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 Or INFANTS' PKESERVATIVK. The only 
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 Gebir, &c. To face cover 2.]
 
 WONDERFUL MEDICINE 
 
 BE EC HAM'S PILLS 
 
 Are admitted by thousands to be worth above a Guinea a Box 
 for Bilious and Nervous Disorders, such as Wind and Pain in 
 the Stomach, Sick Headache, Giddiness, Fulness and Swelling 
 after meals, Dizziness and Drowsiness, Cold Chills, Flushings 
 of Heat, Loss of Appetite, Shortness of Breath, Costiveness, 
 Scurvy, Blotches on the Skin, Disturbed Sleep, Frightful 
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 WORTH A GUINEA A BOX. 
 
 For Females of all ages these Pills are invaluable, as a few 
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 females of all ages to sound and robust health. 
 
 For a Weak Stomach, Impaired Digestion, and all Disorders 
 of the Liver they act like "Magic," and a few doses will be 
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 and one of the best guarantees to the Nervous and Debilitated 
 is Beecham's Pills have the largest sale of any patent medicine 
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 Full Directions are given with each Box. 
 Soid by ail Druggists and Patcnl Medicine Dealers in the United 
 Kingdom, in Boxes at \s. \\d. and 2s. gd. each, [30 
 
 Cebir, &c. To face half-title.]
 
 GEBIR, 
 
 AND 
 
 COUNT JULIAN.
 
 In Weekly Volumes, frice 3d. : or in Cloth, 6d. 
 
 CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY. 
 
 >. Warren HastinRs •■ •■ I.okd Macaulay. 
 
 2. My Ten Years' Imprisonment •■ ■• Su.vio Pellico. 
 
 3. The Rivals, and the School for Scandal R. B. Sheriuan. 
 
 4. The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 5- The Complete Angler Isaac Walton. 
 
 6. Childe Harold Lord Byron. 
 
 7. The Man of Feeling Henry Mackenzie. 
 
 ci. Sermons on the Card liisnop Laii.mer. 
 
 9- Lives of Alexander and Caeaar .. .. Pi.uiarch. 
 
 10. The Castle of Otranto Horace Walpole. 
 
 11. Voyages and Travels Sir John Maundeville 
 
 ir. Plays OLIVER Goldsmith. 
 
 13. The Lady of the Lake Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 14. Table Talk Martin Luther. 
 
 15. The Wisdom of the Ancients .. .. Francis Bacon. 
 
 16. Francis Bacon Lord Macaulay. 
 
 17. Lives of the Poetsi (Waller, Milton, Cowleyl Samuel JOHNSON. 
 
 18. Thoughtsonth Present Discontents.&c. Edmund Burke. 
 
 19. The Battle of the Books, &o Jonathan Swift. 
 
 20. Poems George Crabue. 
 
 21. Egypt and Scythia .. Herodotus. 
 
 22. Hamlet Wm. Shakhspearr. 
 
 23. Voyagers' Tales Richard Hakluyt. 
 
 24. Natui-e and Art Mrs. Inciibald. 
 
 25. Lives of Alcibiades, Coriolanus, &3. .. Plutarch. 
 26 & 27. Life and Adventures of Baron Trenck. 2 Vols. 
 
 28. Essays Abraham Cowley. 
 
 29. Sir Roger de Coverley Steele and Addison. 
 
 30. Voyages and Tr.nvels Marco Polo. 
 
 31. Tne Merc ant of Venice Wm. Shakhspeare. 
 
 32. Religio Medici Sir T. Browne, M.D. 
 
 33. The Diarv ol Samuel Pepys.— 1660-1661. 
 
 34. Earlier Poems JOHN Milton. 
 
 35. The North- West Pass' ge Richard Hakluyt. 
 
 36. The Sorrows of Werier Goethe. 
 
 37. Lives of Poets (Butler, Denham, Dryden, &c.) Samuel Johnson. 
 
 38. Nathan the Wise LESSING. 
 
 39. Gi-ace Abounding .. John Bunyan. 
 
 40. Macbeth .. w.m. Shakespeare. 
 
 41. The Diary of Samuel Pepvs.— 1662— 1663. 
 
 42. Earlier Poems .. .. " Alexander Pope. 
 
 4-,. Early Austrnlnn Voyaged John Pinkerton. 
 
 44. The Bravo of Venice M.G.Lewis. 
 
 45. Lives of Demetrius, Mark Antony, &c. .. PL'TARCH. 
 
 46. Peter Plvmley's Letters, &c Sydney Smith. 
 
 47. Travels m England in 1782 C. P. Moritz. 
 
 48. Undine, and The Two Captains .. La Motte HouQUfi. 
 4q. Confessions of an Inquiring Sp rit, &c. s. T. Colekidce. 
 
 5:.. As You Like It Wm. Shakespkare. 
 
 51. A Journey to ihe Hebri'des .. .. Samuel Iohnson. 
 
 51. A Christmas C.Trol, and The Cliimss .. Charles Dickens. 
 
 53. The Christian Year John Keble. 
 
 54. Wanderings in South America .. .. Charles Waterton. 
 
 55. The Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 
 
 56. The Hunchback, and The Love-Chise .. J. Sheridan Knowles. 
 
 57. Crotchet C fctle Thomas Love Peacock. 
 
 58. Lives of Pericles, Fabius Maximus, &c. . Plutarch. 
 
 . 59. Lays of Ancient Rome, &c. .. .. .. Lord Macaulay'. 
 
 .60. Sermons on Evil-Speakirg .. .. .. I-aac Barrow, D.D. 
 
 61. The Diary of Scmuel Pcpys.— 16e3— 1664. 
 
 62. The Tempest Wm. SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 63. Rosalind Thomas Lodge. 
 
 64. Isaac Bickerstaff .. S ieele and Addison. 
 
 65. Q-ebir, and Count Julian W. S. Landor. 
 
 Next Fo/ume —The Earl of Chatliam.— By Lord Macaulay.
 
 Ex libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY. 
 
 G E B I R, 
 
 Count Julian. 
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Ltmitkd 
 
 LONDON, PARIS, NKW YORK <t MHLBoURSE. 
 1887.
 
 ^1 LIBRARY 
 
 » 0^2. UNI\Tr.rvSTTY OP CALIFORNIA 
 ^^ SANTA BARBARA 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor was born on the 30th of 
 January, 1775, and died at the age of eighty-nine in 
 September, 1864. He was the eldest son of a phy- 
 sician at "Warwick, and his second name, Savage, 
 was the family name of his mother, who owned two 
 estates in Warwickshire — Ipsley Court and Tach- 
 brook — and had a reversionary interest in Hughen- 
 den Manor, Buckinghamshire. To this property, 
 worth £80,000, her eldest son was heir. That 
 eldest son was born a poet, had a generous nature, 
 and an ardent impetuous temper. The tempei-, 
 with its obstinate claim of independence, was too 
 much for the head master of Rugby, who found in 
 Landor the best writer of Latin verse among his 
 boys, but one ready to fight him over difierence 
 of opinion about a Lntin quantity. In 1793 
 Landor went to Trinity College^, Oxford. He had 
 been got rid of at Rugby as unmanageable. After 
 two years at Oxford, he was rusticated ; there- 
 upon he gave up his chambers, and refused to
 
 6 INTKODTJCTION. 
 
 return. Landor's father, wlio had been much 
 tried by his unmanageable temper, then allowed 
 him £150 a year to live with as he pleased, away 
 from home. He lived in South Wales — at Swan- 
 sea, Tenby, or elsewhere — and he sometimes went 
 home to Warwick for short visits. In South 
 Wales he gave himself to full communion with the 
 poets and with Nature, and he fastened with par- 
 ticular enthusiasm upon Milton. Lord Aylmer, 
 who lived near Tenby, was among his friends. 
 Rose Aylmer, whose name he has made through 
 death imperishable, by linking it with a few lines 
 of perfect music,* lent Landor ^' The Progress of 
 Romance," a book published in 1785, by Clara 
 Reeve, in which he found the description of an 
 Arabian tale that suggested to him his poem of 
 « Gebir." 
 
 Landor began " Gebir " in Latin, then turned it 
 into English, and then vigorously condensed what 
 
 * " Ai, what avails the sceptred race, 
 ' Ah, what the form divine ! 
 
 Wliat every virtue, every grace ! 
 Rose Aylmer, all were thine. 
 
 " Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 
 May weep, but never see, 
 A night of memories and sighs 
 I consecrate to thee."
 
 INTEODUCTION. 7 
 
 he had written. The poem was first published at 
 Warwick as a sixpenny pam^thlet in the year 
 1798, when Lander's age was twenty-three. 
 Robert South ey was among the few who bought 
 it, and he first made known its power. In the 
 best sense of the phrase, " Gebir " was written in 
 classical English, not with a search for pompous 
 words of classical origin to give false dignity to 
 style, but with strict endeavour to form terse 
 English lines of apt words well compacted. Many 
 passages appear to have been half thought out in 
 Greek or Latin, some, as that on the sea-shell (on 
 page 19), were first written in Latin, and Landor 
 re-issued " Gebir " with a translation into Latin 
 three or four years after its first appearance. 
 
 " Gebir " was written nine years after the out- 
 break of the French Revolution, and at a time 
 when the victories of Napoleon were in many 
 minds associated with the hopes of man. In the 
 first edition of the poem there were, in the nuptial 
 voyage of Tamai-, prophetic visions of the triumph 
 of his race, in mai'ch of the French Republic from 
 the Garonne to the Rhine — 
 
 " How grand a prospect opens ! Alps o'er Alps 
 Tower, to sin-vey the ti-iumphs that proceed. 
 Here, while Garumna dances in the gloom
 
 8 INTEODTJCTION. 
 
 Of larches, mid her naiads, or reclined 
 
 Leans on a broom-clad bank to watch the sports 
 
 Of some far-distant chamois silken haired. 
 
 The chaste Pyrene, drying up her tears, 
 
 Finds, with your children, refuge : yonder, Rhine 
 
 Lays his imperial sceptre at your feet." 
 
 The hope of the purer spirits in the years of revo- 
 lution, expressed by Wordsworth's 
 
 " War shall cease, 
 Did ye not hear, that conquest is abjured ? " 
 
 was in the first design of " Gebir," and in those 
 early years of hope Lander joined to the vision of 
 the future for the sons of Tamar that, 
 
 " Captivity led captive, war o'erthrown. 
 They shall o'er Europe, shall o'er earth extend 
 Empire that seas alone and skies confine, 
 And glory that shall strike the crystal stars." 
 
 Landor was led by the failure of immediate 
 expectation to revise his poem and omit from the 
 third and the sixth books about one hundred and 
 fifty lines, while adding fifty to heal over the 
 wounds made by excision. As the poem stands, it 
 is a rebuke of tyrannous ambition in the tale of 
 Gebir, prince of Boetic Spain, from whom Gibraltar 
 took its name. Gebir, bound by a vow to his 
 dying father in the name of ancestral feud to
 
 INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 invade Egypt, prepares invasion, but yields in Egypt 
 to the touch of love, seeks to rebuild the ruins of 
 the past, and learns what are the fruits of ambition. 
 This he learns in the purgatory of conquerors, where 
 he sees the figures of the Stuarts, of William the 
 Deliverer, and of George the Third, " with eyebrows 
 white and slanting brow," intentionally confused 
 with Louis XVI. to avoid a charge of treason. But 
 the strength of Landor's sympathy with the French 
 Revolution and of his contempt for George III. 
 was more evident in the first form of the poem. 
 Parallel with the quenching in Gebir of the con- 
 queror's ambition, and with the ruin of his life and 
 its new hojie by the destroying powers that our mis- 
 understandings of the better life bring into play, 
 luns that part of the poem which shows Tamai\ his 
 brother, preparing to dwell with the sea nymph, the 
 ideal, far away from all the struggle of mankind. 
 
 Recognition of the great beauty of Landor's 
 " Gebir " came fix'st from Southey in " The Critical 
 Review." Southey found that the poem grew upon 
 him, and became afterwards Landor's lifelong 
 friend. When Shelley was at Oxford in ISll, 
 there were times when he would read nothing but 
 " Gebir." His friend Hogg says that when he 
 went to Shelley's rooms one morning to tell him
 
 10 • INTRODUCTION. 
 
 something of importance, he could not draw liis 
 attention away from "Gebir," Hogg impatiently 
 threw the book out of window. It was brought 
 back by a servant, and Shelley immediately fastened 
 upon it again. 
 
 At the close of 1805 Landor's father died, and 
 the young poet became a man of property. In 
 1808 Southey and Lander first met. Their friend- 
 ship remained unbroken. When Spain rose to 
 throw off the yoke of Napoleon, Landor's enthu- 
 siasm carried him to Corunna, where he paid for 
 the equipment of a thousand volunteers, and joined 
 the Spanish army of the North. After the Con- 
 vention of Cintra he returned to England. Then 
 he bought a large Welsh estate — Llanthony Priory 
 — paid for it by selling other property, and began 
 costly improvements. But he lived chiefly at 
 Bath, where he married, in 1811, when his age was 
 thirty-six, a girl of twenty. It was then that he 
 began his tragedy of "Count Jidian." The patri- 
 otic struggle in Spain commended at the same time 
 to Scott, Southey, and Landor the story of Roder- 
 ick, the last of the Gothic kings, against whom, 
 to avenge wrong done to his daughter. Count 
 Julian called the Moors in to invade his country. 
 In 1810 Southey was working at his poem of
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 "Eoderick the Last of the Goths," in fellowship with 
 his friend Lander, who was treating the same sub- 
 ject in his play. Scott's " Roderick " was being 
 printed so nearly at the same time with Landor's 
 play, that Landor wrote to South ey eai-ly in 1812 
 while the proof-sheets were coming to him : " I am 
 surprised that Upham has not sent me Mr. Scott's 
 poem yet. However, I am not soiTy. I feel a 
 sort of satisfaction that mine is going to the press 
 first, though there is little danger that we should 
 think on any subject alike, or stumble on any one 
 chai-acter in the same track." De Quincey spoke of 
 the hidden torture shown in Landor's play to be 
 ever present in the mind of Count Julian, the be- 
 trayer of his country, as greater than the tortures 
 inflicted in old Rome on generals who had committed 
 treason. De Quincey's admiration of this play was 
 more than once expressed. " Mr, Landor," he said. 
 " who always rises with his subject, and dilates like 
 Satan into Tenei'ifTe or Atlas when he sees before 
 him an antagonist worthy of his powers, is probably 
 the one man in Europe that has adequately con- 
 ceived the situation, the stern self-dependency, 
 and the monumental misery of Count Julian. 
 That sublimity of penitential grief, wliich cannot 
 accept consolation from man, cannot bear external
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 reproach, cannot condescend to notice insult, cannot 
 so much as see the curiosity of bystanders ; that 
 awful carelessness of all but the troubled deeps 
 within his own heart, and of God's spirit brooding 
 upon their surface and searching their abysses ; 
 never was so majestically described." H. M.
 
 GEBIR. 
 
 FIRST BOOK. 
 I SING the fates of Gebir. He had dwelt 
 Among those mountain-caverns which retain 
 His hiboui'S yet, vast halls and flowing wells, 
 Nor have forgotten their old master's name 
 Though severed from his people : here, incensed 
 By meditating on primeval wrongs, 
 He blew his battle-horn, at which uprose 
 Whole nations ; here, ten thousand of most might 
 He called aloud, and soon Charoba saw 
 His dark helm hover o'er the land of Nile. 
 
 What should the virgin do 1 should royal knees 
 Bend suppliant, or defenceless hands engage 
 Men of gigantic force, gigantic arms? 
 For 'twas reported that nor sworil sufficed, 
 Nor shield immense nor coat of massive mail. 
 But that upon their towering heads they bore 
 Each a huge stone, refulgent as the stars. 
 This told she Dalica, then cried aloud : 
 " If on your bosom laying down my head
 
 14 GEBIE. 
 
 1 sobbed away the sorrows of a cliikl, 
 
 If I have always, and Heaven knows I have, 
 
 Next to a mother's held a nurse's name, 
 
 Succour this one distress, recall those days. 
 
 Love me, though 'twere because you loved me then." 
 
 But whether confident in magic rites 
 Or touched with sexual pride to stand implored, 
 J^alica smiled, then spake : " Away those fears. 
 Though stronger than the strongest of his kind, 
 He falls — on me devolve that charge ; he falls. 
 Hather than fly him, stoop thou to allure ; 
 Nay, journey to his tents : a city stood 
 Upon that coast, they say, by Sidad built, 
 \\''hose father Gad built Gadir ; on this ground 
 Perhaps he sees an ample room for war. 
 Persuade him to restore the walls himself 
 In honour of his ancestors, persuade — 
 But wherefore this advice 1 young, unespoused, 
 Charoba want persuasions ! and a queen ! " 
 
 " Dalica ! " the shuddering maid exclaimed, 
 " Could I encounter that fierce, frightful man? 
 Could I speak 1 no, nor sigh ! " 
 
 " And canst thou reign ? " 
 Cried Dalica; "yield empire or comply." 
 
 Unfixed though seeming fixed, her eyes down- 
 cast,
 
 GEBIR. 15 
 
 The wonted buzz and bustle of the court 
 From liar through sculptured galleries met her ear ; 
 Then lifting up her head, the evening sun 
 Poured a fresh splendour on her burnished throne — 
 The fair Charoba, the young qiieen, complied. 
 But Gebir when he heard of her approach 
 Laid by his orbed shield, his vizor-helm, 
 His buckler and his corset he laid by, 
 And bade that none attend him ; at his side 
 Two faithful dogs that urge the silent course, 
 Shaggy, deep-chested, crouched ; the crocodile. 
 Crying, oft made them raise their flaccid ears 
 And push their heads within their master's ha 
 There was a brightening paleness in his face, 
 Such as Diana rising o'er the rocks 
 Showered on the lonely Latmian ; on his brow 
 Sorrow there was, yet nought was there severe. 
 But when the royal damsel first he saw, 
 Faint, hanging on her handmaids, and her knees 
 Tottering, as from the motion of the car. 
 His eyes looked earnest on her, and those eyes 
 Showed, if they had not, tliat they might have 
 
 loved. 
 For there was pity in them at that hour. 
 With gentle speech, and more with gentle looks 
 He soothed her ; but lest Pity go beyond,
 
 16 GEBIR. 
 
 And crossed Ambition lose her lofty aim, 
 Bending, he kissed her garment and retired. 
 He went, nor slumbered in the sultry noon 
 When viands, couches, generous wines persuade, 
 And slumber most refreshes, nor at night. 
 When heavy dews are laden with disease. 
 And blindness waits not there for lingering age. 
 Ere morning dawned behind him, he arrived 
 At those rich meadows where young Tamar fed 
 The royal flocks entrusted to his care. 
 " Now," said he to himself, " will I repose 
 At least this burthen on a brother's breast." 
 His brother stood before him. He, amazed. 
 Reared suddenly his head, and thus began : 
 " Is it thou, brother ! Tamar, is it thou ! 
 Why, standing on the valley's utmost verge, 
 Lookest thou on that dull and dreary shore 
 Where many a league Nile blackens all the sand. 
 And why that sadness 1 when I passed our sheep 
 The dew-drops were not shaken oflT the bar ; 
 Therefore if one be Avanting 'tis untold." 
 
 " Yes, one is wanting, nor is that untold," 
 Said Tamar ; " and this dull and dreary shore 
 Is neither dull nor dreary at all hours." 
 Whereon the tear stole silent down his cheek. 
 Silent, but not by Gebir unobserved ;
 
 GEBIK. 17 
 
 Wondering he gazed awhile, and pitying spake : 
 " Let me approach thee ; does the morning light 
 Scatter this wan suffusion o'er thy brow, 
 This faint blue lustre under both thine eyes ? " 
 
 " brother, is this pity or reproach 1 " 
 Cried Tamar ; " cruel if it be reproach, 
 If pity, oh, how vain ! " 
 
 " Whate'er it be 
 That grieves thee, I will pity : thou but speak 
 And I can tell thee, Tamar, pang for pang." 
 
 " Gebir ! then more than brothers are we now ! 
 Everything, take my hand, will I confess. 
 I neither feed the flock nor watch the fold ; 
 How can I, lost in love 1 But, Gebir, why 
 That anger which has risen to your cheek ] 
 Can other men 1 could you 1 — what, no reply ! 
 And still more anger, and still worse concealed ! 
 Are these your pi-omises, your pity this 1 " 
 
 " Tamar, I well may ]nty what I feel — 
 Mark me aright — I feel for thee — proceed — 
 Relate me all." 
 
 " Then will I all relate," 
 Said the young shepherd, gladdened from his heart. 
 " 'Twas evening, though not sunset, and springtide 
 Level with these green meadows, seemed still higher. 
 'Twas pleasant ; and I loosened from my neck
 
 18 GEBIR. 
 
 The pipe you gave me, and began to play. 
 Ob, tbat I ne'er bad learnt the tuneful ^i,rt ! 
 It always brings us enemies or love ! 
 Well, I was playing, when above the waves 
 Some swimmer's head methought I saw ascend ; 
 I, sitting still, surveyed it, with my pipe 
 Awkwardly held before my lips half-closed. 
 Gebir ! it was a nymph ! a nymph divine ! 
 I cannot wait descriliing how she came, 
 How I was sitting, how she hrst assumed 
 The sailor ; of what happened there remains 
 Enough to say, and too much to forget. 
 The sweet deceiver stepped upon this bank 
 Before I was aware ; for with surprise 
 Moments fly rapid as with love itself. 
 Stooping to tune afresh the hoarsened reed, 
 I heard a rustling, and where that arose 
 My glance first lighted on her nimble feet. 
 Her feet resembled those long shells explored 
 By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight 
 Would blow the pungent powder in the eye. 
 Her eyes too ! O immortal gods ! her eyes 
 Resembled — what could they resemble 1 what 
 Ever resemble those ! E'en her attire 
 Was not of wonted woof nor vulgar art : 
 Her mantle showed the yellow samphire pod,
 
 19 
 
 Her girdle the dove-coloured wave serene. 
 
 * Shepherd/ said she, ' and will you wrestle now 
 Axid with the sailor's hardier race engage 1 ' 
 
 I was rejoiced to hear it, and conti'ived 
 How to keep up contention ; could I fail 
 By pressing not too strongly, yet to press ] 
 ' Whether a shepherd, as indeed you seem, 
 Or whether of the hardier race you boast, 
 I am not daunted, no ; I will engage. 
 But first,' said she, ' what wager will you lay 1 ' 
 
 * A sheep,' I answered ; ' add whate'er you will.' 
 
 * I cannot,' she replied, ' make that return : 
 Our hided vessels in their pitchy round 
 Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep. 
 But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue 
 Within, and they that lustre have imbibed 
 
 In the sun's palace porch, where when unyoked 
 His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave : 
 Shake one and it awakens, then apply 
 Its polished lips to your attentive ear, 
 And it remembers its august abodes. 
 And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there. 
 And I have others given me by the nymphs. 
 Of sweeter sound than any pipe you have. 
 But we, by Neptune, for no pipe contend — 
 This time a sheep I win, a pipe the next.'
 
 20 GEBIR. 
 
 Now came she forward eager to engage, 
 
 But first her dress, her bosom then surveyed, 
 
 And heaved it, doubting if she could deceive. 
 
 Her bosom seemed, enclosed in haze like heaven, 
 
 To baffle touch, and rose forth undefined : 
 
 Above her knees she drew the robe succinct, 
 
 Above her breast, and just below her arms. 
 
 ' This will preserve my breath when tightly bound, 
 
 If struggle and equal strength should so constrain.' 
 
 Thus, pulling hard to fasten it, she spake, 
 
 And, rushing at me, closed : I thrilled throughout 
 
 And seemed to lessen and shrink up with cold. 
 
 Again with violent impulse gushed my blood. 
 
 And hearing nought external, thus absorbed, 
 
 I heard it, rushing through each turbid vein, 
 
 Shake my unsteady swimming sight in air. 
 
 Yet with unyielding though uncertain arms 
 
 I clung around her neck ; the vest beneath 
 
 Rustled against our slippery limbs entwined : 
 
 Often mine springing with eluded force 
 
 Started aside, and trembled till replaced : 
 
 And when I most succeeded, as I thought. 
 
 My. bosom and my throat felt so compressed 
 
 That life was almost quivering on my lips, 
 
 Yet nothing was there painful ! these are signs 
 
 Of secret arts and not of human might —
 
 GEBIR. 21 
 
 What arts I cannot tell— I only know 
 
 My eyes grew dizzy, and my strength decayed. 
 
 I was indeed o'ercome ! with what regret, 
 
 And more, with what confusion^ when I reached 
 
 The fold, and yielding up the sheep, she cried : 
 
 ' This pays a shepherd to a conquering maid. ' 
 
 She smiled, and more of pleasure than disdain 
 
 Was in her dimpled chin and liberal lip, 
 
 And eyes that languished, lengthening, just like 
 
 love. 
 She went away ; I on the wicker gate 
 Leant, and could follow with my eyes alone. 
 The sheep she carried easy as a cloak ; 
 But when I heard its bleating, as I did, 
 And saw, she hastening on, its hinder feet 
 Struggle, and from her snowy shoulder slip — 
 One shoulder its poor eftbrts had unveiled — 
 Then all my passions mingling fell in tears ; 
 Restless then ran I to the highest ground 
 To watch her — she was gone — gone down the tide — 
 And the long moonbeam on the hanl wet sand 
 Lay like a jasper column half-upreared." 
 
 "But, Tamar ! tell me, will she not return? 
 
 "She will return, yet not before the moon 
 Again is at the full ; she promised this, 
 Though when she promised I could not reply."
 
 22 GEBIR. 
 
 " By all the gods I pity thee ! go on — 
 Fear not my anger, look not on my shame ; 
 For when a lover only hears of love 
 He finds his folly out, and is ashamed. 
 Away with watchful nights and lonely days, 
 Contempt of earth and as])ect up to heaven, 
 With contemplation, with humility, 
 A tattered cloak that pride wears when deformed, 
 Away with all that hides me from myself. 
 Parts me from others, whispers I am wise — 
 From our own wisdom less is to be reaped 
 Than from the barest folly of our friend. 
 Tamar ! thy pastures, large and rich, aftbrd 
 Flowers to thy bees and herbage to thy sheep, 
 But, battened on too nuich, the poorest croft 
 Of thy poor neighbour yields what thine denies." 
 
 They hastened to the camp, and Gebir there 
 Resolved his native country to forego. 
 And ordered, from those ruins to the right 
 They forthwith raise a city : Tamar heard 
 With wonder, though in passing 'twas half- told. 
 His brother's love, and sighed upon his own.
 
 GEBIE. 23 
 
 SECOND BOOK. 
 
 The Gadite men the royal charge obey. 
 Now fragments weighed up from th' uneven streets 
 Leave the ground black beneath ; again the sun 
 Shines into what were porches, and on steps 
 Once warm with frequentation — clients, friends, 
 All morning, satchelled idlers all mid-day, 
 Lying half-up and languid though at games. 
 
 Some raise the painted pavement, some on wheels 
 Draw slow its laminous length, some intersperse 
 Salt waters through the sordid heaps^ and seize 
 The flowers and figures starting fresh to view. 
 Others rub hard large masses, and essay 
 To polish into white what they misdeem 
 The growing green of many trackless years. 
 Far off at intervals the axe resounds 
 With regular strong stroke, and nearer home 
 Dull falls the mallet with long labour fringed. 
 Here arches are discovered, there huge beams 
 Resist the hatchet, but in fresher air 
 Soon drop away : there spreads a marble squared 
 And smoothened ; some high pillar for its base 
 Chose it, which now lies ruined in the dust. 
 Clearing the soil at bottom, they espy
 
 2i GEBIR. 
 
 A crevice : they, intent on treasure, strive 
 Strenuous, and groan, to move it : one exclaims, 
 " I hear the rusty metal grate ; it moves ! " 
 Now, overturning it, backward they start. 
 And stop again, and see a serpent pant, 
 See his throat thicken, and the crisped scales 
 Rise ruffled, while upon the middle fold 
 He keejis his wary head and blinking eye. 
 Curling more close and crouching ere he strike. 
 Go mighty men, iuAale far cities, go — 
 And be sucli treasure portions to your heirs. 
 
 Six days they laboured : on the seventh day 
 Returning, all their labours were destroyed. 
 'Twas not by mortal hand, or from their tents 
 'Twere visible ; for these were now remo^•ed 
 Above, where neither noxious mist ascends 
 ISTor the way wearies ere the work begin. 
 There Gebir, pierced with sorrow, spake these 
 words : 
 
 " Ye men of Gades, armed with brazen shields, 
 And ye of near Tartessus, where the shore 
 Stoojjs to receive the tribute which all owe 
 To Boctis and his banks for their attire. 
 Ye too whom Durius bore on level meads. 
 Inherent in your hearts is bravery : 
 For earth contains no nation where abounds
 
 GEBIE. 25 
 
 The generous horse and not the warlike man. 
 But neither soldier now nor steed avails : 
 Nor steed nor soldier can oppose the gods : 
 Nor is there ought above like Jove himself ; 
 Nor weighs against his purpose, when once fixed, 
 Aught but, with supplicating knee, the prayers. 
 Swifter than light are they, and every face, 
 Though different, glows with beauty ; at the throne 
 Of mercy, when clouds shut it from mankind, 
 They fall bare-bosomed, and indignant Jove 
 Drops at the soothing sweetness of their voice 
 The thunder from his hand ; let us arise 
 On these high places daily, beat our breast, 
 Prostrate ourselves and deprecate his wrath." 
 The people bowed their bodies and obeyed : 
 Nine mornings with white ashes on their heads, 
 Lamented they their toil each night o'erthrown. 
 And now the largest orbit of the year. 
 Leaning o'er black Mocattam's rubied brow, 
 Proceeded slow, majestic, and serene. 
 Now seemed not further than the nearest cliff. 
 And crimson light struck soft the phosphor wave. 
 Then Gebir spake to Tamar in these words : 
 " Tamar ! I am thy elder and thy king. 
 But am thy brother too, nor ever said, 
 ' Give me thy seci'et and become my slave : '
 
 26 GEBIR. 
 
 But haste thee not away ; I Tsnll myself 
 Await the nyn)ph, disguised in thy attire." 
 
 Then starting from attention Tamar cried : 
 " Brother ! in sacred truth it cannot be ! 
 My life is yours, my love must be my o%v'n : 
 Oh, surely he who seeks a second love 
 Never felt one, or 'tis not one I feel." 
 
 But Gebir with complacent smile replied : 
 " Go then, fond Tamar, go in happy hour — 
 But ere thou partest ponder in thy breast 
 And well bethink thee, lest thou part deceived, 
 Will she disclose to thee the mysteries 
 Of our calamity 1 and unconstrained 1 . 
 "When even her love thy strength had to disclose. 
 My heart indeed is full, but witness heaven ! 
 My people, not my passion, fills#my heart." 
 
 "Then let me kiss thy garment," said the youth, 
 "And heaven be with thee, and on me thy grace." 
 
 Him then the monarch thus once more ad- 
 dressed : 
 " Be of good courage : hast thou yet forgot 
 What chaplets languished round thy unburnt haii-, 
 In colour like some tall smooth beech's leaves 
 Curled by autumnal suns 1 " 
 
 How flattery 
 Excites a pleasant, soothes a painful shame !
 
 GEBIE. 27 
 
 " These," amid stifled blushes Tamar said, 
 " Were of the flowering raspberry and vine : 
 But, ah ! the seasons will not wait for love ; 
 Seek out some other now," 
 
 They parted here : 
 And Gebir bending through the woodlands culled 
 The creeping vine and viscous raspberry, 
 Less green and less compliant than they were ; 
 And twisted in those mossy tufts that grow 
 On brakes of roses when the roses fade : 
 And as he passes on, the little hinds 
 That shake for bristly herds the foodful bough, 
 Wonder, stand still, gaze, and trip satisfied ; 
 Pleased more if chestnut, out of prickly husk 
 Shot from the sandal, roll along the glade. 
 
 And thus unnoticed went he, and untired 
 Stepped up the acclivity ; and as he stepped. 
 And as the garlands nodded o'er his brow, 
 Sudden from under a close alder sprang 
 Th' expectant nymph, and seized him unaware. 
 He staggered at the shock ; his feet at once 
 Slipped backward from the withered grass short- 
 grazed ; 
 But striking out one arm, though without aim. 
 Then grasping with liis other, he enclosed 
 The struggler ; she gained not one step's retreat,
 
 28 GEBIR. 
 
 Urging with open hands against his throat 
 Intense, now holding in her breath constrained, 
 Now pushing with quick impulse and by starts. 
 Till the dust blackened upon every pore. 
 Nearer he drew her and yet nearer, clasped 
 Above the knees midway, and now one arm 
 Fell, and her other lapsing o'er the neck 
 Of Gebir swung against his back incurved. 
 The swoll'n veins glowing deep, and with a groan 
 On his broad shoulder fell her face reclined. 
 But ah, she knew not whom that roseate face 
 Cooled with its breath ambrosial ; for she stood 
 High on the bank, and often swept and broke 
 His chaplets mingled with her loosened hair. 
 Whether while Tamar tarried came desire, 
 And she grown languid loosed the wings of love, 
 Which she before held proudly at her will, 
 And nought but Tamar in her soul, and nought 
 Where Tamar was that seemed or feared deceit. 
 To fraud she yielded what no force had gained — 
 Or whether Jove in pity to mankind. 
 When from his crystal fount the visual orbs 
 He filled with ])iercing ether and endued 
 With somewhat of omnipotence, ordained 
 That never two fair forms at once torment 
 The human heart and draw it different ways,
 
 GEEIR. 29 
 
 And thus in prowess like a god the chief 
 Subdued her strengtli nor softened at her charms — 
 The nymph divine, the magic mistress, failed. 
 Recovering, still half resting on the turf, 
 She looked up wildly, and could now descry 
 The kingly brow, arched lofty for command. 
 
 " Traitor ! " said she, undaunted, though amaze 
 Threw o'er her varying cheek the air of fear, 
 " Thinkest thou thus that with impunity 
 Thou hast forsooth deceived me 1 dar'st thou 
 
 deem 
 Those eyes not hateful that have seen me fall ] 
 
 heaven ! soon may they close on my disgrace. 
 Merciless man, what ! for one sheep estranged 
 Hast thou thrown into dungeons and of day 
 Amerced thy shepherd ? hast thou, while the iron 
 Pierced through his tender limbs into his soul. 
 By threats, by tortures, torn out that offence. 
 And heard him (oh, could I !) avow his love ? 
 Say, hast thou 1 cruel, hateful ! — ah my fears ! 
 
 1 feel them true ! speak, tell me, are they true ? " 
 She blending thus entreaty with reproach 
 
 Bent forward, as though falling on her knee 
 Whence she had hardly risen, and at this pause 
 Shed from her large dark eyes a shower of tears. 
 Th' Iberian king her sorrow Urns consoled.
 
 30 GEBIR. 
 
 " Weep no more, heavenly damsel, weep no more : 
 Neither by force withheld, or choice estranged 
 Thy Tamar lives, and only lives for thee. 
 Happy, thrice happy, you ! 'tis me alone 
 Whom heaven and earth and ocean with one hat*.' 
 Conspire on, and throughout each path pursue. 
 Whether in waves beneath or skies above 
 Thou hast thy habitation, 'tis from heaven, 
 From heaven alone, such power, such charms, 
 
 descend. 
 Then oh ! discover whence that ruin comes 
 Each night upon oi;r city, whence are heard 
 Those yells of rapture round our fallen walls : 
 In our affliction can the gods delight. 
 Or meet oblation for the nymphs are tears 1 " 
 
 He spake, and indignation sank in woe. 
 Which she perceiving, pride refreshed her heart, 
 Hope wreathed her mouth with smiles, and she 
 
 exclaimed : 
 " Neither the gods afflict you, nor the nymphs. 
 Return me him who won my heart, return 
 Him whom my bosom pants for, as the steeds 
 In the sun's chariot for the western wave. 
 The gods will prosper thee, and Tamar prove 
 How nymphs the torments that they cause assuage. 
 Promise me this ! indeed I think thou hast,
 
 GEBIR. 31 
 
 But 'tis so pleasing, promise it once more." 
 
 "Once more I promise," cried the gladdened 
 king, 
 " By my right hand and by myself I swear, 
 And ocean's gods and heaven's gods I adjure, 
 Thou shalt be Taraar's, Tamar shalt be thine." 
 Then she, regarding him long fixed, replied : 
 " I have thy promise, take thou my advice. 
 Gebir, this land of Egypt is a land 
 Of incantation, demons rule these waves ; 
 These are against thee, these thy works destroy. 
 Where thou hast built thy palace, and hast left 
 The seven pillars to remain in front. 
 Sacrifice there, and all these rites observe. 
 Go, but go early, ere the gladsome Hours, 
 Strew saffron in the path of rising Morn, 
 Ere the bee buzzing o'er flowers fresh disclosed 
 Ex-amine where he may the best alight 
 Nor scatter off the bloom, ere cold-lipped herds 
 Crop the pale herbage round each other's bed, 
 Lead seven bulls, well pastured and well formed. 
 Their neck unblemished and their horns unringed. 
 And at each pillar sacrifice thou one. 
 Around each ba.se rub thrice the black'ning blood. 
 And burn the curling shavings of the hoof ; 
 And of the forehead locks thou also burn :
 
 32 GEBIR. 
 
 The yellow galls, with equal care preserved, 
 Pour at the seventh statue from the north." 
 
 He listened, and on her his eyes intent 
 Perceived her not, and she had disappeared — 
 So deep he pondered her important words. 
 
 And now had morn arisen and he performed 
 Almost the whole enjoined him : he had reached 
 The seventh statue, poured the yellow galls, 
 The forelock from his left he had released 
 And burnt the curling shavings of the hoof 
 Moistened with myrrh ; when suddenly a flame 
 Spired from the fragi-ant smoke, nor sooner spired 
 Down sank the brazen fabric at his feet. 
 He started back, gazed, nor could aught but gaze, 
 And cold dread stiffened up his hair flower-twined ; 
 Then with a long and tacit step, one arm 
 Behind, and every finger wide outspread^ 
 He looked and tottered on a black abyss. 
 He thought he sometimes heard a dista,nt voice 
 Breathe through the cavern's mouth, and further on 
 Faint murmurs now, now hollow groans reply. 
 Therefore suspended he his crook above, 
 Dropped it, and heard it rolling step by step : 
 He entered, and a mingled sound arose 
 Like one (when shaken from some temple's x'oof 
 By zealous hand, they and their fretted nest)
 
 GEBIR. 33 
 
 Of birds that wintering watch in Memnon's tomb, 
 And tell the halcyons when spring first returns. 
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 Oh, for the spii'it of that matchless man 
 
 Whom Nature led thi'oughout her whole domain, 
 
 While he embodied breathed etherial air ! 
 
 Though panting in the play-hour of my youth 
 I drank of Avon too, a dangerous draught, 
 That roused within the feverish thirst of song, 
 Yet never may I trespass o'er the stream 
 Of jealous Acheron, nor alive descend 
 The silent and unsearchable abodes 
 Of Erebus and Night, nor unchastised 
 Lead up long-absent heroes into day. 
 When on the pausing theatre of earth 
 Eve's shadowy curtain falls, can any man 
 Bring back the far-off intercepted hills, 
 Grasp the round rock-built turret, or arrest 
 The glittering spires that pierce the brow of 
 
 Heaven 1 
 Rather can any with outstripping voice 
 The parting sun's gigantic strides recall 1 
 
 Twice sounded Gebir / twice th' Iberian king 
 B— 6.5
 
 34 GEBIB. 
 
 Thought it the strong vibration of the brain 
 That struck upon his ear ; but now descried 
 A form, a man, come nearer : as he came 
 His unshorn hair grown soft in these abodes 
 Waved back, and scattered thin and hoary light. 
 Living, men called him Aroar, but no more 
 In celebration or recording verse 
 His name is heard, no more by Arnon's side 
 The well-walled city which he reared remains. 
 Gebir was now undaunted — for the brave 
 When they no longer doubt no longer fear — 
 And would have spoken, but the shade began, 
 
 " Brave son of Hesperus ! no mortal hand 
 Has led thee hither, nor without the gods 
 Penetrate thy firm feet the vast profound. 
 Thou knowest not that here thy fathers lie, 
 The race of Sidad ; theirs was loud acclaim 
 When living, but their pleasure was in war ; 
 Triumphs and hatred followed : I myself 
 Bore, men imagined, no inglorious part : 
 The gods thought otherwise, by whose decree 
 Deprived of life, and more, of death deprived, 
 I still hear shrieking through the moonless night 
 Their discontented and deserted shades. 
 Observe these horrid walls, this rueful waste ! 
 Here some refresh the vigour of the mind
 
 GEBIK. 35 
 
 With contemplation and cold penitence : 
 Nor wonder while thou hearest that the soul 
 Thus purified hereafter may ascend 
 Surmounting all obstruction, nor ascribe 
 The sentence to indulgence ; each extreme 
 Has tortures for ambition ; to dissolve 
 In everlasting languor, to resist 
 Its impulse, but in vain : to be enclosed 
 Within a limit, and that limit fire ; 
 Severed from happiness,, from eminence, 
 And flying, but hell bars us, from ourselves. 
 Yet rather all these torments most endure 
 Than solitary pain and sad remorse 
 And towering thoughts on their own breast o'er- 
 
 turned 
 And piercing to the heart : such penitence, 
 Such contemplation theirs ! thy ancestors 
 Bear up against them, nor will they submit 
 To conquering Time the asperities of Fate ; 
 Yet could they but revisit earth once more, 
 How gladly would they poverty embrace, 
 How labour, even for their deadliest foe ! 
 It little now avails them to have raised 
 Beyond the Syrian regions, and beyond 
 Phoenicia, trophies, tributes, colonies : 
 Follow thou me — mark what it all avails."
 
 36 GEBIE. 
 
 Him Gebir followed, and a roar contused 
 Hose from a river rolling in its bed, 
 Not rapid, that would rouse the wretched souls. 
 Nor calmly, that might lull then to repose ; 
 But with dull weary lapses it upheaved 
 Billows of bale, heard low, yet heard afar. 
 For when hell's iron portals let out night. 
 Often men start and shiver at the sound. 
 And lie so silent on the restless couch 
 They hear their own hearts beat. Now Gebir 
 
 breathed 
 Another air, another sky beheld. 
 Twilight broods here, lulled by no nightingale 
 Nor wakened by the shrill lark dewy-winged. 
 But glowing with one sullen sunless heat. 
 Beneath his foot nor sprouted flower nor herb 
 Nor chirped a grasshopper. Above his head 
 Phlegethon formed a fiery firmament : 
 Part were sulphurous clouds involving, part 
 Shining like solid ribs of molten brass ; 
 For the fierce element Avhich else aspires 
 Higher and higher and lessens to the sky, 
 Below, earth's adamantine arch rebufted. 
 
 Gebir, though now such languor held his limbs, 
 Scarce aught admired he, yet he this admired ; 
 And thus addressed him then the conscious guide.
 
 GEBIR. 37 
 
 " Beyond that river lie the liappy fields ; 
 From them fly gentle breezes, which when drawn 
 Against yon crescent convex, but unite 
 Stronger with what they could not overcome. 
 Thus they that scatter freshness through the groves 
 And meadows of the fortunate, and fill 
 With liquid light the marble bowl of earth, 
 And give her blooming health and spritely force, 
 Their fire no more diluted, nor its darts 
 Blunted by passing through thick myrtle bowers, 
 Neither from odours rising half dissolved. 
 Point forward Phlegethon's eternal flame ; 
 And this horizon is the spacious bow 
 Whence each ray reaches to the world above." 
 
 The hero pausing, Gebir then besought 
 What region held his ancestors, what clouds, 
 What waters, or what gods, from his embrace. 
 Aroar then sudden, as though roused, renewed. 
 
 " Come thou, if ardour urges thee and force 
 Suffices — mark me, Gebir, I unfold 
 ISTo fable to allure thee — on ! behold 
 Thy ancestors ! " and lo ! with horrid gasp 
 The panting flame above his head recoiled, 
 And thunder through his heart and life blood 
 
 throbbed. 
 Such sound could human organs once conceive,
 
 38 GEBIR. 
 
 Cold, speechless, palsied, not the soothing voice 
 
 Of friendship or almost of Deity 
 
 Could raise the wretched mortal from the dust ; 
 
 Beyond man's home condition they ! with eyes 
 
 Intent, and voice desponding, and unheard 
 
 By Aroar, though he tarried at his side. 
 
 "They know me not," cried Gebir, "0 my sires, 
 
 Ye know me not ! they answer not, nor hear. 
 
 How distant are they still ! what sad extent 
 
 Of desolation must we overcome ! 
 
 Aroar, what wretch that nearest us 1 what wretch 
 
 Is that with eyebrows white, and slanting brow 1 
 
 Listen ! him yonder who bound down supine. 
 
 Shrinks yelling from that sword there engine-hung ; 
 
 He too among my ancestors 1 " 
 
 " O King ! 
 Iberia bore him, but the breed accursed 
 Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east." 
 " He was a warrior then, nor feared the gods'? " 
 " Gebir, he feai-ed the Demons, not the Gods ; 
 Though them indeed his daily face adored, 
 And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives 
 Squandered as stones to exercise a sling ! 
 And the tame cruelty and cold caprice — 
 Oh, madness of mankind ! addressed, adored ! 
 O Gebir ! what are men, or where are gods !
 
 GEBIR. 39 
 
 Behold the giant next him, how his feet 
 Plunge floundering mid the marshes yellow- 
 flowered, 
 His restless head just reaching to the rocks, 
 His bosom tossing with black weeds besmeared, 
 How writhes he twixt the continent and isle ! 
 "What tyrant with more insolence e'er claimed 
 Dominion 1 when from the heart of Usury 
 Rose more intense the pale-flamed thirst for gold '.' 
 And called forsooth Deliverer ! False or fools 
 Who praised the dull-eared miscreant, or who 
 
 hoped 
 To soothe your folly and disgrace with praise ! 
 
 Hearest thou not the harp's gay simpering air 
 And merriment afar 1 then come, advance ; 
 And now behold him ! mark the wretch accursed 
 Who sold his people to a rival king — 
 Self-yoked they stood two ages unredeemed." 
 
 " Oh, horror ! what pale visage rises there 1 
 Speak, Aroar ! me perhaps mine eyes deceive. 
 Inured not, yet methinks they there descry 
 Such crimson haze as sometimes drowns the moon. 
 What is yon awful sight ? why thus appears 
 That space between the purple and the crown ? " 
 
 " I will relate their stories when we x'each 
 Our confines," said the guide ; " for thou. O king,
 
 40 GEBIR. 
 
 Differing in both from all thy countrymen, 
 Seest not their stories and hast seen their fates. 
 But while we tarry, lo again the flame 
 Riseth, and murmuring hoarse, points straighter, 
 
 haste ! 
 'Tis urgent, we must hence." 
 
 " Then, oh, adieu ! " 
 Cried Gebir, and groaned loud, at last a tear 
 Burst from his eyes turned back, and he exclaimed, 
 " Am I deluded 1 O ye powers of hell, 
 
 Suffer me — Oh, my fathers !— am I torn " 
 
 He spake, and would have spoken more, but flames 
 Enwrapped him round and round intense ; he 
 
 turned, 
 And stood held breathless in a ghost's embrace. 
 " Gebir, my son, desert me not ! I heard 
 Thy calling voice, nor fate withheld me more : 
 One moment yet remains ; enough to know 
 Soon will my torments, soon will thine, expire. 
 Oh, that I e'er exacted such a vow ! 
 ^Vheu dipping in the victim's blood thy hand. 
 First thou withdrew'st it, looking in my face 
 Wondering ; but when the priest my will explained. 
 Then swearest thou, i-epeating what he said. 
 How against Egypt thou wouldst raise that hand 
 And bruise the seed first risen from our line.
 
 GEBIR. 41 
 
 Therefore in death what pangs have I endured ! 
 Racked on the fiery centre of the sun, 
 Twelve years I saw the ruined workl roll round. 
 Shudder not — I have borne it — I deserved 
 My wretched fate — be better thine — farewelL'' 
 
 " Oh, stay, ray father ! stay one moment more. 
 Let me return thee that embrace — 'tis past — 
 Aroar ! how could I quit it unreturned ! 
 And now tlie gulf divides us, and the waves 
 Of sulphur bellow through the blue abyss. 
 And is he gone for ever ! and I come 
 In vainl" Then sternly said the guide, " In vain! 
 Sayst thou ? what wouldst thou more 1 alas, O 
 
 prince. 
 None come for pastime here ! but is it nought 
 To turn thy feet from evil 1 is it nought 
 Of pleasure to that shade if they are turned 1 
 For this thou earnest hither : he who dares 
 To penetrate this darkness, nor regards 
 The dangers of the way, shall reascend 
 In glory, nor the gates of hell retard 
 His steps, nor demon's nor man's art prevail. 
 Once in each hundred years, and only once, 
 Whether by some I'otation of the world, 
 Or whether willed so by some power above, 
 This flaTuiiig arch starts back, eacli reahn des/ries
 
 42 GEBIR. 
 
 Its opposite, and Bliss from her repose 
 Freshens and feels her own security." 
 
 " Security ! " cried out the Gadite king, 
 " And feel they not compassion 1 " 
 
 " Child of Earth," 
 Calmly said Aroar at his guest's surprise, 
 '* Some so disfigured by habitual crimes, 
 Others are so exalted, so refined. 
 So permeated by heaven, no trace remains 
 Graven on earth : here Justice is supreme ; 
 Compassion can be but where passions are. 
 Here are discovered those who tortured Law 
 To silence or to speech, as pleased themselves : 
 Here also those who boasted of their zeal 
 And loved their country for the spoils it gave. 
 Hundreds, whose glitt'ring merchandise the lyre 
 Dazzled vain wretches drunk with flattery, 
 And wafted them in softest airs to Heav'n, 
 Doomed to be still deceived, here still attune 
 The wonted strings and fondly woo applause : 
 Their wish half granted, they retain their own, 
 But madden at the mockery of the shades. 
 Upon the river's other side there grow 
 Deep olive groves ; there other ghosts abide, 
 Blest indeed they, but not supremely blest. 
 We cannot see beyond, we cannot see
 
 GEBIR. 43- 
 
 Aught but our opposite, and here are fates 
 
 How opposite to ours ! here some observed 
 
 Religious rites, some hospitality : 
 
 Strangers, who from the good old men retired, 
 
 Closed the gate gently, lest from generous use 
 
 Shutting and opening of its own accord. 
 
 It shake unsettled slumbers off their couch : 
 
 Some stopped revenge athirst for slaughter, some 
 
 Sowed the slow olive for a race unborn. 
 
 These had no wishes, therefore none are crowned ; 
 
 But theirs are tufted banks, theirs umbrage, 
 
 theii'S 
 Enough of sunshine to enjoy the shade, 
 And breeze enough to lull them to repose." 
 
 Then Gebir cried : " Illustrious host, proceed. 
 Bring me among the wonders of a realm 
 Admired by all, but like a tale admired. 
 We take our children from their cradled sleep, 
 And on their fancy from our own impress 
 Etherial forms and adulating fates : 
 But ere departing for such scenes ourselves 
 We seize their hands, we hang upon their neck, 
 Our beds cling heavy round us with our tears. 
 Agony strives with agony — ^just gods ! 
 Wherefore should wretched mortals tlius believe, 
 Or wherefore should they hesitate to die ] "
 
 44 GEBIR. 
 
 Thus while he questioned, all his strength dis- 
 solved 
 Within him, thunder shook his troubled brain, 
 He started, aiid the cavern's mouth surveyed 
 Near, and beyond his people ; he arose. 
 And bent toward them his bewildered way. 
 
 FOURTH BOOK. 
 
 The king's lone road, his visit, his return, 
 Were not unknown to Dalica, nor long 
 The wondrous tale from royal ears delayed. 
 When the young queen had heard who taught the 
 
 rites 
 Her mind was shaken, and what first she asked 
 Was, whether the sea-maids were very fair, 
 And was it true that even gods were moved 
 By female charms beneath the waves profound, 
 And joined to them in marriage, and had sons — 
 Who knows but Gebir sprang then from the gods ! 
 He that could pity, he that could obey. 
 Flattered both female youth and princely pride, 
 The same ascending from amid the shades 
 Showed Power in frightful attitude : the queen
 
 GEBIR. 45 
 
 Marks the surpassing prodigy, and strives 
 
 To shake off terror in her crowded court, 
 
 And wonders why she trembles, nor suspects 
 
 How Fear and Love assume each other's form, 
 
 By birth and secret compact how allied. 
 
 Vainly (to conscious virgins I appeal), 
 
 Vainly with crouching tigers, prowling wolves, 
 
 Rocks, precipices, waves, storms, thunderbolts, 
 
 All his immense inheritance, would Fear 
 
 The simplest heart, should Love refuse, assail : 
 
 Consent — the maiden's pillowed ear imbibes 
 
 Constancy, honour, truth, fidelity, 
 
 Beauty and ardent lips and longing arms ; 
 
 Then fades in glimmering distance half the scene, 
 
 Then her heart quails and flutters and would 
 
 fly— 
 
 'Tis her beloved ! not to her ! ye Powers ! 
 What doubting maid exacts the vow 1 behold 
 Above the myrtles his protesting hand ! 
 Such ebbs of doubt and swells of jealousy 
 Toss the fond bosom in its hour of sleep 
 And float around the eyelids and sink through. 
 
 Lo ! mirror of delight in cloudless days, 
 Lo ! thy reflection : 'twas when I exclaimed, 
 With kisses hurried as if each foresaw 
 Their end^ and reckoned on our broken bonds.
 
 46 GEBIK. 
 
 And could at such a price such loss endure : 
 " Oh, what to faithful lovers met at morn, 
 What half so pleasant as imparted fears ! " 
 Looking recumbent how love's column rose 
 Marmoreal, trophied round with golden hair, 
 How in the valley of one lip unseen 
 He slumbered, one his unstrung bow impressed. 
 Sweet wilderness of soul-entangling charms ! 
 Led back by memory, and each blissful maze 
 Retracing, me with magic power detain 
 Those dimpled cheeks^ those temples violet-tinged, 
 Those lips of nectar and those eyes of heaven ! 
 
 Charoba, though indeed she never drank 
 The liquid pearl, or twined the nodding crown, 
 Or when she wanted cool and calm repose 
 Dreamed of the crawling asp and grated tomb. 
 Was wretched up to royalty : the jibe 
 Struck her, most piercing where love pierced 
 
 before. 
 From those whose freedom centres in their tongue, 
 Handmaidens, pages, courtiers, priests, buflfoons. 
 Congratulations here, there prophecies, 
 Here children, not repining at neglect 
 While tumult sweeps them ample room for play, 
 Everywhere questions answered ere begun. 
 Everywhere crowds, for everywhere alarm.
 
 GEBIE. 47 
 
 Thus winter gone, nor spring (though near) 
 
 arrived, 
 Urged slanting onward by the bickering breeze 
 That issues from beneath Aurora's car, 
 Shudder the sombrous waves ; at every beam 
 More vivid, more by every breath impelled, 
 Higher and higher up the fretted rocks 
 Their turbulent refulgence they display. 
 Madness, which like the spiral element 
 The more it seizes on the fiercer burns, 
 Hurried them blindly forward, and involved 
 In flame the senses and in gloom the soul. 
 
 Determined to protect the country's gods 
 And asking their protection, they adjure 
 Each other to stand forward, and insist 
 With zeal, and trample under foot the slow ; 
 And disregardful of the Sympathies 
 Divine, those Sympathies whose delicate hand 
 Touching the very eyeball of the heart. 
 Awakens it, not wounds it nor inflames, 
 Blind wretches ! they with desperate embrace 
 Hang on the pillar till the temple fall. 
 Oft the grave judge alarms religious wealth 
 And rouses anger under gentle words. 
 Woe to the wiser few who dare to cry 
 " People ! these men are not your enemies,
 
 48 GEBIR. 
 
 Inquire their errand, and resist when wronged." 
 Together childhood, priesthood, womanhood, 
 The scribes and eklers of the land, exclaim, 
 " Seek they not hidden treasure in the tombs 1 
 Raising the ruins, levelling the dust, 
 Who can declare whose ashes they disturl) ! 
 Build they not fairer cities than our own, 
 Extravagant enormous apertures 
 For light, and portals larger, open courts 
 Where all ascending all are unconfined, 
 And wider streets in purer air than ours 1 
 Temples quite plain with equal architraves 
 They build, nor bearing gods like ours embossea. 
 Oh, profanation ! Oh, our ancestors ! " 
 
 Though all the vulgar hate a foreign face, 
 It more offends weak eyes and homely age, 
 Dalica most, who thus her aim pursued. 
 " My promise, Charoba, I perform. 
 Procl^itu to gods and men a festival 
 Throughout the land, and bid the strangers eat ; 
 Their anger thus we haply may disarm." 
 
 " O Dalica," the grateful queen replied, 
 " Nurse of ray childhood, sootlier of my cares. 
 Preventer of my wishes, of my thoughts, 
 Oh, pardon youth, oh, pardon royalty ! 
 If hastily to Dalica I sued,
 
 GEBIR. 49 
 
 Fear might impel me, never could distrust. 
 Go then, for wisdom guides thee, take my name, 
 Issue what most imports and best beseems, 
 And sovereignty shall sanction the decree." 
 
 And now Charoba was alone, her heart 
 Grew lighter ; she sat down, and she arose. 
 She felt voluptuous tenderness, but felt 
 That tenderness for Dalica ; she praised 
 Her kind attention, warm solicitude, 
 Her wisdom — for what wisdom pleased like hers ! 
 She was delighted ; should she not behold 
 Gebir ? she blushed ; but she had words to speak, 
 She formed them and re-formed them, with regret 
 That there was somewhat lost with every change ; 
 She could replace them — ^what would that avail 1 — 
 Moved from their order they have lost their 
 
 charm. 
 While thus she strewed her way with softest 
 
 words, 
 Others grew up before her, but appeared 
 A plenteous rather than perplexing choice : 
 She rubbed her palius with pleasure, heaved a 
 
 sigh. 
 Grew calm again, and thus her thoughts re- 
 volved — 
 " But he descended to tlie tombs ! the thoujrht
 
 50 GEBIR. 
 
 Thrills me, I must avow it, with affright. 
 
 And wherefore 1 shows he not the more beloved 
 
 Of heaven ? or how ascends he back to day 1 
 
 Then has he wronged me 1 could he want a cause 
 
 Who has an army and was bred to reign ? 
 
 xind yet no reasons against rights he urged, 
 
 He threatened not, proclaimed not ; I approached, 
 
 He hastened on ; I spake, he listened ; wept, 
 
 He pitied me ; he loved me, he obeyed ; 
 
 He was a conqueror, still am I a queen." 
 
 She thus indulged fond fancies, when the sound 
 Of timbrels and of cymbals struck her ear, 
 And horns and bowlings of wild jubilee. 
 She feared, and listened to confirm her fears ; 
 One breath sufficed, and shook her refluent soul. 
 Smiting, with simulated smile constrained. 
 Her beauteous bosom, " Oh, perfidious man ! 
 Oh, cruel foe ! " she twice and thrice exclaimed,, ,f; 
 " Oh, my companions equal-aged ! my throne. 
 My people ! Oh, how wretched to presage 
 This day, how tenfold wretched to endure ! " 
 
 She ceased, and instantly the palace rang 
 With gratulation roaring into rage — 
 'T-^^as her own people. " Health to Gebir ! health 
 To our compatriot subjects ! to our queen ! 
 Health and unfaded youth ten thousand years ! "
 
 GEBIR. 51 
 
 Then went the victims forward crowned with 
 
 flowers, 
 Crowned were tame crocodiles, and boys white- 
 robed 
 Guided their creaking crests across the stream. 
 In gilded barges went the female train, 
 And hearing others ripple near, undrew 
 The veil of sea-green awning : if they found 
 Whom they desired, how pleasant was the breeze ! 
 If not, the frightful water forced a sigh. 
 Sweet airs of music ruled the rowing palms, 
 Now rose they glistening and aslant reclined, 
 Now they descended, and with one consent 
 Plunging, seemed swift each other to pursue, 
 And now to tremble wearied o'er the wave. 
 Beyond and in the suburbs might be seen 
 Crowds of all ages : here in triumph passed 
 Not without pomp, though raised with rude device. 
 The monarch and Charoba ; there a throng 
 Shone out in sunny whiteness o'er the reeds. 
 Nor could luxuriant youth, or lapsing age 
 Propped by the corner of the nearest street. 
 With aching eyes and tottering knees intent. 
 Loose leathery neck and worm -like li]) outstretched, 
 Fix long the ken upon one form, so swift 
 Through the gay vestures fluttering on the bank.
 
 52 GEBIE. 
 
 And through the bright-eyed waters dancing round, 
 Wove they their wanton wiles and disappeared. 
 
 Meantime, with pomp august and solemn, borne 
 On four white camels tinkling plates of gold. 
 Heralds before and Ethiop slaves behind, 
 Each with the signs of office in his hand. 
 Each on his brow the sacred stamp of years, 
 The four ambassadors of peace proceed. 
 Rich carpets bear they, corn and generous wine. 
 The Syrian olive's cheei'ful gift they bear. 
 With stubborn goats that eye the mountain tops 
 Askance and riot with reluctant horn. 
 And steeds and stately camels in their train. 
 The king, who sat before his tent, descried 
 The dust rise reddened from tlie setting sun. 
 Through all the plains below the Gadite men 
 Were resting from their labour ; some surveyed 
 The spacious site ere yet obstructed — walls 
 Already, soon will roofs have interposed ; 
 Some ate their frugal viands on the steps 
 Contented ; some, remembering home, prefer 
 The cot's bare rafters o'er the gilded dome, 
 And sing, for often sighs, too, end in song : 
 " In smiling meads how sweet the brook's repose. 
 To the rough ocean and red restless sands ! 
 Where are the woodland voices that increased
 
 GEBIB. 53 
 
 Along the unseen path on festal days, 
 When lay the dry and outcast arbutus 
 On the fane step, and the first privet-flowers 
 Threw their white light upon the vernal shrine 1 " 
 Some heedless trip along with hasty step 
 Whistling, and fix too soon on their abodes : 
 Haply and one among them with his spear 
 Measures the lintel, if so great its height 
 As will receive him with his helm unlowered. 
 But silence went throughout, e'en thoughts were 
 hushed, 
 When to full view of navy and of camp 
 Now first expanded the bare-headed train. 
 Majestic, unpresuming, unappalled, 
 Onward they marched, and neither to the right 
 Nor to the left, though there the city stood, 
 Turned they their sober eyes ; and now they 
 
 reached 
 Within a few steep paces of ascent 
 The lone pavilion of the Iberian king. 
 He saw them, he awaited them, he rose, 
 He hailed them, " Peace be with you : " they re- 
 plied, 
 " King of the western world, be with you peace."
 
 54 
 
 FIFTH BOOK. 
 
 Once a fair city, courted then by kings, 
 Mistress of nations, thronged by palaces, 
 Raising her head o'er destiny, her face 
 Glowing with pleasure and with palms refreshed, 
 Now pointed at by Wisdom or by Wealth, 
 Bereft of beauty, bare of ornaments, 
 Stood in the wilderness of woe, Masar. 
 Ere far advancing, all appeared a plain ; 
 Treacherous and fearful mountains, far advanced. 
 Her glory so gone down, at human step 
 The fierce hyena frighted from the walls 
 Bristled his rising back, his teeth unsheathed, 
 Drew the long growl and with slow foot retired. 
 Yet were remaining some of ancient race, 
 And ancient arts were now their sole delight : 
 With Time's first sickle they had marked the hour 
 When at their incantation would the Moon 
 Start back, and shuddering shed blue blasted light. 
 The rifted rays they gathered, and immersed 
 In potent portion of that wondrous wave, 
 Which, hearing rescued Israel, stood erect, 
 And led her armies through his crystal gates. 
 Hither (none shared her way, her counsel none)
 
 GEBIR. 55 
 
 Hied the Masarian Dalica : 'twas niglit, 
 
 And the still breeze fell languid on the waste. 
 
 She, tired with journey long and ardent thoughts 
 
 Stopped ; and before the city she descried 
 
 A female form emerge above the sands. 
 
 Intent she fixed her eyes, and on herself 
 
 Relying, with fresh vigour bent her way ; 
 
 Nor disappeai-ed the woman, but exclaimed, 
 
 One hand retaining tight her folded vest, 
 
 " Stranger, who loathest life, there lies Masar. 
 
 Begone, nor tarry longer, or ere morn 
 
 The cormorant in his solitary haunt 
 
 Of insulated rock or sounding cove 
 
 Stands on thy bleached bones and screams for prey. 
 
 My lips can scatter them a hundred leagues, 
 
 So shrivelled in one breath as all the sands 
 
 We tread on could not in as many years. 
 
 Wretched who die nor raise their sepulchre ! 
 
 Therefore begone." 
 
 But Dalica unawed 
 (Though in her withered but still firm right-hand 
 Held up with imprecations hoarse and deep 
 Glimmered her brazen sickle, and enclosed 
 Within its figured curve the fading moon) 
 Spake thus aloud. " By yon bright orb of Heaven, 
 In that most sacred moment when her beam
 
 56 GEBIR. 
 
 Guided first thither by the forked shaft, 
 
 Strikes through the crevice of Arishtah's tower " 
 
 " Sayst thou 1 " astonished cried the sorceress, 
 " Woman of outer darkness, fiend of death. 
 From what inhuman cave, what dire abyss, 
 Hast thou invisible that spell o'erheard 1 
 "What potent hand hath touched thy quickened 
 
 corse, 
 What song dissolved thy cerements, who unclosed 
 Those faded eyes and filled them from the stars 1 
 But if with inextinguished light of life 
 Thou breathest, soul and body unamerced, 
 Then whence that invocation 1 who hath dared 
 Those hallowed woi'ds, divulging, to profane 1 " 
 
 Dalica ci-ied, " To heaven, not earth, addressed, 
 Prayers for protection caiinot be profane." 
 
 Here the pale sorceress turned her face aside 
 Wildly, and muttered to herself amazed ; 
 " I dread her who, alone at such an hour. 
 Can speak so strangely, who can thus combine 
 The words of reason with our gifted rites, 
 Yet will I si)eak once more. — If thou hast seen 
 The city of Charoba, hast thou marked 
 The steps of Dalica 1 " 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " The tonjrue
 
 GEBIR. 67 
 
 Of Dalica has then our rites divulged." 
 
 " Whose rites 1 " 
 
 " Her sister's, mother's, and her own." 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " How sayst thou never 1 one would think, 
 Presumptuous, thou wert Dalica." 
 
 " I am, 
 Woman, and who art thou V 
 
 With close embrace, 
 Clung the Masarian round her neck, and cried : 
 " Art thou then not my sister ? ah, I fear 
 The golden lamps and jewels of a court 
 Deprive thine eyes of strength and purity. 
 Dalica, mine watch the waning moon, 
 For ever patient in our mother's art, 
 And rest on Heaven 'suspended, where the founts 
 Of Wisdom rise, where sound the wings of Power : 
 Studies intense of strong and stern delight ! 
 And thou too, Dalica, so many years 
 Weaned from the bosom of thy native land, 
 Returnest back and seekest true repose. 
 Oh, what more pleasant than the short-breathed sigh 
 When laying down your burden at the gate, 
 And dizzy with long wandering, you embrace 
 The cool and quiet of a homespun bed." 
 
 " Alas," said Dalica, " though all commend
 
 58 GEBIE. 
 
 This choice, and many meet with no control, 
 Yet none pursue it ! Age by Care oppressed 
 Feels for the couch, and drops into the grave. 
 The tranquil scene lies further still from Youth : 
 Frenzied Ambition and desponding Love 
 Consume Youth's fairest flowers ; compared with 
 
 Youth 
 Age has a something something like repose. 
 Myrthyr, I seek not here a boundary 
 Like the horizon, which, as you advance, 
 Keeping its form and colour, yet recedes ; 
 But mind my errand, and my suit perform. 
 
 Twelve yeax-s ago Charoba first could speak : 
 If her indulgent father asked her name. 
 She would indulge him too, and would reply 
 ' What ? why, Charoba ! ' raised with sweet sur- 
 prise. 
 And proud to shine a teacher in her turn. 
 Show her the graven sceptre ; what its use 1 
 'Twas to beat dogs with, and to gather flies. 
 She thought the crown a plaything to amuse 
 Herself, and not the people, for she thought 
 Who mimic infant words might infant toys : 
 But while she watched grave elders look with awe 
 On such a bauble, she withheld her breath ; 
 She was afraid her parents should suspect
 
 GEBIR. 09 
 
 They had caught childhood from her in a kiss ; 
 She blushed for shame, and feared — for she be- 
 lieved. 
 Yet was not courage wanting in the child. 
 No ; I have often seen her with both hands 
 Shake a dry crocodile of equal height, 
 And listen to the shells within the scales, 
 And fancy there was life, and yet apply 
 The jagged jaws wide open to her ear. 
 Past are three summers since she first beheld 
 The ocean ; all around the child await 
 Some exclamation of amazement here : 
 She coldly said, her long-lashed eyes abased, 
 
 ' Is this the mighty ocean 1 is this all ! ' 
 That wondrous soul Charoba once possessed. 
 Capacious then as earth or heaven could hold. 
 Soul discontented with capacity, 
 Is gone, I fear, for ever. Need I say 
 She was enchanted by the wicked sjiells 
 Of Gebir, whom with lust of power inflamed 
 The western winds have landed on our coast ? 
 I since have watched her in each lone retreat, 
 Have heard her sigh and soften out the name, 
 Then would she change it for Egyi)tian sounds 
 More sweet, and seem to taste them on lier lips, 
 Then loathe them — Gebir, Gebir still rcturnfid.
 
 60 GEBIE. 
 
 Who would repine, of i-eason not bereft ! 
 For soon the sunny stream of youth runs <lo\vn, 
 And not a gadfly streaks the lake beyond. 
 Lone in the gardens, on her gathered vest 
 How gently would her languid arm recline ! 
 How often have I seen her kiss a flower, 
 And on cool mosses press her glowing cheek ! 
 Nor was the stranger free from pangs himself. 
 Whether by spell imperfect, or while brewed 
 The swelling herbs infected him with foam, 
 Oft have the shepherds met him wandering 
 Through unfrequented paths, oft overheard 
 Deep groans, oft started from soliloquies 
 Which they believe assuredly were meant 
 For spirits who attended him unseen. 
 But when from his illuded eyes retired 
 That figure Fancy fondly chose to raise. 
 He clasped the vacant air and stood and gazed ; 
 Then owning it was folly, strange to tell, 
 Burst into peals of laughter at his woes. 
 Next, when his passion had subsided, went 
 Where from a cistern, green and ruined, oozed 
 A little rill, soon lost ; there gathered he 
 Violets, and harebells of a sister bloom. 
 Twining complacently their tender stems 
 With plants of kindest pliability.
 
 GEBIR. 61 
 
 These for a garland woven, for a crown 
 
 He platted pithy rushes, and ere dusk 
 
 The grass was whitened with their roots nipped 
 
 off. 
 These threw he, finished, in the little rill 
 And stood surveying them with steady smile : 
 But such a smile as that of Gebir bids 
 To Comfort a defiance, to Despair 
 A welcome, at whatever hour she please. 
 Had I observed him I had pitied him ; 
 I have observed Charoba, I have asked 
 If she loved Gebir. 
 
 ' Love him ! ' she exclaimed 
 With such a stai-t of terror, such a flush 
 Of anger, 'I love Gebir ? I in love 1 ' 
 And looked so piteous, so impatient looked — 
 And burst, before I answered, into tears. 
 Then saw I, plainly saw I, 'twas not love ; 
 For such her natural temper, what she likes 
 She speaks it out, or rather she commands. 
 And could Charoba say with greater ease 
 ' Bring me a water-melon from the Nile,' 
 Than, if she loved him, ' Bring me him I love.' 
 Therefore the death of Gebir is resolved." 
 
 " Resolved indeed," cried Myrthyr, nought sur- 
 prised,
 
 62 GEBIR. 
 
 " Precious my arts ! I could without remorse 
 Kill, though I hold thee dearer than the day, 
 E'en thee thyself, to exercise my arts. 
 Look yonder ! mark yon pomp of funeral ! ' 
 Is this from fortune or from favouring stars'? 
 Dalica, look thou yonder, what a train ! 
 What weeping ! Oh, what luxury ! Come, haste, 
 Gather me quickly up these herbs I dropped. 
 And then away — hush ! I must unobserved 
 From those two maiden sisters pull the spleen : 
 Dissemblers ! how invidious they surround 
 The virgin's tomb, where all but virgins weep." 
 
 " Nay, hear me first," cried Dalica ; " 'tis 
 hard 
 To perish to attend a foreign king." 
 
 " Perish ! and may not then mine eye alone 
 Draw out the venom drop, and yet remain 
 Enough 1 the portion cannot be perceived." 
 
 Away she hastened with it to her home. 
 And, sprinkling thrice fresh sulphur o'er the 
 
 hearth, 
 Took up a spindle with malignant smile. 
 And pointed to a woof, nor spake a word ; 
 'Twas a dark purple, and its dye was dread. 
 
 Plunged in a lonely house, to her unknown. 
 Now Dalica first trembled : o'er the roof
 
 GEBIE. 63 
 
 Wandered her haggard eyes — 'twas some relief. 
 The massy stones, though hewn most roughly, 
 
 showed 
 The hand of man had once at least been there : 
 But from this object sinking back amazed, 
 Her bosom lost all consciousness, and shook 
 As if suspended in unbounded space. 
 Her thus entranced the sister's voice recalled. 
 " Behold it here dyed once again ! 'tis done." 
 Dalica stepped, and felt beneath her feet 
 The slippery floor, with mouldered dust bestrewn ; 
 But Myrthyr seized with bare bold-sinewed arm 
 The grey cerastes, writhing from her grasp. 
 And twisted off his horn, nor feared to squeeze 
 The viscous poison from his glowing gums. 
 Nor wanted there the root of stunted shrub 
 Which he lays ragged, hanging o'er the sands, 
 And whence the weapons of his wrath are death : 
 Nor the blue urchin that with clammy fin 
 Holds down the tossing vessel for the tides. 
 Together these her scient hand combined. 
 And more she added, dared I mention more. 
 Which done, with words most potent, thrice she 
 
 dipped 
 The reeking garb ; thi-ice waved it through the 
 
 air :
 
 64 GEBIK. 
 
 She ceased ; and suddenly the creeping wool 
 Shrunk up with crisped dryness in her hands. 
 " Take this," she cried, " and Gebir is no more." 
 
 SIXTH BOOK. 
 
 Now to Aurora borne by dappled steeds, 
 The sacred gate of orient pearl and gold, 
 Smitten with Lucifer's light silver wand. 
 Expanded slow to strains of harmony : 
 The waves beneath in purpling rows, like doves 
 Glancing with wanton coyness tow'rd their queen. 
 Heaved softly ; thus the damsel's bosom heaves 
 When from her sleeping lover's downy cheek, 
 To which so warily her own she brings 
 Each moment nearer, she perceives the warmth 
 Of coming kisses fanned by playful dreams. 
 Ocean and earth and heaven was j ubilee. 
 For 'twas the morning pointed out by Fate 
 When an immortal maid and mortal man 
 Should share each other's nature knit in bliss. 
 The bra^'e Iberians far the beach o'erspread 
 Ere dawn with distant awe ; none hear the mew, 
 None mark the curlew flapping o'er the field ;
 
 GEBIR. 65 
 
 Silence held all, and fond expectancy. 
 
 Now suddenly the conch above the sea 
 
 Sounds, and goes sounding through the woods 
 
 profound. 
 They, where they hear the echo, turn their eyes, 
 But nothing see they, save a purple mist 
 Roll from the distant mountain down the shore : 
 It rolls, it sails, it settles, it dissolves — 
 Now shines the nymph to human eye revealed, 
 And leads her Tamar timorous o'er the waves. 
 Immortals crowding round congratulate 
 The shepherd ; he shrinks back, of breath bereft : 
 His vesture clinging closely round his limbs 
 Unfelt, while they the whole fair form admire, 
 He fears that he has lost it, then he fears 
 The wave has moved it, most to look he fears. 
 Scarce the sweet^flowing music he imbibes, 
 Or sees the peopled ocean ; scarce he sees 
 Spio with sparkling eyes, and Bei'oe 
 Demure, and young lone, less renowned. 
 Not less divine, mild-natured ; Beauty formed 
 Her face, her heart Fidelity ; for gods 
 Designed, a mortal too lone loved. 
 These were the nymphs elected for the hour 
 Of Hesperus and Hymen ; these had strewn 
 The bridal bed, these tuned afr(;sh tlie slir^lls, 
 C— 65
 
 66 GEBIK. 
 
 Wiping the green that hoarsened them within : 
 
 These wove the chaplets, and at night resolved 
 
 To drive the dolphins from the wreathed door. 
 
 Gebir surveyed the concourse from the tents, 
 
 The Egyptian men around him ; 'twas observed 
 
 By those below how wistfully he looked, 
 
 From what attention with what earnestness 
 
 Now to his city, now to theirs, he waved 
 
 His hand, and held it, while they spake, outspread. 
 
 They tarried with him, and they shared the feast. 
 
 They stooped with trembling hand from heavy jars 
 
 The wines of Gades gurgling in the bowl ; 
 
 Nor bent they homeward till the moon appeared 
 
 To hang midway betwixt the earth and skies. 
 
 'Twas then that leaning o'er the boy beloved, 
 
 In Ocean's grot where Ocean was unheard, 
 
 " Tamar ! " the nymph said gently, " come awake ! 
 
 Enough to love, enough to sleep, is given. 
 
 Haste we away." This Tamar deemed deceit, 
 
 Spoken so fondly, and he kissed her lips. 
 
 Nor blushed he then, for he was then unseen. 
 
 But she arising bade the youth arise. 
 
 " What cause to fly 1 " said Tamar ; she replied, 
 
 "Ask none for flight, and feign none for delay." 
 
 " Oh, am I then deceived ! or am I cast 
 From dreams of pleasure to eternal sleep.
 
 GEBrR. 67 
 
 And, when I cease to shudder, cease to be ! " 
 
 Slie h(;ld the downcast bridegioom to her breast, 
 
 Looked in his face and charmed away his fears. 
 
 She said not " Wherefore have I then embraced 
 
 You a poor shepherd, or at most a man, 
 
 Myself a nymph, that now I should deceive 1 " 
 
 She said not — Tamar did, and was ashamed. 
 
 Him overcome her serious voice bespake. 
 
 " Grief favours all who bear the gift of tears ! 
 
 Mild at first sight he meets his votaries 
 
 And casts no shadow as he comes along : 
 
 But after his embrace the marble chills 
 
 The pausing foot, the closing door sounds loud, 
 
 The fiend in triumph strikes the roof, then falls 
 
 The eye uplifted from his lurid shade. 
 
 Tamar, depress thyself, and miseries 
 
 Darken and widen : yes, proud-hearted man ! 
 
 The sea-bird rises as the billows rise ; 
 
 Nor otherwise when mountain fioods descend 
 
 Smiles the unsullied lotus glossy-haired. 
 
 Thou, claiming all things, leanest on thy claim 
 
 Till overwhelmed through incompliancy. 
 
 Tamar, some silent tempest gathers round ! " 
 
 " Round whom ?" retorted Tamar; "thou describe 
 Tlie danger, I will dare it." 
 
 " Who will dare
 
 68 GEBIE. 
 
 What is unseen 1 " 
 
 " The man that is unblessed." 
 
 " But wherefore thou 1 It threatens not thyself, 
 Nor me, but Gebir and the Gadite host." 
 
 " The more I know, the more a wretch am I." 
 Groaned deep tlie troubled youth, "still thou pi"0- 
 ceed." 
 
 " Oh, seek not destined evils to divine, 
 Found out at last too soon ! cease here the search, 
 'Tis vain, 'tis impious, 'tis no gift of mine : 
 I will impart far better, will impart 
 What makes, when winter comes, the sun to rest 
 So soon on ocean's bed his paler brow, 
 And night to tarry so at spring's return. 
 And I will tell sometimes the fate of men 
 Who loosed from drooping neck the restless arm 
 Adventurous, ere long nights had satisfied 
 The sweet and honest avarice of love ; 
 How whirlpools have absorbed them, storms o'er- 
 
 whelmed, 
 And how amid their struggles and their prayers 
 The big wave Vjlackened o'er the mouth supine ; 
 Then, when my Tamar trembles at the tale, 
 Kissing his lips half open with surprise, 
 Glance from the gloomy story, and witli glee 
 Lisrht on the fairer fables of the gods.
 
 GEBIR. 69 
 
 Thus we may sport at leisure when we go 
 Where, loved by Neptune and the Naiad, loved 
 By pensive Dryad pale, and Oread 
 The spritely nymph whom constant Zephyr wooes, 
 Rhine rolls his beryl-coloured wave ; than Rhine 
 What river from the mountains ever came 
 More stately ! most the simple crown adorns 
 Of rushes and of willows interwined 
 With here and there a flower : his lofty brow 
 Shaded with vines and mistletoe and oak 
 He rears, and mystic bards his fame resound. 
 Or gliding opposite, th' lUyrian gulf 
 Will harbour us from ill." While thus she spake, 
 She touched his eyelashes with libant lip. 
 And breathed ambrosial odours, o'er his cheek 
 Celestial warmth suffusing : grief dis})ersed, 
 And strength and pleasure beamed upon his brow. 
 Then ])ointed she before him : first arose 
 To his astonished and delighted view 
 The sacred isle that shrines the queen of love. 
 It stood so near him, so acute each sense, 
 That not the symphony of lutes alone, 
 Or coo serene or billing strife of doves, 
 But murmui'S, whispers, nay the very sighs 
 Which ho himself had ixttered once, he Jieard. 
 Next, but long after and far off, appear
 
 70 GEBIR. 
 
 The cloud-like cliffs and thousand towers of Crete, 
 And further to the right, the Oyclades : 
 Phoebus had raised and fixed them^ to surround 
 His native Delos and aerial fane. 
 He saw the land of Pelops, host of gods, 
 Saw the steep ridge Avhere Corinth after stood 
 Beckoning the serious with the smiling ai'ts 
 Into the sunbright bay ; unborn the maid 
 That to assure the bent-uj) hand unskilled 
 Looked oft, but oftener fearing who might wake. 
 He heard the voice of rivers ; he desci'ied 
 Pindan Peneus and the slender nymphs 
 That tread his banks but fear the thundering tide ; 
 These, and Amphrysos and Apidanus 
 And poplar-crowned Spercheus, and reclined 
 On restless rocks Enipeus, where the winds 
 Scattered above the weeds his hoary hair. 
 Then, with Pirene and with Panope, 
 Evenus, troubled from paternal tears, 
 And last was Achelous, king of isles. 
 Zacynthus here, above rose Ithaca, 
 Like a blue buV)ble floating in the bay. 
 Far onward to the left a glimmering light 
 Glanced out oblique, nor vanished ; he inquired 
 Whence that arose, his consort thus replied — 
 " Behold the vast Eridanus ! ere lona:
 
 UEBIK. 71 
 
 W^e may again behold him and rejoice. 
 Of noble rivers none with mightier force 
 Rolls his unwearied torrent to the main." 
 And now Sicaniair Etna rose to view : 
 Darkness with light more horrid she confounds, 
 Baffles the breath and dims the sight of day. 
 Tamar grew giddy with astonishment 
 And, looking up, held fast the bridal vest ; 
 He heard the roar above him, heard the roar 
 Beneath, and felt it too, as he beheld, 
 Hurl, from earth's base, rocks, mountains, to the 
 skies. 
 
 Meanwhile the nymph had fixed her eyes beyond, 
 As seeing somewhat, not intent on aught. 
 He, more amazed than ever, then exclaimed, 
 
 " Is there another flaming isle 1 or this 
 Illusion, thus passed over unobserved 1 " 
 
 " Look yonder," cried the nymph, without reply, 
 " Look yonder ! " Tamar looked, and saw afar 
 Where the waves v/hitened on the desert shore. 
 When from amid grijy ocean first he caught 
 The heights of Calpd, saddened he exclaimed, 
 " Rock of Iberia ! fixed by Jove and hung 
 With all his thunder-bearing clouds, I hail 
 Thy ridges rough and cheerless ! what tliough 
 Spring
 
 72 GEBIR. 
 
 Nor kiss thy brow nor cool it with a flower, 
 Yet will I hail thee, hail thy flinty couch, 
 Where Valour and where Virtue have reposed." 
 
 The nymph said, sweetly smiling, " Fickle man 
 Would not be happy could he not regret ! 
 And I confess how, looking back, a thought 
 Has touched and tuned or rather thrilled my heart, 
 Too soft for sorrow and too strong for joy : 
 Fond foolish maid, 'twas with mine own accord 
 It soothed me, sliook me, melted, drowned, in tears. 
 But weep not thou ; what cause hast thou to weep 1 
 Wouldst thou thy country 1 wouldst those caves 
 
 abhorred, 
 Dungeons and portals that exclude the day 1 
 Gebir, though generous, just, humane, inhaled 
 Rank venom from these mansions. Rest, O king 
 In Egypt thou ! nor, Tamar ! pant for sway. 
 With horrid chorus, Pain, Diseases, Death, 
 Stamp on the slippery pavement of the proud, 
 And ring their sounding emptiness through earth. 
 Possess the ocean, me, thyself, and peace." 
 
 And now the chariot of the Sun descends, 
 The waves rush hurried from his foaming steeds, 
 Smoke issues from their nostrils at the gate, 
 Which when they entei", with huge golden bar 
 Atlas and Calpe close across the sea.
 
 73 
 
 SEVENTH BOOK. 
 
 What mortal first by adverse fate assailed, 
 Trampled by tyranny or scoffed by scorn, 
 Stung by remorse or wrung by poverty, 
 Bade with fond sigh his native land farewell 1 
 Wretched ! but tenfold wretched who resolved 
 Against the waves to plunge th' expatriate keel 
 Deep with the richest harvest of his land ! 
 
 Driven with that weak blast which Winter 
 leaves 
 Closing his palace gates on Caucasus, 
 Oft hath a berry risen forth a shade ; 
 From the same parent plant another lies 
 Deaf to the daily call of weary hind ; 
 Zephyrs pass by and laugh at his distress. 
 By every lake's and every river's side 
 The nymphs and Naiads teach Equality ; 
 In voices gently querulous they ask, 
 " Who would with aching head and toiling arms 
 Bear the full pitcher to the stream far off? 
 Who would, of power intent on high emprise, 
 Deem less the praise to fill the vacant gulf 
 Then raise Oharybdis upon Etna's brow 1 ' 
 Amid her darkest caverns most retired,
 
 74 UEBIR. 
 
 Nature calls forth her filial elements 
 To close around and crush that monster Void : 
 Fire, springing fierce from his resplendent throne, 
 And Water, dashing the devoted wretch 
 Woundless and whole with iron-coloured mace, 
 Or whirling headlong in his war-belt's fold. 
 Mark well the lesson, man ! and spare tliy kind. 
 Go, from their midnight darkness wake the woods, 
 Woo the lone forest in her last retreat : 
 Many still bend their beauteous heads unblest 
 And sigh aloud for elemental man. 
 Through palaces and porches evil eyes 
 Light upon e'en the wretched, who have fled 
 The house of bondage or the house of birth ; 
 Suspicions, murmurs, treacheries, taunts, retorts, 
 Attend the brighter banners that invade ; 
 And the first horn of huntei', pale with want. 
 Sounds to the chase, the second to the war. 
 
 The long awaited day at last arrived, 
 When, linked together by the seven-armed Nile, 
 Egypt with proud Iberia should unite. 
 Here the Tartesian, there the Gadite tents 
 Rang with impatient pleasure : here engaged 
 Woody Nebrissa's quiver-bearing crew, 
 Contending warm with amicable skill ', 
 While they of Durius raced along the beach
 
 GEBIR. 75 
 
 And scattered mud and jeers on all behind. 
 
 The strength of Bsetis too removed the helm 
 
 And stripped the corslet off, and staunched the foot 
 
 Against the mossy maple, while they tore 
 
 Their quivering lances from the hissing wound. 
 
 Others push fortli the prows of their compeers, 
 
 And the wave, parted by the pouncing beak, 
 
 8svells up the sides, and closes far astern : 
 
 The silent oars now dip their level wings. 
 
 And weary with strong stroke the whitening wave. 
 
 Others, afraid of tardiness, return : 
 
 Now, entering the still harbour, every surge 
 
 Runs with a louder murmur up tlieir keel. 
 
 And the slack cordage rattles round the mast. 
 
 Sleepless with pleasure and expiring fears 
 
 Had Gebir risen ere the break of dawn. 
 
 And o'er the plains appointed for the feast 
 
 Hurried with ardent step : the swains admired 
 
 What so transversely could have swept the dew ; 
 
 For never long one path had Gebir trod. 
 
 Nor long, unheeding man, one pace preserved. 
 
 Not thus Charoba : she despaired the day : 
 
 The (lay was present ; true ; yet she despaired. 
 
 In the too tender and once tortured heart 
 
 Doubts gather strength from h;ibit, like disc^ase ; 
 
 Fears, like the needle verging to tlu; pole.
 
 76 GEBIR. 
 
 Tremble and tremble into certainty. 
 How often, when her maids with merry voice 
 Called her, and told the sleepless queen 'twas morn, 
 How often would she feign some fresh delay, 
 And tell them (though they saw) that she arose. 
 Next to her chamber, closed by cedar doors 
 A bath of purest marble, purest wave, 
 On its fair surface bore its pavement high : 
 Arabian gold enchased the crystal roof, 
 With fluttering boys adorned and girls unrolied : 
 These, when you touch the quiet water, start 
 From their aerial sunny arch, and pant 
 Entangled mid each other's flowery wreaths, 
 And each pursuing is in tui*n pursued. 
 Here came at last, as ever wont at mom, 
 Charoba : long she lingered at the brink, 
 Often she sighed, and, naked as she was, 
 Sat down, and leaning on the couch's edge, 
 On the soft inward pillow of her arm 
 Rested her burning cheek : she moved her eyes ; 
 She blushed ; and blushing plunged into the wave. 
 Now brazen chariots thunder througli each 
 street, 
 And neighing steeds paw proudly from delo.y. 
 While o'er the palace breathes the dulcimer, 
 Lute, and aspiring harp, and lisping reed :
 
 GKBIR. 77 
 
 Loud rush the irunipets bursting through the 
 
 throng 
 And urge tht; high-shouldered vulgar ; now are 
 
 heard 
 Curses and quarrels and constricted blows, 
 Threats and defiance and suburban war. 
 Hark ! the reiterated clangour sounds ! 
 Now murmurs, like the sea or like the storm, 
 Or like the flames on forests, move and niount 
 From rank to rank, and loud and louder roll, 
 Till all the people is one vast applause. 
 Yes, 'tis hers(df, Oharoba — now the sti'ife 
 To see again a form so often seen ! 
 Feel they some partial pang, some secret void, 
 Some doubt of feasting those fond eyes again ? 
 Panting imbibe they that refreshing sight 
 To reproduce in hour of bitterness ? 
 She goes, the king awaits her from the camp : 
 Him she descried, and trembled ere he reached 
 Her car, but shuddered paler at his voice. 
 So the pale silver at the festive board 
 Grows paler filled afresh and dewed with wine ; 
 So seems the tenderest herbage of the spring 
 To whiten, V)ending from a balmy gale. 
 The beauteous queen alighting lie received, 
 And sighed to loose her from his arms ; sIk; hung
 
 78 GEBIR. 
 
 A little longer on them through her fears : 
 
 Her maidens followed her, and one that watched, 
 
 One that had called her in the morn, observed 
 
 How virgin passion with unfueled Hame 
 
 Burns into whiteness, while the blushing cheek 
 
 Imagination heats and Shame imbues. 
 
 ^ Between both nations drawn in ranks they 
 
 pass : 
 The priests, with linen ephods, linen robes, 
 Attend their steps, some follow, some precede, 
 Where clothed with purple intertwined with 
 
 gold 
 Two lofty thrones commanded land and main. 
 Behind and near them numerous wei-e the tents 
 As freckled clouds o'erfloat our vernal skies. 
 Numerous as wander in warm moonlight nights. 
 Along Meander's or Cayster's marsh. 
 Swans pliant-necked and village storks revered. 
 Throughout each nation moved the hum confused, 
 Like that from myriad wings o'er Scythian cups 
 Of frothy milk, concreted soon with blood. 
 Throughout the fields the savoury smoke ascends, 
 And boughs and branches shade the hides uu- 
 
 broached. 
 Some roll the flowery turf into a seat. 
 And others press the helmet — now resounds
 
 GEBIE. 79 
 
 The signal ! — queen and monai'ch mount the 
 
 thrones. 
 The brazen clarion hoarsens : many leagues 
 Above them, many to the south, the heron 
 Rising with hurried croak and throat outstretched, 
 Ploughs up the silvering surface of her plain. 
 
 Tottering with age's zeal and mischiefs haste 
 Now was discovered Dalica ; she reached 
 The throne, she leant against the pedestal, 
 And now ascending stood before the king. 
 Prayers for his health and safety she preferred, 
 And o'er his head and o'er his feet she threw 
 Myrrh, nard, and cassia, from three golden urns ; 
 His robe of native woof she next removed, 
 And round his shoulders drew the garb accursed, 
 And bowed her head and parted : soon the queen 
 Saw the blood mantle in his manly cheeks, 
 And feared, and faltering sought her lost replies, 
 And blessed the silence that she wished were 
 
 broke. 
 Alas ! unconscious maiden ! night shall close, 
 And love and sovereignty and life dissolve, 
 ^Vnd Egypt be one desert drenched in blood. 
 
 When thunder overhangs the fountain's head, 
 Losing its wonted freshness every stream 
 Grows turbid, grows with sickly warmth sufi'used :
 
 80 GEBIR. 
 
 Thus were the brave Iberians when they saw 
 The king of nations from liis throne descend. 
 Scarcely, with pace uneven, knees unnerved, 
 Reached he the waters : in his troubled ear 
 They sounded murmuring drearily ; they rose 
 Wild, in strange colours, to his parching eyes ; 
 They seemed to rush around him, seemed to lift 
 From the receding earth his helpless feet. 
 He fell — Charoba shrieked aloud — she i-an — 
 Frantic with fears and fondness, mazed with woe, 
 Nothing but Gebir dying she beheld. 
 The turban that betrayed its golden charge 
 Within, the veil that down her shoulders hung, 
 All fallen at her feet ! the furthest wave 
 Creeping with silent progress up the sand. 
 Glided through all, and raised their hollow folds. 
 In vain they bore him to the sea, in vain 
 Kubbed they his temples with the briny warmth : 
 He struggled from them, strong with agony, 
 He rose half up, he fell again, he cried 
 " Charoba ! O Charoba ! " She embraced 
 His neck, and raising on her knee one arm. 
 Sighed when it moved not, when it fell she 
 
 shrieked, 
 And clasping loud both hands above her head, 
 She called on Gebir, called on earth, on heaven.
 
 GEBTR. 81 
 
 "Who will believe me? what shall I protest ■? 
 How innocent, thus wretched ! God of gods, 
 Strike me — who most offend thee most defy — 
 Charoba most offends thee — strike me, hurl 
 From this accursed land, this faithless throne. 
 Dalica ! see here the royal feast ! 
 See here the gorgeous robe ! you little thought 
 How have the demons dyed that robe with death. 
 Where are ye, dear fond parents ! when ye heard 
 My feet in childhood pat the palace-floor, 
 Ye started forth and kissed away surprise : 
 Will ye now meet me ! how, and where, and when *? 
 And must I fill your bosom with my tears, 
 And, what I never have done, with your own ! 
 Why have the gods thus punished me 1 what harm 
 Have ever I done them 1 have I profaned 
 Their temples, asked too little, or too much ? 
 Proud if they granted, grieved if they withheld ? 
 mother ! stand between your child and tliem ! 
 Appease them, soothe them, soften their revenge. 
 Melt them to pity with maternal tears — 
 Alas, but if you cannot ! they themselves 
 Will then want pity rather than your child. 
 O Gebir ! best of monarchs, best of men, 
 What realm hath ever thy firm even hand 
 Or lost >)y feebleness or held by force !
 
 82 OEBIR. 
 
 Behold thy cares and perils how repaid ! 
 Behold the festive day, the nuptial hour ! " 
 
 Thus raved Charoba : horror, grief, amaze, 
 Pervaded all the host ; all eyes were fixed ; 
 All stricken motionless and mute : the feast 
 Was like the feast of Cepheus, when the sword 
 Of Phineus, white with wonder, shook restrained, 
 And the hilt rattled in his marble hand. 
 She heard not, saw not, every sense was gone ; 
 One passion banished all ; dominion, praise, 
 The world itself was nothing. Senseless man ! 
 What would thy fancy figure now from worlds ? 
 There is no world to those that grieve and love. 
 She hung upon his bosom, pressed his lips, 
 Breathed, and would feign it his that she resorbed ; 
 She chafed the feathery softness of his veins. 
 That swelled out black, like tendrils round their 
 
 vase 
 After libation : lo ! he moves ! he groans ! 
 He seems to struggle from the grasp of death. 
 Charoba shrieked and fell away, her hand 
 Still clasping his, a sudden blush o'erspread 
 Her pallid humid cheek, and disappeared. 
 'Twas not the blush of shame — what shame has 
 
 woe? — 
 'Twas not the genuine ray of hope, it flashed
 
 GEBIK. 83 
 
 With shuddering gliinnier through unscattered 
 
 clouds, 
 It flashed from passions rapidly opposed. 
 
 Never so eager, when the world was waves, 
 Stood the less daughter of the ark, and tried 
 (Innocent this temptation !) to recall 
 With folded vest and casting arm the dove ; 
 Never so fearful, when amid the vines 
 Rattled the hail, and when the light of heaven 
 Closed, since the wreck of Nature, first eclipsed. 
 As she was eager for his life's return, 
 As she was fearful how his groans might end. 
 They ended : cold and languid calm succeeds ; 
 His eyes have lost their lustre, but his voice 
 Is not unheard, though short : he spake these 
 
 words : 
 " And weepest thou, Charoba ! shedding tears 
 More precious than tlie jewels that surround 
 The neck of kings entombed ! then weep, lair 
 
 queen, 
 At once thy pity and my pangs assuage. 
 Ah ! what is grandeur, glory — they are past ! 
 When nothing else, not life itself, remains, 
 Still the fond mourner may be called our own. 
 Should I complain of Fortune 1 how she errs. 
 Scattering her buuuty upon barren ground,
 
 84 GE}3TR. 
 
 Slow to allay the lingering thirst of toil 1 
 Fortune, 'tis true, may err, may hesitate, 
 Death follows close nor hesitates nor errs. 
 I feel the stroke ! I die ! " He would extend 
 His dying arm ; it fell upon his breast : 
 Cold sweat and shivering ran o'er every limb, 
 His eyes grew stiff, he struggled and expii'ed.
 
 COUNT JULIAN.
 
 COUNT JULlAISr. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Count Julian. 
 KoDERKiO, King of Spain. 
 Opas, Metropolitan of Seville. 
 SiSAiiKKT, betrothed to Co- 
 villa. 
 MUZA, Prince of Mauritania. 
 
 Abdalazis, Son of MuzA. 
 Takiic, Moorish Chieftain. 
 CoviLLA, JJauijhter of JULIA'S. 
 Egilona, Wife o/Roderk;o. 
 Hernando, Osma, > ^,,. 
 RAMiRoi&c. 'l^Slicers. 
 
 FIRST ACT: FIRST SCENE. 
 
 Camp of Julian. 
 
 Opas. Julian. 
 
 Opas. See her, Count Julian : if thou lovestGod, 
 See thy lost child. 
 
 Jul. I have avenged me, Opas, 
 
 More than enough : I only sought to hurl 
 The brands of war on one detested head, 
 And die upon his ruin. O my country ! 
 O lo.st to honour, to thyself, to me, 
 Why on barbarian hands devolves thy cause, 
 Spoilers, blasphemers ! 
 
 Opas. Is it thus, Don Julian,
 
 88 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 When thy own ofli'sjiring, that l)eloved child, 
 For whom alone these very acts were done 
 By them and thee, when thy Covilla stands 
 An outcast and a suppliant at thy gate. 
 Why that still stubborn agony of soul. 
 Those struggles with the bars thyself imposed 1 
 Is she not thine 1 not dear to thee as ever 1 
 
 Jul. Father of mercies ! shew me none, whene'er 
 The wrongs she sutFers cease to wring my heaii;, 
 Or I seek solace ever, but in death. 
 
 Ofas. What wilt thou do then, too unhappy 
 man? 
 
 Jul. What have I done already % All my peace 
 Has vanished ; my fair fame in after-times 
 Will wear an alien and uncomely form, 
 Seen o'er the cities I have laid in dust. 
 Countrymen slaughtered, friends abjured ! 
 
 Opas. And faith ] 
 
 Jul. Alone now left me, filling up in part 
 The narrow and waste intervals of grief : 
 It promises that I shall see again 
 My own lost child. 
 
 Opas. Yes, at this very hour. 
 
 Jul. Till I have met the tyrant face to face. 
 And gained a conquest greater than the last ; 
 Till he no longer rules on? rood of Spain,
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 89 
 
 And not one Spaniai-d, not one enemy, 
 The least relenting, flags upon his flight ; 
 Till we are equal in the eyes of men. 
 The humblest and most wretched of our kind, 
 No peace for me, no comfort, no — no child ! 
 
 Opas. No pity for the thousands fatherless, 
 The thousands childless like thyself, nay more. 
 The thousands friendless, helpless, comfortless — 
 Such thou wilt make them, little thinking so. 
 Who now perha[)s, round their first winter fire, 
 Banish, to talk of thee, the tales of old, 
 Shedding true honest tears for thee unknown : 
 Precious be these, and sacred in thy sight. 
 Mingle them not with blood from hearts thus 
 
 kind. 
 If only warlike spirits were evoked 
 By the war-demon, I would not complain, 
 Or dissolute and discontented men ; 
 But wherefore hurry down into the square 
 The neighbourly, saluting, warm-clad race. 
 Who would not injure us, and cannot serve ; 
 Who, from their short and measured slumber risen. 
 In the faint sunshines of their balconies, 
 With a half-legend of a martyrdom 
 And some wejtk wine and withered grapes before 
 
 them.
 
 90 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 Note by their foot the wheel of melody 
 
 That catches and rolls on the sabbath dance. 
 
 To drag the steady prop from failing age, 
 
 Break the young stem that fondness twines around, 
 
 Widen the solitude of lonely sighs, 
 
 And scatter to the broad bleak wastes of day 
 
 The ruins and the phantoms that replied. 
 
 Ne'er be it thine. 
 
 Jul. Arise, and save me, Spain ! 
 
 FIRST ACT.— SECOND SCENE. 
 MuzA enters. 
 
 Muza. Infidel chief, thou tarriest here too long. 
 And art perhaps repining at the days 
 Of nine continued victories, o'er men 
 Dear to thy soul, tho' reprobate and base. 
 Away ! [^ffe retires. 
 
 Jul. I follow. Could my bitterest foes 
 Hear this ! ye Spaniards, this ! which I foreknew 
 And yet encountered ; could they see your Julian 
 Receiving orders from and answering 
 These desperate and heaven-abandoned slaves, 
 They niiglit perceive some few external pangs,
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 91 
 
 vSome glimpses of the hell wherein I move, 
 Who never have been fathers. 
 
 Opas. These are they 
 
 To whom brave Spaniards must refer their wrongs ' 
 
 Jul. Muza, that cruel and suspicious chief, 
 Distrusts his friends more than his enemies, 
 Me more than either ; fraud he loves and fears, 
 And watches her still footfall day and night. 
 
 Opas. Julian ! such a refuge ! such a race ! 
 
 Jul. Calamities like mine alone implore. 
 No virtues have redeemed them from their bonds ; 
 Wily ferocity, keen idleness, 
 And the close cringes of ill-whispering want. 
 Educate them to plunder and obey ; 
 Active to serve him best whom most they fear. 
 They show no mercy to the merciful, 
 And racks alone remind them of the name. 
 
 Opas. O everlasting curse for Spain and thee ! 
 
 Jul. Spain should have vindicated then lier 
 wrongs 
 Tu mine, a Spaniard's and a soldier's wrongs. 
 
 Opas. Julian, are thine the only wrontjs on 
 earth 1 
 And shall each Spaniard rather vindicate 
 Thine than his own ] is there no Judge of all ? 
 Shall mortal hand seize with im[)unity
 
 92 COUNT JUIilAN. (Act I. 
 
 The sword of vengeance, from the armoury 
 Of the Most High 1 easy to wield, and starred 
 With glory it appears : but all the host 
 Of the archangels, should they strive at once. 
 Would never close again its widening blade. 
 
 Jul. He who provokes it hath so much to rue. 
 Where'er he turn, whether to earth or heaven, 
 He finds an enemy, or- raises one, 
 
 Opas. I never yet have seen where long success 
 Hath followed him who warred upon his king. 
 
 Jul. Because the virtue that inflicts the stroke 
 Dies with him, and the rank ignoble heads 
 Of phnidering faction soon unite again, 
 And prince-protecled share the spoil at rest. 
 
 FIRST ACT.— THIRD SCENE. 
 Guard announces a herald. Opas dejKirts. 
 Guard. A messenger of peace is at the gate, 
 My lord, safe access, private audience, 
 And free return, he claims. 
 
 Jrd. Conduct him in. 
 
 RoDERlGO enters as a herald. 
 A messenger of peace ! audacious man !
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 83 
 
 In what attire appearest thou 1 a herald's 1 
 TJiider no garb can such a wretch be safe. 
 
 Eod. Thy violence and fancied wrongs I know, 
 And what thy sacrilegious hands would do, 
 O traitor and apostate ! 
 
 Jul. What they would 
 
 They cannot : thee of kingdom and of life 
 'Tis easy to despoil, thyself the traitor, 
 Thyself the violator of allegiance. 
 Oh would all-righteous Heaven they could restore 
 The joy of innocence, the calm of age. 
 The probity of manhood, pride of arms, 
 And confidence of honour ! the august 
 And holy laws trampled beneath thy feet. 
 And Spain ! O parent, I have lost thee too ! 
 Yes, thou wilt curse me in thy latter days, 
 Me, thine avenger. I have fought her foe, 
 Roderigo, I have gloried in her sons. 
 Sublime in hardihood and piety : 
 Her strength was mine : I, sailing by her cliffy, 
 By promontory after promontory. 
 Opening like flags along some castle-towers, 
 Have sworn before the cross upon our mast 
 Ne'er shall invader wave his standard there. 
 
 Rod. Yet there thou plantest it, false man, 
 thyself.
 
 94 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 JuL Accursed he who makes me this reproach, 
 And made it just ! Had I been happy still, 
 I had been blameless : I had died with glory 
 Upon the walls of Ceuta. 
 
 Rod. Which thy treason 
 
 Surrendered to the Infidel. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis hard 
 
 And base to live beneath a conqueror : 
 Yet, amid all this grief and infamy, 
 'Twere something to have rushed upon the ranks 
 In their advance ; 'twere something to have stood 
 Defeat, discomfiture ; and, when around 
 No beacon blazes, no far axle groans 
 Through the wide plain, no sound of sustenance 
 Or succour soothes the still-believing ear, 
 To fight upon the last dismantled tower, 
 And yield to valour, if we yield at all. 
 But rather should my neck lie trampled down 
 By every Saracen and Moor on earth, 
 Than my own country see her laws o'erturned 
 By those who should protect them : Sii-, no prince 
 Shall ruin Spain ; and, least of all, her own. 
 Is any just or glorious act in view, 
 Your oaths forbid it : is your avarice, 
 Oi', if there be such, any viler passion, 
 To have its giddy range, and to be gorged,
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 95 
 
 It rises over all your sacraments, 
 
 A hooded mysteiy, holier than they all. 
 
 Rod. Hear me, Don Julian ; I have heard thy 
 wrath 
 Who am thy king, nor heard man's wrath before. 
 
 Jul. Thou shalt hear mine, for thou art not my 
 king. 
 
 Rod. Know est thou not the altered face of war ? 
 Xeres is ours ; from every region round 
 True loyal Spaniards throng into our camp : 
 Nay, thy own friends and thy own family, 
 From the remotest provinces, advance 
 To crush rebellion : Sisabert is come, 
 Disclaiming thee and thine ; the Asturian hills 
 Opposed to him their icy chains in vain : 
 But never wilt thou see him, never more, 
 Unless in adverse war, and deadly hate. 
 
 Jul. So lost to me ! So generous, so deceived ! 
 I grieve to hear it. 
 
 Rod. Come, I offer grace, 
 
 Honour, dominion : send away these slaves, 
 Or leave them to our sword, and all beyond 
 The distant Ebro to the towns of France 
 Shall bless thy name, and bend before thy throne. 
 I will myself accompany thee, I, 
 The king, will hail thw; l)rothcr.
 
 96 COUNT JtriilAN. [Act I. 
 
 Jul. Ne'er shalt thou 
 
 Henceforth be king : the nation in thy name 
 May issue edicts, champions may command 
 The vassal multitudes of marshalled war, 
 And the tierce chai-ger shrink before the shouts, 
 Lowered as if earth had opened at his feet, 
 While thy mailed semblance rises toward the ranks, 
 But God alone sees thee. 
 
 Rod. What hopest thou % 
 
 To conquer Spain, and rule a ravaged land % 
 To compass me around, to murder me % 
 
 Jul. No, Don Roderigo : swear thou, in the fight 
 That thou wilt meet me, hand to hand, alone, 
 That, if I ever save thee from a foe 
 
 Bod. I swear what honour asks — -first, to Covilla 
 Do thou present my crown and dignity. 
 
 Jul. Darest thou offer any price for shame % 
 
 Rod. Love and repentance. 
 
 Jul. Egilona lives : 
 
 And were she buried with her ancestors, 
 Covilla should not be the gaze of men, 
 Should not, despoiled of honour, rule the free. 
 
 Rod. Stern man ! her virtues well deserve the 
 throne. 
 
 Jul. And Egilona — what hath she deserved, 
 The good, the lovely ?
 
 Scene 3.] COUNT JULIAN. 97 
 
 Rod. But the realm in vain 
 
 Hoped a succession. 
 
 Jul. Thou hast torn away 
 
 The roots of royalty. 
 
 Rod. For her, for thee. 
 
 Jul. Blind insolence ! base insincerity ! 
 Power and renown no mortal ever shared, 
 Who could retain or grasp them to himself : 
 And, for Covilla? patience ! peace ! for her? 
 She call upon her God, and outrage Him 
 At His own altar ! she rej)eat the vows 
 She violates in repeating ! who abhors 
 Thee and thy crimes, and wants no crown of thine. 
 Force may compel the abhorrent soul, or want 
 Lash and pursue it to the public ways ; 
 Virtue looks back and weeps, and may return 
 To these, but never near the abandoned one 
 Who drags religion to adultery's feet, 
 And rears the altar higher for her sake. 
 
 Rod. Have then the Saracens possessed thee 
 quite, 
 And wilt thou never yield mo thy consent ? 
 
 Jul. Never. 
 
 Rod. So deep in guilt, in treachery ! 
 
 Forced to acknowledge it ! forced to avow 
 The traitor ! 
 D— 65
 
 98 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 Jul. Not to tliee, who reignest not, 
 
 But to a country ever dear to me, 
 And dearer now than ever : what we love 
 Is loveliest in departure ! One I thought, 
 As every father thinks, the best of all, 
 Graceful, and mild, and sensible, and chaste : 
 Now all these qualities of form and soul 
 Fade from before me, nor on anyone 
 Can I repose, or be consoled by any. 
 And yet in this torn heart I love her more 
 Than I could love her when I dwelt on each. 
 Or clasped them all united, and thanked God, 
 Without a wish beyond. — Away, thou fiend ! 
 
 ignominy, last and worst of all ! 
 
 1 weep before thee — like a child — like mine — , 
 And tell my woes, fount of them all, to thee ! 
 
 FIRST ACT.— FOURTH SCENE. 
 
 Abdalazis enters. 
 
 Ahd. Julian, to thee, the terror of the faithless, 
 I bring my father's order, to prepare 
 For the bright day that crowns thy brave exploits 
 Our enemy is at the very gate !
 
 Scene 4.] COUNT JULIAN. 99 
 
 And art thou here, with women in thy train, 
 Crouching to gain admittance to their lord, 
 And mourning the unkindness of dehxy ! 
 
 Jul. [much agitated, goes towards the door, and 
 returns.^ I am prepared : Piince, judge 
 not hastily. 
 
 Abd. Whether I should not promise all they ask, 
 I too could hesitate, though earlier taught 
 The duty to obey, and should rejoice 
 To shelter in the universal storm 
 A frame so delicate, so full of fears. 
 So little used to outrage and to arms, 
 As one of these ; so huml)le, so uncheered 
 At the gay pomp that smoothes the track of war. 
 When she beheld me from afar dismount, 
 And heard my trumpet, she alone drew Ijack, 
 And, as though doubtful of tlie help she seeks. 
 Shuddered to see the jewels on my brow, 
 And turned her eyes away, and wept aloud. 
 The other stood awhile, and then advanced : 
 1 would have spoken, but slie waved liei- hand 
 And said, " Proceed, jirotect us, and avenge. 
 And be thou worthier of the crown thou wearest." 
 Hopeful and happy is indeed our cause, 
 When the most timid of the lovely hail 
 Stranger and foe —
 
 100 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 Rod. [iimioticed by Abdalazis.] And shrink but 
 to advance. 
 
 Abd. Thou tremblest? whence, O Julian! whence 
 this change ? 
 Thou lovest still thy country. 
 
 Jid. Abdalazis ! 
 
 All men with human feelings love their country. 
 Not the highborn or wealthy man alone, 
 Who looks upon his children, each one led 
 By its gay handmaid, from the high alcove, 
 And hears them once a day : not only he 
 Who hath forgotten, when his guest inquires 
 The name of some far village all his own ; 
 Whose rivers bound the province, and whose hills 
 Touch the last cloud upon the level sky : 
 No ; better men still better love their country. 
 'Tis the old mansion of their earliest friends, 
 The chapel of their first and best devotions ; 
 When violence or perfidy invades. 
 Or when unworthy lords hold wassail there, 
 And wiser heads are drooping round its moats. 
 At last they fix their steady and stiff eye 
 There, there alone — stand while the trumpet 
 
 blows. 
 And view the hostile flames above its towers 
 Spire, with a bitter and severe delight.
 
 Scene 4.] COUNT JULIAN. 101 
 
 Abd. [taking his hand.^ Thou feelest what thou 
 speakest, and thy Spain 
 Will ne'er be sheltered from her fate by thee. 
 We, whom the prophet sends o'er many lands, 
 Love none above another ; Heaven assigns 
 Their fields and harvests to our valiant swords, 
 And 'tis enough — we love while we enjoy. 
 Whence is the man in that fantastic guise ? 
 Suppliant ? or herald ? he who stalks about, 
 And once was even seated while we spoke : 
 For never came he with us o'er the sea. 
 
 Jul. He comes as herald. 
 
 Rod. Thou shalt know full soon, 
 
 Insulting Moor. 
 
 Abd. He cannot bear the grief 
 
 His country suffers ; I will pardon him. 
 He lost his courage first, and then his mind ; 
 His courage rushes back, his mind still wanders. 
 The guest of heaven was jiiteous to these men, 
 And princes stoop lo frfd tliciii in Iheir courts. 
 
 LIBEAHY 
 
 UNIVER?!TTY OP C.ATJFORNrA 
 
 SANTA BAEBAEA
 
 102 COUNT JULIAN. [Act I. 
 
 FIRST ACT.— FIFTH SCENE. 
 
 RoDERiGO is yoing out wlie/i Muza enters v)itJt 
 
 Egilona ; RoDERiGO sta)-ts back. 
 
 Muza [sternly to Egilona.] Enter, since 'tis 
 the custovu in this land. 
 Bgi. [passing Muza disdainfully, jyoints to Abda- 
 
 LAZis, and says to Julian.] 
 Is this GUI' future monarch, or art thou ? 
 
 Jul. 'Tis Abdulazis, son of Muza, prince 
 Commanding Africa, from Abyla 
 To where Tunisian pilots bend the eye 
 O'er ruined temples in the glassy wave. 
 Till quiet times and ancient laws return. 
 He comes to govern here. 
 
 Bod. To-morrow's dawn 
 
 Proves that. 
 
 Muza. What art thou 1 
 
 Bod. [drawing his sword.] King. 
 
 Abd. Amazement ! 
 
 Muza. Treason ! 
 
 Egi. O horror ! 
 
 Muza. Seize him. 
 
 Egi. Spare him ! fly to me ! 
 
 Jid. Urge me not to protect a guest, a herald — ■
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 103 
 
 The blasts of war roar over liim unfelt. 
 
 Egi. Ah fly, unhappy ! 
 
 Bod. Fly ! no, Egilona — 
 
 Dost thou forgive me ^ dost thou love me ? still 1 
 
 Egi. I hate, abominate, abhor thee — go, 
 Or my own vengeance — 
 
 Rod. [taking Julian's hand, and inviting him to 
 attack MuZA and Abdalazis.] 
 Julian ! 
 
 Jul. Hence, or die.
 
 104 COUNT JULIAN. [Act U. 
 
 SECOND ACT.— FIRST SCENE. 
 
 Camp of Julian*. 
 
 Julian and Covilla. 
 
 Jul. Obdurate ! I am not as 1 appear. 
 Weep, my beloved child, Covilla, weep 
 Into my bosom ; every drop be mine 
 Of this most bitter soul-empoisoning cup : 
 Into no other bosom than thy father's 
 Canst thou, or Avouldst thou, pour it. 
 
 Gov. Cease, my lord, 
 
 My father, angel of my youth, when all 
 Was innocence and peace. 
 
 Jul. Arise, my love. 
 
 Look up to heaven — where else are souls like 
 
 thine ! 
 Mingle in sweet communion with its children, 
 Trust in its providence, its retribution. 
 And I will cease to mourn ; for, O my child, 
 These tears corrode, but thine assuage the heart. 
 
 Gov. And never shall I see my mother too, 
 My own, my blessed mother ! 
 
 Jul. Thou shalt see 
 
 Her and thy brothers.
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 105 
 
 Cov. No ! I cannot look 
 
 On them, I cannot meet their lovely eyes, 
 I cannot lift mine up fi'om under theirs. 
 We all were children when they went away ; 
 They now have fought hard battles, and are men, 
 And camps and kings they know, and woes and 
 
 crimes. 
 Sir, will they never venture from the walls 
 Into the plain 1 Remember, they are young, 
 Hardy and emulous and hazardous ; 
 And who is left to guard them in the town ? 
 
 Jul. Peace is throughout the land : the various 
 tribes 
 Of that vast region sink at once to rest, 
 Like one wide wood when every wind lies huslied. 
 
 Cov. And war, in all its fury, roams o'er Spain. 
 
 Jul. Alas ! and will for ages : crimes are loose 
 At which ensanguined War stands shuddering ; 
 And calls for vengeance from the powers above, 
 Impatient of inflicting it himself. 
 Nature in these new horrors is aghast 
 At her own ])i-ogcny, and knows them not. 
 I am the minister of wrath ; the hands 
 That tremble at me, shall aj)plaud me too, 
 And seal tlieir condemnation. 
 
 Cov. O kind falhiT,
 
 106 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 Pursue the guilty, l)ut remember Spain. 
 
 Jid. Child, thou wert in thy nursery short time 
 
 since, 
 And latterly hast passed the vacant hour 
 Where the familiar voice of hi.story 
 Is hardly known, however nigh, attuned 
 In softer accents to tlie sickened ear ; 
 But thou hast heard, for nurses tell these tales. 
 Whether I drew my sword for Witiza 
 Abandoned by the people he betrayed. 
 Though brother to the woman who of all 
 Was ever dearest to this broken heart. 
 Till thou, my daughter, wert a prey to grief. 
 And a brave country brooked the wrongs I bore. 
 For I had seen Rusilla guide the steps 
 Of her Theodofred, when burning brass 
 Plunged its fierce fang into the founts of light. 
 And Witiza's the guilt ! when, bent with age, 
 He knew the voice again, and told the name, 
 Of those whose proffered fortunes had been laid 
 Before his throne, while happiness was there. 
 And strained the sightless nerve tow'rd where they 
 
 stood 
 At the forced memory of the very oaths 
 He heard renewed from each, but heard afar, 
 For they were loud, and him the throng spurned oft.
 
 Sceuel.] COUNT JULIAN. 107 
 
 Gov. Who were all these 1 
 
 Jul. All who are seen today 
 
 Oil. prancing steeds richly caparisoned 
 In loyal acclamation round Roderigo ; 
 Their sons beside them, loving one another 
 Unfeignedly, through joy, while they themselves 
 In mutual homage mutual scorn suppress. 
 Their very walls and roofs are welcoming 
 The king's approach, their storied tapestry 
 Swells its rich arch for him triumphantly 
 At every clarion blowing from below. 
 
 Coc. Such wicked men will never leave his side. 
 
 Jul. For they are insects which see nought lie- 
 yond 
 Where they now crawl ; whose changes are com- 
 
 pl(;te. 
 Unless of habitation. 
 
 Cov. Whither go 
 
 Creatures unfit for better, or for worse ? 
 
 Jul. Some to the grave — where peace be with 
 them ! some 
 Across the Pyrenean mountains far. 
 Into the plains of France ; suspicion there 
 Will hang on every step from rich and ])Oor, 
 Grey quickly-glancing eyes will wrinkle; round, 
 And courtesy will watch them day ami night.
 
 108 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IL 
 
 Shameless they are, yet will they blush, amid 
 A nation that ne'er blushes : some will drag 
 The captive's chain, repair the shattered bark. 
 Or heave it from a quicksand to the shore, 
 Among the marbles of the Libyan coast ; 
 Teach patience to the lion in his cage. 
 And, by the order of a higher slave, 
 Hold to the elephant their scanty fare, 
 To please the children while the parent sleeps. 
 
 Cov. Spaniards? must they, dear father, lead 
 such lives ? 
 
 Jul. All are not Spaniards who draw breath in 
 Spain ; 
 Those are, who live for her, who die for her, 
 Who love her glory and lament her fall. 
 Oh, may I too 
 
 Cov. But peacefully, and late, 
 
 Live and die here ! 
 
 Jul. I have, alas ! myself 
 
 Laid waste the ho])es where my fond fancy strayed, 
 And view their ruins with unaltered eyes. 
 
 Cov. My mother will at last return to thee, 
 flight I once more, but — could I now behold 
 
 her. 
 Tell her — ah me ! what was my rash desire 1 
 Ko, never tell her these inhuman things.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 109 
 
 For they would waste her tender heart away 
 
 As they waste mine ; or tell when I have died, 
 
 Only to show her that her every care 
 
 Could not have saved, could not have comforted 
 
 That she herself, clasping me once again 
 
 To her sad breast, had said, Covilla ! go. 
 
 Go, hide them in the bosom of thy God ! 
 
 Sweet mother, that far-distant voice I hear, 
 
 And passing out cf youth and out of life, 
 
 I would not turn at last, and disobev. 
 
 SECOND ACT.— SECOND SCENE. 
 SiSABERT enters. 
 Sis. Uncle, and is it true. s;iy, can it be. 
 That thou art leader of these faithless Moors ? 
 That thou impeachest thy own daughter's fitme 
 Through the whole laud, to seize upon the tlirone 
 l?y the permission of those recreant slaves 1 
 What shall I call thee 1 art thou — speak, Cou^^t 
 
 Julian — 
 A father, or a soldier, or a man ? 
 
 Jul. All — or this day had never seen nie here. 
 Sis. falsehood ! woi-.se than v/ouiaa's !
 
 110 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 Gov. Once, my cousin, 
 
 Far gentler words were uttered from your lips. 
 If you loved me, you loved my father first, 
 More justly and more steadily, ere love 
 Was passion and illusion and deceit. 
 
 Sis. I boast not that I never was deceived, 
 Covilla, which beyond all boasts were base, 
 Nor that I never loved ; let this be thine. 
 Illusions ! just to stop us, not delay ; 
 Amuse, not occiipy ! Too true ! when love 
 Scatters its brilliant foam, and passes on 
 To some fresh object in its natural course, 
 Widely and openly and wanderingly, 
 'Tis better ! narrow it, and it pours its gloom 
 In one fierce cataract that stuns the soul. 
 Ye hate the wretch ye make so, while ye choose 
 Whoever knows you best and shuns you most. 
 
 Gov. Shun me then : be beloved, more and 
 more. 
 Honour the hand that showed you honour fi-rst. 
 Love — O my father ! speak, proceed, persuade, 
 Thy voice alone can utter it — another 
 
 Sis. Ah lost Covilla I can a thirst of power 
 Alter thy heart thus to abandon mine. 
 And change my veiy nature at one blow ? 
 
 Gov. i told you, dearest Sisabert, 'twas vain
 
 Scene 2.) COUNT JULIAN. Ill 
 
 To urge me more, to question, or confute. 
 
 Sis. I know it, for another wears the crown 
 Of Witiza my father ; who succeeds 
 To king Roderigo will succeed to me. 
 Yet thy cold perfidy still calls me dear, 
 And o'er my aching temples breathes one gale 
 Of days dejmrted to return no more. 
 
 Jul. Young man, avenge our cause. 
 
 Sis. What cause avenge? 
 
 Cov. If I was ever dear to you, hear me, 
 Not vengeance ; Heaven will give that signal soon. 
 
 Sisabert, the pangs I have endured 
 On your long absence — 
 
 Sis. Will be now consoled. 
 
 Thy father comes to mount my father's throne ; 
 But though I would not a u.surper king, 
 
 1 prize his valour and defend his crown : 
 No stranger and no traitor rules o'er me, 
 Or unchastised inveigles humbled Si)ain. 
 Covilla, gavest thou no promises 1 
 
 Nor thou, Don Julian 1 Seek not to reply — 
 Too well I know, too justly I despise. 
 Thy false excuse, thy coward effrontery ; 
 Yes, when thou gavest them across the sea, 
 An enemy wert thou to Mahomet, 
 And no appellant to his faith or leagues.
 
 112 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis well : a soldier hears throughout in 
 silence. 
 1 nrge no answer : to those words, I fear, 
 Thy heart with sharp compunction will reply. 
 
 Sis. \to CoviLLA.] Then I demand of thee before 
 thou reign, 
 Answer me — while I fought against the Fi-ank 
 Who dared to sue thee % blazoned in the court, 
 Not trailed through darkness, were our nuptial 
 
 bands ; 
 No : Egilona joined our hands herself, 
 The peers applauded, and the king approved. 
 
 Jul. Hast thou yet seen that king since thy 
 return ] 
 
 Cov. Father ! O father ! 
 
 Sis. I will not implore 
 
 Of him or thee what I have lost for ever. 
 These were not when we parted thy alarms ; 
 Far other, and far worthier of thy heart 
 Were they ; which Sisabert could banish then. 
 Fear me not now, Covilla ! thou hast changed — 
 I am changed too — I lived but where thou livedst, 
 My very life was j^ortioned oft" from thine. 
 Upon the surface of thy happiness 
 Day after day I gazed, I doted — there 
 Was all I had, was all I coveted ;
 
 Scene 2.J COUNT JULIAN. 113 
 
 So pure, serene, and boundless it appeared : 
 
 Yet, for we told each other every thought, 
 
 Thou knowest well, if thou remem'berest. 
 
 At times I feared ; as though some demon sent 
 
 Suspicion without form into the world, 
 
 To whisper unimaginable things. 
 
 Then thy fond ai-guing banished all but hope. 
 
 Each wish, and every feeling, was with thine, 
 
 Till I partook thy nature, and became 
 
 Credulous, and incredulous, like thee. 
 
 We, who have met so altered,- meet no more. 
 
 Mountains and seas ! ye are not separation : 
 
 Death ! thou dividest, but unitest too, 
 
 In everlasting peace and faith sincere. 
 
 Confiding love ! where is thy resting-place 1 
 
 Where is thy truth, Covilla? where ! — Go, go, 
 
 1 should adore thee and believe thee still. [Goes. 
 
 Gov. Heaven ! support me, or desert me 
 quite, 
 And leave me lifeless this too trying hour ! 
 He thinks me faithless. 
 
 Jul. He must think thee so. 
 
 Cov. Oh, tell him, tell him all, when I am dead- 
 He will die too, and we shall meet again. 
 He will know all when these sad eyes are closed. 
 Ah, cannot he before'? must I appear
 
 114 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 The vilest 1 — O just Heaven ! can it be thus ? 
 I am — all earth resounds it — lost, despised, 
 Anguish and shame unutterable seize me. 
 'Tis palpable, no phantom, no delusion. 
 No dream that wakens with o'erwhelming horror ; 
 Spaniard and Moor fight on this gi'oiind alone, 
 And tear the arrow from my bleeding breast 
 To pierce my father's, for alike they fear. 
 
 Jul. Invulnerable, unassailable 
 Ai-e we, alone perhaps of human kind. 
 Nor life allures us more, nor death alarms. 
 
 Gov. Fallen, unpitied, unbelieved, unheard ! 
 I should have died long earlier : gracious God ! 
 Desert me to my sufferings, but sustain 
 My faith in Thee ! hide me from the world. 
 And from thyself, my father, from thy fondness. 
 That opened in this wilderness of woe 
 A source of tears — it else had burst my heart, 
 Setting me free for ever : then perhaps 
 A cruel war had not divided Spain, 
 Had not o'erturned her cities and her altars, 
 Had not endangered thee ! Oh, haste afar 
 Ere the last dreadful conflict that decides 
 Whether we live beneath a foreign sway 
 
 Jul. Or under him whose tyranny brought down 
 The curse upon his people. O child ! child !
 
 Sceue2.] COUNT JULIAN. llo 
 
 Urge me no further, talk not of the war, 
 Remember not our country. 
 
 Cov. Not remember ! 
 
 What have the wretched else for consolation ! 
 What else have they who pining feed their woe ? 
 Can I, or should I, drive from memory 
 All that was dear and sacred, all the joys 
 Of innocence and peace \ when no debate 
 Was in the convent, but what hymn, whose voice, 
 To whom among the blessed it arose. 
 Swelling so sweet ; when rang the vesper-bell 
 And every finger ceased from the guitar, 
 And every tongue was silent through our land ; 
 When, from remotest earth, friends met again 
 Hung on each other's neck, and but embraced, 
 So sacred, still-, and ])eaceful was the hour. 
 Now, in what climate of the wasted world, 
 Not unmolested long by the profane. 
 Can I pour forth in secrecy to God 
 My prayers and my repentance 1 where besides 
 Is the last solace of the parting souH 
 Friends, brethren, parents — dear indeed, too dear 
 Are they, but somewhat still the heart requires. 
 That it may leave them lighter, and more blest. 
 
 Jul. Wide are the regions of our far-famed land: 
 Thou shalt arrive at her remotest bounds,
 
 116 COUNT JULIAN. [Act U. 
 
 See her best people, choose some holiest house ; 
 Whether where Castro from surrounding vines 
 Hears the hoarse ocean roar among his caves, 
 And, through the fissure in the gi'een churchyard, 
 The wind wail loud the calmest summer day ; 
 Or where Santona leans against the hill. 
 Hidden from sea and land by groves and bowers. 
 
 Gov. Oh ! for one moment in those pleasant 
 scenes 
 Thou placest me, and lighter air I breathe : 
 Why could I not have rested, and heard on ! 
 My voice dissolves the vision quite away, 
 Outcast from virtue, and from nature too ! 
 
 Jul. Nature and ^•irtue ! they shall perish 
 first. 
 God destined them for thee, and thee for them, 
 Inseparably and eternally ! 
 The wisest and the best will prize thee most, 
 And solitudes and cities will contend 
 Which shall receive thee kindliest — sigh not so ; 
 Violence and fraud will never penetrate 
 Where piety and poverty retire, 
 Intractable to them, and valueless. 
 And looked at idly, like the face of heaven. 
 If strength be wanted for security. 
 Mountains the guard, forl:)iddiHg all apj^roach
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 117 
 
 With iron-i)ointed and uplifted gates, 
 
 Thou wilt be welcome too in Aguilar, 
 
 Impenetrable, marble-turreted, 
 
 Surveying from aloft the limpid ford, 
 
 The massive fane, the sylvan avenvie ; 
 
 Whose hospitality I proved myself, 
 
 A willing leader in no impious war 
 
 When fame and freedom urged me ; or mayst 
 
 dwell 
 In Reynosa's dry and thriftless dale, 
 Unharvested beneath October moons, 
 Among those frank and cordial villagers. 
 They never saw us, and, poor simple souls ! 
 So little know they whom they call the great. 
 Would pity one another less than us, 
 In injury, disaster, or distress. 
 
 Cov. But they would ask each other whence our 
 grief, 
 That they might j'ity. 
 
 Jtd. Rest then just beyond. 
 
 In the secluded scenes where Ebro springs 
 And drives not from his fount the fallen leaf. 
 So motionless and tranquil its repose. 
 
 Coo. Thither let us depart, and speedily. 
 
 Jul. I cannot. go: I live not in the; land 
 I have rtjduccd Iteneath such wretchedness :
 
 118 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 And who could leave the brave, whose lives and 
 
 fortunes 
 Hang on his sword 1 
 
 Cov. Me thou canst leave, my father ; 
 
 Ah yes, for it is past ; too well thou .seest 
 My life and fortunes rest not upon thee. 
 Long, happily— could it be gloriously ! — 
 Still mayst thou live, and save thy country still ! 
 
 Jul. Unconquerable land ! unrivalled race ! 
 Whose bravery, too enduring, rues alike 
 The power and weakness of accursed kings — 
 How cruelly hast thou neglected me ! 
 Forcing me from thee, never to retui'n. 
 Nor in thy pangs and struggles to partake ! 
 I hear a voice — 'tis Egilona — come, 
 Kecall thy courage, dear unhappy girl. 
 Let us away. 
 
 SECOND ACT.— THIRD SCENE. 
 
 Egilona enters. 
 
 Egi. Remain, I order thee. 
 
 Attend, and do thy duty : I am queen, 
 Unbent to degradation. 
 
 (Jov. I attend
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 119 
 
 Ever most humbly and most gratefully 
 
 My too kind sovereign, cousin now no more ; 
 
 Could I perform but half the services 
 
 I owe her, I were happy for a time ; 
 
 Or dared I show her half my love, 'twere bliss. 
 
 Egi. Oh ! I sink under gentleness like thine. 
 Tliy .sight is death to me ; and yet 'tis dear. 
 The gaudy trappings of assumptive state 
 Drop at the voice of nature to the earth, 
 Before thy feet — -I cannot force myself 
 To hate thee, to renounce thee ; yet — Covilla ! 
 Yet — oh distracting thought ! 'tis hard to see. 
 Hard to conver.se with, to admire, to love — 
 As from my soul I do, and must do, thee — 
 One who hath robbed me of all pride and joy, 
 All dignity, all fondness. I adored 
 Roderigo — he was brave, and in discourse 
 Most voluble ; the masses of his mind 
 Were vast, but varied ; now absorbed in gloom, 
 Majestic, not austere ; now their extent 
 Opening, and waving in bright levity 
 
 Jul. Depart, my daughter — 'twere as well to 
 bear 
 His presence as his praise — go — she will dream 
 This phantasm out, nor notice thee depart. 
 
 [Covilla goes.
 
 120 COUNT JULIAN. [Act H. 
 
 Egi. What pliancy ! what tenderness ! what 
 life ! 
 Oh for the smiles of those who smile so seldom, 
 The lore of those who know no other love ! 
 Such he was, Egilona, who was thine. 
 
 Jul. While he was worthy of the realm and 
 thee. 
 
 Eyi. Can it be true, then, Julian, that thy aim 
 Is sovereignty 1 not virtue, nor revenge ? 
 
 Jul. I swear to Heaven, nor I nor child of mine 
 Ever shall mount to this ])olluted thi'one. 
 
 Egi. Then am 1 still a queen. The savage 
 Moor 
 Who could not conquer Ceuta from thy sword, 
 In his own country, not with every wile 
 Of his whole race, not with his myriad crests 
 Of cavalry, seen from the Calpian heights 
 Like locusts on the parched and gleamy coast, 
 Will never conquer Spain. 
 
 Jul. Spain then was conquered 
 
 When fell her laws liefore the traitor kinij.
 
 Scene 4.] COUNT JULIAN. 121 
 
 SECOND ACT.— FOURTH SCENE. 
 
 Officer announces Opas. 
 
 queen, the meti'opolitan attends 
 
 On matters of high import to the state, 
 And wishes to confer in privacy. 
 
 E(ji. [to Julian.] Adieu then; and whate'er be- 
 tide the country, 
 Sustain at least the honours of our house. 
 
 [Julian goes before Opas enters, 
 
 Opas. I cannot but commend, O Egilona, 
 Such resignation and such dignity. 
 Indeed he is unworthy ; yet a queen 
 Rather to look for peace, and live I'emote 
 From cities, and from courts, and from her lord, 
 
 1 hardly could expect in one so young, 
 So early, widely, wondrously admired. 
 
 Egi. I am resolved : religious men, good Opas, 
 In this res(!nible the vain libertine ; 
 They tiiid in woman no consistency, 
 No virtue V)ut devotion, such as comes 
 To infancy or age, or fear or love. 
 Seeking a ])lace of rest, and finding none 
 Until it soar to heaven. 
 
 Opas. A spring of mind
 
 122 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 That ri.ses wlien all pressure is removed, 
 Firmness in pious anil in chaste resolves, 
 But weakness in much fondness ; these, queen, 
 I did expect, I own. 
 
 Eg{. The better part 
 
 Be mine : the worst hath been — and is no more. 
 
 Opas. But if Roderigo have at length prevailed 
 That Egilona willingly resigns 
 All claim to royalty, and casts away, 
 Indifferent or estranged, the marriage-bond 
 His perjury tore asunder, still the church 
 Hardly can sanction his new nuptial rites. 
 
 jEgi. What art thou saying ! what new nuptial 
 rites 1 
 
 Opas. Thou knowest not ? 
 
 Egi. Am I a wife ; a queen ? 
 
 Abandon it ! my claim to royalty ! 
 Whose hand was on my head when I arose 
 Queen of this land 1 whose benediction sealed 
 My marriage vow 1 who broke it ? was it I ■? 
 And wouldst thou, virtuous Opas, wouldst thou 
 
 dim 
 The gloi-ious light of thy declining days 1 
 Wouldst thou administer the sacred vows. 
 And sanction them, and bless them, for another, 
 And bid her live in peace while I am li\ing 1
 
 Scene 4.] COUNT JULIAN. 123 
 
 Go tlicn ; I execrate and banish him 
 
 For ever fi'oni my sight : we were not born 
 
 For happiness together ; none on earth 
 
 Were ever so dissimilar as we. 
 
 He is not worth a tear, a wish, a thought — 
 
 Never was I deceived in him— I found 
 
 No tenderness, no fondness, from the first : 
 
 A love of power, a love of perfidy. 
 
 Such is the love that is returned for mine. 
 
 TJngiateful man ! 'twas not the pageantry 
 
 Of regal state, the clarions, nor the guard. 
 
 Nor loyal valour, nor submissive beauty. 
 
 Silence at my appi'oach, awe at my voice. 
 
 Happiness at my smile, that led my youth 
 
 Toward Roderigo ! I had lived obscure, 
 
 In humljleiu'.ss, in poverty, in want. 
 
 Blest, oh supremel}' blest ! with him alone : 
 
 And he abandons me, rejects me, scorns me, 
 
 Insensiljle ! inhuman ! for another ! 
 
 Thou shalt repent thy wretclied choice, false 
 
 man ! 
 Crimes such as thine call loudly for perdition ; 
 Heaven will inflict it, and not 1 — but I 
 Neither will fall alone, nor live despised. 
 
 [A trumpet sonndfi. 
 Opas. Peace, Fgiloua, he arrives ; compose
 
 124 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 Thy turbid thoughts, meet him witli dignity. 
 
 Egi. He ! in the camp of Julian ! trust me, sir, 
 He comes not hither, dares no longer use 
 The signs of state, and flies from every foe. 
 
 \_Retires some distance. 
 
 SECOND ACT.— FIFTH SCENE. 
 Enter Muza and Abdalazis. 
 
 Muza \to Abdalazis.] I saw him but an instant, 
 and disguised, 
 Yet this is not the traitor ; on his brow 
 Observe the calm of wisdom and of years. 
 
 Ojms. Whom seekest thou 1 
 
 Muza. Him who was king I seek. 
 
 He came arrayed as herald to this tent. 
 
 Ahd. Thy daughter! was she nigh '? perhaps for 
 her 
 Was this disguise. 
 
 Muza. Here, Abdalazis, kings 
 
 Disguise from other causes ; they obtain 
 Beauty by violence, and power by fraud. 
 Treason was his intent : we must admit 
 Whoever come ; our numbers are too small
 
 Scene 5.] COUNT JULIAN. 125 
 
 For question or selection, and the blood 
 Of Spaniards shall win Spain for us to-day. 
 
 Ahd. The wicked cannot move from unfler- 
 neath 
 Thy ruling eye. 
 
 Mnza. Right ! Julian and Roderigo 
 
 Are leagued against us, on these terms alone, 
 That Julian's daughter weds the Christian king. 
 
 Uffi. [rushing forward.^ 'Tis true — and I pro- 
 claim it — 
 
 Ahd. Heaven and earth ! 
 
 Was it not thou, most lovely, most high-souled, 
 Who wishedst us success, and me a crown 1 
 
 [Opas goes abruptly. 
 
 Egi. I give it — I am Egilona, queen 
 Of that detested man. 
 
 Ahd. I touch the hand 
 
 That chains down fortune to the throne of fate ; 
 And will avenge thee; for 'twas thy comniaml, 
 'Tis Heaven's — My father ! what retards oui- 
 
 bliss ] 
 Why art thou silent ? 
 
 Muza. Inexperienced years 
 
 Rather would rest on the soft lap, I see, 
 Of pleasure, after the fierce gusts of war. 
 O Destiny ! that callest me alone,
 
 126 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 Hapless, to keep tlie toilsome watch of state ; 
 Painful to age, unnatural to youth, 
 Adverse to all society of friends, 
 Equality, and liberty, and ease. 
 The welcome cheer of the unbidden feast, 
 The gay reply, light, sudden, like the leap 
 Of the young forester's unbended bow ; 
 But, above all, to tenderness at home, 
 And sweet security of kind concern 
 Even from those who seem most truly ours. 
 Who would resign all this, to be approached, 
 Like a sick infant by a canting nurse. 
 To spread his arms in dai'kness, and to find 
 One universal hollowness around 1 
 Forego, a little while, that bane of peace. 
 Love may be cherished. 
 
 A bd. 'Tis enough ; I ask 
 
 No other boon. 
 
 Muza. Not victory ? 
 
 Ahd. Farewell, 
 
 queen ! I will deserve thee ; why do tears 
 Silently drop, and slowly, down thy veil 1 
 
 1 shall return to worship thee, and soon ; 
 Why this affliction 1 Oh, that I alone 
 Could raise or could repress it ! 
 
 Fgi. We depart,
 
 Scene 5.] COUNT JULIAN. 127 
 
 Nor interrupt your counsels, nor impede ; 
 Oh, may they prosper, whatsoe'er they be, 
 And perfidy soon meet its just reward ! 
 The iBfirni and peaceful Opas — whither gone 1 
 
 Muza. Stay, daughter ; not for counsel are we 
 met, 
 But to secure our arms from treachery, 
 O'erthrow and stifle base conspiracies. 
 Involve in his own toils our false ally 
 
 Bgi. Author of every woe I have endured ! 
 Ah, sacrilegious man ! he vowed to Heaven 
 None of his blood should ever mount the throne. 
 
 Muza. Herein his vow indeed is ratified : 
 Yet faithful ears have heard this offer made. 
 And weighty was the conference that ensued. 
 And long, not dubious ; for what mortal e'er 
 Refused alliance with illustrious power ? ■ 
 Though some have given its enjoyments up. 
 Tired and enfeebled by satiety. 
 His friends and partisans, 'twas his pretence, 
 Should pass uninterrupted ; hence his camp 
 Is open every day to enemies. 
 You look ai'ound, O queen, as though you feared 
 Their entrance — Julian I pursue no more ; 
 You conquer him — return we ; I bequeath 
 Ruin, extermination, not reproach.
 
 128 COUNT JULIAN. [Act II. 
 
 How we may best attain your peace and will 
 
 We must consider in some other place, 
 
 Not, lady, in the midst of snares and wiles 
 
 How to supplant your charms and seize your crowu. 
 
 I rescue it, fear not : yes, we retire. 
 
 Whatever is your wish becomes my own, 
 
 Nor is there in this land but who obeys. 
 
 [i^e leads her away.
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 129 
 
 THIRD ACT.— FIRST SCENE. 
 
 Palace in Xeres. 
 
 RoDERiGO and Opas. 
 
 Rod. Impossible ! she could not thus resign 
 Me, for a miscreant of Barhary, 
 A mere adventui-er : but that citron face 
 Shall bleach and shrivel the whole winter long 
 There, on yon cork-tree by the sallyport. 
 She shall return. 
 
 Opas. To fondness and to faith % 
 
 Dost thou retain them, if she could return 1 
 
 Rod. Retain them 1 she has forfeited by this 
 All right to fondness, all to royalty. 
 
 Opas. Consider, and speak calmly : she deserves 
 Some pity, some reproof. 
 
 Rod. To speak then calmly. 
 
 Since thine eyes open and can see her guilt — 
 Infamous and atrocious ! let her go — 
 Chains 
 
 OjMS. What ! in Muza's camp 1 
 
 Rod. My scorn supreme ! 
 
 Opas. Say pity. 
 
 Rod. Ay, ay, pity — that suits best, 
 
 E— 65
 
 130 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 I loved lier, but had loved her ; three whole years 
 
 Of pleasui-e, and of varied pleasure too, 
 
 Had worn the soft impression half away. 
 
 What I once felt, I would recall ; the faint 
 
 Responsive voice grew fainter each reply : 
 
 Imagination sank amid the .scenes 
 
 It laboured to create ; the vivid joy 
 
 Of fleeting youth I followed, and possessed. 
 
 'Tis the first moment of the tenderest hour, 
 
 'Tis the fii'st mien on entering new delights. 
 
 We give our peace, our power, our souls, for the e. 
 
 Opas. Thou hast ; and what remains 1 
 
 Rod. Myself — Eoderigo — 
 
 Whom hatred cannot reach, nor love cast down. 
 
 Opas. Nor gratitude nor pity nor remorse 
 Call back, nor vows nor earth nor heaven control. 
 But art thou free and happy 1 art thou safe ? 
 By shrewd contempt the humblest may chastise 
 Whom scarlet and its ermine cannot scare, 
 And the sword skulks for everywhere in vain, 
 Thee the poor victim of thy outrages, 
 Woman, with all her weakness, may despise. 
 
 Rod. But first let quiet age have intervened. 
 
 Ojyas. Ne'er will the peace or apathy of age 
 Be thine, or twilight steal upon thy day. 
 The violent choose, but cannot change, their end :
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 131 
 
 Violence, by man or nature, must be theirs : 
 Thine it must be, and wlio to pity thee ? 
 
 Rod. Behold, my solace ! none. I want no pity. 
 
 Opas. Proclaim we tliose the happiest of man- 
 kind 
 "Who never knew a want 1 Oh, what a curse 
 To thee this utter ignorance of thine ! 
 Julian, whom all the good commiserate, 
 Sees thee below him far in hajDpiness : 
 A state indeed of no quick restlessness. 
 No glancing agitation, one vast swell 
 Of melancholy, deep, impassable. 
 Interminable, where his spirit alone 
 Broods and o'ershadows all, bears him from earth, 
 And purifies his chastened soul for heaven. 
 Both heaven and earth shall from thy grasp recede. 
 Whether on death or life thou arguest, 
 Untutored savage or corrupted heathen 
 Avows no sentiment so vile as thine. 
 
 Rod. Nor feels? 
 
 Opas. O human nature ! I have heard 
 
 The seci'ets of the soul, and pitied thee. 
 Bad and accursed tilings have men confessed 
 Before me, but have left them unarrayed. 
 Naked, and shivering with deformity. 
 The troubled di-eams and deafening gush of youth
 
 132 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Fling o'er the fancy, struggling to be free, 
 Discordant and impracticable things : 
 If the good shudder at their past escapes, 
 Shall not the wicked shudder at their crimes ? 
 They shall — and I denounce upon thy head 
 God's vengeance — thou shalt rule this land no 
 more. 
 
 Rod. What ! my own kindred leave me and 
 renounce me ! 
 
 Opas. Kindred ? and is there any in our world 
 So near us, as those sources of all joy, 
 Those on whose bosom every gale of life 
 Blows softly, who reflect our images 
 In loveliness through sorrows and through age, 
 And bear them onward far beyond the grave. 
 
 Rod. Methinks, most reverend 0})as, not inapt 
 Are these fair views ; arise they from Seville 1 
 
 Opas. He, who can scoff at them, may scoff at 
 me. 
 Such are we, that the giver of all good 
 Shall, in the heart he purifies, possess 
 The latest love — the earliest— no, not there ! 
 I 've known the firm and faithful — even from these 
 Life's eddying spring shed the first bloom on earth. 
 I pity them, but ask their pity too. 
 I love the happiness of men, and praise
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 133 
 
 And sanctify the blessings I renounce. 
 
 Rod. Yet would thy baleful influence undermine 
 The heaven-appointed throne. 
 
 Opas. — the throne of guilt 
 
 Obdurate, without plea, without remorse. 
 
 Rod. What power hast thou X perhaps thou soon 
 wilt want 
 A place of refuge. 
 
 Opas. Rather say, perhaps 
 
 My place of refuge will receive nie soon. 
 Could I extend it even to thy crimes, 
 It should be open ; but the wrath of heaven 
 Turns them against thee, and subverts thy sway : 
 It leaves thee not, what wickedness and woe 
 Oft in their drear communion taste together, 
 Hope and repentance. 
 
 Rod. But it leaves me arms, 
 
 Vigour of soul and body, and a race 
 Subject by law, and dutiful by choice. 
 Whose hand is never to be holden fast 
 Within the closing cleft of gnarled creeds ; 
 No easy prey for these vile mitred Moors. 
 I, who received thy homage, may retort 
 Thy threats, vain prelate, and abase thy pride. 
 
 Opas. Low must be those whom mortal can sink 
 lower,
 
 134 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Nor high are they whom human power may raise. 
 
 Rod. Judge now : for, hear the signal. 
 
 Ojms. And derides 
 
 The buoyant heart the dubious gulfs of war ? 
 Trumpets may sound, and not to victory. 
 
 Rod. The traitor and his daughter feel my 
 power. 
 
 Opas. Just God ! avert it ! 
 
 Rod. Seize this rebel priest. 
 
 I will alone subdue my enemies. [Goes out. 
 
 THIRD ACT.— SECOND SCENE. 
 Ramiro and Osma enter from opjwsite sides. 
 
 Ram. Where is the king 1 his car is at the gate, 
 His ministers attend him, but his foes 
 Are yet more prompt, nor will await delay. 
 
 Osma. Nor need they — for he meets them as I 
 speak. 
 
 Ra7n. With all his forces ] or our cause is lost. 
 Julian and Sisabert surround the walls. 
 
 Osma. Surround, sayst thou 1 enter they not the 
 gates 1 
 
 Ram. Perhaps ere now they enter.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 135 
 
 Osma. Sisabeii; 
 
 Brings him our prisoner. 
 
 Ram. They are friends ! they held 
 
 A parley ; and the soldiers, when they saw 
 Count Julian, lowered their ai-ms and hailed him 
 king 1 
 
 Osma. How ] and he leads them in the name of 
 king] 
 
 Ram. He leads them ; but amid that acclama- 
 tion 
 He turned away his head, and called for ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Osma. In Sisabert, and in the cavalry 
 He led, were all our hopes. 
 
 OiKis. Woe, woe is theirs , 
 
 Who have no othei\ 
 
 Osma. What are thine? obey 
 
 The just commands of our ofFended king : 
 Conduct him to the tower — off — instantly. 
 
 [Guard hesitates : Op as goes. 
 Ramiro, let us haste to reinforce — 
 
 Ram. Hark ! is the king defeated ? liark ! 
 
 Osm^a. I hear 
 
 Such acclamation as from victory 
 Arises not, but rather from revolt, 
 Reiterated, interrupted, lost.
 
 136 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Favour like this his genius will retrieve 
 By time, or promises, or chastisement, 
 Whiche'er he choose — the speediest is the best — 
 His danger and his glory let us share ; 
 'Tis ours to serve him. 
 
 Ram. While he rules 'tis ours. 
 
 What chariot-wheels are thundering o'er the 
 bridge 1 
 
 Osma. Roderigo's — I well know them. 
 
 Ham. Now, the burst 
 
 Of acclamation ! now ! again, again. 
 
 Osma. I know the voices ; they are for Roderigo. 
 
 Ba7n. Stay, I entreat thee — one hath now pre- 
 vailed. 
 So, far is certain. 
 
 Osma. Ay, the right prevails. 
 
 Eam. Transient and vain their joyance, who 
 rejoice 
 Precipitately and in temperately, 
 And bitter thoughts grow up where'er it fell. 
 
 Osma. Nor vain and transient theirs, who idly 
 float 
 Down popularity's unfertile stream, 
 And fancy all their own that rises round 1 
 
 Ham. If thou still lovest, as I know thou dost, 
 Thv king
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 137 
 
 Osma. I love liim ; for he owes me much, 
 
 Brave soul ! and cannot, though he would, repay. 
 Service and faith, pure faith and service hard, 
 Throughout his reign, if these things be desert, 
 These have I borne toward him, and still beai'. 
 
 Ham. Come, from thy solitary eiry come. 
 And share the prey, so plenteous and profuse, 
 Which a less valorous brood will else consume. 
 Much fruit is sliaken down in civil storms : 
 And shall not orderly and loyal hands 
 Gather it up'? [Loud shouts.) Again! and still 
 
 refuse 1 
 How different are those citizens without 
 From thee ! from thy serenity ! thy arch, 
 Thy firmament, of intrepidity ! 
 For their new lord, whom they have never served, 
 Afraid were they to shout, and only struck 
 The pavement with their ferrules and their feet : 
 Now they are certain of the great event 
 Voices and hands they raise, and all contend 
 Who shall be bravest in applauding most. 
 Knowest thou these 1 
 
 Osma. Their voices I know well — 
 
 And can tliey shout for him they would have 
 
 slain ? 
 A prince untried they welcome ; soon their doubts
 
 138 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III 
 
 Are blown afar. 
 
 Ram. Yes, brighter scenes arise. 
 
 Tlie disunited he alone unites, 
 The weak with hope he strengthens, and the 
 
 strong 
 With justice. 
 
 Osnia. Wait : praise him when time hath given 
 A soundness and consistency to praise : 
 He share? it amply who bestows it right. 
 
 Ram. Doubtest thou 1 
 
 Osma. Be it so : let us away ; 
 
 New courtiers come 
 
 Ram. And why not join the new] 
 
 Let us attend him, and congratulate ; 
 Come on : they enter. 
 
 Osma. This is now my post 
 
 No longer : I could face them in the field, 
 I cannot here. 
 
 Ram. To-morrow all may change ; 
 
 Be comforted. 
 
 Osma. I want nor change nor comfort. 
 
 Ravi. The prisoner's voice ! 
 
 Osma. The metropolitan's ? 
 
 Triumph he may — not over me forgiven. 
 This way, and through the chapel — none are there. 
 
 [Goes out.
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 139 
 
 THIRD ACT.— THIRD SCENE. 
 
 Opas and Sisabert. 
 
 Ojyas. The royal threat still sounds along these 
 halls : 
 Hardly his foot hath passed them, and he flees 
 From his own treachery ; all his pride, his hopes, 
 Are scattered at a breath ; even courage fails 
 Now falsehood sinks from under him. Beiiold, 
 Again art thou where reigned thy ancestors ; 
 Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers, 
 Where I, whose chains are sundered at thy sight 
 Ere they could close around these aged limbs, 
 Received and blest thee, when thy mother's arm 
 Was doubtful if it loosed thee ! with delight 
 Have I observed the promises we made 
 Deeply impressed and manfully pei'formed. 
 Now, to thyself beneficent, prince, 
 Never henceforth renew those weak complaints 
 Against Covilla's vows and Julian's faith, 
 His honour broken, and her heart estranged. 
 Oh, if thou boldest peace or glory dear, 
 Away with jealousy ; bi-ave Sisabert, 
 Smite from thy bosom, smite that scorpion down. 
 It swells and hardens amid mildewed hopes.
 
 140 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 O'erspreads and blackens wliate'er most delights, 
 And renders us haters of loveliness, 
 The lowest of the fiends : ambition led 
 The higher on, furious to dispossess. 
 From admiration sprung and frenzied love. 
 This disingenuous soul-debasing passion, 
 Rising from abject and most sordid fear. 
 Stings her own breast with bitter self-reproof. 
 Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies. 
 Love, Honour, Justice, numberless the forms, 
 Glorious and high the stature, she assumes ; 
 But watch the wandering changeful mischief well. 
 And thou shalt see her with low lurid light 
 Search where the soul's most valued treasure lies. 
 Or, more embodied to our vision, stand 
 With evil eye, and sorcery hei-s alone. 
 Looking away her helpless progeny, 
 And drawing poison from its very smiles. 
 For Julian's truth have I not pledged my own 1 
 Have I not sworn Covilla weds no other 1 
 
 jSis. Her persecutor have not I chastised ? 
 Have not I fought for Julian, won the town. 
 And liberated thee ? 
 
 Opas. But left for him 
 
 The dangers of pursuit, of ambuscade. 
 Of absence from thy high and splendid nanio.
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 141 
 
 Sis. Do probity and truth want such supports 1 
 Opas. Griffins and eagles, ivory and gold, 
 Can add no clearness to the lamp above ; 
 But many look for them in palaces 
 Who have them not, and want them not, at home. 
 Virtue and valour and experience 
 Are never trusted by themselves alone 
 Further than infancy and idiocy : 
 The men around him, not the man himself, 
 Are looked at, and by these is he preferred. 
 'Tis the green mantle of the warrener 
 And his loud whistle, that alone attract 
 The lofty gazes of the noble hei'd : 
 And thus, without thy countenance and help 
 Feeble and faint is still our confidence, 
 Brief perhaps our success. 
 
 Sis. Should I resign 
 To Abdalazis her I once adored 1 
 He truly, he must wed a Spanish queen ! 
 He rule in Spain ! ah ! whom could any land 
 Obey so gladly as the meek, the humble, 
 The friend of all who have no friend besides, 
 Covilla ! could he choose, or could he find 
 Another who might so confirm liis ])ower '? 
 And now indeed from long domestic wars 
 Who else survives of all our ancient house
 
 142 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Opas. But Egilona. 
 
 Sis. Vainly she upbraids 
 
 Roderigo. 
 
 Opas. She divorces him, abjures, 
 And carries vengeance to that hideous height 
 Which piety an<l chastity would shrink 
 To look from, on the world, or on themselves. 
 
 Sis. She may forgive him yet. 
 
 Of as. Ah, Sisabert ! 
 
 "Wretched are those a woman has forgiven : 
 With her forgiveness ne'er hath love returned. 
 Ye know not till too late the filmy tie 
 That holds heaven's precious boon eternally 
 To such as fondly chei'ish her ; once go 
 Driven by mad passion, strike but at her peace, 
 And, though she step aside from broad reproach, 
 Yet every softer virtue dies away. 
 Beaming with virtue inaccessible 
 Stood Egilona ; for her lord she lived, 
 And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high : 
 All thoughts were on her — all, beside her own. 
 Negligent as the blossoms of the field, 
 Arrayed in candour and simplicity. 
 Before her path she heard the streams of joy 
 Murmur her name in all their cadences, 
 Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade,
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 143 
 
 Reflect her image ; but acknowledged them 
 
 Hers most complete when flowing from her most. 
 
 All things in want of her, herself of none, 
 
 Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feet 
 
 Unfelt and unregarded : now behold 
 
 The earthly passions war against the heavenly ! 
 
 Pride against love, ambition and revenge 
 
 Against devotion and compliancy : 
 
 Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted ; 
 
 And coming nearer to our quiet view 
 
 The original clay of coarse mortality 
 
 Hardens and flaws around her. 
 
 Sis. Every germ 
 
 Of virtue perishes, when love recedes 
 From those hot shifting sands, the female heai't. 
 
 Opas. His was the fault ; be his the punishment 
 'Tis not their own crimes only, men commit, 
 They harrow them into another's breast, 
 And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain. 
 
 Sis. Yes, blooming royalty will first attract 
 These creatures of the desert — now I breathe 
 More freely — she is theirs if I pursue 
 The fugitive again — he well deserves 
 The death he flies from — stay ! Don Julian twice 
 Called him aloud, and he, methinks, replied. 
 Could not I have remained a moment more.
 
 144- COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 And seen the end 1 although with huiTied voice 
 He bade me intercept the scattered foes, 
 And hold the city barred to their return. 
 May Egilona be another's wife 
 Whether he die or live ! but oh ! — Covilla — 
 She never can be mine ! yet she may be 
 Still happy — no, Covilla, no — not happy, 
 But more deserving happiness without it. 
 Mine never ! nor another's — 'tis enough. 
 The tears I shed no rival can deride ; 
 In the fond intercourse, a name once cherished 
 Will never be defended by faint smiles. 
 Nor given up with vows of altered love. 
 And is the passion of my soul at last 
 Reduced to this 1 is this my happiness 1 
 This my sole comfort 1 this the close of all 
 Those promises, those tears, those last adieus. 
 And those long vigils for the morrow's dawn ? 
 
 Opas. Arouse thee ! be thyself. O Sisabert, 
 Awake to glory from these feverish dreams : 
 The enemy is in our land — two enemies — 
 We must quell both — shame on us, if we fail. 
 
 Sis. Incredible ! a nation be subdued 
 Peopled as ours ! 
 
 Opas. Corruption may subvert 
 
 What force could never.
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 145 
 
 Sis. Traitors may. 
 
 Opas. Alas 
 
 If traitors can, the basis is but frail. 
 I mean such traitors as the vacant world 
 Echoes most stunningly : not fur-robecl knaves 
 Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound's ear 
 Against benighted famished wanderers ; 
 While with remorseless guilt they undermine 
 Palace and shed, their very father's house, 
 O blind ! their own, their children's heritage, 
 To leave more ample space for fearful wealth. 
 Plunder in some most hai'mless guise they swathe. 
 Call it some very meek and hallowed name. 
 Some known and borne by their good forefathers, 
 And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin. 
 These are the plagues heaven sends o'er every land 
 Before it sink, the portents of the street. 
 Not of the air, lest nations should complain 
 Of distance or of dimness in the signs, 
 Flaring from far to Wisdom's eye alone : 
 These are the last ! these, when the sun rides high. 
 In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling. 
 Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies. 
 Ye who behold them spoil field after field, 
 Despising them in individual strength, 
 Not with one torrent sweeping them away
 
 146 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Into the ocean of eternity, 
 
 Arise ! despatch ! no renovating gale, 
 
 No second spring awaits yon — up, begone — 
 
 If you have force and courage even for flight — 
 
 The blast of dissolution is behind. 
 
 Sis. How terrible ! how true ! what voice like 
 thine 
 Can rouse and warn the nation ! if she rise, 
 Say, whither go, where stop we 1 
 
 Opas, God will guide. 
 
 Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction ; 
 The rest is heaven's : must we move no step 
 Because we cannot see the boundaries 
 Of our long way, and every stone between ? 
 
 Sis. Is not thy vengeance for the late affront, 
 For threats and outrage and imprisonment 
 
 Opas. For outrage, yes — imprisonment and 
 threats 
 I pardon him, and whatsoever ill 
 He could do me. 
 
 Sis. To hold Covilla from me ! 
 
 To urge her into vows against her faith, 
 Against her beauty, youth, and inclination. 
 Without her mother's blessing, nay without 
 Her father's knowledge and authority — 
 So that she never will behold me more.
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 147 
 
 Flying afar for refuge and for help 
 
 Where never friend but God will comfort her 
 
 Opas. These, and more barbarous deeds were 
 perpetrated. 
 
 Sis. Yet her proud father deigned not to inform 
 Me, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war, 
 Me, whom he called his son, before I hoped 
 To merit it by marriage or by arms. 
 He offered no excuse, no plea ; expressed 
 No sorrow ; but with firm unfaltering voice 
 Commanded me — I trembled as he spoke — 
 To follow where he led, redress his wrongs, 
 And vindicate the honour of his child. 
 He called on God, the witness of his cause, 
 On Spain, the partner of his victories. 
 And yet amid these animating Avords 
 Rolled the huge tear down his unvisored face — 
 A general swell of indignation rose 
 Through the long line, sobs burst from every 
 
 breast, 
 Hardly one voice succeeded — you might hear 
 The impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain : 
 But when the gates flew open, and the king 
 In his high car came forth triumphantly. 
 Then was Count Julian's stature more elate ; 
 Tremendous was the smile tliat smote the eyes
 
 148 COUNT JULIAN. [Act III. 
 
 Of all he passed. " Fathers, sons, and brothers," 
 He cried, " I fight your battles, follow me ! 
 Soldiers, we know no danger but disgrace ! " 
 " Father, and general, and king," they shout, 
 And would proclaim him : back he cast his face, 
 Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth ; 
 It kindled vengeance through the Asturian ranks. 
 And they soon scattered, as the blasts of heaven 
 Scatter the leaves and dust, the astonished foe. 
 Opas. And doubtest thou his truth 1 
 Sis. I love — and doubt — 
 
 Fight — and believe : Roderigo spoke untruths — 
 In him I place no trust ; but Julian holds 
 Truths in reserve — how should I quite confide ! 
 
 OjMS. By sorrows thou beholdest him oppressed ; 
 Doubt the more prosperous : march, Sisabert, 
 Once more against his enemy and ours : 
 Much hath been done, but much there still 
 remains.
 
 Scene 1] COUNT JULIAN. 149 
 
 FOURTH ACT.— FIRST SCENE. 
 
 Tent o/' Julian. 
 
 RoDERiGO and Julian. 
 
 Jtd. To stop perhaps at any wickedness 
 Appears a merit now, and at the time 
 Prudence and policy it often is 
 Which afterward seems magnanimity. 
 The people had deserted thee, and thronged 
 My standard, had I raised it, at the first ; 
 But once subsiding, and no voice of mine 
 Calling by name each grievance to each man, 
 They, silent and submissive by degrees, 
 Bore thy hard yoke, and, liadst thou but oppressed, 
 Would still have borne it : thou hast now de- 
 ceived ; 
 Thou hast done all a foreign foe could do. 
 And more, against them ; with ingratitude 
 Not hell itself could arm the foreign foe : 
 'Tis forged at home, and kills not from afar. 
 Amid whate'er vain glories fell upon 
 Thy rainbow span of power, which I dissolve. 
 Boast not how thou conferredst wealth and rank, 
 Plow thou preservedst me, my family,
 
 150 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 All my distinctions, all my offices, 
 When Witiza was murdered, that I stand 
 Count Julian at this hour by special grace. 
 The sword of Julian saved the walls of Ceuta, 
 And not the shadow that attends his name : 
 It was no badge, no title, that o'erthrew 
 Soldier, and steed, and engine — Don Roderigo, 
 The truly and the falsely great here differ : 
 These by dull wealth or daring fraud advance ; 
 Him the Almighty calls amid his people 
 To sway the wills and passions of mankind. 
 The weak of heart and intellect beheld 
 Thy splendour, and adored thee lord of Spain : 
 I rose — Roderigo lords o'er Spain no more. 
 
 Eod. Now to a traitor's add a boaster's name. 
 
 Jul. Shameless and arrogant, dost thou believe 
 I boast for pride or pastime 1 forced to boast. 
 Truth costs me more than falseliood e'er cost thee. 
 Divested of that purple of the soul, 
 That potency, that palm of wise ambition, 
 Cast headlong by thy madness from that height, 
 That only eminence 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 Virtue, which some desert, but none despise, 
 Whether thou art beheld again on earth, 
 Whether a captive or a fugitive, 
 Miner or galley-slave, depends on me :
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 151 
 
 But he alone who made me what I am 
 Can make me greater, or can make me less. 
 
 Rod. Chance, and chance only, threw me in thy 
 power ; 
 Give me my sword again and try my strength. 
 
 Jul. I tried it in the front of thousands. 
 
 Rod. . Death 
 
 At least vouchsafe me from a soldier's hand. 
 
 Jill. I love to hear thee ask for it — now my own 
 Would not be bitter ; no, nor immature. 
 
 Rod. Defy it, say thou rather. 
 
 Jid. Death itself 
 Shall not be granted thee, unless from God ; 
 A dole from his and from no other hand. 
 Thou shalt now hear and own thine infamy 
 
 Rod. Chains, dungeons, tortures— but I hear no 
 more. 
 
 Jul. Silence, thou wretch, live on — ay, live—* 
 abhorred. 
 Thou shalt have tortures, dungeons, chains, 
 
 enough — 
 They naturally rise and grow around 
 Monsters like thee, everywhere, and for ever. 
 
 Rod. Insulter of the fallen ! must I endure 
 Commands as well as threats 1 my vassal's too ? 
 Nor breathe from underneath his trampling feet?
 
 152 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 Jid. Could I speak patiently who speak to thee, 
 I would say more — part of thy punishment 
 It should be to be taught. 
 
 Rod. Reserve thy wisdom 
 
 Until thy patience come, its best ally : 
 I learn no lore, of peace or war, from thee, 
 
 Jill. No, thou shalt study soon another tongue. 
 And suns more ardent shall mature thy mind. 
 Either the cross thou bearest, and thy knees 
 Among the silent caves of Palestine 
 Wear the sharp flints away with midnight prayer ; 
 Or thou shalt keep the fasts of Barbary, 
 Shalt wait amid the crowds that throng the well 
 From sidtry noon till the skies fade again, 
 To draw up water and to bring it home 
 In the cracked gourd of some vile testy knave, 
 Who spurns thee back with bastinadoed foot 
 For ignoi-ance or delay of his command. 
 
 Bod. Rather the poison or the bowstring. 
 
 Jul. Slaves 
 
 To other's passions die such deaths as those : 
 Slaves to their own should die 
 
 Rod. AVhat worse % 
 
 Jul. Their own. 
 
 Rod. Is this thy counsel, renegade 1 
 
 Jul. Not mine ;
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 163 
 
 I point a better path, nay, force tliee on. 
 I shelter thee from every brave man's sword 
 While I am near thee : I bestow on thee 
 Life : if thou die, 'tis when thou sojournest 
 Protected by this arm and voice no more ; 
 'Tis slavishly, 'tis ignominiously, 
 'Tis by a villain's knife. 
 
 Rod. By whose 1 
 
 Jul. Roderigo's. 
 
 Rod. O powers of vengeance ! must I hear? en- 
 dure % 
 Live 1 
 
 Jul. Call thy vassals 1 no ! then wipe the drops 
 Of froward childhood from thy shameless eyes. 
 So ! thou canst weep for passion — not for pity. 
 
 Rod. One hour ago I ruled all Spain ! a camp 
 Not larger than a sheepfold stood alone 
 Against me : now, no friend throughout the world 
 Follows my steps or hearkens to my call. 
 Belwld the turns of fortune, and expect 
 No better ; of all faithless men, the Moors 
 Are the most faithless : from thy own experience 
 Thou canst not value nor rely on them. 
 
 Jul. I value not the mass that makes my sword, 
 Yet while I use it I rely on it. 
 
 Rod. Julian, thy gloomy soul still meditates —
 
 154 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 Plainly I see it — death to me —pursue 
 
 The dictates of thy leaders, let revenge 
 
 Have its full sway, let Barbary prevail. 
 
 And the pure creed her elders have embraced : 
 
 Those placid sages hold assassination 
 
 A most compendious supplement to law. 
 
 Jul. Thou knowest not the one, nor I the other. 
 Torn hast thou from me all my soul held dear ! 
 Her form, her voice, all, hast thou banished from 
 
 me ; 
 Xor dare I, wretched as I am ! recall 
 Those solaces of every grief, erewhile. 
 I stand abased before insulting ciime — 
 I falter like a criminal myself 
 The hand that hurled thy chariot o'er its wheels, 
 That held thy steeds erect and motionless 
 As molten statues on some palace-gates, 
 Shakes, as with palsied age, before thee now. 
 Gone is the treasure of my heart, for ever, 
 AYithout a father, mother, friend, or name. 
 Daughter of Julian — such was her delight — 
 Such was mine too ! what pride more innocent. 
 What, surely, less deserving pangs like these, 
 Than springs from filial and parental love ! 
 Debarred from every hope that issues forth 
 To meet the balmy breath of early life,
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 155 
 
 Her saddened days, all, cold and colourless, 
 
 Will stretch before her their whole weary length 
 
 Amid the sameness of obscurity. 
 
 She wanted not seclusion, to unveil 
 
 Her thoughts to heaven, cloister, nor midniL,ht 
 
 bell ; 
 She found it in all places, at all hours : 
 While, to assuage my labours, she indulged 
 A playfulness that shunned a mother's eye, 
 Still, to avert my perils, there arose 
 A piety that, even from me, retii-ed. 
 
 Rod. Such was she ! what am I ! those are the 
 
 arms 
 That are triumphant when the battle fails. 
 
 Julian, Julian ! all thy former words 
 Struck but the imbecile jilumes of vanity ; 
 These, through its steely coverings, pierce the 
 
 heart. 
 
 1 ask not life nor death ; but, if I live, 
 Send my most bitter enemy to watch 
 
 My secret paths, send poverty, send pain — 
 
 I will add more — wise as thou art, thou knowcst 
 
 No foe more furious than forgiven kings. 
 
 I ask not then what thou wouldst never grant : 
 
 May heaven, O Julian, from thy hand receive 
 
 A pardoned man, a chastened criminal.
 
 156 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 Jul. This furtliex' curse hast thou inflicted ; 
 wretch, 
 I cannot pardon thee. 
 
 Rod. Thy tone, thy mien, 
 
 Refute those words. 
 
 Jul. No — I can not forgive. 
 
 Rod. Upon my knee, my conqueror, I implore — 
 Upon the earth, before thy feet — hard heart ! 
 
 Jid. Audacious ! hast thou never heard that 
 prayer 
 And scorned it ? 'tis the last thou shouldst repeat. 
 Upon the earth ! upon her knees ! O God ! 
 
 Rod. Resemble not a wretch so lost as I : 
 Be better ; Oh ! be happier ; and pronounce it. 
 
 Jul. I swerve not from my purpose : thou art 
 mine, 
 Conquered ; and I have sworn to dedicate. 
 Like a torn banner on my chapel's roof. 
 Thee to that power from whom thou hast rebelled. 
 Expiate thy crimes by prayer, by penances. 
 
 Rod. Hasten the hour of trial, speak of peace. 
 Pardon me not, then — but with purer lips 
 Implore of God, v/ho would hear thee, to pardon. 
 
 Jul. Hope it I may — pronounce it — Roderigo ! 
 Ask it of him who can ; I too will ask. 
 And, in my own transgressions, pray for thine.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 157 
 
 Rod. One name I dai^e not 
 
 Jul. Go — abstain from tliat^ 
 
 I do conjure thee : raise not in my soul 
 Again the tempest that has wrecked my fame ; 
 Tliou shalt not breathe in the same clime with her. 
 Far o'er the unebbing sea thou shalt adore 
 The eastern star, and — may thy end be peace. 
 
 FOURTH ACT.-SECOND SCENE. 
 RoDERiGO goes : Hernando enters. 
 
 Her. From the prince Tarik I am sent, my lord. 
 
 Jid. A welcome messager, my brave Hernando. 
 How fares it with the gallant soul of Tarik 1 
 
 Her. Most joyfully ; he scarcely had pronounced 
 Your glorious name, and bid me urge your speed, 
 Tlian, with a voice as though it answered heaven, 
 " He shall confound them in their dark designs," 
 Cried he, and turned away with that swift stride 
 Wherewith he meets and quells his enemies. 
 
 Jul. Alas, I cannot bear felicitation, 
 Who shunned it even in felicity. 
 
 Her. Often we liardly think ourselves tlie happy 
 Unless we hear it said by those around.
 
 158 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 O my lord Julian, Low your praises cheered 
 
 Our poor endeavours ! sure, all hearts are ope 
 
 Lofty and low, wise and unwise, to praise. 
 
 Even the departed spirit hovers round 
 
 Our blessings and our prayers ; the corse itself 
 
 Hath shined with other light than the still stars 
 
 Shed on its rest, or the dim taper, nigh. 
 
 My father, old men say, who saw him dead 
 
 And heard your lips pronounce him good and 
 
 happy, 
 Smiled faintly through the quiet gloom, that eve, 
 And the shroud throbbed upon his grateful breast. 
 Howe'er it be, many who tell the tale 
 Are good and happy from that voice of praise. 
 His guidance and example were denied 
 My youth and childhood : what I am I owe 
 
 Jul. Hernando, look not back : a narrow path 
 And arduous lies before thee ; if thou stop 
 Thou fallest ; go right onward, nor observe 
 Closely and rigidly another's way, 
 But, free and active, follow up thy own. 
 
 Her. The voice that urges now my manly step 
 Onward in life, recalls me to the past^ 
 And from that fount I freshen for the goal. 
 Early in youth, among us villagers 
 Converse and ripened counsel you bestowed.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 159 
 
 happy days of (far departed ! ) peace, 
 Days when the mighty Julian stooped his brow 
 Entering our cottage door ; another air 
 Breathed through the house; tired age and light- 
 some youth 
 Beheld him, with intensest gaze : these felt 
 More chastened joy ; those, more profound repose. 
 Yes, my best lord, when labour sent them home 
 And midday suns, when from the social meal 
 The wicker window held the summer heat, 
 Praised have those been who, going unperceived, 
 Opened it wide, that all might see you well : 
 Nor were the children blamed, upon the mat, 
 Hun-ying to watch what rush would last arise 
 From your foot's pressure, ere the door was closed, 
 And not yet wondering how they dared to love. 
 Your counsels are more precious now than ever, 
 But are they — pardon if I err — the same ? 
 Tarik is gallant, kind, the friend of Julian, 
 Can he be more 1 or ought he to be less 1 
 Alas ! his faith ! 
 
 Jul. In peace or war, Hernando 1 
 
 Her. Oh, neither — far above it; faith in God 
 
 Jul. 'Tis God's, not thine — embrace it not, nor 
 hate it. 
 Precious or vile, how dare we seize that offering.
 
 160 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 Scatter it, spurn it, in its way to heaven, 
 Because we know it not 1 the Sovereign Lord 
 Accepts his tril)ute, myrrh and frankincense 
 From some, from others penitence and prayer : 
 Why intercept them from his gracious hand 1 
 Why dash them down 1 why smite the supplicant ? 
 
 Her. 'Tis what they do ? 
 
 Jul. Avoid it thou the more. 
 
 If time were left me, I could hear well-pleased 
 How Tarik fought up Calpe's fabled cliff. 
 While I pursued the friends of Don Roderigo 
 Across the plain, and drew fresh force from mine. 
 Oh ! had some other land, some other cause. 
 Invited him and me, I then could dwell 
 On this hard battle with unmixed delight. 
 
 Her. Eternal is its glory, if the deed 
 Be not forgotten till it be surpassed : 
 Much praise by land, by sea much more, he won ; 
 For then a Julian was not at his side, 
 Nor led the van, nor awed the best before ; 
 The whole, a mighty whole, was his alone. 
 There might be seen how far he shone above 
 All others of the day : old Muza watched 
 From his own shore the richly laden fleet, 
 Ill-amied and scattered, and pursued the rear 
 Beyond those rocks that bear St. Vincent's name.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. IGl 
 
 Cutting the treasure, not the strength, away ; 
 
 Valiant, where any prey lies undevoured 
 
 In hostile creek or too confiding isle : 
 
 Tarik, with his small barks, but with such love 
 
 As never chief from rugged sailor won. 
 
 Smote their high masts and swelling rampii-es down; 
 
 And Cadiz wept in fear o'er Trafalgar. 
 
 Who that beheld our sails from off the heights, 
 
 Like the white birds, nor larger, tempt the gale 
 
 In sun.shine and in shade, now almost touch 
 
 The solitary shore, glance, turn, retire, 
 
 Would think these lovely playmates could portend 
 
 Such mischief to the world, such blood, such woe ; 
 
 Could draw to them from far the peaceful hinds. 
 
 Cull the gay flower of cities, and divide 
 
 Friends, children, every bond of human life ; 
 
 Could dissipate whole families, could sink 
 
 Whole states in ruin, at one hour, one blow. 
 
 Jul. Go, good Hernando — who would think 
 these things % 
 Say to the valiant Tarik, I depart 
 Forthwith : he knows not from what heaviness 
 Of soul I linger here ; I could endure 
 No converse, no compassion, no approach, 
 Other than thine, whom the same cares improved 
 Beneath my father's roof, my foster-broth'r, 
 F-65
 
 162 COUNT JULIAN. [Act IV. 
 
 To brighter days and happier end, I hope ; 
 
 In whose fidelity my o\\ti resides 
 
 With Tarik and with his compeers and chief. 
 
 I cannot share the gladness I excite, 
 
 Yet shall our Tarik's generous heart rejoice. 
 
 FOUETH ACT.— THIRD SCENE. 
 Egilona enters .- Hernando goes. 
 
 Egi. Oh, fly me not because I am unhappy, 
 Because I am deserted fly me not. 
 It was not so before, it cannot be 
 Ever from Julian. 
 
 Jul. Wliat would Egilona 
 
 That Julian's power with her new lords can do 1 
 Surely her own must there preponderate. 
 
 Egi. I hold no suit to them — restore, restore 
 Roderigo. 
 
 Jul. He no longer is my prisoner. 
 
 Egi. Escapes he then 1 
 
 Jul. Escapes he — dost thou say % 
 Egilona ! what unworthy passion 
 
 Egi. Unworthy, when I loved him, was my 
 passion ;
 
 Scenes.] COUNT JULIAN. 163 
 
 The passion that now swells my heart is just. 
 
 Jul. What fresh reproaches hath he merited ? 
 
 Egi. Deeprooted hatred shelters no reproach. 
 But whither is he gone 1 
 
 Jul. Far from the walls. 
 
 Eyi. And I knew nothing ! 
 
 Jul. His offence was known 
 
 To thee at least. 
 
 Eyi Will it be expiated 1 
 
 Jul. I trust it will. 
 
 Egi. This withering calm consumes me. 
 He marries then Covilla ! 'twas for this 
 His people were excited to rebel, 
 His sceptre was thrown by, his vows were scorned. 
 And I — and I 
 
 Jul. Cease, Egilona ! 
 
 Egi. Cease ? 
 
 Sooner shalt thou to live, than I to reiirn.
 
 164 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 FIFTH ACT.— FIRST SCENE 
 
 Tent of MuzA. 
 
 MuzA. Tarik. Abdalazis. 
 
 Muza. To have first landed on these shores 
 appears 
 Transcendent glory to the applauded Tarik. 
 
 Tarik. Glory, but not transcendent, it appears. 
 What might in any other. 
 
 Muza. Of thyself 
 
 All this vain boast % 
 
 Tarik. Not of myself— 'twas Julian. 
 
 Against his shield the refluent surges rolled, 
 While the sea-breezes threw the arrows wide. 
 And fainter cheers urged the reluctant steeds. 
 
 Muza. That Julian, of whose treason I have 
 proofs, 
 That Julian, who rejected my commands 
 Twice, when our mortal foe besieged the camp, 
 And forced my princely presence to his tent. 
 
 Tarik. Say rather, who without one exhortation, 
 One precious drop from true believer's vein. 
 Marched, and discomfited our enemies.
 
 Scene 1.] COUNT JULIAN. 165 
 
 T found in him no treachery. Hernando, 
 Who, little versed in moody wiles, is gone 
 To lead him hither, was by him assigned 
 My guide, and twice in doubtful fight his arm 
 Pi'otected me : once on the heights of Calpe, 
 Once on the plain, when courtly jealousies 
 Tore from the bravest and the best his due. 
 And gave the dotard and the coward command : 
 Then came Roderigo forth — the front of war 
 Grew darker — him, equal in chivalry, 
 Julian alone could with success oppose. 
 
 Ahd. I doubt their worth who praise their 
 enemies. 
 
 Tar. And theirs doubt I who persecute their 
 friends. 
 
 Muza. Thou art in league with him. 
 
 Tar. Thou wert, by oaths, 
 
 I am without them ; for his heart is brave. 
 
 Muza. Am I to bear all this ? 
 
 Tar. All this, and more : 
 
 Soon wilt thou see the man whom thou hast 
 
 wronged, 
 And the keen hatred in thy breast concealed 
 Find its right way, and sting thee to the core. 
 
 Muza. Hath he not foiled us in the field ; not 
 held
 
 166 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Our wisdom to reproach 1 
 
 Tar. Shall we abandon 
 
 All he hath left us in the eyes of men 1 
 Shall we again make him our adversary 
 "Whom we have proved so, long and fatally 1 
 If he subdue for us our enemies, 
 Shall we raise others, or, for want of them, 
 Convert him into one asjainst his will 1 
 
 FIFTH ACT.— SECOND SCENE. 
 Hernando enters. Tarik continues. 
 
 Here comes Hernando from that prince himself 
 
 Muza. Who scorns himself to come. 
 
 Her. The queen detains him. 
 
 Ahd. Howl Egilona? 
 
 Muza. 'Twas my will. 
 
 Tar. At last 
 
 He must be hapj^y ; for delicious calm 
 Follows the fierce enjoyment of revenge. 
 
 Her. That calm was never his, no other will be ! 
 Thou knowest not, and mayst thou never know, 
 How bitter is the tear that fiery shame 
 Scourges and tortures from the soldier's eye.
 
 Scene 2.] COUNT JULIAN. 167' 
 
 Whichever of these bad reports be ti'ue, 
 He hides it from all hearts, to wring his own, 
 And drags the heavy secret to the grave. 
 N'ot victory, that o'ershadows him, sees he ! 
 No airy and light passion stirs abroad 
 To ruffle or to soothe him ; all are quelled 
 Beneath a mightier, sterner stress of mind : 
 Wakeful he sits, and lonely and unmoved. 
 Beyond the arrows, views, or shouts of men : 
 As oftentimes an eagle, when the sun 
 Throws o'er the varying earth his early ray, 
 Stands solitary, stands immovable 
 Upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye, 
 Clear, constant, unobservant, unabased, 
 In the cold light, above the dews of morn. 
 He now assumes that quietness of soul 
 Wliich never but in danger have I seen 
 On his staid breast. 
 
 Tar. Danger is past, he conquers ; 
 
 No enemy is left him to subdue. 
 
 Ihr. He sank not, while there was, into him- 
 self. 
 Now plainly see I from his altered tone, 
 Ho cannot live much longer — thanks to God 1 
 
 Tar. What ! wishest thou thy once kind master 
 dead ?
 
 168 COUNT JULIAN. [ActV. 
 
 Was he not kind to thee, ungrateful slave ! 
 
 Her. The gentlest, as the bravest, of mankind. 
 Therefore shall memoiy dwell more tranquilly 
 With Julian, once at rest, than friendship could, 
 Knowing him yearn for death with speechless love. 
 For his own sake I could endure his loss, 
 Pray for it, and thank God ; yet mourn I must 
 Him above all ! so great, so bountiful. 
 So blessed once ! bitterly must I mourn. 
 'Tis not my solace that 'tis his desire ; 
 Of all that pass us in life's drear descent 
 We grieve the most for those that wished to die. 
 A father to us all, he merited. 
 Unhappy man ! all a good father's joy 
 In his own house, where seldom he hath been. 
 But, ever mindful of its dear delights, 
 He formed one family around him, ever. 
 
 Tar. Yes, we have seen and known him — let his 
 fame 
 Refresh his friends, but let it stream afar, 
 Nor in the twilight of home scenes be lost. 
 He chose the best, and cherished them ; he left 
 To self- reproof the mutinies of vice ; 
 Avarice, that dwarfs ambition's tone and mien ; 
 Envy, sick nursling of the court ; and pride 
 Thaf cannot bear his semblance nor himself ;
 
 Scene 2.J COUNT JULIAN. ICP 
 
 And malice, with blear visage half-descried 
 Amid the shadows of her hiding place. 
 
 Her, What could I not endure, O gallant man, 
 To hear him spoken of as thou hast spoken ! 
 Oh ! I would almost be a slave to him 
 Who calls me one. 
 
 Muza. What % art thou not '? begone. 
 
 Tar. Reply not, brave Hernando, but retire. 
 All can revile, few only can reward. 
 Behold the meed our mighty chief bestows ! 
 Accept it, for thy services, and mine. 
 More, my bold Spaniard, hath obedience won 
 Than anger, even in the ranks of war. 
 
 Her. The soldier, not the Spaniard, shall obey. 
 
 \Goes. 
 
 Muza to Tar. Into our very council bringest 
 thou 
 Cliildren of reprobation and perdition ? 
 Darkness thy deeds and emptiness thy speech, 
 Such images thou raisest as buffoons 
 Carry in merriment on festivals ; 
 Nor worthiness nor wisdom would display 
 To public notice their deformities, 
 Nor cherish them nor fear them ; why shouldst 
 tliou ? 
 
 Tar. 1 fear not them nor thee.
 
 170 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 FIFTH ACT.— THIRD SCENE. 
 Egiloka enters. 
 
 Abd. Advance, queen. 
 
 Now let the turbulence of faction cease. 
 
 Muza. Whate'er thj purpose, speak, and be 
 composed. 
 
 Egi. He goes ; he is afar ; he follows her ; 
 He leads her to the altar, to the throne. 
 For, calm in vengeance, wise in wickedness, 
 The ti'aitor hath prevailed, o'er him, o'er me, 
 O'er you — the slaves, the dupes, the scorn, of 
 
 Julian.- 
 What have I heard ! what have I seen ! 
 
 Muza, Proceed. 
 
 Abd. And I swear vengeance on his guilty 
 head 
 Who intercepts from thee the golden rays 
 Of sovereignty ; who dares rescind thy rights ; 
 Who steals upon thy rest, and breathes around 
 Empoisoned damps o'er that serenity 
 Which leaves the world, and faintly lingers here. 
 
 Muza. Who shuns thee 
 
 Abd. Whose desertion interdicts 
 Homage, authority, precedency
 
 SceueS.] COUNT JULIAN. 171 
 
 Muza. Till war sliall rescue them 
 
 Ahd. And love restore, 
 
 Egi. O generous Abdalazis ! never ! never ! 
 My eneinies — Julian alone remains — 
 The worst, in safety, far beyond my reach, 
 Breathe freely on the summit of their hopes ; 
 Because they never stopped, because they sprang 
 From crime to crime, and trampled down remorse. 
 Oh ! if her heart knew tenderness like mine ! 
 Grant vengeance on the guilty ; grant but tliat, 
 I ask no more; my hand, my crown, is thine. 
 Fulfil the justice of offended heaven, 
 Assert the sacred rights of royalty. 
 Come not in vain, crush the rebellious crew. 
 Crush, I implore, the indifierent and supine. 
 
 Muza. Roderigo thus escaped from Julian's 
 
 tent. 
 Egi. No, not escaped, escorted, like a king. 
 The base Covilla first pursued her way 
 On foot ; but after her the royal car. 
 Which bore me from San Pablos to the throne. 
 Empty indeed, yet ready at her voice. 
 Rolled o'er the plain, amid the carcases 
 Of those who fell in battle or in flight : 
 She, a deceiver still, to whate'er speed 
 The moment might incite her, often stoppc 1
 
 172 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 To mingle prayers with the departing breath, 
 Improvident ! and those with heavy wounds 
 Groaned bitterly beneath her tottering knee. 
 
 Tar. Now, by the clement and the merciful ! 
 The girl did well : when I breathe out my soul, 
 Oh ! if compassion give one pang the more, 
 That pang be mine ; hei'e be it, in this land. 
 Such women are they in this land alone. 
 
 Egi. Insulting man ! 
 
 Muza. We shall confound him yet. 
 
 Say, and speak quickly, whitlier went the king / 
 Thou knewest where was Julian. 
 
 Abd. I will tell 
 
 Without his answer : yes, my friends ; yes, Tarik, 
 Now will I speak, nor thou, for once, reply. 
 There is, I hear, a poor half-ruined cell 
 In Xeres, whither few indeed resort ; 
 Green are the walls within, green is the floor 
 And slippery from disuse ; for Christian feet 
 Avoid it, as half-holy, half accursed. 
 Still in its dark recess fanatic sin 
 Abases to the ground his tangled hair, 
 And servile scoui'ges and reluctant groans 
 Roll o'er tho vault uninterruptedly. 
 Till, such the natural stillness of the place 
 The very tear upon the damps below
 
 Scene 3.J COUNT JULIAN. 173 
 
 Drops audible, and the heart's throb replies. 
 
 There is the idol maid of Christian creed, 
 
 And taller images, whose history 
 
 I know not, nor inquired — a scene of blood, 
 
 Of resignation amid mortal pangs. 
 
 And other things, exceeding all belief. 
 
 Hither the aged Opas of Seville 
 
 Walked slowly, and behind him was a man 
 
 Barefooted, bruised, dejected, comfortless. 
 
 In sackcloth ; the white ashes on his head 
 
 Dropped as he smote his breast ; he gathered up. 
 
 Replaced them all, groaned deeply, looked to 
 
 heaven. 
 And held them, like a treasure, with clasped 
 hands. 
 
 Egi. Oh ! was Roderigo so abased 1 
 
 Muza. 'Twas he. 
 
 Kow, Egilona, judge between your friends 
 And enemies ; behold what wretches brought 
 The king, thy lord, Roderigo, to disgrace. 
 
 Egi. He merited — but not from them — from me 
 This, and much worse : had I inflicted it, 
 I had rejoiced — at what I ill endure. 
 
 Muza. For thee, for thee alone, we wished him 
 here. 
 But other hands released him
 
 174 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Abel. With what aim 
 
 Will soon appear to those discerning eyes. 
 
 Fgi. I pray thee, tell what passed until that 
 hour. 
 
 Abd. Few words, and indistinct ; repentant sobs 
 Filled the whole space, the taper in his hand, 
 Lighting two small dim lamps before the altar. 
 He gave to Opas ; at the idol's feet 
 He laid his crown, and wiped his tears away : 
 The crown reverts not, but the tears return. 
 
 Fgi. Yes, Abdalazis ! soon, abundantly. 
 If he had only called upon my name, 
 Seeking my pardon ere he looked to heaven's, 
 I could have — no ! he thought not once on me ! 
 Never shall he find peace or confidence; 
 I will rely on fortune and on thee, 
 Nor fear my future lot : sure, Abdalazis, 
 A fall so great can never hajipen twice, 
 Nor man again be faithless, like Roderigo. 
 
 Abd. Faithless he may be still, never so faithless. 
 Fainter must be the charms, remote the days. 
 When memory and dread example die, 
 When love and terror thrill the heart no more. 
 And Egilona is herself forgotten.
 
 Scene 4.J COUNT JULIAN. 175 
 
 FIFTH ACT.— FOURTH SCENE. 
 Julian enters. 
 
 Tar. Turn, and behold him ! who is now con- 
 founded % 
 Ye who awaited him, where are ye ? speak. 
 Is some close comet blazing o'er your tents ? 
 Muza ! Abdalazis ! princes, conqueror.?, 
 Summon, interrogate, command, co]idemn. 
 
 Muza. Justly, Don Julian — but respect for rank 
 Allays resentment, nor interrogates 
 Without due form — ^justly may we accuse 
 This absence from our councils, from our camp : 
 This loneliness in which we still remain 
 Who come invited to redress your wrongs. 
 Where is the king % 
 
 Jul. The people must decide. 
 
 Muza. Imperfectly, I hope, I understand 
 Those words, unworthy of thy birth and age. 
 
 Jul. chieftain, such have been our Gothic 
 laws. 
 
 Muza. Who tlien amid such turbulence is safe 1 
 
 Jul. He who observes them : 'tis no turbulence. 
 It violates no peace : 'tis surely worth 
 A voice, a breath of air, thus to create
 
 176 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 By their high will the man, formed after them 
 
 In their own image, vested with their power. 
 
 To whom they trust their freedom and their lives. 
 
 Muza. They trust ! the people ! God assigns the 
 charge : 
 Kings open but the book of destiny 
 And read their names, all that remains for them 
 The mystic hand from time to time reveals. 
 Worst of idolaters ! idolater 
 Of that refractory and craving beast 
 Whose den is in the city, at thy hand 
 I claim our common enemy, the king. 
 
 Jul. Sacred from justice then ! but not from 
 malice ! 
 
 Tar. Surrender him, my friend : be sure his 
 pains 
 Will not be softened. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis beyond my power. 
 
 Tar. To-morrow — if in any distant fort 
 He lies to-night : send after him. 
 
 Jul My faith 
 
 Is plighted, and he lives — no prisoner. 
 
 Egi. T knew the truth. 
 
 Abel. Now, Tarik, hear and judge. 
 
 Was he not in thy camp 1 and in disguise ? 
 
 Tar No : I will answer thee.
 
 Scene 4.J COUNT JULIAN. 177 
 
 Muza. Audacious man ! 
 
 Had not the Kalif Walid placed tliee here, 
 Chains and a traitor's death shouki be thy doom. 
 Speak, Abdahxzis ! Egilona, speak. 
 Were ye not present 1 was not I myself 1 
 And aided not this Julian his escape % 
 
 Jul. 'Tis true. 
 
 Tar. Away then friendship ; to thy fate 
 
 I leave thee : thou hast rendered Muza just, 
 Me hostile to thee. Who is safe ! a man 
 Armed with such power and with such perfidy ! 
 
 Jul. Stay, Tarik ! hear me ; for to thee alone 
 Would I reply. 
 
 Tar. Thou hast replied, already. \_Goes. 
 
 Muza. We, who were enemies, would not inquire 
 Too narrowly what reasons urged thy wrath 
 Against thy sovereign lord : beneath his flag 
 The Christians first assailed us from these shoies-. 
 And we seized gladly the first aid we found 
 To quell a wealthy and a warlike king. 
 We never held to thee the vain pretence 
 That 'twas thy quarrel our bra\'c youth espoused. 
 Thine, who hast wrought us mucli disgrace and woe. 
 From perils and from losses, here we rest 
 And drink of the fresh fountain at our feet, 
 Not madly following such illusive streams
 
 178 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 As overspread the dizzy wilderness, 
 And vanish from the thirst they have seduced. 
 Ours was the enterprise, the land is ours : 
 What gain we by our toils if he escape 
 Whom we came hither solely to subdue 1 
 
 Jul. Is there no gain to live in amity 1 
 
 Muza, The gain of traffickers and idle men : 
 Courage and zeal expire upon such calms. 
 Further, what amity can Moors expect 
 When you have joined your forces 1 
 
 Jul. From the hour 
 
 That he was vanquished I have laid aside 
 All power, all arms. 
 
 Muza. How can we trust thee, once 
 
 Deceived, and oftener than this once despised 1 
 Thou camest hither with no other aim 
 Than to deprive Roderigo of his crown 
 For thy own brow. 
 
 Egil. Julian, base man, 'tis true. 
 
 He comes a prince, no warrior, at this hour. 
 
 Muza. His sword, O queen, would not avail him 
 now. 
 
 Abd. Julian, I feel less anger than regret. 
 No violence of speech, no obloquy, 
 No accusation shall escape my lips : 
 Need there is none, nor reason, to avoid
 
 Scene 4. J COUNT JULIAN. 179 
 
 My qixestions : if thou value truth, reply. 
 Hath not Koderigo left the town and camp 1 
 Hath not thy daughter 1 
 
 Egi. Past the little brook 
 
 Toward the Betis — from a tower I saw 
 The fugitives, far on their way ; they went 
 Over one bridge, each with armed men — not half 
 A league of road between them— and had joined 
 But that the olive-groves along the path 
 Concealed them from each other — not from me : 
 Beneath me the whole level I surveyed, 
 And, when my eyes no longer could discern 
 Which track they took, I knew it from the storks 
 Rising in clouds above the reedy plain. 
 
 Muza. Deny it, if thou canst. 
 
 Jul. I ordered it. 
 
 Abel. None could besides : lo ! things in such a 
 mass 
 Falling together on observant minds. 
 Create suspicion and establish proof : 
 Wanted there fresh — why not employ our arms ? 
 Why go alone % 
 
 Muza. To parley, to conspire, 
 
 To reunite the Spaniards, which we saw, 
 To give up treaties, close up enmities. 
 And ratify the deed with Moorish blood.
 
 180 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Jul. Gladly would Spain procure your safe 
 return, 
 Gladly would pay large treasures, for the aid 
 You brought against oppression 
 
 Muza. Pay she shall — 
 
 The treasures of her soil, her ports, her youth : 
 If she resist, if she tumultuously 
 Call forth her brigands and we lose a man, 
 Dreadful shall be our justice ; war shall rage 
 Through every city, hamlet, house, and field, 
 And, universal o'er the gasping land, 
 Depopulation. 
 
 Jul. They shall rue the day 
 
 Who dare these things. 
 
 JIuza. Let order then prevail. 
 
 In vain thou sendest far away thy child, 
 Thy counsellor the metropolitan. 
 And Sisabert — prudence is mine no less. 
 Divide with us our conquests, but the king 
 Must be delivered up. 
 
 Jul. Never by me. 
 
 Muza. False then were thy reproaches, false thy 
 grief. 
 
 Jul. Egilona ! were thine also feigned 1 
 
 Ahd. Say, lovely queen, neglectful of thy charms 
 Turned he his eyes toward the young Covilla 1
 
 Scene*.] COUNT JULIAN. 181 
 
 Did he pursue hex- to the mad excess 
 Of breaking off her vo\vs to Sisabert, 
 And marrying her, against the Christian law ? 
 
 Muza. Did he prefer her so 1 
 
 Ahd. Could he prefer 
 
 To Egilona 
 
 Eyi. Her! the child Covillal 
 
 Eternal hider of a foolish face, 
 Incapable of anything but shame, 
 To me ? old man ! to me 1 O Abdalazis ! 
 No : he but followed with slow pace my hate. 
 And cannot pride check these unseemly tears. 
 
 [Goes. 
 
 Muza. The most offended, an offended woman, 
 A wife, a queen, is silent on the deed. 
 
 Ahd. Thou disingenuous and ignoble man, 
 Spreading these rumours ! sending into exile 
 All those their blighting influence injured most : 
 And whom 1 thy daughter and adopted son, 
 The chieftains of thy laws and of thy faith. 
 Call any witnesses, proclaim the truth, 
 And set, at last, thy heart, thy fame, at rest. 
 
 Jid. Not, if I })urposed or desired to live. 
 My own dishonour would I e'er proclaim 
 Amid vindictive and reviling foes. 
 
 Muza. Calling us foes, avows he not his gr.ilt ?
 
 182 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Condemns he not the action we condemn, 
 Owning it his, and owning it dishonour 1 
 'Tis well my cares pressed forward, and struck 
 home. 
 Jul. Why smilest thou 1 I never saw that smile 
 But it portended an atrocious deed. 
 
 Muza. After our manifold and stern assaults, 
 With every tower and battlement destroyed, 
 
 The walls of Ceuta still were strong enough 
 
 Jul. For what? who boasted now her brave 
 defence, 
 Or who forbade your entrance, after peace 1 
 
 Muza. IS^one : for who could ? their engines now 
 arose 
 To throw thy sons into the arms of death. 
 For this erect they their proud crests again. 
 Mark him at last turn pale before a Moor. 
 
 Jul. Imprudent have they been, their youth 
 
 shall plead. 
 Abel. O father, could they not have been 
 
 detained "? 
 Muza, Son, thou art safe and wert not while 
 
 they lived. 
 Ahd. I feared them not. 
 
 Muza. And therefore wert not safe : 
 
 Under their star the bloomino; Ef'ilona
 
 Scene 4. J COUNT JULIAN. 183 
 
 Would watch for thee the nuptial lamp in vain. 
 
 Jul. Never, oh never, hast thou worked a wile 
 So barren of all good ! speak out at once, 
 What hopest thou by striking this alarm ? 
 It shocks my reason, not my fears or fondness. 
 
 Muza. Be happy then as ignorance can be ; 
 8oon wilt thou hear it shouted from our ranks. 
 Those who once hurled defiance o'er our heads, 
 Scorning our ai'ms, and scoffing at our faith. 
 The nightly wolf hath visited, nnscared. 
 And loathed them as her prey ; for famine first. 
 Achieving in few days the boast of years, 
 Sank their young eyes and opened us the gates : 
 Ceuta, her port, her citadel, is ours. 
 
 Jul. Blessed boys ! inhuman as thou art, what 
 guilt 
 Was theirs % 
 
 Muza. Their father's. 
 
 Jul. Oh, support me, Heaven ! 
 
 Against this blow ! all others I have borne. 
 Ermenegild ! thou mightest, sure, have lived ! 
 A father's name awoke no dread of thee ! 
 Only thy motlier's early bloom was thine ! 
 There dwelt on Julian's brow — thine was serene — 
 The brightened clouds of elevated souls, 
 Feared by the most below : those who looked up
 
 ]84 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Saw, at their season, in clear signs, advance 
 
 Rapturous valour, calm solicitude, 
 
 Jill that impatient youth would press from age. 
 
 Or sparing age sigh and detract from youth : 
 
 Hence was his fall ! my hope ! myself ! my Julian I 
 
 Alas ! I boasted — but I thought on him. 
 
 Inheritor of all — all what 1 my wrongs — 
 
 Follower of me — and whither? to the grave — - 
 
 Ah, no : it should have been so years far hence ! 
 
 Him at this moment I could pity most. 
 
 But I most prided in him ; now I know 
 
 I loved a name, I doted on a shade. 
 
 Sons ! I approach the mansions of the just. 
 
 And my arms clasp you in the same embrace, 
 
 Where none shall sever you — and do I weep ! 
 
 And do they triumph o'er my tenderness ! 
 
 I had forgotten my inveterate foes 
 
 Everywhere nigh me, I had half forgotten 
 
 Your very murderers, while I thought on you : 
 
 For, O my children, ye fill all the space 
 
 My soul would wander o'er — O bounteous heaven ! 
 
 There is a presence, if the well-beloved 
 
 Be torn from us by human violence. 
 
 More intimate, pervading, and complete. 
 
 Than when they lived and spoke like other men ; 
 
 And there pale images are our support
 
 Scene 4.] COUNT JULIAN. 185 
 
 When reason sinks, or threatens to desert us. 
 
 I weep no more — pity and exultation 
 
 Sway and console me : are they — no ! — both dead 1 
 
 Muza. Ay, and unsepulchred. 
 
 Jul. Nor wept nor seen 
 
 By any kindred and far-following eye? 
 
 Muza. Their mother saw them, if not dead, 
 expire. 
 
 Jul. cruelty — to them indeed the least ! 
 My children, ye are happy — ye have lived 
 Of heart unconquered, honour unimpaired, 
 And died, true Spaniards, loyal to the last. 
 
 Muza. Away with him. 
 
 Jul. Slaves ! not before I lift 
 
 My voice to heaven and man : though enemies 
 Surround me, and none else, yet other men 
 And other times shall hear : the agony 
 Of an oppressed and of a bursting heart 
 No violence can silence ; at its voice 
 The trumpet is o'erpowered, and glory mute, 
 And peace and war hide all their charms alike. 
 Surely the guests and ministers of heaven 
 Scatter it forth through all the elements ; 
 So suddenly, so widely, it extends. 
 So fearfully men breathe it, sliuddering 
 To ask or fancy how it lirst arose.
 
 186 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Muza. Yes, they shall shudder — but will that, 
 henceforth, 
 Molest my privacy, or shake my jDOwer 1 
 
 Jul. Guilt hath pavilions, but no privacy. 
 The very engine of his hatred checks 
 The torturer in his transport of revenge, 
 Which, while it swells his bosom, shakes his power 
 And raises friends to his worst enemy. 
 
 Jfuza. Where now are thine 1 will they not 
 curse the day 
 That gave thee birth, and hiss thy funeral ! 
 Thou hast left none who could have pitied thee. 
 
 Jul. Many, nor those alone of tenderer mould, 
 For me will weep — many alas through me ! 
 Already I behold my funeral. 
 The turbid cities wave and swell with it. 
 And wrongs are lost in that day's pageantry : 
 Oppressed and desolate, the countryman 
 Receives it like a gift ; he hastens home, 
 Shows where the hoof of Moorish horse laid waste 
 His narrow croft and winter garden-plot, 
 Sweetens with fallen pride his children's lore. 
 And points their hatred ; but applauds their tears. 
 Justice, who came not up to us through life. 
 Loves to survey our likeness on our tombs. 
 When rivalry, malevolence, and wratli,
 
 Scene!.] COUNT JULIAN. 187 
 
 And every passion that once stormed around, 
 Is calm alike without them as within. 
 Our very chains make the whole world our own, 
 Bind those to us who else had passed us by, 
 Those at whose call brought down to us, the light 
 Of future ages lives upon our name. 
 
 Muza. I may accelerate that meteor's fall. 
 And quench that idle ineffectual light 
 Without the knowledge of thy distant world. 
 
 Jul. My world and thine are not that distant 
 one. 
 Is age less wise, less merciful, than grief, 
 To keep this secret from thee, poor old man 1 
 Thou canst not lessen, canst not aggravate 
 My sufferings, canst not shorten nor extend 
 Half a sword's length between my God and me. 
 I thank thee for that better thought than fame. 
 Which none, however, who deserve, despise, 
 Nor lose from view till all things else are lost. 
 
 Abd. Julian, respect his age, regard his power. 
 Many who feared not death have dragged along 
 A piteous life in darkness and in chains. 
 Never was man so full of wretchedness 
 But something may be suffered after all. 
 Perhaps in what clings round his breast, and helps 
 To keep the ruin up, wliich he amid
 
 188 COUNT JULIAN. [ActV. 
 
 His agony and frenzy ovei-looks, 
 
 But droops upon at last, and clasps, and dies. 
 
 Jul. Although a Muza send far underground, 
 Into the quarry whence the palace rose, 
 His mangled prey, climes alien and remote 
 Mark and record the pang. While overhead 
 Perhaps he passes on his favourite steed, 
 Less heedful of the misery he inflicts 
 Than of the expiring sparkle from a stone ; 
 Yet we, alive or dead, have fellow men 
 If ever we have served them, who collect 
 From prisons and from dungeons our remains, 
 And bear them in their bosom to their sons. 
 Man's only relics are his benefits ; 
 These, be there ages, be there worlds, between. 
 Retain him in communion with his kind : 
 Hence is our solace, our security. 
 Our sustenance, till heavenly truth descends — 
 Losing in brightness and beatitude 
 The frail foundations of these humbler hopes — 
 And, like an angel guiding us, at once 
 Leaves the loose chain and iron gate behind, 
 
 Muza. Take thou my justice first, then hope for 
 theirs. 
 I, who can bend the living to my will, 
 Fear not the dead, and court not the unborn :
 
 Scene 4.J COUNT JULIAN. 189 
 
 Their arm will never reach me, nor shall thine. 
 
 Abd. Pity, release him, pardon him, my father. 
 Forget how much thou hatest perfidy ; 
 Think of him, once so potent, still so brave, 
 So calm, so self-dependent in distress — 
 I marvel at him — hardly dare I blame, 
 When I behold him fallen from so high, 
 And so exalted after such a fall. 
 Mighty must that man be who can forgive 
 A man, so mighty ; seize the hour to rise. 
 Another never comes. Oh, say, my father, 
 Say, "Julian, be my enemy no more." 
 He fills me with a greater awe than e'er 
 The field of battle, with himself the first. 
 When every flag that waved along our host 
 Drooped down the staff, as if the very winds 
 Hung in suspense before him — bid him go 
 And peace be with him, or let me depart. 
 Lo ! like a god, sole and inscrutable, 
 He stands above our pity. 
 
 Jul. For that wish — 
 
 Vain as it is, 'tis virtuous — oh, for that, 
 However wrong thy censure and tliy praise, 
 Kind Abd.alazis, mayst thou never feel 
 The rancour tliat consumes thy father's breast, 
 Nor want the pity thou liast sought for me.
 
 190 COUNT JULIAN. [Act V. 
 
 Muza. Now hast thou sealed thy doom. 
 
 Jul. And thou thy crimes. 
 
 Ahd. father, heed him not : those evil wo:'ds 
 Leave neither blight nor blemish — let him go. 
 
 Muza. A boy, a very boy, art thou indeed ! 
 One who in early day would sally out 
 To chase the lion, and would call it sport, 
 But, when more wary steps had closed him round, 
 Slink from the circle, drop the toils, and blanch 
 Like a lithe plant from under snow iai spring. 
 
 Abd. He who ne'er shrank from danger might 
 shrink now, 
 And ignominy would not follow here. 
 
 Muza. Peace, Abdalazis ! how is this % he bears 
 Nothing that warrants him invulnerable : 
 Shall I then shrink to smite him ? shall my fears 
 Be greatest at the blow that ends them all 1 
 Fears 1 no ! 'tis justice — fair, immutable, 
 Whose measured step, at times, advancing nigh. 
 Appalls the majesty of kings themselves. 
 Oh, were he dead ! though then revenge were o'er.
 
 Scene 5. J COUNT JULIAN. 191 
 
 FIFTH ACT.— FIFTH SCENE. 
 
 Off. Thy wife, Count Julian 
 
 Jul. Speak ! 
 
 Off. —Is dead. 
 
 ■Jul. Adieu, 
 
 Earth, and the humblest of all eai'thly hopes, 
 To hear of comfort, though to find it vain. 
 Thou murderer of the helpless ! shame of man ! 
 Shame of thy own base nature I 'tis an act 
 He who could perpetrate could not avow, 
 Stained, as he boasts to be, with innocent blood, 
 Deaf to re[)roach, and blind to retribution. 
 
 Off. Julian, be just ; 'twill make thee less un- 
 happy. 
 Grief was her end : she held her younger boy 
 And wept upon his cheek ; his naked breast 
 By recent death now hardening and inert, 
 Slipped from her knee ; again with frantic grasp 
 She caught it, and it weighed her to the ground : 
 There lay the dead. 
 
 Jul. She ? 
 
 Off. And the youth her son. 
 
 Jul. Receive them to thy peace, eternal God ! 
 soother of my hours, while I beheld
 
 192 COUNT JULIAN. L^-Ct V. 
 
 The light of day, and thine ! adieu, adieu ! 
 And, my CoviHa ! dost thou yet survive 1 
 Yes, my lost child, thou livest yet — in shame ! 
 Oh, agony past vitterance ! past thought ! 
 That throwest death, as some light idle thing. 
 With all its terrors, into dust and air, 
 I will endure thee ; I, whom heaven oz-dained 
 Thus to have served beneath my enemies, 
 Their conqueror, thus to have revisited 
 My native land with vengeance and with woe. 
 Henceforward shall she recognise her sons, 
 Impatient of oppression or disgrace. 
 And rescue them, or perish ; let her hold 
 This compact, written with her blood, and mine. 
 Now follow me — -but tremble — years shall roll. 
 And wars rage on, and Spain at last be free. 
 
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 '1 lie Volumes are also kept in Trench Morocco, Parchment, and Russia 
 
 bindings. 
 
 *»* Serial Issue now fubliihiiij; in Monthly Voluma, li. cat/1. 
 
 Gel,ir. &c., 3,]
 
 Furnish only on \ 
 
 THE TOWER 
 
 Furnishing & Finance Co., Ld., 
 
 43, GREAT TOWER STREEL 
 
 LONDON, E.C. 
 
 Universal Hire, Credit, Purchase, Purnishing, 
 and Providing, 
 
 ;, 2. & 8 Years' System of Credit 
 NO DEPOSITS REQUIRED. 
 
 UNLIMITED CHOICE. 
 
 Hotels, Clubs, Mansions, Private Houses, Villas, Offices, 
 Apartments, Lodging Houses, Churches, Chapels, and Factories, 
 Farms & Stables, Furnrshed and Provided with Every Requisite. 
 
 STOCKS of OVER ONE HUNDRED 
 Wholesale or Manufacturing Finns xo select from. 
 
 ALL GOODS DELIVERED FREE BY THE MANUFACTURERS. 
 
 Amount s £30 value to £10,000. 
 
 THE STRICTEST SECRECY. 
 
 PROSPECTUSES POST FREE. 
 
 JFor Forms and allfttrther mformation apply to 
 
 THE SECRETARY TTnivPi 
 
 43, Great Tower Street, Lont Ullivcj 
 
 Two Minutes from Mark Lane St» SOU 
 
 Li