It was so.
Ida.

Say!

I sometimes dream otherwise.
Ulr. All dreams are false.
Ida.

Ida.

Enter WERNER as COUNT SIEGENDORF.

Ulr. My father, I salute you, and it grieves me With such brief greeting.-You have heard our bugle;

The vassals wait.

Sieg.

So let them.-You forget

To-morrow is the appointed festival

In Prague for peace restored. You are apt to follow

And yet I see him as The chase with such an ardor as will scarce

In sleep-I see him lie Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife Beside him.

Truly,

Ida. Indeed I do not:-ask of Rodolph.
Rod.

Though somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel,-
But, Ulric, recollect too our position,

So lately reinstated in our honors:

Believe me, 'twould be mark'd in any house,
But most in ours, that ONE should be found want-

ing

At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven
Which gave us back our own, in the same moment
It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims
On us for thanksgiving: first, for our country;
And next, that we are here to share its blessings.
Ulr. (aside.) Devout, too! well, sir, I obey at
(Then aloud to a Servant.)
Ludwig, dismiss the train without! [Exit LUDWIG.
Ida.
And so
You yield at once to him what I for hours
Might supplicate in vain.

once.

Sieg. (smiling.) You are not jealous
Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel! who
Would sanction disobedience against all

Except thyself? But fear not: thou shalt rule him
Hereafter with a fonder sway and firmer.

You shall,

Ida. But I should like to govern now.
Sieg.
Your harp, which by the way awaits you with
The countess in her chamber. She complains
That you are a sad truant to your music :

My lord, within this quarter of an hour
You have changed more than e'er I saw you change She attends you.
In years.

Ulr. 'Tis nothing; but if 'twere, the air
Would soon restore me. I'm the true chameleon,
And live but on the atmosphere: your feasts
In castle halls, and social banquets, nurse not
My spirit-I'm a forester and a breather
Of the sweet mountain-tops, where I love all
The eagle loves.

1

Rod. Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am | Your sabre in his heart! But mine survives

Hereafter (or even here in moments which
Might date for years, did Anguish make the dial)
May not obliterate or expiate

The madness and dishonor of an instant.
Ulric, be warn'd by a father!-I was not
By mine, and you behold me!
Ulr.

I behold

The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf,
Lord of a prince's appanage, and honor'd
By those he rules and those he ranks with.
Sieg.

Ah!

Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear
For thee? eloved, when thou lovest me not!
All hearts but one may beat in kindness for me-
But if my son's is cold!-

In a like absence? But 'tis vain to urge you-
Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance.
Let's change the theme. I wish you to consider
That these young violent nobles of high name,
But dark deeds, (ay, the darkest, if all Rumor
Reports be true,) with whom thou consortest,
Will lead thee

Ulr. (impatiently.) I'll be led by no man.
Sieg.

Be leader of such, I would hope: at once
To wean thee from the perils of thy youth
And haughty spirit, I have thought it well
That thou shouldst wed the lady Ida-more
As thou appear'st to love her.
Ulr.

I have said

Nor

I will obey your orders, were they to
Unite with Hecate-can a son say more?
Sieg. He says too much in saying this. It is not
The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood,
Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly,
Or act so carelessly, in that which is

The bloom or blight of all men's happiness,
(For Glory's pillow is but restless, if
Love lay not down his cheek there:) some strong
bias,

Some master fiend is in thy service to
Misrule the mortal who believes him slave,
And makes his every thought subservient; else
Thou'dst say at once-"I love young Ida, and
Will wed her;" or, "I love her not, and all
The powers of earth shall never make me."-So
Would I have answer'd.

Ulr.

Sir, you wed for love. Sieg. I did, and it has been my only refuge In many miseries.

Boyish sophist!
In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida?
Ulr. What matters it, if I am ready to
Obey you in espousing her?

As far

Sieg.
As you feel, nothing, but all life for her.
She's young-all beautiful-adores you-is
Endow'd with qualities to give happiness,
Such as rounds common life into a dream
Of something which your poets cannot paint,
And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue)
For which Philosophy might barter wisdom;
And giving so much happiness, deserves
A little in return. I would not have her
Break her heart for a man who has none to break.
Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose
Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale,

Who dare say that? According to the Orient tale. She is

Sieg. None else but I, who see it-feel it-keener Than would your adversary, who dared say so,

Ulr. The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your foe: I'll wed her, ne'ertheless; though, to say truth.

Sieg. Father, 'tis not my gold. Prior. Whose then? You said it was no legacy. Sieg. No matter whose of this be sure, that he Who own'd it never more will need it, save

In that which it may purchase from your altars : 'Tis yours, or theirs. Prior. Is there no blood upon it? Sieg. No: but there's worse than blood-eternal shame!

Prior. Did he who own'd it die in his bed?

Alas!

Prior. Son! you relapse into revenge,
you regret your enemy's bloodless death.
Sieg. His death was fathomlessly deep in blood.
Prior. You said he died in his bed, not battle.
Sieg.

He Died, I scarce know-but-he was stabb'd i' the dark.

And now you have it-perish'd on his pillow

By a cut-throat!-Ay!-you may look upon me!
I am not the man. I'll meet your eye on that point
As I can one day God's.

How all eyes follow'd him! The flowers fell faster-Heard him! he dared to utter even my name.

Rain'd from each lattice at his feet, methought,
Than before all the rest: and where he trod
I dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'er
Will wither.

Jos.

You will spoil him, little flatterer, If he should hear you.

Ida.

But he never will.

I dare not say so much to him-I fear him
Jos. Why so? he loves you well.
Ida.

But I can never
Shape my thoughts of him into words to him.
Besides, he sometimes frightens me.

Jos.
How so?
Ida. A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly,
Yet he says nothing.

Jos.
It is nothing: all men,
Especially in these dark troublous times,

Have much to think of.

Ida.

Of aught save him.
Jos.

But I cannot think

Yet there are other men,

In the world's eye, as goodly. There's, for instance,
The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once withdrew
His eyes from yours to-day.
Ida.

I did not see him,
But Ulric. Did you not see at the moment
When all knelt, and I wept: and yet methought,
Through my fast tears, though they were thick and

warm,

I saw him smiling on me.

Jos.

I could not

My destinies were woven in that name:
It will not be engraved upon my tomb,
But it may lead me there.

Ulr.
To the point-the Hungarian?
Sieg. Listen!-The church was throng'd; the
hymn was raised;

"Te Deum" peal'd from nations, rather than
From choirs, in one great cry of "God be praised "
For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years
Each bloodier than the former: I arose,
With all the nobles, and as I look'd down
Along the lines of lifted faces,-from
Our banner'd and escutcheon'd gallery, I
Saw, like a flash of lightning, (for I saw
A moment and no more,) what struck me sightless
To all else the Hungarian's face! I grew
Sick; and when I recover'd from the mist
Which curl'd about my senses, and again
Look'd down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving
Was over,
and we march'd back in procession.
Ulr. Continue.

Sieg. When we reach'd the Muldau's bridge
The joyous crowd above, the numberless
Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs
Which shot along the glancing tide below,
The decorated street, the long array,

See aught save heaven, to which my eyes were raised The clashing music, and the thundering
Together with the people's.

Let us retire; they will be here anon
Expectant of the banquet. We will lay
Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains.
Ida. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels,
Which make my head and heart ache, as both throb
Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone.
Dear mother, I am with you.

[Exeunt. Enter COUNT SIEGENDORF, in full dress, from the solemnity, and LUDWIG.

Sieg.
Is he not found?
Lud. Strict search is making every where; and if
The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found.
Sieg. Where's Ulric?
Lud.

He rode round the other way
With some young nobles; but he left them soon;
And, if I err not, not a minute since

I heard his excellency, with his train,

Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.

Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed.

Sieg.
My eye for ever fell
Upon your dancing crest; the loftiest,
As on the loftiest and the loveliest head
It rose the highest of the stream of plumes,
Which overflow'd the glittering streets of Prague.
Ulr. What's this to the Hungarian?
Sieg.
Much; for I
Had almost then forgot him in my son ;
When just as the artillery ceased, and paused
The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu
Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice,
Distinct and keener far upon my ear

Than the late cannon's volume, this word-"Wer
ner!"