A = A = ..^ O - -r n — _M^ m U = .- ID U = == 33 3 m ^= o 6 m 4 m ^M^ 1 ID 7 = 3 = / = 7 ~ ^H rr-^T HEI^ilYB..^BAILDON THE GIFT OF WILLIAM G. KERCKHOFF TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE LIBRARY OF FRIEDRICH KLUGE O T V P C Act IV. Scene I. ROSAr/lOND AlONE. iia< > i 3 > 0«' 3 * O J LONDON : LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 18 7 5. 12403/ edinburgh ; Printed by Andrew Couville, 9 Young Street. « • • • ' . • ••■•.* "T-i Ml '^>.> it^. HISTORICAL ARGUMENT. Alboin, the founder of the Lomhard Empire, in the early- part of his career of conquest, attacked and defeated the Gepidee imder Cunimimd, whose brother Turimund had fallen some years before by the same hand. After his victory, Alboin conceived a passion for Eosamund, the daughter of Cunimund, and, upon the death of his first wife, Clotosvmda, daughter of Clovis, married her. In accordance with the savage custom of the race, Alboin had the skull of Cunimund whom he had killed with his own hand, converted into a drinking-cup, but tliis remained long unknown to his Gepidan wife. At a banquet in Verona, in the presence of his queen, Alboin, having drank heavily, called for the wine-cup, and insisted on her druiking from it, not hesitating to reveal its history. ^ij From that moment Rosamund plotted revenge. Helmich (described as " a confidential officer of the court ") was taken into her coimsels in the matter, and his services secured by ^5 ' the promise of her hand, on Alboin's death. To Peredeo, a ^ renowned chief and a formidable warrior, somewhat disaffected to Alboin, the project of assassination was broached, but he e, refused complicity. The queen was not thus to be baulked ; for, personatmg a mistress of Peredeo's, she went to his chamber, subsequently discovered herself, and tln-eatened the chief with Alboin's vengeance. Perceiving the desperate resolution of Eosamund, Peredeo consented to participate in the proposed murder. One night, after the king had retired to his chamber, stupefied with wine, the palace guards were dismissed by the queen's orders ; she fastened the sleeper's sword to its scabbard, and called in the conspirators, who speedily overcame the drowsy and disarmed monarch. DRAMATIS PERSONjE. CuNiMUND, King of the GepidtB. Egmund, 1 ^_. „ \ His Sons. Aldobert, ) Alboin, King of the Lomhards. ' > Lomhard Chiefs. Peredeo, ) Helmich, an Officer of the Court. Captain, Soldiers, Minstrel, <^c. GoDEBERTA, Mother of Aihoin. Rosamund, Daughter of Canimund, and afterwards Wife of Aihoin. Alma, Foster-Sister and Maid to Rosamund. CONTENTS. ACT I. PAGE Scene 1, Cunimund's Palace, ..... 1 CuNiMUND, Rosamund, Aldobert and Egmund. Scene 2. The Lombard Encamjmient. Alboin's Tent, . 4 Alboin alone, afterwards Peeedeo and Chef. Scene 3. The Battle Field, ..... 7 CuNiMUND, Aldobert and Egmund, afterwards Alboin, Peredeo, Chef, Gepid^ and Lombard Soldiers, Scene 4. 3Iarket-place of the Chief Town of the Gepidw, . 12 Rosamund, Alma, and other Captive.s, and Guards. Enter Alboin, Chef, Peredeo, Helmich, &c. Scene 5. The Palace of Cunimund, . . . .18 Rosamund and Alma. Scene 6. The Palace, ...... 21 Alboin alone, afterwards Helmich. ACT II. Scene 1. TJie Palace, ...... 24 Rosamund and Alboin. Scene 2. Garden of Palace, . . . . .26 Peredeo walking aLout, afterwards Alm.\. ScE.NE 3. The Pdbixr, ...... 29 Rosamund, afterwards Aljia and Heljirii. vi CONTENTS. ACT III. PAGE Scene 1. Eoum in Palace at Verona, . . . .34 Alma aud Peredeo meeting. Scene 2. Boom in Palace at Verona, . . . .37 Enter Godeberta and Alboin in converse, after- wards Rosamund. Scene 3. Another part of the Palace, . . . .41 Rosamund and Helmich. Scene 4. Alma's Chamber, . . . . .43 Alma alone, sings. Scene 5. Hoo^n in Peredeo' s House, . . . .44 Peredeo jtacing about restlessly. Scene 6. Banquet Hall in Palace, . , . .45 Alboin, Rosamund, Godeberta, Ciief, Peredeo, Alma, Helmich, Minstrel, Guests, Attend- ants, &c. at a Banquet. Scene 7. Corridor in Palace, ..... 49 Peredeo and Helmich. ACT IV. Scene 1. Balcony of Rosamund's Chamler, . . .53 Rosamund alone, afterwards Alma ami Helmich. Scene 2. Pioom in Palace, . . . . .59 Godeberta and Alma. Scene 3. Boom in Palace, . . . . ,63 Rosamund alone, afterwards Peredeo and Helmich. ACT V. Scene 1. A71 Ante-Chumhcr in Palace, . . ,68 Rosamund alone, and afterwards Alma. Scene 2. Ante-Clm'inhcr in Pcrcdeo's House, . . .70 Enter Peredeo and Rosamund, cloaked and veiled, afterwards Alma, CONTENTS. vu Scene 3. Room in Palace, ..... Rosamund and Alma, Scene 4. In front of Palace Gates, .... Captain and Soldiers on guard. Enter Helmich. Scene 5. Alma's Chamler, ..... Alma alone. Scene 6. Ante-Chamher leading to Alhoin's Bedroom, . Rosamund and Helmich, afterwards Godeberta and Peredeo, Scene 7. Alhoin's Chamlcr, . . . Rosamund with the dead body of Alboin, afterwards Peredeo and Helmich. PAGE 75 77 79 80 83 Note. — The scene of the first and second Acts is laid in the territory of the Gepidte, and between them there is an interval of some weeks. After the elapse of four or five years, the third Act opens, the scene of which, with that of the two remaining Acts, is laid at Verona. In other respects, the temporal arrangement is sufficiently indicated by the text. ROSAMUND: A TRAGIC DRAMA. ACT I. SCENE I. — Cunimund's Palace. CUNIMUND, EOSAMUND, AlDOBERT AND EgMUND. Eos. father, wilt thou yet again go forth To face, thyself, the perils of the fight ? Have not thy grey hairs won at length repose And respite from its dangers and its toils ? let thy people's and thy daughter's love Win thee to love thy safety, nor expose The king thy people prize more than their lives. The sire thy daughter loveth more than hers. To the fierce thrust of some exasperate foe. If thou dost fall, there is no victory ; If thou survivest, there is no defeat. Cun. Nay, daughter, let no more such woman's words Dishonour her I thought had had a soul Lofty and noble with brave scorn of death, ROSAMUND Where death is honour, whom no coward fears Found place in. 'Tis no loving office this, No daughter's part, her father's heart to chill, To shake his courage, make his valour dull With womanish foreboding, and still less At this, the hour when liberty and life Of nations is at hazard on one throw, On one fierce conflict, when the leader's heart Must be a fount of courage unto all — When once to falter is to be o'ercome. Bos. Forgive me, father ! But I cannot bear To think of Slaughter's swift, resistless flood Breaking around thee, though thou, like a rock. Dost bear thee up against it, and to me My father, the only nurturer I ever knew, thou art too rich a stake To set against a nation or a world ! Cun. Eosamund, would'st thou have me recreant. False to my kingdom, falser to myself ? Eosamund, thine is the only voice That could unman me. Would'st thou do it now, When fear is ruin, hesitation death ? Yea, would I be the father thou dost love If, at the very height of peril's pass, 1 should turn dizzy and be faint with fear ? Nay, girl, this is unworthy child of mine. Bos. father, scorn me not. 'Tis fear of fear That sickens me at heart. Ye men that fidit o And feel the heat of battle fire your brain. Know not the chilling anguish of suspense. Could I don armour and gird weapons on A TRAGIC DRAMA. How would I thirst for battle, bow much scorn A woman's fears ; — yet theirs tb^ sorer task. Yet go my father, and my spirit shall Go ever with thee and, if love can bring Fresh strength, fresh courage to thy arm and heart, My soul shall be consumed in succouring thee. Go, noble father, and my brothers dear, Who, if he seem too old, do seem too young For war's curst horrors ; yet I wrong you both, For your great valour makes you chiefs mature, His noble courage lends him ceaseless youth. Yet be his body-guard : I shall not bear To look on you again, if he doth fall. Aid. Sister, the more we love thee that thy care Is more solicitous for him than us. J^gm. Our bodies shall but be the shields for his. Eos. embracing them. Farewell ! Farewell ! may the God of battles Shield you as surely as you shield your sire ! father, father go, ere yet again My fear can play me false. Almighty God, Breathe dread and death before him ! Father, father, 1 have no fear for thee, if thou dost fall The bravest, best and noblest man there falls. Cun. Now, Kosamund, once more thou art my child. God protect thee, darling, if I die. [Emlrraces her. {^Exeunt Cun. Ald. and Egm. Ilos. What ails thee, timid heart ? 'Tis not my wont To quail at thoughts of battle or to tremble. Even for those I love. Strange that to-day, When desperate valour is our only hope, ROSAMUND I should turn coward ; but the phantom fear That seems to haunt the trembling air to-day And ever follow like a spirit-voice, Forbodes misfortune, prophesies disaster, Lays terror's icy finger on my heart And mutters ever, 'they return no more.' Away ye chilly terrors, Rosamund To death and danger hath tm-ned constant front, Nor shall she flinch in this extremity ! [Exit. SCENE II. — The Lombard Encampment. Alboin's Tent. Alboin alone. 'S death ! I can sleep no longer — I'm athirst For slaughter and the noise of battle clangs Through all my dreams and all the long night through I hew down foemen who will ever rise. As though I smote at ghosts and forms of air. [LooJcs out. But now the stars grow fainter, as the light Of dying eyes that flicker away to death. Enter Peredeo. Tliou'rt up betimes, Peredeo ; if thou hast As hot a lust for battle as wakes me. Thou hast not slept too peacefully. I've slain More in my dreams last night than e'er awake. A TRAGIC DRAMA. Per. My liege, to seek a favour have I come ; And tlie desire thereof has troubled me, As martial ardour irre^^ressible Disturbed your slumbers with its shadowy war. T cannot with an eloquent array Of subtle reasons, passionate appeals And flattering sentences surround your will And make it captive. 1 fly straight and strike Fair at my quarry. Sire, my boon is this, That I may lead the ambush that is planned To creep in silence through that long pine wood. Whence issuing we assail the foemen's rear. Alb. Na}^, nay, my brave Peredeo, I have fixed , The order of the battle and each man Is to his place appointed, nor shall change. Per. Yet sire, methinks 'tis but scant courtesy, Thus lightly to refuse an easy gift. One weighing not 'gainst long fidelity. Alb. 'S death! lightli/ said' st thou ? War is no child's sport To be so liglitly played at. Dost thou think That I make war in such haphazard fashion, As think it matter of indifference What chief should fire the van, which guard the rear And who the crawling ambush should conduct ? Chef rules the ambush and you lead the van. Per. My liege, I think you do my caution wrong. When hath it failed that you misdoubt it so ? Alb. Dream'st thou to move me with such tyro's talk ? Have I unfailing led you to success To be thus schooled by you, Peredeo ? Faith ! I as soon would think to set a boar ROSAMUND To harry eagles nests, as you to lead An ambush, — -you, a mad impetuous fool, A battering-ram of valour. Am I plain ? Per. Pardon, my liege. 'Twas my excess of zeal That made me seek the honour you deny me. {Aside) Gad's mercy I I must yield or he will rage. Enter Chef. Here comes my subtle rival, curse upon him ! I'd like a game with him at hew and hack. Chef. My liege, I wait your orders, and my men . Are all equipped and ready to go forth. You're up betimes my lord Peredeo. I hope thy suit was granted of the king. Per. My liege has granted my accustomed post. I lead the van and hear you lie in ambush, Till we have done the fighting, and then fall Upon the booty and the routed foe. Chef. I much rejoice you like your post as well As it befits you. I prefer a task Wliere skill and judgment, not blind bravery. And brainless valour, may perform their part. Alb. Good sooth, Peredeo, thy appointment now Appears in better savour than of late. Per. I take it ill, my liege, if you refuse The post I covet and petition for, That you should flout me ; but mayhap you'll strain An honest loyalty, until it snaps. [^Exit Pek. Alb. He threatens, does he ? But I fear him not : I know his ' honest loyalty ' too well. He's not the courage that is dangerous In private enemies. In heat of battle A TRAGIC DRAMA. He rageth on like an infuriate bull ; But when his blood is cool he hath not heart To face an angry mouse — besides to plot He hath as apt a turn, as hath a bear To thread a rabbit's burrow. Chef. Eight, my liege, Yet press him not too far ; 'tis said, sometimes A dove in straits will battle with a hawk : His fear might goad him further than his hate. Alh. Now gossip we no longer. To your post ! And see that you discover not yourself Till the right moment — then we have the prey Fast in the toils. But few shall sup to-night. [Uxeimt. SCENE III— The Battle Field. CUNIMUND, AlDOBERT AND EgMUND. Cim. to Egm. Why lad, what ails thee, that thou grow'st so pale ? O God, he totters and the red blood drips From where his left hand presses on his side. Efjm. father, I am wounded, and I fear One of thy shields is pierced beyond repair. ROSAMUND My limbs grow feeble and the sweat runs chill Upon my brow. help me, Aldobert ! [Ald. siipjpoi'ts him. Thanks brother — lay me down on my last bed. [He lays him down. Some menial villain struck me, as I caught A sword thou saw'st not, father, flashing down Upon thine uplift arm, unguarded then. Happy I die obeying Eosamund. Nay, brother 'tis no use, it will not staunch. I feel the warm tide ebbing and the chill Creep up me. Cun. my boy, we three shall meet, I fear, this night ; for now afar I see The foemen pouring fiercely on our rear. Egm. Leave me then, father, for I shall not live To feel the enemy's heel. 'Tis growing dark ! I'm but a stripling, sister, — did my best. [Dies. Cun. No time to mourn thee now, my boy, nor need. Come, Aldobert, the foeman's steel must join us To thy brief-sundered brother. Down they swoop ! Enter some of the Gepid^ in flight. Stay, stay, ye cowards ! Whither do ye flee ? No respite, no relief, no succour there, No pity, peace or happiness or hope ; Chains, stripes, a darkened life, a wretched death, The cruel mercies of the conqueror. Await you there. Turn, turn, you yet may seize The only boon that still is left for you In your fall'n fortunes, honourable deatli ! [They rally. A TRAGIC BEAM A. Metliiuks 'tis Alboin coming, with red surf Of slaugliter borne before him. Meet return Is this for bygone hospitality. I saw the whelj) had metal. Troth ! he takes My bravest but as brambles in his path. Well parried, boy ! Well struck ! Quick ! quick ! Great heavens He's cloven him to the teeth as I would split An apple. {To Alb.) Alboin ! Alboin ! You but sport. Turn hither, would you find grim settlement Of this our quarrel, and the vengeance due From brother for a brotlier's death. Enter Alboin, Peredeo, and Lombard Soldiers driving Gepid^ before them. Alb. Be not impatient, father Cunimund. I met a flock of sheep on my way hither Who stayed my coming, the unmannerly fools. Despatch the youth, Peredeo. King with king 'Tis meet should combat. Per. to Aid. Paith ! Sweet youth, so far From your old dam 'tis perilous to stray. Aid. Nay, Lombard, bear thyself more courteously ; I came to meet my death, but not with words. Not to be stabbed with shrewish utterances — Mayhap thy tongue is sharper than thy sword. [Thc^jf^hf. Cun. to Alb. Have at thee, gory slaughterer, who com'st — God curse thee for't — to waste my happy lands With blood and fire. The barbarous north no niore AVill hold thy brutish hordes in her torn breast, 10 ROSAMUND But casts them forth to flood these peaceful fields With violence and nameless cruelties. [They fight. A lb. Spare thy breath, grey-beard, for thou can'st not move A heart that knows no pity or remorse, But revels in all fierce and bloody deeds. Per. Gad ! boy, 'tis not thy first fight though thy last. [Wounds him. Aid. falling. leave me not to linger — with kind sword, Let out my spirit. Per. nmning his sword into him. There, thou hast thy wish. Alh. wounding Cunimund. Thy fields will be the richer for thy blood. Cvn. falling. God make thy death as cruel as thy life. May no wife's anguished tears drop on thy bier, No childrens' grief hallow thy sepulchre. Alb. There, dotard, lie and rave thy breath away. [Exeunt Alboin, Peredeo, and Lombards. Cun. evil fate, unjust destiny, That makes such monsters rulers of the world ! What have we done, that from our native home By these barbarians rude and merciless We should be riven — all resisting slain, And wives and offspring in base slavery For ever fettered ? More accursed lot With its slow-moving, joyless wretchedness. Than death's intenser, briefer agony. it were easy dying, if we left A land secure, sons whose sagacity And valour in their noontide 'gan eclipse Our waning faculties and failing strengtli : A TRAGIC DRAMA. 11 But now 'tis bitter ; for my sons, both slain, Lie stiff and cold beside me : all my land Is prey for ruthless lust, merciless power. And yet one grief unutterably keen My spirit wracks, and will not let me die, So great its horror. my Eosamund ! dear-loved name, my child round whose fair form My heart's roots are entwined — I cannot die For thinking of thee. Would that thou wert dead ! ^ I could send up a hymn of thanks to God — I'd weep with joy, to see thee lying now. With thy fond head here pillowed on my breast, Thy dark locks wandering o'er it, thy white hand Laid cold in mine, thy pure face marble stilL Strange visions through my darkened brain will float, A face will ever mock me being hers. Yet not the same — there is a cruel gleam In her dark eyes — God her white pure hands No more are white ! Oh is that stain of blood ? [Dies. ••••■ Enter Alboin, Chef, Peredeo, cmd Lombards. Alb. Yes, Chef, 'twas rightly timed. We must confess, 1 think, Peredeo, we were at a check. Cunimund and his sons raged through our ranks. Like wolves amid a sheep flock. Though I bore Impetuously towards them, yet I could not Break through to them — his folk so hampered me. 'Zounds ! here's the old wolf's body, where he stood At bay, when I burst through to him at last. I left him here, pouring his impotent, 12 ROSAMUND: Wild curses on me — a right sturdy foe And, lest too soon his prowess we forget, His hard old skull shall be my drinking cup. Per. My liege, 'twere shame to mar his stalwart corse And leave it headless. Chef. Would'st thou not take heed, Lest any of his race, though all thy slaves, Should think it scorn to their admired king And rouse them to fanatical revenge ? Alb. striking off Cunimund's head. Vainly your pity or your prudence speak. Come on, old grey-pate, you and I shall hold Together many a revel — {Places it on his sword's point.) [Exeiciit omnes. SCENE IV.— Market-place of the Chief Town of the Gcjndec. EosAMUND, Alma, aiid other Captives (jiiarded. Enter Alboin, Chef, Peredeo, Helmich, ^c. Aim. There comes the king. How truculent he looks. How cruelly and contemptuously he glares Around him, while his hand impatiently Hovers about his sword-hilt, as though loath To leave, even this unhappy crow, alive. Rosamund, I fear we shall be slain. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 13 Dost see a stalwart warrior with fair locks Beside the king ? He looks more pitiful And seems to knit his brows upon compunction And sternly gaze around him, now and then, For fear lest he be thought too lenient. T think I'll pray to have him for a master. Alb. Bah ! Murrain on your mercy ! Such as these Do but encumber us with plethora Of captives and unserviceable chattels. 'Twould make a merry massacre to slay them ! Per. Nay, sire, you are bloodthirsty overmuch. For my part, T can never flesh my blade In unresisting wretches such as these. Chef. My liege, 'twere wiser that you let them live. Your men will brook it ill they may not keep These for their slaves ; and if apportioned well Each man may for his prowess have reward. Alb. seeing Eos. Well, as you will. {Aside.) I think I see a prize I shall lay claim to. {Aloud.) Helmich, dost thuu mark That dark-haired girl with tearless countenance And eye unflinching ? By her rich attire And queenly pose she seems of royal birth. Go, bring her hither ! Hel. going towards her. {Aside.) Faith my monarch has Good eyes for beauty. How right royally. How beautifully defiant does she stand ! {To Ros.) Lady, the king of Lombards, Alboin, sends Your servant to conduct you to his presence. Ros. 'Tis not our wont be thus summoned, sir. U ROSAMUND: But I forget how changed since yesterday Are our inconstant fortunes ; for at morn I rose a queen, yes, queen in all but name ; For so my father loved me that I knew No law, save my own will, and recked no other. Nor can T yet assure me whether this Be madness-coined deception or the truth. Aim. Rosamund, speak not thus haughtily ; For wholely in this monarch's power we lie, Like helpless birds entangled in a net. Bos. What can they fear who know no fear of death ? Aim. But, Rosamund, I am af eared of death — 'Tis horrible to lie so white and cold Nor feel the warm life tingle in one's limbs. Eos. Lead on, my lord, and we will strive to school Our tongue and countenance to servitude. [The// move toward the Jcing. lid. ladies, mend your cheer. It is not Hate's Or Cruelty's harsh tongues that move the mind Of Alboin, 'tis the softer voice of love. My princess, when his glance alit on thee The angel Pity, a white-robed presence, Entered his soul and scowling Anger fled. Alh. aside. how majestically does she move ! No goddess ever wore more regal grace ! How well that haughty head would bear a crown ! Per. aside. A face and form imperious indeed. But moving awe and worship more than love. More loveable is she, who follows her With tearful eyes downcast, or timidly Raised in such piteous supplication up, A TRAGIC DRAMA. 15 No spirit that is forged of human stuff Could, seeing Grief and Beauty so ill-matched, .Yet working such a charm, remain unmoved. Alb. Approach, fair ladies, and, if any fear Of wrong or violence lurk with you still, I pray you banish it. Ye are my wards And whoso wrongs you is mine enemy. (To Bos.) Pray lady, though methinks thy stately mien Bewrays thy royal lineage, by what name Art known ? And of what parents dost thou come ? Eos. Of such, my liege, that it is strange to me To be so questioned, but I hardly know Whether I wake or sleep. If now I wake, Then have I dream't a long delicious dream. Would I could lay me in its arms again ! My fatlier Cunimund was monarch here, His word was law, his valour was our boast ; For, though the frost of age had long 'gan sprinkle His locks with silver, he was young at heart. As fierce and dread in war as at his prime. Noble he was in peace and well-beloved Of all his people, and two sons he had. Who, though they were not grown to the full bulk And breadth of manhood, brave and terrible In battle moved. These but this morning were, And now they are not. Alb. Lady, grieve not so They died, as every warrior fain would die, Girt with the piled slaughter they had made. Eos. And dost thou think tliat this will comfort mo ? I never feared dishonour would be theirs. 16 ROSAMUND: Death was the worst I feared, and death has come : Yet are they happier than I. Would God This heart that beateth so tumultuonsly Were still and cold as theirs are ! For the fate That lies before us of the name of life Is all unworthy. Is it life to drag Slavish existence 'neath the lash and threat Of harsh and unrelenting conquerors ? [^Looking around scornfully on herfellow-caj^tives. The ox or ass may toil 'neath yoke and goad ; Ye cannot make the royal lion do it. But, Eosamund, thou hast a remedy T'hat none can baulk — with this unfailing friend [Drawing a dagger. She can defy her captors to the teeth. Alh. Hold! Ros. Hands off, thou sceptred ruffian, or I die ! Alh. aside. What splendid anger flashes from her eyes! {Aloud) ISTay, Rosamund, there is a remedy Far sweeter, for no slavery for you Is waiting — rather rule and governance. As is the due of one so nobly born. Fcr. to Aim. Pluck up thy heart, my fair one, let not tears Make briny streams adown thy dainty cheeks, Where mirth's sweet dimple is but half-smoothed out. (Talcing her hand) This small soft hand is hot with grief. Aim. Sir, He looks so fierce, and Rosamund's so proud. Jios. Dost think to snare me witli your flatteries ? Alb. No, lady, to no vile or humbling lot. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 17 To which thy dauntless spirit death prefers, Art thou appointed and a conqueror Needs not to stoop to flattery to his thrall. I, who am king, know well the imperious pulse Of royal blood, that boundeth full and free Or, by restraint dammed back, bursts the great heart. Of royal birth, no badge of royalty Shall be withheld thee, moving as a peer To Clovis' daughter ; though by War's mischance Kingdomless, — save for hearts thy beauty wins. {Aside) Would God that I could give thee nearer place ! What ! frustrate, Alboin ? What ! shall my desire, Like horse vain-rearing o'er a giddy leap. Pawing for foothold in the empty air. Crashing with lost shriek to his death below, Thus fail beneath me, who am conqueror born ? Nay, 'tis a momentary gust perchance Of passion and unworthy purpose calm ! Bos.. Such favours at a victor's hands are nought But gilded chains. I'd rather groom your horse Or grind your corn, than, like a polished trophy, Adorn your triumph. Make me an underling, Slave of your slaves, and yet no degradation Can you inflict upon my spirit, but Your courtesy degrades me. Chef. Nay, fair lady. You treat as equals, and for your bright presence He barters royal rank and dignity. Bos. And, doing so, he mocks me ; for the victor And vanquished are no equals. 18 ROSAMUND: Alb. But I sue As vanquished unto victor — nay, by heaven I do not ! Lord Peredeo, escort These ladies to the halls of Cunimund. See they be treated with due courtesy And served with as much honour as before, Save such surveillance as may bar escape. {To the soldiers) For any insult, injury or annoy Against these ladies wrought, the doom is death. Per. My liege, not even thy commands can give Deeper devotion to these ladies' weal Than doth already move me in their service. [Exeunt Peeedeo, Eosamund, &c. Chef, aside. That fool Peredeo is love-bitten too. [Curtain falls. SCENE v.— The Palace of Cunimund. Rosamund and Alma. Ros. Alma, I envy you, for you can weep, I cannot ; and for a moment doubt my grief, Thus dumb, though knowing its intensity Forbids expression, as a boy's top stands The steadiest at its utmost speed And rocks, but when it slackens. 'Tis the stound 0' the blow that deadens pain, and so I feel As though my great calamities had not come. A Til AGIO DBA 31 A. 19 And but impended, with full certainty Of falling. Aim. I, who cannot choose but weep, Sobbing myself to sleep, waking with tears, Admire your fortitude, who, being more, Seem less bereaved. Bos. this unpitying sleep ! — Drusfcrinor the mind to short oblivion Troublous and broken, haunted by grim phantoms Of formless woe, that pass and beckon and point Incessant, inarticulate, that our grief May stab us fresh at waking ; so the cock-crow Is signal of my father's death, the radiance Of morning, joyous once, makes me an orphan, Brotherless, homeless, captive, kingdomless. Aim. How bright the past ! My heart is weary of grief And cries impatient, 'when will joy return?' Ros. All hope of joy is dead in me, my cry Is for oblivion, for all mirth will seem A desecration henceforth : — our bright past Is inaccessible and far removed. As storm-enveloped travellers, whose way Lies onward, wliere the tempest's thundrous roof Bows earthward, looking back, where black, torn skirts Of cloud are trailed, athwart dim, vaporous air, See, yet beyond, clear peaks serenely poised In azure and lit uplands emerald ; So we behold the irrevocable past. Aim. Yet have we cause for thanks, our conqueror Being disposed to mercy, to bestowal 20 ROSAMUND : On you of all your natural dignities And rank, by conquest forfeit. Ros. this mercy ! 'Tis crueller than sleep and gives fresh pang To our humiliation. I can bear Our rude constraint, even as a forest-beast May sleep behind his bars, the primal rage Of capture spent — but lead him forth, tame show. Among the people — he will snap his chain And rend them. Nor could I about his court Walk, captive daughter of a conquered king. Aim. AVhat would you then ? Ros. The undoing of our fate Alone can right me. I foresee some crime Monstrous, by this unjust disaster gotten, Slow swelling in the secret womb of fate Towards the birth-pangs, shall be yet brought forth In anguish. Aim. Be not hopeless, Eosamund ! 'Tis impious to accuse the will of God Rofi. More impious to give evil this fair name. And give heaven's sanction to the guilt of man. Heaven's will or no ; I front the grimmest choice, E'er woman fronted. Death is on one hand, A shadowy shape, with proffered cup and veil. Alluring me in silence with mute gesture Of mystic invitation ; on the other Is Ignominy, a dark viperous dungeon, Where slimy reptile things coil and uncoil Unceasing, like one monster, so involved Is form wit] I form. A TEA QIC DBA MA. 21 Ahn. Eosamund, speak not so. It makes me shudder. Would that you would bow More wisely unto that we cannot change ! Ros. There may be taint of madness in my brain, Seeing to me two personalities Alone exist absorbingly, my own And Alboin's ; unto him I cannot yield, Nor can I 'scape his presence by retreat, Since darkness closes on the track of liaht And morn pursueth close the rear of night. Ahn. You talk too wildly, let us to the air 0' the court awliile, seeing we have permission. Ros. would that change of place were change of thought I [Exeunt. SCENE VL— The Palace. Alboin. No momentary gust of passion this, But like a storm, that, rising with the eve, Goes ravening all night the forests through, Bending in surges black the ranks of pine, Casting its victims crashing to the ground, Till all its ruinous desire is sated. As when some fortress, with defiant frown. Has baffled me and the strong fascination Grows stronger with delay, before her pride 22 ROSAMUND: Stern, constant and impregnable, I grow The more desirefiil, and all Italy Would not corrupt me from my purpose. Enter Helmich. Hel. ]\Iy liege, prepare thyself for tidings evil, And bearing grief peculiar to thyself. Alt. Speak on, and do not fear that I shall weep. Hel. Nay, sire. I fear not tears, but those strong souls Who scorn the use of tears, are more terrific In anguish than the weak. You know too well Why your fair consort came not hither with you. Alb. aside. Unholy hope, art thou fulfilled so soon! Hel. Since thy departure, she has drooped the more ; Learned physicians and rare medicines Availed not ; with mysterious delay She faded and, alas, she is no more. Alb. Dead ? Helmich ! Nay, it is a villainous lie ! Hel. kneeling. A subject plays not with a monarch's pain. Alb. aside. Smooth dog, and has he read my secret thought? {Aloud) Go! go! IIow kuow'st thou this'? Hel. A messenger, With fear and weariness all pale and stammering, Declared it and delivered us this letter — {giving it). A consternation utter on the chiefs Then fell, and none dared bear to thee the news. Alb. reading the letter. True — true ! Cursed cowards ! Thou hadst died for it But that I need such daring souls as thine ! Go ! go ! [Exit Helmich. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 23 Dead ! dead, my Clotosvinda : — Wild nature bright and warm as flame, gone out ! Expiring with the expiry of my love. Is then my wish become omnipotent, Working unspoken lilve the will of gods ? Ye powers tremendous, irresponsible. Are ye my servants ? Am I one of you ? [Curtain falls. 24 ROSAMUND. ACT 11. SCENE I.— The Palace. Rosamund and Alboin. Alb. They stood upon my patli, and so they fell ; As all must, standing there, — most worthy fate For brave men. For, as every pool and stream In one great inundation are immerged, So 'tis the office and the destiny Of all who dare to rival or oppose me, Borne back, o'ercome, and swallowed in my Hood, Its onward rolling waters to increase ; Yet would I gladly bid them live again, Yea, would relinquish every rood of conquest To acquire thy love. Eos. Alas ! how impotent The mightiest to retrieve an ill once done ! Vain protestations ! Seeing thou art powerless To animate the merest worm thy heel Chances to crush in passing — how much less Hast thou the power to cause one human life Eebloom. All). Deatli is my ally and I may not Break faith with him. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 25 Ros. Say cannot, cannot, cannot. A lb. aside. 'S death ! Can these. Death and Lo^'e, defy me thus ? {Aloud) No mortal may reverse the wheel of Fate ; And, like wine poured upon the ground, the past Is irrecoverable — e'en with gods Beyond recall. The future, like wet clay, Is plastic to my hands and shall be that I will it and I make it. Ros. But thy future Repairs me not my wrongs. Alb. Whate'er thou liadst, Dominion and possession, revenue And power, shall be restored thee twenty-fold. Bos. Thou canst not render me my father back. Alb. A maiden, when she weds, doth leave her kin And yet is happy, though perchance no more She may behold them ; in new love the old Enveloped is and lost, as the bright sun Doth banish everv star. Ros. Where is the love To quench me my affections? Alb. Loving me, Whose power and greatness level to the banks Of thy desire shall flow, as river full Doth rock the lightest weed upon its brink And fill each deepest pool and dark recess ; Thou shalt forget the evil and the good Of thy past life and learn to bless the day Now dark with thy misfortunes. 26 ROSAMUND : Ros. Infamous ! I love thee not, nor ever can I love thee. Alb. Then thou shall fear me [seizing her hand). Unto few I give The option — helpless as these fingers fine Lie in my grasp, liest thou within my power. {Kisses her hand 2^assionatcly) Say fairest, proudest, is it peace or war ! Bos. breaking from him. War ! \Exit. Alb. Yes war, as when great conquering hosts encamp About a haughty city, wherewithin Are stately fanes and marble palaces. And treasures full and store of costly gems. Begirt with battlements impregnable. No violent assault or fierce attack Avails them — they await the silent aid Of famine, that shall open from within The ponderous gates whereon no blow hath rung, While yet no breach is in the battlements. [Exit. SCENE II.— Garden of Palace. Peredeo loalldng about. 'Tis just my fortune — one sweet w^aft of fagrance Upwakens my desire and then the flower By othej: hand is plucked — or, on a sudden, A TRAGIC DRAMA. 27 Sheds all the petals of its beauty down, Pathetically lovely in its ruin, But scattered, soiled and irreplaceable, Or, having swayed a moment to my reach, Springs swiftly high beyond it. So, even now, I have but held her little hand, — unconscious In the distraction of her fear and grief "What passion throbbed in mine — Aim. coming from hchind a cyj^rcss. prudent warrior ! You make a cypress-tree your confidant And, even to her, you, sapiently, divulged not The lady's name. Come, tell me. Per. What is yo2tr name ? Aim. One question by another you would answer : First answer mine, and I will answer yours. Per. My answer is ; — both answers are the same. Aim. You put me off with compliment — my name, sir, Is Alma. Per. Alma ; liquid, simple, sweet. As thou art — Aim. Not so simple as you think me. Per. I love what's simple — Aim. So you do profess — Per. The gentle, low, monotonous complaints Of wood-doves — loving in the quiet firs, Or stream whose silvern dash is aye the same : And eve is sweetest, when but one white star Shines lonely in the west ; the full array Of night delights me not, as that one star. There ! its first pulse of light broke througli tlie blue. 28 ROSAMUND : See ! now it brightens in the hollow crescent Of yon black pine-clad ridge. Come nearer ! so. [He adjusts her so as to see it. Aim. now I see it. Per. Lean your head back a little Upon my shoulder — you will see it better. There now, don't move ! [She obeys, and he hisses her iiassionately. Aim. freeing herself. For shame ! you take advantage Of my simplicity. Now I will go. Per. stay — we may not meet again. To-morrow At dawn I leave — by absolute command — Nourrht else would take me. Aim. 1 am so glad,— You did not go before— now I can find That one star for myself. Per. But I lose mine. Aim. you will find another — Per. None so bright. Aim. Good night, good night— I'll not come any nearer. Per. You will forget me. Aim,. I will try my best, But fear I cannot. {Exit. Per. what tripping music, Like dancing ripples of a sunny stream, Her speech is ; yet not sweeter than the portals Wherefrom it comes. Her very presence lifts me Into a higher air, and my dull thoughts Take wing and gather radiance in her smile. Farewell, my dainty lipped ! For thy sole sake, — A TRAGIC DRAMA. 29 That so our paths again may interlace — I'll drink success to Alboin's suit to-night. [Exit. SCENE III. — CimimuncCs Palace. EOSAMUND. Boa. how my way is all around beset With grizly horrors ! — For a moment poised Between them, I, with breath fear-bated, pause And shudder, ere I plunge, as one who halts Wolf-hunted on a precipice's verge, And, far beneath, the rocks shoot up huge fangs • From out the inaudible fury of the waves, And, close behind, the horrible pant o' the wolves And hungry snapping of their glistening teeth. Would God I had a greater soul or less ! A greater one, that could face blank-eyed Deatli With a meet scorn, and deem oblivion's shroud Better than living, like a tig(3r chained With fetters ever wearing to the bone. Or less, that lacks the courage even to gaze On that blood-freezing skeleton, and turns Eesignedly to any lot tliat bears The name of life and stoops beneath the yoke, That hardly galls the unresisting neck. 30 ROSAMUND: Enter Alma. Alma, I am weary of this war Of chafing passions. Tell me I What dost think? Aim. Think, love ? Why think you are most fortunate To strike the fancy of this mighty king. This chance has like a sudden sunshine burst Tlirough sorrow's clouds. I hardly can feel sad, Thinking what undreamt honours will be j^ours, Sitting on high the mate of such a king. And, Eosamund, they will not make us part You'll not forsake me, Eosamund, I know. Ros. kissing her. No, dear, we never have been separate, Nor ever shall be. Alma, let us die Together now — it is the better way. Aim. trembling. No, Eosamund, no, I cannot die : Why should we now, since you are chosen queen? Ros. Dost thou not sec how much I must abhor This slayer of my Idndred? Could I love Tlie man whose victory was my father's death? Aim. Eosamund you make my blood run cold With horror. Talk not so — what would you do ? To kill yourself is wicked and horrible. I could not do it ; besides it is not brave, Not like you, Eosamund, to take to flight From evil fortune thus ; and then, you know, How grand to be a queen, perchance to rule The ruler of the nation to your whim. Eosamund, I wonder that ambition Fires you not to the task. Then, if you die. You leave nie all defenceless, desolate. .4 TRAOIC DRAMA. " 31 He will take vengeance on me, if you foil His purpose and — Oh dear I cannot die ! [Sols. Enter Heijviich. Hel. Ladies, I bear a greeting from the king To both, yet chiefly to fair Eosamund, The queen-elect, if so her mind incline : For his most ardent love can brook no more Doubt or delay — your answer he would have — [Bos. makes as though she ivonld siicah. Yet lady, not in haste decide this issue Momentous ; for a monarch's happiness And lives of many on your choice depend. Hard, princess, were the heart that could not feel For your forlorn condition and sad fate. Nor know how cruel must the conflict be In your torn heart. Yet pause, before you cast A life aglow with the fresh fire of youth, A beauty newly bursting from its bud To the full glory and fragrance of its prime, A throne whereon like twin-gods ye may sit, The boundless love and passion of a man No beauty so completely captive led, And last, the lives of many you might save. Disdainful from you. It is difficult To turn our passion's tide so suddenly From Hate to Love ; yet is it possible. Blindly wo hate our nation's enemies. Unwitting ought of individual good Or evil in them. You, a Gepidan, Hate Lombard Alboin, He no doubt did hate The princess of the Gepidie, but now 32 ROSAMUND: Loves lovely Rosamund — would make her queen, Doth worsliip his late enemy and sue Por mercy from his captive. So may you, The queen of Lombards, love their king, Alboin. Rus. That was a hope that flashed across my brain, But momentary, ineffectual. Hcl. sinldng his voice mid approaching Eos. But though love come not, is it nought to be A queen of such a kingdom, yea the envy Of all thy sex throughout the land, the mark, Whereto all highest praise of beauty's aimed. The ideal after which each damsel fair Is trained and trimmed ? Better than lying cold, Kotting corruption in the wormy mould. Alvi. O llosamund, 1 cannot bear to think That you should die. give him answer fair. Ros. I am o'erwrought — I yield — go say to him Yes — I will be your queen. Hel kneeling. iMy queen, with joy That words but faintly shadow forth I hail Such sweet decision — hail the victory Of judgment sound, over the yearnings, true ' But over-sensitive, of pure affection. [Exit Helmicii, Ros. Mast ever in some horrible vision, when The agony became too great to bear. Cried 'would this were a dream' and straight awoke? So, now, I cry, yet will the dream not burst. But Alma dear, now go— thy life is safe. And if it prove not sweet, then blame not me. [JExii Alma. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 33 My choice is made, yet hardly was my choice. How subtle-tongiied a serpent Helmich is ! Now must I steel myself to play my part, Must cast away the pure and holy past, Must henceforth seem the thing that I am not, The loving, faithful wife and loyal queen. Lend Hate the face of Love, and give Dislike The mask of amorous Dalliance, and Despair Clothe with the lustre of a feigned Hope. Upon Ambition's altar I lay down All love, affection and sincerity ; False to myself, I nevermore can be Faithful to any other. Turn, God, Thy face away, and let hell laugh to see The lep'rous change ! For this weak fear of death For ever hath undone me, and I know it. Yet shall I grasp my miserable guerdon : Yes, yes, my choice is good — I'd rather be A damned queen than a base churl redeemed ! [Uxit. 34 ROSAMUND: ACT III. SCENE I. — Room in Palace at Verona. Alma and Peredeo meeting. Per. Well met, fair one ! [Takes her hand. Nay, I'll not release it. This pretty captive has been here before. Do you forget when first this swarthy palm Was gaol to these fair fingers ? Aim. No, my lord. Per. Then were these eyes, dark as the violet. Swimming with timid tears, and that white breast. Now gleaming through your garment, like the moon Mist vainly covers, shuddered with quick sobs ; Those rich brown locks, so daintily arranged. Strayed in the wild abandonment of fear, — This little nestling hand was hot with grief. Aim. Yes, I remember, I was so afraid, And all your faces were so stern and cruel. Per. All, Alma? Aim. Al] but one, a warrior tall, With flaxen hair, blue eyes and fiery beard. Per. You minx ! And did he come and take your hand? Aim. Perhaps he did; perhaps, Peredeo, He has it now. [He kisses her. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 35 {Struggling faintly) She did not give him leave For such advances. Per. Stolen sweets, my love, Are ever sweetest. But those are not tears That make the natural brightness of tliose eyes More liquid than before? Aim. with a sigh. I am unhappy. Per. Why Alma, are you angry ? Aim. Not with you; But my life is not happy here. I am So lonely, for they love not Rosamund : And so all shun me. Even Eosamund, My playmate, though my mistress once, is cold And loveless to me now. I cannot bear To live unloved and loveless — as a child I worshipped Rosamund, and she loved mo In her proud fashion ; but slie's turned to stone. Then, Alboin makes me tremble when I hear him Go clanging ponderously through the hall. All look askance at me, as though I were Accomplice in some dark conspiracy. There's no one loves me, none that I can love But you, Peredeo. [Falls loee^nng in his arms. Per. Darling, do not weep. Peredeo loves thee so that all the kingdom Besides united could not love thee more : So, if a warrior's heart can quit thy pain. Thou shalt be ever happy. Lie thou here, Until thy fluttering heart forgets its tumult 36 ROSAMUND : And learns calm rythm of mine. Weep not! weep not! There dropped a tremulous brilliant on my hand. rain-dashed rose, look up that I may light Thy face to laughter ! Dost thou still remember The eve we parted, how one star hung low O'er the dark hills? Ahn. Too well do I remember, Though I have striven to forget it, still, Like some rare perfume losing not its power With lapse of time, this memory does pervade With sweetness the dark chambers of the past. Yet feared I you had found another star. Per. Nay, nay. {Aside.) May heaven forgive me that I lie Thus soothingly. {Aloud.) Though, like the star, remote Thou wert more dear to me than the poor candles Of present beauties were, for thy pure ray Made their dull flames burn grossly in my sight. Aim. laying her finger on his lips. Let no more flatteries out, you naughty lips — While I do murmur forth to him th' arrears Of my amassed affection, telling him How lie rode hero in my very dreams By night or day. It is too long a task — 1 will but look my love into his eyes, That flash their silent answer back to me. Thus cradled in a swoon of full delight. [Curtain falls. A TRAGIC DRAMA. SCEXE II. — Room in Palace at Verona. Enter Godeberta and Alboin in converse. Gocle. Alboin, my heart hath never been at rest Since first you made this Gepidan lioness Your queen ; for, though her skin be sleek and soft, Sharp are the claws the tawny velvet hides. There's steelly cruelty in those bright eyes. AJh. Tush! mother! why dost play the raven thus? But 'tis your sex's way, you're always jealous — Some other woman always loves or hates Too much or little for your taste, and then Murders, assassinations, poisons, plots Embroil your brain, and idle, innocent hands Are mingling potions, clutching dagger-hilts, And guiltless lips whisper conspiracies. Gode. That is because we are more clear of sight. Can pierce beneath feigned snules and treacherous gloss Of pretty speeches and deceitful sighs — Can catch the stealthy flash of hate, where love Is simulated. Who should know our wiles So well as we ? For many of us must Be where we would not, share a couch unloved. So, seeing no escape, we Wear a mask Until it fits us like our natural face. And only we, if we, know it is there. Alh. 'S life ! will you preach for ever on the faults 124U3; 38 ROSAMUND: Of your own sex ? They've faults in plenty, quite Apparent to the eye, without the aid Of your clear-eyed witchcraft to see them with. Gode. How can you dream of faithfulness in one Who was your thrall, who had no choice but wed The conqueror of her nation, the destroyer Of all her kindred? Do you see in her The clinging and dependent tenderness With which fond wives upon their husbands lean ? She moves so proudly, so aloof from all. So isolate and coldly self-contained. Alh. Will you revile her to the crack of doom? She is my queen and worthy of the place. Is she a lioness? The better mate. Then, for a lion. Would you have my queen Toy all day with me lilce a courtezan. Or cringe before me like a frightened child. Or would you have her sitting cheek by jowl With maids and lackeys ? 'Zounds ! I made good choice. Hast seen a statelier mien, more regal gait, More queenly carriage or more lovely scorn? Wliat other woman hast thou feigned or seen More fitly fashioned to become my queen? The truest hound will answer to no call Except his master's. Eosamund is cold To all save me. The truer, then, to me. I plucked her from the maw of such a fate. So loathsome to her, she had rather shed Her blood herself than brook its ignominy. Is it for this she'd murder me forsooth ? A TRAGIC DRAMA. 39 'S blood, dame ! were any tongue but yours to wag So poisonously against her, 'twould full soon Want place to wag in. You may croak you hoarse ; I never sought your counsel on't, nor ask Now for your warning. Here comes Eosamund. Ha ! you don't care to face her. [Exit Godeberta. Enter Eosamund. Well, my queen ? Ros. What, my lord ? Parted angry from your mother Or do I come unwelcome? I were sad To see domestic quarrels weigh upon A heart by kingly projects occupied. I fear lest I should mar much happiness, That else were yours, my liege. I fear you rue That ever from that cowering band of captives You raised me to your side. All). No, Eosamund, I do not rue it, for my choice was good. Ros. I would that I could move your mother's love. I know my way is haughty. I can't whine Submissively to any — she mistrusts My cold reserve. I cannot feign a warmth I feel not. Alb. Tush, girl! reck thou not A rush for any. Thou are Alboin's queen — Whoso wrongs thee is Alboin's enemy. Whoe'er it be, and such have but short lives. Ros. I would not stir your wrath, so terrible And strong, 'gainst any, but in you alone My safety lies. But what is worst of all To bear unmoved and silently is this, 40 ROSAMUND : They whisper dark suspicions in your ear, And you will grow to doubt me, and then hate. Alb. Bah! these are brain-sick fancies. Though 'twere true I'll never doubt thee, Rosamund. I trust Myself and weigh not others' fantasies. [Exit Alboin. Ros. looking after him. Yes, limed, I think, my royal eagle, limed. These massive-frowning fortresses have all Their little posterns, easy forced, when found. I've found the key to that hard, cruel heart. And mean to keep it till I've need of it. For he is proud of me — I act the queen. Even as his heart would have it, and he dreams I love him, and him only ; and to love Is subtlest flattery. To complete the charm. He loves me in his fashion — beautiful I am, and know it — do not sicken him With too uxorious dalliance or repulse With an estranging coldness. Acted well ! Played to perfection ! Yet an irksome part. Aloft on pride's chill pinnacle I sit — Hear far below the dash of lesser passions Bursting against its base. No pulse of love. Of happiness, or even desire, e'er beats In the high, frozen solitudes of my soul. [Exit. A TRAGIC DRAMA. 41 SCENE III.— Another part of the Palace. Rosamund and Helmicii. Ros. Yes, Helmich, as we thonglit. I found him wroth ; Just caught the furtive malice on her face, Turned back i' the opposite doorway. But she failed; Perchance had roused his ire in my defence, For he was almost tender, swore my foes Were his, he'd never rued his choice of me, He'd trust himself, not others. Though he tush'd At my suspicions, I could plainly see How true they were. Hel. My queen, you may be sure I bring no idle tales to you, nor raise Baseless suspicions. Godeberta thinks You stand alone, save Alma, who counts not. I wear two liveries — yours is ever on, The other, but a cloak to keep it safe. When the queen-mother summons me, I don My cloak and listen. Cautiously, at first, She talks, not lovingly of you, but yet Careful to veil her purpose and her hate. Then, with premeditated stumble, I Let fall some phrase uujust of you and beg Humbly she name it not, as tliough in fear. She promises ; I make pretence to show My inmost thoughts, as though I liated you. Then falls she like ripe apple to the hand, ROSAMUND : And all her fears, suspicions, purposes Pours in my ear. Thereon I give advice — Most excellent no doubt, — yet all in vain. For aye untoward chances frustrate it. You understand me, lady ? Rqh. Yes, too well. Yes, ' falls she like ripe apple to the hand,' That is the sentence that you pass on me To Godeberta. Think not I can trust Such doubleness. Yet pause before you dare My utmost vengeance. I had thought you knew Too much to tamper with me thus, Helmich. Hel. No need of threats or fear. I spoke amiss To say I wore your livery; no mere livery Is my allegiance to you. Dare I speak, I could discover how indissoluble The bonds that bind me to you. Bos. Then, speak on, And I will try to conjure up belief In your avowals. Hcl. Then, the bond is love. Yes, Helmicli's love has dared to fly as high As Alboin's. [Falling on his knees. my queen, fair Rosamund, Who art the only passion of my life. Thy beautiful, proud image is enshrined Eternal in my heart, and all my being Burns up in one fierce flame of passionate. Rapt adoration. Ro-'i. Helmich, rave not thus ! Dost thou forget tliat I am Alboin's queen, A TEA QIC DRAMA. 43 For ever by all laws of God and man Forbidden thee ? Yet, if thou would'st have hope, Befriend yonr queen in her necessity. Love long hath died in me — the word is strange. And seems to rise from out the buried past A spectre pale. Go, Helmich, — but remember, Your only hope is — aid to me, at need. {^Exit Helmicii. He too is mine ; mine wholly. [Exit. SCENE IV.~Almas Chamber. Alma alone, sings. I stole my warrior to meet ; I love him as I love my life, And his words they had been sweet To maid or wife. The moon was bright, the night was blue ; I love him as I love my life, But his words they were not true To maid or wife. Sweet blew the winds from glades of pine ; I love him as I love my life, His kisses were more warm than wine To maid or wife. 44 ROSAMUND : Before the breeze the weak grass bent ; I love him as I love my life, Could I from him withhold consent, As maid or wife ? ' Alas ! ' I sobbed, ' I am undone ; I love thee as I love my life,' He kissed my frail tears one by one. No maid ! no wife ! \_Rises and puts on cloak and veil. Ah me ! But love is very sweet ; I love him as I love my life. Now must I go my love to meet, Nor maid, nor wife. [^Exit. SQENE v.— Room in Pcrcdeos Honsc. Peredeo, jxiciny ahont restlessly. Wish she would come ; and yet half wish it not. Her innocence and trustfulness do make me Eemorseful. When I talk of love to her, I lie — yet lie not. For I love her well, Most fondly, dearly, passionately love her: Still not enough, and yet, — perhaps, too much. I know not how it is. jMy lies would shame A twice-bought spy, yet do I deem them truths A TEA GIG DBA MA. 45 In speaking tlieni. Love is a demon-god ; His feet are in hell, his head is in the heavens. Many her ? Tliere Ambition doth forbid me And, pointing to an heirless crown, doth whisper Of politic alliance, that may strengthen My claim and gain me suffrages, or buttress The throne that I ascend. Faith ! marry her, — And douse jDoor Cupid, as these Southerns say, In Hymen's chilly waters ? Xo, not I. But now she comes. [Exit. SCENE VI.- Banquet Hall in Talace. Alboin', Rosamund, Godeberta, Chef, Peredeo, Alma, Helmich, Minstrel, Guests, Attendants, ^c. at a Banquet. Alb. Curse on these times of puling peace! I say. Life grows disgustful, like a stagnant pool. One's blood goes thick and slow, one's limbs, lethargic Sigh as they move, weary of their own weight, Like over-fattened oxen. 'S death ! we rust, As our good blades do, i' the damp^ air of peace. Eos. My liege, have not your conquests sated you Of slaughter ? Is't not better to behold Your populous cities teem with the increase 46 ROSAMUND: Of prosperous lands, than see the ruin's smoke And corn down-trodden in the bloody mire ? Qocle. Peace, like the unhealthy beat of southern noons That breeds putridity, begetting swarms Of nocuous vermin, is the hatching time Of foul intrigues and dark, insidious plots ; Death haunts the goblet proffered with a smile, Leaps from the dagger plunged at dead of night. Chef. My liege, no less achievment 'tis to knit Together to one kingdom conquered lands, And gather up the reins of governance Tight in the fingers, than to win them first. Alb. Plague on your windy wisdom ! There's no good In drowsy peace but wine. Fill, fill and drink, Till all your blood dances with ruby fire ! Give the old minstrel drink ! Warm his old heart ! Come, ancient, stir us witli some battle strain ! Minstrel sii/f/>^. From the far north we come. From our stern icy home, Home of the tempest and realm of the snow. Where the storm rages wildly and bleak the winds blow, In the far, frozen realm of the snow. To the soft, sunny south. Where, with grape-stained mouth. Slumbered the Southern beneath the vine shade. By luxury sated, through plenty decayed. In the vine's faint, luxuriant shade. A TRAGIC BEAM A. 47 As the torrent, snow-fed In its dark fountain-head, Bursts to the valley with fetterless force, So we burst to the south irresistible course, With our fierce, our invincible force. For we fought without fear. And our sword and our spear Deeply of slaughter and victory drank. And the Southern in death's darkling agony sank. And our sword and our spear his blood drank. Pour ye out their red wine, Bounteous blood of their vine Deep from the skull of the foe let us quaff. Of fresh victory dream, as we revel and laugh. From the skull of the foe let us quaff ! Alb. Ho, Helmich ! Giive the minstrel gold and wine ! Cheer his old heart and make his old blood leap Right youthfully ! His song has stirred my blood To more impetuous current, as the affray Of some near battle doth. Where's my skull-goblet ? (To a 2')agc) Ho, boy, quick, bring it ! [^Exii page. Wine can never taste So rich and warm, nor pour such full, flush joy Into the heart from clinking metal cups. As drank from worthy foeman's bleached skull. Hel. to Minstrel. Here's largess from the king to cheer your heart, And wine, he sends, to make your old blood leap. 48 ROSAMUND : Mills. Thor set his foemen's head upon his spear ! He is a mighty warrior ; Thor liimself Breathed not more death around him, as he fought. Hcl. "Why, you old bletherer, must you needs recall Such barbarous and half-forgotten customs, So wantonly inhuman ? Dost not know His cup is of tlje skull of Cunimund, The father of the queen ? (Aside) But softly, Helmich, Alboin's rash folly may your wisdom be. And Alboin's bane may prove your remedy. [Enter 2^f