that score. 
 That has succeeded. Fortune favour us 
 With all the others only but as much ! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 OCTAVIO PlCCOLOMINI, BUTLER. 
 
 But. At your command, Lieutenant-General. 
 Oct. Welcome as honour'd friend and visitor. 
 
242 THE PiCCOLOMlNi; OR, THE 
 
 But. You do me too much honour. 
 
 Oct. (after both have seated themselves). You have 
 
 not 
 
 Returned the advances which I made you yester- 
 day 
 
 Misunderstood them as mere empty forms. 
 That wish proceeded from ray heart I was 
 In earnest with you for 'tis now a time 
 In which the honest should unite most closely. 
 
 But. 'Tis only the like-minded can unite. 
 
 Oct. True ! and I name all honest men like-minded. 
 I never charge a man but with those acts 
 To which his character deliberately 
 Impels him ; for alas ! the violence 
 Of blind misunderstandings often thrusts 
 The very best of us from the right track. 
 You came thro' Frauenberg. Did the Count Galas 
 Say nothing to you ? Tell me. He's my friend. 
 
 But. His words were lost on me. 
 
 Oct. It grieves me sorely 
 
 To bear it, for his counsel was most wise. 
 1 had myself the like to offer. 
 
 But. Spare 
 
 Yourself the trouble me th' embarrassment, 
 To have deserved so ill your good opinion. 
 
 Oct. The time is precious let us talk openly, 
 You know how matters stand here. Wallenstein 
 Meditates treason I can tell you further 
 He has committed treason j but few hours 
 Have past, since he a covenant concluded 
 With th' enemy. The messengers are now 
 Full on their way to Egra and to Prague. 
 To-morrow he intends to lead us over 
 To th' enemy. But he deceives himself; 
 For prudence wakes the Emperor has still 
 
IIRST PART OF WALLENSTEJN. 248 
 
 Many and faithful friends here, and they stand 
 In closest union, mighty tho' unseen. 
 This manifesto sentences the Duke 
 Recalls the obedience of the army from him, 
 And summons all the loyal, all the honest, 
 To join and recognize in me their leader. 
 Choose will you share with us an honest cause ? 
 Or with the evil share an evil lot. 
 
 But. (rises). His lot is mine. 
 
 Oct. Is that your last resolve ? 
 
 But. It is. 
 
 Oct. Nay, but bethink you, Colonel Butler ! 
 As yet you have time. Within my faithful breast 
 That rashly utter'd word remains interr'd. 
 Recall it, Butler ! choose a better party. 
 You have not chosen the right one. 
 
 But. (going}. Any other 
 
 Commands for me, Lieutenant-General ? 
 
 Oct. See your white hairs ! Recall that word ! 
 
 But. Farewell ! 
 
 Oct. What, would you draw this good and gallant 
 
 sword 
 
 In such a cause ? Into a curse would you 
 Transform the gratitude which you have earn'd 
 By forty years' fidelity from Austria ? 
 
 But . (laughing with bitterness). Gratitude from the 
 house of Austria. [He is going. 
 
 Oct. (permits him to go as far as the door, then 
 calls after him). Butler ! 
 
 But. What wish you ? 
 
 Oct. How was't with the Count ? 
 
 But. Count? what? 
 
 Oct. (coldly). The title that you wish'd I mean. 
 
 But. (starts in sudden passion). Hell and dam- 
 nation I 
 
 Y2 
 
244 THE PIOCOLOMIN ; OR, THE 
 
 Oct. (coldly). You petitioned for it-- 
 
 And your petition was repelPd Was it so ? 
 
 But. Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunish'd. 
 Draw ! 
 
 Oct. Nay ! your sword to 'ts sheath ! and tell me 
 
 calmly 
 
 How all that happened. I will not refuse you 
 Your satisfaction afterwards. Calmly, Butler ! 
 
 But. Be the whole world acquainted with the 
 
 weakness 
 
 For which I never can forgive myself. 
 Lieutenant- General ! Yes I have ambition. 
 Ne'er was I able to endure contempt. 
 It stung me to the quick, that birth and title 
 Should have more weight than merit has in th* 
 
 army. 
 
 I would fain not be meaner than my equal, 
 So in an evil hour I let myself 
 Be tempted to that measure It was folly ! 
 But yet so hard a penance it deserv'd not. 
 It might have been refus'd ; but wherefore barb 
 And venom the refusal with contempt ? 
 Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn 
 The grey-hair'd man, the faithful veteran ? 
 Why to the baseness of his parentage 
 Refer him with such cruel rougnness, oniy 
 Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself? 
 But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm 
 Which wanton power treads on in sport and insult. 
 
 Oct. You must have been calumniated. Guess yon 
 The enemy, who did you this ill service ? 
 
 But. Be't who it will a most low-hearted scoun- 
 drel, 
 
 Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard, 
 Some young squire of some ancient family, 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLEJS'STEIN. 245 
 
 In whose light I may stand, some envious knave, 
 Stung to his soul by my fair self-earn'd honours ! 
 
 Oct. But tell me! Did the Duke approve that 
 measure ? 
 
 But. Himself impell'd me to it, used his interest 
 In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. 
 
 Oct. Ay ? Are you sure of that ? 
 
 But. I read the letter, 
 
 Oct. And so did I but the contents were different. 
 \Butler is suddenly struck. 
 By chance I'm in possession of that letter 
 Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. 
 
 \He gives him the letter. 
 
 But. Ha ! what is this ? 
 
 Oct. I fear me, Colonel Butler, 
 
 An infamous game have they been playing with you. 
 The Duke, you say, impell'd you to this measure ? 
 Now, in this letter talks he in contempt 
 Concerning you ; counsels the minister 
 To give sound chastisement to your conceit, 
 For so he calls it. 
 
 [Butler reads through the letter, his knees trem- 
 ble, he seizes a chair, and sinks down 
 in it. 
 
 You have no enemy, no persecutor ; 
 There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe 
 The insult you receiv'd to the Duke only. 
 His aim is clear and palpable. He wish'd 
 To tear you from your Emperor he hop'd 
 To gain from your revenge what he well knew 
 (What your long-tried fidelity convinc'd him) 
 He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason. 
 A blind tool would he make you, in contempt 
 Use you as means of most abandon'd ends. 
 He has gain'd his point. Too well has ne succeeded 
 y 3 
 
246 THE PICCOLOMINI ; OR, THE 
 
 In luring you away from that good path 
 On which you had been journeying forty years ! 
 But. (his voice trembling). Can e'er the Emperor's 
 
 Majesty forgive me ? 
 
 Oct. More than forgive you. He would fain com- 
 pensate 
 
 For that affront, and most unmerited grievance 
 Sustain'd by a deserving, gallant veteran. 
 From his free impulse he confirms the present, 
 Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. 
 The regiment which you now command is yours. 
 
 [Butler attempts to rise, sinks down again. He 
 labours inwardly with violent emotions ; tries to 
 speak, and cannot. At length he takes his sword 
 from the bfllt, and offers it to Piccolomini. 
 Oct. What wish you? "Recollect yourself, friend. 
 But. Take it. 
 
 Oct. But to what purpose ? Calm yourself. 
 But. O take it ! 
 
 I am no longer worthy of this sword. 
 
 Oct. Receive it then anew from my hands and 
 Wear it with honour for the right cause ever. 
 But. Perjure myself to such a gracious Sove- 
 reign ! 
 Oct. You'll make amends. Quick ! break off from 
 
 the Duke ! 
 
 But. Break off from him ! 
 
 Oct. What now ? Bethink thyself. 
 
 But. (no longer governing his emotion). Only break 
 
 off from him ! He dies ! he dies ! 
 Oct. Come after me to Frauenberg, where now 
 All, who are. loyal, are assembling under 
 Counts Altringer and Galas. Many others 
 I've brought to a remembrance of their duty. 
 This night be sure, that you escape from Pilsen. 
 
-IRST PART OF WALLENSTEIfc. 247 
 
 But. (strides up and down in excessive agitation, 
 then steps up to Octavio with resolved counte- 
 nance). Count Piccolomini ! Dare that man 
 speak 
 
 Of honour to you, who once broke his troth. 
 Oct. He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. 
 But. Then leave me here, upon my word of honour ! 
 Oct. What's your design ? 
 
 But. Leave me and my regiment. 
 
 Oct. I have full confidence in you. But tell me 
 What are you brooding ? 
 
 But That, ttye deed will tell you. 
 
 Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. 
 Ye may trust safely. By the living God 
 Ye give him over, not to his good angel ! 
 Farewell ! [Exit Butler. 
 
 Ser. (enters with a billet). A stranger left it, 
 
 and is gone. 
 The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Oct. (reads). " Be sure, make haste ! Your faith- 
 ful Isolan." 
 
 O that I had but left this town behind me. 
 To split upon a rock so near the haven ! 
 Away ! This is no longer a safe place for me ! . 
 Where can mv son be tarrying ? 
 
243 THE PICCOLOMINI; OR, THE 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Max. enters almost in a state of derangement from 
 extreme agitation, his eyes roll wildly, his walk is 
 unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, 
 who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a 
 countenance expressive of compassion. He paces 
 with long strides through the chamber, then stands 
 still again, and at last throws himself into a chair, 
 staring vacantly at the object directly before him. 
 
 Oct. (advances to him}. I am going off, my son. 
 
 [Receiving no answer, he takes his hand. 
 My son, farewell. 
 
 Max. Farewell. 
 
 Oct. Thou wilt soon follow me ? 
 
 Max. I follow thee? 
 
 Thy way is crooked it is not my way. 
 
 [Octavio drops his hand, and starts back. 
 O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere, 
 Ne'er had it come to this all had stood otherwise. 
 He had not done that foul and horrible deed, 
 The virtuous had retained their influence o'er him ; 
 He had not fallen into the snares of villains. 
 Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice 
 Did'st creep behind him lurking for thy prey ? 
 O, unblest falsehood ! Mother of all evil ! 
 Thou misery-making demon, it is thou 
 That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth, 
 Sustainer of the world, had sav'd us all ! 
 Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee ! 
 Wallenstein has deceiv'd me O, most foully! 
 But thou hast acted not much better. 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. f49 
 
 Oct. Son ! 
 
 My son, ah ! I forgive thy agony ! 
 
 Max. (rises and contemplates his father with looks 
 of suspicion). Was' t possible ? had'st thou 
 the heart, my father, 
 
 Had'st thou the heart to drive it to such lengths, 
 With cold premeditated purpose ? Thou 
 Had'st thou the heart, to wish to see him guitly, 
 Bather than sav'd ? Thou risest by his fall. 
 Octavio, 'twill not please me. 
 
 Oct. God in Heaven ! 
 
 Max. O, woe is me ! sure I have changed my nature. 
 How comes suspicion here in the free soul ? 
 Hope, confidence, belief, are gone ; for all 
 Lied to me, all what I e'er lov'd or honoured. 
 No ! No ! Not all ! She she yet lives for me, 
 And she is true, and open as the Heavens ! 
 Deceit is every where, hypocrisy, 
 Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury : 
 The single holy spot is our love, 
 The only unprofan'd in human nature. 
 
 Oct. Max! we will go together. 'Twill be better. 
 
 Max. What? ere I've taken a last parting leave, 
 The very last no never ! 
 
 Oct. Spare thyself 
 
 The pang of necessary separation. 
 Come with me I Come, my son ! 
 
 [Attempts to take him with him. 
 
 Max. No ! as sure as God lives, no ! 
 
 Oct. (more urgently). Come with me, I command 
 thee ! I, thy father. 
 
 Max. Command me what is human. I stay here. 
 
 Oct. Max ! in the Emperor's name I bid thee come 
 
 Max. No Emperor has power to prescribe 
 Laws to the heart ; and would'st thou wish to rob ine. 
 
250 THE PICCOLOMINI J OR, THE 
 
 Of the sole blessing which ray fate has left me, 
 Her sympathy. Must then a cruel deed 
 Be done with cruelty ? The unalterable 
 Shall I perform ignobly steal away, 
 With stealthly coward flight forsake her ? No ! 
 She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish, 
 Hear the complaints of the disparted soul, 
 And weep tears o'er me. O ! the human race 
 Have steely souls but she is as an angel. 
 From the black deadly madness of despair 
 Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words 
 Of comfort, plaining, loose this pang of death ! 
 
 Oct. Thou wilt not tear thyself away, thou canst not 
 O, come, my son ! I bid thee save thy virtue. 
 
 Max. Squander not thou thy words in vain ! 
 The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it. 
 
 Oct. (trembling and losing all self-command). 
 Max.! Max.; if that most damned thing could be, 
 If thou my son my own blood (dare I think it 1) 
 Do sell thyself to him, the infamous ; 
 Do stamp this brand upon our noble house, 
 Then shall the world behold the horrible deed, 
 And in unnatural combat shall the steel 
 Of the son trickle with the father's blood. 
 
 Max. O hadst thou always better thought of men, 
 Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion ! 
 Unholy miserable doubt ! To him 
 Nothing on earth remains unwrench'd and firm, 
 Who has no faith/ 
 
 Oct. And if I trust thy heart, 
 
 Will it be always in thy power to follow it ? 
 
 Max. The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpower'd 
 
 as little 
 Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it. 
 
 Oct. O Max I I see thee never more again 
 
FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. 251 
 
 Max. Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me. 
 
 Oct. I go to Frauenberg the Pappenheimers 
 I leave thee here, the Lothrings too ; Toskana 
 And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee. 
 They love thee, and are faithful to their oath, 
 And will far rather fall in gallant contest 
 Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour. 
 
 Max. Rely on this, I either leave my life 
 In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen. 
 
 Oct. Farewell, my son ! 
 
 Max. Farewell ! 
 
 Oct. How ? not one look 
 
 Of filial love? No grasp of the hand at parting? 
 It is a bloody war, to which we are going, 
 And the event uncertain and in darkness. 
 So us'd we not to part it was not so ! 
 Is it then true ? I have a son no longer ? 
 
 [Max. falls into his arms, tfiey hold each otiicr 
 for a long time in a speechless embrace, then 
 go away at different sides. Tlie curtain 
 drops. 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 PREFACE OP THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 THE two Dramas, PICCOLOMIM, or the first part of WALLENSTEIN, 
 and WALLKNSTEIN, are introduced in the original manuscript by a 
 prelude in one Act, entitled WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. This is written 
 in rhyme, and in nine syllable verse, in the same lilting metre ( if 
 that expression may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of 
 Spencer's Shepherd's Calendar. 
 
 This Prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not deficient 
 in character : but to have translated it into prose, or into any other 
 metre than that of the original, would have given a false idea both of 
 its style and purport; to have translated it into the same metre would 
 have been incompatible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the 
 German, from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes ; 
 and it would have been unadvisable from the incongruity of those lax 
 verses with the present taste of the English public. Schiller's inten- 
 tion seems to have been merely to have prepared his reader for the 
 Tragedies by a lively picture of the laxity of discipline, and the muti- 
 nous dispositions of Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a 
 preliminary explanation . For these reasons it has been though t expe- 
 dient not to translate it. 
 
 The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea of that 
 author from The Robbers, and The Cabal and Love, plays in which 
 the main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in 
 which the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident 
 will not have perused, without some portion of disappointment, the 
 dramas, which it has been my employment to translate. They should 
 however, reflect that these are historical dramas, taken from a popular 
 German history; that we must therefore judge of them in some 
 measure with the feelings of Germans ; or by analogy, with the inte- 
 Z 
 
2>> PREFACE. 
 
 rest excited in us by similar dramas in our own language. Few, I 
 trust, would be rash or ignorant enough to compare Schiller with 
 Shakspeare ; yet, merely as illustration, I would say that we should 
 proceed to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, 
 but from Richard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the Sixth. 
 We scarcely expect rapidity in an historical drama ; and many prolix 
 speeches are pardoned from characters, whose names and actions have 
 formed the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other hand, 
 there exist in these plays more individual beauties, more passages, 
 whose excellence will bear reflection, than in the former productions 
 of Schiller. The description of the astrological tower, and the reflec- 
 tions of the young lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine 
 poem ; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can 
 have wholly overclouded the beauties of the scene in the first act of the 
 first play, between Questenberg, Max. and Octavio Piccolimini. If 
 we except the scene of the setting sun in The Robbers, 1 know of no 
 part in Schiller's plays which equals the whole of the first scene of 
 the fifth act of the concluding play. It would be unbecoming in me 
 to be more diffuse on this subject. A translator stands connected 
 with the original author by a certain law of subordination, which 
 makes it more decorous to point out excellencies than defects ; indeed 
 he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust 
 from his own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an 
 afterview of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in any 
 foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it 
 more excellence than it really possesses, from our own pleasurable sense 
 of difficulty overcome without effect. Translation of poetry into 
 poetry is difficult, because the translator must give a brilliancy to h'S 
 language without that warmth of original conception, from which such 
 brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of a 
 living author is incumbered with additional inconveniences. If he 
 render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must 
 necessarily destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeav- 
 our to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he 
 subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I 
 have thought it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, 
 with as few exceptions as the nature of the language rendered 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OE WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene A Chamber in the House of the DUOHESS of 
 FRIEDLAND. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 COUNTESS TERTSKY, THEKLA, LADY NEWBRUNN. 
 [The two latter sit at the same table at work. 
 
 Coun. (watching them from the opposite side) 
 So you have nothing, niece, to ask me ? Nothing ? 
 I have been waiting for a word from you. 
 And could you then endure in all this time 
 Not once to speak his name ? 
 
 [Thehla remaining silent, the Countess rises 
 and advances to her. 
 
 Why, how comes this ? 
 Perhaps I am already grown superfluous, 
 And other ways exist, besides through me? 
 Confess it to me, Thekla ! have you seen him ? 
 Theh. To-day and yesterday I have not seen him. 
 Coun. And not heard from him either ? Come, be 
 
 open! 
 
 Theh. No syllable. 
 
 Coun. And still you are so calm ? 
 
 TJiek. I am. 
 
 Coun. May't please you, leave us, Lady Neubruun ! 
 [Exit Lady Neuorunn. 
 z 2 
 
256 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The COUNTESS, THEKLA. 
 
 Coun. It does not please me, Princess 1 that he holds 
 Himself so still, exactly at this time. 
 
 Tltek. Exactly at this time ? 
 
 Coun. He now knows all 
 
 'Twere now the moment to declare himself. 
 
 Thek. If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. 
 
 Coun. 'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. 
 Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart 
 Is now no more in nonage ; for you love 
 And boldness dwells with love that you have prov'd. 
 Your nature moulds itself upon your father's 
 More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you 
 Hear, what were too much for her fortitude. 
 
 Thek. Enough ! no further preface, I intreat you, 
 At once, out with it ! Be it what it may, 
 It is not possible that it should torture me 
 More than this introduction. What have you 
 To say to me ? Tell me the whole, and briefly ! 
 
 Coun. You'll not be frighten'd 
 
 Thek. Name it, I intreat you. 
 
 Coun. It lies within your power to do your father 
 A weighty service 
 
 Thek. Lies within my power ! 
 
 Coun. Max. Piccolomini loves you. You can link 
 
 him 
 Indissolubly to your father. 
 
 Thek. I? 
 
 What need of me for that ? And is he not 
 Already link'd to him ? 
 
 Coun. He was. 
 
 Thek. And wherefore 
 
 Should he not be so now not be so always ? 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 257 
 
 Coun. He cleaves to the Emp'ror too. 
 
 Thek. Not more than duty 
 
 And honour may demand of him. 
 
 Coun. We ask 
 
 Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour. 
 Duty and honour ! 
 
 Those are ambiguous words -with many meanings. 
 You should interpret them for him : his love 
 Should be the sole definer of his honour. 
 
 Thek. How? 
 
 Coun. Th' Emperor or you must he renounce. 
 
 Thek. He will accompany my father gladly 
 In his retirement. From himself you heard, 
 How much he wishM to lay aside the sword. 
 
 Coun. He must not lay the sword aside, we mean j 
 He must unsheath it in your father's cause. 
 
 Thek. He'll spend with gladness and alacrity 
 His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause, 
 tf shame or injury be intended him. 
 
 Coun. You will not understand me. Well, hea 
 
 then! 
 
 Your father has fallen off from the Emperor, 
 And is about to join the enemy 
 "With the whole soldiery 
 
 Thek. Alas, my mother ! 
 
 Coun. There needs a great example to draw on 
 The army after him. The Piccolomini 
 Possess the love and reverence of the troops ; 
 They govern all opinions, and wherever 
 They lead the way, none hesitate to follow ; 
 The son secures the father to our interests 
 You've much in your hands at this moment. 
 
 Thek. Ah 
 
 My miserable mother ! what a death-stroke 
 Awaits thee ! No ? She never will survive it. 
 z 3 
 
268 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Coun. She will accommodate her soul to that 
 Which is and must be. I do know your mother. 
 The far-off future weighs upon ner neart 
 With torture of anxiety ; but is it 
 Unalterably, actually present, 
 She soons resigns herself, and bears it calmly. 
 
 Thek. O my foreboding bosom ! Even now, 
 E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror! 
 And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp. 
 I knew it well no sooner had I enter'd 
 A heavy, ominous presentiment 
 Reveal'd to me, that spirits of death were hov'ring 
 Over my happy fortune. But why think I 
 First of myself ? My mother ! O my mother! 
 
 Coun. Calm yourself! Break not out in vain la- 
 menting ! 
 
 Preserve you for your father the firm friend, 
 And for yourself the lover ; all will yet 
 Prove good and fortunate. 
 
 Thek. Prove good? What good? 
 
 Must we not part ? Part ne'er to meet again ? 
 
 Coun. He parts not from you ! He cannot part 
 from you. 
 
 T/iek. Alas for his sore anguish ! It will rend 
 His heart asunder. 
 
 Coun. If indeed he love you, 
 
 His resolution will be speedily taken. 
 
 Thek. His resolution will be speedily taken 
 O do not doubt of that ! A resolution ! 
 Does there remain one to be taken ? 
 
 Coun. Hush ! 
 
 Collect yourself ! I hear your mother coming. 
 
 Thek. How shall I bear to see her? 
 
 Coun. Collect yourself. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 2fi9 
 
 SCENE III. 
 To them enter the DUCHESS. 
 
 Duch (to the Countess). Who was here, sister ? I 
 
 heard some one talking, 
 And passionately too. 
 
 Coun. Nay ! There was no one. 
 
 Duch. I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise 
 Scatters my spirits, and announces to me 
 The footstep of some messenger of evil. 
 And can you tell me, sister, what the event is ? 
 Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure, 
 And send th' horse-regiments to the Cardinal ? 
 Tell me, has he dismiss'd Von Questenberg 
 With a favourable answer. 
 
 Coun. No, he has not. 
 
 Duch. Alas ! then all is lost ! I see it coming. 
 The worst that can come ! Yes, they will depose him ; 
 The accursed business of the Regensburg diet 
 Will all be acted o'er again ! 
 
 Coun. No ! never ! 
 
 Make your heart easy, sister, as to that. 
 
 \Thehla, in extreme agitation, throws herself 
 upon her mother t and infolds her in her arms, 
 weeping. 
 
 Duch. Yes, my poor child ! 
 Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother 
 In th' empress. O that stern unbending man ! 
 In this unhappy marriage what have I 
 Not suffer'd, not endurM. For ev'n as if 
 I had been link'd on to some wheel of fire, 
 That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward, 
 1 have oast a life of frights and horrors with him, 
 And ever to the brink of some abyss 
 
260 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEItf, 
 
 With dizzy headlong violence he whirls me. 
 
 Nay, do not weep, my child ! Let not my sufferings 
 
 Presignify unhappiness to thee, 
 
 Nor blacken with their shade, dictate that waits thee. 
 
 There lives no second Friedland : thou, my child, 
 
 Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny. 
 
 Thek. O let us supplicate him, dearest mother ! 
 Quick ! quick ! here's no abiding-place for us. 
 Here every coming hour broods into life 
 Some new affrightful monster. 
 
 Duck. Thou wilt share 
 
 An easier, ea"lmer lot, my child ! We too, 
 I and thy father, witnessed happy days. 
 Still think I with delight of those first years, 
 When he was making progress with glad effort, 
 When his ambition was a genial fire, 
 Not tbat consuming^aTwe which now it is. 
 The Emperor lov'd him, trusted him ; and all 
 He undertook, could not but be successful. 
 But since that ill-starr'd day at Regensburg, 
 Which plung'd him headlong from his dignity, 
 A gloomy uncompanionable spirit. 
 Unsteady and suspicious, has possess'd him. 
 His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer 
 Did he yield up himself in joy and faith 
 To his old luck, and individual power ; 
 But thenceforth turn'd his heart and best affections 
 All to those cloudy sciences, which never 
 Have yet made happy him who followed them. 
 
 Coun. You see it, sister ! as your eyes permit you. 
 But surely this is not the conversation 
 To pass the time in which we are waiting for him. 
 You know he will be soon here. Would you have 
 
 him 
 Find her in this condition ? 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 201 
 
 Duck. Come, my child ! 
 
 Come, wipe away Ihy tears, and show thy father 
 A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here 
 Is off this hair must not hang so dishevell'd. 
 Come, dearest ! dry thy tears up. They deform 
 Thy gentle eye well now what was I saying ? 
 Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini 
 Is a most noble and deserving gentleman. 
 Coun. That is he, sister ! 
 
 Thek. (to the Countess, with marks of great op- 
 pression of spirits). 
 
 Aunt, you will excuse me ? [Is going. 
 
 Coun. But whither ? See, your father comes. 
 Thek. I cannot see him now. 
 Coun. Nay, but bethink you. 
 
 Thek. Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence. 
 Coun. But he will miss you, will ask after you. 
 Duch. What now ? Why is she going ? 
 Coun. She's not well. 
 
 Duch. (anxiously). What ails, then, my beloved 
 
 child? 
 
 [Both follow the Princess, and endeavour to de- 
 tain far. During this, Wallenstein appears^ 
 engaged in conversation with Illo. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, COUNTESS, DUCHESS, 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Wai. All quiet in the camp ? 
 
 Hlo. It is all quiet. 
 
 Wai. In a few hours may couriers come from 
 
 Prague 
 
 With tidings that this capital is ours. 
 Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops 
 
262 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Assembled in this town, make known the measure 
 And its result together. In such cases 
 Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost 
 Still leads the herd. An imitative creature 
 Is man." The troops at Prague conceive no other , 
 Than that the Pilsen army has gone through 
 The forms of homage to us ; and in Pilsen 
 They shall swear fealty to us, because 
 The example has been given them by Prague. 
 Butler, you tell me, has declared himself. 
 
 Illo. At his own bidding, unsolicited, 
 He came to offer you himself and regiment. 
 
 Wai. I find we must not give implicit credence 
 To every warning voice that makes itself 
 Be listened to in th' heart. To hold us back, 
 Oft does the lying spirit counterfeit 
 The voice of truth and inward revelation, 
 Scatt'ring false oracles. And thus have I 
 To intreat forgiveness, for that secretly 
 I've wrong'd this honourable gallant man, 
 This Butler : for a feeling, of the which 
 I am not master (fear I would not call it), 
 Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering, 
 At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion. 
 And this same man, against whom I am warned, 
 This honest man is he, who reaches to me 
 The first pledge of my fortune. 
 
 Illo. And doubt not 
 
 That his example will win over to you 
 The best men in the army. 
 
 Wai. Go and send 
 
 Isolani hitner. Send him immediately. 
 He is under recent obligations to me. 
 With him will I commence the trial. Go. 
 
 [Exit We* 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 203 
 
 Wai. (turns himself round to the females}. Lo. there 
 
 the mother with the darling daughter, 
 For once we'll have an interval of rest 
 Come ! my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour 
 In the beloved circle of my family. 
 
 Coun. 'Tis long since we've been thus together, 
 brother. 
 
 Wai. (to the Countess, aside). Can she sustain the 
 news ? Is she prepar'd ? 
 
 Coun. Not yet. 
 
 Wai. Come here, my sweet girl ! Seat thee by me. 
 For there is a good spirit on thy lips. 
 Thy mother prais'd to me thy ready skill : 
 She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, 
 Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice 
 Will drive away for me the evil demon 
 That beats his black wings close above my head. 
 
 Duch. Where is thy lute, my daughter ? Let thy 
 
 father 
 Hear some small trial of thy skill. 
 
 Thek. My mother ! 
 
 I 
 
 Duch. Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer 
 Thy father. 
 
 Thek. O my mother! I I cannot. 
 
 Coun. How, what is that, niece ? 
 
 Thek. (to the Countess). O spare me sing now- 
 in this sore anxiety, 
 
 Of the o'erburthen'd soul to sing to him, 
 Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong 
 Into her grave. 
 
 Duch. How, Thekla ? Humoursome ? 
 
 What ! shall thy father have expressed a wish 
 In vain? 
 
 Coun. Here is the lute. 
 
264 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thek. My God ! how can I 
 
 [The orchestra plays. During the ritornello, 
 Tfiekla expresses, in her gestures and counte- 
 nance, the struggle of her feelings ; and at the 
 moment that she should begin to sing, contracts 
 herself together, as one shuddering, throws the 
 instrument down, and retires abruptly. 
 Duck. My child ! O she is ill 
 Wai. What ails the maiden ? 
 
 Say, is she often so ? 
 
 Coun. Since, then, herself 
 
 Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer 
 Conceal it. 
 
 Wai. What? 
 
 Coun. She loves him ! 
 
 Wai. Loves him ! Whom ? 
 
 Coun. Max. does she love ! -Max. Piccolo mini. 
 Hast thou ne'er notic'd it ? Nor yet my sister ? 
 
 Duck. Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart ? 
 God's blessing on thee my sweet child ! Thou need'st 
 Never take shame upon thee for thy choice. 
 
 Coun. This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it 
 To thine own self. Thou should'st have chosen another 
 To have attended her. 
 
 Wai. And does he know it ? 
 
 Coun. Yes, and he hopes to win her. 
 Wai. Hopes to win her ! 
 
 Is the boy mad ? 
 
 Coun. Well hear it from themselves. 
 
 Wai. He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's 
 
 daughter ! 
 
 Ay ? The thought pleases me. 
 The young man has no grovelling spirit. 
 
 Coun. Since 
 
 Such and such constant favour you have shown him. 
 
THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 265 
 
 Wai. He chooses finally to be my heir. 
 And true it is, I love the youth ; yea, honour him. 
 But must he, therefore, be my daughter's husband ? 
 Is it daughters only 1 Is it only children 
 That we must show our favour by ? 
 
 Duch. His noble disposition and his manners 
 
 Wai. Win him my heart, but not my daughter. 
 
 Duch. Then 
 
 His rank, his ancestors 
 
 Wai. Ancestors ! What ? 
 
 He is a subject ; and my son-in-law 
 I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe. 
 
 Duch. O dearest Albrecht ! Climb we not too high, 
 Lest we should fall too low. 
 
 Wai. What ? have I paid 
 
 A price so heavy to ascend this eminence, 
 And jut out high above the common herd, 
 Only to close the mighty part I play 
 In life's great drama, with a common kinsman ? 
 Have I for this 
 
 [Stops suddenly, repressing himself. 
 
 She is the only thing 
 That will remain behind of me on earth ; 
 And I will see a crown around her head, 
 Or die in the attempt to place it there. 
 I hazard all all ! and for this alone, 
 To lift her into greatness 
 
 Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking 
 
 [He recollects himself. 
 And I must now, like a soft-hearted father, 
 Couple together in good peasant fashion 
 The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking 
 And I must do it now, even now, when I 
 Am stretching out the wreath, that is to twine 
 My full accomplish'd work no ! she is the jewel 
 
 A A 
 
266 THE DEATH OF VALLE^STKIN. 
 
 Which I have treasur'd long, my last, my noblest, 
 And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me 
 For less than a king's sceptre. 
 
 Duch. O my husband ! 
 
 You're ever building, building to the clouds, 
 Still building higher, and still higher building, 
 And ne'er reflect, that the poor narrow basis 
 Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column. 
 
 Wai. (to the Countess). Have you anhoiiDc'd 5b 
 
 place of residence 
 Which I have destin'd for her ? 
 
 Coun. No ! not yet. 
 
 'Twere better you yourself disclos'd it to her. 
 
 Duch. How ? Do we not return to Kan? then ? 
 
 Wai No. 
 
 Duch. And to no other of your lands or seats ? 
 
 Wai. You would not be secure there- 
 
 Duch. Not secure 
 
 In the Emperor's realms^ beneath the Emperor's 
 Protection ? 
 
 Wai. Friedland'e wife may be permitted 
 
 No longer to hope tliai. 
 
 Duch. O God in heaven ! 
 
 And have you brought it even to this ? 
 
 Wai. Iu Holland 
 
 You'll find protection. 
 
 Duch. In a Lutheran country ? 
 
 What ? And you send as into Lutheran countries ? 
 
 Wai. Duke Franz, of Lauenberg, conducts you 
 thither. 
 
 Duch. Duke Franz, of Lauenburg ? 
 The ally of Sweden, the Emperor's enemy, 
 
 Wai. The Emperor's enemies are mine wo longer. 
 
 Duch. (casting a look of terror on the Duke and 
 the Countess). 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 267 
 
 Is it then true ? It is. You are degraded ? 
 Depos'd from the command ? O God in heaven 1 
 Coun. (aside to the Duke). Leave her in this belief. 
 
 Thou seest she cannot 
 Support the real truth. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 To them enter COUNT TERTSKY. 
 
 Coun, Tertsky ! 
 
 What ails him ? What an image of affright ! 
 He looks as he had seen a ghost. 
 
 Ter. (leading Wallenstein aside}. Is it thy com- 
 mand that all the Croats 
 
 Wai Mine ! 
 
 Ter. We are betray'd. 
 
 Wai. What? 
 
 Ter. They are off! This night 
 
 The Jagers likewise all the villages 
 In the whole round are empty. 
 
 Wai Isolani? 
 
 Ter. Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely. 
 
 Wai I ? 
 
 Ter. No ! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodate? 
 They are vanished both of them. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 To them enter ILLO. 
 
 lllo. Has Tertsky told thee? 
 
 Ter. He knows all. 
 
 lllo. And likewise 
 
 That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz, 
 Kolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee. 
 
 Ter. Damnation! 
 
 Wai (winks to them). Hush ! 
 
 A A 2 
 
268 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 Coun. (who has been watching them anxiously from 
 
 the distance, and now advances to them}. 
 Tertsky! Heaven! What is it? What has happened? 
 Wai. (scarcely suppressing his emotions}. Nothing ! 
 
 Let us be gone ! 
 
 Ter. (following him). Theresa, it is nothing. 
 Coun. (holding him back}. Nothing? Do I not 
 
 see, that all the life blood 
 
 Has left your cheeks look you not like a ghost ? 
 That even my brother but affects a calmness ? 
 
 Page, (enters}. An Aid-de-camp inquires for the 
 Count Tertsky. 
 
 \Tertshy follows the Page. 
 Wai. Go, hear his business. 
 
 [To Elo. 
 
 This could not have happened 
 So unsuspected without mutiny. 
 Who was on guard at the gates ? 
 lllo. 'Twas Tiefenbach. 
 
 Wai. Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay, 
 And Tertsky 's grenadiers relieve him. 
 
 [lllo is going. 
 Stop! 
 Hast thou heard aught of Butler ? 
 
 lllo. Him I met. 
 
 He will be here himself immediately. 
 Butler remains unshaken. 
 
 [lllo exit. Wallenstein is following him. 
 Coun. Let him not leave thee, sister! go, detain 
 
 him! 
 There's some misfortune. 
 
 Duch. (clinging to him}. Gracious heaven ! What 
 
 is it? 
 
 Wai Be tranquil ! leave me, sister ! dearest wife ! 
 We are in camp, and this is nought unusual j 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 269 
 
 Here storm and sunshine follow one another 
 
 With rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits 
 
 Champ the curb angrily, and never yet 
 
 Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. 
 
 If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women 
 
 111 suit the scene where men must act. 
 
 \JIe is going, Tertsky returns. 
 
 Ter. Remain here. From this window must we 
 see it. 
 
 Wai (to the Countess). Sister, retire ! 
 
 Coun. No never. 
 
 Wai >Tis my will. 
 
 Ter. (leads the Countess aside, and drawing her 
 
 attention to the Duchess). 
 Theresa ! 
 
 Ditch. Sister, come ! since he commands it. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY. 
 
 Wai (stepping to the window). What now, then ? 
 
 Ter. There are strange movements among all the 
 
 troops, 
 
 And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously, 
 With gloomy silence, the several corps 
 Marshal themselves, each under its own banners. 
 Tiefenbaeh's corps make threaten ing movements; only 
 The Pappenheimers still remain aloof 
 In their own quarters, and let no one enter. 
 
 Wai. Does Piccolomini appear among them ? 
 
 Ter. We are seeking him : he is no where to be met 
 with. 
 
 Wai What did the Aid -de-camp deliver to you? 
 
 Ter. My regiments had despatched him ; yet once 
 more 
 
 AA 3 
 
270 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 They swear fidelity to thee, and wait 
 
 The shout for onset, all prepar'd, and eager 
 
 Wai. But whence arose this larum in the camp ? 
 It should have been kept secret from the army, 
 Till fortune had decided for us at Prague. 
 
 Ter. O that thou hadst believ'd me! Tester evening 
 Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker, 
 That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 
 Thou gav'st him thy own horses to flee from thee. 
 
 Wai. The old tune still! Now, once for all, no 
 
 more 
 Of this suspicion it is doting folly. 
 
 Ter. Thou did'st confide in Isolani too 5 
 And lo ! he was the first that did desert thee. 
 
 Wai. It was but yesterday I rescued him 
 From abject wretchedness. Let that go by. 
 I never reckoned yet on gratitude. 
 And wherein doth he wrong in going from me ? 
 He follows still the god whom all his life 
 He has worshipp'd at the gaming table. With 
 My fortune, and my seeming destiny, 
 He made the bond, and broke it not with me. 
 I am but the ship in wliich his hopes were stow'd, 
 And with the which well pleas'd and confident 
 He travers'd the open sea ; now he beholds it 
 In imminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks, 
 And hurries to preserve his wares. As light 
 As the free bird from the hospitable twig 
 Where it had nested, he flies off from me : 
 No human tie is snapp'd betwixt us two. 
 Yea, he deserves to find himself deceiv'd, 
 Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man. 
 Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life 
 Impress their characters on the smooth forehead, 
 Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth : 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 271 
 
 Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure 
 Moves the light fluids lightly ; but no soul 
 Warmeth the inner frame. 
 
 Ter. Yet would I rather 
 
 Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrow'd one. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO. 
 
 fllo. (who enters agitated with rage). Treason and 
 mutiny ! 
 
 Ter. And what further now ? 
 
 Hlo. Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders 
 To go off guard Mutinous villains ! 
 
 Ter. Well? 
 
 Wai. What follow'd ? 
 
 Hlo. They refus'd obedience to them. 
 
 Ter. Fire on them instantly ! Give out the order. 
 
 Wai. Gently ! What cause did they assign ? 
 
 Illo. No other, 
 
 They said, had right to issue orders but 
 Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. 
 
 Wai. (in a convulsion of agony). What ? How is 
 that? 
 
 Hlo. He takes that office on him by commission, 
 Under sign-manual of the Emperor. 
 
 Ter. From th' Emperor hear'st thou, Duke ? 
 
 Hlo. At his incitement 
 
 The Generals made that stealthy flight 
 
 Ter. Duke! hear'st thou? 
 
 Hlo. Caraffa, too, and Montecuculi, 
 Are missing with six other Generals, 
 All whom he had induc'd to follow him. 
 This plot he has long had in writing by him 
 From the Emperor ; but 'twas finally concluded, 
 
272 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIlf. 
 
 With all the detail of the operation, 
 
 Some days ago with the Envoy Questenberg. 
 
 [Wallenstein sinks down into a chair, and covers 
 
 his face. 
 Ter. O hadst thou but believed me ! 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 To them enter the COUNTESS. 
 
 Coun. This suspense, 
 
 This horrid fear I can no longer bear it. 
 For heaven's sake, tell me, what has taken place. 
 
 Illo. The regiments are all falling off from us. 
 
 Ter. Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor. 
 
 Coun. O my foreboding ! (rushes out of the room). 
 
 Ter. Had'st thou but believ'd me ! 
 
 Now seest thou how the stars have lied to thee. 
 
 Wai. The stars lie not ; but we have here a work 
 Wrought counter to the stars and destiny. 
 The science is still honest : this false heart 
 Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven. 
 On a divine law divination rests j 
 Where Nature deviates from that law, and stumbles 
 Out of her limits, there all science errs . 
 True, I did not suspect ! Where it superstition 
 Never by such suspicion t' have affronted 
 The human form, O may that time ne'er come 
 In which I shame me of th' infirmity. 
 The wildest savage drinks not with the victim, 
 Into whose breast he means to plunge the sword. 
 This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed : 
 'Twas not thy prudence that did conquer mine ; 
 A bad heart trtumph'd o'er an honest one. 
 No shield received the assassin stroke ; thou plungest 
 Thy weapon on an unprotected breast 
 Against such weapons I am but a child. 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 273 
 
 SCENE X. 
 To t/iese enter BUTLER. 
 
 Ter. (meeting him). O look there ! Butler ! Hete 
 
 we've still a friend ! 
 
 Wai. (meets him with outspread arms, and embraces 
 him with warmth). Come to my heart, old 
 comrade ! Not the sun 
 Looks out upon us more revivingly 
 In the earliest month of spring, 
 Than a friend's countenance in such an hour. 
 But. My General ! I come 
 Wai. (leaning on Butler's shoulder). Know'st 
 
 thou already 
 
 That old man has betray'd me to the Emperor. 
 What say'st thou ? Thirty years have we together 
 Liv'd out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship. 
 We have slept in one camp-bed, drunk from one glass, 
 One morsel shar'd ! I lean'd myself on him. 
 As now I lean me on thy faithful shoulder. 
 And now in the very moment, when, all love, 
 All confidence, my bosom beat to his, 
 He sees and takes the advantage, stabs the knife 
 Slowly into my heart. 
 
 [He hides his face in Butler's breast. 
 But. Forget the false one. 
 
 What is your present purpose? 
 
 Wai. WellrememberM! 
 
 Courage, my soul ! I am still rich in friends, 
 Still lov'd by destiny ; for in the moment, 
 That it unmasks the plotting hypocrite, 
 It sends and proves to me one faithful heart. 
 Of the hypocrite no more ! Think not, his loss 
 Was that which struck the pang : O no ! his treason 
 Is that which strikes this pang ! No more of him ! 
 
274 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 
 
 Dear to my heart, and honoured were the)' both, 
 And the young man yes he did truly love me. 
 He he has not deceiv'd me. But enough, 
 Enough of this Swift counsel now beseems us. 
 The courier, whom Count Kinsky sent from Prague, 
 I expect him every moment : and whatever 
 He may bring with him, we must take good care 
 To keep it from the mutineers. Quick, then ! 
 Despatch some messenger you can rely on 
 To meet him, and conduct him to me. 
 
 \Itlo is going. 
 
 But. (detaining him). My General, whom expect 
 you then ? 
 
 Wai * The courier 
 
 Who brings me word of the event at Prague. 
 
 But. (hesitating) Hem! 
 
 Wai. And what now ? 
 
 But. You do not know it? 
 
 Wai Well ? 
 
 But. From what that larum in the camp arose ? 
 
 Wai From what ? 
 
 But. That courier 
 
 Wai (with eager expectation). Well ; 
 
 But. Is already here. 
 
 Ter. and Itto. (at the same time). Already here ? 
 
 Wai. My courier ? 
 
 But. For some hours. 
 
 Wai. And I not know it? 
 
 But. The sentinel* detain him 
 
 In custody. 
 
 Itto. (stamping with his foot). Damnation ! 
 
 But. And his letter 
 
 Was broken open, and is circulated 
 Through the whole camp. 
 
 Wai You know what it contains 1 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 276 
 
 But. Question me not ! 
 
 Ter. Illo! alas for us ! 
 
 Wai. Hide nothing from me I can hear the worst. 
 Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely. 
 
 But. Yes ! Prague is lost. And all the several regi- 
 ments 
 
 At Budweiss, Tabor, Brannau, Konigingratz, 
 At Brun, and Zanaym, have forsaken you, 
 And ta'en the oaths of fealty anew 
 To the Emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Tertsky, 
 And Illo have been sentenc'd. 
 
 [Tertsky and Illo expresses alarm and fury. 
 Wallenstein remains firm and collected. 
 
 Wai 'Tis decided ! 
 
 'Tis well ! I have receiv'd a sudden cure 
 From all the pangs of doubt : with steady stream 
 Once more my life-blood flows ! My soul's secure ! 
 In the night only Friedland's stars can beam. 
 Lingering, irresolute, with fitful fears 
 I drew the sword 'twas with an inward strife, 
 While yet the choice was mine. The mud'rous knife 
 Is lifted for my heart ! Doubt disappears ; 
 I fight now for my head and for my life. 
 
 | Exit Wallenstein, the others follow him 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 COUNTESS TERTSKY, (enters from a side room.} 
 
 Coun. I can endure no longer. No ! 
 
 [looks around her. 
 Where are they ? 
 
 No one is here. They leave me all alone, 
 Alone in this sore anguish of suspense. 
 And I must wear the outward show of calmness 
 Before my sister, and shut in within me 
 
270 THB DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN. 
 
 The pangs and agonies of my crowded bosom 
 It is not to be borne. If all should fail ; 
 If if he must go over to the Swedes, 
 An empty-handed fugitive, and not 
 As an ally, a covenanted equal, 
 A proud commander, with his army following ; 
 If we must wander on from land to land, 
 Like the Count Palatine, of fallen greatness 
 An ignominious monument But no ! 
 That day I will not see ! And could himself 
 Endure to sink so low, I would not bear 
 To see him low sunken. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 COUNTESS, DUCHESS, THEKLA. 
 
 Thek. (endeavouring to hold back tJte Duchess). 
 Dear mother, do stay here ! 
 
 Duck. No ! Here is yet 
 
 Some frightful mystery that is hidden from me. 
 Why does my sister shun me ? Don't I see her 
 Full of suspense and anguish roam about 
 From room to room? Art thou not full of terror? 
 And what import these silent nods and gestures 
 Which stealth wise thou exchangest with her? 
 
 Thek. Nothing; 
 
 Nothing, dear mother ! 
 
 Duck, (to the Countess). Sister, 1 will know. 
 
 Coun. What boots it now to hide it from her? 
 
 Sooner 
 
 Or later she must learn to hear and bear it. 
 'Tis not the time now to indulge infirmity ; 
 Courage beseems us now, a heart collect. 
 And exercise and previous discipline 
 Of fortitude. One word, and over with it ! 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 277 
 
 Sister, you are deluded. You believe, 
 
 The Duke has been depos'd The Duke is not 
 
 Depos'd he is 
 
 Thek. (going to the Countess). What ? do you 
 wish to kill her ? 
 
 Coun. The Duke is 
 
 TJiek (throwing her arms around her mother). 
 O stand firm ! stand firm, my mother ! 
 
 Coun. Revolted is the Duke, he is preparing 
 To join the enemy ; the army leave him, 
 And all has faiPd. 
 
 [During these words the Duchess totters, and 
 falls in a fainting-fit into the arms of her 
 daughter. Wliile Thehla is catting for help, 
 the curtain drops. 
 
 ACT. II. 
 
 Scene A spacious room in the DUKE OF FRIED- 
 LAND'S PALACE. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Wai* (in armour). Thou hast gained thy point, 
 
 Octavio ; Once more am I 
 Almost as friendless as at Regensburg ; 
 There I had nothing left me, but myself 
 But what one man can do, you have now experience. 
 The twigs have you hew'd off, and here I stand 
 A leafless trunk. But in the sap within 
 Lives the creating power, and a new world 
 May sprout forth from it. Once already have I 
 Prov'd myself worth an army to you I alone ! 
 Before the Swedish strength your troops had melted ; 
 Beside the Lech sunk Tilly, your last hope ; 
 
 B B 
 
278 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Into Bavaria, like a winter torrent, 
 
 Did that Gustavus pour, and at Vienna 
 
 In his own palace did the Emperor tremble. 
 
 Soldiers were scarce, for still the multitude 
 
 Follow the luck : all eyes were turn'd on me, 
 
 Their helper in distress : the Emperor's pride 
 
 Bow'd itself down before the man he had injur'd. 
 
 'Twas I must rise, and with creative word 
 
 Assemble forces in the desolate camps. 
 
 I did it. Like a god of war, my name 
 
 Went thro' the world. The drum was beat and, lo ! 
 
 The plough, the work-shop is forsaken, all 
 
 Swarm to the old familiar, long-lov'd banners ; 
 
 And as the wood-choir rich in melody 
 
 Assemble quick around the bird of wonder, 
 
 When first his throat swells with his magic song, 
 
 So did the warlike youth of Germany 
 
 Crowd in, around the image of my eagle. 
 
 I feel myself the being that I was. 
 
 It is the soul that builds itself a body ; 
 
 And Friedland's camp will not remain unfill'd. 
 
 Lead then your thousands out to meet me true ! 
 
 They are accustom'd under me to conquer, 
 
 But not against me. If the head and limbs 
 
 Separate from each other, 'twill be soon 
 
 Made manifest, in which the soul abode, 
 
 \Illo and Tertshy enter. 
 Courage, friends! Courage! We are still unvan- 
 
 quish'd ; 
 
 I feel iny footing firm ; five regiments, Tertsky, 
 Are still our own, and Butler's gallant troops ; 
 And a host of sixteen thousand Swedes to-morrow. 
 I was not stronger, when nine years ago 
 I march'd forth, with glad heart and high of hope, 
 To conquer Germany for the Emperor. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 279 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, TERTSKY. (To them enter 
 NEUMANN, who leads TERTSKY aside, and talks 
 with him). 
 
 Ter. What do they want ? 
 
 Wai What now? 
 
 Ter. Ten Cuirassiers 
 
 From Pappenheim request leave to address you 
 In the name of the regiment. 
 
 Wai. (hastily, to Neumann}. Let them enter. 
 
 [Exit Neumann. 
 This 
 
 May end in something. Mark you. They are still 
 Doubtful, and may be won. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO, TEN CUIRASSIERS, 
 (led by an ANSPESSADE,* march up and arrange 
 themselves, after the word of command, in one front 
 before the Duke, and make their obeisance. He 
 takes his hat off", and immediately covers himself 
 again.} 
 
 Ans. Halt! Front! Present! 
 Wai. (after he has run through them with his eye, 
 to the Anspessade). I know thee well. Thou 
 ajt out of Briiggin in Flanders : 
 Thy name is Mercy. 
 Ans. Henry Mercy. 
 
 Wai. Thou wert cut off on the march, surrounded 
 by the Hessians, and didst fight thy way with a hun- 
 dred and eighty men thro' their thousand. 
 
 * Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a cor- 
 poral, but above the sentinels. The German neme implies that he U 
 exempt from mounting guard. 
 
 B B 2 
 
280 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ans. 'Twas even so, General ! 
 
 Wai. What reward hadst thou for this gallant ex- 
 ploit ? 
 
 Ans. That which I ask'd for : the honour to serve 
 in this corps. 
 
 Wai. (turning to a second). Thou wert among the 
 volunteers that seized and made booty of the Swedish 
 battery at Altenburg. 
 
 Second Cuir. Yes, General! 
 
 Wai. I forget no one with whom I have exchanged 
 words. (A pause). Who sends you ? 
 
 Ans. Your noble regiment, the Cuirassiers of Picco- 
 loniini. 
 
 Wai. Why does not your Colonel deliver in your re- 
 quest, according to the custom of service ? 
 
 Ans. Because we would first know whom we serve. 
 
 Wai. Begin your address. 
 
 Ans. (giving the word of command). Shoulder your 
 arms ! 
 
 Wai. (turning to a third). Thy name is Risbeck ; 
 Cologne is thy birth-place. 
 
 Third Cuir. Risbeck of Cologne. 
 
 Wai. It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish 
 Colonel, Diebald, prisoner, in the camp at Nurenberg. 
 
 Third Cuir. It was not I, General ! 
 
 Wai. Perfectly right! It was thy elder brother, 
 thou hadst a younger brother too : Where did he stay ? 
 
 Third Cuir. He is stationed at Olmiitz with the Im- 
 perial army. 
 
 Wai. (to the Anspessade). Now then begin. 
 
 Ans. There came to hand a letter from the Ernperoi 
 Commanding us 
 
 Wai. (interrupting him). Who chose you ? 
 
 Ans. Every company 
 
 Drew its own man by lot. 
 
THE DETAH OF WALLENSTEIN. 281 
 
 Wai. Now ! to the business. 
 
 Ans. There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 
 Commanding us collectively, from thee 
 All duties of obedience to withdraw, 
 Because thou wert an enemy and traitor. 
 
 Wai. And what did you determine ? 
 
 Ans. All our comrades 
 
 At Braunnau, Budweiss, Prague, and Olmiitz, have 
 Obey'd already, and the regiments here, 
 Tiefenbach and Toscano, instantly 
 Did follow their example. But but we 
 Do not believe that thou art an enemy 
 And traitor to thy country, hold it merely 
 For lie and trick, and a trurap'd up Spanish story ! 
 
 [With warmth. 
 
 Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose is, 
 For we have found thee still sincere and true : 
 No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt 
 The gallant General and the gallant troops. 
 
 Wai. Therein I recognize my Pappenheimers. 
 Ans. And this proposal makes thy regiment to thee : 
 Is it thy purpose merely to preserve 
 In thy own hands this military sceptre, 
 Which so becomes thee, which the Emperor 
 Made over to thee by a covenant ; 
 Is it thy purpose merely to remain 
 Supreme commander of the Austrian armies ; 
 We will stand by thee, General ! and guarantee 
 Thy honest rights against all opposition. 
 And should it chance, that all the other regiments 
 Turn from thee, by ourselves will we stand forth 
 Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty, 
 Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces, 
 Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be 
 As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true, 
 
 BB 3 
 
282 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 That thou in trait' rous wise wilt lead us over 
 To the enemy, which God in heaven forbid ! 
 Then we too will forsake thee, and obey 
 
 That letter- 
 
 Wai. Hear me, children ! 
 
 Ans. Yes, or no ! 
 
 There needs no other answer. 
 
 Wai Yield attention. 
 
 You're men of sense, examine for yourselves ; 
 Ye think, and do not follow with the herd : 
 And therefore have I always shown you honour 
 Above all others ; suffer'd you to reason ; 
 Have treated you as free men, and my orders 
 Were but the echoes of your prior suffrage. 
 
 Ans. Most fair and noble has thy conduct been 
 To us, my General ! With thy confidence 
 Thou hast honour'd us, and shown us grace and favour 
 Beyond all other regiments ; and thou see'st 
 We follow not the common herd. We will 
 Stand by thee faithfully. Speak but one word 
 Thy word shall satisfy us, that it is not 
 A treason which thou meditatest that 
 Thou meanest not to lead the army over 
 To the enemy ; nor e'er betray thy country. 
 
 Wai. Me, me, are they betraying. Th' Emperor 
 Hath sacrificed me to my enemies ; 
 And I must fall, unless my gallant troops 
 Will rescue me. See ! I confide in you. 
 And be your hearts my strong hold ! At this breast 
 The aim is taken, at this hoary head. 
 This is your Spanish gratitude, this is our 
 Requital for that murderous fight at Liitzen ! 
 For this we threw the naked breast against 
 The ha\bert, made for this the frozen earth 
 Our bed, and the hard stone our pillow ! never stream 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLEN STEIN. 283 
 
 Too rapid for us, no wood too impervious ; 
 Witn cneerful spirit we pursued that Mansfield 
 Through all the turns and windings of his flight ; 
 Yea, our whole life was but one restless march ; 
 And homeless, as the stirring wind, we travell'd 
 O'er the war-wasted earth. And now, even now, 
 That we have well nigh finish'd the hard toil, 
 The unthankful, the curse-laden toil of weapons, 
 With faithful indefatigable arm 
 Have rolled the heavy war-load up the hill, 
 Behold ! this boy of the Emperor's bears away 
 The honours of the peace, an easy prize ! 
 He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks 
 The olive-branch, the hard-earn'd ornament 
 Of this grey head, grown grey beneath the helmet. 
 
 Ans. That shall he not, while we can hinder it ! 
 No one, but thou, who hast conducted it 
 With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war ! 
 Thou led'st us out into the bloody field 
 Of death, thou and no other shall conduct us home 
 Rejoicing to the lovely plains of peace 
 Shalt share with us the fruits of the long toil. 
 
 Wai What ? Think you then at length in late old 
 
 age 
 
 To enjoy the fruits of toil ? Believe it not. 
 Never, no never, will you see the end 
 Of the contest ! you and me, and all of us, 
 This war will swallow up ! War, war, not peace, 
 Is Austria's wish ; and therefore, because I 
 Endeavour'd after peace, therefore I fall. 
 For what cares Austria, how long the war 
 Wears out the armies and lays waste the world ? 
 She will but wax and grow amid the ruin, 
 And still win new domains. 
 
 [The Cuirassiers express agitation by their gestures. 
 
284 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ye're mov'd I see 
 
 A noble rage flash from your eyes, ye warriors ! 
 Oh that my spirit might possess you now, 
 Daring as once it led you to the battle ! 
 Ye would stand by me with your veteran arms, 
 Protect me in my rights ; and this is noble ! 
 But think not that you can accomplish it, 
 Your scanty number ! to no purpose will you 
 Have sacrificed you for your General. 
 
 [Confidentially. 
 
 No ! let us tread securely, seek for friends ; 
 The Swedes have proffer' d us assistance, let us 
 Wear for a while the appearance of good will, 
 And use them for your profit, till we both 
 Carry the fate of Europe in our hands, 
 And from our camp to the glad jubilant world 
 Lead peace forth with the garland on her head ! 
 
 Ans. 'Tis then but mere appearances which thou 
 Dost put on with the Swede ? Thou'lt not betray 
 The Emperor ? Wilt not turn us into Swedes ? 
 This is the only thing which we desire 
 To learn from thee. 
 
 Wai What care I for the Swedes ? 
 
 I hate them as I hate the pit of hell, 
 And, under Providence, I trust right soon 
 To chase them to their homes across the Baltic. 
 My cares are only for the whole : I have 
 A heart it bleeds within me for the miseries 
 And piteous groaning of my fellow Germans. 
 Ye are but common men, but yet ye think 
 With minds not common ; ye appear to me 
 Worthy before all others, that I whisper ye 
 A little word or two in confidence ! 
 See now ! already for full fifteen years 
 The war- torch has continued burning, yet 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 285 
 
 No rest, no pause of conflict. Swede and German ! 
 
 Papist and Lutheran ! neither will give way 
 
 To the other, every hand 's against the other. 
 
 Each one is party and no one a judge. 
 
 Where shall this end ? Where 's he that will unravel 
 
 This tangle, ever tangling more and more. 
 
 It must be cut asunder. 
 
 I feel that I am the man of destiny, 
 
 And trust, with your assistance, to accomplish it. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 To these enter BUTLER. 
 
 But. (passionately). General ! This is not right ! 
 Wai. What is not right ? 
 
 But. It must needs injure us with all honest men. 
 Wai. But what? 
 
 But It is an open proclamation 
 
 Of insurrection. 
 
 Wai. Well, well but what is it ? 
 
 But. Count Tertsky's regiments tear the Imperial 
 
 Eagle 
 
 From off the banners, and instead of it, 
 Have rear'd aloft thy arms. 
 Arts, (abruptly to the Cuirassiers). Right about! 
 
 March ! 
 
 Wai Curs'd be this counsel, and accurs'd who gave it ! 
 [To the Cuirassiers, who are retiring. 
 Halt, children, halt. There 's some mistake in this ! 
 Hark ! I will punish it severely. Stop ! 
 They do not hear. (To Illo.) Go after them, assure 
 
 them, 
 And bring them back to me, cost what it may. 
 
 [lllo hurries cut. 
 This hurls us headlong. Butler! Butler! 
 
286 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 You are my evil genius, wherefore must you 
 
 Announce it in their presence ? It was all 
 
 In a fair way. They were half won, those madmen 
 
 With their improvident over-readiness 
 
 A cruel game is fortune playing with me. 
 
 The zeal of friends it is that razes me, 
 
 And not the hate of enemies. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 To these enter the DUCHESS, who rushes into the 
 Chamber, THEZLA and the COUNTESS follow her. 
 
 Duch. O Albrecht ! 
 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 Wai. And now comes this beside. 
 
 Coun. Forgive me, brother! It was not in my power. 
 They know all. 
 
 Duch. What hast thou done ? 
 
 Coun. (to Tertsky). Is there no hope ? Is all lost 
 
 utterly? 
 Ter. All lost. No hope. Prague in the Emperor's 
 
 hands, 
 The soldiery have ta'en their oaths anew. 
 
 Coun. That lurking hypocrite, Octavio ! 
 Count Max. is off too ? 
 
 Ter. Where can he be ? He's 
 
 Gone over to the Emperor with his father. 
 
 [Thekla rushes out into the arms of her mother, 
 
 hiding her face in her bosom. 
 Duch. (infolding her in her arms). Unhappy child i 
 
 and more unhappy mother ! 
 Wai. (aside to Tertsky). Quick! Let a carriage 
 
 stand in readiness 
 
 In the court behind the palace. Scherfenberg 
 Be their attendant j he is faithful to us ; 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 287 
 
 To Egra he'll conduct them, and we follow. 
 
 [To Illo, who returns. 
 Thou hast not brought them back ? 
 
 Illo. Hear'st thou the uproar ? 
 
 The whole corps of the Pappenheimers is 
 Drawn out : the younger Piccolomini, 
 Their Colonel, they require ; for they affirm, 
 That he is in the palace here, a prisoner ; 
 And if thou dost not instantly deliver him, 
 They will find means to free him with the sword. 
 
 [All stand amazed. 
 
 Ter. What shall we make of this ? 
 
 Wai. Said I not so? 
 
 my prophetic heart ! he is still here. 
 
 He has not betray'd me he could not betray me. 
 
 1 never doubted of it. 
 
 Court. If he be 
 
 Still here, then all goes well ; for I know what 
 
 [Embracing ThehUi. 
 Will keep him here for ever. 
 
 Ter. It can't be. 
 
 His father has betray'd us, is gone over 
 To the Emperor the son could not have ventur'd 
 To stay behind. 
 
 Ttiek. (lier eye fixed on the door}. There he is ! 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Max. Yes ! here he is ! I can endure no longer 
 To creep on tip-toe round this house, and lurk 
 In ambush for a favourable moment. 
 This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers. 
 
 [Advancing to Thekla, who has thrmon herself 
 
 into her mother's arms. 
 Turn not thine eyes away. O look upon me ! 
 
288 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Confess it freely before all. Fear no one. 
 Let who will hear that we both love each other. 
 Wherefore continue to conceal it ? Secrecy 
 Is for the happy misery, hopeless misery, 
 Needeth no veil ! Beneath a thousand suns 
 It dares act openly. 
 
 [He observes the Countess looking on Thekla with 
 expressions of triumph. 
 
 No, Lady ! No. 
 
 Expect not, hope it not. I am not come 
 To stay : to bid farewell, farewell for ever, 
 For this I come ! 'Tis over ! I must leave thee ! 
 Thekla, I must must leave thee ! Yet thy hatred 
 Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me 
 One look of sympathy, only one look. 
 Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me, Thekla ! 
 
 [Grasps her hand. 
 
 God ! I cannot leave this spot I cannot, 
 Cannot let go this hand. O tell me, Thekla ! 
 That thou dost suffer with me, art convinc'd 
 That I cannot act otherwise. 
 
 [Thekla, avoiding his look, points with her Jtand 
 to her father. Max. turns round to the Wuke 9 
 whom he had not till then perceived. 
 Thou here ? It was not thou, whom here I sought. 
 
 1 trusted never more to have beheld thee. 
 My business is with her alone. Here will I 
 Receive a full acquittal from this heart 
 For any other I am no more concern'd. 
 
 Wai. Think'st thou, that fool-like, I shall let thee go, 
 And act the mock magnanimous with thee ? 
 Thy father is become a villain to me ; 
 I hold thee for his son, and nothing more ; 
 Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been given 
 into my power. Think not, that I will honour 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 289 
 
 TLat ancient love, which so remorselessly 
 
 He mangled. They are now past by, those hours 
 
 Of friendship and forgiveness. Hate and vengeance 
 
 Succeed 'tis now their turn I, too, can throw 
 
 All feelings of the man aside can prove 
 
 Myself as much a monster as thy father ! 
 
 Max. (calmly). Thou wilt proceed with me as thou 
 
 hast power. 
 
 Thou know'st, I neither brave nor fear thy rage. 
 What hast detain'd me here, that, too, thou know'st. 
 
 [Taking Tkekla by the hand. 
 See, Duke ! All all would I have owed to thee, 
 Would have received from thy paternal hand 
 The lot of blessed spirits. This hast thou 
 Laid waste for ever that concerns not thee. 
 Indifferent thou tramplest in the dust 
 Their happiness, who most are thine. The god 
 Whom thou dost serve, is no benignant deity. 
 Like as the blind, irreconcileable, 
 Fierce element, incapable of compact, 
 Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow.* 
 
 * I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. 1 
 fear that I should not have done amiss, had I taken this liberty more 
 frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original* 
 with a literal translation : 
 
 Wen denen die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich 
 
 Die sichrt Hiitte ihres GlUckes lehnen. 
 
 Gelockt voi Reiner geistlichen Gestalt. 
 chnell, unverhofft, bei nachtlich stiller Weile 
 
 Gahrts in dem ttick'schen Feuerschlunde, ladet 
 
 Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg 
 
 Treibt liber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen 
 
 Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstohrung. 
 
 Wallenstein. 
 
 Du childerst Deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's 
 Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide, 
 In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet. 
 O mich hat Hollenkunst getauscht 1 Mir sandte 
 CO 
 
290 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Wai. Thou art describing thy own father's heart. 
 The adder, O, the charms of hell o'epower'd me. 
 He dwelt within me, to my inmost soul 
 Still to and fro he pass'd, suspected never ! 
 On the wide ocean, in the starry heaven 
 Did mine eyes seek the enemy, whom I 
 In my heart's heart had folded ! Had I been 
 To Ferdinand, what Octavio was to me, 
 War had I ne'er denounced against him. No, 
 I never could have done it. The Emp'ror was 
 My austere master only, not my friend. 
 There was already war 'twixt him and me, 
 
 Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister, 
 Den LQgekundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn 
 AIs Freund an meine Seite. Wer vermag 
 Der HOlle Macht zu widerstehn ! Ich zog 
 Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen, 
 Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe BrQsten ; 
 Ich hatte nimmer Argea gegen ihn, 
 Weit offen Hess icli des Gedankens Thore, 
 Und warf die Schlussel weiser Vorsicht weg, 
 Am Sternenhimmel, &c. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 Alas ! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee 
 lean the secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. 
 Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermen- 
 tation in the treacherous gulf of fire ; it discharges itself with raging 
 force, and away, over all the plantations of men, drives the wild stream 
 in frightful devastation. 
 
 Wai. Thou art portraying thy father's heart ; as thou describest 
 even so is it shaped in his entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. 
 O, the art of hell has deceiv'd me ! The abyss sent up to me the 
 most spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as 
 a friend by my side. Who may withstand the power of hell ? I 
 took the basilisk to my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished 
 him ; he sucked himself glut full at the breasts of my love. I never 
 harboured evii towards him ; wide open did I leave the door of my 
 thoughts ; I threw away the key of wise foresight. In the starry 
 heaven, &c. 
 
 We find a difficulty in believing this to have been written oy 
 Schiller. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTBIN. 2^V 
 
 When he deliver' d the commander's staff 
 Into my hands ; for there 's a natural, 
 Unceasing war 'twixt cunning and suspicion } 
 Peace exists only betwixt corfidence 
 And faith. Who poisons confidence, he murders 
 The future generations. 
 
 Max. I will not 
 
 Defend my father. Woe is me, I cannot! 
 Hard deeds and luckless have ta'en place j one crime 
 Drags after it the other in close link. 
 But we are innocent : how have we fallen 
 Into this circle of mishap and guilt? 
 To whom have we been faithless? Wherefore must 
 The evil deeds and guilt reciprocal 
 Of our two fathers, twine like serpents round us ? 
 
 Why must our fathers' 
 Unconquerable hate rend us asunder, 
 Who love each other ? 
 
 Wai. Max., remain with me. 
 
 Go you not from me, Max. ! Hark ! I will tell tlice 
 How when at Prague, our winter quarters, tliou 
 Wert brought into my tent a tender boy, 
 Not yet accustom'd to the German winters ! 
 Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours ; 
 Thou would'st not let them go 
 At that time did I take thee in my arms, 
 And with my mantle did I cover thee: 
 I was thy nurse, no woman could have been 
 A kinder to thee ; I was not asham'd 
 To do for thee all little offices, 
 However strange to me ; I tended thee 
 Till life return'd ; and when thine eyes first open'd, 
 I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have I 
 Alter'd my feelings towards thee ? Many thousands 
 Have I made ncn, presented them with lands; 
 c c 2 
 
20*2 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIIf. 
 
 Rewarded them with dignities and honours ; 
 
 Thee have I lov'd : mv heart, my self, I gave 
 
 To thee ! They all were aliens : Thou wert 
 
 Our child and inmate. * Max ! Thou can'st not leave 
 
 me; 
 
 It cannot be ; I may not, will not think 
 That Max. can leave me. 
 
 Max. O my God ! 
 
 Wai I have 
 
 Held and sustained thee from thy tott'ring childhood. 
 What holy bond is there of natural love ? 
 What human tie, that does not knit thee to me ? 
 I love thee, Max.! What did thy father for thee, 
 Which I too have not done to the height of duty? 
 Go hence, forsake me, serve thy Emperor ; 
 He will reward thee with a pretty chain 
 Of gold ; with his rain's fleece will he reward thee ; 
 For that the friend, the father of thy youth, 
 For that the holiest feeling of humanity, 
 Was nothing worth to thee. 
 
 Max. O God ! How can I 
 
 Do otherwise ? Am I not forc'd to do it ? 
 My oath my duty honour 
 
 ^ r al How ? Thy duty ? 
 
 Duty to whom ? Who art thou ? Max. ! bethink thee 
 What duties may'st thou have ? If I am acting 
 A criminal part toward the Emperor, 
 It is my crime, not thine. Dost thou belong 
 To thine own self? Art thou thine own commander? 
 Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the world, 
 
 * This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate ia>- 
 p'.icity of the original 
 
 Sie alle waren Frcmdlii ge, Du warst 
 DM Kind des Hauses. 
 
 Indeed the whole speech ia in the best style of Massinger. O si 
 fie omnia 1 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 293 
 
 That in thy actions thou shouldst plead free agency ? 
 
 On me thou'rt planted ; I am thy Emperor : 
 
 To obey me, to belong to me, this is 
 
 Thy honour, this a law of nature to thee ! 
 
 And if the planet, on the which thou liv'st 
 
 And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit starts, 
 
 It is not in thy choice, whether or no 
 
 Thou'lt follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee onward 
 
 Together with his ring and all his moons. 
 
 With little guilt stepp'st thou into this contest; 
 
 Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee, 
 
 For that thou held'st thy friend more worth to thee 
 
 Than names and influences more remov'd. 
 
 For justice is the virtue of the ruler, 
 
 Affection and fidelity the subject's. 
 
 Not every one doth it beseem <> question 
 
 The far-off high Arcturus. Most securely 
 
 Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty let 
 
 The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter NEUMANN. 
 
 Wai. What now? 
 
 Neu. The Pappenheimers are dismounted, 
 
 And are advancing now on foot, determined, 
 With sword in hand, to storm the house, and free 
 The Count, their Colonel. 
 
 Wai. (To Tertsky). Have the cannon planted. 
 I will receive them wtth chain-shot. 
 
 [Exit Tertsky, 
 
 Prescribe to me with sword in hand ! Go, Neumann ! 
 'Tis my command that they retreat this moment, 
 Ad in their ranks in silence wait my pleasure. 
 
 [Neumann exit. Illo steps to the window. 
 o c 3 
 
294 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Conn. Let him go, I intreat tliee, let him go. 
 Illo. (at the window). Hell and perdition ! 
 Wai. What is it? 
 
 Illo. They scale the council-house, the roof 's un- 
 
 cover'd, 
 
 They level at this house the cannon 
 
 Max. Madmen ! 
 
 Illo. They are making preparations now to fire on us. 
 
 Ducli. and Coun. Merciful Heaven ! 
 
 Max. (to Wallensteiri). Let me go to them ! 
 
 Wai Not a step ! 
 
 Max. (.pointing to Thekla and the Duchess). But 
 
 their life ! Thine ! 
 Wai. What tidings bring'st thou, Tertsky ? 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 To these TERTSKY (returning}. 
 
 Ter. Message and greeting from our faithful regi- 
 ments. 
 
 Their ardour may no longer be curb'd in. 
 They intreat permission to commence th' attack, 
 And if thou would'st but give the word of onset, 
 They could now charge the enemy in rear, 
 Into the city wedge them, and with ease 
 O'erpower them in the narrow streets. 
 
 Illo. O come ! 
 
 Let not their ardour cool. The soldiery 
 Of Butler's corps stand by us faithfully ; 
 We are the greater number. Let us charge them, 
 And finish here in Pilsen the revolt. 
 
 Wai What? shall this town become a field of 
 
 slaughter, 
 
 And brother-killing discord, fire-eyed, 
 Be le/- loose through its streets to roam and rage ? 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 296 
 
 Shall the decision be delivered over 
 To deaf remorseless rage, that hears no leader? 
 Here is not room for battle, only for butchery. 
 Well, let it be. I have long thought of it, 
 So let it burst then. 
 
 [Turns to Max. 
 Well, how is it with thee ? 
 Wilt thou attempt a heat with me. Away ! 
 Thou art free to go. Oppose thyself to me, 
 Front against front, and lead them to the battle ; 
 Thou'rt skilled in war, thou hast learn'd somewhat 
 
 under me ; 
 
 I need not be asham'd of my opponent, 
 And never hadst thou fairer opportunity 
 To pay me for thy schooling. 
 
 Coun. Is it then, 
 
 Can it have come to this ? What ! cousin, cousin ! 
 Have you the heart ? 
 
 Max. The regiments that are trusted to my care 
 I have pledged my troth to bring away from Pilsen 
 True to the Emperor, and this promise will I 
 Make good, or perish. More than this no duty 
 Requires of me. I will not fight against thee, 
 Unless compelPd ; for though an enemy, 
 Thy head is holy to me still. 
 
 [Two reports -of cannon; Hlo and Tertsky 
 hurry to the window. 
 
 Wai What's that? 
 
 Ter. He falls. 
 
 Wai. Falls! Who! 
 
 Illo. Tiefenbach's corps 
 
 Discharged the ordnance. 
 
 Wai. Upon whom I 
 
 Illo. On Neumann, 
 
 Your messenger. 
 
296 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Wai. (star ting up). Ha! Death and hell 1 I will^ 
 
 Ter. Expose thyself to their blind frenzy ? 
 
 Duck, and Coun. No ! 
 
 For God's sake, No ! 
 
 Illo. Not yet, ray General ! 
 
 Coun. O, hold him ! hold him ! 
 
 Wai. Leave me 
 
 Max. Do it not ; 
 Not yet ; This rash and bloody deed has thrown them 
 Into a frenzy-fit allow them time 
 
 Wai. Away ! too long already have I loiter'd. 
 They are embolden'd to these outrages, 
 Beholding not my face. They shall behold 
 
 My countenance, shall hear my voice 
 
 Are they not my troops ? Am I not their general, 
 
 And their long-fear'd commander ? Let me see, 
 
 Whether indeed they do no longer know 
 
 That countenance, which was their sun in battle ! 
 
 From the balcony, (mark !) I show myself 
 
 To these rebellious forces, and at once 
 
 Revolt is mounded, and the high-swoln current 
 
 Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience. 
 
 [Exit Wallenstein; Illo, Tertsky, and Butler follow. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 COUNTESS, DUCHESS, MAX., and THEKLA. 
 
 Coun. (to the Dudiess). Let them but see him 
 
 there is hope still, sister. 
 Duch. Hope ! I have none ! 
 
 Max. (who during the last scene has been standing 
 at a distance in a visible struggle of feelings, 
 advances,} This can I not endure. 
 With most determined soul did I come hither, 
 My purposed action seem'd unblameable 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 297 
 
 To my own conscience and I must stand here 
 Like one abhorr'd, a hard inhuman being ; 
 Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love ! 
 Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish, 
 Whom I, with one word, can make happy O 1 
 My heart revolts within me, and two voices 
 Make themselves audible within my bosom. 
 My soul's benighted ; I no longer can 
 Distinguish the right track. O, well and truly 
 Didst thou say, father, I relied too much 
 On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro 
 I know not what to do. 
 
 Coun. What ! you know not ? 
 
 Does not your own heart tell you ? O ! then I 
 Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, 
 A frightful traitor to us he has plotted 
 Against our general's life, has plung'd us all 
 In misery and you're his son ! 'Tis yours 
 To make the amends Make you the son's fidelity 
 Outweigh the father's treason, that the name 
 Of Piccolomini be not a proverb 
 Of infamy, a common form of cursing 
 To the posterity of Wallenstein. 
 
 Max. Where is that voice of truth which I dare 
 
 follow ? 
 
 It speaks no longer in my heart. We all 
 But utter what our passionate wishes dictate. 
 O that an angel would descend from Heaven, 
 And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, 
 With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light. 
 
 [His eyes glance on Thekla. 
 What other angel seek I ? To this heart, 
 To this unerring heart, will I submit it. 
 Will ask "iy love, which has the power to blew 
 The happj nan alone, averted ever 
 
298 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 From the disquieted and guilty- -vtinst thou 
 Still love me, if I stay ? Say that thou can'st, 
 And I am the Duke's 
 
 Coun. Think, niece 
 
 Max. Think nothing, Thekla! 
 
 Speak what thoufeelest. 
 
 Coun. Think upon your father. 
 
 Max. I did not question thee as Friedland's 
 
 daughter. 
 
 Thee, the beloved, and the unerring god 
 Within thy heart, I question. What's at stake? 
 Not whether diadem of royalty 
 Be to be won or not that mightst thou think on. 
 Thy friend, and his soul's quiet, are at stake j 
 The fortune of a thousand gallant men, 
 Who will all follow me ; shall I forswear 
 My oath and duty to the Emperor ? 
 Say, shall I send into Octavio's camp 
 The parricidal ball ? For when the ball 
 Has left its cannon, and is on its flight, 
 It is no longer a dead instrument ; 
 It lives, a spirit passes into it, 
 The avenging furies seize possession of it, 
 Arid with sure malice guide it the worst way. 
 
 Thek. O ! Max. 
 
 Max. (interrupting her). Nay, not precipitately 
 
 either, Thekla. 
 
 I understand thee. To thy noble heart 
 The hardest duty might appear the highest. 
 The human, not the great part, would I act. 
 Ev'n from my childhood to this present hour, 
 Think what the Duke has done for me ; how lovM 
 
 me, 
 
 And think, too, how my father has repaid him. 
 O likewise the free lovely impulses 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 209 
 
 Of hospitality, the pious friend's 
 
 Faithful attachment, these, too, are a holy 
 
 Religion to the heart ; and heavily 
 
 The shudderings of nature do avenge 
 
 Themselves on the barbarian that insults tneui. 
 
 Lay all upon the balance, all then speak, 
 
 And let thy heart decide it. 
 
 Thek. 0, thy own 
 
 Hath long ago decided. Follow thou 
 Thy heart'i first feeling 
 
 Coun. Oh ! ill-fated woman ! 
 
 Thek. Is it possible, that that can be the right, 
 The which thy tender heart did not at first 
 Detect and seize with instant impulse? Go, 
 Fulfil thy duty ? I should ever love thee. 
 Whate'er thou hadst chosen, thou would'st still have 
 
 acted 
 
 Nobly and worthy of thee but repentance 
 Shall ne'er disturb thy soul's fair peace. 
 
 Max. Then I 
 
 Must leave thee, must part from thee ! 
 
 Thek. Being faithful 
 
 To thine own self, thou art faithful, too, to me j 
 If our fates part, our hearts remain united. 
 A bloody hatred will divide for ever 
 The houses, Piccolomini and Friedland ; 
 But we belong not to our houses Go 1 
 Quick ! quick ! and separate thy righteous cause 
 From our unholy and unblessed one 1 
 The curse of heaven lies upon our head j 
 'Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me 
 My father's guilt drags with it to perdition. 
 Mourn not for me : 
 My destiny will quickly be decided. 
 
JJOO THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIHT. 
 
 [Max. clasps her in his arms in extreme emotion. 
 There is heard from behind the Scene a loud, 
 wild, long-continued cry Vivat Ferdinandus, 
 accompanied by warlike instruments. Max. 
 and TJiekla remain without motion in each 
 other's embrace. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 To tJiese enter TERTSKY. 
 
 Coun. (meeting him}. What meant that cry ? What 
 was it? 
 
 Ter. A 11 is lost! 
 
 Coun. What ! they regarded not his countenance? 
 
 Ter. 'Twas all in vain. 
 
 Duch. They shouted vivat ! 
 
 Ter. To the Emperor. 
 
 Coun. The traitors ! 
 
 Ter. Nay ! he was not once permitted 
 
 Even to address them. Soon as he began, 
 With deafening noise of warlike instruments 
 They drown'd his words. But here he comes. 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 To these enter WALLENSTEIN, accompanied by ILLO 
 and BUTLER. 
 
 Wai (as he enters). Tertsky ! 
 
 Ter. My General? 
 
 Wai. Let our regiments hold themselves 
 
 In readiness to march ; for we shall leave 
 Pilsen ere evening. \Exit Tertsky. 
 
 Btttler ! 
 
 But . Yes, my General. 
 
 Wai. The governor at Egra is your friend 
 
DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 
 
 And countryman. Write to him instantly 
 By a Dost courier. He must be advis'd, 
 That we are with him early on the morrow. 
 You follow us yourself, your regiment with you. 
 But. It shall be done, my General ! 
 Wed. (steps between Max. and Thekla, who have re- 
 mained during this time in each other's arms). 
 
 Part! 
 
 Max. O God ! 
 
 [Cuirassiers enter with drawn swords, and assem- 
 ble in the bach-ground. At ihe same time there 
 are heard from below some spirited passages 
 out of the Pappenheim march, which seem to 
 address Max. 
 Wai. (to the Cuirassiers). Here he is, he is at 
 
 liberty ; I keep him 
 No longer. 
 
 [He turns away, and stands so that Max. cannot 
 
 pass by him nor approach the Princess. 
 Max. Thou know'st that I have not yet learnt to 
 
 live 
 
 Without thee ! I go forth into a desert, 
 Leaving my all behind me. O do not turn 
 Thine eyes away from me ! O once more show me 
 Thy ever dear and honoured countenance. 
 
 [Max. attempts to take his hand, but is repelled; 
 
 Jie turns to the Countess. 
 Is there no eye that has a look of pity for me ? 
 
 The Countess turns away from him ; he turns to 
 
 the Duchess. 
 My mother ! 
 
 Duch. Go where duty calls you. Haply 
 The time may come, when you may prove to us 
 A true friend, a good angel at the throne 
 Of the Emperor. 
 
 D D 
 
302 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 jMax. You give me hope ; you would not 
 
 Suffer me wholly to despair. No ! No ! 
 Mine is a certain misery Thanks to heaven 
 That offers me a means of ending it. 
 
 [The military music begins again. Tlie stage 
 jills more and more with armed men. Max. 
 sees Butler, and addresses him. 
 And you here, Colonel Butler and will you 
 Not follow me ? Well, then, remain more faithful 
 To your new lord, than you have prov'd yourself 
 To the Emperor. Come, Butler, promise me, 
 Give me your hand upon it, that you'll be 
 The guardian of his life, its shield, its watchman. 
 He is attainted, and his princely head 
 Fair booty for each slave that trades in murder. 
 Now he doth need the faithful eye of friendship, 
 And those whom here I see 
 
 [Casting suspicious looks on lllo and Butter 
 Itto. Go seek for traitors 
 
 In Galas', in your father's quarters. Here 
 Is only one. Away ! away ! and free us 
 From his detested sight Away ! 
 
 [Max. attempts once more to approach Thekla. 
 Wallenstein prevents him. Max. stands irre- 
 solute, and in apparent anguish. In the mean- 
 time the stage fills more and more ; and th* 
 horns sound from below, louder and louder, ana 
 each time after a sJiorter interval. 
 Max. Blow, blow ! O were it but the Swedish 
 
 trumpets, 
 
 And all the naked swords, which I see here, 
 Were plunged into my breast ! What purpose you I 
 You come to tear me from this place ! Beware 
 Ye drive me not to desperation. Do it not ! 
 Ye may repent it ! 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 303 
 
 [The stage is entirely filled with armed men. 
 Yet more ! weight upon weight to drag me down ! 
 Think what ye' re doing. It is not well done 
 To choose a man despairing for your leader ; 
 You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, 
 I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark ! 
 For your own ruin you have chosen me : 
 Who goes with me, must be prepar'd to perish. 
 
 [He turns to the bach-ground, there ensues a 
 sudden and violent movement among the Cui- 
 rassiers ; they surround him, and carry him off 
 in wild tumult. Wallenstein remains immove- 
 able. Thehla sinks into her mother's arms. 
 The curtain falls. The music becomes loud 
 and overpowering, and passes into a complete 
 war-march the orchestra joins it and con- 
 tinues during the interval between the second 
 and third Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene, the BURGOMASTER'S House 
 SCENE I. 
 
 But . (just arrived). Here then he is, by his destiny 
 
 conducted. 
 
 Here. Friedland, and no farther ! From Bohemia 
 Thy meteor rose, travers'd the sky awhile, 
 And here upon the borders of Bohemia 
 Must sink. 
 
 Thou hast forsworn the ancient colours, 
 Blind man ! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes. 
 D D 
 
3i>4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Profaner of the altar and the hearth, 
 
 Against thy Emperor and fellow-citizens 
 
 Thou mean'st to wage the war. Friedland., beware- 
 
 The evil spirit of revenge impels thee 
 
 Beware, thou, that revenge destroy thee not. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 BUTLER and GORDON. 
 
 Gor. Is it you ? 
 
 How my heart sinks ! The Duke a fugitive traitor ! 
 His princely head attainted ! O my God ! 
 
 But. You have receiv'd the letter which I sent you 
 By a post courier. 
 
 Gor. Yes ! and in obedience to it 
 
 Open'd the strong-hold to him without scruple. 
 For an imperial letter orders me 
 To follow your commands implicitly. 
 But yet forgive me : when even now I saw 
 The Duke himself, my scruples recommenced. 
 For truly, not like an attainted man, 
 Into this town did Friedland make his entrance; 
 His wonted majesty beam'd from his brow, 
 And calm, as in the days when all was right, 
 Did he receive from me the accounts of office : 
 'Tis said, that fallen pride learns condescension ; 
 But, sparing and with dignity, the Duke 
 Weigh'd every syllable of approbation, 
 As masters praise a servant who has done 
 His duty and no more. 
 
 But. 'Tis all precisely 
 
 As I related in my letter. Friedland 
 Has sold the army to the enemy, 
 And pledg'd himself to give up Prague and Egra. 
 On this report the regiments all forsook him. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 305 
 
 The five excepted that belong to Tertsky, 
 
 And which have followed him, as thou hast seen. 
 
 The sentence of attainder is pass'd on him, 
 
 And every loyal subject is required 
 
 To give him up to justice, dead or living. 
 
 Gor. A traitor to the Emperor Such a noble ! 
 Of such high talents ! What is human greatness ? 
 I often said, this can't end happily. 
 His might, his greatness, and this obscure power 
 Are but a cover'd pit- fall. The human being 
 May not be trusted to self-government. 
 The clear and written law, the deep-trod foot-marks 
 Of ancient custom, are all necessary 
 To keep him in the road of faith and duty. 
 The authority intrusted to this man 
 Was unexampled and unnatural, 
 It plac'd him on a level with his Emperor, 
 Till the proud soul unlearn'd submission. Woe is me; 
 I mourn for him ! for where he fell, I deem 
 Might none stand firm. Alas ! dear General, 
 We in our lucky mediocrity 
 Have ne'er experienc'd, cannot calculate, 
 What dangerous wishes such a height may breed 
 In the heart of such a man. 
 
 But. Spare your laments 
 
 Till he need sympathy ; for at this present 
 He is still mighty, and still formidable. 
 The Swedes advance to Egra by forc'd marcnes, 
 And quickly will the junction be accomplish'd. 
 This must not be ! The Duke must never leave 
 This strong hold on free footing ; for I have 
 Pledg'd life and honour here to hold him pris'ner, 
 Arifl your assistance 'tis on which I calculate. 
 
 Gor. O that I had not liv'd to see thii 4ay ! 
 From his hand I receiv'd this dignity. 
 D D 3 
 
306 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Pie did hiraselfintrust this strong hold to me, 
 Which I am now requir'd to make his dungeon. 
 We subalterns have no will of our own : 
 The free, the mighty man alone may listen 
 To the fair impulse of his human nature. 
 Ah ! we are but the poor tools of the law, 
 Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at. 
 
 But. Nay, let it not afflict you, that your power 
 Is circumscrib'd. Much liberty, much error ! 
 The narrow path of duty is securest. 
 
 Gor. And all, then, have deserted him, you say ? 
 He has built up the luck of many thousands, 
 For kingly was his spirit : his full hand 
 Was ever open. Many a one from dust 
 
 [With a side glance at Butler. 
 Hath he selected, from the very dust 
 Hath rais'd him into dignity and honour. 
 And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchas'd, 
 Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour. 
 
 But. Here's one I see. 
 
 Gor. I have enjoy'd from him 
 
 No grace or favour. I could almost doubt 
 If ever, in his greatness, he once thought on 
 An old friend of his youth. For still my office 
 Kept me at distance from him ; and when first 
 He to this citadel appointed me, 
 He was sincere and serious in his duty. 
 I do not then abuse his confidence, 
 If I preserve my fealty in that, 
 Which to my fealty was first deliver'd. 
 
 But. Say, then, will you fulfill th' attainder on him? 
 
 Gor. (pauses reflecting t hen as in deep dejection). 
 If it be so if all be as you say 
 If he've betrayed the Emperor, his master, 
 Have sold the troops, have purpos'd to deliver 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 307 
 
 The strong holds of the country to the enemy- 
 Yea, truly ! there is no redemption for him 
 Yet it is hard, that me the lot should destine 
 To be the instrument of his perdition ; 
 For we were pages at the court of Bergau 
 At the same period ; but I was the senior. 
 
 But. I have heard so 
 
 Gor. 'Tis full thirty years since then. 
 
 A youth who scarce had seen his twentieth year 
 Was Wallenstein, when he and I were friends : 
 Yet even then he had a daring soul : 
 His frame of mind was serious and severe 
 Beyond his years ; his dreams were of great objects. 
 He walked amidst us of a silent spirit, 
 Communing with himself: yet I have known him 
 Transported on a sudden into utterance 
 Of strange conceptions ; kindling into splendour, 
 His soul reveal'd itself, and he spake so 
 That we lookM round perplexed upon each other, 
 Not knowing whether it were craziness, 
 Or whether 'twere a god that spoke in him. 
 
 But. But was it where he fell two story high 
 From a window-ledge, on which he had fallen asleep, 
 And rose up free from injury ? From this day 
 (It is reported) he betray'd clear marks 
 Of a distempered fancy. 
 
 Gor. He became, 
 
 Doubtless, more self-enwrapt and melancholy ; 
 He made himself a Catholic. Marvellously 
 His marvellous preservation had transformed him. 
 Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted 
 And privileged being, and, as if he were 
 Incapable of dizziness or fall. 
 He ran along the unsteady rope of lite. 
 But now our destinies drove us asunder: 
 
308 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 fie pac'd with rapid step the way of greatness, 
 Was count, and priu.ee, duke regent, and dictator. 
 And now is ah, all this too little for him ; 
 He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, 
 And plunges in unfathomable ruin. 
 J3ut. No more, he conies. 
 
 SCENE Hi. 
 
 To these enter WALLENSTEIN, in conversation ivith 
 the BURGOMASTER of Egra. 
 
 Wai. You were at one time a free town, I see, 
 Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. 
 Why the half eagle only ? 
 
 Bur. We were free, 
 
 But for these last two hundred years has Egra 
 Remain'd in pledge to the Bohemian crown ; 
 Therefore we bear the half eagle, tbe other half 
 Being cancelled till the empire ransom us, 
 If ever that should be. 
 
 Wai. Ye merit freedom. 
 
 Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears 
 To no designing, whispering court minions. 
 What may your imposts be ? 
 
 Bur. So heavy that 
 
 We totter under them. The garrison 
 Lives at our costs. 
 
 Wai. I will relieve you. Tell me, 
 
 There are some Protestants among you still ? 
 
 [The Burgomaster hesitates. 
 Yes, yes ; I know it. Many lie concealed 
 Within these walls Confess now you yourself 
 
 [Fixes his eye on Mm. The Burgomaster alarmed. 
 Be not alarmM. I hate the Jesuits. 
 Could my will have determined it, they had 
 Been long ago expell'd the empire. Trust me 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 309 
 
 Mass-book or bible 'tis all one to me. 
 Of that the world has had sufficient proof. 
 I built a church for the reform'd in Glogan 
 At my own instance. Hark'e, Burgomaster, 
 What is your name? 
 
 Bur Pachhalbel, mav it please you. 
 
 Wai Hark'e! 
 
 But let it go no further, what I now 
 Disclose to you in confidence. 
 
 [Laying his head on the Burgomaster's shoulder 
 with a certain solemnity. 
 
 The times 
 
 Draw near to their fulfilment, Burgomaster ! 
 The high will fall, the low will be exalted. 
 Hark'e ! But keep it to yourself ! The end 
 Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy 
 A new arrangement is at hand. You saw 
 The three moons that appear'd at once in the heaven. 
 
 Bur. With wonder arid affright ! 
 
 Wai Whereof did two 
 
 Strangely transform themselves to bloody daggers, 
 And only one, the middle moon, remain'd 
 Steady and clear. 
 
 Bur. We applied it to the Turks. 
 
 Wai The Turks! That all? I tell you, that two 
 
 empires 
 
 Will set in blood, in the east and in the west, 
 And Luth'ramsm alone remain. 
 
 [Observing Gordon and Butler. 
 
 Ffaith, 
 
 'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard 
 This evening as we journey'd hitherward; 
 'Twas on our left hand. Did you hear it here ? 
 
 Gor. DistinctJy. The wind brought it from the south. 
 
 But. ItseemMtocomefromWeiden or fromNeustadt. 
 
310 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Wai. 'Tis likely. That's the route the Swedes are 
 
 taking. 
 How strong is the garrison ? 
 
 Gor. Not quite two hundred 
 
 Competent men, the rest are invalids. 
 
 Wai. Good ! and how many in the vale of Jochim. 
 
 Gor. Two hundred arquebussiers have I sent thither 
 To fortify the posts against the Swedes. 
 
 Wai. Good ! I commend your foresight. At the 
 
 works too 
 You have done somewhat ? 
 
 Gor. Two additional batteries 
 
 I caused to be run up. They were needless. 
 The Rhinegrave presses hard upon us,' General ! 
 
 Wai You have been watchful in your Emperor's 
 
 service. 
 I am con tent with you, Lieutenant-Colonel. 
 
 [To Butler. 
 
 Release the outposts in the vale of Jochim 
 With all the stations in the enemy's route. 
 
 [To Gordon. 
 
 Governor, in your faithful hands I leave 
 My wife, my daughter, and my sister. I 
 Shall make no stay here, and wait but the arrival 
 Of letters, to take leave of you, together 
 With all the regiments. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 To these enter COUNT TERTSKY. 
 
 Ter. Joy, General ; joy ! I bring you welcome tidings. 
 Wai And what may they be ? 
 Ter. There has been an engagement 
 
 At Neustadt ; the Swedes gain'd the victory. 
 
 Wai From whence did you receive the intelligence? 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLE IS STEIN. 311 
 
 Ter. A countryman from Tirschenseil convey'd it, 
 Soon after sun rise did the fight begin ! 
 A troop of th-3 Imperialists, from Fachau 
 Had forc'd their way into the Swedish camp ! 
 The cannonade continued full two hours ; 
 There were left dead upon the field a thousand 
 Imperialists, together with their colonel j 
 Further than this he did not know. 
 
 Wai. How came 
 
 Imperial troops at Neustadt ? Altringer, 
 But yesterday, stood sixty miles from there. 
 Count Galas' force collects at Frauenberg. 
 And have not the full complement. Is it possible, 
 That Suys, perchance, had ventur'd so far onward? 
 It cannot be. 
 
 Ter. We shall soon know the whole, 
 
 For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 To these enter ILLO. 
 
 Illo. (to Wallensteiri). A courier, Duke ! he wishes 
 
 to speak with thee. 
 Ter. (eagerly). Does he bring confirmation of the 
 
 victory ? 
 Wai. (at the same time). What does he bring? 
 
 Whence comes he ? 
 
 IUo. From the Rhinegrave. 
 
 And what he brings I can announce to you 
 Before hand. Seven leagues distant are the Swedes ; 
 At Neustadt did Max. Piccolomini 
 Throw himself on them with the cavalry ; 
 A murd'rous fight took place ; o'erpower'd by numbers 
 The Pappenheimers all, with Max. their leader, 
 
 [Wallenstein shudders and turn pale. 
 *Vere left dead on the field. 
 
312 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTKIN. 
 
 Wai. (after a pause in a LOW voice). Where is the 
 
 messenger? Conduct me to him. 
 \Wallenstein is going, when Lady Neubrunn 
 
 rushes into the room. Some servants follow 
 
 Her and run across the stage. 
 Neub. Help! Help! 
 
 lllo and Ter. (at the same time). What now ? 
 
 Neub. The Princess ! 
 
 Wai. and Ter. Does she know it ? 
 
 Neub. (at the same time with them). She is dying i 
 [Hurries off the stage, and WaUenstein and 
 
 Tertshy follow her. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 BUTLER and GORDON. 
 
 Gor. What's this? 
 
 But. She has lost the man she lov'd 
 
 Young Piccolomini who fell in the battle. 
 
 Gor. Unfortunate lady ! 
 
 But. You have heard what lllo 
 
 Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors, 
 And marching hitherward. 
 
 Gor. . . Too well I heard it. 
 
 But. They are twelve regiments strong, and there 
 
 are five 
 
 Close by us to protect the Duke. We have 
 Only my single regiment ; and the garrison 
 Is not two hundred strong. 
 
 Gor. 'Tis even so. 
 
 But. It is not possible with such small force 
 To hold in custody a man like him. 
 
 Gor. I grant it. 
 
 But. Soon the numbers would disarm us, 
 
 And liberate him. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 313 
 
 Oor. It were to be fear'd. 
 
 But. (after pause). Know, I am warranty for the 
 
 event ; 
 
 With my head have I pledg'd myself for his, 
 Must make my word good, cost it what it wiii, 
 And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner, 
 Why death makes all things certain ! 
 Gor. Butler! What? 
 
 Do I understand you ? Gracious God ! You could 
 
 But, He must not live. 
 
 Gor. And you can do the deed ! 
 
 But. Either you or I. This morning was his 
 last. 
 
 Gor. You would assassinate him ? 
 
 But. J Tis my purpose. 
 
 Gor. Who leans with his whole confidence upon 
 you ! 
 
 But. Such is his evil destiny ! 
 
 Gor. Your General ! 
 
 The sacred person of your General I 
 
 But. My General he has been. 
 
 Gor. That 't is only 
 
 An "has been" washes out no villany. 
 And without judgment pass'd ? 
 
 But. The execution 
 
 Is here instead of judgment. 
 
 Gor. This were murder, 
 
 Not justice. The most guilty should be heard. 
 
 But. His guilt is clear, the Emperor has pass'd 
 
 judgment, 
 And we but execute his will. 
 
 Gor. We should not 
 
 Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. 
 A word may be recall'd, a life can never be. 
 
 J3ut. Despatch in service pleases sovereigns. 
 E E 
 
814 THE DEA.TII OF WALLENSTEIST. 
 
 Gor. No honest man's ambitious to press forward 
 To the hangman's service. 
 
 But. And no brave man loses 
 
 His colour at a daring enterprise. 
 
 Gor. A brave man hazards life, but not his 
 conscience. 
 
 But. What then ? Shall he go forth anew to kindle 
 The unextinguishable flame of war ? 
 
 Gor. Seize him, and hold him prisoner do not kill 
 him ! 
 
 But. Had not the Emperor's army been defeated, 
 I might have done so. But 'tis now past by. 
 
 Gor. O, wherefore open'd I the strong-hold to 
 him? 
 
 But. His destiny, and not the place, destroys him. 
 
 Gor. Upon these ramparts, as beseem'd a soldier, 
 I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel ! 
 
 But. Yes! and a thousand gallant men have perish'd. 
 
 Gor. Doing their duty that adorns the man ! 
 But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it. 
 
 But. (brings out a paper). Here is the manifesto 
 
 which commands us 
 
 To gain possession of his person. See 
 It is address'd to you as well as me. 
 Are you content to take the consequences, 
 If thro' our fault he escape to the enemy? 
 
 G or . I ?_Gracious God ! 
 
 But. Take it on yourself. 
 
 Come of it what it may, on you I lay it. 
 
 Gor. O God in Heaven ! 
 
 "But Can you advise aught else 
 
 Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose ? 
 Say, if you can. For I desire his fall, 
 Not his destruction. 
 
 Gor. Merciful Heaven ! what must be, 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 315 
 
 1 see as clear as you. Yet still the heart 
 Within my bosom beats with other feelings ! 
 
 But. Mine is of harder stuff! Necessity 
 In her rough school hath steel'd me. And this Illo, 
 And Tertsky likewise, they must not survive him. 
 
 Gor. I feel no pang for these. Their own bad heart 
 Impelled them, not the influence of the stars. 
 'T was they who strew'd the seeds of evil passions 
 In his calm breast, and with officious villany 
 Water'd and nurs'd the pois'nous plants. May they 
 Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite ! 
 
 But. And their death shall precede his ! 
 We meant to have taken them alive this evening, 
 Amid the merry-making of a feast, 
 And keep them prisoners in the citadel. 
 But this makes shorter work. I go this instant 
 To give the necessary orders. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter ILLO and TERTSKY. 
 
 Ter. Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come 
 The Swedes twelve thousand gallant warriors, Illo ! 
 Then straightway for Vienna. Cheerily, friend ! 
 What ! meet such news with such a moody face ? 
 
 Illo. It lies with us at present to prescribe 
 Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitors, 
 Those skulking cowards that deserted us j 
 One has already done his bitter penance, 
 The Piccolomini, be his the fate 
 Of all who wish us evil ! This flies sure 
 To the old man's heart ; he has, his whole life long, 
 Fretted and toil'd to raise his ancient house 
 From a Count's title to the name of Prince j 
 And now must seek a grave for his only son. 
 
 BE 2 
 
316 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But. 'T was pity tlio' ! A youth of such heroic 
 And gentle temp'rament ! The Duke himself, 
 'T was easily seen, how near it went to his heart. 
 
 Illo. Hark'e, old friend ! That is the very point 
 That never pleas' d me in our General 
 He ever gave the preference to the Italians. 
 Yea, at this very moment, by my soul ! 
 He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over, 
 Could he thereby recall his friend to life. 
 
 Ter. Hush, hush ! Let the dead rest ! This even- 
 ing's business 
 
 Is, who can fairly drink the other down 
 Your regiment, Illo, gives the entertainment. 
 Come 1 we will keep a merry carnival 
 The night for once be day, and mid full glasses 
 Will we expect the Swedish avantgarde. 
 
 Illo. Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day, . 
 For there's hot work before us, friends ! This sword 
 Shall have no rest, till it be bath'd to the hilt 
 In Austrian blood. 
 
 Gor. Shame, shame ! what talk is this, 
 
 My Lord Field Marshal ? Wherefore foam you so 
 Against your Emperor ? 
 
 But. Hope not too much 
 
 From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs ! 
 How rapidly the wheel of fortune turns. 
 The Emperor still is formidably strong. 
 
 Illo. The Emperor has soldiers, no commander, 
 For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 
 Is but a tyro. Galas ! He 's no luck, < 
 And was of old the ruiner of armies. 
 And then this viper, this Octavio, 
 Is excellent at stabbing in the back, 
 But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field. 
 
 Ter. Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed ; 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 317 
 
 Fortune, we know can ne'er forsake the Duke ! 
 And only under Wallenstein can Austria 
 Be conqueror. 
 
 Illo. The Duke will soon assemble 
 
 A mighty army, all comes crowding, streaming 
 To banners, dedicate by destiny 
 To fame and prosperous fortune. I behold 
 Old times come back again, he will become 
 Once more the mighty lord which he has been. 
 How will the fools, who 've now deserted him, 
 Look then ? I can't but laugh to think of them; 
 For lands will he present to all his friends ; 
 And like a king and emperor reward 
 True services ; but we've the nearest claims. 
 
 [To Gordon. 
 
 You will not be forgotten, Governor ! 
 He '11 take you from this nest and bid you shine 
 In higher station : your fidelity 
 Well merits it. 
 
 Gor. I am content already, 
 
 And wish to climb no higher ; where great height is, 
 The fall must needs be great. " Great height, great 
 
 depth." 
 
 Illo. Here you have no more business for to-morrow j 
 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 
 Come, Tertsky, it is supper-time. What think you ? 
 Say, shall we have the state illuminated 
 In honour of the Swede ? And who refuses 
 To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. 
 
 Ter. Nay, nay ! not that j it will not please the 
 
 Duke 
 Illo. What ! we are masters here ; no soul shall 
 
 dare 
 
 Avow himself imperial where we've the rule. 
 Gordon ! Good night, and, for the last time, take 
 
 Tt E 3 
 
318 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 A fair have of the place. Send out oatroles 
 To make secure : the watchword may be aiterM 
 A'; the stroke of ten ; deliver in the keys 
 r j o the Duke himself, and then you're emit for ever 
 i r our wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow 
 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 
 
 Ter. (as he is going, to Butler}. You come though 
 to the castle. 
 
 But. At the right time. 
 
 [Exeunt Tertsky and lllo. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 GORDON and BUTLER. 
 
 Gor. (looking after them). Unhappy men ! How 
 
 free from all foreboding ! 
 They rush into the outspread net of murder, 
 In the blind drunkenness of victory ; 
 I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, 
 This overflowing and fool-hardy villain 
 That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood. 
 
 But. Do as he order'd you. Send round patroles, 
 Take measures for the citadel's security ; 
 When they are within I close the castle gate, 
 That nothing may transpire. 
 
 Gor. (with earnest anxiety). Oh ! haste not so ! 
 Nay, stop ; first tell me 
 
 But. You have heard already, 
 
 To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night 
 Alone is ours. They make good expeditions, 
 But we will make still greater. Fare you well. 
 
 Gor. Ah ! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, 
 
 Butler. 
 I pray you, promise me ! 
 
 But. The sun has set ; 
 
THK DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 319 
 
 A fateful evening dotb descend upon us, 
 
 And brings on their long night ! Their evil stars 
 
 Deliver them unarm'd into our hands, 
 
 And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 
 
 The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, 
 
 The Duke was ever a great calculator ; 
 
 His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, 
 
 To move and station, as his game required. 
 
 Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 
 
 Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of k; 
 
 Still calculating, calculating still, 
 
 And yet at last his calculation proves 
 
 Erroneous ; the whole game is lost ; and lo ! 
 
 His own life will be found among the forfeits. 
 
 Gor. O think not of his errors now ; remember 
 His greatness, his munificence, think on all 
 The lovely features of his character, 
 On all the noble exploits of his life, 
 And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen 
 Arrest the lifted sword. 
 
 But. It is too late. 
 
 I suffer not myself to feel compassion, 
 Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now : 
 
 \Grasping Gordon's hand. 
 Gordon ! 'T is not my hatred (I pretend not 
 To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him), 
 Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me 
 To be his murderer. 'T is his evil fate. 
 Hostile concurrences of many events 
 Control and subjugate me to the office. 
 In vain the human being meditates 
 Free action. He is but the wire-work'd* puppet 
 Of the blind power, which out of his own choice 
 
 We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a semimen* in 
 the muuth of any character. T. 
 
320 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 Creates for him a dread necessity. 
 What too would it avail him, if there were 
 A something pleading for him in ray heart 
 Still I must kill him. 
 
 Gor. If your heart speak to you, 
 
 Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God. 
 Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous 
 Bedew'd with blood, his blood ? Believe it not ! 
 
 But. You know not. Ask not ! Wherefore should 
 
 it happen, 
 
 That the Swedes gain'd the victory, and hasten 
 With such forc'd marches hitherward ? Fain would I 
 Have given him to the Emperor's mercy. Gordon ! 
 I do not wish his blood But I must ransom 
 The honour of my word it lies in pledge 
 
 And he must die, or 
 
 [Passionately grasping Gordon's hand. 
 
 Listen then, and know ! 
 I am dishonour' d if the Duke escape us. 
 
 Gor. O ! to save such a man 
 
 But. What! 
 
 Gor, It is worth 
 
 A sacrifice. Come, friend ! be noble-minded ! 
 Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, 
 Forms our true honour. 
 
 But. (with a cold and haughty air). He is a 
 
 great lord, 
 
 This Duke and I am but of mean importance. 
 This is what you would say ? Wherein concerns it 
 The world at large, you mean to hint to me, 
 Whether the man of low extraction keeps 
 Or blemishes his honour 
 So that the man of princely rank be sav'd. 
 We all do stamp our value on ourselves. 
 The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN" 321 
 
 There does not live on earth the man so station'd, 
 That I despise myself compar'd with him. 
 Man is made great or little by nis own will ; 
 Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies. 
 Gor. I am endeavouring to move a rock. 
 Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 
 I cannot hinder you, but may some god 
 Rescue him from you ! {Exit Gordon. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 But. (alone). I treasur'd my good name all my life 
 
 long; 
 
 The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, 
 So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon ! 
 He prizes above all his fealty ; 
 His conscious soul accuses him of nothing ; 
 In opposition to his own soft heart 
 He subjugates himself to an iron duty ; 
 Me in a weaker moment passion warp'd ; 
 I stand beside him, and must feel myself 
 The worst man of the two. What, though the world 
 Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet 
 One man does know it, and can prove it too 
 High-minded Piccolomini ! 
 There lives the man who can dishonour me ! 
 This ignominy blood alone can cleanse ! 
 Duke Friedland, thou or I Into my own hands 
 Fortune delivers me The dearest thing a man has is 
 
 himself. 
 
 curtain drops. 
 
'-'2 THE DEATH OF WALLEN3TBIX. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene BUTLER'S Chamber. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 BUTLER, MAJOR, and GERALDIW. 
 
 But. Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them 
 with pikes. 
 
 For there must be no firing 
 
 Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room. 
 And soon as the desert is serv'd up, rush all in, 
 And cry Who is loyal to the Emperor ? 
 I will overturn the table while you attack 
 Illo and Tertsky, and despatch them both. 
 The castle-palace is well barr'd and guarded, 
 That no intelligence of this proceeding 
 May make its way to the Duke. Go instantly : 
 Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux 
 And the Macdonald ? 
 
 Ger. They'll be here anon. 
 
 [Exit GeraWn. 
 
 But. Here's no room for delay. The citizens 
 Declare for him ; a dizzy drunken spirit 
 Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke 
 A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages 
 And golden times. Arms too have been given out 
 By the town-council, and a hundred citizens 
 Have volunteer'd themselves to stand on guard. 
 Despatch then be the word. For enemies 
 Threaten us from without and from within. 
 
THE OE kTH OF WALLENSTBIN. 323 
 
 SCENE II. 
 BUTLER, CAPTAIN DEVEREUX, and MACDOWALD. 
 
 Macd. Here we are, General. 
 
 Deo. What's to be the watchword ? 
 
 But. Long live the Emperor! 
 
 Both, (recoiling). How? 
 
 But. Live the House of Austria? 
 
 Dev. Have we not sworn fidelity to Friedland ? 
 
 Macd. Have we not march' d to this place to protect 
 him? 
 
 But. Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy ! 
 
 Dev. Why, yes ! in his name you adminster'd 
 Our oath. 
 
 Macd. And follow'd him yourself to Egra. 
 
 But. I did it the more surely to destroy him. 
 
 Dev. So, then I 
 
 Macd. An alter'd case ! 
 
 But. (to Devereux). Thou wretched man ! 
 So easily leav'st thou thy oath and colours ? 
 
 Dev The devil ! I but follow'd your example, 
 If you could prove a villain*, why not we ? 
 
 Macd. We've nought to do with thinking that's 
 
 your business. 
 
 You are our General, and give out the orders ! 
 We follow you, tho' the track lead to hell. 
 
 But. (appeased). Good then! we know each other, 
 
 Macd. I should hope so. 
 
 Dev. Soldiers of fortune are we who bids most. 
 He has us. 
 
 Macd. 'Tis e : en so i 
 
 But. Weil, ior the present 
 
 Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers. 
 Vv e wish no other. 
 
TttR DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But. Aye, and make your fortunes. 
 
 Macd. That is still better. 
 
 But. Listen ! 
 
 BotJi. We attend. 
 
 But. It is the Emperor's will and ordinance 
 To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland. 
 Alive or dead. 
 
 Dev. It runs so in the letter. 
 
 Macd. Alive or dead these were the very words. 
 
 But. And he &all be rewarded from the State 
 In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto. 
 
 Dev. Ay? That sounds well. The words sound 
 
 always well 
 
 That travel hither from the court. Yes ! yes ! 
 We know already what court words import. 
 A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour, 
 Or an old charger, or a parchment patent, 
 And such like. The Prince-Duke pays better. 
 
 Macd. Yes, 
 
 The Duke's a splendid paymaster. 
 
 But. All over 
 
 With that, my friends ! His lucky stars are set. 
 
 Macd. And is that certain ? 
 
 But. You have my word for it. 
 
 Dev. His lucky fortunes all past by ? 
 
 But. For ever. 
 
 He is as poor as we. 
 
 Macd. As poor as we ? 
 
 Dev. Macdonald, we'll desert him. 
 
 But. We'll desert him? 
 
 Full twenty thousand have done that already ; 
 We must do more, my countrymen ! In short 
 We we must kill him. 
 
 Both, (starting bach). Kill him ! 
 
 But. Yes! must kill him. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 325 
 
 And for that purpose have I chosen you. 
 
 Both. Us! 
 
 But. You, Captain Devereux, and the Macdonald. 
 
 Deo. (after a pause}. Choose you some other. 
 
 But. What? art dastardly? 
 
 Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for 
 Thou conscientious of a sudden ? 
 
 J)ev. Nay, 
 
 To assassinate our lord and general 
 
 Macd. To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath 
 
 But. The oath 
 
 Is null, for Friedland is a traitor. 
 
 Dev. No, no ! It is too bad ! 
 
 Macd. Yes, by my soul ! 
 
 It is too bad. One hath a conscience too 
 
 Dev. If it were not our chieftain, who so long 
 Has issued the commands, and claim'd our duty. 
 
 But. Is that the objection ? 
 
 Dev. Were it my own father, 
 
 And the Emperor's service should demand it of me, 
 It might be done perhaps But we are soldiers, 
 And to assassinate our chief Commander, 
 That is a sin, a foul abomination, 
 From which no monk or confessor absolves us. 
 
 But. I am your Pope, and give you absolution. 
 Determine quickly ! 
 
 Dev. Twill not do ! 
 
 Macd. Twont do ! 
 
 But. Well, off then ! and send Pestalutz to me. 
 
 Dev. (Itesitates). The Pestalutz 
 
 Macd. What may you want with him ? 
 
 But. If you reject it, we can find enough 
 
 Dev. Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bouriy 
 As well as any other. What think you, 
 Brother Macdonald ? 
 
 F P 
 
325 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Macd. Why if he must fall, 
 
 And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 
 One would not give place to this Pestalutz. 
 
 Deo. (after some reflection). When do you purpose 
 he should fall? 
 
 But. This night. 
 
 To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates. 
 
 Dev. You take upon you all the consequeuces ! 
 
 But. I take the whole upon me. 
 
 Dev. And it is 
 
 The Emperor's will, his express absolute will ? 
 For we have instances, that folks may like 
 The murder, and yet hang the murderer. 
 
 But. The manifesto says alive or dead. 
 Alive 'tis not possible you see it is not. 
 
 Dev. Well, dead then ! dead! But how can we come 
 
 at him ? 
 The town is fill'd with Tertsky's soldiery. 
 
 Macd. Ay, and then Tertsky still remains, and lllo 
 
 But. With these we shall begin you understand me ? 
 
 Dev. How ? And must they too perish ? 
 
 But. They the first. 
 
 Macd. Hear, Devereux ! A bloody evening this. 
 
 Dev. Have you a man for that ? Commission me 
 
 But. 'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin j 
 This is a carnival night, and there's a feast 
 Given at the Castle there we shall surprise them, 
 And hew them down. The Pestalutz, and Lesley, 
 Have that commission soon as that is finish'd 
 
 Dev. Hear General ! It will be all one to you. 
 Hark'e ! let me exchange with Geraldin. 
 
 But. 'Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke. 
 
 Dev. Danger 1 The devil 1 What do you think me, 
 
 General ? 
 'Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 327 
 
 Bui. What can Ins eye do to thee ? 
 
 Dev. Death and hell I 
 
 Thou know'st that I'm no milk-sop, General ; 
 But 'tis not eight days, since the Duke did send me 
 Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat 
 Which I have on ! and then for him to see me 
 Standing before him with the pike, his murderer, 
 That eye of his looking upon this coat 
 Why why the devil fetch me ! I'm no milk-sop ! 
 
 But. The Duke presented thee this good warm coat, 
 And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience 
 To run him through the body in return. 
 A coat that is far better and far warmer 
 Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle. 
 How doth he thank the Emperor. With revolt 
 And treason. 
 
 Dev. That is true. The devil take 
 
 Such thankers ! I'll despatch him. 
 
 But. And would'st quiet 
 
 Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply 
 Pull off the coat ; so canst thou do the deed 
 With light heart and good spirits. 
 
 Dev. You are right. 
 
 That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat 
 So there's an end of it. 
 
 Macd. Yes, but there's another 
 
 Point to be thought of. 
 
 But. And what's that, Macdonald? 
 
 Macd. What avails sword or dagger against him ? 
 He is not to be wounded he is 
 
 But. (starting up). What? 
 
 Macd. Safe against shot, and stab and flash ! Hard 
 
 frozen, 
 
 iSecur'd, and warranted hy the black art .' 
 His body is impenetrable. I tell you. 
 PF2 
 
328 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 Dev. In Inglestadt there was just such another 
 His whole skin was the same as steel ; at last 
 We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocks. 
 
 Macd. Hear what I '11 do. 
 
 Dev. Well? 
 
 Macd. In the cloister here 
 
 There's a Dominican, my countryman. 
 I'll make him dip my sword and pike for me 
 In holy water, and say over them 
 One of his strongest blessings. That 's probatum ! 
 Nothing can stand 'gainst that. 
 
 But. So do, Macdonald ! 
 
 But now go and select from out the regiment 
 Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, 
 And let them take the oaths to the Emperor. 
 Then, when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds 
 Are pass'd, conduct them, silently as may be, 
 To th' house I will myself be not far off. 
 
 Dev. But how do we get through Hartschier and 
 
 Gordon, 
 That stand on guard there in the inner chamber? 
 
 But. I have made myself acquainted with the place. 
 I lead you through a back door that's defended 
 By one man only. Me my rank and office 
 Give access to the Duke at every hour. 
 I'll go before you with one pointed stroke 
 Cut Hartchier's wind-pipe, and make way for you. 
 
 Dev. And when we are there, by what means shall 
 
 we gain 
 
 The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming 
 The servants of the Court ? for he has here 
 A ttumerous company of followers. 
 
 But. The attendants fill the right wing ; he hates 
 
 bustle, 
 And lodges in the left wing quite alone. 
 
TtfE DBA.TH OF WALLBNSTEIN. 320 
 
 Dev. Were it well over hey, Macdonald ? I 
 Feel queerly on the occasion, devil knows ! 
 
 Macd. And I too. 'T is too great a personage. 
 People will hold us for a brace of villains. 
 But. In plenty, honour, splendour. You may 
 
 safely 
 Laugh at the people's babble. 
 
 &"> If the business 
 
 Squares with one's honour if that be quite certain 
 But. Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for 
 
 Ferdinand 
 
 His crown and empire. The reward can be 
 No small one. 
 
 Dev. And 't is his purpose to dethrone the Emperor? 
 But. Yes ! Yes ! to rob him of his crown and life. 
 Dev. And he must fall by the executioner's hands, 
 Should we deliver him up to the Emperor 
 Alive? 
 
 But. It were his certain destiny. 
 Dev. Well ! Well ! Come then, Macdonald, he shall 
 
 not 
 Lie long in pain. 
 
 [Exeunt Butler through one door, Macdonald 
 and Devereux through the other. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Scene A Gothic and gloomy apartment at the 
 DUCHESS FRIEDLAND'S. THEKLA on a seat, 
 pale, her eyes closed. The DUCHESS and LADY 
 NEUBRUNN busied about her. W ALLEN STEIN and 
 the COUNTESS in conversation. 
 
 Wai. How knew she it so soon ? 
 Coun. She seems to have 
 
 Foreboded some mufbrtnca, The report 
 * P i* 
 
830 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Of an engagement, in the which had fallen 
 
 A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her. 
 
 I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 
 
 The Swedish courier, and with sudden questioning, 
 
 Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret. 
 
 Too late we miss'd her, hasten'd fter her, 
 
 We found her lying in his arms, all pale 
 
 And in a swoon. 
 
 Wai. A heavy, heavy blow ! 
 
 And she so unprepar'd ! Poor child ! How is it ? 
 
 [Turning to the Duchess. 
 Is she coming to herself? 
 
 Duch. Her eyes are opening. 
 
 Coun. She lives. 
 
 Thek. (looking round her). Where am I ? 
 
 Wai. (steps to her, raising her up in his arms). Come 
 
 cheerly, Thekla ! be my own brave girl ! 
 See, there 's thy loving mother. Thou art in 
 Thy father's arms. 
 
 Thek. (standing up). Where is he? Is he gone? 
 
 Duch. Who gone, my daughter? 
 
 Ttiek. He the man who utter'd 
 
 That word of misery. 
 
 Duch. O! think not of it, 
 
 My Thekla ! 
 
 Wai. Give her sorrow leave to talk ! 
 
 Let her complain mingle your tears with hers, 
 For she hath suffered a deep anguish ; but 
 She '11 rise superior to it, for my Thekla 
 Hath all her father's unsubdued heart. 
 
 Thek. I am not ill. See, I have power to stand. 
 Why does my mother weep ? Have I alarmed her ? 
 It. is gone by I recollect myself. 
 
 [She casts her eyes round the room, as seekina 
 some one. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 331 
 
 "Where is he? Please you, do not hide him from me. 
 You see, I have strength enough : now I will hear 
 him. 
 
 Duch. No, never shall this messenger of evil 
 Enter again into thy presence, Thekla. 
 
 Thek. My father 
 
 Wai. Dearest daughter ! 
 
 Thek. Pm not weak 
 
 Shortly I shall be quite myself again. 
 You'll grant me one request? 
 
 Wai. Name it, my daughter- 
 
 Thek. Permit the stranger to be call'd to me, 
 And grant me leave, that by myself I may 
 Hear his report and question him. 
 
 Duch. No, never ! 
 
 Coun. 'T is not advisable assent not to it. 
 
 Wai. Hush ! Wherefore would'st thou speak with 
 him, my daughter ? 
 
 TJiek. Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected ; 
 I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 
 Only to spare me. I will not be sparM. 
 The worst is said already : I can hear 
 Nothing of deeper anguish ! 
 
 Duch. and Coun. . Do it not. 
 
 Thek. The horror overpowered me by surprise. 
 My heart betray'd me in the stranger's presence ; 
 He was a witness of my weakness, yea, 
 I sank into his arms ; and that has sham'd me. 
 I must replace myself in his esteem, 
 And I must speak with him, perforce, that he, 
 The stranger, may not think ungently of me. 
 
 Wai. I see she is in the right, and am inclined 
 To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him. 
 
 \lLady Neubrunn goes to call him, 
 
 Duch. But I, thy mother, will be present 
 
332 
 
 Thek. 'T were 
 
 More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him : 
 Trust me, I shall behave myself the more 
 Collectedly. 
 
 Wai. Permit her her own will. 
 
 Leave her alone with him ; for there are sorrows, 
 Where, of necessity, the soul must be 
 Its own support. A strong heart will rely 
 On its own strength alone. In her own bosom, 
 Not in her mother's arms, must she collect 
 The strength to rise superior to this blow. 
 It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated 
 Not as a woman, but the heroine. [Going. 
 
 Coun. (detaining him). Where art thou going ? I 
 
 heard Tertsky say 
 
 That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence 
 To-morrow early, but to leave us here. 
 
 Wai. Yes, ye stay here, plac'd under the protection 
 Of gallant men. 
 
 Coun. O take us with you, brother, 
 
 Leave us not in this gloomy solitude, 
 To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt 
 Magnify evils to a shape of horror. 
 
 Wai. Who speaks of evil ? I intreat you, sister, 
 Use words of better omen. 
 
 Coun. Then take us with you. 
 
 leave us not behind you in a place 
 That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy 
 And sick within me is my heart 
 
 These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault. 
 
 1 cannot tell you, brother, how this place 
 
 Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 
 Come, sister, join you your intreaty ! Niece, 
 Your's too. We all intreat you, take us with you ' 
 Wai The place's evil omens will I change, 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 333 
 
 Making it that which shields and shelters for me 
 My best-belov'd. 
 
 Neub. (returning). The Swedish officer. 
 
 Wai. Leave her alone with him. [Exit. 
 
 Duck, (to Thekla, who starts and shivers). There 
 
 pale as death ! Child, 'tis impossible 
 That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy 
 
 mother. 
 
 Thek. The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me. 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Countess. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 THEKLA, the SWEDISH CAPTAIN, LADY NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Capt. (respectfully approaching her). Princess I 
 
 must intreat your gentle pardon 
 My inconsiderate rash speech How could 1 
 
 Thek. (with dignity). You have beheld me in my 
 
 agony. 
 
 A most distressful accident occasion'd 
 You, from a stranger to become at once 
 My confidant. 
 
 Capt. I fear you hate my presence, 
 
 For my tongue spake a melancholy word. 
 
 Thek. The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from 
 
 you. 
 
 The horror which came o'er me interrupted 
 Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 
 Continue it to the end. 
 
 Capt. Princess, 't will 
 
 .Renew your anguish. 
 
 Ttiek. I am firm. 
 
 I will be firm. Well how began the engegememt ? 
 
 Capt. We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt, 
 Intrenched but insecurely in our camp, 
 
834 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 When towards evening rose a cloud of dust 
 From the wood thitherward ; our vanguard fled 
 Into the camp, and sounded the alarm. 
 Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers, 
 Their horses at full speed, broke thro' the lines, 
 And leap'd the trenches ; but their heedless courage 
 Had borne them onward far before the others 
 The infantry were still at distance, only 
 The Pappenheimers followed daringly 
 
 Their daring leader 
 
 [Thekla betrays agitation in her gestures. The 
 Officer pauses till she makes a sign to him to 
 proceed. 
 
 Both in van and flanks 
 
 With our whole cavalry we now receiv'd them, 
 Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot 
 Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. 
 They neither could advance, nor yet retreat ; 
 And as they stood on every side wedg'd in. 
 The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud, 
 Inviting a surrender ; but their leader, 
 
 Young Piccolomini 
 
 \Thekla, as giddy, grasps a chair. 
 
 Known by his plume, 
 
 And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches ; 
 Himself leap'd first, the regiment all plung'd after. 
 His charger, by an halbert gor'd, rear'd up, 
 Flung him with violence off, and over him. 
 
 The horses, now no longer to be curb'd 
 
 [Thekla, who has accompanied the last speech with 
 all the marks of increasing agony, trembles 
 through her whole frame, and is falling. The 
 Lady Neubrunn runs to her, and receives her 
 into her arms. 
 Neub. My dearest Lady 
 
THE DEATH Of W ALLEN STEIN. 33o 
 
 Capt. I retire. 
 
 Thek. . 'Tis over. 
 
 Proceed to the conclusion. 
 
 Capt. Wild despair 
 
 Inspird the troops with frenzy when they saw 
 Their leader perish ; every thought of rescue 
 Was spurn' d ; they fought like wounded tigers ; their 
 Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery ; 
 A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 
 Finished before their last man fell. 
 
 Thek. (faltering). And where 
 
 Where is You have not told me all. 
 
 Capt. (after a pause). This morning 
 
 We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth 
 Did bear him to interment j the whole army 
 Follow'd the bier. A laurel deck'd his coffin ; 
 The sword of the deceas'd was plac'd upon it, 
 In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self. 
 Nor tears were wanting ; for there are among us 
 Many, who had themselves experienced 
 The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners ; 
 All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave 
 Would willingly have sav'd him ; but himself 
 Made vain th' attempt 'tis said he wish'd to die. 
 
 Neub. (to Thekla, who has hidden her countenance) 
 Look up, my dearest Lady 
 
 Tfiek. Where is his grave ? 
 
 Capt. At Neustadt, Lady ; in a cloister church 
 Are his remains deposited, until 
 We can receive directions from his father. 
 
 Thek. What is the cloister's name ? 
 
 Capt. Saint Catherine's. 
 
 Thek. And how far is it thither ? 
 
 Capt. Near twelve leagues. 
 
 . And which the way ? 
 
336 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Capt. You go by Tirschenreit. 
 
 And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts. 
 
 Thek. Who 
 
 Is their commander ? 
 
 Capt. Colonel Seckendorf. 
 
 [Thekla steps to the table, and takes a ring from 
 
 a casket. 
 
 Thek. You have beheld me in my agony, 
 And shown a feeling heart. Please you, accept 
 
 [Giving him the ring. 
 A small memorial of this hour. Now go ! 
 
 Capt. (confused). Princess 
 
 [Thekla silently makes signs to him to go, and 
 turns from him. The Captain lingers, and is 
 about to speak. Lady Neubrunn repeats the 
 signal, and he retires. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Thek. (falls on Lady Neubrunn' s neck). No\v, 
 
 gentle Neubrunn, show me the affection 
 Which thou hast ever promised prove thyself 
 My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim, 
 This night we must away ! 
 
 Neub. Away ! and whither ? 
 
 Thek. Whither! There is but one place in the world 
 Thither where he lies buried ! To his coffin ! 
 
 Neub. What would you do there ? 
 
 Thek. What do there? 
 
 That wouldst thou not have ask'd, hadst thou e'er lov'd. 
 There, there is all that still remains of him. 
 That single spot is the whole earth to me. 
 
 Neub. That place of death 
 
THK DEATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 337 
 
 Thek. Is now the only place, 
 
 Where life yet dwells for me : detain me not! 
 Come and make preparations : let us think 
 Of means to fly from hence. 
 
 Neub. Your father's rage 
 
 Thek. That time is past- 
 
 And now I fear no human being's rage. 
 
 Neub. The sentence of the world ! The tongue of 
 calumny ! 
 
 Thek. Whom am I seeking ? Him who is no more. 
 Am I then hastening to the arms O God ! 
 I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 
 
 Neub. And we alone, two helpless feeble women ? 
 
 Thek. We will take weapons ; my arm shall protect 
 thee. 
 
 Neub. In the dark night time ? 
 
 Thek. Darkness will conceal us. 
 
 Neub. This rough tempestuous night 
 
 Thek. Had he a soft bed 
 
 Under the hoofs of his war-horses ? 
 
 Neub. Heaven ! 
 
 And then the many posts of the enemy ! 
 
 Thek. They are human beings. Misery travels free 
 Through the whole earth. 
 
 Neub. The journey's weary length 
 
 Thek. The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine 
 Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 
 
 Neub. How can we pass the gates ? 
 
 Thek. Gold opens them. 
 
 Go, do but go. 
 
 Neub. Should we be recogniz'd 
 
 Thek. In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, 
 Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland. 
 
 Neub. And where procure we horses for our flight ? 
 
 Thek. My equery procures them. Go and fetch him. 
 G G 
 
308 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Neub. Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord ? 
 
 Thek. He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer. 
 
 Neub. Dear lady ! and your mother ? 
 
 Thek. Oh ! my mother ! 
 
 Neub. So much as she has puffer'd too already ; 
 Your tender mother Ah ! how ill prepared 
 For this last anguish I 
 
 Thek. Woe is me I my mother ! 
 
 [Pauses. 
 Go instantly. 
 
 Neub. But think what you are doing ! 
 
 Thek. What can be thought, already has been 
 thought. 
 
 Neub. And being there, what purpose you to do ? 
 
 Thek. There a Divinity will prompt my soul. 
 
 Neub. Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted ! 
 And this is not the way that leads to quiet. 
 
 TJiek. To a deep quiet, such as he has found, 
 It draws me on, I know not what to name it ; 
 .Resistless does it draw me J;o his grave. 
 There will my heart be eas'd, my tears will flow. 
 
 hasten, make no further questioning ! 
 There is no rest for me till I have left 
 
 These walls they fall in on me A dim power 
 Drives me from hence Oh mercy ! What a feeling ! 
 What pale and hollow forms are those ! They fill, 
 They crowd the place ! I have no longer room here ! 
 Mercy ! Still more ! More still ! The hideous swarm ? 
 
 They press on me! they chase me from these walls 
 
 Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men ! 
 Neub. You frighten me so, lady, that no longer 
 
 1 dare stay here myself. I go and call 
 Rosenberg instantly. [Exit Lady Neubrunn. 
 
THE DKATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 339 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Thek. His spirit 'tis that calls me : 'tis the troop 
 Of his true followers, who ofier'd up 
 Themselves t' avenge his death ! and they accuse me 
 Of an ignoble loitering they would not 
 Forsake their leader even in his death they died for 
 him! 
 
 And shall I live ? 
 
 For me, too, was that laurel garland twin'd 
 That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket 
 I throw it from me. O, my only hope ; 
 To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds 
 That is the lot of heroes upon earth. 
 
 [Exit TJiekla* 
 (The curtain drops.) 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which ex- 
 tends far into the back-ground. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. (sitting at a table). The SWEDISH 
 CAPTAIN (standing before him). 
 
 Wat. Commend me to your lord. I sympathize 
 In his good fortune ; and if you have seen me 
 Deficient in the expressions of that joy, 
 
 * The soliloquy of Thekla consists, in the original, of six and twenty 
 lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I 
 thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed, the whole scene between 
 Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted with 
 oat injury to the play. 
 
 O G 2 
 
.340 THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 
 
 Which such a victory might well demand. 
 
 Attribute it to no lack of good will, 
 
 For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell, 
 
 And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow 
 
 The citadel shall be surrender'd to you, 
 
 On your arrival. 
 
 [The Swedish Captain retires. Wallenstein 
 sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, 
 and his head sustained by his hand. The 
 Countess Tertshy enters, stands before him 
 awhile, unobserved by him; at length he 
 starts, sees her, and recollects himself 
 Wai. Com'st thou from her ? Is she restored ? How 
 
 is she ? 
 
 Coun. My sister tells me she was more collected 
 After her conversation with the Swede. 
 She has now retired to rest. 
 
 Wai. The pang will soften. 
 
 She will shed tears. 
 
 Coun. I find thee alter'd too, 
 
 My brother ! After such a victory 
 I had expected to have found in thee 
 A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm ! 
 Sustain, uphold us ! For our light thou art, 
 Our sun. 
 
 Wai. Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's 
 
 Thy husband? 
 
 Coun. At a banquet he and Illo*. 
 
 Wai. (rises and strides across the saloon). 
 The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy 
 
 chamber. 
 
 Coun. Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee ! 
 Wai. (moves to the window}. There is a busy motion 
 
 in the Heaven. 
 The wind doth chase the rlag upon the tower, 
 
THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 341 
 
 Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle of the moon,* 
 
 Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light, 
 
 No form of star is visible ! That one 
 
 White stain of light, that single glimnr ring yonder 
 
 Is from Cassiopeia, and therein 
 
 Is Jupiter, (a pause}. But now 
 
 The blackness of the troubled element hides him ! 
 
 [He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks 
 
 vacantly into the distance. 
 
 Coun. (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his 
 hand.) 
 
 What art thou brooding on? 
 Wai. Methinks 
 
 If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. 
 He is the star of my nativity, 
 And often marvellously hath his aspect 
 Shot strength into my heart. 
 
 Coun. Thou'lt see him again. 
 
 Wai. (remains for awhile with absent mind, then 
 assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly 
 to the Countess. 
 
 See him again? O never, never again. 
 Coun. How? 
 
 * These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite 
 felicity. 
 
 Am Himmel ist gesch&stige Bewegung, 
 Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, scknell geht 
 Der Wolken Zug, die Mondes-sichel wankt, 
 Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle. 
 
 The word " moon-sickle," reminds me of a passage in Harris, as 
 quoted by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened 
 part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, 
 which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, 
 or from the new moon to the full ; but from full to a new again, the 
 enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated." 
 
 The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. 
 The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either 
 vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. 
 G 6 3 
 
342 THE DEATH OF WALLEITSTEIIT. 
 
 Wai. He is gone- is dust. 
 
 Coun. Whom mean'st thou then ? 
 
 Wai. He the more fortunate ! yea, lie hath finished f 
 For him there is no longer any future 
 His life is bright bright without spot it was, 
 And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 
 Knocks at his door with tidings of mis-hap. 
 Far off is he, above desire and fear ; 
 No more submitted to the change and chance 
 Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well 
 With him ! but who knows what the coming hour, 
 Veil'd in thick darkness, brings for us ! 
 
 Coun. Thou speakest 
 
 Of Piccolomini. What was his death ? 
 The courier had just left thee, as I came. 
 
 [Wallenstein by a motion of his hand makes 
 
 signs to her to be silent. 
 Turc iot thine eyes upon the backward view, 
 Let us look forward into sunny days. 
 Welcome with joyous heart the victory, 
 Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, 
 For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead ; 
 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. 
 
 Wai. This anguish will be wearied down,* I know: 
 What pa:ig is permanent with man ? From th' highest, 
 As from the vilest thing of every day 
 He learns to wean himself ; for the strong hours 
 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost 
 In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life. 
 For O ! he stood beside me, like my youth, 
 
 * A very inadequate translation of the original, 
 
 " Verschmerzen werd'ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich, 
 Denn was verschmerite nicht der Mensch!" 
 
 LITERALLY. 
 
 I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious t 
 What does not man grieve down ? 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 343 
 
 Transform'd for me the real to a dream, 
 Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
 With golden exhalations of the dawn. 
 Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, 
 The beautiful is vanish'd and returns not. 
 
 Coun. O be not treacherous to thy own power. 
 Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 
 Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him, 
 The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold. 
 
 Wai. (stepping to the door}. Who interrupts us 
 
 now at this late hour ? 
 It is the Governor. He brings the keys 
 Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister ! 
 
 Coun. O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee 
 A boding fear possesses me ! 
 
 Wai. Fear ? Wherefore ? 
 
 Coun. Shouldst thou depart this night, and we, at 
 
 waking, 
 Never more find thee ! 
 
 Wai. Fa^ies! 
 
 Coun. O my soul 
 
 Has long been weigh'd down by these dark fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 And if I combat and repel them waking, 
 They still rush down upon my heart in dreams. 
 I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife 
 Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attir'd. 
 
 Wai. This was a dream of favourable omen, 
 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. 
 
 Coun. To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee 
 In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, lo ! 
 It was no more a chamber, the Chartreuse 
 At Gitschen 'twas, which thou thyselt hast founded, 
 And where it is thy will that thou should'st be 
 Interred. 
 
*U4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Wai. Thy soul is busy with these thoughts. 
 
 Coun. What dost thou not believe, that oft in dreams 
 A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us? 
 
 Wai. There is no doubt that there exist such voices. 
 Yet I would not call them 
 Voices of warning that announce to us 
 Only the inevitable. As the sun, 
 Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image 
 In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits 
 Of great events stride on before the events ; 
 And in to-day already walks to-morrow. 
 That which we read of the fourth Henry's death, 
 Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale 
 Of my own future destiny. The king 
 Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, 
 Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. 
 His quiet mind forsook him ; the phantasma 
 Started him in his Louvre, chas'd him forth 
 Into the open air ; like funeral knells 
 Sounded that coronation festival ! 
 And still with boding sense he heard the tread 
 Of those feet, that e'en then were seeking him 
 Throughout the streets of Paris. 
 
 Coun. And to thee 
 
 The voice within thy soul bodes nothing ? 
 
 Wai. Nothing. 
 
 Be wholly tranquil. 
 
 Coun. And another time 
 
 I hasten'd after thee, and thou ran'st from me 
 Thro* a long suite, thro' many a spacious hall. 
 There seem'd no end of it doors creek'd and clapp'd > 
 I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee : 
 When on a sudden did I feel myself 
 Grasp'd from behind the hand was cold, that grasp'd 
 me 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN. S-lf 
 
 Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seem'd 
 A crimson covering to envelope us. 
 
 Wai. That is the crimson tap'stry of my chamber. 
 Coun. (gazing on him). If it should come to that 
 
 if I should see thee, 
 
 Who standest now before me in the fulness 
 Of life 
 
 [She falls on his breast and weeps. 
 Wai. The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon 
 
 thee 
 Alphabets would not and he finds no hands. 
 
 Coun. If he should find them, my resolve is taken 
 I bear about me my support and refuge. 
 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 WALLENSTEIN, GORDON. 
 
 Wai. All quiet in the town ? 
 
 Gor. The town is quiet. 
 
 Wai. I hear a boisterous music ! and the Castle 
 Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ? 
 
 Gor. There is a banquet given at the Castle 
 To the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo. 
 
 Wai. In honour of the victory. This tribe 
 Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting. 
 
 [Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters. 
 Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep. 
 
 [Wallenstein takes the keys from Gordon. 
 So we are guarded from all enemies. 
 And shut in with sure friends. 
 For all must cheat me. or a face like this 
 
 [Fixing his eye on Gordon. 
 Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask, 
 
848 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 \The Groom of the Chamber takes off his 
 
 mantle, collar, and scarf. 
 Wa i Take care what is that? 
 
 Groom of the Cham. The golden chain is snapp'd 
 
 in two. . 
 
 Wai. Well, ithas lasted long enough. Here give it. 
 \He takes and looks at the chain. 
 Twas the first present of the Emperor. 
 He hung it round me in the war of Friule, 
 He being then Archduke ; and I have worn it 
 
 Till now from habit 
 
 From superstition, if you will. Belike, 
 
 It was to be a Talisman to me, 
 
 And while I wore it on my neck in faith, 
 
 It was to chain to me all my life long, 
 
 The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was. 
 
 Well, be it so ! Henceforward a new fortune 
 
 Must spring up for me ; for the potency 
 
 Of this charm is dissolved. 
 
 [Groom of the Chamber retires with the vest- 
 ments. Wallenstein rises, takes a stride 
 across the room, and stands at last before 
 Gordon in a posture of meditation. 
 How the old time returns upon me ! I 
 Behold myself once more at Burgau, where 
 We two were pages of the court together. 
 We oftentimes disputed: thy intention 
 Was ever good ! but thou wert wont to play 
 The moralist and preacher, and would'st rail at me 
 That I strove after things too high for me, 
 Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, 
 And still extol to me the golden mean. 
 Thy wisdom hath been prov'd a thriftless friend 
 To thy own self. See, it has made thee early 
 A superannuated man, and (but 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTKIN. 347 
 
 That my munificent stars will intervene) 
 Would let thee in some miserable corner 
 Go out, like an untended lamp. 
 
 Gor. My Prince! 
 
 With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, 
 And watches from the shore the lofty ship 
 Stranded amid the storm. 
 
 Wai. Art thou already 
 
 In harbour then, old man ? Well ! I am not. 
 The uneonquer'd spirit drives me o'er life's billows ; 
 My planks still firm, my canvass swelling proudly. 
 Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate ; 
 And while we stand thus front to front almost, 
 I might presume to say, that the swift years 
 Have pass'd by powerless o'er my unblanch'd hair. 
 
 [He moves with long strides across the saloon y 
 and remains on the opposite side, over against 
 Gordon. 
 
 Who now persists in calling Fortune false ? 
 To me she has prov'd faithful, with fond love 
 Took me from out the common ranks of men, 
 And, like a mother goddess, with strong arm, 
 Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. 
 Nothing is common in my destiny, 
 Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares 
 Interpret then my life for me, as 'twere 
 One of the undistinguishable many ? 
 True, in this present moment I appear 
 Fallen low indeed : but I shall rise again. 
 The high flood will soon follow on this ebb ; 
 The fountain of my fortune, which now stops, 
 Repress'd and bound by some malicious star, 
 Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes. 
 
 Gor. And yet remember I the good old proverb, 
 < Let the night come before we praise the day.' 
 
348 THE DEATH OF WAM.ENSTEIN. 
 
 I would be slow from long-continued fortune 
 To gather hope ; for hope is the companion 
 Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven. 
 Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men ! 
 For still unsteady are the scales of fate. 
 
 Wai. (smiling). I hear the very Gordon that of old 
 Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching ; 
 I know well, that all sublunary things 
 Are still the vassals of vicissitude. 
 The unpropitious gods demand their tribute. 
 This, long ago, the ancient Pagans knew : 
 And therefore of their own accord they offer'd 
 To themselves injuries, so to atone 
 The jealousy of their divinities ; 
 And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. 
 
 [After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued 
 
 manner. 
 
 I too have sacrific'd to him For me 
 There fell the dearest friend ; and through my fault 
 He fell ! No joy from favourable fortune 
 Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. 
 The envy of my destiny is glutted : 
 Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning 
 Was drawn off, which would else have shatter'd me. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 To these enter SENT. 
 
 Wai. Is not that Seni ? and beside himself, 
 If one may trust his looks ! What brings thee hither 
 At this late hour, Baptista ? 
 
 Seni. Terror, Duke ! 
 
 On thy account. 
 
 Wai. What now? 
 
 Seni. Flee ere the day break ! 
 
 Trust not thy person to the Swedes ! 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 349 
 
 Wai. What now 
 
 Is in thy thoughts? 
 
 'leni. (with louder voice). Trust not thy person to 
 these Swedes. 
 
 Wai What is it then? 
 
 Seni. (still more urgently). O wait not the arrival 
 
 of these Swedes ! 
 
 An evil near at hand is threatening thee 
 Trom false friends. All the signs stand full of horror ? 
 Near, near at hand the net- work of perdition 
 Yea, even now 'tis being cast round thee ! 
 
 Wai. Baptista, thou art dreaming ! Fear befools 
 thee. 
 
 Seni. Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. 
 Come, read it in the planetary aspects ; 
 Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee 
 From false friends ! 
 
 Wai. From the falseness of my friends 
 
 Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. 
 The warning should have come before ! At present 
 I need no revelation from the stars 
 To know that. - 
 
 Seni. Come and see ! trust thine own eyes ! 
 
 A fearful sign stands in the house of life j 
 An enemy, a fiend lurks close behind 
 The radiance of thy planet O be warn'd ! 
 Deliver not thyself up to these heathens 
 To wage a war against our holy church. 
 
 Wai. (laughing gently). The oracle rails that way ! 
 
 Yes, yes ! Now 
 
 I recollect. This junction with the Swedes 
 Did never please thee lay thyself to sleep, 
 Baptista ! Signs like these I do not fear. 
 
 Gor. [who during the whole of this dialogue has 
 shown marks of extreme agitation, and now 
 H H 
 
350 THE DKATH OF WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 turns to Wallenstein). My Duke and G 
 neral ! May 
 
 I dare presume ; 
 
 Wai Speak freely. 
 
 GOT. What? if 't were no mere creation 
 
 Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafd 
 To interpose its aid for your deliverance, 
 And made that mouth its organ. 
 
 Wai. Ye're both feverish ! 
 
 How can mishap come to me from the Swedes ? 
 They sought this junction with me 'tis their interest. 
 
 Gor. (with difficulty suppressing his emotion). But 
 
 what if the arrival of these Swedes 
 What if these were the very thing that wing'd 
 The ruin that is flying to your temples? 
 
 [Flings himself at his feet. 
 There is yet time, my Prince 
 
 SenL O hear him ! hear him ! 
 
 Gor. (rises}. The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give 
 
 but the order 
 
 This citadel shall close its gates upon him. 
 If, then, he will besiege us, let him try it 
 But this I say ; he'll find his own destruction 
 With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner 
 Than weary down the valour of our spirit. 
 He shall experience what a band of heroes, 
 Inspirited by an heroic leader, 
 Is able to perform. And if indeed 
 It be thy serious wish to make amend 
 For that which thou hast done amiss, this, this 
 Will touch and reconcile the Emperor, 
 Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy ; 
 And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 
 Will yet stand higher in his Emperor's favour, 
 Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 35] 
 
 Wai. (contemplates him with surprise, remains 
 
 silent awhile, betraying strong emotion}. 
 Gordon your zeal and fervour lead you far. 
 Well, well an old friend has a privilege. 
 Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 
 Can the Emperor pardon me : and if he could, 
 Yet I I ne'r could let myself be pardon'd. 
 Had I foreknown what now has taken place, 
 That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, 
 My first death-offering ; and had the heart 
 Spoken to me, as now it has done Gordon, 
 It may be, I might have bethought myself. 
 It may be too, I might not. Might, or might not, 
 Is now an idle question. All too seriously 
 Has it begun, to end in nothing, Gordon ! 
 Let it then have its course. 
 
 [Stepping to the icindoio. 
 All dark and silent at the Castle too 
 All is now hush'd Light me, Chamberlain ! 
 
 [The Groom of the Chamber, who had entered 
 during the last dialogue, and Jiad been stand- 
 ing at a distance and listening to it with 
 visible expressions of the deepest interest, 
 advances in extreme agitation, and throws 
 himself at the Duke's feet. ' 
 And thou too ! But I know why thou dost wish 
 My reconcilement with the Emperor. 
 Poor man ! he hath a small estate in Cam then. 
 And fears it will be forfeited because 
 He 's in my service. Am I then so poor, 
 That I no longer can indemnify 
 My servants ? Well ! to no one I employ 
 Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief 
 That fortune has fled from me, go ! Forsake me. 
 This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, 
 
 H H 2 
 
352 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And then go over to thy Emperor. 
 
 Gordon, good night ! I think to make a long 
 
 Sleep of it ; for the struggle and the turmoil 
 
 Of this last day or two was great. May't please you ! 
 
 Take care that they awake me not too early. 
 
 [Exit Wattenstein, the Groom of the Chamber 
 lighting him. Sent follows. Gordon re- 
 mains on the darkened stage, following the 
 Duke with his eye, till he disappears at the 
 farther end of the gallery ; then by his ges- 
 tures the old man expresses the depth of his 
 anguish t and stands leaning against a pillar. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 GORDON, BUTLER, (at first behind the scenes). 
 
 But. (not yet come into view of the stage). Here 
 
 stand in silence till I give the signal. 
 Gor. (starts up). 'Tis he, he has already brought 
 
 the murderers. 
 
 But. The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep. 
 Gor. What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him ? 
 Shall I call up the house ? Alarm the guards ? 
 
 But. (appears but scarcely on the stage). A light 
 
 gleams hither from the corridor, 
 It leads directly to the Duke's bed-chamber. 
 
 Gor. But then I break my oath to the Emperor ! 
 If he escape and strengthen the enemy, 
 Do I not hereby call down on my head 
 All the dread consequences ? 
 
 But. (stepping forward). Hark ! Who speaks 
 
 there ? 
 
 Gor. 'Tis better, I resign it to the hands 
 Of Providence. For what am I, that I 
 Should take upon myself so great a deed ? 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 353 
 
 I have not murder'd him, if be be murder'd ; 
 But all his rescue were my act and deed ; 
 Mine and whatever be the consequences, 
 I must sustain them. 
 
 But. (advances). I should know that voice. 
 
 Gar. Butler! 
 
 But. "Pis Gordon. What do you want here? 
 Was it so late, then, when the Duke dismiss'd you ? 
 
 Gor. Your hand bound up and in a scarf? 
 
 But. 'Tis wounded, 
 
 That Illo fought as he were frantic, till 
 At last we threw him on the ground. 
 
 Gor. (shuddering}. Both dead ? 
 
 But. Is he in bed? 
 
 Gor. Ah, Butler! 
 
 But. Is he ? speak. 
 
 Gor. He shall not perish ! Not through you ! The 
 
 Heaven 
 Refuses your arm. See 'tis wounded ! 
 
 But. There is no need of my arm. 
 
 Gor. The most guilty 
 
 Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice. 
 
 [The Groom of the Chamber advances from 
 the gallery, with his finger on his mouthy 
 commanding silence. 
 
 Gor. He sleeps 1 O murder not the holy sleep ! 
 
 But. No ! he shall die awake. 
 
 [Is going. 
 
 Gor. His heart still cleaves 
 
 To earthly things j he's not prepared to step 
 Into the presence of his God I 
 
 But. (going). God is merciful ! 
 
 Gor. (holds him). Grant him this night's respite. 
 
 But. (hurrying off). The next moment 
 
 May ruin all. 
 
 H H 3 
 
J)64 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Gor. (holds him still). One hour ! 
 
 But. Unhold me ! What 
 
 Can that short respite profit him T 
 
 Gor. O Time 
 
 Works miracles. In one hour many thousands 
 Of grains of sand run out ; and quick as they, 
 Thought follows thought within the human soul. 
 Only one hour ! Your heart may change its purpose, 
 His heart may change its purpose some new tidings 
 May come ; some fortunate event, decisive, 
 May fall from Heaven and rescue him ! O what 
 May not one hour achieve ! 
 
 But. You but remind me, 
 
 How precious every minute is ! 
 
 f He stamps on the floor. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 To these enter MACDONALD, and DEVEREUX, with 
 the HALBERDIERS. 
 
 Gor. (throwing himself between him and them). No, 
 
 monster ! 
 
 First over my dead body thou shalt tread. 
 I will not live to see the accursed deed ! 
 But. (forcing him out of the way). Weak-hearted 
 dotard ! 
 
 [Trumpets are hear din the distance. 
 Dev. and Macd. Hark! The Swedish trumpets! 
 The Swedes before the ramparts ! Let us hasten! 
 Gor. (rushes out). O God of mercy ' 
 But. (calling after him). Governor, to your post ! 
 Gro. of the Cham, (hurries in). Who dares make 
 
 larum here ? Hush ! The Duke sleeps. 
 &ev. (with a loud harsh voice). Friend, it is time 
 now to make larum. 
 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 355 
 
 Gro. of the Cham. Help! 
 
 Murder! : ^ 
 
 But. Down with him ! 
 
 Gro. of the Cham, {run through the body by Dev- 
 ereux, falls at the entrance of the gallery}, 
 Jesus Maria ! 
 
 But. Burst the doors open . 
 
 [They rush over the body into the gallery two 
 doors are heard to crash one after the other 
 voices deadened by the distance clash of 
 arms then all at once a profound silence. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Coun. Ter. (with a light). Her bed-chamber is 
 
 empty ; she herself 
 
 Is nowhere to be found ! The Neubrunn too, 
 Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should 
 Be flown But whither flown ? We must call up 
 Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 
 Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O 
 If that my husband now were but returned 
 Home from the banquet : Hark ! I wonder whether 
 The Duke is still awake ! I thought I heard 
 Voices and tread of feet here ! I will go 
 And listen at the door. Hark! What is that? 
 'Tis hastening up the steps ! 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 COUNTESS, GORDON. 
 
 Gor. (rushes in out of breath). 'Tis a mistake, 
 'Tis not the Swedes Ye must proceed no further 
 Butler! O God ! Where is he? 
 
 [Then observing the Count eu. 
 Countess! Say 
 
356 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIW. 
 
 Coun. You are come then from the Castle ? Where's 
 
 my husbajnd ? 
 Gor. (in an agony of affright). Your husband !- 
 
 Ask not ! To the Duke 
 Coun. Not till 
 
 Vou have discover'd to me 
 
 Gor. On this moment 
 
 Does the world hang. For God's sake ! to the Duke. 
 While we are speaking 
 
 [Calling loudly. 
 Butler! Butler! God! 
 
 Coun. Why, he is at the Castle with my husband ! 
 [Butler comes from the gallery. 
 Gor. 'Twas a mistake 'Tis not the Swedes It is 
 The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General 
 Has sent me hither, will be here himself 
 Instantly. You must not proceed. 
 But. He comes 
 
 Too late. 
 
 [Gordon dashes himself against the watt. 
 Gor. O God of mercy ! 
 
 Coun. What too late ? 
 
 Who will be here himself? Octavio 
 In Egra ? Treason ! Treason ! Where's the Duke ? 
 [She rushes to the gallery. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 SERVANTS run across the stage full of terror. The 
 whole scene must be spoken entirely without pauses. 
 
 Seni. (from the gallery}. bloody frightful deed ! 
 
 Coun. What is it, Seni ? 
 
 Page, (from the gallery). piteous signt! 
 
 [Other servants hasten in with torches 
 Coun. What is it ? For God's sake ! 
 
THE DEATH OF \V r ALLEN STEIN. 357 
 
 Sent. And. do you ask ? 
 
 Within the Duke lies murder' d and your husband 
 Assassinated at the Castle. 
 
 [The Countess stands motionless. 
 Fern. Ser. (rushing across the stage). Help ! Help ! 
 
 the Duchess ! 
 
 Burg, (enters). What meant these confus'd 
 
 Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house ? 
 
 Gor. Your house is curs'd to all eternity. 
 In your house doth the Duke lie murdered. 
 Burg, (rushing out). Heaven forbid ! 
 
 First Ser. Fly! fly ! they murder us all ! 
 Second Ser. (carrying silver plate). That way ! 
 
 The lower 
 Passages are block' d up. 
 
 Voice, (from behind the scene). Make room for 
 
 the Lieutenant-General ! 
 [At ttese words the Countess starts from her 
 stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly. 
 Voices, (from behind the scene). Keep back the 
 people ! Guard the door. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 To these enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his 
 train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MAC- 
 DONALD enter from the Corridor with the 
 HALBERDIERS. WALLENSTEIN'S dead body is 
 carried over the bach part of the stage f wrapped in 
 apiece of crimson tapestry. 
 
 Oct. (entering abruptly). It must not be I It is not 
 
 possible ! 
 
 Butler! Gordon 1 
 I'll not believe it. Savoot 
 
358 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTBIN. 
 
 Gor. (without answering, points with his hand to 
 
 t j >.e body of Wallenstein as it is carried over 
 
 the back of the stage. Octavio looks that 
 
 way, ai/:d stands overpowered with horror). 
 
 Dev. (to Butler). Here is the golden fleece the 
 
 Duke's sword 
 Macd. Is it your order ? 
 But. (pointing to Octavio). Here stands he 
 
 who now 
 Hath the sole power to issue orders. 
 
 \Devereux and Macdonald retire with marks 
 
 of obesiance. One drops away after the 
 
 other, till only Butler, Octavio, and Gordon 
 
 remain on the stage. 
 
 Oct. (turning to Butler). Was that my purpose, 
 
 Butler, when we parted ? 
 O God of Justice! 
 
 To thee I lift my hand ! I am not guilty 
 Of this foul deed. 
 
 But. Your hand is pure. You have 
 
 Avail'd yourself of mine. 
 
 Oct. Merciless man ! 
 
 Thus to abuse the orders of thy lord 
 And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, 
 With bloody, most accurs'd assassination ? 
 But. (calmly). I've but fulfill'd the Emperor's own 
 
 sentence. 
 
 Oct. O curse of kings, 
 Infusing a dread life into their words, 
 And linking to the sudden transcient thought 
 The unchangeable, irrevocable deed. 
 Was there necessity for such an eager 
 Despatch ? Could'st tliou not grant the merciful 
 A time for mercy ? Time is man's good angel. 
 To leave no interval between the sentence, 
 
THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 359 
 
 And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem 
 God only, the immutable ! 
 
 But. For what 
 
 Rail you against me ? What is my offence t 
 The empire from a fearful enemy 
 Have I delivered, and expect reward. 
 The single difference betwixt you and me 
 Is this : you plac'd the arrow in the bow ; 
 I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand 
 Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always 
 Knew what I dicl, and therefore no result 
 Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit ; 
 Have you aught else to order ; for this instant 
 I make my best speed to Vienna ; place 
 My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, 
 And hope to gain the applause which undelaying 
 And punctual obedierice may demand 
 From a just judge. [Exit Butler. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 To these enter the COUNTESS TERSTKY, pale and 
 disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble^ and 
 unimpassion'd. 
 
 Oct. (meeting her). O Countess Tertsky ! These 
 
 are results 
 Of luckless unblest deeds. 
 
 Coun. They are the fruits 
 
 Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, 
 My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles 
 In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared. 
 This house of splendour, and of princely glory, 
 Doth now stand desolated : the affrighted servants 
 
360 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEI1C. 
 
 Rush forth thro 7 all its doors. 1 am the last 
 Therein ; I shut it up, and here deliver 
 The keys. 
 
 Oct. (with deep anguish}. O Countess I 
 
 my house too is desolate. 
 
 Coun. Who next is to be murder'd ? Who is next 
 To be maltreated ? Lo ! the Duke is dead. 
 The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified ! 
 Spare the old servants ; let not their fidelity 
 Be imputed to the faithful as a crime 
 The evil destiny surpris'd my brother 
 Too suddenly ; he could not think on them. 
 
 Oct. Speak not of vengeance ! Speak not of 
 
 maltreatment ! 
 
 The Emp'ror is appeas'd ; the heavy fault 
 Hath heavily been expiated nothing 
 Descended from the father to the daughter, 
 Except his glory and his services. 
 The Empress honours your adversity, 
 Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you 
 Her motherly arms ! Therefore no farther fears ! 
 Yield yourself up in hope and confidence 
 To the Imperial grace ! 
 
 Coun. (with her eye rated to heaven). To the 
 
 grace and mercy of a greater Master 
 Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body 
 Of the Duke have its place of final rest ? 
 In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found 
 At Gitschen, rests the Countess Wallenstein ; 
 And by her side, to whom he was indebted 
 For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd 
 He might sometime repose in death j O let him 
 Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's 
 Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor 
 Is now proprietor of all our castles. 
 
THE DEATH. OP V.^I LEflSTEIN. 361 
 
 This sure may well be granted us one sepulchre 
 Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers I 
 Oct. Countess, you tremble, you turn pale ! 
 Coun. (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with 
 
 energy and dignity). You think 
 
 More worthily of me, than to believe 
 I would survive the downfall of my house. 
 We did not hold ourselves too mean, to grasp 
 After a monarch's crown the crown did Fate 
 Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit 
 That to the crown belong ! We deem a 
 Courageous death more worthy of our free station 
 Than a dishonoured life. I have taken poison. 
 Oct. Help ! Help ! Support her ! 
 Coun. . Nay, it is too late, 
 
 In a few moments is my fate accomplish 'd. 
 
 {Exit Countess. 
 Gor. O house of death and horrors I 
 
 [An officer enters^ and brings a letter with the 
 
 great seal. 
 
 Gor. (steps forward and meets him). What is this? 
 It is the Imperial seal. 
 
 [He reads the address and delivers the letter to 
 Octavio with a look of reproach, and with 
 an emphasis on the word- 
 To the Prince Piccolomini. 
 
 (with his whole frame expressive of sudden an- 
 guish, raises his eyes to heaven. 
 
 The Curtain drops. 
 
 1*1 
 
THL tfALL OF ROBESPIERRE; 
 29rama. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO H. MARTIN, 
 OF JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 DEAR SIB, 
 
 ACCEPT, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the follow- 
 ing Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an 
 interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have 
 cast a disastrous iustre on his name. In the execution of the work, 
 as intricacy of plot could not have been attempted without a gross 
 violation of recent facts, it has been my sole aim to imitate the im- 
 passioned and highly figurative language of the French Orators, and 
 to develop the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of 
 horrors. 
 
 Yours fraternally, 
 
 S. T. COLBBIDGE. 
 
 JISDS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794. 
 
THE FALL Of ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE, The Tuilleries. 
 
 Barrere. The tempest gathers be it mine to seek 
 A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. 
 But where ? and how ? I fear the Tyrant's soul 
 Sudden in action, fertile in resource, 
 And rising awful 'mid impending ruins ; 
 In splendour gloomy, as the midnight meteor, 
 That fearless thwarts the elemental war. 
 When last in secret conference we met, 
 He scowl' d upon me with suspicious rage, 
 Making his eye the inmate of my bosom. 
 I know he scorns me and I feel, I hate him 
 Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter TALLIEN and LEGENDRE. 
 Tal. It was Barrere, Legendre ! didst thou mark 
 
 him? 
 
 Abrupt he turn'd, yet linger'd as he went, 
 And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning. 
 
 Leg. I mark'd him well. I met his eye's la$t glance , 
 It menaced not so proudly as of yore. 
 Methought he would have spoke but that he dared 
 
 not 
 
 Such agitation darkened on his brow. 
 i i 2 
 
864 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 Tal. 'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from 
 
 bursting 
 
 Th' imprison'd secret struggling in the face : 
 E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards 
 Hurries the thunder-cloud, that poised awhile 
 Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen. 
 
 Leg. Perfidious Traitor ! still afraid to bask 
 In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent 
 Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant's greatness, 
 Ever prepared to sting who shelters him. 
 Each thought, each action in himself converges ; 
 And love and friendship on his coward heart 
 Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice : 
 To all attach'd, by turns deserting all, 
 Cunning and darka necessary villain ! 
 
 Tal. Yet much depends upon him well you know 
 With plausible harangue *t is his to paint 
 Defeat like victory and blind the mob 
 With truth-mix'd falsehood. They, led on by him 
 And wild of head to work their own destruction, 
 Support with uproar what he plans in darkness. 
 
 Leg. O what a precious name is Liberty 
 To scare or cheat the simple into slaves ! 
 Yes we must gain him over : by dark hints 
 We'll show enough to rouse his watchful fears, 
 Till the cold coward blaze a patriot. 
 O Danton ! murder' d friend ! assist my counsels 
 Hover around me on sad memory's wings, 
 And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart. 
 Tallien ! if but to-morrow's fateful sun 
 Beholds the Tyrant living we are dead ! 
 
 Tal. Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty mean- 
 ings 
 
 Leg. Fear not or rather fear th' alternative, 
 And seek for courage e'en in cowardice, 
 
THE PALL OP ROBESPIERRE. 365 
 
 But see hither he comes let us away ! 
 
 His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon, 
 
 And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and 
 ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR. 
 
 Rob. What ! did La Fayette fall before my power ? 
 And did I conquer Roland's spotless virtues ? 
 The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud's tongue ? 
 And Brissot's thoughtful soul unbribed and bold ? 
 Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them ? 
 What ! did th' assassin's dagger aim its pomt 
 Vain, as a dream of murder, at my bosom ? 
 And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien ? 
 Th' Adonis Tallien ? banquet-hunting Tallien ? 
 Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box ? Him, 
 Who ever on the harlot's downy pillow 
 Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers ! 
 
 St. Just. I cannot fear him yet we must not scorn 
 
 him. 
 
 Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus, 
 Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony ? 
 The state is not yet purified : and though 
 The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies 
 The thick black sediment of all the factions- 
 It needs no magic hand to stir it up ! 
 
 Cou. O we did wrong to spare them fatal error ! 
 Why lived Legendre, when that Dan ton died ? 
 And Collot d'Herbois dangerous in crimes ? 
 I've fear'd him, since his iron heart endured 
 To make of Lyons one vast human shambles, 
 Compared with which the sun-scorch'd wilderness 
 Of Zara were a smiling paradise. 
 
 St. Just. Rightly thou judgest, Couthou I Heisoue, 
 Who flies from silent solitary anguish, 
 I I 3 
 
366 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar 
 
 Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar 
 
 Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself. 
 
 A calm is fatal to him then he feels 
 
 The dire upboilings of the storm within him. 
 
 A tiger mad with inward wounds. 1 dread 
 
 The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt. 
 
 Rob. Is not the commune ours ? The stern tribunal ? 
 Dumas? andVivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet? 
 And Henriot ? We'll denounce a hundred, nor 
 Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward. 
 
 Rob. jun. Nay I am sick of blood ; my aching 
 
 heart 
 
 Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors 
 That still have gloom'd the rise of the republic. 
 I should have died before Toulon, when war 
 Became the patriot! 
 
 Rob. Most unworthy wish ! 
 
 He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors, 
 Would be himself a traitor, where he not 
 A coward ! 'Tis congenial souls alone 
 Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate. 
 O thou art brave, my brother ! and thine eye 
 Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle 
 Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity 
 Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest ! 
 There is unsoundness in the state To-morrow 
 ^Shall see it cleansed by wholesome massacre ! 
 
 Rob. jun. Beware ! already do the sections mur- 
 / mur 
 
 f " O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre- 
 The tyrant guardian of the country's freedom 1" 
 
 Cou. 'T were folly sure to work great deeds by halves 
 Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart 
 Of cold Barrere! 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 367 
 
 Rob. I see the villain in him ! 
 
 Rob. Jun. If he if all forsake thee what remains ? 
 
 Hob. Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul 
 And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues ! 
 The giant Victories, my counsels form'd, 
 Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes, 
 Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless. 
 
 [Exeunt cteteri. Manet COUTHON. 
 
 COM. (solus). So we deceive ourselves ! What goodly 
 
 virtues 
 
 Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition ! 
 Still, Robespierre ! thou'lt guard thy country's freedom 
 To despotize in all the patriot's pomp. 
 While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamours, 
 Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers blood-stain'd tyrant ! 
 Yet what is Conscience ? Superstition's dream, 
 Making such deep impression on our sjeep 
 That long th' awaken'd breast retains its horrors ! 
 But he returns and with him' comes Barrere. 
 
 [Exit COUTHON. 
 Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE. 
 
 Rob. There is no danger but in cowardice. 
 Barrere ! we make the danger, when we fear it. 
 We have such force without, as will suspend 
 The cold and trembling treachery of these members. 
 
 Bar. 'Twill be a pause of terror. 
 
 Mob. But to whom ? 
 
 Rather the short-lived slumber of the tempest, 
 Gathering its strength anew. The dastard traitors ! 
 Moles, that would undermine the rooted oak ! 
 A pause Ia moment's pause ! 'Tis all t/ieir life. 
 
 Bar. Yet much they talk and plausible their speech. 
 Couthon's decree has given such powers, that 
 
 Bob. That what? 
 
 Bar. The freedom of debate 
 
338 TUK FALL OF KO1J P.SPIE RUB. 
 
 Hob. Transparent mask ! 
 
 T hoy wish to clog the wheels of government, 
 Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine 
 To bribe them to their duty English patriots! 
 Are not the congregated clouds of \var 
 Black all around as ? In our very vitals 
 Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion? 
 Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings 
 Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears 
 Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice ? 
 Terror? or secret-sapping gold ? The first 
 Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it; 
 And to the virtuous patriot render'd light 
 By the necessities that gave it birth : 
 The other fouls the font of the republic, 
 Making it flow polluted to all ages ; 
 Inoculates the state with a slow venom, 
 That, once imbibed, must be continued ever. 
 Myself incorruptible, I ne'er could bribe them 
 Therefore they hate me. 
 
 Bar. Are the sections friendly ? 
 
 Rob. There are who wish my ruin but I'll make 
 
 them 
 Blush for the crime in blood ! 
 
 Bar. Nay, but I tell thee, 
 
 Thou art too fond of slaughter and the right 
 (If right it be) workest by most foul means ! 
 
 Hob. Self-centering Fear! how well thou canst 
 
 ape Mercy ! 
 
 Too fond of slaughter ! matchless hypocrite I 
 Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died ? 
 Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming 
 
 streets 
 
 Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er-wearied 
 heavily, intoxicate with blood ? 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 369 
 
 And when (O heavens !) in Lyons' death-red square 
 Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain, 
 Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day ? 
 Why, thon hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors, 
 And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder ! Now 
 Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar, 
 Or, like a frighted child behind its mother, 
 Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of Mercy I 
 
 Bar. O prodigality of eloquent anger ! 
 Why now I see thou'rt weak thy case is desperate ! 
 The cool ferocious Robespierre turned scolder ! 
 
 Rob. Who from a bad man's bosom wards the blow 
 Reserves the wetted dagger for his own. 
 Denounced twice and twice I saved his life ! [Exit t 
 
 Bar. The sections will support them there's the 
 
 point! 
 
 No ! he can never weather out the storm 
 Yet he is sudden in revenge No more ! 
 I must away to Tallien. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE. Changes to the house of ADELAIDE. 
 ADELAIDE enters, speaking to a SERVANT. 
 
 Ade. Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee ? 
 Did Tallien answer, he would soon return ? 
 
 Ser. He is in the Tuilleries with him Legendre 
 In deep discourse they seem'd ; as I approach'd, 
 He waved his hand as bidding me retire : 
 I did not interrupt him. [ Returns the letter. 
 
 Ade. Thou didst rightly. 
 
 [Exit SERVANT. 
 
 O this new freedom ! at how dear a price 
 We've bought the seeming good ! The peaceful virtues^ I 
 And every blandishment of private life, 
 The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment, 
 All sacrificed to Liberty's wild riot. 
 
S70 THE FALL OP ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 The winged hours, that scattered roses round me, 
 Languid and sad drag their slow course along. 
 And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings. 
 But I will steal away these anxious thoughts 
 By the soft languishment of warbled airs, 
 If haply melodies may lull the sense 
 Of sorrow for a while. 
 
 (Soft Music}. 
 Enter TALLIEN. 
 
 Tal Music, my love ? O breathe again that air ! 
 Soft nurse of pain, it soothes the weary soul 
 Of care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze of evening 
 That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tell me, on what holy ground 
 May domestic peace be found ? 
 Halcyon daughter of the skies, 
 Far on fearful wing she flies, 
 From the pomp of sceptred state, 
 From the rebel's noisy hate. 
 
 In a cottaged vale she dwells, 
 List'ning to the Sabbath bells ! 
 Still around her steps are seen 
 Spotless Honor's meeker mien, 
 Love, the fire of pleasing fears, 
 Sorrow smiling through her tears ; 
 And, conscious of the past employ, 
 Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 
 
 Tal I thank thee, Adelaide ! 'twas sweet, though 
 
 mournful. 
 
 But why thy brow o'ercast, thy cheek so wan ? 
 Thou look'st as a lorn maid beside some stream 
 That sighs away the soul in fond despairing, 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 371 
 
 While Sorrow sad, like the dank willow near her, 
 Hangs o'er the troubled fountain of her eye. 
 
 Ade. Ah 1 rather let me ask what mystery lowers 
 On Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong 
 Thy soul distempered, can my heart be tranquil ? 
 
 Tal. Tell me by whom thy brother's blood was spilt ? 
 Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers ? 
 It has been borne too tamely. Fears and curses 
 Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams 
 Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre. 
 He dies ! nor has the plot escaped his fears. 
 
 Ade. Yet yet be cautious! much I fear the 
 
 Commune 
 
 The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his 
 Fast link'd in close indissoluble union. 
 The Pale Convention 
 
 Tal. Hate him as they fear him, 
 
 Impatient of the chain, resolved and ready. 
 
 Ade. Th' enthusiast mob, Confusion's lawless sons 
 
 Tal. They are aweary of his stern morality, 
 The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride. 
 The sections too support the delegates : 
 All all is ours ! e'en now the vital air 
 Of Liberty, condensed awhile, is bursting 
 (Force irresistible !) from its compressure 
 To shatter the arch-chemist in the explosion ! 
 Enter BILLAUD VARRENES and BOURDON L'OISE. 
 
 [ADELAIDE retires. 
 
 Bourdon I'Oise. Tallien ! was this a time for amor- 
 ous conference ? 
 
 Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature, 
 Marshals the force of Paris : the fierce club, 
 With Vivier at their head, in, loud acclaim 
 Have sworn to make the guillotine in blood 
 Float on the scaffold. But who comes here ? 
 
372 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 Enter BARRERE abruptly. 
 
 Bar. Say, are ye friends to Freedom ? I am tier's! 
 Let us, forgetful of all common feuds, 
 Rally around her shrine ! E'en now the tyrant 
 Concerts a plan of instant massacre ! 
 
 Billaud Varennes. Away to the Convention ! with 
 
 that voice 
 
 So oft the herald of glad victory, 
 Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their ears 
 The names of tyrant, plunder, assassin ! 
 The violent workings of my soul within 
 Anticipate the monster's blood ? 
 
 \Cry from the street of" No Tyrant ! Down 
 
 with the Tyrant !" 
 
 Tal Hear ye that outcry ? If the trembling mem- 
 bers 
 
 Even for a moment hold his fate suspended, 
 I swear, by the holy poniard that stabb'd Caesar, 
 This dagger probes his heart ! [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE. The Convention. 
 
 Rob. (mounts the Tribune). Once more befits it 
 
 that the voice of Truth, 
 
 Fearless in innocence, though leaguer'd round 
 By Envy and her hateful brood of hell, 
 Be heard amid this hall ; once more befits 
 The patriot, whose prophetic eye so oft 
 Has pierced through faction's veil, to flash on crimes 
 Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave 
 Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse ; My daring hand 
 Levell'd to earth his blood-cemented throne, 
 My voice declared his guilt, and stirr'd up Franc* 
 
THE FA1.L OF BOBESPIEHRE. 373 
 
 To call for vengeance. I too dug the grave 
 
 Where sleep the Girondists, detested band ! 
 
 Long with the show of freedom they abused 
 
 Her ardent sons. Long time the well-turn'd phrase, 
 
 The high-fraught sentence, and the lofty tone 
 
 Of declamation, thunder'd in this hall, 
 
 Till reason 'midst a labyrinth of words 
 
 Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent. 
 
 I durst oppose. Soul of my honor'd friend ! 
 
 Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call 
 
 Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what warm 
 
 zeal 
 
 I urged the cause of justice, stripped the mask 
 From Faction's deadly visage, and destroy 'd 
 Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down 
 Herbert and Rousin, and the villain friends 
 Of Danton, foul apostate ! those, who long 
 Mask'd Treason's form in Liberty's fair garb, 
 Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy 
 Omnipotence ! but I, it seems, am false 1 
 I am a traitor too ! I Robespierre ! 
 I at whose name the dastard despot brood 
 Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them ! 
 Who dares accuse me ? who shall dare belie 
 My spotless name ? Speak, ye accomplice band, 
 Of what am I accused ? of what strange crime 
 Is Maximillian Robespierre accused, 
 That through this hall the buzz of discontent 
 Should murmur ? who shall speak ? 
 
 Billaud Varennes. O patriot tongue, 
 
 Belying the foul-heart ! Who was it urged, 
 Friendly to tyrants, that accurst decree 
 Whose influence, brooding o'er this hallow'd hall, 
 Has chill'd each tongue to silence. Who destroy 'd 
 The freedom of debate, and carried through 
 X. K 
 
374 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 The fatal law, that doom'd the delegates, 
 Unheard before their equals, to the bar 
 Where cruelty sat throned, and murder reign'd 
 With her Dumas coequal ? Say thou man 
 Of mighty eloquence, whose law was that ? 
 
 Cou. That law was mine. I urged it I proposed 
 The voice of France assembled in her sons 
 Assented, though the tame and timid voice 
 Of traitors murmur'd.' I advised that law 
 I justify it. It was wise and good. 
 
 Ear. Oh, wondrous wise, and most convenient too ! 
 I have long mark'd thee, Robespierre and now 
 Proclaim thee traitor tyrant ! [Loud applauses. 
 
 Rob. It is well. 
 
 I am a traitor ! oh, that I had fallen 
 When Regnault lifted high the murderous knife ; 
 Regnault, the instrument belike of those 
 Who now themselves would fain assassinate, 
 And legalize their murders. I stand here 
 An isolated patriot hemm'd around 
 By faction's noisy pack ; beset and bay'd 
 By the foul hell-hounds who know no escape 
 From Justice' outstretch'd arm, but by the force 
 That pierces through her breast. 
 
 [Murmurs, and shouts of Down with the tyrant ! 
 
 Rob. Nay, but I will be heard. There was a time, 
 When Robespierre began, the loud applauses 
 Of honest patriots drown'd the honest sound. 
 But times are changed, and villany prevails. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. No villany shall fall. France 
 
 could not brook 
 
 A monarch's sway sounds the dictator's name 
 More soothing to her ear ? 
 
 Bourdon POise. Rattle her chains 
 
 More musically now than when the hand 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 375 
 
 Of Brissot forged her fetters, or the crew 
 Of Herbert thundered out their blasphemies, 
 And Danton talk'd of virtue ? 
 
 Bob. Oh, that Brissot 
 
 Were here again to thunder in this hall ! 
 That Herbert lived, and Danton's giant form 
 Scowl'd once again defiance ! so my soul 
 Might cope with worthy foes. 
 
 People of France, 
 
 Hear me ! Beneath the vengeance of the law, 
 Traitors have perish'd countless ; more survive : 
 The hydra-headed faction lifts anew 
 Her daring front, and fruitful from her wounds, 
 Cautious from past defeats, contrives new- wiles 
 Against the sons of Freedom. 
 
 Tal Freedom lives ! 
 
 Oppression falls for France has felt her chains, 
 Has burst them too. Who traitor-like stept for 
 Amid the hall of Jacobins to save 
 Camile Desmoulins, and the venal wretch 
 D'Eglantine? 
 
 Hob. I did for I thought them honest. 
 
 And Heaven forefend that vengeance ere should strike 
 Ere justfce doorn'd the blow. 
 
 Ear. Traitor, thou didst 
 
 Yes, the accomplice of their dark designs, 
 Awhile didst thou defend them, when the storm 
 Lower'd at safe distance. When the clouds frown'd 
 
 darker, 
 
 Feared for yourself and left them to their fate. 
 Oh, I have mark'd thee long, and through the ve l 
 Seen thy foul projects. Yes, ambitious man, 
 Self-will'd dictator o'er the realm of France, 
 The vengeance thou hast planned f<r patriots 
 Falls on thy head. Look how thy brother's deeon 
 K K 2 
 
376 THE FALL OF ROJIESPIKKRE. 
 
 Dishonour thine ! He the firm patriot, 
 Thou the foul parricide of Liberty ! 
 
 Hob. jun. Barrere attempt not meanly to divide 
 Me from my brother. I partake his guilt, 
 For I partake his virtue. 
 
 Rob. Brother, by my soul 
 
 More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus 
 With me thou darest to tread the dangerous path 
 Of virtue, than that Nature twined her cords 
 Of kindred round us. 
 
 Bar. Yes, allied in guilt, 
 
 Even as in blood ye are. Oh, thou worst \vretch, 
 Thou worse than Sylla ! hast thou not proscribed, 
 Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughtered, 
 Each patriot representative of France ? 
 
 Bourdon I'Oise. Was not the younger Csesar too to 
 
 reign 
 
 O'er all our valliant armies in the south, 
 And still continue there his merchant wiles? 
 
 Rob. jun. His merchant wiles ! Oh, grant me 
 
 patience, Heaven ! 
 
 Was is by merchant wiles I gain'd you back 
 Toulon, when proudly on her captive towers 
 Waved high the English flag ? or fought I then 
 With merchant wiles, when sword in hand I led 
 Your troops to conquest ? Fought I merchant-like, 
 Or barter'd I for victory, when death 
 Strode o'er the reeking streets with giant stride, 
 And shook his ebon plumes, and sternly smiled 
 Arnid the bloody banquet ! when appalPd, 
 The hireling sons of England spread the sail 
 Of safety, fought I like a merchant then ? 
 Oh, patience ! patience 1 
 
 Bourdon I'Oise. How this younger tyrant 
 
 Mouths out defiance to us 1 even so 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 377 
 
 He had led on the armies of the south, 
 
 Till once again the plains of France were drench'd 
 
 With her best blood. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. Till once again display 'd. 
 Lyons' sad tragedy had call'd me forth 
 The minister of wrath, whilst slaughter by 
 Had bathed in human blood. 
 
 Dubois Crance. No wonder, friend, 
 
 That we are traitors that our heads must fall 
 Beneath the ax of death ! When Caesar-like 
 Reigns Robespierre, 't is wisely done to doom 
 The fall of Brutus. Tell me, bloody man, 
 Hast thou not parcelled out deluded France, 
 As it had been some province won in fight, 
 Between your curst triumvirate ? You, Couthon, 
 Go with my brother to the southern plains ; 
 St. Just, be yours the army of the north ; 
 Meantime I rule at Paris. 
 
 Hob. Matchless knave ! 
 
 What not one blush of conscience on thy cheek 
 Not one poor blush of truth ! Most likely tale ! 
 That I who ruin'd Brissot's towering hopes, 
 I who discover'd Herbert's impious wiles, 
 And sharp'd for Dan ton's recreant neck the ax, 
 Should now be traitor ! had I been so minded, 
 Think ye I had destroyed the very men 
 Whose plots resembled mine ! Bring forth your proofs 
 Of this deep treason. Tell me in whose breast 
 Found ye the fatal scroll ? or tell me rather 
 Who forged the shameless falsehood ? 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. Ask you proofs ? 
 
 Robespierre, what proofs were ask'd when Brissot died? 
 
 Leg. What proofs adduced you when the Danton 
 
 died? 
 
 When at the imminent peril of my life 
 K K 3 
 
378 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERHE. 
 
 I rose, and fearless of thy frowning brow, 
 Proclaimed him guiltless ? 
 
 Rob. I remember well 
 
 The fatal day. I do repent me much 
 That I kilPd Caesar and spared Antony. 
 But I have been too lenient. I have spared 
 The stream of blood, and now my own must flow 
 To fill the current. [Loud applauses. 
 
 Triumpn not too soon, 
 Justice may yet be victor. 
 
 Enter ST. JUST, and mounts the Tribune. 
 
 St. Just. I come from the committee charged to 
 
 speak 
 
 Of matters of high import. I omit 
 Their orders. Representatives of France, 
 Boldly in his own person speaks St. Just 
 What his own heart shall dictate. 
 
 Tal. Hear ye this, 
 
 Insulted delegates of France ? St. Just 
 From your committee comes comes charged to speak 
 Of matters of high import yet omits 
 Their orders ! Representatives of France, 
 That bold man I denounce, who disobeys 
 The nation's orders. I denounce St. Just. 
 
 [Loud applauses* 
 
 St. Just. Hear me ! [Violent murmurs. 
 
 Rob. He shall be heard ! 
 
 Bourdon TOise. Must we contaminate this sacred 
 
 hall 
 With the foul breath of treason ? 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. Drag him away ! 
 
 Hence with him to the bar. 
 
 Cou. Oh, just proceedings ! 
 
 Robespierre prevented liberty of speech 
 And Robespierre is a tyrant! Tallien reigns, 
 
THE PALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 370 
 
 He dreads to hear the voice of innocence 
 And St, Just must be silent ! 
 
 Leg. Heed we well 
 
 That justice guide our actions. No light import 
 Attends this day. I move St. Just be heard. 
 
 Fr. Inviolate be the sacred right of man, 
 The freedom of debate. [Violent applause. 
 
 St. Just. I may be heard, then ! much the times 
 
 are changed 
 
 When St. Just thanks this hall for hearing him. 
 Robespierre is calPd a tyrant. Men of France, 
 Judge not too soon. By popular discontent 
 Was Aristides driven into exile, 
 Was Phocion murder'd ? Ere ye dare pronounce 
 Robespierre is guilty, it befits ye well, 
 Consider who accuse him. Tallien, 
 Bourdon of Oise the very men denounced, 
 For their dark intrigues disturbed the plan 
 Of government. Legendre, the sworn friend 
 Of Danton, fall'n apostate. Dubois Crance, 
 He who at Lyons spared the royalists 
 Collot'd'Herbois 
 
 Bourdon I' Oise. What shall the traitor rear 
 His head amid our tribune and blaspheme 
 Each patriot ? shall the hireling slave of faction 
 
 St. Just. I am of no faction. I contend 
 Against all factions. 
 
 Tal. I espouse the cause 
 
 Of truth. Robespierre on yester-morn pronounced 
 Upon his own authority a report. 
 To-day St. Just comes down. St. J ust neglects 
 What the committee orders, and harangues 
 From his own will. O citizens of France, 
 I weep for you I weep for my poor country 
 I tremble for the cause of Liberty, 
 
380 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 
 
 When individuals shall assume the sway, 
 And with more insolence than kingly pride 
 Rule the republic. 
 
 Billaud Varennvs. Shudder, ye representatives of 
 
 France, 
 
 Shudder with horror. Henriot commands 
 The marshall'd force of Paris Henriot, 
 Foul parricide the sworn ally of Herbert, 
 Denounced by all upheld by Robespierre. 
 Who spared La Vallette ? who promoted him, 
 Stain'd with the deep dye of nobility ? 
 Who to an ex-peer gave the high command ? 
 Who screen 'd from justice the rapacious thief? 
 Who cast in chains the friends of Liberty ? 
 Robespierre, the self-styled patriot Robespierre 
 Robespierre, allied with villain Daubigne 
 Robespierre, the foul arch-tyrant Robespierre. 
 
 Bourdon VOise. He talks of virtue of morality 
 Consistent patriot ! he, Daubigne's friend ! 
 Henriot's supporter virtuous ! Preach of virtue, 
 Yet league with villains, for with Robespierre 
 Villains alone ally. Thou art a tyrant ! 
 I style thee tyrant, Robespierre ! [Loud applauses. 
 
 Hob. Take back the name, ye citizens of France 
 [Violent clamour. Cries of Down with t/ie 
 tyrant. 
 
 Tal. Oppression falls. The traitor stands appall'd- 
 Guilt's iron fangs engrasp his shrinking soul 
 He hears assembled France denounce his crimes ! 
 He sees the mask torn from his secret sins 
 He trembles on the precipice of fate. 
 Fall'n guilty tyrant ! murder'd by thy rage, 
 How many an innocent victim's blood has stain'd 
 Fair Freedom's altar ! Sylla-like, thy hand 
 Mark'd down the virtues, that thy foes removed, 
 
THE PALL OP ROBESPIERRE. 881 
 
 Perpetual Dictator thou mightst reign, 
 
 And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom ! 
 
 Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'd 
 
 His fearful wiles success embolden' d sin 
 
 And his stretch'd arm had grasp'd the diadem 
 
 Ere now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd, 
 
 Lest France awaked, should rouse her from her dream, 
 
 And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar, 
 
 With rapid step urged on his bold career, 
 
 Even to the summit of ambitious power, 
 
 And deem'd the name of King alone was wanting. 
 
 Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down ? 
 
 Is it for this we wage eternal war 
 
 Against the tyrant horde of murderers, 
 
 The crown'd cockatrices whose foul venom 
 
 Infects all Europe ? was it then for this 
 
 We swore to guard our liberty with life, 
 
 That Robespierre should reign ? the spirit of freedom 
 
 Is not yet sunk so low. The glowing flame 
 
 That animates each honest Frenchman's heart 
 
 Not yet extinguish'd. I invoke thy shade, 
 
 Immortal Brutus ! I too wear a dagger ; 
 
 And if the representatives of France, 
 
 Through fear or favour, should delay the sword 
 
 Of justice, Tallien emulates thy virtues ; 
 
 Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm ; 
 
 Tallien shall save his country. [Violent applauses. 
 
 Billaud Varennes. I demand 
 
 The arrest of the traitors. Memorable 
 Will be this day for France. 
 
 Hob. Yes! memorable 
 This day will be for France for villains triumph. 
 
 Lebas. I will not share in this day's damning guilt. 
 Condemn me too. 
 
 f Great cry Down ivith the Tyrants f 
 
382 THE FALL OP ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 (Tfie two ROBESPIERRES, COUTHON, ST. JUST and 
 LEBAS are led off). 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE. Continues. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. Csesar is fallen ! The baneful tree 
 
 of Java, 
 
 Whose death-distilling boughs dropt poisonous dew, 
 Is rooted from its base. This worse than Cromwell, 
 The austere, the self-denying Robespierre, 
 Even in this hall, where once with terror mute 
 We listened to the hypocrite's harangues, 
 Has heard his doom. 
 
 Billaud Varennes. Yet must we not suppose 
 The tyrant will fall tamely. His sworn hireling 
 Henriot, the daring desperate Henriot 
 Commands the force of Paris. I denounce him. 
 Frt. I denounce Fleuriot too, the mayor of Paris. 
 
 Enter DUBOIS GRANGE. 
 Dubois Craned. Robespierre is rescued. Henriot 
 
 at the head 
 
 Of the arm'd force has rescued the fierce tyrant 
 Colloi d'Herbois. Ring the tocsin call all the citi- 
 zens 
 
 To save their country never yet has Paris 
 forsook the representatives of France. 
 
 Tat It is the hour of danger. I propose 
 This sluing be made permanent. [Loud applauses, 
 Collot d'Herbois. The National Convention shall 
 
 remain 
 Finn at its post. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 883 
 
 M es. Robespierre has reached the Commune. They 
 
 espouse 
 
 The tyrant's cause. St. Just is up in arms ! 
 St. Just the young ambitious bold St. Just 
 Harangues the mob. The sanguinary Couthon 
 Thirsts for your blood. [Tocsin rings. 
 
 Tal. These tyrants are in arms against the law : 
 Outlaw the rebels. 
 
 Enter MERLIN OP DOUAT. 
 Mer. Health to the representatives of France ! 
 I past this moment through the armed force 
 They ask'd my name and when they heard a delegate, 
 Swore I was not the friend of France. 
 
 Collot d'Herbois. The tyrants threaten us, as when 
 
 they turn'd 
 The canon's mouth on Brissot. 
 
 Enter another MESSENGER. 
 Second Mes. Vivier harangues the Jacobins the 
 
 club 
 Espouse the cause of Robespierre. 
 
 Enter another MKSSEMJER. 
 Third Mes. All's lost the tvrant triumphs. Hen- 
 riot kh JU 
 
 The soldiers to his aid. Already 1 hear 
 
 The rattling cannon destined to surround 
 This sacred hall. 
 
 Tal. Why, we will die like men then ! 
 
 The representatives of France dare death, 
 When duty steels their bosoms. 
 
 [Loud applauses. 
 
 Tal. (addressing t he galleries). Citizens! 
 
 France is insulted in her delegates 
 The majesty of the republic is insulted- 
 Tyrants are up in arms. An armed force 
 Threats the Convention. The Convention swears 
 
384 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 
 
 Tc die, or save the country ! 
 
 [Violent applauses from the galleriet. 
 Citizen (from above). We too swear 
 
 To die, or save the country. Follow me. 
 
 [All the men quit the galleries. 
 Enter another MESSENGER. 
 Fourth Mes. Heuriot is taken ! 
 
 [Loud applauses. 
 
 Henriot is taken. Three of your brave soldiers 
 Swore they would seize the rebel slave of tyranti, 
 Or perish in the attempt. As he patrolFd 
 The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob, 
 They seized him. [Applauses. 
 
 Billaud Varennes. Let the names of these brave 
 
 men 
 Live to the future day. 
 
 Enter BOURDON L'Oiss, sword in Jiand. 
 Bourdon I'Oise. I have clear'd the Commune. 
 
 [Applauses. 
 
 Through the throng I rush'd, 
 Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade 
 Deep in the tyrant's heart. The timid rebels 
 Give way. I met the soldiery I spake 
 Of the dictator's crimes of patriots chain'd 
 In dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage 
 Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power. 
 I spake of Liberty. Their honest hearts 
 Caught the warm flame. The general shout burst forth, 
 *' Live the Convention Down with Robespierre !" 
 
 [Applauses* 
 
 [Shouts from without Down with the Tyrant . 
 TaL I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds, 
 France shall be sav'd ! her generous sons, attached 
 To principles, not persons, spurn the idol 
 They worshipp'd once. Yes, Robespierre shall fall 
 
THE PALL OP ROBESPIERRE. g$5 
 
 As Capet fell! Oh! never let us deem 
 That France shall crouch beneath a tyrant's throne, 
 That the almighty people who have broke 
 On their oppressors' heads the oppressive chain, 
 Will court again their fetters ! easier were it 
 To hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base, 
 Than force the bonds of slavery upon men 
 Determined to be free ! [Applauses. 
 
 Enter LEGENDRE, a pistol in one hand, keys in the 
 other. 
 
 Leg. (flinging down the keys). So let the muti- 
 nous Jacobins meet now 
 In the open air. [Loud applauses. 
 
 A factious turbulent party 
 Lording it o'er the state since Danton died, 
 And with him the Cordeliers. A hireling band 
 Of loud-tongued orators controlFd the club, 
 And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre. 
 
 Vivier has 'scaped me. Curse his coward heart 
 
 This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand, 
 I rush'd into the hall. He mark'd mine eye 
 That beam'd its patriot anger, and flash'd full 
 With death-denouncing meaning. 'Mid the throng 
 He mingled. I pursued but staid my hand, 
 Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood. 
 
 [Applauses. 
 
 Fr(. They took from me my ticket of admission 
 Expell'd me from their sittings. Now, forsooth, 
 Humbled and trembling re-insert my name j 
 But Freron enters not the club again 
 Till it be purged of guilt till, purified 
 Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men 
 May breathe the air in safety. 
 
 \Shoutsfrcm without 
 
 Ear. What means this uproar? if the tyrant band 
 
383 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 Should gain the people once again to rise 
 We are as dead ! 
 
 Tal. And wherefore fear we death T 
 
 Did Brutus fear it ? or the Grecian friends 
 Who buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword, 
 And died triumphant ? Ceesar should fear death : 
 Brutus must scorn the bugbear. 
 
 [Shouts from without. Live the Convention. 
 Down with the tyrants ! 
 
 Tal. Hark! again 
 
 The sounds of honest Freedom ! 
 
 Enter DEPUTIES from the SECTIONS. 
 
 Citizen. Citizens ! representatives of France ! 
 Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris 
 Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swear 
 They will defend the delegates of Freedom. 
 
 Tal. Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my 
 
 brethren ? 
 
 And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts? 
 My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen 
 The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke j 
 I have, as much as lies in mine own arm, 
 HurlM down the usurper. Come death when it will, 
 I have lived long enough. [Shouts without. 
 
 Bar. Hark ! how the noise increases ! through the 
 
 gloom 
 
 Of the still evening harbinger of death, 
 Rings the Tocsin ! the dreadful generale 
 Thunders through Paris 
 
 [Cry without, Down with the Tyrant. 
 Enter LECOINTRE. 
 
 Lee. So may eternal justice blast the foes 
 Of France ! so perish all the tyrant brood, 
 As Robespierre has perish'd ! Citizens, 
 Caesar is taken. [Loud and repeated applauses. 
 
THE PALL OP ROBESPIERRE. 387 
 
 I marvel not, that with such fearless front, 
 
 He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye 
 
 Scowl'd round the hall defiance. He relied 
 
 On Henriot's aid the Commune's villain friendship, 
 
 And Henriot's boughten succours. Ye have heard 
 
 How Henriot rescued him how with open arms 
 
 The Commune welcomed in the rebel tyrant 
 
 How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier 
 
 Stirr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost 
 
 The representatives of France had perish'd 
 
 Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm 
 
 Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit 
 
 Inspired the men of Paris. Henriot call'd 
 
 " To arms " in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voictf 
 
 Breathed eloquence, and o'er the Jacobins 
 
 Legendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled 
 
 They reach'd the Hotel. We gather'd round we 
 
 call'd 
 
 For vengeance ! Long time, obstinate in despair, 
 With knives they hack'd around them. Till foreboding 
 The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry 
 Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction, 
 Each sought by suicide to escape the dread 
 Of death. Lebas succeeded. From the window 
 Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractured limb 
 Forbad to escape. The self-wilPd dictator 
 Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast, 
 Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangled 
 By his own tremulous hand ! All gash'd and gored, 
 He lives to taste the bitterness of Death. 
 Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon, 
 The fierce St. Just, even now attend their tyrant 
 To fall beneath the ax. I saw the torches 
 Flash on their visages a dreadful light 
 I saw them whilst the black blood roll'd adown 
 L L3 
 
388 THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 
 
 Each stern face, even then with dauntless eye 
 Scowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived, 
 Fearless of fate ! \Loud and repeated applauses. 
 
 Bar. (mounts the Tribune). For ever hallow'd be 
 
 this glorious day, 
 
 When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain, 
 Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant, 
 Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne by the arm 
 Of the almighty people, meets the death 
 He plann'd for thousands. Oh ! my sickening heart 
 Has sunk within me, when the various woes 
 Of my brave country crowded o'er my brain 
 In ghastly numbers when assembled hordes, 
 Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power, 
 Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets, 
 And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with 
 
 blood 
 
 The reeking fields of Flanders. When within, 
 Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling tooth 
 Of treason ; and oppression, giant form, 
 Trampling on freedom, left the alternative 
 Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day, 
 When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced 
 The doom of injured France, has Faction rear'd 
 Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach'd 
 Of mercy the uxorious dotard Roland, 
 The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspire 
 To govern France ; and Petion talk'd of virtue, 
 And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honeyM tongue 
 Of some soft Syren, wooed us to destruction. 
 We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold 
 Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood, 
 Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons, 
 And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet, 
 And Herbert's atheist crew, whose maddening hand 
 
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. 389 
 
 Hurl'd down the altars of the living God, 
 V\ ith all the infidel's intolerance. 
 The last worst traitor triumph'd triumph'd long, 
 Secured by matchless villany. By turns 
 Defending and deserting each accomplice. 
 As interest prompted. In the goodly soil 
 Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struck 
 Its deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of death, 
 On all who slumber' d in its specious shade. 
 He wove the web of treachery. He caught 
 The listening crowd by his wild eloquence, 
 His cool ferocity, that persuaded murder, 
 Even whilst it spake of mercy ! Never, never 
 Shall this regenerated country wear 
 The despot yoke. Thougji myriads round assail, 
 And with worse fury urge this new crusade 
 Than savages have known ; though the leagued de- 
 spots 
 
 Depopulate all Europe, so to pour 
 The accumulated mass upon our coasts, 
 Sublime amid the storm shall France arise, 
 And like the rock amid surrounding waves 
 Repel the rushing ocean. She shall wield 
 The thunderbolt of vengeance she shall blagf 
 Toe despot's pride, and liberate the world i 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR.* 
 
 STROPHE I. 
 
 SPIRIT ! who sweepest the wild harp of Time, 
 It is most hard with aiyintroubled ear 
 Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear ! 
 Yet, mine eye fix'd on Heaven's unchanging clime, 
 Long had I listened, free from mortal fear, 
 With inward stillness, and a bowed mind : 
 When lo ! far onwards waving on the wind 
 I saw the skirts of the DEPARTING YEAR ! 
 Starting from my silent sadness 
 Then with no unholy madness, 
 Ere yet the enter'd cloud forbade my sight, 
 I raised th' impetuous song, and solemniz'd his flight. 
 
 STROPHE II. 
 
 Hither from the recent tomb, 
 From the prison's direr gloom, 
 From poverty's heart- wasting languish, 
 From distemper's midnight anguish ; 
 Or where his two bright torches blending, 
 Love illumines manhood's maze ; 
 
 * This Ode was written on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of De- 
 cember, 1796; and published separately on the last day of the year. 
 
ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR. 801 
 
 Or where o'er cradled infants bending 
 
 Hope has fixed he.r wishful gaze : 
 Hither, in perplexed dance, 
 Ye Woes, and young-eyed .Joys advance ! 
 By Time's wild harp, and by the hand 
 
 Whose indefatigable sweep 
 
 Forbids its fateful strings to sleep, 
 I bid you haste, a mix'd tumultuous band ; 
 
 From every private bower, v 
 And each domestic heartfr, 
 
 Haste for one solemn hour^ 
 And with a loud and yet a louder v( 
 
 O'er Nature struggling in portent 
 Weep and rejoicB ! 
 
 Still echoes the dread name that o'er th~e earth 
 Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell ; 
 
 And now advance in saintly jubilee 
 Justice and Truth ! They, too, have heard the spell, 
 
 They, too, obey thy name, divinest Liberty ! 
 
 EPODE I. 
 
 I mark'd Ambition in his war-array ! - 
 
 I heard the mailed Monarch's troubleus cry 
 (t Ah ! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay ! 
 Groans not her chariot o'er its onward way ?" > 
 Fly ; mailed monarch fly ! 
 
 Stunn'd by Death's " twice mortal" mace, 
 No more on murder's lurid face 
 The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye ! 
 Manes of the unnumber'd slain ! 
 Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain ! 
 Ye that erst at Ismail's tower, 
 
 When human ruin chok'd the streams. 
 Fell in conquest's glutted hour, 
 Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams 1 
 
392 ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR. 
 
 Whose shrieks, whose screams were vain to stir 
 Loud-laughing, red-eyed Massacre ! 
 Spirits of th' uncoffin'd slain, 
 
 Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, 
 Oft, at night, in misty train, 
 
 Rush around her narrow dwelling ! 
 Th' exterminating fiend is fled 
 
 (Foul her life, and dark her doom) 
 Mighty army of the dead 
 
 Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb ! 
 
 prophetic song relate, 
 lue sceptred murderer's fate ! 
 
 ANTISTROPHE I. 
 
 Year! 'twas on no earthly shore 
 My soul beheld thy vision ! Where alone, 
 Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, 
 
 Aye Memory sits ; there, garmented with gore, 
 
 W ith many an unimaginable groan 
 Thou stored'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued, 
 Deep silence o'er th' ethereal multitude, 
 
 Whose wreathed locks with snow-white glories ghono, 
 Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, 
 From the choired gods advancing, 
 
 The Spirit of the Earth made reverence nieer, 
 
 Ana stood up beautiful before the cloudy seat ! 
 
 ANTISTROPHE II. 
 
 On every harp, on every tongue, 
 While the mute enchantment hung ; 
 Like midnight from a thunder-cloud, 
 Spake the sudden Spirit loud 
 " Thou in stormy blackness throning 
 
 Love and uncreated light, 
 By the Earth's unsolac'd groaning, 
 
 Seize thy terrors, Arm of might 1 
 
ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR. 393 
 
 By Belgium's corse impeded flood !* 
 By Vendee's steaming brother's blood ! 
 By Peace with proffer' d insult scar'd, 
 Masked hate and envying scorn ! 
 By years of havoc yet unborn ! 
 And hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bar'd ! 
 But chief by Afric's wrongs, 
 
 Strange, horrible, and foul ! 
 By what deep guilt belongs 
 To tlie deaf Senate, < full of gifts and lies ! ' 
 
 By wealth's insensate laugh ! by torture's howl ! 
 
 Avenger, rise ! 
 
 For ever shall the bloody Island scowl ? 
 For aye, unbroken, shall her cruel bow 
 
 Shoot famine's arrows o'er thy ravag'd world ? 
 Hark ! how wide Nature joins her groans below ! 
 Rise, God of Nature, rise ! Ah why those bolts 
 unhurl'd ?" 
 
 EPODE II. 
 
 The voice had ceas'd, the phantoms fled ; 
 Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread. 
 And ever, when the dream of night . 
 Renews the vision to my sight, 
 Cold sweat-damps gather on my limbs ; 
 
 My ears throb hot ; my eye-balls start ; 
 My brain with horrid tumult swims ; 
 
 Wild is the tempest of my heart ; 
 And my thick and struggling breath 
 Imitates the toil of death ! 
 No stranger agony confounds 
 
 The soldier on the war-field spread, 
 When all foredone with toils and wounds, 
 
 Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead ! 
 
 The Rhine. 
 
394 ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEA.R. 
 
 (The strife is o'er, the day-light fled, 
 And the night-wind clamours hoarse 1 
 
 See ! the startful wretch's head 
 Lies pillowed on a brother's corse !) 
 
 O doom'd to fall, enslavM and vile, 
 O Albion ! O my mother Isle ! 
 Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers, 
 Glitter green with sunny showers ; 
 Thy grassy uplands, gentle swells 
 
 Echo to the bleat of flocks ; 
 (Those grassy hills, those glitt'ring dells 
 
 Proudly ramparted with rocks) 
 And Ocean mid his uproar wild 
 Speaks safely to his island-child. 
 Hence for many a fearless age 
 
 Has social quiet lov'd thy shore ; 
 Nor ever sworded foeman's rage 
 
 Or sack'd thy towers, or stained thy fields with 
 
 gore. 
 
 Disclaim'd of heaven ! mad av'rice at thy side 
 At coward distance, yet with kindling pride 
 Safe 'mid thy herds and corn-fields thou hast stood, 
 And join'd the yell of famine and of blood ! 
 
 All nations curse thee ; and with eager wond'ring 
 Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream ! 
 Strange-eyed Destruction, who with many a dream 
 
 Of central fires thro' nether seas upthund'ring 
 Soothes her fierce solitude ; yet, as she lies 
 
 By livid fount, or roar of blazing stream, 
 If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, 
 O Albion ! thy predestin'd ruins rise, 
 The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, 
 Mutt'ring distemper'd triumph in her charmed 
 sleep. 
 
ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAH. 393 
 
 Away, my soul, away ! 
 In vain, in vain, the birds of warning sing 
 And hark ! I hear the famish'd brood of prey 
 Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind ! 
 
 Away, iny soul, away ! 
 I, unpartaking of the evil thing, 
 With daily prayer, and daily toil 
 Soliciting for food my scanty soil, 
 Have wail'd my country with a loud lament. 
 Now I recentre my immortal mind 
 
 In the deep sabbath of blest self-content ; 
 Cleansed from the fears and anguish that becinn 
 God's image, sister of the Seraphim. 
 
 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF 
 CHATTERTON. 
 
 WHEN faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desert wild 
 Slow journeys onward poor Misfortune's child ; 
 When fades each lovely form by fancy dress ; d. 
 And inly pines the self-consuming breast ; 
 (No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread, 
 No helmet terrors nodding o'er thy head,) 
 Assume, O Death ! the cherub wings of Peace, 
 And bid the heart-sick wanderer's anguish cease ! 
 
 Thee, CHATTERTON ! yon unblest stones protect 
 From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect ! 
 Escap'd the sore wounds of affliction's rod 
 Meek at the throne of mercy, and of God, 
 Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptured hymn 
 
 Amid the blaze of Seraphim ! 
 Yet oft ('tis nature's call) 
 I weep, that heaven-born genius so should fall ; 
 
896 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTOX. 
 
 And oft, in fancy's saddest hour, my soul 
 
 Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl. 
 
 Now groans my sickening heart, as still 1 view 
 
 Thy corse of livid hue : 
 And now a flash of indignation high 
 Darts thro' the tear, that glistens in mine eye ! 
 
 Is this the land of song-ennobled line ? 
 
 Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain 
 
 Pour'd forth his lofty strain ? 
 Ah me ! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, 
 Beneath chill disappointment's shade, 
 His weary limbs in lonely anguish lay'd : 
 
 And o'er her darling dead 
 
 Pity hopeless hung her head, 
 While " mid the pelting of that merciless storm," 
 Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form ! 
 
 Sublime of thought, and confident of fame, 
 
 From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel* came, 
 
 Light-hearted youth ! he hastes along, 
 
 And meditates the future song, 
 How dauntless ^Ella fray'd the Dacyan foes ; 
 
 See, as floating high in air 
 
 Glitter the sunny visions fair, 
 His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows ! 
 
 Yes ! clad in nature's rich array, 
 And bright in all her tender hues, 
 Sweet tree of hope ! thou loveliest child of spring 
 Most fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom, 
 Loading the west-winds with its soft perfume ! 
 And fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing, 
 
 * Avon, a rirer near Bristol, the birthplace of Chatterton. 
 
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON. 397 
 
 On every blossom hung her fostering dews, 
 
 i'liat, changeful, wantpn'd to the orient day ! 
 But soon upon thy poor unshelter'd head 
 Diu penury her sickly mildew shed : 
 Ana Bv/on the scathing Light'ning bade thee stand 
 In frowning horror o'er the blighted land ! 
 
 Ah ! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, 
 And Joy's wild gleams, light-flashing: o'er thy face I 
 
 youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye ! 
 Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view, 
 On thy cold forehead starts the anguish'd dew : 
 And dreadful was that bosom-rending sigh ! 
 
 Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour, 
 When Care, of wither'd brow, 
 
 Prepar'd the poison's power : 
 Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl, 
 
 When near thee stood Affection meek 
 
 (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek) 
 Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll 
 On scenes that well might melt thy soul j 
 Thy native cot she flash'd upon thy view, 
 Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, 
 Peace smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay 
 Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear, 
 And mark thy Mother's tear ; 
 
 See, see her breast's convulsive throe, 
 Her silent agony of woe ! 
 Ah ! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand ! 
 
 And thou had'st dash'd it, at her soft command, 
 But that Despair and Indignation rose, 
 And told again the story of thy woes; 
 Told the keen insult of th' unfeeling heart ; 
 The dread dependence on the low-born mind { 
 M X 
 
398 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTOH. 
 
 Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart, 
 Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! 
 Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain 
 Roll the black tide of Death thro' every freezing 
 vein ! 
 
 Ye woods ! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, 
 To Fancy's ear sweet is your murm'ring deep ! 
 For here she loves the cypress wreath to wave ; 
 Watching, with wistful eye, the sad'ning tints of eve. 
 Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, 
 in solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, 
 Like star-beam on the slow sequestered tide 
 Lone-glittering, thro* the high tree branching wide. 
 And here, in Inspiration's eager hour, 
 When most the big soul feels the mad'ning pow'r, 
 These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, 
 Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, 
 With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, 
 Oft pouring on the winds a broken song : 
 Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow 
 Would pause abrupt and gazeupon the waves below 
 
 Poor Chatterton ! he sorrows for thy fate 
 Who would have prais'd and lov'd thee, ere too late, 
 Poor Chatterton ! farewell ! of darkest hues 
 This chaplet cast I on^thy unshap'd tomb , 
 But dare no longer on the sad theme muse ; 
 
 Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom : 
 For oh ! big gall-drops, snook from Folly's wing, 
 Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring ; 
 And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart 
 The last pale Hope, that shiver'd at my heart ! 
 Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall dwell 
 On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh 
 
MONODY ON THE DEATH OP CHATTERTON. 309 
 
 The shame and anguish of the evil day, 
 Wisely forgetful ! O'er the ocean swell 
 Sublime of Hope I seek the eottag'd deil, 
 Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray j 
 And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, 
 The wizard Passion weaves an holy spell ! 
 
 O Chatterton ! that thou wert yet alive ! 
 Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale, 
 
 And love, with us, the tinkling team to drive 
 O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale, 
 
 And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng 
 
 Hanging, enraptur'd, on thy stately song ! 
 
 And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy 
 
 All deftly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity. 
 Alas vain Phantasies ! the fleeting brood 
 Of Woe self solac'd in her dreamy mood ! 
 Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, 
 Where Susquehannah pours his untam'd stream ; 
 And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side 
 Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide, 
 Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, 
 Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy! 
 And there, sooth'd sadly by the dirgeful wind, 
 Muse on the sore ills I had left behind. 
 
 SONGS OF THE PIXIES. 
 
 THE Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings 
 invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small dis- 
 tance from a village in that country, half way up a wood-covered 
 hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old 
 trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, 
 among which the author discovered his own cypher and those of hi* 
 brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill 
 flows the river Otter. To this place the author conducted a party 
 of young ladies, during the summer month* of the year 17Q3, one oV 
 M M 2 
 
400 SONGS OF THE PIXIES. 
 
 whom, of ktature elegantly small, and of complexion colonrlew yet 
 clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen, on which occasion, and at 
 which time, the following irregular ode was written. 
 
 WHOM the untaught Shepherds call 
 Pixies in their madrigal, 
 Fancy's children, here we dwell : 
 Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell. 
 Here the wren of softest note 
 
 Builds it's nest and warbles well ; 
 Here the blackbird strains his throat : 
 
 Welcome, .Ladies ! to our cell. 
 
 ii. 
 
 When fades the moon all shadowy pale, 
 And scuds the cloud before the gale, 
 Ere Morn, with living gems bedight 
 Streaks the East with purple light, 
 We sip the furze-flow'r's fragrant dews 
 Clad in robes of rainbow hues 
 Richer than the deepen'd bloom 
 That glows on Summer's scented plume 
 Or sport amid the rosy glearn, 
 Sooth'd by the distant tinkling team, 
 Whilst lusty Labour, scouting sorrow, 
 Bids the Dame a glad good morrow, 
 Who jogs th' accustom'd road along, 
 And paces cheery to her cheering song. 
 
 in. 
 But not our filmy pinion 
 
 We scorch amid the blaze of day 
 When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion 
 Flashes the fervid ray. 
 Aye, from the sultry heat 
 We to the cave retreat, 
 
SONGS OP THE PIXIES. 401 
 
 O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwinM 
 
 With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age : 
 
 Round them their mantle green the ivies bind. 
 
 Beneath whose foliage pale 
 
 Fann'd by the unfrequent gale 
 We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thither, while the murmuring throng 
 Of wild bees hum their drowsy song, 
 By Indolence and Fancy brought, 
 A youthful Bard, " unknown to fame," 
 Woos the Queen of Solemn Thought, 
 And heaves the gentle mis'ry of a sigh, 
 
 Gazing with tearful eye, 
 As round our sandy grot appear 
 Many a rudely sculptur'd name 
 
 To pensive Mem'ry dear ! 
 Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur'd hue 
 
 We glance before his view : 
 O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed 
 And twine our faisy garlands round his head. 
 
 v. 
 
 When Evening's dusky <jar, 
 Crown'd with her dewy star, 
 Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight ; 
 On leaves of aspern trees 
 We tremble to the breeze, 
 Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal sight. 
 
 Or, haply, at the visionary hour, 
 Along our wild sequestred walk, 
 We -listen to th' enamour'd rustic's talk ; 
 Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, 
 Where young- eyed Loves have built their turtle nest j 
 Or, guide of soul-subduing power, 
 
 M M 3 
 
409 SM?6iS OF TJT.E PIXIES. 
 
 Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye 
 Darts the fond question ai,d the soft reply. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Or tnro' the mystic ringlets of the vale 
 We flash our fairy feet in gamesome prank ; 
 Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court 
 
 Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale, 
 Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport, 
 
 Supine he slumbers on a violet bank j 
 Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam, 
 By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream, 
 Or where his wave with loud unquiet song, 
 Dash'd o'er the rocky channel, froths along ; 
 Or where his silver waters smoothed to rest, 
 The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast 
 
 VII. 
 
 Hence ! thou lingerer Light ! 
 Eve saddens into Night. 
 Mother of wildly-working dreams ! we view 
 The sombre hours, that round thee stand, 
 With down-cast eyes (a duteous band !) 
 Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. 
 Sorceress of the ebon throne ! 
 Thy power the Pixies own, 
 When round thy raven brow 
 Heaven's lucent roses glow, 
 And clouds, in watery colours drest, 
 Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest ; 
 What time the pale moon sheds a softer day, . 
 
 Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: 
 For mid the quivering light 'tis ours to play, 
 Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream. 
 
8ONGS OF THE 
 
 vm. 
 
 Welcome, Ladies ! to the ceil, 
 Where the blameless Pixies dwell. 
 Butthou, sweet nymph! proclaimed our Fairy Queen 
 With what obeisance meet 
 Thy presence shall we greet ? 
 For lo ! attendant on thy steps are seen 
 Graceful Ease in artless stole, 
 And white-rob'd Purity of soul, 
 With Honour's softer mien : 
 Mirth of the loosely -flowing hair, 
 And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair 
 Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view, 
 As snow-drop wet with dew. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Unboastful Maid ! tho' now the Lily pale 
 
 .Transparent grace thy beauties meek ; 
 Yet ere again along th' impurpling vale, 
 The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, 
 Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws 
 
 We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek ; 
 And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose 
 Extract a blush for Love ! 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 As late each flower that sweetest blows 
 
 I pluck'd, the Garden's pride ! 
 Within the petals of a Rose 
 
 A sleeping love I spied. 
 
 Around his brows a beamy wreath 
 
 Of many a lucent hue j 
 All purple glow'd his cheek beneath, 
 
 Inebriate with dew. 
 
IP 
 
 404 THE ROSE. 
 
 I softly seiz'd th' unguarded Power, 
 
 Nor scar'd his balmy rest ; 
 And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower, 
 
 On spotless Sara's breast. 
 
 But when unweeting of the guile 
 
 Awoke the pris'ner sweet, 
 He struggled to escape awhile, 
 
 And stamp'd his fairy feet. 
 
 Ah ! soon the soul entrancing-sight 
 
 Subdued th' impatient boy ! 
 He gaz'd ! he thrilPd with deep delight ! 
 
 Then clapp'd his wings for joy. 
 
 And oh ! he cried " Of magic kind 
 What charm this Throne endear ! 
 
 Some other Love let Venus find 
 I'll fix my empire here." 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 ONE, kiss, dear Maid ! I said and sigh'd- 
 Your scorn the little boon denied. 
 Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ? 
 Can danger lurk within a kiss ? 
 
 Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale, 
 
 The Spirit of the Western Gale, 
 
 At Morning's break, at Evening's close 
 
 Inhales the sweetness of the Rose, 
 
 And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd Bloom 
 
 Sighing back the soft perfume. 
 
 Vigour to the Zephyr's wing 
 
 Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling ; 
 
 And He the glitter of the JLtew 
 
 Scatters on the Rose's hue. 
 
THE KISS. 406 
 
 Bashful lo ! she bends her head, 
 And darts a blush, of deeper Red ! 
 
 Too well those lovely lips disclose 
 The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose ; 
 O fair ! O graceful ! bid them prove 
 As passive to the breath of Love. 
 In tender accents, faint and low, 
 Well-pleas'd I hear the whisperM " No I" 
 
 The whisper'd " No" how little meant ! 
 
 Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent^ 
 For on those lovely lips the while 
 Dawns the soft relenting smile, 
 And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy 
 The gentle violence of Joy. 
 
 TO A YOUNG ASS. 
 
 ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. 
 
 POOR little Foal of an oppressed Race ! 
 I love the languid Patience of thy face : 
 And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread. 
 And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head. 
 But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay'd, 
 That never thou dost sport along the glade ? 
 And (most unlike the nature of things young) 
 That earthward still thy moveless head is hung ? 
 Do thy Prophetic Fears anticipate. 
 Meek Child of Misery ! thy future fate ? 
 The starving meal, and all the thousand aches 
 Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes? 
 Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain 
 To see thy wretcned Mother's shorten'd Chain ? 
 
 Arid truly, very piteous is her Lot 
 
 Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot 
 
406 TO A YOUNG ASS. 
 
 Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen, 
 
 While sweet around her waves the tempting Green t 
 
 Poor Ass ! thy Master should have learnt to show 
 
 Pity best taught by fellowship of Woe ! 
 
 For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee, 
 
 Half- famished in a land of Luxury ! 
 
 How askingly its footsteps hither bend ? 
 
 It seems to say, " And have I then one Friend ?" 
 
 Innocent Foal ! thou poor despis'd Forlorn ! 
 
 I hail thee Brother spite of the fool's scorn ! 
 
 And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell 
 
 Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell, 
 
 Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, 
 
 And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side ! 
 
 How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play, 
 
 And frisk about as Lamb or Kitten gay ! 
 
 Yea ! and more musically sweet to me 
 
 Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be, 
 
 Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest 
 
 The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast ! 
 
 THE SIGH. 
 
 WHEN Youth his fairy reign began 
 Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man ; 
 While Peace the present hour beguil'd, 
 And all the lovely Prospect smil'd : 
 Then, Mary ? 'mid my lightsome glee 
 I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee. 
 And when, along the waves of woe, 
 My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know 
 The frantic Burst of Outrage keen, 
 And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen j 
 Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea 
 I heav'd an anguish'd Sigh for thee 1 
 
THE SIGH. 40' 
 
 But soon Reflection's power imprest 
 A stiller sadness on my breast ; 
 And sickly Hope with waning eye 
 Was well content to droop and die : 
 I yielded to the stern decree, 
 Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee I 
 And tho' in distant climes to roam, 
 A wanderer from my native home, 
 I fain would sooth the sense of Care 
 And lull to sleep the Joys, that were ! 
 Thy Image may not banish'd be 
 Still, Mary ! still I sigh for thee. 
 
 DOMESTIC PEACE. 
 TELL me, on what holy ground 
 May Domestic Peace be found ? 
 Halcyon Daughter of the skies, 
 Far on fearful wings she flies, 
 From the pomp of sceptered State, 
 From the Rebel's noisy hate. 
 In a cottag'd vale She dwells 
 List'ning to the Sabbath bells ? 
 Still around her steps are seen 
 Spotless Honour's meeker mien, 
 Love, the sire of pleasing fears, 
 Sorrow smiling through her tears, 
 And conscious of the past employ 
 Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. 
 
 Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, 
 
 Death came with friendly care ; 
 The opening bud to Heaven convey'd 
 
 And bade it blossom there. 
 
408 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE KlUd'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY 
 THE HOUSE OF THE " MAN OF ROSS." 
 
 KICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards, 
 Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords, 
 Here dwelt the Man of Ross ! O Traveler, hear * 
 Departed Merit claims a reverent tear. 
 Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, 
 Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass : 
 To higher zest shall Mem'ry wake thy soul, 
 And Virtue mingle in tli' ennobled bowl. 
 Friend to the Friendless, to the^ick man health, 
 With Generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ; 
 He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of praise, 
 He marks the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, 
 Or where the sorrow-shrivel'd captive lay, 
 Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray. 
 But if, like me, thro' life's distressful scene 
 Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been ; 
 And if, thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, 
 Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss'd in thought ; 
 Here cheat thy cares ; in generous visions melt, 
 And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE. 
 
 ONCE more, sweet Stream ! with slow foot wand'ring 
 
 near 
 
 I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. 
 Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours, 
 With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers, 
 (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) 
 My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. 
 
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING. 4 
 
 For not thro* pathless grove with murmur rude 
 Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude : 
 Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, 
 The Hermit-Fountain of some dripping cell ! 
 Pride of the Vale ! thy useful streams supply 
 The scatter' d cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. 
 The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks 
 "With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, 
 Eeleas'd from school, their little hearts at rest, 
 Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. 
 The rustic here at eve with pensive look 
 Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook, 
 Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread 
 To list the much-lov'd maid's accustom'd tread : 
 She vainly mindful of her dame's command, 
 Loiters, the long fill'd pitcher in her bind. 
 Unboasted Stream ! thy fount with pebbled fulls 
 The faded form of past delight recalls, 
 What time the morning sun of Hope arose, 
 And all was joy ; save when another's woes 
 A transient gloom upon my sonl imprest. 
 Like passing clouds impictur'd on thy breast. 
 Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon 
 Or silv'ry stole beneath the pensive Moon. 
 Ah ! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, 
 Or, o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along I 
 
 LINES ON A FRIEND 
 
 WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER, INDUCED BY 
 CALUMNIOUS REPORTS. 
 
 EDMUND ! thy grave with aching eye I scan, 
 And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast Man I 
 'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth, 
 If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth 
 n w 
 
410 ON A FRIEND. 
 
 We force to start amid her feign'd caress, 
 
 Vice, siren-hag ! in native ugliness, 
 
 A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, 
 
 And on we go in heaviness and fear ! 
 
 But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower 
 
 Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, 
 
 The faithless guest shall stamp th' enchanted ground. 
 
 And mingled forms of Mis'ry rise around : 
 
 Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast, 
 
 That courts the future woe to hide the past ; 
 
 Remorse the poison'd arrow in his side ; 
 
 And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied . 
 
 Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain, 
 
 Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain. 
 
 Rest, injured shade ! Shall Slander squatting near, 
 Spit her cold venom in a dead man's ear ? 
 'Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow 
 In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe ; 
 Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies, 
 The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies. 
 Nurs'd in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, 
 And in thy heart they wither'd ! Such chill dew 
 Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed ; 
 And Vanity her filmy net-work spread, 
 With eye that roll'd around in asking gaze, 
 And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise, 
 Thy follies such ! the hard world mark'd them well 
 Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? 
 Rest, injur'd shade ! the poor man's grateful prayer 
 On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. 
 As oft as twilight gloom thy grave I pass 
 And sit me down upon its recent grass, 
 With introverted eye I contemplate 
 Similitude of soul, perhaps of Fate 1 
 
ON A FRIEND. 411 
 
 To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assigned 
 Energetic Reason and a shaping mind, 
 The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, 
 And Pity's sigh, that hreathes the gentle heart. 
 Sloth-jaundic'd all ! and from my graspless hand 
 Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour-glass sand. 
 I weep, yet stoop not ! the faint anguish flows, 
 A dreamy pang in Morning's fev'rish doze. 
 
 Is this pil'd earth our Being's passless mound ? 
 
 Tell me, cold grave ! is Death with poppies crown'd ? 
 
 Tir'd Centinel ! 'mid fitful starts I nod, 
 
 And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod 1 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 WITH A POEM ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 MUCH on my early youth I love to dwell, 
 Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell, 
 Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale, 
 I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale ! 
 Yet tho' the hours flew by on careless wing, 
 Full heavily of sorrow would I sing. 
 Aye as the star of evening flung its beam 
 In broken, radiance on the wavy stream, 
 My soul, amid the pensive twilight gloom, 
 Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo ! o'er thy tomb i 
 Where'er I wandered, Pity still was near, 
 Breath'd from the heart and glistened in the tear : 
 No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye, 
 And sufPring Nature wept that one should die 1 
 
 Thus to sad sympathies I sooth'd my breast, 
 Calm as the rainbow in the weeping W est : 
 H .* 
 
412 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 When slumb'ring Freedom rous'd by high Disdain 
 With giant fury burst her triple chain ! 
 Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; 
 Her Banners, like a midnight Meteor, flow'd : 
 Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies 
 She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes ! 
 Then exultation wak'd the patriot fire 
 And swept with wilder hand th' Alcoen lyre : 
 Red from the Tyrant's wound I shook the lance, 
 And strode in joy the reeking plains of France ! 
 |j 
 
 Fall'n is th' oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low, 
 And my heart aches, tho* Mercy struck the blow. 
 With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, 
 Where peaceful Virtue weaves the Myrtle braid. 
 And O ! if Eyes, whose holy glances roll, 
 Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul ; 
 If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien 
 Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen 
 Shaping celestial forms in vacant air, 
 If these demand th' empassion'd Poet's care 
 If Mirth, and soften'd Sense, and Wit refin'd, 
 The blameless features of a lovely mind ; 
 Then haply shall my trembling hand assign 
 No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine. 
 Nor Sara ! thou these early flowers refuse 
 Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues : 
 No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings 
 From Flatt'ry's night-shade : as he feels, he sings. 
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM. 
 
 THUS far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme 
 Elaborate and swelling : yet the heart 
 
TO A FRIEND. 413 
 
 Not owns it. From thy spirit breathing powers 
 I ask not now, my friend ! the aiding verse, 
 Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought 
 Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know) 
 From business wand'ring far and local cares, 
 Thou creepest round a dear-lov'd Sister's bed 
 With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look, 
 Soothing each pang with fond solicitude, 
 And tenderest tones medicinal of love. 
 
 I too a Sister had, an only Sister 
 
 She lov'd me dearly, and I doted on her ! 
 To her I pour'd forth all my puny sorrows, 
 (As a sick Patient in his Nurse's arms) 
 And of the heart those hidden maladies 
 That shrink asham'd from even Friendship's eye. 
 O ! I have woke at midnight, and have wept, 
 Because she was not ! Cheerily, dear Charles ! 
 Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year : 
 Such warm pressages feel I of high Hope. 
 For not uninterested the dear maid 
 I've view'd, her soul affectionate yet wise, 
 Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories 
 That play around a sainted infant's head. 
 He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees, 
 Of whose omniscient and all spreading Love 
 Aught to implore* were impotence of mind) 
 That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne, 
 Prepar'd, when he his healing ray vouchsafes, 
 To pour forth thanksgiving with lifted heart, 
 And praise Him Gracious with a Brother's Joy I 
 
 * I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the Lines 
 Of whose omniscient and all- spreading Love 
 Aught to implore where impotence of mind, 
 
 it being written in Scripture, " Ask, and it shall be given you," and 
 my human reason being moreover convinced of the propriet* of 
 offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity. 
 
 M K a 
 
414 
 
 SONNETS, 
 
 ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OP THE REV. W. L. BOWL! 
 
 SONNET I. 
 
 MY heart has thank' d thee, Bowles! for those soft 
 
 strains 
 
 Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring 
 Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring ! 
 For hence not callous to the mourner's pains 
 Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went : 
 And when the darker day of life began, 
 And I did roam, a thought bewilder'd man ! 
 Their mild and manliest melancholy lent 
 A mingled charm, which oft the pang consigned 
 To slumber, tho' the big tear it renew'd : 
 Buldtfjrg such strange mysterious pleasure brood 
 Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, 
 As made the soul enamour'd of her woe 
 No common praise, dear Bard ! to thee I owe ! 
 
 SONNET II. 
 
 ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO LATE. 
 
 THOU bleedest, my poor Heart ! and thy distress 
 Reas'ning I ponder with a scornful smile 
 And probe thy sore wound sternly, tho' the while 
 Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. 
 Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? 
 Or list'ning, why forget the healing tale, 
 When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale 
 Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand ? 
 Faint was that Hope, and rayless ! Yet 'twas fair 
 
SONNETS. 415 
 
 And sooth'd with many a dream the hour of rest ; 
 Thou shouid'st have loved it most, when most oppress'd. 
 And nurs'd it with an agony of Care, 
 Ev'n as a Mother her sweet infant heir, 
 That wan and sickly drops upon her breast I 
 
 SONNET III. 
 
 THOU gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, 
 Why hast thou left me ? Still in some fond dream 
 Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile ! 
 As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam : 
 What time, in sickly mood, at parting day 
 I lay me down and think of happier years ; 
 Of Joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray 
 Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. 
 
 pleasant days of Hope for ever flown ! 
 Could I recal you ! But that thought is vain. 
 Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone 
 
 To lure the fleet-wing'd Travellers back again : 
 Yet fair, tho* faint, their images shall gleam 
 Like the bright Rainbow on an evening stream. 
 
 SONNET IV. 
 
 TO THE RIVER OTTER. 
 
 DEAR native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West ! 
 
 How many various-fated years have past, 
 
 What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last 
 
 1 skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast. 
 Numbering its light leaps ! Yet so deep imprest 
 Sink the sweet scenes of Childhood, that mine eyes 
 I never shut amid the sunny blaze, 
 
 But straight with all their tints thy waters rise, 
 Thy crossing plank, thy margin's willowy maxe, 
 And bedded sand that, vein'd with various dies, 
 
 
41G SONNETS. 
 
 Gleam'd thro* thy bright transparence to the gaze ! 
 Visions of Childhood ! oft have ye beguil'd 
 Lone Manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs, 
 Aii ! that once more I were a careless Child ! 
 
 SONNET V. 
 
 COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OP 
 
 BROOKLET COOMB, IN THE COUNTY OP 
 
 SOMERSET, MAY, 1795. 
 
 WITH many a pause and oft reverted eye 
 
 I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 
 
 Warble in shade their wild-wood melody : 
 
 Far off th' unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. 
 
 Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock 
 
 That on green plots o'er precipices browze : 
 
 From the forc'd fissures of the naked rock 
 
 The Yew tree bursts ! beneath its dark green boughs 
 
 (Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white) 
 
 Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, 
 
 I rest. And now have gain'd the topmost site. 
 
 Ah ! what a luxury of landscape meets 
 
 My gaze ! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me 
 
 Elm-shado\v'd Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea ! 
 
 Deep sighs my lonely heart : I drop the tear : 
 
 Enchanting spot ! O were my Sara here ! 
 
 SONNET VI. 
 
 SWEET Mercy ! how my very heart has bled 
 To see thee, poor Old Man ! and thy grey hairs 
 Hoar with the snowy blast ; while no one cares 
 To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head. 
 My father ! throw away this tatter' d vest 
 That mocks thy shiv'ring ! take my garment use 
 A young man's arm ! I'll melt these frozen dews 
 
SONNETS. 417 
 
 That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. 
 
 My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child : 
 
 And thou shalt talk, in our fire side's recess, 
 
 Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness. 
 
 He did not scowl, the Galilean mild, 
 
 Who met the Lazar turned from rich man's doors, 
 
 And calFd him Friend, and wept upon his sores ! 
 
 SONNET VII. 
 
 PALE Roamer, thro' the Night ! thou poor Forlorn ! 
 
 Remorse that man on his death-bed possess, 
 
 Who in the credulous hour of tenderness 
 
 Betray 'd, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn. 
 
 The world is pityless ; the Chaste one's pride, 
 
 Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress : 
 
 Thy Loves and they that envied thee deride : 
 
 And vice alone will shelter Wretchedness ! 
 
 O ! I am sad to think, that there should be 
 
 Cold-bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place 
 
 Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery, 
 
 And force from Famine the caress of Love ! 
 
 May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace, 
 
 He, the great Comforter that rules above ! 
 
 SONNET VIII. 
 
 TO THE AUTHOK OF " THE ROBBERS." 
 
 SCHILLER ! * that hour I would have wish'd to die, 
 If thro' the shudd'ring midnight I had sent 
 
 * One night in Winter, on leaving a College-friend's room, with 
 whom I had supped, I carelessly took away with me " The Robbers" 
 a drama, the very name of which I had never before heard of: 
 a winter midnight the wind high and "The Robbers" for the 
 
 first time The readers of Schiller will conceive what I felt. 
 
 Schiller introduces no sup%natural beings ; yet his human heinga 
 agitate and astonish, more than all the goblin rout even of fc:-a!. 
 peare. 
 
418 BONNETS. 
 
 From the dark Dungeon of the Tower time-rent 
 That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cry 
 That in no after moment aught less vast 
 Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout 
 Black Horror scream'd and all her goblin rout, 
 From the more with'ring scene diminished past. 
 Ah ! Bard tremendous in sublimity ! 
 Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood, 
 Wand'ring at eve with finely frenzied eye 
 Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood ! 
 Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood, 
 Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy ! 
 
 SONNET IX. 
 
 COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD J THE AU- 
 THOR HAVING RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE OF THE 
 BIRTH OF A SON, SEPTEMBER, 20, 1796. 
 
 OFT o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll 
 Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) 
 Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, 
 Mix'd with such feelings as perplex the soul 
 Self-question'd in her sleep : and some have said 
 We liv'd, ere yet this fleshy robe we wore. 
 
 my sweet Baby ! when I reach my door, 
 If heavy looks should tell me, thou wert dead 
 (As sometimes, thro' excess of hope, I fear) 
 
 1 think that I should struggle to believe 
 Thou wert a Spirit, to take this nether sphere 
 Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve ; 
 Didst scream, then spring to meet Heaven's quick 
 
 reprieve. 
 While we wept idiy o'er tiiy li$e bier ! 
 
SONNETS. 4l9 
 
 SONNET X. 
 
 TO A FRIEND, WHO ASKED HOW I PELT, WHEN THE 
 NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME. 
 
 CHARLES ! my slow heart was only sad, when first 
 
 I scann'd that face of feeble infancy : 
 
 For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst 
 
 All I had been, and all ray babe might be ! 
 
 But when I saw it on its Mother's arm, 
 
 And hanging at her bosom (she the while 
 
 Bent o'er its features with a tearful smile) 
 
 Then I was thrill'd and melted, and most warm 
 
 Impress'd a Father's kiss : and all beguil'd 
 
 Of dark remembrance, and presageful fear 
 
 I seem'd to see an Angel's form appear. 
 
 'Twas even thine, beloved Woman mild ! 
 
 So for the Mother's sake the Child was dear 
 
 And dearer was the Mother for the Child. 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 ON HAVING LEFT A PLACE OF RETIREMENT. 
 
 Low was our pretty Cot : our tallest Rose 
 Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could hear 
 At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, 
 The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air 
 Our Myrtles blossom'd ; and across the porch 
 Thick Jasmines twin'd : the little landscape round 
 Was green and woody and refresh'd the eye. 
 It was a spot, which you might aptly call 
 The Valley of Seclusion ! Once I saw 
 (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) 
 A wealthy son of Commerce saunter by, 
 Bristowa's citizen . Methought, it calm'd 
 
4^ REFLECTIONS. 
 
 His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse 
 With wiser feelings : for he paus'd, and look* a 
 With a pleas'd sadness, and gaz'd all around, 
 Then eyed our cottage, and gaz'd round again, 
 And sigli'd, and said, it was a blessed place. 
 And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear 
 Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note 
 (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen 
 Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisperM tones 
 I've said to my Beloved, " Such, sweet Girl ! 
 The inobtrusive song of Happiness 
 Unearthly minstrelsy ! then only heard 
 When the Soul seeks to hear ; when all is hush'd 
 And the Heart listens !" 
 
 But the time, when first 
 From that low Dell steep up the stony Mount 
 I climb'd with perilous toil and reach'd the top, 
 
 what a goodly scene ! Here the bleak Mount, 
 The bare bleak Mountain speckled thin with sheep ; 
 Grey Clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields j 
 
 L.nd River, now, with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd 
 Tow winding bright and full, with naked banks ; 
 And Seats, and Lawns, the Abbey, and the Wood, 
 And Cots, and Hamlets, and faint City-spire : 
 The Channel there, the Islands and white Sails, 
 Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Ocean 
 It seem'd like Omnipresence ! God, methought, 
 Had built him there a Temple ; the whole World 
 Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference. 
 No wish profan'd my overwhelmed Heart. 
 Blest hour ! It was a Luxury to be ! 
 
 Ah quiet Dell ! dear Cot ! and Mount sublime ! 
 
 1 was constrained to quit you. Was it right, 
 While my unnumbered Brethren toil'd and bled, 
 
KKFLECJTIONS. 421 
 
 That I should dream away the trusted Hours 
 
 On rose-leaf Beds, pamp'ring the coward Heart 
 
 With feelings all too delicate for use ? 
 
 Sweet is the Tear that from some Howard's eye 
 
 Drops on the cheek of one, he lifts from earth : 
 
 And He, that works me good with unmov'd face, 
 
 Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, 
 
 My Benefactor, not my Brother Man ! 
 
 Yet even this, this cold Beneficence 
 
 Seizes my Praise, when I reflect on those, 
 
 The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe ! 
 
 Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, 
 
 Nursing in some delicious solitude 
 
 Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies! 
 
 I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, 
 
 Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight 
 
 Of Science, Freedom, and the Truth in Christ. 
 
 Yet oft when after honourable toil 
 
 Rests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to dream, 
 
 My Spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot ! 
 
 Thy Jasmine and thy window-peeping Rose, 
 
 And Myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. 
 
 And I shall sigh fond wishes sweet Abode ! 
 
 Ah had none greater ! And that all had such ! 
 
 It might be so but the time is not yet. 
 
 Speed it, O Father ! Let thy Kingdom come ! 
 
 ODE TO SARA, 
 
 WRITTEN AT SHTJRTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGWATEK, 
 SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTEI 
 FROM BRISTOL. 
 
 [The first Stanza alludes to a Passage in the Letter.] 
 
 Nor travels my meand'ring eye 
 The starry wiWerness on high ; 
 o o 
 
122 ODE TO SARA. 
 
 Nor now with curious siyrbt 
 I mark the glow-worm, as I pass, 
 Move with " green radiance" thro* the grass, 
 
 An Emerald of Light. 
 
 ever-present to my view ! 
 My wafted spirit is with you, 
 
 And soothes your boding fears : 
 
 1 see you all oppress'd with gloom 
 Sit lonely in that cheerless room 
 
 Ah me ! You are in tears ! 
 
 Beloved woman ! did you fly 
 
 Chill'd Friendship's dark disliking eye, 
 
 Or mirth's untimely din ? 
 With cruel weight these trifles press 
 A temper sore with Tenderness, 
 
 When aches the void within. 
 But why with sable wand unbless'd 
 Should Fancy rouse within my breast 
 
 Dim-visag'd shapes of Dread ? 
 Untenanting its beauteous clay 
 My Sara's soul has wing'd its way. 
 
 And hovers round my head ! 
 
 I felt it prompt the tender Dream, 
 When slowly sunk the day's last gleam ;. 
 
 You rous'd each gentler sense, 
 As sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, 
 Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume 
 
 With viewless influence. 
 
 And hark, my Love ! The sea-breeze moans 
 Thro' yon reft house ! -9'er rolling stones 
 
 With broad impetuous sweep, 
 The fast encroaching tides supply 
 
ODE TO SARA. 
 
 The silence of the cloudless sfev 
 
 IV 1U1 llUUllC tUUiiu.wAO Vtw'v^ . 
 
 Dark-red'ning from the channel'd Isle * 
 (Where stands one solitary pile 
 
 Unslated by the blast) 
 The Watchfire, like a sullen star, 
 Twinkles to many a dozing Tar 
 
 Rude-cradled on the mast. 
 
 Ev'n there beneath that light-house tow 
 In the tumultuous evil hour 
 
 Ere Peace with Sara came, 
 Time was 3 I should have thought it sweet 
 To count the echoings of my feet, 
 
 And watch the troubled flame. 
 
 And there in black and jaundic'd fit 
 A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit, 
 
 And listen to the roar : 
 When mountain Surges bellowing deep 
 With an uncouth monster leap 
 
 Plung'd foaming on the shore. 
 
 Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark 
 Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark ; 
 
 Her vain distress-guns hear : 
 And when a second sheet of light 
 Flashed o'er the blackness of the night 
 
 To see no Vessel there ! 
 
 But Fancy now more gaily sings ; 
 Or if awhile she droop her wings, 
 
 As sky-larks mid the corn, 
 On summer fields she grounds her breast? 
 
 The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel. 
 O O % 
 
424 ODE TO SARA. 
 
 Th' oblivious Poppy o'er her rest 
 Nods, till returning morn. 
 
 O mark those smiling tears, that swell 
 The open'd Rose ! From heaven they fell, 
 
 And with the sun-beam blend ; 
 Blest visitation from above : 
 Such are the tender woes of Love 
 
 Fost'ring the heart, they bend ! 
 
 When stormy Midnight howling round 
 Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound. 
 
 To me your arms you'll stretch : 
 Great God ! you'll say To us so kind, 
 
 shelter from this loud bleak wind 
 
 The houseless, friendless wretch ! 
 
 % 
 
 The tears that tremble down your cheek, 
 Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek 
 
 In Pity's dew divine ; 
 And from your heart the sighs that steal 
 Shall make your rising bosom feel 
 
 The answ'ring swell of mine ! 
 
 How oft, my Love ! with shapings sweet 
 
 1 paint the moment, we shall meet ! 
 With eager speed I dart 
 
 1 seize you in the vacant air, 
 And fancy, with a Husband's care 
 I press you to my heart ! 
 
 ' 1'is said, on Summer's evening hour 
 Flashes the goMen-colour'd flower 
 
 A fair electric flame : 
 And so shall flash my love-charg'd eye 
 When all the heart's big ecstasy 
 Shoots rapid thro* the frame ! 
 
LINKS COMPOSED AT CLEVEDOW. 425 
 
 LINES COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, 
 
 SOMERSETSHIRE. 
 
 My pensive Sara . tny soft cheek reclin'd 
 
 Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is 
 
 To sit beside our cot, our cot o'er grown 
 
 With white-flower'd Jasmine, and the broad-leav'd 
 
 Myrtle. 
 
 (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love! 
 And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, 
 Siow-sadd'ning round, and mark the star of eve 
 Serenely brilliant (such should wisdom be) 
 Shine opposite ! How exquisite the scents 
 Snatch'd from yon bean-field ! and the world so 
 
 hush'd ! 
 
 The stilly murmur of the distant Sea 
 Tells us of Silence. And that simplest Lute 
 Plac'd length-ways in the clasping casement, hark I 
 How by the desultory breeze caress'd, 
 Like some coy Maid half-yielding to her Lover, 
 It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs 
 Tempt to repeat the wrong ! And now its strings 
 Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes 
 Over delicious surges sink and rise 
 Such a soft floating witchery of sound 
 As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve 
 Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy Land, 
 Where Melodies, round honey-dropping flowers 
 Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, 
 Nor pause nor perch, hov'ring on untam'd wing. 
 And thus, my Love ! as on the midway slope 
 Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, 
 Whilst turo' my half-clos'd eyelids I behold 
 The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, 
 And tranquil muse upon tranquillity ; 
 o 8 
 
426 LINES COMPOSED AT CLEYEDON". 
 
 Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, 
 
 And many idle flitting phantasies, 
 
 Traverse my indolent and passive brain, 
 
 As wild and various as the random gales 
 
 That swell or flutter on this subject Lute ! 
 
 And what if all of animated nature 
 
 Be but organic Harps diversly fram'd, 
 
 That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps, 
 
 Plastic and vast, one intellectual Breeze, 
 
 At once the Soul of each, and God of all ? 
 
 But thy more serious eye a mild reproof 
 
 Darts, O beloved Woman ! nor such thoughts 
 
 Dim and uuhallow'd dost thou not reject, 
 
 And biddest me walk humbly with my God. 
 
 Meek Daughter in the Family of Christ, 
 
 Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd 
 
 These shapings of the unregenerate mind, 
 
 Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break 
 
 On vain Pholosophy's aye-babbling spring. 
 
 For never guiltless may I speak of Him, 
 
 Th' Incomprehensible ! save when with awe 
 
 I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels ; 
 
 Who with his saving mercies healed me, 
 
 A sinful and most miserable man 
 
 Wilder' d and dark, and gave me to possess 
 
 Peace and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honour'd Maid ! 
 
 TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. 
 
 WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF 
 HER INNOCENCE. 
 
 M-XRTLE leaf, that ill besped 
 
 Pinest in the gladsome ray, 
 Soil'd beneath the common tread 
 
 Far from thy protecting spray I 
 
TO Alf UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. 427 
 
 When the Rustic o'er his sheaf 
 
 Caroll'd in the yellow vale, 
 Sad, I saw thee, headless leaf! 
 
 Love the dalliance of the gale. 
 
 Lightly didst thou, foolish thing I 
 
 Heave and flutter to his sighs, 
 While the Flatt'rer on his wing 
 
 Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise. 
 
 Gaily from thy mother's stalk 
 Wert thou danc'd and wafted high ; 
 
 Soon on this unshelter'd walk 
 Flung to fade, to rot, and die ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FE- 
 BRUARY, 1794. WRITTEN NEAR SHEFFIELD. 
 
 SWEET Flower ! that peeping from thy russet stem, 
 
 Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort 
 
 This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering 
 
 Month 
 
 Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee 
 With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower ! 
 These are but flatteries of the faithless Year. 
 Perchance escap'd its unknown polar cave 
 Ev'n now the keen North- East is on its way. 
 Flower, that must perish ; shall I liken thee 
 To some sweet Girl of too, too rapid growth 
 Nipp'd by Consumption 'mid untimely charms? 
 Or to Bristowa's Bard,* the wond'rous boy ! 
 And Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own, 
 Blooming 'mid ^ovejty's drear wintry w* 
 Chatterton. 
 
428 LINES. 
 
 Till Disappointment came and pelting Wrong 
 Beat it to earth 1 Or with indignant grief 
 Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope, 
 Bright flower of hope kill'd in the opening bud ? 
 Farewell, sweet Blossom ! better fate be thine 
 And mock my boding ! dim similitudes 
 Weaving in moral strains, I've stol'n one hour 
 From black anxiety that gnaws my heart 
 For her who droops far off on a sick bed : 
 And the warm wooings of this sunny day 
 Tremble along my frame, and harmonize 
 Th' attemper'd brain, that ev'n the saddest thoughts 
 Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes 
 Play'd deftly on a soft-ton'd instrument. 
 
 THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. 
 
 COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS, AND IN ABSENCE. 
 
 DIM Hour ! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, 
 O rise and yoke the Turtles to thy car ! 
 Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering Dove, 
 And give me to the bosom of my Love ! 
 My gentle Love, caressing and caress'd, 
 With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest ; 
 Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes, 
 Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs. 
 While finely-flushing float her kisses meek, 
 Like melted rubies o'er my pallid cheek. 
 Chill 'd by the night, the drooping Rose of May 
 Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day ; 
 Young Day returning at her promised hour 
 Weeps o'er the ?orrov r s of her fav'ritc Flower ; 
 Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs, 
 And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes. 
 
TO C. LLOYD. 429 
 
 New jfe and joy t\i' expanding flowret feels : 
 His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals ! 
 
 TO C. LLOYD, 
 
 ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THB 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, 
 
 But a green Mountain variously up-pil'd, 
 
 Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep 
 
 Or coloured lichens with slow oozing weep ; 
 
 Where cypress and the darker yew start wild ; 
 
 And mid the summer torrent's gentle dash 
 
 Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash ; 
 
 Beneath whose boughs, ,by stilly sounds beguil'd, 
 
 Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep : 
 
 Till haply startled by some fleecy dam, 
 
 That rustling on the bushy cliff above 
 
 With melancholy bleat of anxious love 
 
 Made meek inquiry for her wand'ring lamb : 
 
 Such a green Mountain 'twere most sweet, to climb 
 
 E'en while the bosom uch'd with loneliness 
 
 How heavenly sweet, if some dear Friend should bless 
 
 Th' advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime 
 
 Now led, now follow : the glad landscape round, 
 
 Wide and more wide, increasing without bound ! 
 
 O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark 
 The berries of the half up-rooted ash 
 Dripping and bright ; and list the torrent's dash- 
 Beneath the cypress or the yew more dark, 
 Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock, 
 In social silence now, and now t'unlock 
 The treasur'd heart ; arm link'd in friendly arm. 
 Save if the one, his muse's witching charm 
 Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag ; 
 
430 TO C. LLOYD. 
 
 Till high o'er head his beck'ning Friend appears, 
 And from the forehead of the topmost crag 
 Shouts eagerly : for haply there uprears 
 That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs, 
 Which latest shall detain th' enamour' d sight 
 Seen from below, when Eve the valley dims, 
 Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light; 
 And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft, 
 A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears, 
 Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale ! 
 Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, 
 Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine, 
 And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, 
 Ah dearest Lloyd ! it were a lot divine 
 To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, 
 While west- winds fann'd our temples toil-bcdew'd. 
 Then downwards slope, oft-pausing, from the mount, 
 To some low mansion in some woody dale, 
 Where smiling with blue eye Domestic Bliss 
 Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss ! 
 
 Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore, 
 The hill of knowledge I essay 'd to trace ; 
 That verd'rous hill with many a resting place, 
 And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour 
 To glad, and fertilize the subject plains ; 
 That hill with secret springs, and nooks nntrod, 
 And many a fancy-bless'd and holy sod, 
 Where inspiration, his diviner strains 
 Low-murm'ring, lay ; and startling from the rocka 
 Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks 
 Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of agre, 
 And mad oppression's thunder-clasping: rage I 
 O meek retiring Spirit ! we will ciimb, 
 Cheering and cheerM, this lovely hill sublime, 
 
TO C. LLOYD. 491 
 
 And from the stirring world uplifted hign 
 (Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind 
 To quiet musings shall attune the mind, 
 And oft the melancholy theme supply) 
 There while the prospect thro' the gazing eye 
 Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, 
 We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame. 
 Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, 
 As neighboring fountains image, each the whole : 
 Then when the mind has drunk its fill of truth, 
 We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, 
 Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame, 
 She, whom I love, shall love thee. Honour'd youth, 
 Now may Heaven realize this vision bright 1 
 
 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON THE CHRI&TMAS 
 EVE OF 1794. 
 
 What tho' first, 
 
 In years unseason'd, I attun'd the Lay 
 To idle Passion and unreal Woe ? 
 Yet serious Truth her empire o'er my song 
 Hath now asserted : Falsehood's evil brood, 
 Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once 
 Excluded, and my Fancy's careless toil 
 Drew to the better cause 1 AKENSIUE. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Introduction. Person of Christ. His prayer on the Cross. Tiie 
 progress of his Doctrines on the mind of the Individual. Character 
 of the elect. Superstition. Digression to the present War. Origin, 
 and Uses of Government and Property. The present state of Society. 
 French Revolution. Millennium. Universal Redemption. Conclusion. 
 
 THIS is the time, when, most divine to hear, 
 The voice of Adoration rouses me, 
 As with a Cherub's trump : and high upborne, 
 Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view 
 
432 RELIGIOUS MUSI SUB. 
 
 The vision of'the heavenly multitude, 
 
 Who hymn'd the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's fields ! 
 
 Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze, 
 
 That harbinger'd thy birth, Thou, Man of Woes 1 
 
 Despised Gallilean ! For the Great 
 
 Invisible (by symbols only seen) 
 
 With a peculiar and surpassing light 
 
 Shines from the visage of th* oppressed good Man, 
 
 When heedless of himself the scourged Saint 
 
 Mourns for th* Oppressor. Fair the vernal Mead, 
 
 Fair the high Grove, the Sea, the Sun, the Stars, 
 
 True Impress each of their creating Sire ! 
 
 Yet nor high Grove, nor many colour' d Mead, 
 
 Nor the green Ocean with his thousand Isles, 
 
 Nor the starr'd Azure, nor the sov'reign Sun, 
 
 E'er with such majesty of portraiture 
 
 Imag'd the supreme beauty uncreate, 
 
 As thou, Meek Saviour ; at the fearful hour 
 
 When thy insulted Anguish wing'd the prayer 
 
 Harp'd by Archangels, when they sing of Mercy . 
 
 Which when th' Almighty heard, from forth his Throne, 
 
 Diviner light fill'd Heaven with ecstasy ; 
 
 Heaven's hymnings paus'd : and Hell her yawning 
 
 mouth 
 Clos'd a brief moment. 
 
 Lovely was the Deatk 
 
 Of Him, whose Life was Love ! Holy with power 
 He on the thought-benighted Sceptic beam'd 
 Manifest Godhead, melting into day 
 What floating mists of dark idolatry 
 Broke and misshap'd the Omnipresent Sire 
 And first by fear uncharm'd the droused Soul, 
 Till of its nobler Nature it 'gan feel 
 Dim recollections ; and thence soar'd to Hope, 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 433 
 
 Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good 
 Th' Eternal dooms for his Immortal Sons. 
 From Hope and firmer Faith to perfect Love 
 Attracted and absorb'd : and centred there 
 God only to behold, and know, and feel, 
 Till by exclusive Consciousness of God 
 All self-annihilated it shall make 
 God its Identity : God all in all ! 
 We and our Father one ! 
 
 And bless'd are they, 
 
 Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven, 
 Their strong eye darting thro' the deeds of Men, 
 Adore with steadfast unpresuming gaze 
 Him Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy ! 
 And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend, 
 Treading beneath their feet all visible things 
 As steps, that upward to their Father's Throne 
 Lead gradual else nor glorified nor lov'd. 
 They nor Contempt imbosom nor Eevenge : 
 For they dare know of what may seem deform 
 The Supreme Fair sole Operant : in whose sight 
 All things are pure, his strong controlling Love 
 Alike from all educing perfect good. 
 Theirs too celestial courage, inly arm'd 
 Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse 
 On their great Father, great beyond compare ! 
 And marching onwards view high o'er their heads 
 His waving Banners of Omnipotence. 
 
 Who the Creator love, created might 
 Dread not : within their tents no Terrors walk 
 For they are Holy Things before the Lord 
 Aye-unprofan'd, tho' Earth should league with Hell 
 God's Altar grasping with an eager hand 
 Fear, the wild-visag'd, pale, eye-starting wretch, 
 p p 
 
434 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 Sure-refug'd hears his hot pursuing fiends 
 
 Yell at vain distance. Soon refresh' d from Heaven 
 
 He calms the throb and tempest of his heart. 
 
 His countenance settles : a soft solemn bliss 
 
 Swims in his eye : his swimming eye upraised 
 
 And Faith's whole armour glitters on his limbs ! 
 
 And thus transfigur'd with a dreadless awe, 
 
 A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds 
 
 All things of terrible seeming : yea unmov'd 
 
 Views e'en th' immitigable ministers 
 
 That shower down vengeance on these latter days. 
 
 For kindling with intenser Deity 
 
 From the celestial Mercy-seat they come, 
 
 And at the renovating Wells of Love 
 
 Have fill'd their Vials with salutary Wrath, 
 
 To sickly Nature more medicinal 
 
 Than what soft balm the weeping good man pours 
 
 Into the lone despoiled traveler's wounds ! 
 
 Thus from th' Elect, regenerate thro' faith, 
 Pass the dark Passions and what thirsty Cares 
 Drink up the spirit and the dim regards 
 Self-centre. Lo they vanish ! or acquire 
 New names, new features by supernal grace 
 Enrob'd with Light, and naturaliz'd in Heaven. 
 As when a Shepherd on a vernal morn 
 -Thro' some thick fog creeps tim'rous with slow foot, 
 Darkling he fixes on th' immediate road 
 His downward eye : all else of fairest kind 
 Hidordeform'd.' Butlo! the bursting Sun ! 
 Toucli'd by th' enchantment of that sudden beam, 
 Strait the black vapor melteth, and in globes 
 Of dewy glitter gems each plant and tree ; 
 On every leaf, on every blade it hangs ! 
 Dance glad the new-born intermingling rays ! 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 435 
 
 And wide around the landscape streams with glory 1 
 
 There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, 
 
 Omnific. His most holy name is Love. 
 
 Truth of subliming import ! with the which 
 
 Who feeds and saturates his constant soul, 
 
 He from his small particular orbit flies 
 
 With bless'd outstarting ! From Himself he flies, 
 
 Stands in the Sun, and with no partial gaze 
 
 Views all creation ; and he loves it all, 
 
 And blesses it, and calls it very good ! 
 
 This is indeed to dwell with the most High ! 
 
 Cherubs and rapture-trembling Seraphim 
 
 Can press no nearer to th' Almighty's Throne. 
 
 But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts 
 
 Unfeeling of our unive. al Sire. 
 
 And that in his vast family no Cain 
 
 Injures uninjur'd (in her best-arm'd blow 
 
 Victorious Murder a blind Suicide) 
 
 Haply for this some younger Angel now 
 
 Looks down on Human Nature : and, behold ! 
 
 A sea of blood bestrew'd with wrecks, where mad 
 
 Embattling Interests on each other rush 
 
 With unhelm'd Rage ! 
 
 'Tis the sublime of man, 
 Our noontide Majesty, to know ourselves 
 Parts and proportions of one wond'rous whole ! 
 This fraternizes man, this constitutes 
 Our charities and bearings. But 'tis God 
 Diffus'd thro* all, that doth make all one whole ; 
 This the worst superstition ! him except 
 Aught to desire, Supreme Reality ! 
 The plenitude and permanence of bliss ! 
 O Fiends of Superstition ! not that oft 
 The erring Priest hath stain'd with Brother's blood 
 Your grisly idols, not for this may Wrath 
 
430 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 Thundei against you from the Holy One! 
 
 But o'er some plain that streameth to the San, 
 
 Peopled with Death ; or where more hideous Trade 
 
 Loud-laughing packs his bales of human anguish ; 
 
 I will rise up a mourning, O ye Fiends ! 
 
 And curse your spells, that film the eye of Faith, 
 
 Hiding the present God ; whose presence lost, 
 
 The moral world's cohesion, we become 
 
 An Anarchy of Spirits I Toy-be witch'd, 
 
 Made blind by lusts, disherited of soul, 
 
 No common centre Man, no common sire 
 
 Knoweth ! A sordid solitary thing, 
 
 Mid countless brerthen with a lonely heart 
 
 Thro' courts and cities the smooth Savage roams 
 
 Feeling himself, his own low Self the whole ; 
 
 When he by sacred sympathy might make 
 
 The whole one self! self, that no alien knows! 
 
 Self, far diffus'd as Fancy's wing can travel I 
 
 Self, spreading still ! Oblivious of its own, 
 
 Yet all of all possessing ! This is Faith ! 
 
 This the Messiah's destin'd victory ! 
 
 But first offences need must come ! Even now 
 
 (Black Hell laughs horrible to hear the scoff !) 
 
 Thee to defend, meek Galilean ! Thee 
 
 And thy mild laws of Love unutterable, 
 
 Mistrust and Enmity have burst the bands 
 
 Of social Peace ! and list'ning Treachery lurks 
 
 With pious fraud to snare a brother's life ; 
 
 And childless widows o'er the groaning land 
 
 Wail numberless ; and orphans weep for bread ! 
 
 Thee to defend, dear Saviour of Mankind ! 
 
 Thee, Lamb of God ! Thee, blameless Prince of Peace ! 
 
 From all sides rush the thirsty brood of War ; 
 
 Austria, and that foul Woman of the North, 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 437 
 
 The lustful Murd'ress of her wedded Lord ! 
 
 And he, connatural Mind ! whom (in their songs, 
 
 So bards of elder time had haply feign'd) 
 
 Some Fury fondled in her hate to man, 
 
 Bidding her serpent hair in mazy surge 
 
 Lick his young face, and at his mouth inbreathe 
 
 Horrible sympathy ! And leagued with these 
 
 Each petty German princeling, nurs'd in gore ! 
 
 Soul-harden'd barterers of human blood ! 
 
 Death's prime Slave-merchants! Scorpion-whips of 
 
 Fate! 
 
 Nor least in savagery of holy zeal, 
 Apt for the yoke, the race degenerate, 
 Whom Britain erst had blush'd to call her sons ! 
 Thee to defend the Moloch Priest prefers 
 The prayer of hate, and bellows to the herd 
 That Deity, accomplice Deity 
 In the fierce jealousy of waken'd wrath 
 Will go forth with our armies and our fleets 
 To scatter the red ruin on their foes ! 
 O blasphemy ! to mingle fiendish deeds 
 With blessedness ! 
 
 Lord of unsleeping Love, 
 From everlasting Thou ! We shall not die. 
 These, even these, in mercy didst thou form. 
 Teachers of Good thro' Evil, by brief wrong 
 Making Truth lovely, and her future might 
 Magnetic o'er the fix'd untrembling heart. 
 
 In the primeval age a dateless while 
 The vacant Shepherd wander d with his flock 
 Pitching his tent where'er the green grass wav'd. 
 But soon Imagination conjur'd up 
 A bost of new desires : with busy aim, 
 p p 3 
 
438 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 The lion couches ; or hyaena dips 
 
 ])ccp in the lucid stream his bloody jaws ; 
 
 Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering bulk, 
 
 Caught in whose monstrous twine Behemoth yells,* 
 
 II is bones loud crashing! 
 
 O ye numberless, 
 
 Whom foul Oppression's ruffian gluttony 
 Drives from life's plenteous feast ! O thou poor wretch, 
 Who nurs'd in darkness and made wild by want 
 Koamest for prey, yea thy unnatural hand 
 Doth lift to deeds of blood ! O pale-eyed Form, 
 Tiie victim of seduction, doom'd to know 
 Polluted nights and days of blasphemy j 
 Who in loath'd orgies, with lewd wassailers 
 Must gaily laugh, while thy remember'd Home 
 Gnaws like a viper at thy secret heart ! 
 O aged Women ! ye who weekly catch 
 The morsel toss'd by law-fore' d Charity, 
 And die so slowly, that none call it murder ! 
 O loathly Suppliants ! ye, that unreceived, 
 Totter heart-broken from the closing gates 
 Of the full Lazar-house ; or, gazing, stand 
 Sick with despair ! O ye to Glory's field 
 Forc'd or ensnar'd, who, as ye gasp in death, 
 Bleed with new wounds beneath the Vulture's beak ! 
 O thou poor Widow, who in dreams dost view 
 Thy Husband's mangled corse, and from short doze 
 Start'st with a shriek : or in thy half-thatch'd cot 
 Wak'd by the wintry night-storm, wet and cold, 
 Cowr'st o'er thy screaming baby ! Rest awhile, 
 Children of Wretchedness ! More groans must rise, 
 
 * Behemoth in Hebrew signifies wild beasts in general, 
 believe it is the Elephant, some the Hippopotamus ; some affirm it fc 
 the Wild bull. Poetically, it designates any large quadruped. 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 439 
 
 Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er 
 
 Measur'd firm paces to the calming sound 
 
 Of Spartan flute ! These on the fated day, 
 
 When, stung to rage by Pity, eloquent men 
 
 Have rous'd with pealing voice th' unnumber'd tribes 
 
 That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind, 
 
 These hush'd awhile with patient eye serene 
 
 Shall watch the mad careering of the storm ; 
 
 Then o'er the wild and wavy chaos rush 
 
 And tame th* outrageous mass, with plastic might 
 
 Moulding Confusion to such perfect forms ; 
 
 As erst were wont, bright visions of the day ! 
 
 To float before them, when, the Summer noon, 
 
 Beneath some arch'd romantic rock reclin'd 
 
 They felt the sea-breeze lift their youthful locks j 
 
 Or in the month of blossoms, at mild eve, 
 
 Wandering with desultory feet, inhaPd 
 
 The wafted perfumes, and the flocks and woods 
 
 And many-tinted streams and setting Sun, 
 
 With all his gorgeous company of clouds 
 
 Ecstatic gaz'd ! then homeward as they stray'd 
 
 Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mus'd 
 
 Why there was Misery in a world so fair. 
 
 Ah far remov'd from all that glads the sense, 
 
 From all that softens or ennobles Man. 
 
 The wretched Many ! Bent beneath their loads 
 
 They gape at pageant Power, nor recognize 
 
 Their cots' transmuted plunder! From the tree 
 
 Of Knowledge, ere the vernal sap had risen 
 
 Rudely disbranch'd 1 Blessed Society ! 
 
 Fitliest depictur'd by some sun-scorch'd waste, 
 
 Where oft majestic thro' the tainted noon 
 
 The Simoon sails, before whose purple pomp 
 
 Who falls not prostrate dies ! And where, by night, 
 
 Fast by each precious fountain on green herbs 
 
440 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 Each for himself, Earth's eager children toil'd. 
 So Property began, twy- streaming fount, 
 Whence Vice and Virtue flow, honey and gall. 
 Hence the soft couch, and many-colour' d robe, 
 The timbrel, and arch'd dome and costly feast, 
 With all th' inventive arts, that nurs'd the soul 
 To forms of beauty, and by sensual wants 
 Unsensualiz'd the mind, which in the means 
 Learnt to forget the grossness of the end, 
 Best pleasur'd with its own activity. 
 And hence Disease that withers manhood's arm, 
 The dagger'd Envy, spirit-quenching Want, 
 Warriors, and Lords, and Priests all the sore ills 
 That vex and desolate our mortal life. 
 Wide-wasting ills ! yet each th' immediate source 
 Of mightier good. Their keen necessities 
 To ceaseless action goading human thought 
 Have made Earth's reasoning animal her Lord ; 
 And the pale-featur'd Sage's trembling hand 
 Strong as a host of armed Deities, 
 Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst. 
 
 From Avarice thus, from Luxury and War 
 Sprang heavenly Science ; and from Science Freedom. 
 O'er waken'd realms Philosophers, and Bards 
 Spread in concentric circles : they whose souls 
 Conscious of their high dignities from God, 
 Brook not Wealth's rivalry ; and they who long 
 Enamour'd with the charms of order hate 
 Th' unseemly disproportion ; and whoe'er 
 Turn with mild sorrow from the victor's car 
 And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse 
 On that bless'd triumph, when the Patriot Sage 
 Call'd the red lightnings from th' o ; er-rushing cloud 
 And dash'd the beauteous Terrors on the earth 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 441 
 
 Up the fine fibres thro' the sentient brain. 
 
 More blood must stream, or ere your wrongs be full. 
 
 Yet is the day of Retribution nigh : 
 
 The Lamb of God hath open'd the fifth seal: 
 
 And upward rush on swiftest wing of fire 
 
 Th' innumerable multitude of Wrongs 
 
 By ma- m man inflicted ! Rest awhile, 
 
 Childre.* of Wretchedness ! The hour is nigh : 
 
 And lo ! the Great, the Rich, the Mighty Men, 
 
 The Kings and the Chief Captains of the World, 
 
 With all that fix'd on high like stars of Heaven 
 
 Shot baleful influence, shall be cast to earth 
 
 Vile and down-trodden as the untimely fruit 
 
 Shook from the fig-tree by a sudden storm. 
 
 Ee'n now the storm begins ; each gentle name,* 
 
 Faith and meek Piety, with fearful joy 
 
 Tremble far off for lo ! the Giant Frenzy 
 
 Uprooting empires with his whirlwiud arm 
 
 Mocketh high Heaven ; burst hideous from the cell 
 
 Where the old Hag, unconquerable, huge, 
 
 Creation's eyeless drudge, black Ruin, sits 
 
 Nursing th' impatient earthquake. 
 
 O return ! 
 
 Pure Faith ! meek Piety ! The abhorred Form 
 Whose scarlet robe was stiff with earthly pomp 
 Hath met the horrible judgment ! Whence that cry ? 
 The mighty army of foul Spirits shriek'd, 
 Disherited of earth ! For She hath fallen 
 On whose black front was written Mystery j 
 She that reel'd heavily, whose wine was blood ; 
 She that worked whoredom with the Demon Power 
 And from the dark embrace all evil things 
 Brought forth and nurtur'd ; mitred Atheism ; 
 
 * This passage alludes to the French Revolution ; and the subae* 
 quent paragraph to the downfall of Religious Establishments. 
 
442 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 
 
 Gives back the Steel that stabb'd him ; and pale Fear f 
 
 Hunted by ghastlier shapings than surround 
 
 Moon-blasted Madness when he yells at midnight J 
 
 Keturn pure Faith ! return meek Piety ! 
 
 The kingdoms of the world are your's : each heart 
 
 Self-govern'd, the vast family of Love 
 
 Rais'd from the common earth by common toil 
 
 Enjoy the equal produce. Such delights 
 
 As float to earth, permitted visitants ! 
 
 When in some hour of solemn jubilee 
 
 The massy gates of Paradise are thrown 
 
 Wide open, and forth come in fragments wild 
 
 Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies, 
 
 And odors snatch' d from beds of Amaranth, 
 
 And they, that from the chrystal river of life 
 
 Spring up on freshened wing, ambrosial gales ! 
 
 The favored good man in his lonely walk 
 
 Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks 
 
 Strange bliss which he shall recognize in heaven. 
 
 And such delights, such strange beatitude 
 
 Sieze on my young anticipating heart 
 
 When that blest future rushes on my view ! 
 
 For in his own, and in his Father's might, 
 
 The_Saviour comes ! While as the Thousand Years 
 
 Lead up their mystic dance, the Desert shouts ! 
 
 Old Ocean claps his hands ! The mighty Dead 
 
 Rise to new life, whoe'er from earliest time 
 
 With conscious zeal had urg'd Love's wond'rous plan, 
 
 Coadjutors of God. To Milton's trump 
 
 The high Groves of the renovated Earth 
 
 Unbosom their glad echoes : inly hush'd 
 
 Adoring Newton Iris serener eye 
 
 Raises to heaven : and he of mortal kind 
 
 Wisest, he* first who mark'd the ideal tribes 
 
 * David Hartley, 
 
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 443 
 
 Up the fine fibres thro* the sentient brain. 
 Lo ! Priestly there, Patriot, and Saint, and Sage, 
 Him, full of years, from his lov'd native land ' 
 Statesman blood-stain' d and Priests idolatrous 
 By dark lies mad'ning the blind multitude 
 Drove withSrain hate. Calm, pitying he retired, 
 And inus'd expectant on these promised years. 
 
 O Years ! the blest pre-eminence of Saints ! 
 
 Ye sweep athwart my gaze, so heavenly-bright. 
 
 The wings that veil the adoring Seraph's eyes, 
 
 What time he bends before the Jaspar Throne 
 
 Reflect no lovelier hues ! yet ye depart, 
 
 And all beyond is darkness ! Heights most strange, 
 
 Whence Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing. 
 
 For who of woman born may paint the hour, 
 
 When seiz'd in his mid course, the Sun shall wane 
 
 Making noon ghastly ! Who of woman born 
 
 May image in the workings of his thought, 
 
 How the black-visag'd, red-ey'd Fiend out-stretcli'd* 
 
 Beneath the unsteady feet of Nature groans, 
 
 In feverish slumbers destin'd then to wake, 
 
 When fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name 
 
 And Angels shout Destruction ! How his arm 
 
 The last great Spirit lifting high in air 
 
 Shall swear by Him, the ever-living One 
 
 Time is no more ! 
 
 Believe thou, O my soul, 
 Life is a vision sbadowy of Truth ; 
 And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave, 
 Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire, 
 And lo ! the Throne of the redeeming God 
 Forth flashing unimaginable day 
 SVraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest hell. 
 
 The final destruction imeprsonated. 
 
444 RELIGIOUS MUSINGS. 
 
 Conteinplant Spirits ! ye that hover o'er 
 
 With untir'd gaze th' immeasurable fount 
 
 "Ebullient with creative Deity ! 
 
 And ye of plastic power that interfus'd 
 
 Roll thro' the grosser and material mass 
 
 In organizing surge ! Holies of God ! 
 
 (And what if Monads of the infinite mind ?) 
 
 1 haply journeying my immortal course 
 
 Shall sometime join your mystic choir ! Till then 
 
 I discipline my young noviciate thought 
 
 In ministeries of heart-stirring song 
 
 And aye on Meditation's heaven-ward wing 
 
 Soaring aloft I breathe th' empyreal air 
 
 Of Love, omnific, omnipresent Love, 
 
 Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul 
 
 As the great Sun, when he his influence 
 
 Sheds on the frost-bound waters The glad stream 
 
 Flows to the ray, and warbles as it flows. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE piteous sobs that choak the Virgin's breath 
 For him, the fair betrothed Youth, who lies 
 Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries 
 
 With which a Mother Avails her Darling's death, 
 
 These from our Nature's common impulse spring 
 Unblam'd, unprais'd ; but o'er the piled earth, 
 Which hides the sheeted corse of gray-hair'd Worth, 
 
 If droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing : 
 
 If he recall in saddest minstrelsy 
 
 Each tenderness bestowM, each truth impress'd ; 
 
 Such Grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety ! 
 
 And from the Almighty Father shall descend 
 
 Comforts on his late Evening, whose young breast 
 
 Mourns with no transient love the aged friend. 
 
TO JOSEPH OOTTLE. 445 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO JOSEPH COTTLE. 
 
 MY honored Friend ! whose verse concise yet clear 
 
 Tunes to smooth melody unconquer'd sense, 
 
 May your fame fadeless live, as " never-sere" 
 
 The Ivy wreathes yon Oak, whose broad defence 
 
 Embow'rs me from Noon's sultry influence I 
 
 For, like that nameless Riv'let stealing by, 
 
 Your modest verse to musing Quiet dear 
 
 Is rich with tints heav'n -borrowed : the charm'd eye 
 
 Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the soften'd sky. 
 
 Circling the base of the Poetic mount 
 
 A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow 
 
 Its coal-black waters from Oblivion's fount : 
 
 The vapor-poison'd Bird's, that fly too low, 
 
 Fall with deep swoop, and to the bottom go. 
 
 Escap'd that heavy stream on pinion fleet 
 
 Beneath the mountain's lofty-frowning brow, 
 
 Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet, 
 
 A mead of mildest charm delays th' unlab'ring feet. 
 
 Not there the cloud-climb' d rock, sublime and vast, 
 That like some giant king, o'er glooms the hill j 
 Nor there the Pine-grove to the midnight blast 
 Makes solemn music ! But th' unceasing rill 
 To the soft Wren or JLark's descending trill 
 Murmurs sweet undersong 'mid jasmin bowers. 
 In this same pleasant meadow, at your will, 
 I ween, you wanderM there collecting flow'rs 
 Of sober tint, and herbs of med'cinable powers ! 
 
 There for the monarch-murder' d Soldier's tomb 
 You wove th' unfinish'd* wreathe of saddest hues ; 
 
 * War a Fragment. 
 Q Q 
 
46 TO JOSEPH COTTLB. 
 
 And to that holier* chaplet added bloom 
 Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews. 
 
 But lo ! yourf Henderson awakes the Muse 
 
 His Spirit beckon'd from the mountain's height ! 
 You left the plain and soar'd 'ruid richer views ! 
 So nature mourn'd when sank the first Day's light, 
 With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night ! 
 
 Still soar my Friend those richer views among, 
 Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy's beam ! 
 Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song ; 
 But Poesy demands th' impassion'd theme : 
 Wak'd by Heaven's silent dews at Eve's mild gleam 
 What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around ! 
 But if the vex'd air rush a stormy stream, 
 Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, 
 With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest honoured 
 ground. 
 
 AN EFFUSION 
 
 ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING. WKITTEN IN EARLY 
 YOUTH. 
 
 O THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing ! No more 
 Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore ! 
 Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight 
 Bath'd in rich amber-glowing floods of light ; 
 Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, 
 With western peasants hail the morning ray ! 
 Ah ! rather did the perish'd pleasures move, 
 A shadowy train, across the soul of Love ! 
 O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling 
 Each flower, that wreath'd the dewy locks of Spring, 
 John the Baptist, a Poem. t Monody on John Hendenon. 
 
AN EFFUSION. 447 
 
 When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower 
 She leap'd, awaken'd by the pattering shower. 
 
 Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam, 
 Aid, lovely Sorceress ! aid thy Poet's dream ! 
 With fairy wand O bid the Maid arise, 
 Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes ; 
 As erst when from the Muse's calm abode 
 I came, with Learning's meed not unbestow'd : 
 When as she twin'd a laurel round my brow, 
 And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow, 
 O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart, 
 And every nerve confess'd the electric dart. 
 
 dear Deceit ! I see the Maiden rise, 
 
 Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue Eyes ! 
 When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat, 
 Mocks the tir'd eye, and scatters the loud note, 
 
 1 trace her footsteps on th' accustom'd lawn 
 
 I mark her glancing mid the gleams of dawn. 
 When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps 
 And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps, 
 Amid the paly radiance soft and sad, 
 She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad, 
 With her along the streamlet's brink I rove ; 
 With her I list the warblings of the grove ; 
 And seems in each low wind her voice to float ! 
 Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note ; 
 
 Spirits of Love ! ye heard her name ! Obey 
 The powerful spell and to my haunt repair. 
 Whether on clust'ring pinions ye are there, 
 Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees, 
 Or with fond languishment around my fair 
 Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair ; 
 O heed the spell, and hither wing your way, 
 <i Q 2 
 
448 AN EFFUSION. 
 
 Lik<; far-off music, voyaging the breeze ! 
 Spirits ! to you the infant Maid was given 
 Form'd by the wond'rous Alchemy of Heaven i 
 No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know, 
 No fairer Maid e'er heav'd the blossom's snow, 
 A thousand Loves around her forehead fly ; 
 A thousand Loves sit melting her eye ; 
 Love lights her smile in Joy's red nectar dips 
 His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips, 
 She speaks ! and hark that passion warbled song 
 Still Fancy ! still that voice, those notes prolong, 
 As sweet as when that voice with rapt'rous falls, 
 Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's Halls ! 
 
 O (have 1 sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod, 
 Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God ! 
 A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem 
 To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam ; 
 Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose od'rous boughs 
 My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows. 
 When Twilight stole across the fading vale, 
 To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale ; 
 Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, 
 And flutter my faint pinions on her breast ! 
 On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream, by night, 
 To sooth my Love with shadows of delight : 
 Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies, 
 And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes ! 
 
 As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame 
 Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame, 
 Awakes amid the troubles of the air, 
 The skyey deluge, and white lightning's glare- 
 Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, 
 And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep : 
 So tost by storms along Life's wild'ring way, 
 
AN EFFUSION. 449 
 
 Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, 
 When by my native brook I wont to rove 
 While hope with kisses nurs'd the infant Love, 
 Dear native brook . like Peace, so placidly 
 Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek ! 
 Dear native brook ! where first young Poesy 
 Star'd wildly-eager in her noontide dream, 
 Where blameless Pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek, 
 As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream ! 
 Dear native haunts ! where Virtue still is gay : 
 Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray ; 
 Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears : 
 Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears ; 
 And Mem'ry, with a Vestal's chaste employ, 
 Unceasing feeds the lambent flaine of joy ! 
 No more your sky-larks melting from the sight 
 Shall thrill th' attuned heart-string with delight 
 No more shall deck your pens, /e Pleasures sweet 
 With wreathes of sober hue my evening seat. 
 Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene 
 Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between ! 
 Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song, 
 That soars on Morning's wing your vales among. 
 
 Scenes of my Hope ! the aching eye ye leave 
 Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve ! 
 Tearful and sad'ning with the sadden'd blaze 
 Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze. 
 Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, 
 Till chill and damp the moonless night descend. 
 
 IN THE MANNER OF SPENCER. 
 
 O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love 
 To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree, 
 Q Q 3 
 
450 LINES. 
 
 I would, that from the pinions of thy Dove 
 
 One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be. 
 
 For O ! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee, 
 
 And fain to her some soothing song would write, 
 
 Lest she resent my rude discourtesy, 
 
 Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light, 
 
 But broke my plighted word ah ! false and recreant 
 
 Wight ! 
 
 Last night as I my weary head did pillow 
 With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrossed. 
 Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow, 
 As tho' my breast entomb'd a pining ghost. 
 " From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast 
 Rejected Slumber ! hither wing thy way ; 
 But leave me with the matin hour, at most ! 
 As night-clos'd flow'ret to the orient ray, 
 My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey." 
 
 But Love, who " heard the silence of my thought," 
 
 Contrived a too successful wile, I ween : 
 
 And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught 
 
 " Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen ; 
 
 To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien 1" 
 
 He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed 
 
 The Morning shot her dewy glances keen, 
 
 When as I 'gan uplift my drowsy head 
 
 " Now, Bard ! I'll work thee woe !" the laughing 
 
 Elfin said. 
 
 Sleep, softly -breathing God ! his downy wing 
 Was flutt'ring now, as quickly to depart ; 
 When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic string, 
 With pathless wound it pierc'd him to the heart. 
 Was there some Magic in the Elfin's dart ? 
 Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ? 
 For strait so fair a Form did upwards start 
 
XINBS. 461 
 
 (No fairer decked the Bowers of old Romance) 
 That Sleep enamoured grew, nor movM from hii 
 sweet trance ! 
 
 My Sara came, with gentlest look divine j 
 
 Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam : 
 
 I felt the pressure of her lip to mine ! 
 
 Whisp'ring we went, and Love was all our theme 
 
 Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem, 
 
 He sprang from Heaven ! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide, 
 
 That I the living Image of my dream 
 
 Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd 
 
 " O ! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide 1" 
 
 THE COMPOSITION OF A KISS. 
 
 CUPID, if storying Legends tell aright, 
 Once fram'd a rich elixir of delight. 
 A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd, 
 And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd. 
 With these the magic dews, which Evening brings, 
 Brush'd from the Idalian star by fairy wings: 
 Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he join'd, 
 Each gentler pleasure of th' unspotted mind- 
 Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow, 
 And Hope, the blameless parasite of Woe. 
 The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise, 
 The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs ; 
 Sweet sounds transpir'd, as when the enamoured dove 
 Pours the soft murm'ring of responsive love. 
 The finish'd work might Envy vainly blame, 
 And " Kisses" was the precious compound's name. 
 With half the God his Cyprian mother blest, 
 And breath'd on Sara's lovelier lips the rest. 
 
452 TO AN INFANT. 
 
 TO AN INFANT. 
 
 AH cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life ! 
 
 I did but snatch away the unclasp'd knife : 
 
 Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye 
 
 And to quick laughter change this peevish cry ! 
 
 Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe, 
 
 Tutor'd by Pain each source of pain to know ! 
 
 Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire, 
 
 Or rouse thy screams or wake thy young desire : 
 
 Yet art thou wise, for 'mid thy brief alarms 
 
 Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms, 
 
 Nestling thy little face in that fond breast 
 
 Whose anxious hearings lull thee to thy rest! 
 
 Man's breathing miniature ! thou mak'st me sigh 
 
 A Babe art thou and such a thing am I ! 
 
 To anger rapid, and as soon appeas'd, 
 
 For trifles mourning and by trifles pleas'd, 
 
 Break friendship's mirror with a fretful blow 
 
 Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow ! 
 
 O thou that rearest with celestial aim 
 
 The future Seraph in my mortal frame, 
 
 Thrice holy Faith ! whatever thorns I meet 
 
 As on I totter with unpractis* d feet, 
 
 Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, 
 
 Meek Nurse of souls thro' their long infancy ! 
 
 ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S 
 CHILD. 
 
 THIS day among the faithful plac'd 
 
 And fed with fontal manna ; 
 with maternal title grac'd 
 
 Dear Anna's dearest Anna * 
 
CHRISTENING OP A FRIEND'S CHILD. 4A3 
 
 While others v.J the** "vise and fair, 
 
 A maid of spotiess lame, 
 I'll breathe this more compendious prayer 1 
 
 May'st thou deserve thy name 1 
 
 Thy Mother's name a potent spell, 
 
 That bids the Virtues hie 
 From mystic grove and living cell, 
 
 Confess'd to Fancy's eye ; 
 
 Meek Quietness without offence ; 
 
 Content in homespun kirtle ; 
 True Love ; and True Love's Innocence, 
 
 White blossom of the myrtle ! 
 
 Associates of thy name, sweet Child ! 
 
 These Virtues may'st thou win ; 
 With face as eloquently mild 
 
 To say, they lodge within. 
 
 So, when her tale of days all flown, 
 Thy Mother shall be miss'd here ; 
 
 When Heaven at length shall claim its own, 
 And angels snatch their sister ; 
 
 Some hoary-headed friend, perchance, 
 
 May gaze with stifled breath ; 
 And oft, in momentary trance, 
 
 Forget the waste of death. 
 
 Ev'n thus a lovely rose I view'd 
 
 In summer-swelling pride ; 
 Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude, 
 
 Peep'd at the rose's side. 
 
 It chanc'd I pass'd again that way 
 
 In Autumn's latest hour, 
 And wond'ring saw the self-same spray 
 
 Rich with the self-same flower. 
 
454 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Ah fond deceit ! the rude green bud 
 
 Alike in shape, place, name, 
 Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud, 
 
 Another and the same 1 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 WRITTEN IN APRIL, 1798. 
 
 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 
 
 Distinguishes the west, no long thin slip 
 
 Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
 
 Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge ! 
 
 You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
 
 But hear no murmuring ; it flows silently 
 
 O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 
 
 A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim, 
 
 Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
 
 That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 
 
 A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
 
 And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, 
 
 " Most musical, most melancholy" bird 1 
 
 A melancholy bird ? O idle thought ! 
 
 In nature there is nothing melancholy. 
 
 But some night-wand'ring man, whose heart was 
 
 pierced 
 
 With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
 Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
 (And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with himself, 
 And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
 Of his own sorrows) he and such as he 
 First named these notes a melancholy strain : 
 And many a poet echoes the conceit ; 
 Poet, -who hath been building up the rhyme 
 
THE NIGHTINGALE. 455 
 
 When he had better far have stretched his limbs 
 
 Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, 
 
 By sun or moon-light, to the influxes 
 
 Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements 
 
 Surrendering his whole.spirit, of his song 
 
 And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame 
 
 Should share in nature's immortality, 
 
 A venerable thing ! and so his song 
 
 Should make all nature lovelier, and itself 
 
 Be loved, like nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
 
 And youths and maidens most poetical, 
 
 Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring 
 
 In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still 
 
 Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs 
 
 O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. 
 
 My friend, and my friend's sister ! we have learnt 
 
 A different lore : we may not thus profane 
 
 Nature's sweet voices always full of love 
 
 And joyous ! 'Tis the merry Nightingale 
 
 That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates, 
 
 With fast thick warble, his delicious notes, 
 
 As he were fearful that an April night 
 
 Would be too short for him to utter forth 
 
 His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
 
 Of all its music ! and I know a grove 
 
 Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
 
 Which the great lord inhabits not : and so 
 
 This grove is wild with tangling underwood, 
 
 And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, 
 
 Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths. 
 
 But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
 
 So many Nightingales : and far and near 
 
 In wood and thicket over the wide grove 
 
 They answer and provoke each other's songs 
 
 With skirmish and capricious passagings, 
 
456 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 And murmurs musical, and swift jug jug, 
 And one low piping sound more sweet than all- 
 Stirring the air with such an harmony. 
 That, should you close your eyes, you might almost 
 Forget it was not day. 
 
 A most gentle maid 
 Who dwelleth in her hospitable home 
 Hard by the castle, and at latest eve 
 (Even like a lady vowed and dedicate 
 To something more than nature in the grove) 
 Glides through the pathways ; she knows all their 
 
 notes, 
 
 That gentle maid I and oft, a moment's space, 
 "What time the moon was lost behind the cloud, 
 Hath heard a pause of silence : till the moon 
 Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
 With one sensation, and those wakeful birds 
 Have all burst forth with choral minstrelsy, 
 As if one quick and sudden gale had swept 
 An hundred airy harps ! And she hath watched 
 Many a Nightingale perch giddily 
 On blos'my twig still swinging from the breeze, 
 And to that motion tune his wanton *ong, 
 Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head. 
 
 Farewell, O warbler ! till to-morrow eve, 
 
 And you, my friends ! farewell, a short farewell ! 
 
 We have been loitering long and pleasantly, 
 
 And now for our dear homes. That strain again I 
 
 Full fain it would delay me ! My dear babe, 
 
 W ho, capable of no articulate sound, 
 
 Mars all things with his imitative lisp, 
 
 How he would place his hand beside his head, 
 
 His littlejhand, the small fore-finger up, 
 
LOVE. 457 
 
 And bid us listen ! and I deem it wise 
 
 To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well 
 
 The evening star : and once when he awoke 
 
 In most distressful mood (some inward pain 
 
 Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream) 
 
 I hurried with him to our orchard plot, 
 
 And he beholds the moon, and hushed at once 
 
 Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, 
 
 While his fair eyes that swam with undropt tears 
 
 Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam ! "Well 
 
 It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven 
 
 Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up 
 
 Familiar with these songs, that with the night 
 
 He may associate joy ! Once more farewell, 
 
 Sweet Nightingale ! once more, my friends! farewell. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 When midway on the mount I lay 
 Beside the ruined tower. 
 
 The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve! 
 
 She lean'd against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight : 
 
468 LOVE. 
 
 She stood and listened to my harp 
 Amid the ling'ring light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
 My hope, my joy, my Genevieve 1 
 She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
 The songs, that make her grieve. 
 
 I played a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story 
 An old rude song that fitted well 
 The ruin wild and hoary. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace j 
 For well she knew, I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the Knight, that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he wooed 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 I told her, how he pin'd : and, ah ! 
 The low, the deep, the pleading tone, 
 With which I sang another's love, 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace j 
 And she forgave me that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face ! 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 Which crazed this bold and lovely Knight, 
 And that he crossed the mountain woods, 
 Nor rested day nor night ; 
 
LOVE. 469 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at once, 
 In green and sunny glade, 
 
 There came, and looked him in the face, 
 An angel beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew, it was a fiend, 
 This miserable Knight ! 
 
 And how, unknowing what he did, 
 He leaped amid a murderous band, 
 And saved from outrage worse than death 
 The Lady of the Land ; 
 
 And how she wept and clasped his knees, 
 And how she tended him in vain 
 And ever strvoe to expiate 
 The scorn, that crazed his brain : 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
 And how his madness went away 
 When on the yellow forest leaves 
 A dying man he lay ; 
 
 His dying words But when I reached 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturbed her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve, 
 The music, and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope 
 An undistinguishable throiig ! 
 
460 THE FOSTER MOTHEH. 
 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherished long ! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight, 
 She blushed with love and maiden shame j 
 And, like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 Her bosom heaved she stepped aside ; 
 As conscious of my look, she stepped 
 Then suddenly with timorous eye 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half enclosed me with her arms, 
 She pressed me with a meek embrace ? 
 And bending back her head looked up, 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 And partly 'twas a bashful art 
 That I might rather feel than see 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calmed her fears ; and she was calm, 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 My bright and beauteous bride ! 
 
 THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE. 
 
 A NARRATION IN DRAMATIC BLANK VERSE. 
 
 But that entrance, Mother i 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale 
 
THE FOSTER MOTHER. 461 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 No one. 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 My husband's father told it me, 
 Poor old Leoni ! Angels rest his soul ! 
 He was a woodman, and could fell and saw 
 With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam 
 "Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel ; 
 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, 
 He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined 
 With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool 
 As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home 
 And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost. 
 A pretty boy, but most unteachable 
 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, 
 And never learnt a prayer nor told a bead 
 But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, 
 And whistled, as he were a bird himself: 
 And all the Autumn 'twas his only play 
 To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them, 
 With earth and water, on the stumps of trees. 
 A friar, who sought for simples in the wood, 
 A grey-haired man he loved this little boy, 
 The boy loved him and, when the friar taught him 
 He soon could write with the pen : and from that time 
 Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. 
 So he became a very learned youth. 
 But, Oh ! poor wretch he read, and read, and read, 
 Till his brain turned and ere his twentieth year 
 He had unlawful thoughts of many things : 
 Ami though he prayed, he never loved to pray 
 With holy men, nor in a holy place 
 But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 
 The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him. 
 
462 THB POSTER MOTHER. 
 
 And once, as by the north side of the chapel 
 
 Thfey stood together, chained in deep discourse, 
 
 The earth heaved under them with such a groan, 
 
 That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen 
 
 Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened : 
 
 A fever seized him, and he made confession 
 
 Of all the heretical and lawless talk 
 
 Which brought this judgment : so the youth was seized 
 
 And cast into that cell. My husband's father 
 
 Sobbed like a child it almost broke his heart : 
 
 And once as he was working near the cell 
 
 He heard a voice distinctly ; 'twas the youth's 
 
 Who sang a doleful song about green fields, 
 
 How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah, 
 
 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, 
 
 And wander up and down at liberty, 
 
 Leoni doted on the youth, and now 
 
 His love grew desperate ; and defying death, 
 
 He made that cunning entrance I described, 
 
 And the young man escaped. 
 
 MARIA. 
 
 ; Tis a sweet tale 
 And what became of him ? 
 
 FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 He went on ship-board, 
 With those bold voyagers who made discovery 
 Of golden lands. Leoni's younger brother 
 Went likewise ; and when he returned to Spain, 
 He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth, 
 Soon after they arrived in that new world, 
 In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, 
 And, all alone, set sail by silent moonlight 
 Up a great river, great as any sea, 
 
LINES. 468 
 
 
 
 And ne'er was heard of more : but 'tis supposed 
 He lived and died among the savage men. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND, IN ANSWER TO A MELAN* 
 CHOLY LETTER. 
 
 Away, those cloudy looks, that lab'ring sigh, 
 The peevish offspring of a sickly hour ! 
 Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's pow'r, 
 
 When the blind gamester throws a luckless die. 
 
 Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam 
 
 Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train ; 
 To-morrow shall the many colour'd main 
 
 In brightness roll beneath his orient beam ! 
 
 Wild as th' Autumnal gust, the hand of Time 
 Flies o'er his mystic lyre : in shadowy dance 
 Th' alternate groups of joy and grief advance 
 
 Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! 
 
 Bears on its wing each hour a load of fate. 
 The swain, who lull'd by Seine's mild murmurs, led 
 His weary oxen to their nightly shed, 
 
 To-day may rule a tempest-troubled state. 
 
 Nor shall not Fortune, with a vengeful smile, 
 Survey the sanguinary despot's might, 
 And haply hurl the pageant from his height, 
 
 Unwept, to wander in some savage isle. 
 
 There shiv'ring sad, beneath the tempest's frown, 
 Round his tirM limbs to wrap the purple vest j 
 And mix'd with nails and beads, an equal jest ! 
 
 Barter for food, the jewels of his crown. 
 
464 TO SlMPLlO/Tf 
 
 TO SIMPLICITY. 
 O ! I do love thee, meek simplicity ! 
 For of thy lays the lulling simpleness 
 Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress 
 Distress tho' small, yet haply great to me ! 
 'Tis true, on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad 
 I amble on ; yet tho' I know not why, 
 So sad I am ! but should a friend and I 
 Grow cool and miff, O ! I am very sad I 
 And then with sonnets and with sympathy 
 My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall ; 
 Now of my false friend plaining plaintively, 
 Now raving at mankind in general : 
 But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all, 
 All very simple, meek simplicity. 
 

 
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