Citizens re-enter with the body. 1st Citizen. It shall not be exposed unto dishonour! Seek out a guard, and stand around the bier! [Soldiers rush in] Ho! soldiers, will ye not defend the dead? Soldier. We fight for Philip of Maine, not for the dead! Ida. The dead, said ye? Is good Lord Kronberg dead? Speak to me, some kind soul, for I'm his daughter! 1st Soldier. [aside.] She doth unman me! 2d Soldier. [aside.] 'Tis a noble lady! [Ida perceives the bier, and walks slowly towards it. He met his mortal foe, but in the cell Of the deep dungeon: a fierce, cruel foe! — hundreds of people are seen rushing to and fro; some driven back by soldiers, others carrying off booty-wild shouts and yells of triumph are heard amid the roar of the flames and the crashing fall of huge piles of buildings. Enter PHILIP and GASTON. Gast. "Tis vain to struggle more! Fire is the victor. Phil. Now, draw the soldiers back, and leave the pile To those accursed plunderers. Ere the morn, As thou wilt Better by far he had died upon the gibbet! Gast. Suabia to the field Ida. Would he had known your loyalty and IIath brought his fresh ten thousand. goodness! That stabs the bleeding heart-then jeering asks Gast. Nay, take 't not so to heart! I would but urge thee To try thy fortune against mighty odds, The following evening-the interior of the Cathedral -the body of Lord Kronberg laid in state before the 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 against a monument apart from the rest-the doors are guarded by armed burghers. Enter COUNT FABIAN in haste. Burgher. What is the news? Fab. An entire victory! A bloody field is fought the day is ours Philip has fled the remnant of his army Have yielded to our friends-a moment more, And brave Count Nicholas will here arrive With message from the Duke to Lady Ida: Even now he comes. Enter COUNT NICHOLAS. Count Nich. May 't please the Lady Ida To hear a message from the field of fight? [Ida rises. I was not needed in his hour of pride, [The Lord of Maine kisses her hand, and, folding his face in his cloak, goes out. SCENE VII. Three days after the battle—the dusk of the evening— the interior of a cave in a dreary forest-Philip lying asleep; the Lord of Maine bending over him. Lord of M. It is a blessed sleep! It will restore him To his right mind! Oh that we might abide Lord of M. Sleep yet, my son! Thou know'st how I did watch O'er thee a child; how sung to thee o' nights- Phil. I cannot sleep!- And I have owed thee duties manifold; Thou hast been good and kind; yet one more kindness Let Do me this day—my arm is weak and faint, A season; and meantime confide to thee, And from the duke I crave forgiveness, that I meet him not; The mournful duties of the time excuse me. [Count Nicholas goes out. Lord of M. They said my son had fled. I must away! He is my son the evil hour is dark; And misery and remorse are cruel foes! Where victory is, is not a place for me Strike thou my dagger in this wretched breast! Lord of M. What askest thou? It is a sinner's thought! Phil. Wilt see me dragged, a spectacle, a show? Wilt hear them sing their ballads in my face? Hark! hark! I hear their steps! Give me the dagger! Lord of M. Nay, 't is no sound, but the low whispering wind! Phil. I tell thee they are here! Withstand me not There is a strength like madness in my arm- [He starts up and seizes a dagger. Ha! is it thou! Gast. Peace be with thee! nay, put thy dagger down! I am thy friend and bring a band of friends My heart was slow to misconceive of thee! Gast. Now shalt thou know me truly as I am : Now will I bring thy truest friends unto thee! [A band of soldiers rush in and seize Philip. Phil. Ay now I know thee, thou accursed Judas! Gast. But I've a better price than Judas had A better price for a less worthy man! lic resort adjacent to a great city. On its smooth roads were seen the equipages of the grandees, and equestrian companies of gentlemen and ladies, who, governing their high-bred and mettlesome horses with graceful ease, reminded the spectator rather of the pages of Ariosto than of a scene in real life. On 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 ACHZIB, throwing off his disguise, entered the city in his own character. It was a city of mourning, which he had made so; but his evil nature saw in human misery, material rather of mirth than compassion. He would much rather have torn open the wounds of social life, than have seen them healing; but now was the calm after the storm, the reaction after excitement and emotion, and men coveted so much to be at rest, that not even Achzib could have agitated another tumult. He therefore adopted the spirit of the time, and railed against liberty as anarchy, against renovators as anarchs. It was with malignant pleasure he saw how the holy cause of freedom was thrown back, by the outrages which ambition and the license of evil had committed in her name: he saw how virtuous men and honest patriots, who had joined Philip against despotism, but abandoned him in his bloody and ambitious career, now came forth from their retirements, and rallying round the person of Ida, united heart and hand to re-establish the old order of things, disgusted with liberty, as with a lying priestess, and in despair of renovating social life or social policy: he saw the people sit down, willing to endure patiently whatever evil power might inflict upon them, provided they were protected from rapine and blood, and the pretences of ambition to make them again free; and satisfied that all here was as he could desire, he turned his steps to another scene of action. It was on an evening, bright and balmy as one in Paradise, when Achzib strolled into the place of pub attire, all beautiful as separate groups, but more beautiful as forming one great whole of human enjoyment. There was a poet among them, but with feelings different to those of others;-their's was an individual happiness only, but his was a warm, broad philanthropy, forgetting self, embracing all, loving all, and pouring out thanksgiving that man was enabled, both old and young, rich and poor, to go forth and rejoice.) Achzib approached, and took the vacant seat beside him. Considering," said he, "the ill-condition of society, the tyranny of rulers, and the misery of the subordinate classes, there is no inconsiderable measure of human enjoyment even in a space narrow as this." "Man's capacity for enjoyment," said the poet, "even under circumstances unfavourable to general happiness, is one of the most beautiful and beneficent ordinations of Providence. A balmy atmosphere and 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 but has his own peculiar cares and anxieties, disease or distress of mind, and yet what a universal sentiment of happiness pervades all! A sight like this awakens my spirit to a loftier worship and a more tender gratitude than ten homilies!" "But," replied Achzib, "the enjoyment of these hundreds consists in exhibiting themselves or their magnificence on so fine an evening. How would the bright sunset exhilarate the heart of yonder Countess, except it shone on her jewelled attire? It is solely the love of self-display that brings out these gay and happy people." Shame on thee!" said the Poet, "thine is a cynical spirit. What is the gaze of the many to that young mother and her boy?" "I grant they are a pretty sight," said Achzib; "the child is passingly fair, and the mother dotes on him." "How beautiful," exclaimed the Poet, "is the love which a mother bears to her child! I mean not that yearning, trembling anxiety, with which she regards her grown-up offspring entering upon the cares and temptations of the world; but that hopeful, joyful, unselfish love, which a mother feels for her first-born. She is young; the world has allurements for her, but a stronger impulse is on her heart; she is willing to spend and be spent, to watch and be weary; and the clasping of his little arms round her neck, and the pure out-gushing love of his innocent spirit, are her sufficient reward!" "It is but the instinct of all animals," said Achzit "Yes; but ennobled by a sublimer principle," re plied the Poet. "The guardian angel of a child is a gentle Christian mother; she protects not its outward life only, but informs and purifies, and exalts that nobler existence which elevates man above the brute." "I wonder," said Achzib, after a moment's pause, "whether an infidel mother ever took as much pains to instruct her child in unbelief as a Christian mother does in belief." ""Tis an unheard-of thing!" said the Poet. "A mother could not teach her little child to deny God! 'Tis a monstrous thought-an outrage to our nature but to conceive it." "In what way," inquired Achzib, "would the af fection of a mother be made the mode of temptation? for every virtue has its appropriate temptation, and divines teach that the highest virtue consists in the resistance of evil!" "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 child to keep the parent from sin." "I have heard as much," said Achzib, and fell into a long silence. For they are not like flowers of Italy - She would receive a poorer gift than this; Paol. [laying the flowers at the feet of the Virgin.] Knoweth what is within thy inmost heart! [She again bows herself before the Virgin, then taking the child's hand, goes out. SCENE II. Night-the same forest; the pine trees are old and splintered, and covered with snow; it is a scene of desolation-at a little distance a small house is seen through an opening of the wood. Enter ACHZIB, as a northern hunter. Hun. And this is their abode! A mighty change, As her own cloudless heavens. It is a tale Ter. Thou, that didst bear a pain that had no Where joy was not; but where the tyrant smiled healing An undivided misery, Which unto kindred heart knew no appealing, I tell thee not mine own peculiar woe; I tell thee not the want that makes me poor, For thou, dear Mother of God, all this dost know! But I beseech thy blessing, and thy aid; Assure me, where my nature is afraid, And where I murmur, strengthen to endure! [She bows her head, kneeling in silence-as she prepares to leave the chapel, enter PAOLO, with a few snow-drops in his hand. Paol. Mother, in Italy I used to gather Sweet flowers; the fragrant lily, like a cup Chiselled in marble, and the rich, red rose, And carry them, an offering to Our Lady; Think'st thou she will accept such gifts as these, Two innocent as doves, and only cursed He is a hunter now; And his precarious living earns with toil [He goes farther into the forest. There oft, on summer evenings, A lonely boy would rove, Oft sate his mother by him, "And now from highest heaven Thus spoke his tender mother: And on an evening bright, When the red, round sun descended 'Mid clouds of crimson light, Again the boy was playing, And earnestly said he, "Oh beautiful child Jesus, Come down and play with me! "I will find thee flowers the fairest, I will get thee ripe, red strawberries, Put him down from off thy knee; There are none to play with me!" The while his mother heard, There, playing with the boy. A thousand-fold to thee! Thou shalt roam with me at will, The fair child Jesus spoke; Upon his death-bed lay. And thus he spoke in dying: A-coming down to me! "And in his hand he beareth Bright flowers as white as snow, He died-but that fond mother Her sorrow did restrain, For she knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again! I had forgotten that! But, mother dear, Ter. My precious child, heaven is so very good, Who are so dear, so needful to each other! A free translation of one of Herder's beautiful legends. I will not be a hunter when a man; |