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Phil.

My soul is faint within me; I was not needed in his hour of pride, Hence, let the morrow for itself provide !

In sorrow and dismay I shall be lacked.

(He goes. O fare thee well! Be merciful, dear lady: Gast. He beareth poisoned arrows in his heart; He loved thee once, and for thy sake he fell! Hatred and jealousy, and crushed ambition ! And if he fall into thy power, have mercy If these will not o'ercome the spirit of man, Think not upon the dead, but on the time Then there's a devil in him.

When he was worthy of thee!
[He goes.
Ida.

Fare thee well-
Go!- and may heaven so gift thy words with grace

As to restore him lo its blessed peace! -
SCENE VI.

Farewell, thou kindest, noblest heart, farewell! The following eveningthe interior of the Cathedral

[The Lord of Maine kisses her hand, and, -the body of Lord Kronberg laid in slate before the

folding his face in his cloak, goes oul. altar-Ida, in deep mourning, sits upon the steps beside it, and Bertha and other ladies stand about her the Lord of Maine wrapped in his cloak, leans

SCENE VII. against a monument apart from the restthe doors Three days after the battlethe dusk of the eveningare guarded by armed burghers.

the interior of a cave in a dreary forest Philip Enter COUNT FABIAN in haste.

lying asleep; the Lord of Maine bending over him. Burgher. What is the news?

Lord of M. It is a blessed sleep! It will restore Fab.

An entire victory!

him A bloody field is fought — the day is ours — To his right mind! Oh that we might abide Philip has fled — the remnant of his army

In some deep wood, 'mong mountains far away; Have yielded to our friends-a moment more, Some wilderness, where foot of man ne'er trod; And brave Count Nicholas will here arrive

Some desert island, in an unknown sea, With message from the Duke to Lady Ida :

Where he might wear his life in holy peace,
Even now he comes.

And I be the true friend that tended on him!
Enter COUNT NICHOLAS.

Phil. [opening his eyes.] Where am I? and what

gentle sounds are these ? Count Nich. May't please the Lady Ida

Lord of M. Sleep yet, my son! Thou know'st To hear a message from the field of fight?

how I did watch (Ida rises.

O'er thee a child; how sung to thee o' nights — God has been good unto this troubled land,

Recall that time, and sleep! And given her victory o'er her enemies.

Phil.

I cannot sleep! Yet here the noble conqueror entereth not

My father, thou hast been a gracious sire, Save as your good ally, by your consent.

And I have owed thee duties manifold ; His army, camped without the town remains

Thou hast been good and kind; yet one more Grant him to lay his good sword at your feet!

kindness Ida. Brave Count, thou lov'dst my father. Let Do me this day, my arm is weak and faint,

the dead Be honoured with all rites of sepulture,

Strike thou my dagger in this wretched breast ! Before the land rejoice for victory.

Lord of M. What askest thou? It is a sinner's

thought! For me, a mighty debt is yet unpaid To grief and filial duty. To some house

Phil. Wilt see me dragged, a spectacle, a show?

Wilt hear them sing their ballads in my face? Of holy solitude I will retire

Hark! hark! I hear their steps ! Give me the dagger! A season; and meantime confide to thee,

Lord of M. Nay, 't is no sound, but the low And such good men as thou, the nation's rule.

whispering wind ! Not my own natural strength has borne me through The great events and awful of this time.

Phil. I tell thee they are here! Withstand me Nature is weak, and now doth need repose :

There is a strength like madness in my arm — But let one general thanksgiving ascend To gracious Heaven, which has restored us peace,

I will defend myself! Though at a price so great.

[He starts up and seizes a dagger. And from the duke

Enter GASTON. I crave forgiveness, that I meet him not ;

Ha! is it thou ! The mournful duties of the time excuse me. Gast. Peace be with thee ! nay, put thy dagger (Count Nicholas goes out.

down! Lord of M. They said my son had fled. I must I am thy friend -- and bring a band of friends away!

To reassure thy fortunes -- Give's thy hand! He is my eon -- the evil hour is dark;

Phil. [giving his hand.] I did believe thee betAnd misery and remorse are cruel foes !

ter than thou seem'st; Where victory is, is not a place for me

My heart was slow to misconceive of thee!

not

my oath!

my son!

Gast. Now shalt thou know me truly as I am: lic resort adjacent to a great city. On its smooth Now will I bring thy truest friends unto thee! roads were seen the equipages of the grundees, and

(A band of soldiers rush in and seize equestrian companies of gentlemen and ladies, who, Philip.

governing their high-bred and mettlesome horses with Phil. Ay now I know thee, thou accursed Judas! graceful ease, reminded the spectator rather of the

Gast. But I've a better price than Judas had - pages of Ariosto than of a scene in real life. On A better price for a less worthy man!

seats under the old leafy trees, or on the bright green Phil. My life's severest blow has been thy friend- turf, sat men, women, and children, in their holiday ship!

attire, all beautiful as separate groups, but more Enter MOTHER SCHWARTZ, with a drawn dagger.

beautiful as forming one great whole of human en

joyment. Now will I have thy blood for my son's blood !

There was a poet among them, but with feelings Sddier, Off, woman, off! Alive he must be taken. different to those of others;—their's was an individMother S. I'll have his blood! I will not break ual happiness only, but his was a warm, broad phi[She suddenly stabs him. lanthropy, forgetting self, embracing all, loving all,

and pouring out thanksgiving that man was enabled, There is that will send thee howling to my son!

both old and young, rich and poor, to go forth and reSddier. Thou 'st robbed us of our price! take

joice. thy reward!

Achzib approached, and took the vacant seat be[He stabs her.

side him. “Considering," said he, “ the ill-condition Phil. My day is done! Let me lie down and die! of society, the tyranny of rulers, and the misery of Lord of M. Within my arms! the father's arms, the subordinate classes, there is no inconsiderable

measure of human enjoyment even in a space nar. Cast up thy thoughts to heaven! think not of man!

row as this." Soldier. He's dead, he hears thee not! Give us

" Man's capacity for enjoyment,” said the poet, the body!

“even under circumstances unfavourable to general Father. Ye shall not part me from this precious happiness, is one of the most beautiful and beneficent clay

ordinations of Providence. A balmy atmosphere and Where'er ye bear it, thither will I follow!

a fine sunset, common occurrences of nature as these are, contribute immensely to human felicity. Look

around us--and of these hundreds, not one of whom ACHZIB, throwing off his disguise, entered the city but has his own peculiar cares and anxieties, disease in his own character. It was a city of mourning, or distress of mind, anà yet what a universal sentiwhich he had made so; but his evil nature saw in ment of happiness pervades all! A sight like this human misery, material rather of mirth than com- awakens my spirit to a loftier worship and a more passion. He would much rather have torn open the tender gratitude than ten homilies!" wounds of social life, than have seen them healing;

“But,” replied Achzib, “ the enjoyment of these but now was the calm after the storm, the reaction hundreds consists in exhibiting themselves or their after excitement and emotion, and men coveted so magnificence on so fine an evening. How would the much to be at rest, that not even Achzib could have bright sunset exhilarate the heart of yonder Countess, agitated another tumult. He therefore adopted the except it shone on her jewelled attire? It is solely spirit of the time, and railed against liberty as anar- the love of self-display that brings out these gay and chy, against renovators as anarchs.

happy people.” It was with malignant pleasure he saw how the

“Shame on thee!" said the Poet, “thine is a cyni. holy cause of freedom was thrown back, by the out- cal spirit. What is the gaze of the many to that rages which ambition and the license of evil had

young

mother and her boy?" committed in her name: he saw how virtuous men

"I grant they are a pretty sight,” said Achzib; and honest patriots, who had joined Philip against

" the child is passingly fair, and the mother dotes on despotism, but abandoned him in his bloody and am- him.” bitious career, now came forth from their retirements,

“How beautiful," exclaimed the Poet, “ is the love and rallying round the person of Ida, united heart which a mother bears to her child! I mean not that and hand to re-establish the old order of things, dis- yearning, trembling anxiety, with which she regards gusted with liberty, as with a lying priestess, and in her grown-up offspring entering upon the cares and despair of renovating social life or social policy: he temptations of the world; but that hopeful, joyful, saw the people sit down, willing to endure patiently unselfish love, which a mother feels for her first-born. whatever evil power might inflict upon them, pro- She is young; the world has allurements for her, but vided they were protected from rapine and blood, a stronger impulse is on her heart; she is willing to and the pretences of ambition to make them again spend and be spent, to watch and be weary; and the free; and satisfied that all here was as he could de- clasping of his little arms round her neck, and the sire, he turned his sleps to another scene of action. pure out-gushing love of his innocent spirit, are her

sufficient reward !" It was on an evening, bright and balmy as one in "It is but the instinct of all animals," said Achzib. Paradise, when Achzib strolled into the place of pub- “ Yes; but ennobled by a sublimer principle," replied the Poet. “The guardian angel of a child is a For they are not like flowers of Italy – gentle Christian mother; she protects not its out. But they are such, dear mother, as grow here? ward life only, but informs and purifies, and exalts Ter. My boy, she will accept them! Gracious that nobler existence which elevates man above the

Virgin, brute."

She would receive a poorer gift than this; " I wonder,” said Achzib, after a moment's pause, She would accept the will without the gift, “ whether an infidel mother ever took as much pains For she doth know the heart! There on the shrine to instruct her child in unbelief as a Christian mother Lay them, my boy, and pray if thou have need; does in belief."

Fear not, for she is gracious, - so is God! “ 'Tis an unheard of thing!" said the Poet. “A Paol. (laying the flowers at the feet of the Virgin.] mother could not teach her little child to deny God! I have no prayer, dear mother, save for thee, "Tis a monstrous thought-an outrage to our nature And that is in my heart. I cannot speak it, but to conceive it."

Thou didst weep so, when last I prayed for thee! “In what way,” inquired Achzib, “would the af. Ter. [kissing him.] It is enough, my boy, the fection of a mother be made the mode of temptation ?

Holy Mother for every virtue has its appropriate temptation, and Knoweth what is within thy inmost heart! divines teach that the highest virtue consists in the

[She again bows herself before the Virgin, resistance of evil!"

then taking the child's hand, goes out. “ Thine are strange speculations," said the Poet; " but the dearly beloved child is often a snare to a parent's heart; it has been an idol between the soul and God, and He has sometimes mercifully taken the

SCENE II. child to keep the parent from sin." “I have heard as much," said Achzib, and fell into Night the same forest ; the pine trees are old and

splintered, and covered with snow ; it is a scene of a long silence.

desolation-at a lillle distance a small house is seen through an opening of the wood.

Enter ACHZIB, as a northern hunter.
THE SORROW OF TERESA. Hun. And this is their abode! A mighty change,

From a proud palace on the Arno's side,
To a poor cabin in a northern wild !

Let me retrace the history of this pair :-
PERSOYS.

He was Count Spazzi — young and rich, and proud,
Ambitious and determined. Fortune brought

Unto his knowledge fair Teresa Cogni,
PAOLO, THEIR CHILD.

The daughter of an exiled chief of Corinth; ACHZIB, AS A NORTHERN HUNTER.

Beautiful as her own land, and pure

As her own cloudless heavens. It is a tale HULDA, AN OLD WOMAN.

So long, so full of sorrow and of guile,

Or heart-ache and remorseless tyranny,
SCENE I.

That now I may not stop to trace it out.
A little chapel in a gloomy northern forest - Teresa After her father's death had given her

But she was forced to marry that stern man, on her knees before the image of the Virgin.

Into his power. - Enough, it was a marriage Ter. Thou, that didst bear a pain that had no Where joy was not; but where the tyrant smiled healing

Because his pride and will were gratified.
An undivided misery,

Next followed lawless years of heedless crime ;
Which unto kindred heart knew no appealing, To those, the desperate strife between us two,
O, hear thou me!

Wherein I made the vow which I have kept,
I tell thee not mine own peculiar woe;

How, it now matters not. I watched him fall,
I tell thee not the want that makes me poor, Impelled by my fierce hate, until at length
For thou, dear Mother of God, all this dost know !- I saw him banished from his native land.
But I beseech thy blessing, and thy aid ;

Meantime that gentle partner of his fall,
Assure me, where my nature is afraid,

Bore, with a patience which was not of earth, And where I murmur, strengthen to endure ! All evils of their cruel destiny.

[She bows her head, kneeling in silenceas she But she was now a mother — and for him,

prepares to leave the chapel, enler Paolo, That docile boy, whose spirit was like hers,
with a few snow-drops in his hand.

Ever-enduring and so full of kindness,
Paol. Mother, in Italy I used to gather

What mother would not bear all misery Sweet flowers; the fragrant lily, like a cup And yet repine not, blessed in the love Chiselled in marble, and the rich, red rose,

Of that confiding spirit! Thus it was. And carry them, an offering to Our Lady;

And they three went forth, exiles from their land: Think'st thou she will accept such gisis as these, One with the curse of his own crimes upon him;

OLAF.
TERESA, HIS WIFE.

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Two innocent as doves, and only cursed

“I will find thee flowers the fairest, In that their lives and fortunes were bound up

And weave for thee a crown;
With that bad man's.

I will get thee ripe, red strawberries,
He is a hunter now;

If thou wilt but come down !
And his precarious living earns with toil

Oh Holy, Holy Mother, And danger, amid natures like his own:

Put him down from off thy knee; And here I might have left him to live out

For in these silent meadows
The term of his existence, had I not

There are none to play with me!"
Seen how the silent virtues of the wife,
And the clear, innocent spirit of the boy,

Thus spoke the boy so lonely,

The while his mother heard,
Have gained ascendance o'er him; and besides,
Sure as I am of Spazzi, 't is for her,

But on his prayer she pondered,
My seventh victim, that I tread these wilds ;

And spoke to him no word. For will she not curse God, if from her sight

That self-same night she dreamed Is ta'en that precious child, and hate her husband,

A lovely dream of joy ; By whom it shall appear the deed is done ?

She thought she saw young Jesus She will, she will - I know this mother's heart!

There, playing with the boy. And on the morrow, as a skilful hunter,

* And for the fruits and flowers I shall present myself before her husband,

Which thou hast brought to me, No more Count Spazzi, but the hunter Olaf.

Rich blessing shall be given
(He goes farther into the forest.

A thousand-fold to thee!
" For in the fields of heaven

Thou shalt roam with me at will,
SCENE III.

And of bright fruits, celestial,

Shall have, dear child, thy fill !" The following morning the interior of the house in the forest Teresa sitting near the fire - Paolo

Thus tenderly and kindly

The fair child Jesus spoke ; kneeling upon a footstool at her side.

And full of careful musings, Paol. And now, dear mother, tell me that old tale,

The anxious mother woke.
About the little boy who prayed that Jesus

And thus it was accomplished
Might come and play with him.
Ter.
I will, my love.

In a short month and a day,
[She sings in a low recitative.

The lonely boy, so gentle,

Upon his death-bed lay.
Among green, pleasant meadows,
All in a grove so wild,

And thus he spoke in dying:
Was set a marble image

"Oh mother dear, I see
of the Virgin and the Child.

That beautiful child Jesus

A-coming down to me!
There oft, on summer evenings,

" And in his hand he beareth
A lonely boy would rove,

Bright flowers as white as snow,
To play beside the image
That sanctified the grove.

And red and juicy strawberries, –

Dear mother, let me go?"
Oft sate his mother by him,

He died - but that fond mother
Among the shadows dim,

Her sorrow did restrain,
And told how the Lord Jesus

For she knew he was with Jesus,
Was once a child, like him.

And she asked him not again!
* And now from highest heaven

Paol. I wish that I had been that boy, dear He doth look down each day,

mother! And sees whate'er thou doest,

Ter. How so, my Paolo, did not that boy die,
And hears what thou dost say !"

And leave his mother childless?
Paol.

Ah, alas,
Thus spoke his tender mother:
And on an evening bright,

I had forgotten that! But, mother dear,

Thou couldst not be so wretched, wanting me, When the red, round sun descended 'Mid clouds of crimson light,

As I, if thou wert not! It breaks my heart

Only to think of it; and I do pray,
Again the boy was playing,

Morning and night, that I may never lose thee!
And earnestly said he,

Ter. My precious child, heaven is so very good, “Oh beautiful child Jesus,

I do believe it will not sunder us
Come down and play with me!

Who are so dear, so needful to each other!

Paol. Let us not speak of parting! And, indeed, · A free translation of one of Herder's beautiful legends. I will not be a hunter when a man;

reason,

I will not leave thee early in a morning,

Enter OLAF, muffled in his hunting dress.
And keep away from thee for days and days!
I do not love the chase, it frightens me;

Olaf. Where's the boy! I hunt today.
The horrid bark of wolves fills me with dread. Ter. Not in this storm, my husband !
I dream of them at night!

Olaf.

In this storm! Ter. Thou shalt not, love!

Where is the boy ? I heard him here, just now. And yet, what couldst thou be, if not a hunter,

Ter. Why, why the boy? What dost thou want In these wild regions, Paolo!

with him? Paol. Oh no, mother,

Olaf. He shall go out with me on this day's hunt. I will not be a hunter! They are fierce,

Ter. Oh no! not so — he must not go today! They have loud angry voices. Dearest mother, Olaf. Why, 't is a puny, feeble-hearted thing, I tremble when I hear my father speak;

Whom thou hast fondled with and fooled, till nought I wish he was as kind, and spoke as sweetly

Of a boy's spirit is within his heart! As thou dost.

But he shall go with me, and learn to dare Ter.

Hush, my Paolo - say not thus The perils of the forest ! Thy father is a bold and skilful hunter, —

Ter.

But this once – A very skilful hunter.

This once, my husband, spare himand when next Paol. Yes, I know it;

Thou goest to the hunt, he shall go with thee! I've often heard it said. But tell me why

Olaf. This day he shall go with me! Thou Men are so stern! If I am e'er a man,

wouldst teach I will be kind and gentle; and the dogs

The boy rebellion! He shall go with me! Shall not start up whene'er they hear my step,

Ter. Nay, say not so— he does not love the chase! And skulk away from the warm, pleasant hearth!

Olaf. 'Tis me he does not love — and for good
I will love all things, mother; I will make
All things love me !

Thou ever keep'st him sitting at thy side,
Ter.
My dearest, gentle boy,

A caded, dwindled thing that has no spirit !
I do believe thou wilt!

Look at the other children of the forest;
Paol.
Mother, hast heard

They are brave, manly boys !

Ter. My father goes unto the chase to-day,

Alas, my husband, And that strange hunter with him!

Thou hast forgotten, 't is a tender flower Ter.

Nay, my love,

Transplanted to a cold, ungenial clime. In this wild storm they will not go to hunt.

Olaf. Say not another word! Thou hearst my Paol. I saw them even now. The sledge is ready,

will! With the horse harnessed to 't; and, mother dear,

Enter PAOLO; he runs to his mother's side. We shall have such a long and quiet day, "T will be so happy! And oh, wilt thou tell me Ter. Thy father wishes thee to hunt to-day. About thy home at Corinth, and the time

Pad. Oh, not to-day, dear mother ! When from the morning to the blessed eve

Olaf.

And why not? Thou sangest to the music of thy lute;

It ever is the cry, “Oh not to-day!".
Or wander'dst out with kind and merry friends ; I pr’ythee what new fancy's in thy head,
Or tendedst thy sweet flowers;- and tell me too That thou canst not go with me?
About the bright, blue, restless sea at Corinth –

Paol.

I besought And sing me songs and hymns in thy Greek tongue, My mother to sing me her Corinth songs ; And hear how I can sing them after thee - To tell me of the groves and of the flowers, Wilt thou, dear mother?

And of that happy home that was more fair Ter.

I will indeed, my love!

"Than even was ours, in pleasant Italy;

And she has promised that she will, my father. But hark! thy birds are chirping for their meal,

Olaf. Ha! ha! is 't so !--"Tis even as I thought. Go, feed them, my sweet boy.

I know wherefore these stories of the past! Paol.

Yes, I will feed them, Mark me, Teresa, if thou school him thus, And then there will be nothing all the day

I'll sunder ye!-- Thou need'st not clasp thy hands; To take me from thy side!

For on my life I'll do it!

(He goes out. Paol. [weeping.) Father, father, Ter.

Thou dear, dear child! Part me not from my mother, and indeed Thou happy, innocent spirit! "T is o'er-payment,

I will go with you. A rich o'er-payment of my many woes,

Ter. [aside to Olaf.) Pray thee, speak him kindly! To see thee gather up such full enjoyment

Olaf. Come, I'll be thy companion! I will teach Within the narrowed limits of the good

thee Which thy hard fortune gives thee! And no more To be a man;- dry up these childish tears! Let me account myself forlorn and stripped,

Ter. My sweet boy, do not weep! Go out this day Whilst I have thee, my boy!

Thy mother prays it of thee, and bring back

But hark! here comes A little ermine, we will make it tame; My husband !

It shall be thine, my Paolo, and shall love thee.

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