The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol 2 (of 2) This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol 2 (of 2) Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge Editor: Ernest Hartley Coleridge Release date: June 11, 2009 [eBook #29092] Language: English Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Michael Zeug, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. VOL 2 (OF 2) *** Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Michael Zeug, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Notes: Words in Greek in the original have been transliterated and placed between +plus signs+. Words in Hebrew in the original have been transliterated and placed between #pound signs#. Words surrounded by _underscores_ are in italics in the original. Characters superscripted in the original are enclosed in {braces}. There are diacritic accents in the original. In this text, they are represented as follows: [)a] = "a" with a breve [=a] = "a" with a macron [)e] = "e" with a breve [=e] = "e" with a macron [)i] = "i" with a breve [=i] = "i" with a macron [)o] = "o" with a breve [=o] = "o" with a macron [)u] = "u" with a breve [=u] = "u" with a macron [)y] = "y" with a breve [=y] = "y" with a macron Where the diacritics appear as symbols, they are represented by the name of the symbol or symbols enclosed in brackets as in the following examples: [breve] [macron] [macron breve] [macron breve macron] Where the diacritical characters appear above or below a word, they are represented in the following manner: -- indicates a macron [u] indicates a breve Some words and phrases have a line drawn through them in the original. These struck out words are enclosed in brackets with asterisks like this: [*these words are struck through*] Characters printed in a Gothic font are enclosed in brackets with equal signs like this: [=these words are in a Gothic font=] Other Transcriber's Notes follow the text. THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE INCLUDING POEMS AND VERSIONS OF POEMS NOW PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST TIME EDITED WITH TEXTUAL AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES BY ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE M.A., HON. F.R.S.L. IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II: DRAMATIC WORKS AND APPENDICES [Illustration] OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 1912 HENRY FROWDE, M.A. PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK TORONTO AND MELBOURNE CONTENTS OF VOL. II DRAMATIC WORKS 1794 PAGE THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE. An Historic Drama 495 1797 OSORIO. A Tragedy 518 1800 THE PICCOLOMINI; or, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN. A Drama translated from the German of Schiller. Preface to the First Edition 598 The Piccolomini 600 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. A Tragedy in Five Acts. Preface of the Translator to the First Edition 724 The Death of Wallenstein 726 1812 REMORSE. Preface 812 Prologue 816 Epilogue 817 Remorse. A Tragedy in Five Acts 819 1815 ZAPOLYA. A Christmas Tale in Two Parts. Advertisement 883 Part I. The Prelude, entitled 'The Usurper's Fortune' 884 Part II. The Sequel, entitled 'The Usurper's Fate' 901 EPIGRAMS 951 An Apology for Spencers 951 On a Late Marriage between an Old Maid and French Petit Maître 952 On an Amorous Doctor 952 'Of smart pretty Fellows,' &c. 952 On Deputy ---- 953 'To be ruled like a Frenchman,' &c. 953 On Mr. Ross, usually Cognominated _Nosy_ 953 'Bob now resolves,' &c. 953 'Say what you will, Ingenious Youth' 954 'If the guilt of all lying,' &c. 954 On an Insignificant 954 'There comes from old Avaro's grave' 954 On a Slanderer 955 Lines in a German Student's Album 955 [Hippona] 955 On a Reader of His Own Verses 955 On a Report of a Minister's Death 956 [Dear Brother Jem] 956 Job's Luck 957 On the Sickness of a Great Minister 957 [To a Virtuous Oeconomist] 958 [L'Enfant Prodigue] 958 On Sir Rubicund Naso 958 To Mr. Pye 959 [Ninety-Eight] 959 Occasioned by the Former 959 [A Liar by Profession] 960 To a Proud Parent 960 Rufa 960 On a Volunteer Singer 960 Occasioned by the Last 961 Epitaph on Major Dieman 961 On the Above 961 Epitaph on a Bad Man (Three Versions) 961 To a Certain Modern Narcissus 962 To a Critic 962 Always Audible 963 Pondere non Numero 963 The Compliment Qualified 963 'What is an Epigram,' &c. 963 'Charles, grave or merry,' &c. 964 'An evil spirit's on thee, friend,' &c. 964 'Here lies the Devil,' &c. 964 To One Who Published in Print, &c. 964 'Scarce any scandal,' &c. 965 'Old Harpy,' &c. 965 To a Vain Young Lady 965 A Hint to Premiers and First Consuls 966 'From me, Aurelia,' &c. 966 For a House-Dog's Collar 966 'In vain I praise thee, Zoilus' 966 Epitaph on a Mercenary Miser 967 A Dialogue between an Author and his Friend 967 +Môrosophia+, or Wisdom in Folly 967 'Each Bond-street buck,' &c. 968 From an Old German Poet 968 On the Curious Circumstance, That in the German, &c. 968 Spots in the Sun 969 'When Surface talks,' &c. 969 To my Candle 969 Epitaph on Himself 970 The Taste of the Times 970 On Pitt and Fox 970 'An excellent adage,' &c. 971 Comparative Brevity of Greek and English 971 On the Secrecy of a Certain Lady 971 Motto for a Transparency, &c. (Two Versions) 972 'Money, I've heard,' &c. 972 Modern Critics 972 Written in an Album 972 To a Lady who requested me to Write a Poem upon Nothing 973 Sentimental 973 'So Mr. Baker,' &c. 973 Authors and Publishers 973 The Alternative 974 'In Spain, that land,' &c. 974 Inscription for a Time-piece 974 On the Most Veracious Anecdotist, &c. 974 'Nothing speaks but mind,' &c. 975 Epitaph of the Present Year on the Monument of Thomas Fuller 975 JEUX D'ESPRIT 976 My Godmother's Beard 976 Lines to Thomas Poole 976 To a Well-known Musical Critic, &c. 977 To T. Poole: An Invitation 978 Song, To be Sung by the Lovers of all the noble liquors, &c. 978 Drinking _versus_ Thinking 979 The Wills of the Wisp 979 To Captain Findlay 980 On Donne's Poem 'To a Flea' 980 [Ex Libris S. T. C.] 981 +EGÔENKAIPAN+ 981 The Bridge Street Committee 982 Nonsense Sapphics 983 To Susan Steele, &c. 984 Association of Ideas 984 Verses Trivocular 985 Cholera Cured Before-hand 985 To Baby Bates 987 To a Child 987 FRAGMENTS FROM A NOTEBOOK, (_circa_ 1796-1798) 988 FRAGMENTS. (_For unnamed Fragments see_ Index of First Lines.) 996 Over my Cottage 997 [The Night-Mare Death in Life] 998 A Beck in Winter 998 [Not a Critic--But a Judge] 1000 [De Profundis Clamavi] 1001 Fragment of an Ode on Napoleon 1003 Epigram on Kepler 1004 [Ars Poetica] 1006 Translation of the First Strophe of Pindar's Second Olympic 1006 Translation of a Fragment of Heraclitus 1007 Imitated from Aristophanes 1008 To Edward Irving 1008 [Luther--De Dæmonibus] 1009 The Netherlands 1009 Elisa: Translated from Claudian 1009 Profuse Kindness 1010 Napoleon 1010 The Three Sorts of Friends 1012 Bo-Peep and I Spy-- 1012 A Simile 1013 Baron Guelph of Adelstan. A Fragment 1013 METRICAL EXPERIMENTS 1014 An Experiment for a Metre ('I heard a Voice, &c.') 1014 Trochaics 1015 The Proper Unmodified Dochmius 1015 Iambics 1015 Nonsense ('Sing, impassionate Soul,' &c.) 1015 A Plaintive Movement 1016 An Experiment for a Metre ('When thy Beauty appears') 1016 Nonsense Verses ('Ye fowls of ill presage') 1017 Nonsense ('I wish on earth to sing') 1017 'There in some darksome shade' 1018 'Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee' 1018 'Songs of Shepherds, and rustical Roundelays' 1018 A Metrical Accident 1019 Notes by Professor Saintsbury 1019 APPENDIX I FIRST DRAFTS, EARLY VERSIONS, ETC. A. Effusion 35, August 20th, 1795. (First Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021 Effusion, p. 96 [1797]. (Second Draft.) [MS. R.] 1021 B. Recollection 1023 C. The Destiny of Nations. (Draft I.) [Add. MSS. 34,225] 1024 " " " (Draft II.) [_ibid._] 1026 " " " (Draft III.) [_ibid._] 1027 D. Passages in Southey's _Joan of Arc_ (First Edition, 1796) contributed by S. T. Coleridge 1027 E. The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere [1798] 1030 F. The Raven. [_M. P._ March 10, 1798.] 1048 G. Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (1.) [B. M. Add. MSS. 27,902.] 1049 The Circassian's Love-Chaunt. (2.) [Add. MSS. 35,343.] 1050 Lewti; or, The Circassian's Love-Chant. (3.) [Add. MSS. 35,343.] 1051 H. Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie. [_M. P._ Dec. 21, 1799.] 1051 I. The Triumph of Loyalty. An Historic Drama. [Add. MSS. 34,225.] 1069 J. Chamouny; The Hour before Sunrise. A Hymn. [_M. P._ Sept. 11, 1802.] 1074 K. Dejection: An Ode. [_M. P._ Oct. 4, 1802.] 1076 L. To W. Wordsworth. January 1807 1081 M. Youth and Age. (MS. I, Sept. 10, 1823.) 1084 " " (MS. II. 1.) 1085 " " (MS. II. 2.) 1086 N. Love's Apparition and Evanishment. (First Draft.) 1087 O. Two Versions of the Epitaph. ('Stop, Christian,' &c.) 1088 P. [Habent sua Fata--Poetae.] ('The Fox, and Statesman,' &c.) 1089 Q. To John Thelwall 1090 R. [Lines to T. Poole.] [1807.] 1090 APPENDIX II ALLEGORIC VISION 1091 APPENDIX III APOLOGETIC PREFACE TO 'FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER' 1097 APPENDIX IV PROSE VERSIONS OF POEMS, ETC. A. Questions and Answers in the Court of Love 1109 B. Prose Version of Glycine's Song in _Zapolya_ 1109 C. Work without Hope. (First Draft.) 1110 D. Note to Line 34 of the _Joan of Arc_ Book II. [4{o} 1796.] 1112 E. Dedication. Ode on the Departing Year. [4{o} 1796.] 1113 F. Preface to the MS. of _Osorio_ 1114 APPENDIX V ADAPTATIONS From Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke: God and the World _we_ worship still together 1115 The _Augurs_ we of all the world admir'd 1116 Of Humane Learning 1116 From Sir John Davies: On the Immortality of the Soul 1116 From Donne: Eclogue. 'On Unworthy Wisdom' 1117 Letter to Sir Henry Goodyere 1117 From Ben Jonson: A Nymph's Passion (Mutual Passion) 1118 Underwoods, No. VI. The Hour-glass 1119 The Poetaster, Act I, Scene i. 1120 From Samuel Daniel: Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton, Knight 1120 Musophilus, Stanza CXLVII 1121 Musophilus, Stanzas XXVII, XXIX, XXX 1122 From Christopher Harvey: The Synagogue (The Nativity, or Christmas Day.) 1122 From Mark Akenside: Blank Verse Inscriptions 1123 From W. L. Bowles: 'I yet remain' 1124 From an old Play: Napoleon 1124 APPENDIX VI ORIGINALS OF TRANSLATIONS F. von Matthison: Ein milesisches Mährchen, Adonide. 1125 Schiller: Schwindelnd trägt er dich fort auf rastlos strömenden Wogen. 1125 Im Hexameter steigt des Springquells flüssige Säule. 1125 Stolberg: Unsterblicher Jüngling! 1126 Seht diese heilige Kapell! 1126 Schiller: Nimmer, das glaubt mir. 1127 Goethe: Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühn. 1128 François-Antoine-Eugène de Planard: 'Batelier, dit Lisette.' 1128 German Folk Song: Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär. 1129 Stolberg; Mein Arm wird stark und gross mein Muth. 1129 Leasing: Ich fragte meine Schöne. 1130 Stolberg: Erde, du Mutter zahlloser Kinder, Mutter und Amme! 1130 Friederike Brun: Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden Tannenhains. 1131 Giambattista Marino: Donna, siam rei di morte. Errasti, errai. 1131 MS. Notebook: In diesem Wald, in diesen Gründen. 1132 Anthologia Graeca: +Koinê par klisiê lêthargikos êde phrenoplêx+ 1132 Battista Guarini: Canti terreni amori. 1132 Stolberg: Der blinde Sänger stand am Meer. 1134 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 1135 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX No. I. Poems first published in Newspapers or Periodicals. 1178 No. II. Epigrams and Jeux d'Esprit first published in Newspapers and Periodicals. 1182 No. III. Poems included in Anthologies and other Works. 1183 No. IV. Poems first printed or reprinted in _Literary Remains_, 1836, &c. 1187 Poems first printed or reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850. 1188 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 1189 ERRATA On p. 1179, line 7, _for_ Sept. 27, _read_ Sept. 23. On p. 1181, line 33, _for_ Oct. 9 _read_ Oct. 29. DRAMATIC WORKS THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE[495:1] AN HISTORIC DRAMA [_First Act_ by Coleridge: _Second and Third_ by Southey--1794.] TO H. MARTIN, ESQ. OF JESUS COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE DEAR SIR, Accept, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a disastrous lustre on his name. In the execution of the work, as intricacy of plot could not have been attempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it has been my sole aim to imitate the empassioned and highly figurative language of the French orators, and to develope the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of horrors. Yours fraternally, S. T. COLERIDGE. JESUS COLLEGE, _September_ 22, 1794. FOOTNOTES: [495:1] First published (as an octavo pamphlet) at Cambridge by Benjamin Flower in 1794: included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. (1)-32. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, in. (1)-39. 'It will be remarked,' writes J. D. Campbell (_P. W._, 1893, p. 646), 'that neither title-page nor dedication contains any hint of the joint authorship.' On this point Coleridge writes to Southey, September 19, 1794:--'The tragedy will be printed in less than a week. I shall put my name because it will sell at least a hundred copies in Cambridge. It would appear ridiculous to print two names to such a work. But if you choose it, mention it and it shall be done. To every man who _praises_ it, of course I give the _true_ biography of it.' _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 85. ACT I SCENE--_The Thuilleries._ _Barrere._ The tempest gathers--be it mine to seek A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's _soul_-- Sudden in action, fertile in resource, And rising awful 'mid impending ruins; 5 In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor, That fearless thwarts the elemental war. When last in secret conference we met, He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage, Making his eye the inmate of my bosom. 10 I know he scorns me--and I feel, I hate him-- Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble! [_Exit._ _Enter TALLIEN and LEGENDRE._ _Tallien._ It was Barrere, Legendre! didst thou mark him? Abrupt he turn'd, yet linger'd as he went, And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning. 15 _Legendre._ I mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance; It menac'd not so proudly as of yore. Methought he would have spoke--but that he dar'd not-- Such agitation darken'd on his brow. _Tallien._ 'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting 20 Th' imprison'd secret struggling in the face: E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards Hurries the thundercloud, that pois'd awhile Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen. _Legendre._ Perfidious Traitor!--still afraid to bask 25 In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant's greatness, Ever prepared to sting who shelters him. Each thought, each action in himself converges; And love and friendship on his coward heart 30 Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice; To all attach'd, by turns deserting all, Cunning and dark--a necessary villain! _Tallien._ Yet much depends upon him--well you know With plausible harangue 'tis his to paint 35 Defeat like victory--and blind the mob With truth-mix'd falsehood. They led on by him, And wild of head to work their own destruction, Support with uproar what he plans in darkness. _Legendre._ O what a precious name is Liberty 40 To scare or cheat the simple into slaves! Yes--we must gain him over: by dark hints We'll shew enough to rouse his watchful fears, Till the cold coward blaze a patriot. O Danton! murder'd friend! assist my counsels-- 45 Hover around me on sad Memory's wings, And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart. Tallien! if but to-morrow's fateful sun Beholds the Tyrant living--we are dead! _Tallien._ Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings-- 50 _Legendre._ Fear not--or rather fear th' alternative, And seek for courage e'en in cowardice-- But see--hither he comes--let us away! His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon, And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just. [_Exeunt._ 55 _Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR._ _Robespierre._ What? did La Fayette fall before my power? And did I conquer Roland's spotless virtues? The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud's tongue? And Brissot's thoughtful soul unbribed and bold? Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them? 60 What! did th' assassin's dagger aim its point Vain, as a _dream_ of murder, at my bosom? And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien? Th' Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien? Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, 65 Who ever on the harlots' downy pillow Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers! _St. Just._ I cannot fear him--yet we must not scorn him. Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus, Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony? 70 The state is not yet purified: and though The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies The thick black sediment of all the factions-- It needs no magic hand to stir it up! _Couthon._ O we did wrong to spare them--fatal error! 75 Why lived Legendre, when that Danton died? And Collot d'Herbois dangerous in crimes? _I've_ fear'd him, since his iron heart endured To make of Lyons one vast human shambles, Compar'd with which the sun-scorcht wilderness 80 Of Zara were a smiling paradise. _St. Just._ Rightly thou judgest, Couthon! He is one Who flies from silent solitary anguish, Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar 85 Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself. A calm is fatal to him--then he feels The dire upboilings of the storm within him. A tiger mad with inward wounds!--I dread The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt. 90 _Robespierre._ Is not the Commune ours? The stern tribunal? Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet? And Henriot? We'll denounce an hundred, nor Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward. _Robespierre Junior._ Nay--I am sick of blood; my aching heart 95 Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors That still have gloom'd the rise of the Republic. I should have died before Toulon, when war Became the patriot! _Robespierre._ Most unworthy wish! He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors, 100 Would be himself a traitor, were he not A coward! 'Tis congenial souls alone Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate. O thou art brave, my brother! and thine eye Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle-- 105 Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest! There is unsoundness in the state--To-morrow Shall see it cleans'd by wholesome massacre! _Robespierre Junior._ Beware! already do the sections murmur-- 110 'O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre-- The _tyrant guardian_ of the country's _freedom_!' _Couthon._ 'Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves! Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart Of cold Barrere! _Robespierre._ I see the villain in him! 115 _Robespierre Junior._ If he--if all forsake thee--what remains? _Robespierre._ Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues! The giant Victories my counsels form'd Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes, 120 Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless. [_Exeunt caeteri. Manet COUTHON._ _Couthon (solus)._ So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition! Still, Robespierre! thou'lt guard thy country's freedom To despotize in all the patriot's pomp. 125 While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamours, Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers--blood-stain'd tyrant! Yet what is Conscience? Superstition's dream, Making such deep impression on our sleep-- That long th' awakened breast retains its horrors! 130 But he returns--and with him comes Barrere. [_Exit COUTHON._ _Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE._ _Robespierre._ There is no danger but in cowardice.-- Barrere! we _make_ the danger, when we _fear_ it. We have such force without, as will suspend The cold and trembling treachery of these members. 135 _Barrere._ 'Twill be a pause of terror.-- _Robespierre._ But to whom? Rather the short-lived slumber of the tempest, Gathering its strength anew. The dastard traitors! Moles, that would undermine the rooted oak! A pause!--a _moment's_ pause?--'Tis all _their life_. 140 _Barrere._ Yet much they talk--and plausible their speech. Couthon's decree has given such powers, that-- _Robespierre._ That what? _Barrere._ The freedom of debate-- _Robespierre._ Transparent mask! They wish to clog the wheels of government, Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine 145 To bribe them to their duty--_English_ patriots! Are not the congregated clouds of war Black all around us? In our very vitals Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion? Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings 150 Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice? Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it; And to the virtuous patriot rendered light 155 By the necessities that gave it birth: The other fouls the fount of the republic, Making it flow polluted to all ages: Inoculates the state with a slow venom, That once imbibed, must be continued ever. 160 Myself incorruptible I ne'er could bribe them-- Therefore they hate me. _Barrere._ Are the sections friendly? _Robespierre._ There are who wish my ruin--but I'll make them Blush for the crime in blood! _Barrere._ Nay--but I tell thee, Thou art too fond of slaughter--and the right 165 (If right it be) workest by most foul means! _Robespierre._ _Self-centering Fear!_ how well thou canst ape _Mercy_! Too fond of slaughter!--matchless hypocrite! Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died? Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming streets 170 Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'erwearied Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood? And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red square Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain, Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day? 175 Why, thou hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors, And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! Now Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar, Or, like a frighted child behind its mother, Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of--_Mercy_! 180 _Barrere._ O prodigality of eloquent anger! Why now I see thou'rt weak--thy case is desperate! The cool ferocious Robespierre turn'd scolder! _Robespierre._ Who from a bad man's bosom wards the blow Reserves the whetted dagger for his own. 185 Denounced twice--and twice I saved his life! [_Exit._ _Barrere._ The sections will support them--there's the point! No! he can never weather out the storm-- Yet he is sudden in revenge--No more! I must away to Tallien. [_Exit._ 190 _SCENE changes to the house of ADELAIDE._ _ADELAIDE enters, speaking to a_ Servant. _Adelaide._ Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee? Did Tallien answer, he would soon return? _Servant._ He is in the Thuilleries--with him Legendre-- In deep discourse they seem'd: as I approach'd He waved his hand as bidding me retire: 195 I did not interrupt him. [_Returns the letter._ _Adelaide._ Thou didst rightly. [_Exit_ Servant. O this new freedom! at how dear a price We've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtues And every blandishment of private life, The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment, 200 All sacrificed to liberty's wild riot. The wingéd hours, that scatter'd roses round me, Languid and sad drag their slow course along, And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings. But I will steal away these anxious thoughts 205 By the soft languishment of warbled airs, If haply melodies may lull the sense Of sorrow for a while. [_Soft music._ _Enter TALLIEN._ _Tallien._ Music, my love? O breathe again that air! Soft nurse of pain, it sooths the weary soul 210 Of care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze of evening That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples. SONG[501:1] Tell me, on what holy ground May domestic peace be found? Halcyon daughter of the skies, 215 Far on fearful wing she flies, From the pomp of scepter'd state, From the rebel's noisy hate. In a cottag'd vale she dwells List'ning to the Sabbath bells! 220 Still around her steps are seen, Spotless honor's meeker mien, Love, the sire of pleasing fears, Sorrow smiling through her tears, And conscious of the past employ, 225 Memory, bosom-spring of joy. _Tallien._ I thank thee, Adelaide! 'twas sweet, though mournful. But why thy brow o'ercast, thy cheek so wan? Thou look'st as a lorn maid beside some stream That sighs away the soul in fond despairing, 230 While sorrow sad, like the dank willow near her, Hangs o'er the troubled fountain of her eye. _Adelaide._ Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowers On Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong-- Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be tranquil? 235 _Tallien._ Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt? Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers? It has been borne too tamely. Fears and curses Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre. 240 He dies!--nor has the plot escaped his fears. _Adelaide._ Yet--yet--be cautious! much I fear the Commune-- The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his Fast link'd in close indissoluble union. The pale Convention-- _Tallien._ Hate him as they fear him, 245 Impatient of the chain, resolv'd and ready. _Adelaide._ Th' enthusiast mob, confusion's lawless sons-- _Tallien._ They are aweary of his stern morality, The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride. The sections too support the delegates: 250 All--all is ours! e'en now the vital air Of Liberty, condens'd awhile, is bursting (Force irresistible!) from its compressure-- To shatter the arch chemist in the explosion! _Enter BILLAUD VARENNES and BOURDON L'OISE._ [_ADELAIDE retires._ _Bourdon l'Oise._ Tallien! was this a time for amorous conference? 255 Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature, Marshals the force of Paris: The fierce Club, With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaim Have sworn to make the guillotine in blood Float on the scaffold.--But who comes here? 260 _Enter BARRERE abruptly._ _Barrere._ Say, are ye friends to freedom? _I am her's!_ Let us, forgetful of all common feuds, Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrant Concerts a plan of instant massacre! _Billaud Varennes._ Away to the Convention! with that voice 265 So oft the herald of glad victory, Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their ears The names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin! The violent workings of my soul within Anticipate the monster's blood! 270 [_Cry from the street of--No Tyrant! Down with the Tyrant!_ _Tallien._ Hear ye that outcry?--If the trembling members Even for a moment hold his fate suspended, I swear by the holy poniard, that stabbed Caesar, This dagger probes his heart! [_Exeunt omnes._ FOOTNOTES: [501:1] This Song was reprinted in Coleridge's _Poems_ of 1796, and later under the title of _To Domestic Peace_, _vide ante_, pp. 71, 72. ACT II SCENE--_The Convention._ _Robespierre mounts the Tribune._ Once more befits it that the voice of Truth, Fearless in innocence, though leaguered round By Envy and her hateful brood of hell, Be heard amid this hall; once more befits The patriot, whose prophetic eye so oft 5 Has pierced thro' faction's veil, to flash on crimes Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse; my daring hand Levelled to earth his blood-cemented throne, My voice declared his guilt, and stirred up France 10 To call for vengeance. I too dug the grave Where sleep the Girondists, detested band! Long with the shew of freedom they abused Her ardent sons. Long time the well-turn'd phrase, The high-fraught sentence and the lofty tone 15 Of declamation, thunder'd in this hall, Till reason midst a labyrinth of words Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent. I durst oppose. Soul of my honoured friend, Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call-- 20 Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what warm zeal I urg'd the cause of justice, stripp'd the mask From faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down Hébert and Rousin, and the villain friends 25 Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long Mask'd treason's form in liberty's fair garb, Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy Omnipotence! but I it seems am false! I am a traitor too! I--Robespierre! 30 I--at whose name the dastard despot brood Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them! Who dares accuse me? who shall dare belie My spotless name? Speak, ye accomplice band, Of what am I accus'd? of what strange crime 35 Is Maximilian Robespierre accus'd, That through this hall the buz of discontent Should murmur? who shall speak? _Billaud Varennes._ O patriot tongue Belying the foul heart! Who was it urg'd Friendly to tyrants that accurst decree, 40 Whose influence brooding o'er this hallowed hall, Has chill'd each tongue to silence? Who destroyed The freedom of debate, and carried through The fatal law, that doom'd the delegates, Unheard before their equals, to the bar 45 Where cruelty sat throned, and murder reign'd With her Dumas coequal? Say--thou man Of mighty eloquence, whose law was that? _Couthon._ That law was mine. I urged it--I propos'd-- The voice of France assembled in her sons 50 Assented, though the tame and timid voice Of traitors murmur'd. I advis'd that law-- I justify it. It was wise and good. _Barrere._ Oh, wonderous wise and most convenient too! I have long mark'd thee, Robespierre--and now 55 Proclaim thee traitor tyrant! [_Loud applauses._ _Robespierre._ It is well. I am a traitor! oh, that I had fallen When Regnault lifted high the murderous knife, Regnault the instrument belike of those Who now themselves would fain assassinate, 60 And legalise their murders. I stand here An isolated patriot--hemmed around By faction's noisy pack; beset and bay'd By the foul hell-hounds who know no escape From Justice' outstretch'd arm, but by the force 65 That pierces through her breast. [_Murmurs, and shouts of--Down with the Tyrant!_ _Robespierre._ Nay, but I will be heard. There was a time When Robespierre began, the loud applauses Of honest patriots drown'd the honest sound. But times are chang'd, and villainy prevails. 70 _Collot d'Herbois._ No--villainy shall fall. France could not brook A monarch's sway--sounds the dictator's name More soothing to her ear? _Bourdon l'Oise._ Rattle her chains More musically now than when the hand Of Brissot forged her fetters; or the crew 75 Of Hébert thundered out their blasphemies, And Danton talk'd of virtue? _Robespierre._ Oh, that Brissot Were here again to thunder in this hall, That Hébert lived, and Danton's giant form Scowl'd once again defiance! so my soul 80 Might cope with worthy foes. People of France, Hear me! Beneath the vengeance of the law Traitors have perish'd countless; more survive: The hydra-headed faction lifts anew Her daring front, and fruitful from her wounds, 85 Cautious from past defects, contrives new wiles Against the sons of Freedom. _Tallien._ Freedom lives! Oppression falls--for France has felt her chains, Has burst them too. Who traitor-like stept forth Amid the hall of Jacobins to save 90 Camille Desmoulins, and the venal wretch D'Eglantine? _Robespierre._ I did--for I thought them honest. And Heaven forefend that Vengeance e'er should strike, Ere justice doom'd the blow. _Barrere._ Traitor, thou didst. Yes, the accomplice of their dark designs, 95 Awhile didst thou defend them, when the storm Lower'd at safe distance. When the clouds frown'd darker, Fear'd for yourself and left them to their fate. Oh, I have mark'd thee long, and through the veil Seen thy foul projects. Yes, ambitious man, 100 Self-will'd dictator o'er the realm of France, The vengeance thou hast plann'd for patriots Falls on thy head. Look how thy brother's deeds Dishonour thine! He the firm patriot, Thou the foul parricide of Liberty! 105 _Robespierre Junior._ Barrere--attempt not meanly to divide Me from my brother. I partake his guilt, For I partake his virtue. _Robespierre._ Brother, by my soul, More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus With me thou dar'st to tread the dangerous path 110 Of virtue, than that Nature twined her cords Of kindred round us. _Barrere._ Yes, allied in guilt, Even as in blood ye are. O, thou worst wretch, Thou worse than Sylla! hast thou not proscrib'd, Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughter'd 115 Each patriot representative of France? _Bourdon l'Oise._ Was not the younger Caesar too to reign O'er all our valiant armies in the south, And still continue there his merchant wiles? _Robespierre Junior._ His merchant wiles! Oh, grant me patience, heaven! 120 Was it by merchant wiles I gain'd you back Toulon, when proudly on her captive towers Wav'd high the English flag? or fought I then With merchant wiles, when sword in hand I led Your troops to conquest? fought I merchant-like, 125 Or barter'd I for victory, when death Strode o'er the reeking streets with giant stride, And shook his ebon plumes, and sternly smil'd Amid the bloody banquet? when appall'd The hireling sons of England spread the sail 130 Of safety, fought I like a merchant then? Oh, patience! patience! _Bourdon l'Oise._ How this younger tyrant Mouths out defiance to us! even so He had led on the armies of the south, Till once again the plains of France were drench'd 135 With her best blood. _Collot d'Herbois._ Till once again display'd Lyons' sad tragedy had call'd me forth The minister of wrath, whilst slaughter by Had bathed in human blood. _Dubois Crancé._ No wonder, friend, That we are traitors--that our heads must fall 140 Beneath the axe of death! when Caesar-like Reigns Robespierre, 'tis wisely done to doom The fall of Brutus. Tell me, bloody man, Hast thou not parcell'd out deluded France, As it had been some province won in fight, 145 Between your curst triumvirate? You, Couthon, Go with my brother to the southern plains; St. Just, be yours the army of the north; Meantime I rule at Paris. _Robespierre._ Matchless knave! What--not one blush of conscience on thy cheek-- 150 Not one poor blush of truth! most likely tale! That I who ruined Brissot's towering hopes, I who discover'd Hébert's impious wiles, And sharp'd for Danton's recreant neck the axe, Should now be traitor! had I been so minded, 155 Think ye I had destroyed the very men Whose plots resembled mine? bring forth your proofs Of this deep treason. Tell me in whose breast Found ye the fatal scroll? or tell me rather Who forg'd the shameless falsehood? _Collot d'Herbois._ Ask you proofs? 160 Robespierre, what proofs were ask'd when Brissot died? _Legendre._ What proofs adduced you when the Danton died? When at the imminent peril of my life I rose, and fearless of thy frowning brow, Proclaim'd him guiltless? _Robespierre._ I remember well 165 The fatal day. I do repent me much That I kill'd Caesar and spar'd Antony. But I have been too lenient. I have spared The stream of blood, and now my own must flow To fill the current. [_Loud applauses._ Triumph not too soon, 170 Justice may yet be victor. _Enter ST. JUST, and mounts the Tribune._ _St. Just._ I come from the Committee--charged to speak Of matters of high import. I omit Their orders. Representatives of France, Boldly in his own person speaks St. Just 175 What his own heart shall dictate. _Tallien._ Hear ye this, Insulted delegates of France? St. Just From your Committee comes--comes charg'd to speak Of matters of high import, yet omits Their orders! Representatives of France, 180 That bold man I denounce, who disobeys The nation's orders.--I denounce St. Just. [_Loud applauses._ _St. Just._ Hear me! [_Violent murmurs._ _Robespierre._ He shall be heard! _Bourdon l'Oise._ Must we contaminate this sacred hall With the foul breath of treason? _Collot d'Herbois._ Drag him away! 185 Hence with him to the bar. _Couthon._ Oh, just proceedings! Robespierre prevented liberty of speech-- And Robespierre is a tyrant! Tallien reigns, He dreads to hear the voice of innocence-- And St. Just must be silent! _Legendre._ Heed we well 190 That justice guide our actions. No light import Attends this day. I move St. Just be heard. _Freron._ Inviolate be the sacred right of man. The freedom of debate. [_Violent applauses._ _St. Just._ I may be heard then! much the times are chang'd, 195 When St. Just thanks this hall for hearing him. Robespierre is call'd a tyrant. Men of France, Judge not too soon. By popular discontent Was Aristides driven into exile, Was Phocion murder'd. Ere ye dare pronounce 200 Robespierre is guilty, it befits ye well, Consider who accuse him. Tallien, Bourdon of Oise--the very men denounced, For that their dark intrigues disturb'd the plan Of government. Legendre the sworn friend 205 Of Danton, fall'n apostate. Dubois Crancé, He who at Lyons spared the royalists-- Collot d'Herbois-- _Bourdon l'Oise._ What--shall the traitor rear His head amid our tribune--and blaspheme Each patriot? shall the hireling slave of faction-- 210 _St. Just._ I am of no one faction. I contend Against all factions. _Tallien._ I espouse the cause Of truth. Robespierre on yester morn pronounced Upon his own authority a report. To-day St. Just comes down. St. Just neglects 215 What the Committee orders, and harangues From his own will. O citizens of France I weep for you--I weep for my poor country-- I tremble for the cause of Liberty, When individuals shall assume the sway, 220 And with more insolence than kingly pride Rule the Republic. _Billaud Varennes._ Shudder, ye representatives of France, Shudder with horror. Henriot commands The marshall'd force of Paris. Henriot, 225 Foul parricide--the sworn ally of Hébert, Denounced by all--upheld by Robespierre. Who spar'd La Valette? who promoted him, Stain'd with the deep dye of nobility? Who to an ex-peer gave the high command? 230 Who screen'd from justice the rapacious thief? Who cast in chains the friends of Liberty? Robespierre, the self-stil'd patriot Robespierre-- Robespierre, allied with villain Daubigné-- Robespierre, the foul arch-tyrant Robespierre. 235 _Bourdon l'Oise._ He talks of virtue--of morality-- Consistent patriot! he Daubigné's friend! Henriot's supporter virtuous! preach of virtue, Yet league with villains, for with Robespierre Villains alone ally. Thou art a tyrant! 240 I stile thee tyrant, Robespierre! [_Loud applauses._ _Robespierre._ Take back the name. Ye citizens of France-- [_Violent clamour. Cries of--Down with the Tyrant!_ _Tallien._ Oppression falls. The traitor stands appall'd-- Guilt's iron fangs engrasp his shrinking soul-- He hears assembled France denounce his crimes! 245 He sees the mask torn from his secret sins-- He trembles on the precipice of fate. Fall'n guilty tyrant! murder'd by thy rage How many an innocent victim's blood has stain'd Fair freedom's altar! Sylla-like thy hand 250 Mark'd down the virtues, that, thy foes removed, Perpetual Dictator thou might'st reign, And tyrannize o'er France, and call it freedom! Long time in timid guilt the traitor plann'd His fearful wiles--success emboldened sin-- 255 And his stretch'd arm had grasp'd the diadem Ere now, but that the coward's heart recoil'd, Lest France awak'd should rouse her from her dream, And call aloud for vengeance. He, like Caesar, With rapid step urged on his bold career, 260 Even to the summit of ambitious power, And deem'd the name of King alone was wanting. Was it for this we hurl'd proud Capet down? Is it for this we wage eternal war Against the tyrant horde of murderers, 265 The crownéd cockatrices whose foul venom Infects all Europe? was it then for this We swore to guard our liberty with life, That Robespierre should reign? the spirit of freedom Is not yet sunk so low. The glowing flame 270 That animates each honest Frenchman's heart Not yet extinguish'd. I invoke thy shade, Immortal Brutus! I too wear a dagger; And if the representatives of France, Through fear or favour, should delay the sword 275 Of justice, Tallien emulates thy virtues; Tallien, like Brutus, lifts the avenging arm; Tallien shall save his country. [_Violent applauses._ _Billaud Varennes._ I demand The arrest of all the traitors. Memorable Will be this day for France. _Robespierre._ Yes! Memorable 280 This day will be for France--for villains triumph. _Lebas._ I will not share in this day's damning guilt. Condemn me too. [_Great cry--Down with the Tyrants!_ (_The two ROBESPIERRES, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and LEBAS are led off._) ACT III SCENE CONTINUES. _Collot d'Herbois._ Caesar is fall'n! The baneful tree of Java, Whose death-distilling boughs dropt poisonous dew, Is rooted from its base. This worse than Cromwell, The austere, the self-denying Robespierre, Even in this hall, where once with terror mute 5 We listen'd to the hypocrite's harangues, Has heard his doom. _Billaud Varennes._ Yet must we not suppose The tyrant will fall tamely. His sworn hireling Henriot, the daring desperate Henriot, Commands the force of Paris. I denounce him. 10 _Freron._ I denounce Fleuriot too, the mayor of Paris. _Enter DUBOIS CRANCÉ._ _Dubois Crancé._ Robespierre is rescued. Henriot at the head Of the arm'd force has rescued the fierce tyrant. _Collot d'Herbois._ Ring the tocsin--call all the citizens To save their country--never yet has Paris 15 Forsook the representatives of France. _Tallien._ It is the hour of danger. I propose This sitting be made permanent. [_Loud applauses._ _Collot d'Herbois._ The National Convention shall remain Firm at its post. 20 _Enter a_ Messenger. _Messenger._ Robespierre has reach'd the Commune. They espouse The tyrant's cause. St. Just is up in arms! St. Just--the young ambitious bold St. Just Harangues the mob. The sanguinary Couthon Thirsts for your blood. [_Tocsin rings._ 25 _Tallien._ These tyrants are in arms against the law: Outlaw the rebels. _Enter MERLIN OF DOUAY._ _Merlin._ Health to the representatives of France! I past this moment through the arméd force-- They ask'd my name--and when they heard a delegate, 30 Swore I was not the friend of France. _Collot d'Herbois._ The tyrants threaten us as when they turn'd The cannon's mouth on Brissot. _Enter another_ Messenger. _Second Messenger._ Vivier harangues the Jacobins--the Club Espouse the cause of Robespierre. 35 _Enter another_ Messenger. _Third Messenger._ All's lost--the tyrant triumphs. Henriot leads The soldiers to his aid.--Already I hear The rattling cannon destined to surround This sacred hall. _Tallien._ Why, we will die like men then. The representatives of France dare death, 40 When duty steels their bosoms. [_Loud applauses._ _Tallien (addressing the galleries)._ Citizens! France is insulted in her delegates-- The majesty of the Republic is insulted-- Tyrants are up in arms. An arméd force Threats the Convention. The Convention swears 45 To die, or save the country! [_Violent applauses from the galleries._ _Citizen (from above)._ We too swear To die, or save the country. Follow me. [_All the men quit the galleries._ _Enter another_ Messenger. _Fourth Messenger._ Henriot is taken! [_Loud applauses._ Three of your brave soldiers Swore they would seize the rebel slave of tyrants, Or perish in the attempt. As he patroll'd 50 The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob, They seiz'd him. [_Applauses._ _Billaud Varennes._ Let the names of these brave men Live to the future day. _Enter BOURDON L'OISE, sword in hand._ _Bourdon l'Oise._ I have clear'd the Commune. [_Applauses._ Through the throng I rush'd, Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade 55 Deep in the tyrant's heart. The timid rebels Gave way. I met the soldiery--I spake Of the dictator's crimes--of patriots chain'd In dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage-- Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power. 60 I spake of Liberty. Their honest hearts Caught the warm flame. The general shout burst forth, 'Live the Convention--Down with Robespierre!' [_Applauses._ (_Shouts from without--Down with the Tyrant!_) _Tallien._ I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds, France shall be saved! her generous sons attached 65 To principles, not persons, spurn the idol They worshipp'd once. Yes, Robespierre shall fall As Capet fell! Oh! never let us deem That France shall crouch beneath a tyrant's throne, That the almighty people who have broke 70 On their oppressors' heads the oppressive chain, Will court again their fetters! easier were it To hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base, Than force the bonds of slavery upon men Determined to be free! [_Applauses._ 75 _Enter LEGENDRE--a pistol in one hand, keys in the other._ _Legendre (flinging down the keys)._ So--let the mutinous Jacobins meet now In the open air. [_Loud applauses._ A factious turbulent party Lording it o'er the state since Danton died, And with him the Cordeliers.--A hireling band Of loud-tongued orators controull'd the Club, 80 And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre. Vivier has 'scaped me. Curse his coward heart-- This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand, I rush'd into the hall. He mark'd mine eye That beam'd its patriot anger, and flash'd full 85 With death-denouncing meaning. 'Mid the throng He mingled. I pursued--but stay'd my hand, Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood. [_Applauses._ _Freron._ They took from me my ticket of admission-- Expell'd me from their sittings.--Now, forsooth, 90 Humbled and trembling re-insert my name. But Freron enters not the Club again 'Till it be purged of guilt:--'till, purified Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men May breathe the air in safety. [_Shouts from without._ 95 _Barrere._ What means this uproar! if the tyrant band Should gain the people once again to rise-- We are as dead! _Tallien._ And wherefore fear we death? Did Brutus fear it? or the Grecian friends Who buried in Hipparchus' breast the sword, 100 And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death, Brutus must scorn the bugbear. (_Shouts from without--Live the Convention!--Down with the Tyrants!_) _Tallien._ Hark! again The sounds of honest Freedom! _Enter_ Deputies _from the_ Sections. _Citizen._ Citizens! representatives of France! Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris 105 Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swear They will defend the delegates of Freedom. _Tallien._ Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren? And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts? My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen 110 The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke; I have, as much as lies in mine own arm, Hurl'd down the usurper.--Come death when it will, I have lived long enough. [_Shouts without._ _Barrere._ Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom 115 Of the still evening--harbinger of death, Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generale Thunders through Paris-- [_Cry without--Down with the Tyrant!_ _Enter LECOINTRE._ _Lecointre._ So may eternal justice blast the foes Of France! so perish all the tyrant brood, 120 As Robespierre has perish'd! Citizens, Caesar is taken. [_Loud and repeated applauses._ I marvel not that with such fearless front He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye Scowled round the hall defiance. He relied 125 On Henriot's aid--the Commune's villain friendship, And Henriot's _boughten_ succours. Ye have heard How Henriot rescued him--how with open arms The Commune welcom'd in the rebel tyrant-- How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier 130 Stirr'd up the Jacobins. All had been lost-- The representatives of France had perish'd-- Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit Inspir'd the men of Paris. Henriot call'd 135 'To arms' in vain, whilst Bourdon's patriot voice Breathed eloquence, and o'er the Jacobins Legendre frown'd dismay. The tyrants fled-- They reach'd the Hôtel. We gather'd round--we call'd For vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair, 140 With knives they hack'd around them. 'Till foreboding The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction, Each sought by suicide to escape the dread Of death. Lebas succeeded. From the window 145 Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractur'd limb Forbade to escape. The self-will'd dictator Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast, Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangled By his own tremulous hand! All gash'd and gored 150 He lives to taste the bitterness of death. Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon, The fierce St. Just, even now attend their tyrant To fall beneath the axe. I saw the torches Flash on their visages a dreadful light-- 155 I saw them whilst the black blood roll'd adown Each stern face, even then with dauntless eye Scowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived, Fearless of fate! [_Loud and repeated applauses._ _Barrere mounts the Tribune._ For ever hallowed be this glorious day, 160 When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain, Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant Hurl'd from his blood-cemented throne, by the arm Of the almighty people, meets the death He plann'd for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart 165 Has sunk within me, when the various woes Of my brave country crowded o'er my brain In ghastly numbers--when assembled hordes, Dragg'd from their hovels by despotic power, Rush'd o'er her frontiers, plunder'd her fair hamlets, 170 And sack'd her populous towns, and drench'd with blood The reeking fields of Flanders.--When within, Upon her vitals prey'd the rankling tooth Of treason; and oppression, giant form, Trampling on freedom, left the alternative 175 Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day, When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced The doom of injured France, has faction reared Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach'd Of mercy--the uxorious dotard Roland, 180 The woman-govern'd Roland durst aspire To govern France; and Petion talk'd of virtue, And Vergniaud's eloquence, like the honeyed tongue Of some soft Syren wooed us to destruction. We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold 185 Where the last Louis pour'd his guilty blood, Fell Brissot's head, the womb of darksome treasons, And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet, And Hébert's atheist crew, whose maddening hand Hurl'd down the altars of the living God, 190 With all the infidel's intolerance. The last worst traitor triumphed--triumph'd long, Secur'd by matchless villainy--by turns Defending and deserting each accomplice As interest prompted. In the goodly soil 195 Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struck Its deep-fix'd roots, and dropt the dews of death On all who slumber'd in its specious shade. He wove the web of treachery. He caught The listening crowd by his wild eloquence, 200 His cool ferocity that persuaded murder, Even whilst it spake of mercy!--never, never Shall this regenerated country wear The despot yoke. Though myriads round assail, And with worse fury urge this new crusade 205 Than savages have known; though the leagued despots Depopulate all Europe, so to pour The accumulated mass upon our coasts, Sublime amid the storm shall France arise, And like the rock amid surrounding waves 210 Repel the rushing ocean.--She shall wield The thunder-bolt of vengeance--she shall blast The despot's pride, and liberate the world! FINIS OSORIO A TRAGEDY[518:1] DRAMATIS PERSONAE [_Not in MSS._] _Osorio_, 1797. _Remorse._ _VELEZ_ = _MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and Doña Teresa's Guardian._ _ALBERT_ = _DON ALVAR, the eldest son._ _OSORIO_ = _DON ORDONIO, the youngest son._ _FRANCESCO_ = _MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor._ _MAURICE_ = _ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar._ _FERDINAND_ = _ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian._ _NAOMI_ = _NAOMI._ _MARIA_ = _DOÑA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress._ _ALHADRA, wife of FERDINAND_ = _ALHADRA, Wife of Isidore._ _FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION._ _MOORS, SERVANTS, &C._ _Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbad the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death._ FOOTNOTES: [518:1] First published in 1873 by Mr. John Pearson (under the editorship of R. H. Shepherd): included in _P. and D. W._ 1877-80, and in _P. W._ 1893. Four MSS. are (or were) extant, (1) the transcript of the play as sent to Sheridan in 1797 (_MS. I_); (2) a contemporary transcript sent by Coleridge to a friend (_MS. II_); (3) a third transcript (the handwriting of a 'legal character') sold at Christie's, March 8, 1895 (_MS. III_); (4) a copy of Act I in Coleridge's handwriting, which formerly belonged to Thomas Poole, and is now in the British Museum (_MS. P._). The text of the present issue follows MS. I. The variants are derived from MSS. I, II as noted by J. Dykes Campbell in _P. W._ 1893, from a MS. collation (by J. D. Campbell) of MS. III, now published for the first time, and from a fresh collation of MS. P. _Osorio_ was begun at Stowey in March, 1797. Two and a half Acts were written before June, four and a half Acts before September 13, 1797. A transcript of the play (_MS. I_) was sent to Drury Lane in October, and rejected, on the score of the 'obscurity of the last three acts', on or about December 1, 1797. See 'Art.' Coleridge, _Osorio_ and _Remorse_, by J. D. Campbell, _Athenaeum_, April 8, 1890. In the reign of Philip II shortly after the civil war against the Moors, and during the heat of the Persecution which raged against them. Maria an orphan of fortune had been espoused to Albert the eldest son of Lord Velez, but he having been supposed dead, is now addressed by Osorio the brother of Albert. In the character of Osorio I wished to represent a man, who, from his childhood had mistaken constitutional abstinence from vices, for strength of character--thro' his pride duped into guilt, and then endeavouring to shield himself from the reproaches of his own mind by misanthropy. Don Garcia (supposed dead) and Valdez father of Don Ordoño, and Guardian of Teresa di Monviedro. Don Garcia eldest son of the Marquis di Valdez, supposed dead, having been six years absent, and for the last three without any tidings of him. Teresa Senñora [_sic_] di Monviedro, an orphan lady, bequeathed by both Parents on their death-bed to the wardship of the Marquis, and betrothed to Don Garcia--Gulinaez a Moorish Chieftain and ostensibly a new Christian--Alhadra his wife. _MS. III._ For the Preface of _MS. I_, vide Appendices of this edition. LINENOTES: _Osorio A Tragedy_--Title] Osorio, a Dramatic Poem MS. II: Osorio, The Sketch of a Tragedy MS. III. ACT THE FIRST[519:1] SCENE--_The sea shore on the coast of Granada._ _VELEZ, MARIA._ _Maria._ I hold Osorio dear: he is your son, And Albert's brother. _Velez._ Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead. _Maria._ I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez! But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5 Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living. _Velez._ Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves; And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me: I held thee in mine arms, a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fix'd her faint eyes on mine: ah, not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy. I must not see thee wretched. _Maria._ There are woes Ill-barter'd for the garishness of joy! If it be wretched with an untired eye 20 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze, To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight; if it be wretched 25 To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there; To go through each minutest circumstance Of the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear _him_ tell them: (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, 30 Who dress'd her in her buried lover's cloaths, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and play'd the selfsame tune He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow Herself had made); if this be wretchedness, 35 And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died--died, just ere his return; Then see him listening to my constancy; And hover round, as he at midnight ever 40 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply in some more fantastic mood To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45 My Albert's sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assur'd reality He should return, and see a brother's infant Smile at him from _my_ arms? [_Clasping her forehead._ O what a thought! 50 'Twas horrible! it pass'd my brain like lightning. _Velez._ 'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain'd The very week he promised his return. _Maria._ Ah, what a busy joy was ours--to see him After his three years' travels! tho' that absence 55 His still-expected, never-failing letters Almost endear'd to me! Even then what tumult! _Velez._ O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless! Yes, I am old--I have no pleasant dreams-- 60 Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest. _Maria (with great tenderness)._ My father! _Velez._ Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer me With a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting, And yet I could not tell me, how my sleep Was throng'd with swarthy faces, and I saw 65 The merchant-ship in which my son was captured-- Well, well, enough--captured in sight of land-- We might almost have seen it from our house-top! _Maria (abruptly)._ He did not perish there! _Velez (impatiently)._ Nay, nay--how aptly thou forgett'st a tale 70 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn--my brave Osorio Saw them both founder in the storm that parted Him and the pirate: both the vessels founder'd. Gallant Osorio! [_Pauses, then tenderly._ O belov'd Maria, Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert 75 And most delight his spirit, go and make His brother happy, make his agéd father Sink to the grave with joy! _Maria._ For mercy's sake Press me no more. I have no power to love him! His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow 80 Chill me, like dew-damps of the unwholesome night. My love, a timorous and tender flower, Closes beneath his touch. _Velez._ You wrong him, maiden. You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well To character by such unkindly phrases 85 The stir and workings of that love for you Which he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well-- Nor is it grateful in you to forget His wounds and perilous voyages, and how With an heroic fearlessness of danger 90 He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert. It was not well--you have moved me even to tears. _Maria._ O pardon me, my father! pardon me. It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried 95 Beyond myself, if I but dream of one Who aims to rival Albert. Were we not Born on one day, like twins of the same parent? Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father! A six years' absence is an heavy thing; 100 Yet still the hope survives---- _Velez (looking forwards)._ Hush--hush! Maria. _Maria._ It is Francesco, our Inquisitor; That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel! _Enter FRANCESCO and ALHADRA._ _Francesco (to Velez)._ Where is your son, my lord? Oh! here he comes. _Enter OSORIO._ My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman 105 (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. _Osorio._ Hail, reverend father! What may be the business? _Francesco._ O the old business--a Mohammedan! The officers are in her husband's house, And would have taken him, but that he mention'd 110 Your name, asserting that you were his friend, Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic. But I know well these children of perdition, And all their idle fals[e]hoods to gain time; So should have made the officers proceed, 115 But that this woman with most passionate outcries, (Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me) So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord!) Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted, That I came with her. _Osorio._ You are merciful. [_Looking at ALHADRA._ 120 I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me. [_ALHADRA is about to speak, but is interrupted by_ _Francesco._ Aye, aye--I thought so; And so I said to one of the familiars. A likely story, said I, that Osorio, The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely 125 Some four years past against these rebel Moors; Working so hard from out the garden of faith To eradicate these weeds detestable; That he should countenance this vile Moresco, Nay, be his friend--and warrant him, forsooth! 130 Well, well, my lord! it is a warning to me; Now I return. _Alhadra._ My lord, my husband's name Is Ferdinand: you may remember it. Three years ago--three years this very week-- You left him at Almeria. _Francesco (triumphantly)._ Palpably false! 135 This very week, three years ago, my lord! (You needs must recollect it by your wound) You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiends Who took and murder'd your poor brother Albert. [_MARIA looks at FRANCESCO with disgust and horror. OSORIO'S appearance to be collected from the speech that follows._ _Francesco (to Velez and pointing to Osorio)._ What? is he ill, my lord? How strange he looks! 140 _Velez (angrily)._ You started on him too abruptly, father! The fate of one, on whom you know he doted. _Osorio (starting as in a sudden agitation)._ O heavens! _I_ doted! [_Then, as if recovering himself._ Yes! I DOTED on him! [_OSORIO walks to the end of the stage. VELEZ follows soothing him._ _Maria (her eye following them)._ I do not, cannot love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought 145 Should force itself upon me--yet I feel it! _Francesco._ The drops did start and stand upon his forehead! I will return--in very truth I grieve To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman! _Alhadra (to Maria)._ O gentle lady, make the father stay 150 Till that my lord recover. I am sure That he will say he is my husband's friend. _Maria._ Stay, father, stay--my lord will soon recover. [_OSORIO and VELEZ returning._ _Osorio (to Velez as they return)._ Strange! that this Francesco Should have the power so to distemper me. 155 _Velez._ Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son! _Francesco (to Osorio)._ My lord, I truly grieve---- _Osorio._ Tut! name it not. A sudden seizure, father! think not of it. As to this woman's husband, I _do_ know him: I know him well, and that he is a Christian. 160 _Francesco._ I hope, my lord, your sensibility Doth not prevail. _Osorio._ Nay, nay--you know me better. You hear what I have said. But 'tis a trifle. I had something here of more importance. [_Touching his forehead as if in the act of recollection._ Hah! The Count Mondejar, our great general, 165 Writes, that the bishop we were talking of Has sicken'd dangerously. _Francesco._ Even so. _Osorio._ I must return my answer. _Francesco._ When, my lord? _Osorio._ To-morrow morning, and shall not forget How bright and strong your zeal for the Catholic faith. 170 _Francesco._ You are too kind, my lord! You overwhelm me. _Osorio._ Nay, say not so. As for this Ferdinand, 'Tis certain that he _was_ a Catholic. What changes may have happen'd in three years, I cannot say, but grant me this, good father! 175 I'll go and sift him: if I find him sound, You'll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house. _Francesco._ My lord you have it. _Osorio (to Alhadra)._ I will attend you home within an hour. Meantime return with us, and take refreshment. 180 _Alhadra._ Not till my husband's free, I may not do it. I will stay here. _Maria (aside)._ Who is this Ferdinand? _Velez._ Daughter! _Maria._ With your permission, my dear lord, I'll loiter a few minutes, and then join you. [_Exeunt VELEZ, FRANCESCO, and OSORIO._ _Alhadra._ Hah! there he goes. A bitter curse go with him. 185 A scathing curse! [_ALHADRA had been betrayed by the warmth of her feelings into an imprudence. She checks herself, yet recollecting MARIA'S manner towards FRANCESCO, says in a shy and distrustful manner_ You hate him, don't you, lady! _Maria._ Nay, fear me not! my heart is sad for you. _Alhadra._ These fell Inquisitors, these sons of blood! As I came on, his face so madden'd me That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger 190 And half unsheathed it. _Maria._ Be more calm, I pray you. _Alhadra._ And as he stalk'd along the narrow path Close on the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager. 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his foul officers held my babes and husband. 195 To have leapt upon him with a Tyger's plunge And hurl'd him down the ragged precipice, O--it had been most sweet! _Maria._ Hush, hush! for shame. Where is your woman's heart? _Alhadra._ O gentle lady! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, 200 Many and strange. Besides I am a Christian, And they do never pardon, 'tis their faith! _Maria._ Shame fall on those who so have shown it to thee! _Alhadra._ I know that man; 'tis well he knows not me! Five years ago, and he was the prime agent. 205 Five years ago the Holy Brethren seized me. _Maria._ What might your crime be? _Alhadra._ Solely my complexion. They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison house. There was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 210 No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, It was a toil to breathe it! I have seen The gaoler's lamp, the moment that he enter'd, How the flame sunk at once down to the socket. O miserable, by that lamp to see 215 My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread Brought daily: for the little wretch was sickly-- My rage had dry'd away its natural food! In darkness I remain'd, counting the clocks[528:1] Which haply told me that the blessed sun 220 Was rising on my garden. When I dozed, My infant's moanings mingled with my dreams And wak'd me. If you were a mother, Lady, I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises And peevish cries so fretted on my brain 225 That I have struck the innocent babe in anger! _Maria._ O God! it is too horrible to hear! _Alhadra._ What was it then to suffer? 'Tis most right That such as you should hear it. Know you not What Nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal? 230 Great evils ask great passions to redress them, And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence. _Maria._ You were at length deliver'd? _Alhadra._ Yes, at length I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven. 'Twas the first time my infant smiled! No more. 235 For if I dwell upon that moment, lady, A fit comes on, which makes me o'er again All I then was, my knees hang loose and drag, And my lip falls with such an ideot laugh That you would start and shudder! _Maria._ But your husband? 240 _Alhadra._ A month's imprisonment would kill him, lady! _Maria._ Alas, poor man! _Alhadra._ He hath a lion's courage, But is not stern enough for fortitude. Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 245 Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all! [_Enter ALBERT disguised as a Moresco, and in Moorish garments._ _Albert (not observing Maria and Alhadra)._ Three weeks have I been loitering here, nor ever Have summon'd up my heart to ask one question, Or stop one peasant passing on this way. _Maria._ Know you that man? _Alhadra._ His person, not his name. 250 I doubt not, he is some Moresco chieftain Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. A week has scarcely pass'd since first I saw him; He has new-roof'd the desolate old cottage Where Zagri lived--who dared avow the prophet 255 And died like one of the faithful! There he lives, And a friend with him. _Maria._ Does he know his danger So near this seat? _Alhadra._ He wears the Moorish robes too, As in defiance of the royal edict. [_ALHADRA advances to ALBERT, who has walked to the back of the stage near the rocks. MARIA drops her veil._ _Alhadra._ Gallant Moresco! you are near the castle 260 Of the Lord Velez, and hard by does dwell A priest, the creature of the Inquisition. _Albert (retiring)._ You have mistaken me--I am a Christian. _Alhadra (to Maria)._ He deems that we are plotting to ensnare him. Speak to him, lady! none can hear you speak 265 And not believe you innocent of guile. [_ALBERT, on hearing this, pauses and turns round._ _Maria._ If aught enforce you to concealment, sir! _Alhadra._ He trembles strangely. [_ALBERT sinks down and hides his face in his garment_ [_robe_ Remorse]. _Maria._ See--we have disturb'd him. [_Approaches nearer to him._ I pray you, think us friends--uncowl your face, For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. 270 I pray you, think us friends! _Albert (raising his head)._ Calm--very calm; 'Tis all too tranquil for reality! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice. That voice! that innocent voice! She is no traitress! It was a dream, a phantom of my sleep, 275 A lying dream. [_He starts up, and abruptly addresses her._ Maria! you are not wedded? _Maria (haughtily to Alhadra)._ Let us retire. [_They advance to the front of the stage._ _Alhadra._ He is indeed a Christian. Some stray Sir Knight, that falls in love of a sudden. _Maria._ What can this mean? How should he know my name? It seems all shadowy. _Alhadra._ Here he comes again. 280 _Albert (aside)._ She deems me dead, and yet no mourning garment! Why should my brother's wife wear mourning garments? God of all mercy, make me, make me quiet! [_To MARIA._ Your pardon, gentle maid! that I disturb'd you. I had just started from a frightful dream. 285 _Alhadra._ These renegado Moors--how soon they learn The crimes and follies of their Christian tyrants! _Albert._ I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I lean'd With blindest trust, and a betrothéd maid Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me, 290 For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her! This maid so idoliz'd, that trusted friend, Polluted in my absence soul and body! And she with him and he with her conspired To have me murder'd in a wood of the mountains: 295 But by my looks and most impassion'd words I roused the virtues, that are dead in no man, Even in the assassins' hearts. They made their terms, And thank'd me for redeeming them from murder. _Alhadra (to Maria)._ You are lost in thought. Hear him no more, sweet lady! 300 _Maria._ From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood. Well, sir, what happen'd then? _Albert._ On a rude rock, A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs Whose threaddy leaves to the low breathing gale 305 Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, I stay'd as tho' the hour of death were past, And I were sitting in the world of spirits, For all things seem'd unreal! There I sate. The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, 310 Black, sultry, close! and ere the midnight hour A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear That woods and sky and mountains seem'd one havock! The second flash of lightning show'd a tree Hard by me, newly-scathed. I rose tumultuous: 315 My soul work'd high: I bared my head to the storm, And with loud voice and clamorous agony Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that made me, Pray'd that Remorse might fasten on their hearts, And cling, with poisonous tooth, inextricable 320 As the gored lion's bite! _Maria._ A fearful curse! _Alhadra._ But dreamt you not that you return'd and kill'd him? Dreamt you of no revenge? _Albert (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress)._ She would have died, Died in her sins--perchance, by her own hands! And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds 325 I might have met the evil glance of frenzy And leapt myself into an unblest grave! I pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts, For still I loved her! _Alhadra._ And you dreamt all this? _Maria._ My soul is full of visions, all is wild! 330 _Alhadra._ There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales. Lady! your servants there seem seeking us. _Maria (lifts up her veil and advances to Albert)._ Stranger, farewell! I guess not who you are, Nor why you so address'd your tale to me. Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplex'd me 335 With obscure memory of something past, Which still escap'd my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pamper'd with long-wishing. If (as it sometimes happens) our rude startling, While your full heart was shaping out its dream, 340 Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness, You have my sympathy, and so farewell! But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Velez, and my Lord Osorio 345 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, Nor shall you want my favourable pleading. [_Exeunt MARIA and ALHADRA._ _Albert (alone)._ 'Tis strange! it cannot be! my Lord Osorio! Her Lord Osorio! Nay, I will not do it. I curs'd him once, and one curse is enough. 350 How sad she look'd and pale! but not like guilt, And her calm tones--sweet as a song of mercy! If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, Hell scarce were hell. And why not innocent? Who meant to murder me might well cheat her. 355 But ere she married him, he had stain'd her honour. Ah! there I am hamper'd. What if this were a lie Fram'd by the assassin? who should tell it him If it were truth? Osorio would not tell him. Yet why one lie? All else, I know, was truth. 360 No start! no jealousy of stirring conscience! And she referr'd to me--fondly, methought! Could she walk here, if that she were a traitress? Here where we play'd together in our childhood? Here where we plighted vows? Where her cold cheek 365 Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feelings She had fainted in my arms? It cannot be! 'Tis not in nature! I will die, believing That I shall meet her where no evil is, No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips! 370 I'll haunt this scene no more--live she in peace! Her husband--ay, her husband! May this Angel New-mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, Heaven! That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! END OF ACT THE FIRST. FOOTNOTES: [519:1] For Act I, Scene 1 (ll. 1-118) of _Remorse_, vide _post_, pp. 820-3. [528:1] With lines 219-21 compare _Fragments from a Notebook_, No. 17, p. 990. LINENOTES: [Before 1] ACT THE FIRST (The Portrait and the Picture). Corr. in MS. III. Scene--_The sea shore, &c._] Scene--The Sea shore on the coast of Granada, in the Seigniory of the Marquis Valdez. _Valdez_ _Teresa_ corr. in MS. III. [For _Velez_, _Maria_, _Osorio_, _Albert_, _Francesco_, read _Valdez_, _Teresa_, _Ordonio_, _Alvar_, _Isidore_ throughout, Remorse. [Before 1] SCENE II. _Enter_ Teresa _and_ Valdez. Remorse. Osorio] Ordoño] corr. in MS. II. [2] Albert's] Garcia's corr. in MS. III. [12] mine] my Remorse, 1813. [29] _him_] him Remorse. [40] Or hover round, as he at midnight oft Remorse. [50] _my_] my Remorse. Stage-direction om. Remorse. [51-2] _Erased MS. III._ [52-3] _Valdez._ A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. The very week he promised his return-- Remorse. an empty thought That boasts no neighbourhood with Hope or Reason Corr. in MS. III. [54-7] _Ter._ Was it not then a busy joy? to see him, After those three years' travels! we had no fears-- The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter, Almost endeared his absence! yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy! What then, if now-- Marginal correction in MS. III, Remorse. [60] dreams] fancies Remorse. [61] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [62-8] Erased MS. III. [62-73] _Vald._ The sober truth is all too much for me! I see no sail which brings not to my mind The home-bound bark, in which my son was captured By the Algerine--to perish with his captors! _Ter._ Oh no! he did not! _Vald._ Captured in sight of land! From yon Hill-point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen-- _Ter._ His capture, not his death. _Vald._ Alas! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, In the same storm that baffled his own valour, And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes. Marginal correction in MS. III, Remorse. [74] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [76] And most delight his spirit, go, make thou Remorse. [78] with] in Remorse. [93] my father] Lord Valdez Remorse. [96] dream] hear Remorse. [101-5] Erased MS. III. _Vald. (looking forward)._ Hush! 'tis Monviedro. _Ter._ The Inquisitor--on what new scent of blood? _Enter_ Monviedro _with_ Alhadra. _Mon._ Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord. My present need is with your son. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he. _Enter from the opposite side_ Don Ordonio My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman MS. III, Remorse. [108] Erased MS. III. [109] The] Our MS. III. [108-31] _Mon._ My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the Inquisition Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Tho' lesson'd by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevailed with me that-- _Ord._ Reverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. [_then to Alhadra_ I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me. _Mon._ My mind foretold me That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel! The warranter of a Moresco's faith! Remorse. [114] Have learnt by heart their falsehoods to gain time. Corr. in MS. III. [118-20] who (you know, &c., . . . with her Erased MS. III. The stage-direction (_Alhadra here advances towards Ordonio_) is inserted at the end of Francesco's speech. [127-8] om. MS. III. [133] Is Isidore. (_Ordonio starts_) Remorse. [135] Stage-direction (_triumphantly_) om. Remorse. [138-9] You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! Remorse. [139] The stage-direction _Maria looks, &c._, om. Remorse. [140] _Francesco (. . . Osorio)_ om. Remorse. [141] _Val._ You pressed upon him too abruptly father Remorse. [143] _Ord._ O heavens! I?--I doted?-- Remorse. Stage-directions (_starting, &c._), (_Then, as, &c._) om. Remorse. [Before 144] stage direction ends at '_follows_' Remorse. [144] Stage-direction (_her eye, &c._) om. Remorse. [151] Till that] Until Remorse. Stage-direction before 154 om. Remorse. [154] Ordonio (_as they return to Valdez_). Remorse. [157] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [159] _do_] do Remorse. [161] I hope, my lord, your merely human pity MS. III, Remorse. [162-72] Nay, nay . . . Ferdinand om. Remorse. [173] _was_] was Remorse. [176] Myself I'll sift him Remorse. [178] [_Francesco's speech_ 'My lord you have it' _is thus expanded_]:-- _Monviedro._ Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust--you have it. Remorse. [179] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [180] Attributed to Valdez in Remorse. [184] I'll loiter yet awhile t'enjoy the sea breeze. Remorse. [186] The stage-direction, _Alhadra had been, &c._, was interpolated by _S. T. C._ in MS. III, and 'distrustful' is written 'mistrustful'. It is omitted in Remorse. [187] The line was originally written:-- Nay, nay, not hate him. I try not to do it; and in this form it stands in the Poole MS. MSS. II, III have the line as amended, but have also this stage-direction '(_perceiving that Alhadra is conscious she has spoken imprudently_)'; and MS. II has the word _me_ underlined. Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you Remorse. [188] In Poole MS. this line was originally-- These wolfish Priests! these lappers-up of Blood. [192] stalk'd] walk'd Remorse. [193] on] by Remorse. [195] Interpolated by S. T. C. That his vile Slaves, his pitiless officers Held in their custody my babes and husband. MS. III. [195] foul officers] familiars Remorse. [197] ragged] rugged Remorse. [201] '(_ironically_)' only in MS. II. [202] And they do] And Christians Remorse. [207] Solely my complexion] I was a Moresco Remorse. [210] There] Where Remorse. [212-14] It was a toil to breathe it! When the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down Remorse. [219] the dull bell counting Remorse. [220] blessed] all-cheering. Remorse. [221] my] our Remorse. [222] dreams] slumbers Remorse. [227] God] Heaven Remorse. [233] deliver'd] released Corr. in MS. III, Remorse. [237] fit] trance Remorse. [243] Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance Corr. in MS. III, Remorse. [247-9] MS. III erased: om. Remorse. [Between 249-50] _Teresa. (starting)._ This sure must be the man (_to ALHADRA_) Know you that man? Corr. in MS. III. [Between 250 and 263] _Ter._ Know you that stately Moor? _Alhad._ I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpujarras. _Ter._ The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger, So near this seat? _Alhad._ He wears the Moorish robes too, As in defiance of the royal edict. [_ALHADRA advances to ALVAR, who has walked to the back of the stage near the rocks. TERESA drops her veil._ _Alhad._ Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race-- Remorse. [254-7] His ends, his motives, why he shrinks from notice And spurns all commune with the Moorish chieftain, Baffles conjecture-- Corr. in MS. III. Before stage-direction affixed to 259. _Teresa._ Ask of him whence he came? if he bear tidings Of any Christian Captive--if he knows-- Corr. in MS. III. [259] _Philip the Second had forbidden under pain of death the Moorish Robes_ MS. II: _Phillip (sic) the Second had prohibited under pain of death all the Moorish customs and garments_ MS. III. [262] the creature] a brother Corr. in MS. III. [263] _Albert (retiring)_] _advancing as if to pass them_ Corr. in MS. III. Stage-direction om. Remorse. [264] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [266] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [275-6] om. Remorse. [277] Stage-direction _They advance . . . followed by Alvar_ Corr. in MS. III: om. Remorse. [277] _Alhadra (with bitter scorn)._ Corr. in MS. III. [278-80] om. Remorse. [Prefixed to 279.] _Alhadra walks away to the back of the stage, to the part where Alvar had first placed himself, stoops in the act of taking up a small Picture, looks at it and in dumb show appears as talking to herself._ Corr. in MS. III. [279-80] _Maria._ This cannot be the Moor the Peasant spoke of Nor face, nor stature squares with his description. _Alhadra._ A painted tablet which he held and por'd on Caught my eye strangely, and as I disturb'd him He hid it hastily within his sash, Yet when he started up (if my sight err'd not) It slipt unnotic'd by him on the Sand. Corr. in MS. III. [281] She deems me dead yet wears no mourning garments Remorse. [283] om. Remorse. [284] gentle maid] noble dame Remorse. [286-7] om. Remorse. [Between 285 and 288] _Ter._ Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said They prophesy-- _Alv._ The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit, The ever frowning [guilty _MS. III_] Present is its image. _Ter._ Traitress! [guilty _MS. III_] (_then aside_) What sudden spell o'er-masters me? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman. Corr. in MS. III: Remorse. [293] Polluted] Dishonour'd MS. III, Remorse. [In MS. III S. T. C. substituted 'Polluted' for 'Dishonoured.'] [294-5] Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, And murderers were suborned against my life Remorse. [Affixed to 296] _During this speech Alhadra returns, and unobserved by Alvar and Teresa scans the picture, and in dumb show compares it with the countenance of Alvar. Then conceals it in her robe._ MS. III. [300] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [305] threaddy] thready Remorse. [322] him] them Remorse. [323] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [324] sins] guilt Remorse. [330] all is] all as MS. III, Remorse. [332] MS. III erased. [332 foll.] ALHADRA (_aside_). I must reserve all knowledge of this Table Till I can pierce the mystery of the slander-- Form, Look, Features,--the scar below the Temple All, all are Isidore's--and the whole Picture-- (_then to ALVAR._) On matter of concerning Import . . . . . I would discourse with you: Thou hast ta'en up thy sojourn in the Dell, Where Zagri liv'd--who dar'd avow the Prophet, And died like one of the Faithful--there expect me. Addition on margin of MS. III. [332] om. Remorse. [340] While] Whilst Remorse. [359] Interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III. [363] Could she walk here, if she had been a traitress Remorse. ACT THE SECOND SCENE THE FIRST.--_A wild and mountainous country. OSORIO and FERDINAND are discovered at a little distance from a house, which stands under the brow of a slate rock, the rock covered with vines._ _FERDINAND and OSORIO._ _Ferdinand._ Thrice you have sav'd my life. Once in the battle You gave it me, next rescued me from suicide, When for my follies I was made to wander With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them. Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 5 Had pillow'd my snapt joints. _Osorio._ Good Ferdinand! Why this to me? It is enough you know it. _Ferdinand._ A common trick of gratitude, my lord! Seeking to ease her own full heart. _Osorio._ Enough. A debt repay'd ceases to be a debt. 10 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. _Ferdinand._ As how, my lord? I pray you name the thing! I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice To pluck a weed you fancied. _Osorio (with embarrassment and hesitation)._ Why--that--lady-- _Ferdinand._ 'Tis now three years, my lord! since last I saw you. 15 Have you a son, my lord? _Osorio._ O miserable! [_Aside._ Ferdinand! you are a man, and know this world. I told you what I wish'd--now for the truth! She lov'd the man you kill'd! _Ferdinand (looking as suddenly alarmed)._ You jest, my lord? _Osorio._ And till his death is proved, she will not wed me. 20 _Ferdinand._ You sport with me, my lord? _Osorio._ Come, come, this foolery Lives only in thy looks--thy heart disowns it. _Ferdinand._ I can bear this, and anything more grievous From you, my lord!--but how can I serve you here? _Osorio._ Why, you can mouth set speeches solemnly, 25 Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics. [_Ferdinand._ I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you. _Osorio._ In blunt terms] you can play the sorcerer. She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true. Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense: 30 Yet still a tale of spirits works on her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye. Such ones do love the marvellous too well Not to believe it. We will wind her up 35 With a strange music, that she knows not of, With fumes of frankincense, and mummery-- Then leave, as one sure token of his death, That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. 40 _Ferdinand (with hesitation)._ Just now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord! and I refuse. But this I cannot do. _Osorio._ Where lies your scruple? _Ferdinand._ That shark Francesco. _Osorio._ O! an o'ersiz'd gudgeon! I baited, sir, my hook with a painted mitre, 45 And now I play with him at the end of the line. Well--and what next? _Ferdinand (stammering)._ Next, next--my lord! You know you told me that the lady loved you, Had loved you with incautious tenderness. That if the young man, her betrothéd husband, 50 Return'd, yourself, and she, and an unborn babe, Must perish. Now, my lord! to be a man! _Osorio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person)._ This fellow is a man! he kill'd for hire One whom he knew not--yet has tender scruples. [_Then turning to FERDINAND._ Thy hums and ha's, thy whine and stammering. 55 Pish--fool! thou blunder'st through the devil's book, Spelling thy villany! _Ferdinand._ My lord--my lord! I can bear much, yes, very much from you. But there's a point where sufferance is meanness! I am no villain, never kill'd for hire. 60 My gratitude---- _Osorio._ O! aye, your gratitude! 'Twas a well-sounding word--what have you done with it? _Ferdinand._ Who proffers his past favours for my virtue Tries to o'erreach me, is a very sharper, And should not speak of gratitude, my lord! 65 I knew not 'twas your brother! _Osorio (evidently alarmed)._ And who told you? _Ferdinand._ He himself told me. _Osorio._ Ha! you talk'd with him? And those, the two Morescoes, that went with you? _Ferdinand._ Both fell in a night-brawl at Malaga. _Osorio (in a low voice)._ My brother! _Ferdinand._ Yes, my lord! I could not tell you: 70 I thrust away the thought, it drove me wild. But listen to me now. I pray you, listen! _Osorio._ Villain! no more! I'll hear no more of it. _Ferdinand._ My lord! it much imports your future safety That you should hear it. _Osorio (turning off from Ferdinand)._ Am I not a man? 75 'Tis as it should be! Tut--the deed itself Was idle--and these after-pangs still idler! _Ferdinand._ We met him in the very place you mention'd, Hard by a grove of firs. _Osorio._ Enough! enough! _Ferdinand._ He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; 80 In fine, compell'd a parley! _Osorio (sighing as if lost in thought)._ Albert! Brother! _Ferdinand._ He offer'd me his purse. _Osorio._ Yes? _Ferdinand._ Yes! I spurn'd it. He promis'd us I know not what--in vain! Then with a look and voice which overaw'd me, He said--What mean you, friends? My life is dear. 85 I have a brother and a promised wife Who make life dear to me, and if I fall That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance. There was a likeness in his face to yours. I ask'd his brother's name; he said, Osorio, 90 Son of Lord Velez! I had well-nigh fainted! At length I said (if that indeed I said it, And that no spirit made my tongue his organ), That woman is now pregnant by that brother, And he the man who sent us to destroy you, 95 He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him, He wore her portrait round his neck--he look'd As he had been made of the rock that propp'd him back; Ay, just as you look now--only less ghastly! At last recovering from his trance, he threw 100 His sword away, and bade us take his life-- It was not worth his keeping. _Osorio._ And you kill'd him? O blood-hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you! He was the image of the Deity. [_A pause._ It seizes me--by Hell! I will go on! 105 What? would'st thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't save thee! [_Then suddenly pressing his forehead._ Oh! cold, cold, cold--shot thro' with icy cold! _Ferdinand (aside)._ Were he alive, he had return'd ere now. The consequence the same, dead thro' his plotting! _Osorio._ O this unutterable dying away here, 110 This sickness of the heart! [_A pause._ What if I went And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds? Ay! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! [_A pause._ What have I done but that which nature destin'd Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me? 115 If good were meant, why were we made these beings? And if not meant---- _Ferdinand._ How feel you now, my lord? [_OSORIO starts, looks at him wildly, then, after a pause, during which his features are forced into a smile._ _Osorio._ A gust of the soul! i'faith, it overset me. O 'twas all folly--all! idle as laughter! Now, Ferdinand, I swear that thou shalt aid me. 120 _Ferdinand (in a low voice)._ I'll perish first! Shame on my coward heart, That I must slink away from wickedness Like a cow'd dog! _Osorio._ What dost thou mutter of? _Ferdinand._ Some of your servants know me, I am certain. _Osorio._ There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you. 125 _Ferdinand._ They'll know my gait. But stay! of late I have watch'd A stranger that lives nigh, still picking weeds, Now in the swamp, now on the walls of the ruin, Now clamb'ring, like a runaway lunatic, Up to the summit of our highest mount. 130 I have watch'd him at it morning-tide and noon, Once in the moonlight. Then I stood so near, I heard him mutt'ring o'er the plant. A wizard! Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employments. _Osorio._ What may his name be? _Ferdinand._ That I cannot tell you. 135 Only Francesco bade an officer Speak in your name, as lord of this domain. So he was question'd, who and what he was. This was his answer: Say to the Lord Osorio, 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' 140 _Osorio._ A strange reply! _Ferdinand._ Aye--all of him is strange. He call'd himself a Christian--yet he wears The Moorish robe, as if he courted death. _Osorio._ Where does this wizard live? _Ferdinand (pointing to a distance)._ You see that brooklet? Trace its course backward thro' a narrow opening 145 It leads you to the place. _Osorio._ How shall I know it? _Ferdinand._ You can't mistake. It is a small green dale Built all around with high off-sloping hills, And from its shape our peasants aptly call it The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, 150 And round its banks tall wood, that branches over And makes a kind of faery forest grow Down in the water. At the further end A puny cataract falls on the lake; And there (a curious sight) you see its shadow 155 For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, Up through the foliage of those faery trees. His cot stands opposite--you cannot miss it. Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 160 O'er the new thatch. _Osorio._ I shall not fail to find it. [_Exit OSORIO. FERDINAND goes into his house._ _Scene changes._ _The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen._ _ALBERT and MAURICE._ _Albert._ He doth believe himself an iron soul, And therefore puts he on an iron outward And those same mock habiliments of strength Hide his own weakness from himself. _Maurice._ His weakness! 165 Come, come, speak out! Your brother is a villain! Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours You suffer him to hold! _Albert._ Maurice! dear Maurice! That my return involved Osorio's death I trust would give me an unmingl'd pang-- 170 Yet bearable. But when I see my father Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the ground Which soon must be his grave; and my Maria, Her husband proved a monster, and her infants His infants--poor Maria!--all would perish, 175 All perish--all!--and I (nay bear with me!) Could not survive the complicated ruin! _Maurice (much affected)._ Nay, now, if I have distress'd you--you well know, I ne'er will quit your fortunes! true, 'tis tiresome. You are a painter--one of many fancies-- 180 You can call up past deeds, and make them live On the blank canvas, and each little herb, That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, You've learnt to name--but _I_---- _Albert._ Well, to the Netherlands We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange 185 Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past service. _Maurice._ Heard you not some steps? _Albert._ What if it were my brother coming onward! Not very wisely (but his creature teiz'd me) I sent a most mysterious message to him. 190 _Maurice._ Would he not know you? _Albert._ I unfearingly Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead; And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize. Add too my youth, when last we saw each other; 195 Manhood has swell'd my chest, and taught my voice A hoarser note. _Maurice._ Most true! And Alva's Duke Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon, During our long imprisonment. _Enter OSORIO._ _Albert._ It is he! 200 _Maurice._ Make yourself talk; you'll feel the less. Come, speak. How do you find yourself? Speak to me, Albert. _Albert (placing his hand on his heart)._ A little fluttering here; but more of sorrow! _Osorio._ You know my name, perhaps, better than me. I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. 205 _Albert (groaning aloud)._ The son of Velez! [_OSORIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants._ _Maurice._ Why, what ails you now? [_ALBERT grasps MAURICE'S hand in agitation._ _Maurice._ How your hand trembles, Albert! Speak! what wish you? _Albert._ To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish! _Osorio (returning)._ All very curious! from a ruin'd abbey Pluck'd in the moonlight. There's a strange power in weeds 210 When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er them. Then they work miracles! I warrant you, There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks Some serviceable imp. There's one of you, Who sent me a strange message. _Albert._ I am he! 215 _Osorio._ I will speak with you, and by yourself. [_Exit MAURICE._ _Osorio._ 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard, But one that strips the outward rind of things! _Albert._ 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds 220 That are all dust and rottenness within. Would'st thou I should strip such? _Osorio._ Thou quibbling fool, What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journey'd hither To sport with thee? _Albert._ No, no! my lord! to sport Best fits the gaiety of innocence! 225 _Osorio (draws back as if stung and embarrassed, then folding his arms)._ O what a thing is Man! the wisest heart A fool--a fool, that laughs at its own folly, Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._ It strikes me you are poor! _Albert._ What follows thence? _Osorio._ That you would fain be richer. Besides, you do not love the rack, perhaps, 230 Nor a black dungeon, nor a fire of faggots. The Inquisition--hey? You understand me, And you are poor. Now I have wealth and power, Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty. And for this service, all I ask you is 235 That you should serve me--once--for a few hours. _Albert (solemnly)._ Thou art the son of Velez! Would to Heaven That I could truly and for ever serve thee! _Osorio._ The canting scoundrel softens. [_Aside._ You are my friend! 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' 240 Nay, no defence to me. The holy brethren Believe these calumnies. I know thee better. [_Then with great bitterness._ Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee! _Albert._ Alas, this hollow mirth! Declare your business! _Osorio._ I love a lady, and she would love me 245 But for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants round the house? no listeners? [_OSORIO steps to the door._ _Albert._ What! faithless too? false to his angel wife? To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan, Ill-starr'd Maria! Wretch! my softer soul 250 Is pass'd away! and I will probe his conscience. _Osorio (returned)._ In truth this lady loved another man, But he has perish'd. _Albert._ What? you kill'd him? hey? _Osorio._ I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it, Thou slave! thou galley-slave! thou mountebank! 255 I leave thee to the hangman! _Albert._ Fare you well! I pity you, Osorio! even to anguish! [_ALBERT retires off the stage._ _Osorio (recovering himself)._ 'Twas ideotcy! I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a Fool's Cap. Ho! [_Calling after ALBERT._ _Albert (returning)._ Be brief, what wish you? _Osorio._ You are deep at bartering--you charge yourself 260 At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. _Albert._ I listen to you. _Osorio._ In a sudden tempest Did Albert perish--he, I mean, the lover-- The fellow---- _Albert._ Nay, speak out, 'twill ease your heart To call him villain! Why stand'st thou aghast? 265 Men think it natural to hate their rivals! _Osorio (hesitating and half doubting whether he should proceed)._ Now till she knows him dead she will not wed me! _Albert (with eager vehemence)._ Are you not wedded, then? Merciful God! Not wedded to Maria? _Osorio._ Why, what ails thee? Art mad or drunk? Why look'st thou upward so? 270 Dost pray to Lucifer, prince of the air? _Albert._ Proceed. I shall be silent. [_ALBERT sits, and leaning on the table hides his face._ _Osorio._ To Maria! Politic wizard! ere you sent that message, You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient In all my fortunes! Hah! you prophesied 275 A golden crop!--well, you have not mistaken-- Be faithful to me, and I'll pay thee nobly. _Albert (lifting up his head)._ Well--and this lady! _Osorio._ If we could make her certain of his death, She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her, 280 She tied a little portrait round his neck Entreating him to wear it. _Albert (sighing)._ Yes! he did so! _Osorio._ Why, no! he was afraid of accidents, Of robberies and shipwrecks, and the like. In secrecy he gave it me to keep 285 Till his return. _Albert._ What, he was your friend then? _Osorio (wounded and embarrassed)._ I was his friend. [_A pause._ Now that he gave it me This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard-- Can call this dead man up--he will not come-- 290 He is in heaven then!--there you have no influence-- Still there are tokens; and your imps may bring you Something he wore about him when he died. And when the smoke of the incense on the altar Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this picture. 295 What say you now? _Albert (after a long pause)._ Osorio, I will do it. _Osorio._ Delays are dangerous. It shall be to-morrow In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Velez. I will prepare him. Music, too, and incense, All shall be ready. Here is this same picture-- 300 And here what you will value more, a purse. Before the dusk---- _Albert._ I will not fail to meet you. _Osorio._ Till next we meet, farewell! _Albert (alone, gazes passionately at the portrait)._ And I did curse thee? At midnight? on my knees? And I believed _Thee_ perjured, _thee_ polluted, thee a murderess? 305 O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly! Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses, Thy infant loves--should not thy maiden vows, Have come upon my heart? And this sweet image Tied round my neck with many a chaste endearment 310 And thrilling hands, that made me weep and tremble. Ah, coward dupe! to yield it to the miscreant Who spake pollutions of thee! I am unworthy of thy love, Maria! Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, 315 Which ever smil'd on me! Yet do not scorn me. I lisp'd thy name ere I had learnt my mother's! _Enter MAURICE._ _Albert._ Maurice! that picture, which I painted for thee, Of my assassination. _Maurice._ I'll go fetch it. _Albert._ Haste! for I yearn to tell thee what has pass'd. 320 [_MAURICE goes out._ _Albert (gazing at the portrait)._ Dear image! rescued from a traitor's keeping, I will not now prophane thee, holy image! To a dark trick! That worst bad man shall find A picture which shall wake the hell within him, And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience! 325 END OF ACT THE SECOND. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _A wild and mountainous Country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance from Isidore's house._ _Ord._ Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners. _Isid._ Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock That overbrows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! Thrice have you sav'd my life. Remorse. [6] Had been my bed and pillow Remorse. [12] And how, my Lord, I pray you to name Remorse. [14] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [17] this world] mankind Remorse. [19] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [Between 24 and 26] Why you can utter with a solemn gesture Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning Remorse. [27-8] The words in square brackets are interpolated in MS. I. They are in their place, as here, in MSS. II, III, and in Remorse. [31] on] upon Remorse. [34-5] And such do love the marvellous too well Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy Remorse. [Between 40 and 41] _Isid._ Will that be a sure sign? _Ord._ Beyond suspicion. Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, (By some base spell he had bewitched her senses.) She whisper'd such dark fears of me forsooth, As made this heart pour gall into my veins, And as she coyly bound it round his neck, She made him promise silence; and now holds The secret of the existence of this portrait Known only to her lover and herself. But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on them, And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. Remorse. [41] _Isid._ But now, &c. Remorse. [44-7] om. Remorse. [47] _Isidore._ Why--why, my lord! Remorse. [Between 50 and 53] Return'd, yourself, and she, and the honour of both Must perish. Now though with no tenderer scruples Than those which being native to the heart, Than those, my lord, which merely being a man-- Remorse. Stage-direction before 53 om. Remorse. [55-6] These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering-- Pish, fool! thou blund'rest through the book of guilt Remorse. [After 63] _Ord._ Virtue-- Remorse. [64] _Isid._ Tries to o'erreach me, &c. Remorse. [66] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [68] And those, the two Morescoes who were with you? Remorse. [75] Am not I a man? Remorse. [81] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [84] which] that Remorse. [93] his] its Remorse. [94] That woman is dishonoured Remorse. [98] him] his Remorse. [100] last] length Remorse. [103] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [104] He was his Maker's image undefac'd Remorse. [106] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [111] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [113] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [117] _Isidore._ You are disturb'd, my lord Remorse. [After 117] _Ord. (starts)._ A gust, &c. Remorse. [121-3] Shame . . . dog om. Remorse. [Between 125 and 140.] _Isidore._ They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watched A stranger near the ruin in the wood, Who as it seemed was gathering herbs and wild flowers. I had followed him at distance, seen him scale Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stole after him unnoticed. There I marked, That mid the chequer work of light and shade, With curious choice he plucked no other flowers, But those on which the moonlight fell: and once I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard-- Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment. _Ordonio._ Doubtless you question'd him? _Isidore._ 'Twas my intention, Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies Lurk everywhere, already (as it seemed) Had given commission to his apt familiar To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning, Was by this trusty agent stopped midway. I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him In that lone place, again concealed myself; Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, And in your name, as lord of this domain, Proudly he answered, 'Say to the Lord Ordonio, Remorse. [143] robe] robes Remorse. [144] Stage-direction, _a_] _the_ Remorse. [147] You cannot err. It is a small green dell Remorse. [Between 158 and 205:] _Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the scene, and then turning round to ISIDORE)._ Ha! Who lurks there! Have we been overheard? There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glitters---- _Isidore._ 'Neath those tall stones, which propping each the other, Form a mock portal with their pointed arch? Pardon my smiles! 'Tis a poor idiot boy, Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears. And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head, And, staring at his bough from morn to sun-set, See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises. _Ordonio._ 'Tis well! and now for this same wizard's lair. _Isidore._ Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch. _Ordonio._ I shall not fail to find it. [_Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE._ SCENE II. _The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ and ALHADRA, as on the point of leaving._ _Alhadra (addressing ALVAR)._ Farewell then! and though many thoughts perplex me, Aught evil or ignoble never can I Suspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art, The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need Of such a leader. _Alvar._ Nobly minded woman! Long time against oppression have I fought, And for the native liberty of faith Have bled and suffered bonds. Of this be certain: Time, as he courses onward, still unrolls The volume of concealment. In the future, As in the optician's glassy cylinder, The indistinguishable blots and colours Of the dim past collect and shape themselves, Upstarting in their own completed image To scare or to reward. I sought the guilty, And what I sought I found: but ere the spear Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart! Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee: For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. Once more, farewell. [_Exit ALHADRA._ Yes, to the Belgic states We will return. These robes, this stained complexion, Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past services. _Zulimez._ And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours, You let a murderer hold? _Alvar._ O faithful Zulimez! That my return involved Ordonio's death, I trust, would give me an unmingled pang, Yet bearable:--but when I see my father Strewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground, Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa-- Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants His infants--poor Teresa!--all would perish, All perish--all; and I (nay bear with me) Could not survive the complicated ruin! _Zulimez._ Nay now! I have distress'd you--you well know, I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True, 'tis tiresome: You are a painter, one of many fancies! You can call up past deeds, and make them live On the blank canvass! and each little herb, That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, You have learnt to name-- Hark! heard you not some footsteps? _Alvar._ What if it were my brother coming onwards? I sent a most mysterious message to him. _Enter ORDONIO._ _Alvar._ It is he! _Ordonio (to himself as he enters)._ If I distinguished right her gait and stature, It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, That passed me as I entered. A lit taper, In the night air, doth not more naturally Attract the night flies round it, than a conjuror Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. [_Addressing ALVAR._ You know my name, I guess, if not my person. Remorse. [For lines 31-46 of Remorse, Act II, Scene II, vide _supra_ Osorio, Act II, Scene II, lines 169-84.] Stage-direction preceding 162: _Albert and an old servant both drest as Morescoes._ Corr. in MS. III. [162-6] MS. III erased. [167-8] And all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours You let a murderer hold! _Albert._ O faithful Ali Corr. in MS. III. [184-7] _Albert._ Yes to the Netherlands We will return, these robes this stained complexion Akin to Falsehood, weigh upon my spirit What e'er befal us, the heroic Maurice Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past service. Corr. in MS. III. [200] After _Enter OSORIO._ Be quick Remove these tablets--quick conceal it-- Corr. in MS. III. [201-3] om. MS. III. Stage-directions (_groaning_, &c.) before 206, and (_Albert_, &c.) after 206 om. Remorse. [206] _Zul. (to Alvar)._ Why, &c. Remorse. [208] in anguish] forgiveness Remorse. [209-10] _Ord. (returning and aloud)._ Plucked in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey-- Those only, which the pale rays visited! O the unintelligible power of weeds, Remorse. [215] Who] Hath Remorse. [216] _Ord._ With you, then, I am to speak. [_Haughtily waving his hand to ZULIMEZ._ And mark you, alone. [_Exit ZULIMEZ._ Remorse. [224] No, no!] O no! Remorse. [225] fits] suits Remorse. [Before 226] _Ord. (aside)._ O what a, &c. Remorse. [228] Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._ You are poor! Remorse. [230-3] The Inquisition, too--You comprehend me? You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power Remorse. [235] And for the boon I ask of you but this Remorse. [237] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [239] _Ord._ The slave begins to soften. [_aside._ You are my friend Remorse. [After 242] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [244] _Alv. (aside)._ Alas! &c. Remorse. [247] Have you no servants here, &c.? Remorse. [252] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [255-9] Insolent slave! how dar'dst thou-- [_Turns abruptly from ALVAR, and then to himself._ Why! What's this? 'Twas idiocy! I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a fool's cap-- _Alvar._ Fare thee well-- I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. [_ALVAR is retiring._ _Ordonio._ Ho! [_Calling to ALVAR._ _Alvar._ Be brief, &c. Remorse. [267] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [268] Stage-direction om. Remorse. God] Heaven Remorse. [270] What, art thou mad? Why look'st thou upward so? Remorse. [272] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [278] Stage-direction om. Remorse. Well--and this lady! Pray, proceed my lord MS. III. erased. [282] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [Before and after 287] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [290] this] the Remorse. [296] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [297] _Ordonio._ We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, Remorse. [300-2] (For I have arranged it--music, altar, incense) All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, And here, what you will value more, a purse. Come early for your magic ceremonies. Remorse. [303] _Exit ORDONIO. ALVAR (alone, indignantly flings the purse away and gazes_, &c. Remorse. [305] Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress! Thee dishonour'd! Remorse. [Between 312 and 313:] Who spake pollution of thee! barter for life This farewell pledge, which with impassioned vow I had sworn that I would grasp--ev'n in my death-pang! Remorse. Affixed to 318-19 omitted. (_Ali re-enters_). Ali! new Hope, new joy! A life thrills thro' me As if renew'd from Heaven! Bring back that tablet Restor'd to me by a fortunate Star. This picture Of my assassination will I leave As the token of my Fate:-- Haste, for I yearn to tell thee what has pass'd [_Exit Ali._ MS. III. [318-20] and stage-directions [_Maurice_, &c.; (_gazing_, &c.) om. Remorse. [321] image] portrait Remorse. [324] shall] will Remorse. ACT THE THIRD SCENE THE FIRST.--_A hall of armory, with an altar in the part farthest from the stage._ _VELEZ, OSORIO, MARIA._ _Maria._ Lord Velez! you have ask'd my presence here, And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me!) My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery! [_Here ALBERT enters in a sorcerer's robe._ _Maria (to Albert)._ Stranger! I mourn and blush to see _you_ here On such employments! With far other thoughts 5 I left you. _Osorio (aside)._ Ha! he has been tampering with her! _Albert._ O high-soul'd maiden, and more dear to me Than suits the stranger's name, I swear to thee, I will uncover all concealed things! Doubt, but decide not! Stand from off the altar. 10 [_Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scenes, from an instrument of glass or steel--the harmonica or Celestina stop, or Clagget's metallic organ._ _Albert._ With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm I call up the departed. Soul of Albert! Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spells: So may the gates of Paradise unbarr'd Cease thy swift toils, since haply thou art one 15 Of that innumerable company, Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, With noise too vast and constant to be heard-- Fitliest unheard! For, O ye numberless 20 And rapid travellers! what ear unstun'd, What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against The rushing of your congregated wings? Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head! Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart sands, 25 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion, To the parch'd caravan that roams by night. And ye build up on the becalmed waves That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven 30 Stands vast, and moves in blackness. Ye too split The ice-mount, and with fragments many and huge, Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulphs Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff. Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance, 35 Till from the blue-swoln corse the soul toils out, And joins your mighty army. Soul of Albert! Hear the mild spell and tempt no blacker charm. By sighs unquiet and the sickly pang Of an half dead yet still undying hope, 40 Pass visible before our mortal sense; So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine, Her knells and masses that redeem the dead. THE SONG (_Sung behind the scenes, accompanied by the same instrument as before._) Hear, sweet spirit! hear the spell Lest a blacker charm compel! 45 So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell. And at evening evermore In a chapel on the shore Shall the chanters sad and saintly, 50 Yellow tapers burning faintly, Doleful masses chant for thee, Miserere, Domine! Hark! the cadence dies away On the quiet moonlight sea, 55 The boatmen rest their oars, and say, Miserere, Domine! [_A long pause._ _Osorio._ This was too melancholy, father! _Velez._ Nay! My Albert lov'd sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search 60 We found him in an open place of the wood, To which spot he had follow'd a blind boy Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely-moving notes, and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream; him we first saw 65 Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank; And, lower down, poor Albert fast asleep, His head upon the blind boy's dog--it pleased me To mark, how he had fasten'd round the pipe A silver toy, his grandmother had given him. 70 Methinks I see him now, as he then look'd. His infant dress was grown too short for him, Yet still he wore it. _Albert (aside)._ My tears must not flow-- I must not clasp his knees, and cry, my father! _Osorio._ The innocent obey nor charm nor spell. 75 My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit Burst on our sight, a passing visitant! Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, O 'twere a joy to me. _Albert (abruptly)._ A joy to thee! What if thou heard'st him now? What if his spirit 80 Re-enter'd its cold corse, and came upon thee, With many a stab from many a murderer's poniard? What if, his steadfast eye still beaming pity And brother's love, he turn'd his head aside, Lest he should look at thee, and with one look 85 Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence? _Velez._ These are unholy fancies! _Osorio (struggling with his feelings)._ Yes, my father! He is in heaven! _Albert (still to Osorio)._ But what if this same brother Had lived even so, that at his dying hour The name of heaven would have convuls'd his face 90 More than the death-pang? _Maria._ Idly-prating man! He was most virtuous. _Albert (still to Osorio)._ What if his very virtues Had pamper'd his swoln heart, and made him proud? And what if pride had duped him into guilt, Yet still he stalk'd, a self-created God, 95 Not very bold, but excellently cunning; And one that at his mother's looking-glass, Would force his features to a frowning sternness? Young lord! I tell thee, that there are such beings,-- Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 100 To see these most proud men, that loathe mankind, At every stir and buz of coward conscience, Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites! Away! away! Now let me hear more music. [_Music as before._ _Albert._ The spell is mutter'd--come, thou wandering shape, 105 Who own'st no master in an eye of flesh, Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it or foul, If he be dead, come quick, and bring with thee That which he grasp'd in death; and if he lives, Some token of his obscure perilous life. 110 [_The whole orchestra crashes into one chorus._ Wandering demon! hear the spell Lest a blacker charm compel! [_A thunder-clap. The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly._ _Maria._ This is some trick--I know, it is a trick. Yet my weak fancy, and these bodily creepings, Would fain give substance to the shadow.[555:1] _Velez (advancing to the altar)._ Hah! 115 A picture! _Maria._ O God! _my_ picture? _Albert (gazing at Maria with wild impatient distressfulness)._ Pale--pale--deadly pale! _Maria._ He grasp'd it when he died. [_She swoons. ALBERT rushes to her and supports her._ _Albert._ My love! my wife! Pale--pale, and cold! My love! my wife! Maria! [_VELEZ is at the altar. OSORIO remains near him in a state of stupor._ _Osorio (rousing himself)._ Where am I? 'Twas a lazy chilliness. 120 _Velez (takes and conceals the picture in his robe)._ This way, my son! She must not see this picture. Go, call the attendants! Life will soon ebb back! [_VELEZ and OSORIO leave the stage._ _Albert._ Her pulse doth flutter. Maria! my Maria! _Maria (recovering--looks round)._ I heard a voice--but often in my dreams, I hear that voice, and wake; and try, and try, 125 To hear it waking--but I never could! And 'tis so now--even so! Well, he is dead, Murder'd perhaps! and I am faint, and feel As if it were no painful thing to die! _Albert (eagerly)._ Believe it not, sweet maid! believe it not, 130 Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch. _Maria._ Ha! who art thou? _Albert (exceedingly agitated)._ My heart bursts over thee! _Maria._ Didst _thou_ murder him? And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man! I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee! 135 _Albert (aside)._ Let me be gone. _Maria._ If thou didst murder him, His spirit ever, at the throne of God, Asks mercy for thee, prays for mercy for thee, With tears in heaven! _Albert._ Albert was not murder'd. Your foster-mother---- _Maria._ And doth she know aught? 140 _Albert._ She knows not aught--but haste thou to her cottage To-morrow early--bring Lord Velez with thee. There ye must meet me--but your servants come. _Maria (wildly)._ Nay--nay--but tell me! [_A pause--then presses her forehead._ Ah! 'tis lost again! This dead confused pain! [_A pause--she gazes at ALBERT._ Mysterious man! 145 Methinks, I cannot fear thee--for thine eye Doth swim with pity--I will lean on thee. [_Exeunt ALBERT and MARIA._ _Re-enter VELEZ and OSORIO._ _Velez (sportively)._ You shall not see the picture, till you own it.[556:1] _Osorio._ This mirth and raillery, sir! beseem your age. I am content to be more serious.[556:2] 150 _Velez._ Do you think I did not scent it from the first? An excellent scheme, and excellently managed. 'Twill blow away her doubts, and now she'll wed you, I'faith, the likeness is most admirable. I saw the trick--yet these old eyes grew dimmer 155 With very foolish tears, it look'd so like him! _Osorio._ Where should I get her portrait? _Velez._ Get her portrait? Portrait? You mean the picture! At the painter's-- No difficulty then--but that you lit upon A fellow that could play the sorcerer, 160 With such a grace and terrible majesty, It was most rare good fortune. And how deeply He seem'd to suffer when Maria swoon'd, And half made love to her! I suppose you'll ask me Why did he so? _Osorio (with deep tones of suppressed agitation)._ Ay, wherefore did he so? 165 _Velez._ Because you bade him--and an excellent thought! A mighty man, and gentle as he is mighty. He'll wind into her confidence, and rout A host of scruples--come, confess, Osorio! _Osorio._ You pierce through mysteries with a lynx's eye, 170 In this, your merry mood! you see it all! _Velez._ Why, no!--not all. I have not yet discover'd, At least, not wholly, what his speeches meant. Pride and hypocrisy, and guilt and cunning-- Then when he fix'd his obstinate eye on you, 175 And you pretended to look strange and tremble. Why--why--what ails you now? _Osorio (with a stupid stare)._ Me? why? what ails me? A pricking of the blood--it might have happen'd At any other time. Why scan you me? _Velez (clapping him on the shoulder)._ 'Twon't do--'twon't do--I have lived too long in the world. 180 His speech about the corse and stabs and murderers, Had reference to the assassins in the picture: That I made out. _Osorio (with a frantic eagerness)._ Assassins! what assassins! _Velez._ Well-acted, on my life! Your curiosity Runs open-mouth'd, ravenous as winter wolf. 185 I dare not stand in its way. [_He shows OSORIO the picture._ _Osorio._ Dup'd--dup'd--dup'd! That villain Ferdinand! (_aside_). _Velez._ Dup'd--dup'd--not I. As he swept by me---- _Osorio._ Ha! _what_ did he say? _Velez._ He caught his garment up and hid his face. It seem'd as he were struggling to suppress---- 190 _Osorio._ A laugh! a laugh! O hell! he laughs at me! _Velez._ It heaved his chest more like a violent sob. _Osorio._ A choking laugh! [_A pause--then very wildly._ I tell thee, my dear father! I am most glad of this! _Velez._ Glad!--aye--to be sure. _Osorio._ I was benumb'd, and stagger'd up and down 195 Thro' darkness without light--dark--dark--dark-- And every inch of this my flesh did feel As if a cold toad touch'd it! Now 'tis sunshine, And the blood dances freely thro' its channels! [_He turns off--then (to himself) mimicking FERDINAND'S manner._[558:1] 'A common trick of gratitude, my lord! 200 Old Gratitude! a dagger would dissect His own full heart,' 'twere good to see its colour! _Velez (looking intently at the picture)._ Calm, yet commanding! how he bares his breast, Yet still they stand with dim uncertain looks, As penitence had run before their crime. 205 A crime too black for aught to follow it Save blasphemous despair! See _this_ man's face-- With what a difficult toil he drags his soul To do the deed. [_Then to OSORIO._ O this was delicate flattery To poor Maria, and I love thee for it! 210 _Osorio (in a slow voice with a reasoning laugh)._ Love--love--and then we hate--and what? and wherefore? Hatred and love. Strange things! both strange alike! What if one reptile sting another reptile, Where is the crime? The goodly face of Nature Hath one trail less of slimy filth upon it. 215 Are we not all predestined rottenness And cold dishonor? Grant it that this hand Had given a morsel to the hungry worms Somewhat too early. Where's the guilt of this? That this must needs bring on the idiotcy 220 Of moist-eyed penitence--'tis like a dream! _Velez._ Wild talk, my child! but thy excess of feeling [_Turns off from OSORIO._ Sometimes, I fear, it will unhinge his brain! _Osorio._ I kill a man and lay him in the sun, And in a month there swarm from his dead body 225 A thousand--nay, ten thousand sentient beings In place of that one man whom I had kill'd. Now who shall tell me, that each one and all, Of these ten thousand lives, is not as happy As that one life, which being shov'd aside 230 Made room for these ten thousand?[559:1] _Velez._ Wild as madness! _Osorio._ Come, father! you have taught me to be merry, And merrily we'll pore upon this picture. _Velez (holding the picture before Osorio)._ That Moor, who points his sword at Albert's breast---- _Osorio (abruptly)._ A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful villain, 235 Whom I will strangle! _Velez._ And these other two---- _Osorio._ Dead--dead already!--what care I for the dead? _Velez._ The heat of brain and your too strong affection For Albert, fighting with your other passion, Unsettle you, and give reality 240 To these your own contrivings. _Osorio._ Is it so? You see through all things with _your_ penetration. Now I am calm. How fares it with Maria? My heart doth ache to see her. _Velez._ Nay--defer it! Defer it, dear Osorio! I will go. [_Exit VELEZ._ 245 _Osorio._ A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea-- And now 'tis gone! all may be done this night! _Enter a_ Servant. _Osorio._ There is a man, once a Moresco chieftain, One Ferdinand. _Servant._ He lives in the Alpuxarras, Beneath a slate rock. _Osorio._ Slate rock? _Servant._ Yes, my lord! 250 If you had seen it, you must have remember'd The flight of steps his children had worn up it With often clambering. _Osorio._ Well, it may be so. _Servant._ Why, now I think on't, at this time of the year 'Tis hid by vines. _Osorio (in a muttering voice)._ The cavern--aye--the cavern. He cannot fail to find it. [_To the_ Servant. 255 Where art going? You must deliver to this Ferdinand A letter. Stay till I have written it. [_Exit the_ Servant. _Osorio (alone)._ The tongue can't stir when the mouth is fill'd with mould. A little earth stops up most eloquent mouths, 260 And a square stone with a few pious texts Cut neatly on it, keeps the earth down tight. _Scene changes to the space before the castle._ _FRANCESCO and a_ Spy. _Francesco._ Yes! yes! I have the key of all their lives. If a man fears me, he is forced to love me. And if I can, and do not ruin him, 265 He is fast bound to serve and honour me! [_ALBERT enters from the castle, and is crossing the stage._ _Spy._ There--there--your Reverence! That is the sorcerer. [_FRANCESCO runs up and rudely catches hold of ALBERT. ALBERT dashes him to the earth. FRANCESCO and the_ Spy _make an uproar, and the servants rush from out the castle._ _Francesco._ Seize, seize and gag him! or the Church curses you! [_The servants seize and gag ALBERT._ _Enter VELEZ and OSORIO._ _Osorio (aside)._ This is most lucky! _Francesco (inarticulate with rage)._ See you this, Lord Velez? Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery, 270 And in the name of Holy Church command you To give me up the keys--the keys, my lord! Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your castle. This imp of hell--but we delay enquiry Till to Granada we have convoy'd him. 275 _Osorio (to the Servants)._ Why haste you not? Go, fly and dungeon him! Then bring the keys and give them to his Reverence. [_The_ Servants _hurry off ALBERT. OSORIO goes up to FRANCESCO, and pointing at ALBERT._ _Osorio (with a laugh)._ 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' _Francesco._ What? did _you_ hear it? _Osorio._ Yes, and plann'd this scheme To bring conviction on him. Ho! a wizard, 280 Thought I--but where's the proof! I plann'd this scheme. The scheme has answer'd--we have proof enough. _Francesco._ My lord, your pious policy astounds me. I trust my honest zeal---- _Osorio._ Nay, reverend father! It has but raised my veneration for you. 285 But 'twould be well to stop all intertalk Between my servants and this child of darkness. _Francesco._ My lord! with speed I'll go, make swift return, And humbly redeliver you the keys. [_Exit FRANCESCO._ _Osorio (alone)._ 'The stranger, that lives nigh, still picking weeds.' 290 And this was his friend, his crony, his twin-brother! O! I am green, a very simple stripling-- The wise men of this world make nothing of me. By Heaven, 'twas well contrived! And I, forsooth, I was to cut my throat in honour of conscience. 295 And this tall wizard--ho!--he was to pass For Albert's friend! He _hath_ a trick of his manner. He was to tune his voice to honey'd sadness, And win her to a transfer of her love By lamentable tales of her dear Albert, 300 And his dear Albert! Yea, she would have lov'd him. He, that can sigh out in a woman's ear Sad recollections of her perish'd lover, And sob and smile with veering sympathy, And, now and then, as if by accident, 305 Pass his mouth close enough to touch her cheek With timid lip, he takes the lover's place, He takes his place, for certain! Dusky rogue, Were it not sport to whimper with thy mistress, Then steal away and roll upon my grave, 310 Till thy sides shook with laughter? Blood! blood! blood! They want thy blood! thy blood, Osorio! [END OF ACT THE THIRD.] FOOTNOTES: [555:1] In MS. II this speech is crossed out, and on the blank page opposite the following is written in Coleridge's hand:-- 'Instead of Maria's portrait, Albert places on the altar a small picture of his attempted assassination. The scene is not wholly without _poetical_ merit, but it is miserably undramatic, or rather untragic. A scene of magic is introduced in which no single person on the stage has the least faith--all, though in different ways, think or know it to be a _trick_----consequently, &c.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 494, _Editor's Note_. In MS. III the following stage-direction is written (in S. T. C.'s handwriting) on the page opposite to lines 113-15:-- 'Albert has placed on the altar a small picture representing the attempt to assassinate him, instead of the portrait of Maria which Osorio had given him.' [556:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:--'Velez supposes the picture is an innocent contrivance of Osorio's to remove Maria's scruples: Osorio, that it is the portrait of Maria which he had himself given the supposed Wizard.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 495, _Editors Note_. In MS. III Coleridge wrote on the opposite page:--'Velez supposes the picture which represents the attempt to assassinate Albert, to have been a mere invention contrived by Osorio with the most innocent intentions. Osorio supposes it of course, to be the _portrait_ of Maria which he had restored to Albert!' [556:2] The transcriber of MS. I had here written 'superstitious', which is marked through with ink, and 'serious' is substituted, in Coleridge's own hand. In MS. II 'superstitious' is left undisturbed. _P. W._, 1893, p. 495, _Editor's Note_. In MS. III 'serious' is erased and 'superstitious' is superscribed. [558:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:--'Osorio immediately supposes that this wizard whom Ferdinand had recommended to him, was in truth, an accomplice of Ferdinand, to whom the whole secret had been betrayed.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 496, _Editor's Note_. [559:1] Opposite the passage in MS. II the following is written in the transcriber's hand:-- Ce malheur, dites-vous, est le bien d'un autre être-- De mon corps tout sanglant, mille insectes vont naître. Quand la mort met le comble aux maux que j'ai souffert, Le beau soulagement d'être mangé de vers! Je ne suis du grand TOUT qu'une faible partie-- Oui; mais les animaux condamnés à la vie Sous les êtres sentants nés sous la mème loi Vivent dans la douleur, et meurent comme moi. _Désastre de Lisbonne._ _P. W._, 1893, p. 491, _Editor's Note_. LINENOTES: [Before 1] ACT III. SCENE 1.--_A Hall of armory, with an altar at the back of the stage. Soft music from an instrument of glass or steel. VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered._ _Ord._ This was too melancholy, father. _Val._ Nay, My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search We found him in an open place in [of _Osor._] the wood, To which spot he had followed a blind boy, Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely-moving notes: and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank; And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep, His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe A silver toy his {grandmother had _Osor._ {grandam had late given him. Methinks I see him now as he then look'd-- { His infant dress was grown too short for him, _Osor._ { Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress, Yet still he wore it. _Alv. (aside)._ My tears must not flow! I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father! _Enter TERESA and attendants._ Remorse. [These lines with the variants as noted above are included in Osorio, Act III, lines 58-74.] [After 3] stage-direction om. Remorse. [Between 3 and 4] _Ordonio._ Believe you then no preternatural influence? { Believe you not that spirits throng around us? { I thought you held that spirits throng'd around us? Corr. in MS. III. _Ter._ Say rather that I have imagined it A possible thing; and it has sooth'd my soul As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me To traffic with the black and frenzied hope, That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. Remorse. [4] _you_] you Remorse. [5] employments] employment Remorse. [9] things] guilt Remorse. [10] Stand ye from the altar Remorse. [After 10] [_Here_, &c. . . . scene Remorse. [13] spells] spell Remorse. [21] unstun'd] unstunn'd Remorse. [After 23] [_Music_ Remorse. [29] build up] upbuild Remorse. [37] [_Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear, sweet Spirit.'_ Remorse. [After 43] SONG.--_Behind the scenes_, &c. Remorse. [50] chanters] chaunter Remorse. [58-74] are printed as ll. 1-17, Act III, Sc. I Remorse. [61] of] in Remorse. [70-72] A silver toy his grandam had late given him, Methinks I see him now as he then look'd-- Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress, Remorse, Act III, ll. 13-15. [79] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [87] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [88-9] But what if he had a brother, Who had lived even so Remorse. [91-2] _Valdez._ Idly prating man! Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother Stands here before thee--a father's blessing on him! He is most virtuous. Remorse. [96] excellently] exquisitely Remorse. [Between 104 and 105] [_Music again._ _Teresa._ 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! But whatso'er it mean, I dare no longer Be present at these lawless mysteries, This dark provoking of the hidden Powers! Already I affront--if not high Heaven-- Yet Alvar's memory!--Hark! I make appeal Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens, Comfort and faithful hope! Let us retire. _Alv. (to TERESA)._ O full of faith and guileless love, thy spirit Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent! [_Exeunt TERESA and Attendant. Music as before._ Remorse. [106] an eye of flesh] a human eye Remorse. [108] come quick] O come Remorse. [109] and if he lives] but if he live Remorse. [After 110] _The whole music clashes into a Chorus_ Remorse. [111] demon] demons Remorse. [113 foll.] For the rest of Act III, as published in Remorse, vide _post_ pp. 851-8. According to the Editor of Osorio as first published in 1873, 'The rest of this Act is entirely different in the published Remorse.' This statement needs qualification. The remainder of Act III of Osorio was rewritten, much was omitted, much added, and the 'dramatic ordonnance' of this part of the play was remodelled on a different plan, but the following lines 174-82, 195-202, 210-31 and 246-7 were included, with certain alterations, in Remorse. See Remorse, Act III, Scene II, ll. 64-71, 79-87, 94-114 and 185-6. [140-3] _And . . . come_ MS. III erased. [After 146] Doth swim with love and pity--Well Ordonio O my foreboding Spirit, he suborn'd thee, And thou didst spare his life Corr. in MS. III. [299] interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III. ACT THE FOURTH SCENE THE FIRST.--_A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a cranny_ [_crevice_ Remorse] _in a part of the cavern out of sight._ [_FERDINAND alone, an extinguished torch in his hand._ _Ferdinand._ Drip! drip! drip! drip!--in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch. Faith 'twas a moving letter--very moving! His life in danger--no place safe but this. 5 'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude! And yet--but no! there can't be such a villain. It cannot be! Thanks to that little cranny Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and sit by it. To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 10 Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep, 'Twere better than this dreary noise of water-drops! [_He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight,_ [_and returns_. Remorse] _returns after a minute's elapse in an ecstasy of fear._ A hellish pit! O God--'tis like my night-mair! I was just in!--and those damn'd fingers of ice Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha! what's that? it moved! 15 [_FERDINAND stands_ [_motionless_ _MS. III erased_] _staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time OSORIO enters with a torch and hollas to him_ [_halloes to ISIDORE_ Remorse]. _Ferdinand._ I swear, I saw a something moving there! The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning. I swear, I saw it move! [_OSORIO goes into the recess, then returns, and with great scorn._ _Osorio._ A jutting clay-stone Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath; And the weed nods and drips. _Ferdinand (forcing a faint laugh)._ A joke to laugh at! 20 It was not that which frighten'd me, my lord! _Osorio._ What frighten'd you? _Ferdinand._ You see that little cranny? But first permit me, [_Lights his torch at OSORIO'S, and while lighting it._ (A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 25 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)[564:1] You see that cranny there? _Osorio._ Well, what of that? _Ferdinand._ I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there. When I had reach'd it within twenty paces---- [_FERDINAND starts as if he felt the terror over again._ Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look. 30 [_OSORIO goes and returns._ _Osorio._ It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro' you? _Ferdinand._ If every atom of a dead man's flesh Should move, each one with a particular life, Yet all as cold as ever--'twas just so! Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost 35 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald-- _Osorio (interrupting him)._ Why, Ferdinand! I blush for thy cowardice. It would have startled any man, I grant thee. But such a panic. _Ferdinand._ When a boy, my lord! I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 40 Push'd in huge stones and heard them thump and rattle Against its horrid sides; and hung my head Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments Sunk, with faint crash, in that still groaning well, Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 45 A living thing came near; unless, perchance, Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould, Close at its edge. _Osorio._ Art thou more coward now? _Ferdinand._ Call him that fears his fellow-men a coward. I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern 50 It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. Besides (you'll laugh, my lord!) but true it is, My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted[565:1] By what had pass'd between us in the morning. I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 55 And doz'd and started, doz'd again and started. I do entreat your lordship to believe me, In my last dream---- _Osorio._ Well? _Ferdinand._ I was in the act Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra Waked me. She heard my heart beat! _Osorio._ Strange enough! 60 Had you been here before? _Ferdinand._ Never, my lord! But my eyes do not see it now more clearly Than in my dream I saw that very chasm. [_OSORIO stands in a deep study--then, after a pause._ _Osorio._ There is no reason why it should be so. And yet it is. _Ferdinand._ What is, my lord? _Osorio._ Unpleasant 65 To kill a man! _Ferdinand._ Except in self-defence. _Osorio._ Why that's my case: and yet 'tis still unpleasant. At least I find it so! But you, perhaps, Have stronger nerves? _Ferdinand._ Something doth trouble you. How can I serve you? By the life you gave me, 70 By all that makes that life of value to me, My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, If it be innocent! But this, my lord! Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 75 No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness (When ten yards off, we know, 'tis chearful moonlight) Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart. It must be innocent. _Osorio._ Thyself be judge. [_OSORIO walks round the cavern--then looking round it._ One of our family knew this place well. 80 _Ferdinand._ Who? when? my lord. _Osorio._ What boots it who or when? Hang up the torch. I'll tell his tale to thee. [_They hang [up] their torches in some shelf of_ [_on some ridge in_ Remorse] _the cavern._ _Osorio._ He was a man different from other men, And he despised them, yet revered himself.[567:1] _Ferdinand._ What? he was mad? _Osorio._ All men seem'd mad to him, 85 Their actions noisome folly, and their talk-- A goose's gabble was more musical. Nature had made him for some other planet, And press'd his soul into a human shape By accident or malice. In this world 90 He found no fit companion! _Ferdinand._ Ah, poor wretch! Madmen are mostly proud. _Osorio._ He walk'd alone, And phantasies, unsought for, troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities, and with these shadows 95 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen'd, A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest: To this in moody murmur, and low voice, He yielded utterance as some talk in sleep. The man who heard him---- Why didst thou look round? 100 _Ferdinand._ I have a prattler three years old, my lord! In truth he is my darling. As I went From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep-- But I am talking idly--pray go on! And what did this man? _Osorio._ With his human hand 105 He gave a being and reality To that wild fancy of a possible thing. Well it was done. [_Then very wildly._ Why babblest thou of guilt? The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. And he, whose tale I tell thee--dost thou listen? 110 _Ferdinand._ I would, my lord, you were by _my_ fireside! I'd listen to you with an eager eye, Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight. But I do listen--pray proceed, my lord! _Osorio._ Where was I? _Ferdinand._ He of whom you tell the tale-- 115 _Osorio._ Surveying all things with a quiet scorn Tamed himself down to living purposes, The occupations and the semblances Of ordinary men--and such he seem'd. But that some over-ready agent--he---- 120 _Ferdinand._ Ah! what of him, my lord? _Osorio._ He proved a villain; Betray'd the mystery to a brother villain; And they between them hatch'd a damnéd plot To hunt him down to infamy and death To share the wealth of a most noble family, 125 And stain the honour of an orphan lady With barbarous mixture and unnatural union. What did the Velez? I am proud of the name, Since he dared do it. [_OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND, then, after a pause, returns._ _Osorio._ Our links burn dimly. _Ferdinand._ A dark tale darkly finish'd! Nay, my lord! 130 Tell what he did. _Osorio (fiercely)._ That which his wisdom prompted. He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill'd the traitor. _Ferdinand._ No!--the fool. He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135 That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie To murder _his own brother_, would not scruple To murder _thee_, if e'er his guilt grew jealous And he could steal upon thee in the dark! _Osorio._ Thou would'st not then have come, if---- _Ferdinand._ O yes, my lord! 140 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward! [_FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed, and draws his sword._ _Osorio._ Now this is excellent, and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave, Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. _Ferdinand._ And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first. [_They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing._ _Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio)._ Still I can strangle thee! _Osorio._ Nay, fool! stand off. I'll kill thee--but not so! Go fetch thy sword. [_FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch. OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns alone._ _Osorio._ Now--this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150 His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1] [_Exit._ _SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ._ _MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER._ _Maria._ And when I heard that you desired to see me, I thought your business was to tell me of him. _Foster-Mother._ I never saw the Moor, whom you describe. _Maria._ 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155 As mine and Albert's common foster-mother. _Foster-Mother._ Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That join'd your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160 On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 'Tis more like heaven to come, that what _has_ been! _Maria._ O my dear mother! this strange man has left me 165 Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moon Breeds in the love-sick maid--who gazes at it Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother! _Foster-Mother._ Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! 170 _Maria._ No one. _Foster-Mother._ My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? 175 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost. 180 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. A pretty boy, but most unteachable-- And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 185 And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A friar who gather'd simples in the wood, A grey-hair'd man--he loved this little boy, 190 The boy loved him--and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a very learned youth. But O! poor wretch--he read, and read, and read, 195 Till his brain turn'd--and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things. And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 200 The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him, And once as by the north side of the chapel They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, The earth heav'd under them with such a groan, That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fall'n 205 Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd; A fever seiz'd him; and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'd And cast into that hole. My husband's father 210 Sobb'd like a child--it almost broke his heart. And once as he was working in the cellar, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 215 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described: 220 And the young man escaped. _Maria._ 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a list'ning child to sleep, His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears. And what became of him? _Foster-Mother._ He went on shipboard With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 225 Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brother Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain, He told Leoni that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 230 And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposed He liv'd and died among the savage men. _Enter VELEZ._ _Velez._ Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you. 235 _Maria._ O Christ! the tortures that hang o'er his head, If ye betray him to these holy brethren! _Velez (with a kind of sneer)._ A portly man, and eloquent, and tender! In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn That their rude grasp should seize on _such_ a victim. 240 _Maria._ The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of sympathy, That I should feel too little for mine enemy-- Ah! far too little--if 'twere possible, I could feel more, even tho' my child or husband 245 Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are---- _Velez._ Hush! thoughtless woman! _Maria._ Nay--it wakes within me More than a woman's spirit. _Velez (angrily)._ No more of this-- I can endure no more. _Foster-Mother._ My honour'd master! Lord Albert used to talk so. _Maria._ Yes! my mother! 250 These are my Albert's lessons, and I con them With more delight than, in my fondest hour, I bend me o'er his portrait. _Velez (to the Foster-Mother)._ My good woman, You may retire. [_Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER._ _Velez._ We have mourn'd for Albert. Have I no living son? _Maria._ Speak not of him! 255 That low imposture--my heart sickens at it, If it be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it! _Valdez._ Is this well? _Maria._ Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? 260 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, Displac'd each other with swift interchanges? If this were all assumed, as you believe, He must needs be a most consummate actor; And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 265 I never could be safe. And why assume The semblance of such execrable feelings? _Velez._ Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle An old man's passion! Was it not enough That thou hast made my son a restless man, 270 Banish'd his health and half-unhinged his reason, But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, And toil to blast his honour? I am old-- A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay Beneath my roof! [_FRANCESCO enters and stands listening._ _Velez._ Repent and marry him-- 275 Or to the convent. _Francesco (muttering)._ Good! good! very good! _Maria._ Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune, And I will live a solitary woman, Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons May be my household. _Francesco (advancing)._ I abhor a listener; 280 But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you. I pray, my lord! will you embolden me To ask you why this lady doth prefer To live in lonely sort, without a friend Or fit companion? _Velez._ Bid her answer you. 285 _Maria._ Nature will be my friend and fit companion. [_Turns off from them._ O Albert! Albert! that they could return, Those blessed days, that imitated heaven! When we two wont to walk at evening-tide; When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard 290 The voice of that Almighty One, who lov'd us, In every gale that breath'd, and wave that murmur'd! O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief, And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 295 Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart. _Francesco._ But in the convent, lady, you would have Such aids as might preserve you from perdition. There you might dwell. _Maria._ With tame and credulous faith, Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 300 Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs! O God! it is a horrid thing to know That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads Had once a mind, which might have given her wings Such as the angels wear! _Francesco (stifling his rage)._ Where is your son, my lord? 305 _Velez._ I have not seen him, father, since he left you. _Francesco._ His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him! _That_ Ferdinand (or if not he his wife) I have fresh evidence--are infidels. We are not safe until they are rooted out. 310 _Maria._ Thou man, who call'st thyself the minister Of Him whose law was love unutterable! Why is thy soul so parch'd with cruelty, That still thou thirstest for thy brother's blood? _Velez (rapidly)._ Father! I have long suspected it--her brain-- 315 Heed it not, father! _Francesco._ Nay--but I _must_ heed it. _Maria._ Thou miserable man! I fear thee not, Nor prize a life which soon may weary me. Bear witness, Heav'n! I neither scorn nor hate him-- 320 But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils, Still mourn, and have no power to remedy! [_Exit MARIA._ _Francesco._ My lord! I shall presume to wait on you To-morrow early. _Velez._ Be it so, good father! [_Exit FRANCESCO._ _Velez (alone)._ I do want solace, but not such as thine! 325 The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache, But not with sleep. Well--it is ever so. A child, a child is born! and the fond heart Dances! and yet the childless are most happy. [_SCENE changes to the mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of_ Morescoes, _all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA. After a pause one of the_ Morescoes _to the man who stands next to him._ _First Moresco._ The law which forced these Christian dresses on us, 330 'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it. _Second._ Yet 'tis not well to trample on it idly. _First._ Our country robes are dear. _Second._ And like dear friends, May chance to prove most perilous informers. [_A third Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle._ _Naomi._ Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee! 335 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments? _Alhadra (lifting up_ [_raising_ Remorse] _her eyes, and looking round on the circle)._ Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle, My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work An honourable deed? And would ye work it 340 In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes! They are _spell_-blasted; and whoever wears them, His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, And his bones soften! _Naomi._ Where is Ferdinand? _Alhadra (in a deep low voice)._ This night I went from forth my house, and left 345 His children all asleep; and he was living! And I return'd, and found them still asleep-- But he had perish'd. _All._ Perished? _Alhadra._ He had perish'd! Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan! 350 Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm Revenge his murder? _One to Another._ Did she say his murder? _Naomi._ Murder'd? Not murder'd? _Alhadra._ Murder'd by a Christian! [_They all, at once, draw their sabres._ _Alhadra (to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from the circle)._ Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword: This is thy chieftain's! [_He steps forward to take it._ Dost thou dare receive it? 355 For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet, No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez! _Enter MAURICE._ _All._ A spy! a spy! [_They seize him._ _Maurice._ Off! off! unhand me, slaves! 360 [_After much struggling he disengages himself and draws his sword._ _Naomi (to Alhadra)._ Speak! shall we kill him? _Maurice._ Yes! ye can kill a man, Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish slaves! And slaves are always cruel, always cowards. _Alhadra._ That man has spoken truth. Whence and who art thou? _Maurice._ I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know 365 The son of Velez hath hired one of you To murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert? _Alhadra (starting)._ Albert?--three years ago I heard that name Murmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner! Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us. 370 [_MAURICE stands among the_ Morescoes. _Alhadra._ Was not Osorio my husband's friend? _Old Man._ He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftain Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See--the point Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood! _Alhadra._ He is your chieftain's murderer! _Naomi._ He dies by Alla! _All (dropping on one knee)._ By Alla! 375 _Alhadra._ This night a reeking slave came with loud pant, Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, He read the scroll. _Maurice._ Its purport? _Alhadra._ Yes, I ask'd it. He answer'd me, 'Alhadra! thou art worthy 380 A nobler secret; but I have been faithful To this bad man, and faithful I will be.' He said, and arm'd himself, and lit a torch; Then kiss'd his children, each one on its pillow, And hurried from me. But I follow'd him 385 At distance, till I saw him enter _there_. _Naomi._ The cavern? _Alhadra._ Yes--the mouth of yonder cavern. After a pause I saw the son of Velez Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd-- There was another and a longer pause-- 390 And once, methought, I heard the clash of swords, And soon the son of Velez reappear'd. He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood listening Impatient for the footsteps of my husband! 395 _Maurice._ Thou called'st him? _Alhadra._ I crept into the cavern: 'Twas dark and very silent. [_Then wildly._ What said'st thou? No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand! Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while, Belike, I lost all thought and memory 400 Of that for which I came! After that pause, O God! I heard a groan!--and follow'd it. And yet another groan--which guided me Into a strange recess--and there was _light_, A _hideous_ light! his torch lay on the ground-- 405 Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink. I spake--and while I spake, a feeble groan Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan! _Maurice._ Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father! _Alhadra._ I stood in unimaginable trance 410 And agony, that cannot be remember'd, Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan! But I had heard his last--my husband's death-groan! _Naomi._ Haste! let us go! _Alhadra._ I look'd far down the pit. My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 415 And it was stain'd with blood! Then first I shriek'd! My eyeballs burnt! my brain grew hot as fire! And all the hanging drops of the wet roof Turn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood! And I was leaping wildly down the chasm 420 When on the further brink I saw his sword, And it said, Vengeance! Curses on my tongue! The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here, And he hath not had vengeance! Ferdinand! Spirit of Ferdinand! thy murderer lives! 425 Away! away! [_She rushes off, all following._ END OF THE FOURTH ACT FOOTNOTES: [564:1] The square brackets (which appear in both MSS.) seem to indicate that these words were an 'aside'. _P. W._ 1893, p. 499. _Editor's Note_. [565:1] Against this passage Coleridge has written in MS. II:--'This will be held by many for a mere Tragedy-dream--by many who have never given themselves the trouble to ask themselves from what grounds dreams pleased in Tragedy, and wherefore they have become so common. I believe, however, that in the present case, the whole is here psychologically true and accurate. Prophetical dreams are things of nature, and explicable by that law of the mind in which where dim ideas are connected with vivid feelings, Perception and Imagination insinuate themselves and mix with the forms of Recollection, till the Present appears to exactly correspond with the Past. Whatever is partially like, the Imagination will gradually represent as wholly like--a law of our nature which, when it is perfectly understood, woe to the great city Babylon--to all the superstitions of Men!' _P. W._, 1893, p. 499. [567:1] Against this passage Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Under the mask of the third person Osorio relates his own story, as in the delusion of self-justification and pride, it appeared to himself--at least as he wished it to appear to himself.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 499. 'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions--speaking of himself in the third person.' _MS. III_. [570:1] Against this line Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Osorio has thrust Ferdinand down the chasm. I think it an important instance how Dreams and Prophecies coöperate to their own completion.' _P. W._, 1893, p. 501. LINENOTES: [1-3] Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse. { [*water drops*] This ceaseless dreary sound of { dropping water-- I would they had not fallen upon my Torch! Corr. in MS. III. [5-6] In inverted commas. Remorse. [8] cannot] can not Remorse. cranny] crevice Remorse. [12] MS. III erased. [Between 11 and 13] (_a_) Any thing but this crash of water drops! These dull abortive sounds that fret the silence With puny thwartings and mock opposition! So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear Remorse. (_b_) Anything but this { crash of water-drops { [*noise*] { scoffing At broken measure { [*mocking*] intervals-- Their discontinuous, interruptive sound { These { [*With*] dull abortive &c. MS. III erased. Affixed to variant (a) of l. 12 '--this at all events is the final result of this correction.' _S. T. C._ [13] A hellish pit! O God--'tis that I dreamt of! Corr. in MS. III: A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! Remorse. [Affixed to 13] 'You mean like the dream presented to my mind when under the influence of the night-mare. This is most ludicrously expressed.' C. Ll[oyd] [16] I swear that I saw something Remorse. [18] In the stage-direction the last four words are omitted Remorse. [19] Drips] Drops Remorse. [Between 19 and 31.] _Isidore._ A jest to laugh at! It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord. _Ordonio._ What scar'd you, then? _Isidore._ You see that little rift? But first permit me! [_Lights his torch at ORDONIO'S, and while lighting it._ (A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) You see that crevice there? My torch extinguished by these water drops, And marking that the moonlight came from thence, I stept in to it, meaning to sit there; But scarcely had I measured twenty paces-- My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink Of a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine Filling the void so counterfeited substance, That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. Was it my own fear? Fear too hath its instincts! (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye) An arm of frost above and from behind me Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven! You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here! My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. Remorse. [33] move] creep Remorse. [35] if] had Remorse. [37-9] _Ordonio._ Why, Isidore, I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, I grant you, even a brave man for a moment-- Remorse. [41] thump] strike Corr. in MS. III, Remorse. [42] and] then Remorse. [44] Sunk with a faint splash in that groaning Corr. in MS. III. Sunk] Sank Remorse. [49] fellow-men] fellow man Remorse. [52] laugh] smile Remorse. [Between 54 and 57:] O sleep of horrors! Now run down and stared at By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance-- Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, But only being afraid--stifled with fear! While every goodly or familiar form Had a strange power of breathing terror round me! I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes; And I entreat your lordship to believe me, Remorse. [56] om. Remorse. [62] my] mine Remorse. [64] _Ord. (after a pause)._ I know not why it should be! yet it is-- Remorse. [65] Abhorrent from our nature, Remorse. [67-70] _Ord._ Why that's my case! and yet the soul recoils from it-- 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, Have sterner feelings? _Isid._ Something troubles you. How shall I serve you? Remorse. [77] yards] strides Remorse. [80] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [82] the] thy Remorse. [Between 84 and 88] _Isid. (aside)._ He? He despised? Thou'rt speaking of thyself! I am on my guard however: no surprise [_Then to ORDONIO._ Remorse. [86-7] om. Remorse. [91-2] _Isidore._ Of himself he speaks. [_Aside._ Alas! poor wretch! Mad men, &c. Remorse. [93] phantasies] phantom thoughts Remorse. [104] go on] proceed Remorse. [105] his] this Remorse. [106] being] substance Remorse. [108] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [120] some] same Remorse. [121-2] He proved a traitor, Betrayed the mystery to a brother traitor Remorse. [125-7] om. Remorse. [131] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [Between 143 and 145.] With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien, And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of-- Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it Remorse. [Affixed to 147.] _Ferdinand on hearing the threat of Osorio feels a momentary horror at the consequences of his being killed, and in tones of mingled fear and sorrow_-- And all my little ones fatherless! _then bursting into indignation_ 'Die thou first', MS. III. [After 147] [_They fight. ORDONIO disarms ISIDORE, and in disarming him throws his sword up that recess opposite to which they were standing. ISIDORE hurries into the recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him; a loud cry of 'Traitor! Monster!' is heard from the cavern, and in a moment ORDONIO returns alone._ _Ordonio._ I have hurl'd him down the chasm! treason for treason. He dreamt of it, henceforward let him sleep, A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. His dream too is made out--Now for his friend. [_Exit. ORDONIO._ Remorse. [148-51] om. Remorse. [150] Now] So MS. III. [Affixed to 150.] 'Ferdinand's death is not sufficiently explained to the Audience. There should be a struggling behind the scene, as if Osorio had taken him unawares, and was hurrying him down the Precipice. An exclamation or even groans would add still more to the interest of the scene.' MS. III erased. [152-234] om. Remorse. vide _ante_ The Foster-Mother's Tale: a Dramatic Fragment, pp. 182-4. [Between 152 and 246:] SCENE II _The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle with the iron gate of a dungeon visible._ _Teresa._ Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze Ev'n Pity's eye with her own frozen tear. In vain I urge the tortures that await him: Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, My second mother, shuts her heart against me! Well, I have won from her what most imports The present need, this secret of the dungeon Known only to herself.--A Moor! a Sorcerer! No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned him To act some part in some unholy fraud; As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, And that Ordonio meditates revenge! But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him, And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar. _Enter VALDEZ._ _Valdez._ Still sad?--and gazing at the massive door Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of, Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats. Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee! A stately man, and eloquent and tender-- Who then need wonder if a lady sighs Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans-- _Teresa._ The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, That I should feel too little for mine enemy, If it were possible I could feel more, Even though the dearest inmates of our household Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are-- Remorse. [155] _Maria._ 'Tis strange] _Teresa._ 'Tis said MS. III. [157] _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III. [165-6] O honor'd Selma! this strange man has left me Wilder'd with stranger fancies than yon moon Corr. in MS. III. [169] She gazes idly! _Ter._ But that entrance, Selma Corr. in MS. III. [170] _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III. [171] _Maria_] _Teresa._ _Foster-Mother_] _Selma_ Corr. in MS. III. [172] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III. [180] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III. [201] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III. [212] And once as he was working near this dungeon Corr. in MS. III. [221] _Maria_] _Teresa_ Corr. in MS. III. [226] Leoni's] Sesina's Corr. in MS. III. [228] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III. [Between 248 and 255:] What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us! I dare not listen to you. _Teresa._ My honoured lord, These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, As if to give a voice to the mute image. _Valdez._ ----We have mourned for Alvar. Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. Have I no other son? Remorse. [256] That low imposture! That mysterious picture! Remorse. it] this Remorse. [Between 262 and 268:] O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.-- I would call up before thine eyes the image Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born! His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips! That spiritual and almost heavenly light In his commanding eye--his mien heroic, Virtue's own native heraldry! to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears, Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, Oh, what a grief was there--for joy to envy, Or gaze upon enamour'd! O my father! Recall that morning when we knelt together, And thou didst bless our loves! O even now, Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him, As at that moment he rose up before thee, Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance! Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind! To take in exchange that brooding man, who never Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl. Remorse. [274-86] (Thou shalt not stay . . . companion) om. Remorse. [Between 274-87:] _Teresa._ O grief! to hear Hateful intreaties from a voice we love! _Enter a PEASANT and presents a letter to VALDEZ._ _Valdez (reading it)._ 'He dares not venture hither!' Why what can this mean? 'Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition, That watch around my gates, should intercept him; But he conjures me, that without delay I hasten to him--for my own sake entreats me To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd-- He will reveal a secret, the joy of which Will even outweigh the sorrow.'--Why what can this be? Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, To have in me a hostage for his safety. Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants! I will go thither--let them arm themselves. [_Exit VALDEZ._ _Teresa (alone)._ The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd. Yet anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep. O Alvar! Alvar! &c. Remorse. [After 276] And all his wealth perhaps come to the Church MS. III. erased. [289] evening-tide] eventide Remorse. [296-334] om. Remorse. [After 296] [_A pause._ And this majestic Moor, seems he not one Who oft and long communing with my Alvar, Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, And guides me to him with reflected light? What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery Be groping for him with envenomed poniard-- Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty-- I'll free him. [_Exit TERESA._ SCENE III _The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress._ _Alhadra._ Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold; { The hanging Act V, l. 41. { The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch-owl only wakes! Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty! Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood. Why such a thing am I?--Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces, To beat away this deep contempt for all things, Which quenches my revenge. O! would to Alla, The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed To bring me food! or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, And think myself the only being alive. [_Vide post Osorio_, Act V, ll. 39-56.] My children!--Isidore's children!--Son of Valdez, This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant! To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, Till she forgot--even that she was a mother! [_She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till NAOMI enters._ Remorse. [337] the] these Remorse. [342] _spell_-blasted] spell-blasted Remorse. [345] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [348] _All_] _All Morescoes._ Remorse. [352] _One to Another_] _One Morescoe (to another)._ Remorse. [353] Murder? Not murder'd? Remorse. [After 353] [Stage-direction] _Alhadra (to Naomi, who advances from the circle)._ Remorse. [359] house] sons MS. III. Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez Remorse. [After 359] _Enter_ Warville. MS. III. [_A pause._ Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer Remorse. [360-70] Erased MS. III. [360-75] om. Remorse. [373-80] Erased MS. III. [375] Stage-direction _All (kneeling)._ Remorse. [After 375] _Alhadra._ This night your chieftain armed himself Remorse. [Affixed to 375] (not in S. T. C.'s handwriting) and erased: _Naomi._ Proceed, proceed, Alhadra. _Alhadra._ Yestermorning He stood before our house, startful and gloomy, And stirr'd up fierce dispute with Ferdinand, I saw him when the vehement Gripe of Conscience Had wrenched his features to a visible agony. When he was gone Ferdinand sighed out 'Villain' And spake no other word. _Warville (mournfully)._ The brother of Albert. MS. III erased. [_Note._--Warville was a character introduced into the deleted passage 360-70, the name being always altered by S. T. C. to 'Maurice'.] [376-84] om. Remorse. [384] its] their Corr. in MS. III. [386] _there_] there Remorse. [388] a pause] a while Remorse. [397] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [399] A brief while] A little while Corr. in MS. III erased. [402] God] Heaven Remorse. [404] _light_] light Remorse. [405] _hideous_] hideous Remorse. [407] while] whilst Remorse. [409] Erased MS. III. _Naomi._ Comfort her, Alla! Remorse. [414] go] onward Remorse. [421] his] the MS. III. [After 425 _All._ Away! away! [_She rushes off, all following her._ Remorse. ACT THE FIFTH SCENE THE FIRST.--_The Sea Shore._ _NAOMI and a_ Moresco. _Moresco._ This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance. _Naomi._ True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor, Thou know'st the bloodhound--'twas a strong temptation. And when they pass'd within a mile of his house, We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet, 5 It were a deed of treachery to their brethren To sail from Spain and leave that man alive. _Moresco._ Where is Alhadra? _Naomi._ She moved steadily on Unswerving from the path of her resolve. Yet each strange object fix'd her eye: for grief 10 Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes, And smiling, like a sickly moralist, Gives some resemblance of her own concerns To the straws of chance, and things inanimate. I seek her here; stand thou upon the watch. 15 [_Exit_ Moresco. _Naomi (looking wistfully to the distance)._ Stretch'd on the rock! It must be she--Alhadra! [_ALHADRA rises from the rock, and advances slowly, as if musing._ _Naomi._ Once more, well met! what ponder'st thou so deeply? _Alhadra._ I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind I only listen'd to the dashing billows. 20 It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes And wak'd without a dream of what has pass'd; So well it counterfeited quietness, This wearied heart of mine! _Naomi._ 'Tis thus by nature Wisely ordain'd, that so excess of sorrow 25 Might bring its own cure with it. _Alhadra._ Would to Heaven That it had brought its last and certain cure! That ruin in the wood. _Naomi._ It is a place Of ominous fame; but 'twas the shortest road, Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. 30 Yet some among us, as they scal'd the wall, Mutter'd old rhyming prayers. _Alhadra._ On that broad wall I saw a skull; a poppy grew beside it, There was a ghastly solace in the sight! _Naomi._ I mark'd it not, and in good truth the night-bird 35 Curdled my blood, even till it prick'd the heart. Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year: [_Looking round impatiently._ Why don't they come? I will go forth and meet them. [_Exit NAOMI._ _Alhadra (alone)._ The hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem'd As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, 40 The hanging woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lay in the silent moonshine; and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl only wak'd, Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty! 45 Why such a thing am I! Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces To beat away this deep contempt for all things Which quenches my revenge. Oh!--would to Alla The raven and the sea-mew were appointed 50 To bring me food, or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff, Along some ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, 55 And think myself the only being alive! [_NAOMI re-enters._ _Naomi._ Thy children---- _Alhadra._ Children? _Whose_ children? [_A pause--then fiercely._ Son of Velez, This hath new-strung my arm! Thou coward tyrant, To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 60 Till she forgot even that she was a mother! [_A noise--enter a part of the_ Morescoes; _and from the opposite side of the stage a_ Moorish Seaman. _Moorish Seaman._ The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits. Your wives and children are already stow'd; I left them prattling of the Barbary coast, Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden crescents. 65 Each had her separate dream; but all were gay, Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels! [_Enter MAURICE and the rest of the_ Morescoes _dragging in FRANCESCO._ _Francesco._ O spare me, spare me! only spare my life! _An Old Man._ All hail, Alhadra! O that thou hadst heard him When first we dragg'd him forth! [_Then turning to the band._ Here! in her presence---- 70 [_He advances with his sword as about to kill him. MAURICE leaps in and stands with his drawn sword between FRANCESCO and the_ Morescoes. _Maurice._ Nay, but ye shall not! _Old Man._ Shall not? Hah? Shall not? _Maurice._ What, an unarm'd man? A man that never wore a sword? A priest? It is unsoldierly! I say, ye shall not! _Old Man (turning to the bands)._ He bears himself most like an insolent Spaniard! 75 _Maurice._ And ye like slaves, that have destroy'd their master, But know not yet what freedom means; how holy And just a thing it is! He's a fallen foe! Come, come, forgive him! _All._ No, by Mahomet! _Francesco._ O mercy, mercy! talk to them of mercy! 80 _Old Man._ Mercy to thee! No, no, by Mahomet! _Maurice._ Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness. I am sure he did! _Old Man._ Ha! Ha! Forgiveness! Mercy! _Maurice._ If he did not, he needs it for himself! _Alhadra._ Blaspheming fool! the law of Mahomet 85 Was given by him, who framed the soul of man. This the best proof--it fits the soul of man! Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprize, The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge, With all the boiling revelries of pleasure-- 90 These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots With its minutest fibres! And that Being Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith, Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand, Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature! 95 _Naomi (who turns toward Francesco with his sword)._ Speak! _All (to Alhadra)._ Speak! _Alhadra._ Is the murderer of your chieftain dead? Now as God liveth, who hath suffer'd him To make my children orphans, none shall die Till I have seen his blood! Off with him to the vessel! [_A part of the_ Morescoes _hurry him off._ _Alhadra._ The Tyger, that with unquench'd cruelty, 100 Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter's spear With prodigal courage. 'Tis not so with man. _Maurice._ It is not so, remember that, my friends! Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards. _Alhadra._ Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, 105 And move in silence to the house of Velez. [_Exeunt._ SCENE.--_A Dungeon._ _ALBERT (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds._ _Albert._ And this place my forefathers made for men! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us-- Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? 110 Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 115 They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks-- And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces at the clanking hour 120 Seen thro' the steaming vapours of his dungeon By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd By sights of ever more deformity! 125 With other ministrations thou, O Nature! Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child: Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 130 Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But bursting into tears wins back his way, His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd 135 By the benignant touch of love and beauty. [_A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and OSORIO enters with a goblet in his hand._ _Osorio._ Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto; And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee! _Albert (in a low voice)._ I have not summon'd up my heart to give 140 That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez! _Osorio (with affected levity)._ Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not! Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours-- It is a puddle in a storm of rain, 145 And we the air-bladders, that course up and down, And joust and tilt in merry tournament, And when one bubble runs foul of another, [_Waving his hand at ALBERT._ The lesser must needs break! _Albert._ I see thy heart! There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 150 Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc'd man, This is the gaiety of drunken anguish, Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, And quell each human feeling! _Osorio._ Feeling! feeling! The death of a man--the breaking of a bubble. 155 'Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes! But faintness, cold, and hunger--curses on me If willingly I e'er inflicted them! Come, share the beverage--this chill place demands it. Friendship and wine! [_OSORIO proffers him the goblet._ _Albert._ Yon insect on the wall, 160 Which moves this way and that its hundred legs, Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, It were an infinitely curious thing! But it has life, Osorio! life and thought; And by the power of its miraculous will 165 Wields all the complex movements of its frame Unerringly, to pleasurable ends! Saw I that insect on this goblet's brink, I would remove it with an eager terror. _Osorio._ What meanest thou? _Albert._ There's poison in the wine. 170 _Osorio._ Thou hast guess'd well. There's poison in the wine. Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink it? For one of us must die! _Albert._ Whom dost thou think me? _Osorio._ The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand. _Albert._ Ferdinand! Ferdinand! 'tis a name I know not. 175 _Osorio._ Good! good! that lie! by Heaven! it has restor'd me. Now I am thy master! Villain, thou shalt drink it, Or die a bitterer death. _Albert._ What strange solution Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, And drug them to unnatural sleep? [_ALBERT takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it on the ground._ _My_ master! 180 _Osorio._ Thou mountebank! _Albert._ Mountebank and villain! What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword! What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm? I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest! I speak--and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 185 And turn it to a motionless distraction! Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning, Thy faith in universal villainy, Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn For all thy human brethren--out upon them! 190 What have they done for thee? Have they given thee peace? Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made The darkness pleasant, when thou wakest at midnight? Art happy when alone? can'st walk by thyself With even step, and quiet cheerfulness? 195 Yet, yet thou mayst be saved. _Osorio (stupidly reiterating the word)._ Saved? saved? _Albert._ One pang-- Could I call up one pang of true remorse! _Osorio._ He told me of the babe, that prattled to him, His fatherless little ones! Remorse! remorse! Where gott'st thou that fool's word? Curse on remorse! 200 Can it give up the dead, or recompact A mangled body--mangled, dash'd to atoms! Not all the blessings of an host of angels Can blow away a desolate widow's curse; And tho' thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 205 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear. _Albert (almost overcome by his feelings)._ But Albert---- _Osorio._ Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, Even thee! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out. Still Albert! Albert! Howl it in mine ear! Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart! 210 And shoot it hissing through my brain! _Albert._ Alas-- That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez! How sweet and musical the name of Albert! 215 Then, then, Osorio! he was dear to thee, And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows How very dear thou wert! Why didst thou hate him? O Heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck, And weep forgiveness! _Osorio._ Spirit of the dead! 220 Methinks I know thee! Ha!--my brain turns wild At its own dreams--off--off, fantastic shadow! _Albert (seizing his hand)._ I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not! _Osorio (retiring from him)._ Cheat, villain, traitor! whatsoe'er thou be I fear thee, man! [_He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening._ And is _this_ too my madness? 225 _Albert._ It is the step of one that treads in fear Seeking to cheat the echo. _Osorio._ It approaches-- This nook shall hide me. [_MARIA enters from a plank which slips to and fro._ _Maria._ I have put aside The customs and the terrors of a woman, To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone, 230 And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert. [_ALBERT takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her with unutterable tenderness._ _Albert._ Maria! _my_ Maria! _Maria._ Do not mock me. This is my face--and thou--ha! who art thou? Nay, I will call thee Albert! [_She falls upon his neck. OSORIO leaps out from the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards ALBERT with his sword. MARIA gapes at him, as one helpless with terror, then leaves ALBERT, and flings herself upon OSORIO, arresting his arm._ _Maria._ Madman, stop! _Albert (with majesty and tenderness)._ Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 235 Hide Albert from thee? Toil and painful wounds, And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, Have marr'd perhaps all trace and lineament Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother! My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, 240 I thought thee guilty too! Osorio, brother! Nay, nay, thou _shalt_ embrace me! _Osorio (drawing back and gazing at Albert with a countenance expressive at once of awe and terror)._ Touch me not! Touch not pollution, Albert!--I will die! [_He attempts to fall on his sword. ALBERT and MARIA struggle with him._ _Albert._ We will invent some tale to save your honour. Live, live, Osorio! _Maria._ You may yet be happy. 245 _Osorio (looking at Maria)._ O horror! Not a thousand years in heaven Could recompose this miserable heart, Or make it capable of one brief joy. Live! live!--why yes! 'Twere well to live with you-- For is it fit a villain should be proud? 250 My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother! [_Throws himself at ALBERT'S feet._ Forgive me, Albert!--_Curse_ me with forgiveness! _Albert._ Call back thy soul, my brother! and look round thee. Now is the time for greatness. Think that Heaven---- _Maria._ O mark his eye! he hears not what you say. 255 _Osorio (pointing at vacancy)._ Yes, mark his eye! there's fascination in it. Thou said'st thou didst not know him. That is he! He comes upon me! _Albert (lifting his eye to heaven)._ Heal, O heal him, Heaven! _Osorio._ Nearer and nearer! And I cannot stir! Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? 260 He would have died to save me, and I kill'd him-- A husband and a father! _Maria._ Some secret poison Drinks up his spirit! _Osorio (fiercely recollecting himself)._ Let the eternal Justice Prepare my punishment in the obscure world. I will not bear to live--to live! O agony! 265 And be myself alone, my own sore torment! [_The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash. ALHADRA, MAURICE, and the band of_ Morescoes _enter._ _Alhadra (pointing at Osorio)._ Seize first that man! [_The_ Moors _press round._ _Albert (rushing in among them)._ Draw thy sword, Maurice, and defend my brother. [_A scuffle, during which they disarm MAURICE._ _Osorio._ Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. 270 Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes! _Alhadra._ My husband---- _Osorio._ Yes! I murder'd him most foully. _Albert (throws himself on the earth)._ O horrible! _Alhadra._ Why didst thou leave his children? 275 Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell To lap _their_ blood. Then, then, I might have harden'd My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 280 For the deep horror of a desolation Too great to be one soul's particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee. [_Struggling to suppress her anguish._ The time is not yet come for woman's anguish-- I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 285 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? [_Looks at OSORIO._ I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence! _Maria._ See--see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. Be merciful! [_MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully._ _Alhadra._ Thou art young and innocent; 290 'Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not. And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, Save only he. _Maria._ That aged man, his father! _Alhadra (sternly)._ Why had he such a son? [_The_ Moors _press on._ _Maria (still kneeling, and wild with affright)._ Yet spare his life! They must not murder him! _Alhadra._ And is it then 295 An enviable lot to waste away With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos To wander on disquietly thro' the earth, Cursing all lovely things? to let him live-- It were a deep revenge! _All the band cry out_--No mercy! no mercy! 300 [_NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO._ _Alhadra._ Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid Behold the ugliness of death? _Osorio (with great majesty)._ O woman! I have stood silent like a slave[596:1] before thee, That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing spirit 305 With bitterer agonies than death can give. [_The_ Moors _gather round him in a crowd, and pass off the stage._ _Alhadra._ I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain'd it wisely, That still extremes bring their own cure. That point In misery which makes the oppressed man Regardless of his own life, makes him too 310 Lord of the oppressor's! Knew I an hundred men Despairing, but not palsied by despair, This arm should shake the kingdoms of this world; The deep foundations of iniquity Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; 315 The strong holds of the cruel men should fall, Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall; Till desolation seem'd a beautiful thing, And all that were and had the spirit of life Sang a new song to him who had gone forth 320 Conquering and still to conquer! THE END[597:1] FOOTNOTES: [596:1] In _MS. II_ 'worm' has the place of 'slave', which is the word in _MS. I_. [597:1] On a blank page of _MS. III_ some one, probably Bowles, has written:--'Upon the whole a very masterly production, and with judicious contractments might be rendered an interesting Drama on the stage.' LINENOTES: [1-106] om. Remorse. [39] The hanging] Yon pendent Corr. in MS. III. [41] hanging] { pendent { flowerlike Corr. in MS. III. [45] that] this Corr. in MS. III. [Affixed to 57] _Naomi, the second in command to Isidore, enters in haste._ MS. III erased. [After 61] stage-direction erased MS. III. [62] _Moorish Seaman_] _Naomi_ Corr. in MS. III. [100-106] Erased MS. III. [107 foll.] _vide ante_, 'The Dungeon,' p. 185. [121] steaming] steam and Corr. in MS. III, Remorse. [125] ever more] _evermore_ Remorse. [After 136] I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone, In that dark angle, the sole resting-place! But the self-approving mind is its own light, And Life's best warmth still radiates from the heart Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose. _Enter TERESA._ [_Retires out of sight._ Corr. in MS. III, Remorse. Stage-direction affixed to 136 and 136-9 erased in MS. III: om. Remorse. [Between 136 and 137:] I am chill and weary, &c. . . . honest purpose. _Enter TERESA with a taper._ _Teresa._ It has chilled my very life--my own voice scares me; Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose The substance of my being--my strongest grasp Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. I seek to cheat the echo.--How the half sounds Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here-- [_Looking round._ O for one human face here--but to see One human face here to sustain me.--Courage! It is but my own fear! The life within me, It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh! If I faint? If this inhuman den should be At once my death-bed and my burial vault? [_Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess._ _Alvar (rushes towards her, and catches her as she is falling)._ O gracious heaven! it is, it is Teresa! Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, And joy complete what terror has begun. O ye impetuous beatings here, be still! Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold! Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa! _Teresa (recovering)._ I heard a voice; but often in my dreams I hear that voice! and wake and try--and try-- To hear it waking! but I never could-- And 'tis so now--even so! Well! he is dead-- Murdered perhaps! And I am faint, and feel As if it were no painful thing to die! _Alvar._ Believe it not, sweet maid! Believe it not, Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch. _Teresa._ Ha! Who art thou? _Alvar._ Suborned by his brother-- _Teresa._ Didst thou murder him? And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man, I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee! _Alvar._ Ordonio--he---- _Teresa._ If thou didst murder him-- His spirit ever at the throne of God Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy for thee, With tears in Heaven! _Alvar._ Alvar was not murdered. Be calm! be calm, sweet maid! _Teresa._ Nay, nay, but tell me! [_A pause._ O 'tis lost again! This dull confused pain-- [_A pause._ Mysterious man! Methinks I can not fear thee: for thine eye Doth swim with love and pity--Well! Ordonio-- Oh my foreboding heart! And he suborned thee, And thou didst spare his life? Blessings shower on thee, As many as the drops twice counted o'er In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa! _Alvar._ I can endure no more. The Moorish sorcerer Exists but in the stain upon his face. That picture---- _Teresa._ Ha! speak on! _Alvar._ Beloved Teresa! It told but half the truth. O let this portrait Tell all--that Alvar lives--that he is here! Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar. [_Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her._ _Teresa (receiving the portrait)._ The same--it is the same. Ah! Who art thou? Nay, I will call thee, Alvar! [_She falls on his neck._ _Alvar._ O joy unutterable! But hark! a sound as of removing bars At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while Conceal thyself, my love! It is Ordonio. For the honour of our race, for our dear father; O for himself too (he is still my brother) Let me recall him to his nobler nature, That he may wake as from a dream of murder! O let me reconcile him to himself, Open the sacred source of penitent tears, And be once more his own beloved Alvar. _Teresa._ O my all virtuous love! I fear to leave thee With that obdurate man. _Alvar._ Thou dost not leave me! But a brief while retire into the darkness: O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee! _Teresa._ The sound of thy voice shall be my music! Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [_Exit._ [_A noise at the dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters, with a goblet in his hand._ Remorse. [139] of] on Remorse. [140-1] and stage-direction before 142 om. Remorse. [145] 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain Remorse. [148] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [149] lesser must needs] weaker needs must Remorse. [151-2] Inly-tortured man, This is the revelry of a drunken anguish Remorse. [Before 160] [_ORDONIO proffers the goblet._ Remorse. [160] Friendship and wine om. Remorse. [161] legs] limbs Remorse. [164] life and thought] life, enjoyment Remorse. [168] brink] brim Remorse. [169] I would remove it with an anxious pity Remorse. [171-2] Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the wine. There's poison in't--which of us two shall drink it? Remorse. [Between 174 and 176:] _Alvar._ I know him not. And yet methinks, I have heard the name but lately. Means he the husband of the Moorish woman? Isidore? Isidore? Remorse. [175] om. Remorse. [180] Stage-direction [_ALVAR takes the goblet, and throws it to the ground._ Remorse. _My_] My Remorse. [196] Stage-direction om. Remorse.] [198] babe] babes Remorse. [207] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [223] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [224] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [225-35] om. Remorse. [Between 225 and 235] _Teresa (rushing out and falling on ALVAR'S neck)._ Ordonio! 'tis thy brother! [_ORDONIO runs upon ALVAR with his sword. TERESA flings herself on ORDONIO and arrests his arm._ Stop, madman, stop! Remorse. [235] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [238] trace] trial corr. in MS. III; trait Remorse. [240-41] Spotless . . . guilty too om. Remorse. [242] _shalt_] shalt Remorse. [After 242] stage-direction (_Drawing back and gazing at Alvar_) Remorse. [Between 243 and 245] _Alvar._ We will find means to save your honour. Live, Oh live, Ordonio! for our father's sake! Spare his gray hairs! _Teresa._ And you may yet be happy _Ordonio._ O horror, &c. Remorse. [After 243] _struggle with_] _prevent_ Remorse. [After 251] [_Throws himself, &c._] _Kneeling_ Remorse. [252] _Curse_] Curse Remorse. [253] my brother] Ordonio Remorse. [256] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [258] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [263] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [After 266] [_The doors of the dungeon are broken open, and in rush ALHADRA, and the band of_ Morescoes. _Alh._ Seize first that man! [_ALVAR presses onward to defend ORDONIO._ _Ord._ Off, &c. Remorse. [274] _Alvar and Teresa._ O horrible Remorse. [277] _their_] their Remorse. [283] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [287] Stage-direction om. Remorse. [Between 288 and 304:] _Teresa._ He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee! O let him live! That aged man, his father---- _Alhadra._ Why had he such a son? [_Shouts from the distance of_, Rescue! Rescue! Alvar! Alvar! _and the voice of VALDEZ heard._ Rescue?--and Isidore's spirit unavenged?-- The deed be mine! [_Suddenly stabs ORDONIO._ Now take my Life! _Ordonio (staggering from the wound)._ Atonement! _Alvar (while with TERESA supporting ORDONIO)._ Arm of avenging Heaven Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished hope-- But go! my word was pledged to thee. _Ordonio._ Away! Brave not my father's rage! I thank thee! Thou-- [_Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR._ She hath avenged the blood of Isidore! I stood in silence like a slave before her Remorse. [290-303] om. Remorse. [Affixed to 300] _ALHADRA snatches it from him and suddenly stabs ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes towards him through the_ Moors, _and catches him in his arms, &c._ MS. III. [303-4] 'Tis well! thou hast avenged thyself I have stood in silence like a slave before thee Corr. in MS. III. [305] spirit] heart Remorse. [After 306] Forgive me, Alvar! O couldst thou forgive thyself. Corr. in MS. III. Forgive me, Alvar! Oh!--couldst thou forget me! [_Dies._ [_ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO._ _Alh._ (_to the_ Moors). I thank thee, Heaven! &c. Remorse. _Shouts of_ Alvar! _Alvar!_ _Noises heard; a_ Moor _rushes in._ _Moor._ We are surprised, away! away! the instant-- The country is in arms. The old man heads them And still cries out, 'My son! My son is living' Haste to the shore! They come the opposite road. _ALHADRA (to ALVAR)._ Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety Thy word stands pledged. _Alvar._ Arm of avenging Heaven! My word stands pledged nor shall it be retracted. (_The_ Moors _surround ALHADRA) and force her off. The stage fills with armed peasants. ALI and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms and the Curtain drops._ [Alternative ending in S. T. C.'s handwriting affixed to lines 307-21, MS. III] [320] him] her Remorse. [After 321] [_ALHADRA hurries off with the_ Moors; _the stage fills with armed_ Peasants _and_ Servants, _ZULIMEZ and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms._ _Alvar._ Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide, Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing. [_both kneel to VALDEZ._ _Valdez._ My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, heaven! _Teresa._ Me too, my Father? _Valdez._ Bless, Oh, bless my children! [_both rise._ _Alvar._ Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate. Remorse. THE PICCOLOMINI[598:1] OR, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN A DRAMA TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION It was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstein to this translation; but I found that it must either have occupied a space wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than they already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of Schiller's _History of the Thirty Years' War_ diminished the motives thereto. In the translation I endeavoured to render my Author literally wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of idiom; but I am conscious that in two or three short passages I have been guilty of dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have availed myself of no other liberties than those which Schiller had permitted to himself, except the occasional breaking-up of the line by the substitution of a trochee for an iambus; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas. S. T. COLERIDGE. FOOTNOTES: [598:1] First published in a single octavo volume, 1800: included in 1828, 1829, 1834, and in _Dramatic Works_ (one vol. 8vo) 1852. The _Piccolomini_ and the _Death of Wallenstein_ were translated from MS. copies which had been acquired by the Messrs. Longman. The MS. copy of the original of the _Death of Wallenstein_ is in the possession of Mrs. Alexander Gillman. The MS. of the copy of the original of the _Piccolomini_ was at one time in the possession of Mr. Henry R. Mark of 17 Highbury Crescent. A note in Schiller's handwriting, dated 'Jena, 30. September 1799', attesting the genuineness of the copies, is attached to either play. The MS. copy of _Wallenstein's Camp_ ('Wallenstein's Lager'), which Coleridge did not attempt to translate, is not forthcoming. See two articles by Ferdinand Freiligrath, published in the _Athenæum_, July 15 and August 31, 1861. See, too, _Die Wallensteinübersetzung von Samuel T. Coleridge und ihr Deutsches Original_ . . . vorgelegt von Hans Roscher. Borna-Leipzig, 1905. A copy of the translation which Macready marked for acting is in the Forster Library, which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington. See note by J. Dykes Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 649. An annotated copy (in Coleridge's handwriting) of the translation of the _Piccolomini_ and the _Death of Wallenstein_, presented by Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, is in the Library of Rugby School [_MS. R._]. The MS. contents of this volume are now published for the first time. Coleridge began his translation of the two plays at No. 21 Buckingham Street, Strand, in December, 1799, and finished the 'last sheet' at Town End, Grasmere, April 20, 1800. 'These dramas have two grievous faults: they are prolix in the particular parts and slow in the general movement. But they have passion, distinct and diversified character, and they abound in passages of great moral and poetic beauty.' S. T. COLERIDGE. 'The defects of these dramas are all of an instructive character; for tho' not the products of genius, like those of Shakespere, they result from an energetic and thinking mind. (1) The speeches are seldom suited to characters--the characters are truly diversified and distinctly conceived--but we learn them from the actions and from the descriptions given by other characters, or from particular speeches. The brutal Illo repeatedly talks language which belongs to the Countess, &c. (2) Astrology (an undramatic superstition because it inspires no terror, and its foundation of imagination is overbuilt and concealed by its scientific superstructure, with other cause from the imagery, is thus unpopular or swallowed up in more general and pleasing associations, as the Sun and Moon) is made prophetic, and yet treated ludicrously: the author as philosopher is in compleat discord with himself as Historian. This is a most grievous fault. (3) The assassins talk ludicrously. This is a most egregious misimitation of Shakespere--Schiller should not have attempted tragico-comedy, and none but Shakespere has succeeded. It is wonderful, however, that Schiller, who had studied Shakespere, should not have perceived his divine judgment in the management of his assassins, as in Macbeth. They are fearful and almost pitiable Beings--not loathsome, ludicrous miscreants. (4) The character of Thekla = O, the bold Heroine of any novel. Nothing of the Convent, no superstition, nothing of the Daughter of Wallenstein, nothing that her past life is represented by. (5) Wallenstein is a finer psychological than dramatic, and a more dramatic than a tragic character. Shakespere draws _strength_ as in Richard the Third, and even when he blends weakness as in Macbeth--yet it is weakness of a specific kind that leaves the strength in full and fearful energy--but Schiller has drawn weakness imposing on itself the love of power for the sense of strength (a fine conception in itself, but not tragic--at least for the principal character of a long drama).--Hence Wallenstein, with one exception (that of the Regimental Deputation to him in the Second Part) evaporates in mock-mysterious speeches. These are the chief defects, I think. On the other hand, the character of Butler is admirable throughout. Octavio is very grand, and Max, tho' it may be an easy character to draw, for a man of thought and lofty feeling--for a man who possesses all the _analoga_ of genius, is yet so delightful, and its moral influence so grand and salutary, that we must allow it great praise. The childish love-toying with the glove and Aunt Tertsky in the first act should be omitted. Certain whole scenes are masterly, and far above anything since the dramatists of Eliz. & James the first.' _Note on fly-leaf of annotated copy (MS. R.)._ THE PICCOLOMINI[600:1] ACT I SCENE I _An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, decorated with Colours and other War Insignia._ _ILLO with BUTLER and ISOLANI._ _Illo._ Ye have come late--but ye are come! The distance, Count Isolan, excuses your delay. _Isolani._ Add this too, that we come not empty-handed. At Donauwert[600:2] it was reported to us, A Swedish caravan was on its way 5 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize!---- We bring it hither---- _Illo._ Just in time to banquet The illustrious company assembled here. 10 _Butler._ 'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here! _Isolani._ Ay! The very churches are all full of soldiers. And in the Council-house, too, I observe, You're settled, quite at home! Well, well! we soldiers Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 15 _Illo._ We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments. You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach, Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, The Piccolomini, both son and father---- You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 20 From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only Galas is wanting still, and Altringer. _Butler._ Expect not Galas. _Illo._ How so? Do you know---- _Isolani._ Max Piccolomini here?--O bring me to him. 25 I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago, We were engaged with Mansfeld hard by Dessau) I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 30 Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. The down was scarce upon his chin! I hear He has made good the promise of his youth, And the full hero now is finished in him. _Illo._ You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 35 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess[601:1] From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon. _Butler._ Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither? He crowds in visitants from all sides. _Isolani._ Hm! So much the better! I had framed my mind 40 To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, Of marches, and attacks, and batteries: And lo! the Duke provides, that something too Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present To feast our eyes. 45 _Illo (aside to Butler)._ And how came you to know That the Count Galas joins us not? _Butler._ Because He importuned me to remain behind. _Illo._ And you?--You hold out firmly? Noble Butler! _Butler._ After the obligation which the Duke 50 Had laid so newly on me---- _Illo._ I had forgotten A pleasant duty--Major-General, I wish you joy! _Isolani._ What, you mean, of his regiment? I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 55 The Duke has given him the very same In which he first saw service, and since then, Worked himself, step by step, through each preferment, From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives A precedent of hope, a spur of action 60 To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance An old deserving soldier makes his way. _Butler._ I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no I dare accept this your congratulation. The Emperor has not yet confirmed the appointment. 65 _Isolani._ Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there, Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers! _Illo._ Ay, if we would but so consider it!-- If we would all of us consider it so! 70 The Emperor gives us nothing; from the Duke Comes all--whate'er we hope, whate'er we have. _Isolani (to Illo)._ My noble brother! did I tell you how The Duke will satisfy my creditors? Will be himself my banker for the future, 75 Make me once more a creditable man!-- And this is now the third time, think of that! This kingly-minded man has rescued me From absolute ruin, and restored my honour. _Illo._ O that his power but kept pace with his wishes! 80 Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. But at Vienna, brother! here's the grievance!-- What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten His arm, and, where they can, to clip his pinions. Then these new dainty requisitions! these, 85 Which this same Questenberg brings hither!-- _Butler._ Ay, These requisitions of the Emperor,-- I too have heard about them; but I hope The Duke will not draw back a single inch! 90 _Illo._ Not from his right most surely, unless first --From office! _Butler._ Know you aught then? You alarm me. _Isolani (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice)._ We should be ruined, every one of us! _Illo._ No more! Yonder I see our worthy friend[603:1] approaching With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini. _Butler._ I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 95 FOOTNOTES: [600:1] In 1800 the following table of _Dramatis Personae_ was prefixed to Act I of _The Piccolomini, or The First Part of Wallenstein_. In 1828, 1829, and 1834 this table was omitted. DRAMATIS PERSONAE _WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in The Thirty-years' War._ _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General._ _MAX PICCOLOMINI, his son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers._ _COUNT TERTSKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein._ _ILLO, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant._ _ISOLANI, General of the Croats._ _BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons._ _TIEFENBACH_, } _DON MARADAS_, } _Generals under Wallenstein._ _GOETZ_, } _KOLATTO_, } _NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Tertsky._ _The War Commissioner, VON QUESTENBERG, Imperial Envoy._ _GENERAL WRANGEL, Swedish Envoy._ _BAPTISTA SENI, Astrologer._ _DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein._ _THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland._ _The COUNTESS TERTSKY, Sister of the Duchess._ _A CORNET._ _Several COLONELS and GENERALS._ _PAGES and ATTENDANTS belonging to Wallenstein._ _ATTENDANTS and HOBÖISTS belonging to Tertsky._ _The MASTER OF THE CELLAR to Count Tertsky._ _VALET DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolomini._ [600:2] A town about 12 German miles NE. of Ulm. [601:1] The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons and daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. [603:1] _Spoken with a sneer._ _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. LINENOTES: [1] _are_ 1800. [After 12] [_Casts his eye round._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [24] _Illo (hesitating)._ How so? 1817, 1828, 1829. _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 25] _Isolani (interrupting him)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [45] _Illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to Butler, whom he leads a little on one side)._ And how, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [48] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [49] _Illo (with warmth)._ And you?--You hold out firmly? [_Grasping his hand with affection._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [70] _all_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 91] _Butler (shocked and confused)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. _aught_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [93] _our worthy friend_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 95] _Butler (shaking his head significantly)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _Enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI and QUESTENBERG._ _Octavio._ Ay, ay! more still! Still more new visitors! Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp, Which held at once so many heads of heroes. Welcome, Count Isolani! _Isolani._ My noble brother, Even now am I arrived; it had been else my duty-- 5 _Octavio._ And Colonel Butler--trust me, I rejoice Thus to renew acquaintance with a man Whose worth and services I know and honour. See, see, my friend! There might we place at once before our eyes 10 The sum of war's whole trade and mystery-- [_To QUESTENBERG, presenting BUTLER and ISOLANI at the same time to him._ These two the total sum--Strength and Dispatch. _Questenberg (to Octavio)._ And lo! betwixt them both experienced Prudence! _Octavio (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani)._ The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg, The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 15 The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers, We honour in this noble visitor. _Illo._ 'Tis not the first time, noble Minister, You have shewn our camp this honour. _Questenberg._ Once before I stood before these colours. 20 _Illo._ Perchance too you remember where that was. It was at Znäim[604:1] in Moravia, where You did present yourself upon the part Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke That he would straight assume the chief command. 25 _Questenberg._ To supplicate? Nay, noble General! So far extended neither my commission (At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal. _Illo._ Well, well, then--to compel him, if you choose. I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 30 Had suffered total rout upon the Lech. Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing Onwards into the very heart of Austria. At that time you and Werdenberg appeared 35 Before our General, storming him with prayers, And menacing the Emperor's displeasure, Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness. _Isolani._ Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough, Wherefore with your commission of to-day 40 You were not all too willing to remember Your former one. _Questenberg._ Why not, Count Isolan? No contradiction sure exists between them. It was the urgent business of that time 45 To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand; And my commission of to-day instructs me To free her from her good friends and protectors. _Illo._ A worthy office! After with our blood We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 50 To be swept out of it is all our thanks, The sole reward of all our hard-won victories. _Questenberg._ Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer Only a change of evils, it must be Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe. 55 _Illo._ What? 'Twas a favourable year; the Boors Can answer fresh demands already. _Questenberg._ Nay, If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds-- _Isolani._ The war maintains the war. Are the Boors ruined, The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 60 _Questenberg._ And is the poorer by even so many subjects. _Isolani._ Poh! We are all his subjects. _Questenberg._ Yet with a difference, General! The one fill With profitable industry the purse, The others are well skilled to empty it. 65 The sword has made the Emperor poor; the plough Must reinvigorate his resources. _Isolani._ Sure! Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see [_Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of QUESTENBERG._ Good store of gold that still remains uncoined. _Questenberg._ Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to hide 70 Some little from the fingers of the Croats. _Illo._ There! The Stawata and the Martinitz, On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians-- Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 75 Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens Driven from their house and home--who reap no harvests Save in the general calamity-- Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock The desolation of their country--these, 80 Let these, and such as these, support the war, The fatal war, which they alone enkindled! _Butler._ And those state-parasites, who have their feet So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 85 Snap at it with dog's hunger--they, forsooth, Would pare the soldier's bread, and cross his reckoning! _Isolani._ My life long will it anger me to think, How when I went to court seven years ago, To see about new horses for our regiment, 90 How from one antechamber to another They dragged me on, and left me by the hour To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come thither A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 95 That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, Whom should they send me but a Capuchin! Straight I began to muster up my sins For absolution--but no such luck for me! This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom 100 I was to treat concerning the army horses: And I was forced at last to quit the field, The business unaccomplished. Afterwards The Duke procured me in three days, what I Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 105 _Questenberg._ Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their way to us: Too well I know we have still accounts to settle. _Illo._ War is a violent trade; one cannot always Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle Must not be blackened into sacrilege. 110 If we should wait till you, in solemn council, With due deliberation had selected The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, I'faith, we should wait long.-- 'Dash! and through with it!'--That's the better watch-word. 115 Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature To make the best of a bad thing once past. A bitter and perplexed 'what shall I do?' Is worse to man than worst necessity. _Questenberg._ Ay, doubtless, it is true: the Duke does spare us 120 The troublesome task of choosing. _Butler._ Yes, the Duke Cares with a father's feelings for his troops; But how the Emperor feels for us, we see. _Questenberg._ His cares and feelings all ranks share alike, Nor will he offer one up to another. 125 _Isolani._ And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home. _Questenberg._ Count, this comparison you make, not I. _Butler._ Why, were we all the Court supposes us, 130 'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty. _Questenberg._ You have taken liberty--it was not given you. And therefore it becomes an urgent duty To rein it in with curbs. _Octavio._ My noble friend, This is no more than a remembrancing 135 That you are now in camp, and among warriors. The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. Could he act daringly, unless he dared Talk even so? One runs into the other. The boldness of this worthy officer, [_pointing to BUTLER._ 140 Which now has but mistaken in its mark, Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it, To the Emperor his capital city, Prague, In a most formidable mutiny Of the whole garrison. [_Military music at a distance._ 145 Hah! here they come! _Illo._ The sentries are saluting them: this signal Announces the arrival of the Duchess. _Octavio._ Then my son Max too has returned. 'Twas he Fetched and attended them from Carnthen hither. 150 _Isolani (to Illo)._ Shall we not go in company to greet them? _Illo._ Well, let us go.--Ho! Colonel Butler, come. [_To OCTAVIO._ You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet The noble Envoy at the General's palace. [_Exeunt all but QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO._ FOOTNOTES: [604:1] A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna to Prague. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Octavio (still in the distance)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 4] [_Approaching nearer._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [17] We honour in this noble visitor. [_Universal silence._ _Illo (moving towards Questenberg)._ 'Tis not, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [21] _where_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _supplicate_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [30] _compel_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 39] _Isolani (steps up to them)._ _1817_, _1828_, _1829_. [51] _out_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [58] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [80] _these_ 1800. [81] _these_ 1800. [87] _pare_ 1800. [99] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [100] _This was, &c._ 1800. [120] _does_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [124] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 129] _Questenberg (with a sneer)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [134] _Octavio (interposing and addressing Questenberg)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [138] _act_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 149] _Octavio (to Questenberg)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [149] _Max_ 1800. SCENE III _QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO._ _Questenberg._ What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio! What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed defiance! And were this spirit universal-- _Octavio._ Hm! You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army. _Questenberg._ Where must we seek then for a second host 5 To have the custody of this? That Illo Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then This Butler too--he cannot even conceal The passionate workings of his ill intentions. _Octavio._ Quickness of temper--irritated pride; 10 'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. I know a spell that will soon dispossess The evil spirit in him. _Questenberg._ Friend, friend! O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 15 We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne. We had not seen the War-Chief, the Commander, The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 'Tis quite another thing. 20 Here is no Emperor more--the Duke is Emperor. Alas, my friend! alas, my noble friend! This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp Strikes my hopes prostrate. _Octavio._ Now you see yourself Of what a perilous kind the office is, 25 Which you deliver to me from the Court. The least suspicion of the General Costs me my freedom and my life, and would But hasten his most desperate enterprise. _Questenberg._ Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted 30 This madman with the sword, and placed such power In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse, Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders. Friend, he can do 't, and what he can, he will. And then the impunity of his defiance-- 35 O! what a proclamation of our weakness! _Octavio._ D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter Without a purpose hither? Here in camp! And at the very point of time, in which We're arming for the war? That he has taken 40 These, the last pledges of his loyalty, Away from out the Emperor's domains-- This is no doubtful token of the nearness Of some eruption! _Questenberg._ How shall we hold footing Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 45 And threats us from all quarters? The enemy Of the empire on our borders, now already The master of the Danube, and still farther, And farther still, extending every hour! In our interior the alarum-bells 50 Of insurrection--peasantry in arms---- All orders discontented--and the army, Just in the moment of our expectation Of aidance from it--lo! this very army Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, 55 Loosened, and rent asunder from the state And from their sovereign, the blind instrument Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon Of fearful power, which at his will he wields! _Octavio._ Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon, 60 Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds: And many a resolute, who now appears Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden Find in his breast a heart he knew not of, Let but a single honest man speak out 65 The true name of his crime! Remember, too, We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. Counts Altringer and Galas have maintained Their little army faithful to its duty, And daily it becomes more numerous. 70 Nor can he take us by surprise: you know, I hold him all-encompassed by my listeners. Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing-- No step so small, but instantly I hear it; Yea, his own mouth discloses it. _Questenberg._ 'Tis quite 75 Incomprehensible, that he detects not The foe so near! _Octavio._ Beware, you do not think, That I by lying arts, and complaisant Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces: Or with the sustenance of smooth professions 80 Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No-- Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign, To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits! 85 _Questenberg._ It is the visible ordinance of heaven. _Octavio._ I know not what it is that so attracts And links him both to me and to my son. Comrades and friends we always were--long habit, Adventurous deeds performed in company, 90 And all those many and various incidents Which store a soldier's memory with affections, Had bound us long and early to each other-- Yet I can name the day, when all at once His heart rose on me, and his confidence 95 Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning Before the memorable fight at Lützner. Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, To press him to accept another charger. At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 100 I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him, And had related all my bodings to him, Long time he stared upon me, like a man Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck, And manifested to me an emotion 105 That far outstripped the worth of that small service. Since then his confidence has followed me With the same pace that mine has fled from him. _Questenberg._ You lead your son into the secret? _Octavio._ No! _Questenberg._ What? and not warn him either what bad hands 110 His lot has placed him in? _Octavio._ I must perforce Leave him in wardship to his innocence. His young and open soul--dissimulation Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, 115 The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit, That make the Duke secure. _Questenberg._ My honoured friend! most highly do I deem Of Colonel Piccolomini--yet--if---- Reflect a little---- _Octavio._ I must venture it. 120 Hush!--There he comes! LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [13] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Questenberg (walking up and down in evident disquiet)._ Friend, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [34] _can_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [59] _he_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [64] knew] wot 1800, 1828, 1829. [84] _genuine_ 1800. [95] _rose_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [118] _Questenberg (anxiously)._ My honoured, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _MAX PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG._ _Max._ Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father! You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you. _Octavio._ How, Max? Look closer at this visitor; Attention, Max, an old friend merits--Reverence Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 5 _Max._ Von Questenberg!--Welcome--if you bring with you Aught good to our head quarters. _Questenberg (seizing his hand)._ Nay, draw not Your hand away, Count Piccolomini! Not on mine own account alone I seized it, And nothing common will I say therewith. 10 [_Taking the hands of both._ Octavio--Max Piccolomini! O saviour names, and full of happy omen! Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria, While two such stars, with blessed influences Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 15 _Max._ Heh!--Noble minister! You miss your part. You came not here to act a panegyric. You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us-- I must not be beforehand with my comrades. _Octavio._ He comes from court, where people are not quite 20 So well contented with the duke, as here. _Max._ What now have they contrived to find out in him? That he alone determines for himself What he himself alone doth understand? Well, therein he does right, and will persist in 't. 25 Heaven never meant him for that passive thing That can be struck and hammered out to suit Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance To every tune of every minister. It goes against his nature--he can't do it. 30 He is possessed by a commanding spirit, And his too is the station of command. And well for us it is so! There exist Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use Their intellects intelligently.--Then 35 Well for the whole, if there be found a man, Who makes himself what nature destined him, The pause, the central point to thousand thousands-- Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column, Where all may press with joy and confidence. 40 Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if Another better suits the court--no other But such a one as he can serve the army. _Questenberg._ The army? Doubtless! _Octavio (aside)._ Hush! suppress it, friend! Unless some end were answered by the utterance.-- 45 Of him there you'll make nothing. _Max._ In their distress They call a spirit up, and when he comes, Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him More than the ills for which they called him up. The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 50 Like things of every day.--But in the field, Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt. The personal must command, the actual eye Examine. If to be the chieftain asks All that is great in nature, let it be 55 Likewise his privilege to move and act In all the correspondencies of greatness. The oracle within him, that which lives, He must invoke and question--not dead books, Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 60 _Octavio._ My son! of those old narrow ordinances Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. For always formidable was the league 65 And partnership of free power with free will. The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, 70 Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches. My son! the road the human being travels, That on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings, Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, 75 Honouring the holy bounds of property! And thus secure, though late, leads to its end. _Questenberg._ O hear your father, noble youth! hear him, Who is at once the hero and the man. _Octavio._ My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! 80 A war of fifteen years Hath been thy education and thy school. Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists A higher than the warrior's excellence. In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 85 The vast and sudden deeds of violence, Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, These are not they, my son, that generate The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty! Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect! 90 Builds his light town of canvas, and at once The whole scene moves and bustles momently, With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel The motley market fills; the roads, the streams Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries! 95 But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, And the year's harvest is gone utterly. 100 _Max._ O let the Emperor make peace, my father! Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel For the first violet[614:1] of the leafless spring, Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed! _Octavio._ What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once? 105 _Max._ Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it. From thence am I come hither: O! that sight, It glimmers still before me, like some landscape Left in the distance,--some delicious landscape! My road conducted me through countries where 110 The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father-- My venerable father, life has charms Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been But voyaging along its barren coasts, Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, 115 That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, House on the wild sea with wild usages, Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals 120 Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing, Do we behold of that in our rude voyage. _Octavio._ And so your journey has revealed this to you? _Max._ 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me, What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 125 The painful toil, which robbed me of my youth, Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, A spirit uninformed, unornamented. For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum, The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, 130 The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty, Word of command, and exercise of arms-- There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart! Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not-- 135 This cannot be the sole felicity, These cannot be man's best and only pleasures. _Octavio._ Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey. _Max._ O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier Returns home into life; when he becomes 140 A fellow-man among his fellow-men. The colours are unfurled, the cavalcade Marshals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark! Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home! The caps and helmets are all garlanded 145 With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields. The city gates fly open of themselves, They need no longer the petard to tear them. The ramparts are all filled with men and women, With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 150 Kisses and welcomings upon the air, Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. From all the towers rings out the merry peal, The joyous vespers of a bloody day. O happy man, O fortunate! for whom 155 The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, The faithful tender arms with mute embracing. _Questenberg._ O! that you should speak Of such a distant, distant time, and not Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 160 _Max._ Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna? I will deal openly with you, Questenberg. Just now, as first I saw you standing here, (I'll own it to you freely) indignation Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together. 165 'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!--and the warrior, It is the warrior that must force it from you. Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him, Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 170 And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy; Which yet 's the only way to peace: for if War intermit not during war, how then And whence can peace come?--Your own plagues fall on you! Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 175 And here make I this vow, here pledge myself; My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [614:1] In the original, Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb ich him mit Freuden Fürs erste Veilchen, das der Merz uns bringt, Das duftige Pffand der neuverjüngten Erde. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. LINENOTES: [After 1] [_He embraces His father. As he turns round he observes Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 6] _Max (drily)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 20] _Octavio (to Max)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [38] to] of 1800. [44] _Octavio (to Questenberg)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [45] _some_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [46] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Max (continuing)._ In their, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. [52] _there_ the _Present Being_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [58] _lives_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [63] _th' oppressed_ MS. R. [71] _may_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [73] BLESSING 1800, 1828, 1829. [78] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [106] _have_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [113] _we_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 123] _Octavio (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 158] _Questenberg (apparently much affected)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 161] _Max (turning round to him, quick and vehement)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [165] peace, _ye_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [172] _how_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [173] _whence_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI._ _Questenberg._ Alas, alas! and stands it so? What, friend! and do we let him go away In this delusion--let him go away? Not call him back immediately, not open His eyes upon the spot? _Octavio._ He has now opened mine, 5 And I see more than pleases me. _Questenberg._ What is it? _Octavio._ Curse on this journey! _Questenberg._ But why so? What is it? _Octavio._ Come, come along, friend! I must follow up The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes Are opened now, and I must use them. Come! 10 [_Draws QUESTENBERG on with him._ _Questenberg._ What now? Where go you then? _Octavio._ To her herself. _Questenberg._ To---- _Octavio._ To the Duke. Come, let us go--'Tis done, 'tis done, I see the net that is thrown over him. O! he returns not to me as he went. _Questenberg._ Nay, but explain yourself. _Octavio._ And that I should not 15 Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore Did I keep it from him?--You were in the right. I should have warned him! Now it is too late. _Questenberg._ But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my friend, That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 20 _Octavio._ Come!--to the Duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour Which he appointed you for audience. Come! A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey! [_He leads QUESTENBERG off._ LINENOTES: [After 1] [_Then in pressing and impatient tones._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [5] _Octavio (recovering himself out of a deep study)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [11] _Where_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 12] _Octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [19] _what's_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 21] _Octavio (more collected)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of Friedland._--Servants _employed in putting the tables and chairs in order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out the quarters of the heaven._ _First Servant._ Come--to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it. I hear the sentry call out, 'Stand to your arms!' They will be there in a minute. _Second Servant._ Why were we not told before that the audience would be held here? Nothing prepared--no orders--no 5 instructions-- _Third Servant._ Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber countermanded, that with the great worked carpet?--there one can look about one. _First Servant._ Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. 10 He says it is an unlucky chamber. _Second Servant._ Poh! stuff and nonsense! That's what I call a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place signify in the affair? _Seni._ My son, there's nothing insignificant, 15 Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing First and most principal is place and time. _First Servant (to the Second)._ Say nothing to him, Nat. The Duke himself must let him have his own will. _Seni (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till he comes to eleven, which he repeats)._ Eleven! an evil number! Set twelve chairs. 20 Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven, The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve. _Second Servant._ And what may you have to object against eleven? I should like to know that now. _Seni._ Eleven is--transgression; eleven oversteps 25 The ten commandments. _Second Servant._ That's good! and why do you call five an holy number? _Seni._ Five is the soul of man: for even as man Is mingled up of good and evil, so 30 The five is the first number that's made up Of even and odd. _Second Servant._ The foolish old coxcomb! _First Servant._ Ey! let him alone though. I like to hear him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 35 _Third Servant._ Off! They come. _Second Servant._ There! Out at the side-door. [_They hurry off. SENI follows slowly. A page brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on the table near the DUKE'S chair. They are announced from without, and the wings of the door fly open._ LINENOTES: [13] _hum_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 15] _Seni (with gravity)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] _nothing_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [16] _Nothing_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VII _WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS._ _Wallenstein._ You went then through Vienna, were presented To the Queen of Hungary? _Duchess._ Yes, and to the Empress too, And by both Majesties were we admitted To kiss the hand. _Wallenstein._ And how was it received, That I had sent for wife and daughter hither 5 To the camp, in winter time? _Duchess._ I did even that Which you commissioned me to do. I told them, You had determined on our daughter's marriage, And wished, ere yet you went into the field, To shew the elected husband his betrothed. 10 _Wallenstein._ And did they guess the choice which I had made? _Duchess._ They only hoped and wished it may have fallen Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble. _Wallenstein._ And you--what do you wish, Elizabeth? _Duchess._ Your will, you know, was always mine. _Wallenstein._ Well, then? 15 And in all else, of what kind and complexion Was your reception at the court? Hide nothing from me. How were you received? _Duchess._ O! my dear lord, all is not what it was. A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm 20 Has stolen into the bud. _Wallenstein._ Ay! is it so! What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect? _Duchess._ Not of respect. No honours were omitted, No outward courtesy; but in the place Of condescending, confidential kindness, 25 Familiar and endearing, there were given me Only these honours and that solemn courtesy. Ah! and the tenderness which was put on, It was the guise of pity, not of favour. No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, 30 Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so-- Not wholly so should she have been received. _Wallenstein._ Yes, yes; they have ta'en offence. My latest conduct, They railed at it, no doubt. _Duchess._ O that they had! I have been long accustomed to defend you, 35 To heal and pacify distempered spirits. No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up, O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!-- Here is no every-day misunderstanding, No transient pique, no cloud that passes over; 40 Something most luckless, most unhealable, Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary Used formerly to call me her dear aunt, And ever at departure to embrace me-- _Wallenstein._ Now she omitted it? _Duchess._ She did embrace me, 45 But then first when I had already taken My formal leave, and when the door already Had closed upon me, then did she come out In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself, And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish 50 Than tenderness. _Wallenstein (seizes her hand soothingly)._ Nay, now collect yourself, And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein, And of our other friends there? _Duchess._ I saw none. _Wallenstein._ The Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont To plead so warmly for me?-- _Duchess._ Silent, Silent! 55 _Wallenstein._ These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light. _Duchess._ And were it--were it, my dear lord, in that Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper, But in the country let itself be heard 60 Aloud--in that which Father Lamormain In sundry hints and---- _Wallenstein._ Lamormain! what said he? _Duchess._ That you're accused of having daringly O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged With traitorous contempt of the Emperor 65 And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers-- That there's a storm collecting over you Of far more fearful menace than that former one Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg. 70 And people talk, said he, of----Ah!-- _Wallenstein._ Proceed! _Duchess._ I cannot utter it! _Wallenstein._ Proceed! _Duchess._ They talk---- _Wallenstein._ Well! _Duchess._ Of a second---- _Wallenstein._ Second---- _Duchess._ More disgraceful ----Dismission. _Wallenstein._ Talk they? O! they force, they thrust me With violence, against my own will, onward! 75 _Duchess_. O! if there yet be time, my husband! if By giving way and by submission, this Can be averted--my dear lord, give way! Win down your proud heart to it! Tell that heart It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor 80 Before whom you retreat. O let no longer Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth, And drive before you into uttermost shame 85 These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we-- You know it!--The swift growth of our good fortune It hath but set us up, a mark for hatred. What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour Stand not before us? 90 LINENOTES: [14] _you_ wish 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] _Wallenstein (after a pause)._ Well, then? 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 17] [_The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground and remains silent._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [31] _so_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [45] _Now_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Duchess (wiping away her tears, after a pause)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. _did_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [53] _Duchess (shaking her head)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [62] _Wallenstein (eagerly)._ Lamormain, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. _he_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [71] And people . . . Ah!-- [_Stifling extreme emotion._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [73] _Duchess._ Of a second---- (_catches her voice and hesitates_). 1800, 1828, 1829. [74] _Wallenstein._ Talk they? [_Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 76] _Duchess (presses near to him, in entreaty)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VIII _Enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, leading in her hand the PRINCESS THEKLA, richly adorned with brilliants._ _COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS._ _Countess._ How, sister? What already upon business, And business of no pleasing kind I see, Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father! This is thy daughter. 5 (_THEKLA approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends herself as about to kiss his hand. He receives her in his arms, and remains standing for some time lost in the feeling of her presence._) _Wallenstein._ Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me: I take her as the pledge of greater fortune. _Duchess._ 'Twas but a little child when you departed To raise up that great army for the Emperor: And after, at the close of the campaign, 10 When you returned home out of Pomerania, Your daughter was already in the convent, Wherein she has remain'd till now. _Wallenstein._ The while We in the field here gave our cares and toils To make her great, and fight her a free way 15 To the loftiest earthly good, lo! mother Nature Within the peaceful silent convent walls Has done her part, and out of her free grace Hath she bestowed on the beloved child The godlike; and now leads her thus adorned 20 To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope. _Duchess (to Thekla)._ Thou wouldst not have recognized thy father, Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years, When last she saw your face. _Thekla._ O yes, yes, mother! At the first glance!--My father is not altered. 25 The form, that stands before me, falsifies No feature of the image that hath lived So long within me! _Wallenstein._ The voice of my child! [_Then after a pause._ I was indignant at my destiny That it denied me a man-child to be 30 Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune, And re-illume my soon extinguished being In a proud line of princes. I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head So lovely in its maiden bloom will I 35 Let fall the garland of a life of war, Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it Transmitted to a regal ornament, Around these beauteous brows. [_He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters._ LINENOTES: [After 1] [_Observing the countenance of the Duchess._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _Enter MAX PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERTSKY, the others remaining as before._ _Countess._ There comes the Paladin who protected us. _Wallenstein._ Max! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou The morning star of my best joys! _Max._ My General---- _Wallenstein._ 'Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded thee, I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound 5 The father to thee, Max! the fortunate father, And this debt Friedland's self must pay. _Max._ My prince! You made no common hurry to transfer it. I come with shame: yea, not without a pang! For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered 10 The mother and the daughter to your arms, But there is brought to me from your equerry A splendid richly-plated hunting dress So to remunerate me for my troubles---- Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble 15 It must be, a mere office, not a favour Which I leapt forward to receive, and which I came already with full heart to thank you for. No! 'twas not so intended, that my business Should be my highest best good fortune! 20 [_TERTSKY enters, and delivers letters to the DUKE, which he breaks open hurryingly._ _Countess (to Max)._ Remunerate your trouble! For his joy He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel So tenderly--my brother it beseems To shew himself for ever great and princely. 25 _Thekla._ Then I too must have scruples of his love: For his munificent hands did ornament me Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me. _Max._ Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving And making happy. How my heart pours out 30 Its all of thanks to him: O! how I seem To utter all things in the dear name Friedland. While I shall live, so long will I remain The captive of this name: in it shall bloom My every fortune, every lovely hope. 35 Inextricably as in some magic ring In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me! _Countess._ My brother wishes us to leave him. Come. _Wallenstein (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks with cheerfulness to the Duchess)._ Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp, Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max, 40 Will now again administer your old office, While we perform the sovereign's business here. [_MAX PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm, the COUNTESS accompanies the PRINCESS._ _Tertsky (calling after him)._ Max, we depend on seeing you at the meeting. LINENOTES: [30] And making happy. [_He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still increasing warmth._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 38] _Countess (who during this time has been anxiously watching the Duke, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE X _WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY._ _Wallenstein (to himself)._ She hath seen all things as they are--It is so And squares completely with my other notices. They have determined finally in Vienna, Have given me my successor already; It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand, 5 The Emperor's delicate son! he's now their saviour, He's the new star that's rising now! Of us They think themselves already fairly rid, And as we were deceased, the heir already Is entering on possession--Therefore--dispatch! 10 [_As he turns round he observes TERTSKY, and gives him a letter._ Count Altringer will have himself excused, And Galas too--I like not this! _Tertsky._ And if Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, One following the other. _Wallenstein._ Altringer Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must forthwith 15 Send some one to him, that he let not in The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. ----Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader In contraband negotiations, he Has shewn himself again of late. What brings he 20 From the Count Thur? _Tertsky._ The Count communicates, He has found out the Swedish chancellor At Halberstadt, where the convention's held, Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have No further dealings with you. _Wallenstein._ And why so? 25 [625:1]_Tertsky._ He says, you are never in earnest in your speeches, That you decoy the Swedes--to make fools of them, Will league yourself with Saxony against them, And at last make yourself a riddance of them With a paltry sum of money. _Wallenstein._ So then, doubtless, 30 Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects That I shall yield him some fair German tract For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last On our own soil and native territory, May be no longer our own lords and masters! 35 An excellent scheme! No, no! They must be off, Off, off! away! we want no such neighbours. _Tertsky._ Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land-- It goes not from your portion. If you win The game what matters it to you who pays it? 40 _Wallenstein._ Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this. Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled My native land away, dismembered Germany, Betrayed it to a foreigner, in order To come with stealthy tread, and filch away 45 My own share of the plunder--Never! never!-- No foreign power shall strike root in the empire, And least of all, these Goths! these hunger-wolves! Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances T'wards the rich blessings of our German lands! 50 I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets, But not a single fish of all the draught Shall they come in for. _Tertsky._ You will deal, however, More fairly with the Saxons? They lose patience While you shift ground and make so many curves. 55 Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. There's Oxenstirn, there's Arnheim--neither knows What he should think of your procrastinations. And in the end I prove the liar: all 60 Passes through me. I have not even your hand-writing. _Wallenstein._ I never give my handwriting; thou knowest it. _Tertsky._ But how can it be known that you're in earnest, If the act follows not upon the word? You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 65 Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy You might have done with safety all you have done, Had you meant nothing further than to gull him For the Emperor's service. _Wallenstein (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on Tertsky)._ And from whence dost thou know That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service? 70 Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you? Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee The intendant of my secret purposes? I am not conscious that I ever open'd My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true, 75 Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would, I could repay him with usurious interest For the evil he hath done me. It delights me To know my power; but whether I shall use it, Of that, I should have thought that thou could'st speak 80 No wiselier than thy fellows. _Tertsky._ So hast thou always played thy game with us. [_Enter ILLO._ FOOTNOTES: [625:1] This passing off of his real irresolution and fancy-dalliance for depth of Reserve and for Plan formed within the magic circle of his own inapproachable spirits is very fine; but still it is not tragic--nay scarce obvious enough to be altogether _dramatic_, if in this word we involve theatre-representation. Iago (so far only analogous to Wallenstein as in him an _Impulse_ is the source of his conduct rather than the _motive_), always acting is not the object of Interest, [but] derives a constant interest from Othello, on whom he is acting; from Desdemona, Cassio, every one; and, besides, for the purpose of theatric comprehensibility he is furnished with a set of outside motives that actually pass with the groundling for the true springs of action. _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Wallenstein (in deep thought to himself)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [37] _we_ 1800 [62] _never_ 1800. [63] _known_ 1800. [69] _thou_ 1800. [70] _not_ 1800. [72] _me_ 1800. [76] _would_ 1800. [79] _power_ 1800. SCENE XI _ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY._ _Wallenstein._ How stand affairs without? Are they prepared? _Illo._ You'll find them in the very mood you wish. They know about the Emperor's requisitions, And are tumultuous. _Wallenstein._ How hath Isolan Declared himself? _Illo._ He's yours, both soul and body, 5 Since you built up again his Faro-bank. _Wallenstein._ And which way doth Kolatto bend? Hast thou Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodate? _Illo._ What Piccolomini does, that they do too. _Wallenstein._ You mean then I may venture somewhat with them? 10 _Illo._--If you are assured of the Piccolomini. _Wallenstein._ Not more assured of mine own self. _Tertsky._ And yet I would you trusted not so much to Octavio, The fox! _Wallenstein._ Thou teachest me to know my man? Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior. 15 Besides, I have his horoscope, We both are born beneath like stars--in short To this belongs its own particular aspect, If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest---- _Illo._ There is among them all but this one voice, 20 You must not lay down the command. I hear They mean to send a deputation to you. _Wallenstein._ If I'm in aught to bind myself to them, They too must bind themselves to me. _Illo._ Of course. _Wallenstein._ Their words of honour they must give, their oaths, 25 Give them in writing to me, promising Devotion to my service unconditional. _Illo._ Why not? _Tertsky._ Devotion unconditional? The exception of their duties towards Austria They'll always place among the premises. 30 With this reserve---- _Wallenstein._ All unconditional! No premises, no reserves. _Illo._ A thought has struck me. Does not Count Tertsky give us a set banquet This evening? _Tertsky._ Yes; and all the Generals Have been invited. _Illo (to Wallenstein)._ Say, will you here fully 35 Commission me to use my own discretion? I'll gain for you the Generals' words of honour, Even as you wish. _Wallenstein._ Gain me their signatures! How you come by them, that is your concern. _Illo._ And if I bring it to you, black on white, 40 That all the leaders who are present here Give themselves up to you, without condition; Say, will you then--then will you shew yourself In earnest, and with some decisive action Make trial of your luck? _Wallenstein._ The signatures! 45 Gain me the signatures. _Illo._ [628:1]Seize, seize the hour Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. To make a great decision possible, O! many things, all transient and all rapid, 50 Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met May by that confluence be enforced to pause Time long enough for wisdom, though too short, Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple! This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 55 Our best, our noblest, are assembled around you, Their kinglike leader! On your nod they wait. The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune Hath woven together in one potent web Instinct with destiny, O let them not 60 Unravel of themselves. If you permit These chiefs to separate, so unanimous Bring you them not a second time together. 'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, And every individual's spirit waxes 65 In the great stream of multitudes. Behold They are still here, here still! But soon the war Bursts them once more asunder, and in small Particular anxieties and interests Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 70 Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream, Will become sober, seeing but himself, Feel only his own weakness, and with speed Will face about, and march on in the old 75 High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, And seek but to make shelter in good plight. _Wallenstein._ The time is not yet come. _Tertsky._ So you say always. But when will it be time? _Wallenstein._ When I shall say it. _Illo._ You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, 80 Till the earthly hour escapes you. O, believe me, In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, This is your Venus! and the sole malignant, The only one that harmeth you is Doubt. 85 _Wallenstein._ Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. Thy visual power subdues no mysteries; Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth, 90 [629:1]Blind as that subterrestrial, who with wan, Lead-coloured shine lighted thee into life. The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see, With serviceable cunning knit together The nearest with the nearest; and therein 95 I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, And fashions in the depths--the spirit's ladder, That from this gross and visible world of dust Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 100 Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers Move up and down on heavenly ministries-- The circles in the circles, that approach The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit-- These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, 105 Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre. [_He walks across the chamber, then returns, and standing still, proceeds._ The heavenly constellations make not merely The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely Signify to the husbandman the seasons Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 110 That is the seed too of contingencies, Strewed on the dark land of futurity In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate. Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 115 And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses, Whether the enemy of growth and thriving Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner. Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 120 What I shall do--only, give way I will not. Depose me too they shall not. On these points You may rely. _Page (entering)._ My Lords, the Generals. _Wallenstein._ Let them come in. FOOTNOTES: [628:1] Here is an instance of the defect classed No. 1 in the blank leaf. With what propriety is this speech of profound moral insight put in the mouth of that stupid, foolish Illo? _MS. R_. [629:1] This is _said_, and finely too; but in what one instance is it shown realized in Illo? This is a common fault of a man of genius whose genius is not however _creative_ but _ideative_. There is just such another in my Maria as described by Osorio, the Character exists only in the description. _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [After 17] (_with an air of mystery_) 1800, 1828, 1829. [21] _must_ 1800. [27] _unconditional_ 1800. [28] _unconditional_ 1800. [31] _unconditional_ 1800. [32] _Wallenstein (shaking his head)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [39] _your_ 1800. [43] _then_--_then_ 1800. [66] multitudes] multitude 1800. [79] _when_ 1800. [108] nights] night 1800, 1828, 1829. [121] _I_ 1800. SCENE XII _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO.--To them enter QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO, and MAX PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER, ISOLANI, MARADAS, and three other_ Generals. _WALLENSTEIN motions QUESTENBERG, who in consequence takes the Chair directly opposite to him; the others follow, arranging themselves according to their rank._ _Wallenstein._ I have understood, 'tis true, the sum and import Of your instructions, Questenberg, have weighed them, And formed my final, absolute resolve; Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals Should hear the will of the Emperor from your mouth. 5 May't please you then to open your commission Before these noble Chieftains. _Questenberg._ I am ready To obey you; but will first entreat your Highness, And all these noble Chieftains, to consider, The Imperial dignity and sovereign right 10 Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption. _Wallenstein._ We excuse all preface. _Questenberg._ When his Majesty The Emperor to his courageous armies Presented in the person of Duke Friedland A most experienced and renowned commander, 15 He did it in glad hope and confidence To give thereby to the fortune of the war A rapid and auspicious change. The onset Was favourable to his royal wishes. Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, 20 The Swede's career of conquest checked! These lands Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland From all the streams of Germany forced hither The scattered armies of the enemy, Hither invoked as round one magic circle 25 The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstirn, Yea, and that never-conquered King himself; Here finally, before the eye of Nürnberg, The fearful game of battle to decide. _Wallenstein._ May't please you to the point. 30 _Questenberg._ In Nürnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left His fame--in Lützen's plains his life. But who Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland After this day of triumph, this proud day, Marched toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 35 And vanished from the theatre of war; While the young Weimar hero forced his way Into Franconia, to the Danube, like Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes, Makes its own channel; with such sudden speed 40 He marched, and now at once 'fore Regenspurg Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians. Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need; The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke Friedland, 45 Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty: He superadds his own, and supplicates Where as the sovereign lord he can command. In vain his supplication! At this moment The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge, 50 Barters the general good to gratify Private revenge--and so falls Regenspurg. _Wallenstein._ Max, to what period of the war alludes he? My recollection fails me here. _Max._ He means When we were in Silesia. _Wallenstein._ Ay! Is it so! 55 But what had we to do there? _Max._ To beat out The Swedes and Saxons from the province. _Wallenstein._ True. In that description which the Minister gave I seemed to have forgotten the whole war. [_To QUESTENBERG._ Well, but proceed a little. _Questenberg._ Yes! at length 60 Beside the river Oder did the Duke Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms, Subdued without a blow. And here, with others, The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger 65 Delivered that long-practised stirrer-up Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch And kindler of this war, Matthias Thur. But he had fallen into magnanimous hands; Instead of punishment he found reward, 70 And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss The arch-foe of his Emperor. _Wallenstein (laughs)._ I know, I know you had already in Vienna Your windows and balconies all forestalled To see him on the executioner's cart. 75 I might have lost the battle, lost it too With infamy, and still retained your graces-- But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, Oh! that the good folks of Vienna never, No, never can forgive me. _Questenberg._ So Silesia 80 Was freed, and all things loudly called the Duke Into Bavaria, now pressed hard on all sides. And he did put his troops in motion: slowly, Quite at his ease, and by the longest road He traverses Bohemia; but ere ever 85 He hath once seen the enemy, faces round, Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters. _Wallenstein._ The troops were pitiably destitute Of every necessary, every comfort. The winter came. What thinks his Majesty 90 His troops are made of? Arn't we men? subjected Like other men to wet, and cold, and all The circumstances of necessity? O miserable lot of the poor soldier! Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 95 And when he goes away, the general curse Follows him on his route. All must be seized, Nothing is given him. And compelled to seize From every man, he's every man's abhorrence. Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa! 100 Count Deodate! Butler! Tell this man How long the soldiers' pay is in arrears. _Butler._ Already a full year. _Wallenstein._ And 'tis the hire That constitutes the hireling's name and duties, The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant.[634:1] 105 _Questenberg._ Ah! this is a far other tone from that In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago. _Wallenstein._ Yes! 'tis my fault, I know it: I myself Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him. Nine years ago, during the Danish war, 110 I raised him up a force, a mighty force, Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony The fury goddess of the war marched on, E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing 115 The terrors of his name. That was a time! In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine Honoured with festival and celebration-- And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title Of the third jewel in his crown! 120 But at the Diet, when the Princes met At Regenspurg, there, there the whole broke out, There 'twas laid open, there it was made known, Out of what money-bag I had paid the host. And what was now my thank, what had I now, 125 That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign, Had loaded on myself the people's curses, And let the Princes of the empire pay The expenses of this war, that aggrandizes The Emperor alone--What thanks had I! 130 What? I was offered up to their complaints, Dismissed, degraded! _Questenberg._ But your Highness knows What little freedom he possessed of action In that disastrous diet. _Wallenstein._ Death and hell! I had that which could have procured him freedom. 135 No! Since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me To serve the Emperor at the empire's cost, I have been taught far other trains of thinking Of the empire, and the diet of the empire. From the Emperor, doubtless, I received this staff, 140 But now I hold it as the empire's general-- For the common weal, the universal interest, And no more for that one man's aggrandizement! But to the point. What is it that's desired of me? _Questenberg._ First, his imperial Majesty hath willed 145 That without pretexts of delay the army Evacuate Bohemia. _Wallenstein._ In this season? And to what quarter wills the Emperor That we direct our course? _Questenberg._ To the enemy. His Majesty resolves, that Regenspurg 150 Be purified from the enemy, ere Easter, That Lutheranism may be no longer preached In that cathedral, nor heretical Defilement desecrate the celebration Of that pure festival. _Wallenstein._ My generals, 155 Can this be realized? _Illo._ 'Tis not possible. _Butler._ It can't be realized. _Questenberg._ The Emperor Already hath commanded Colonel Suys To advance toward Bavaria! _Wallenstein._ What did Suys? _Questenberg._ That which his duty prompted. He advanced! 160 _Wallenstein._ What? he advanced? And I, his general, Had given him orders, peremptory orders, Not to desert his station! Stands it thus With my authority? Is this the obedience Due to my office, which being thrown aside 165 No war can be conducted? Chieftains, speak! You be the judges, generals! What deserves That officer, who of his oath neglectful Is guilty of contempt of orders? _Illo._ Death. _Wallenstein._ Count Piccolomini! what has he deserved? 170 _Max Piccolomini._ According to the letter of the law, Death. _Isolani._ Death. _Butler._ Death, by the laws of war. [_QUESTENBERG rises from his seat, WALLENSTEIN follows; all the rest rise._ _Wallenstein._ To this the law condemns him, and not I. And if I shew him favour, 'twill arise From the reverence that I owe my Emperor. 175 _Questenberg._ If so, I can say nothing further--here! _Wallenstein._ I accepted the command but on conditions! And this the first, that to the diminution Of my authority no human being, Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled 180 To do aught, or to say aught, with the army. If I stand warranter of the event, Placing my honour and my head in pledge, Needs must I have full mastery in all The means thereto. What rendered this Gustavus 185 Resistless, and unconquered upon earth? This--that he was the monarch in his army! A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, Was never yet subdued but by his equal. But to the point! The best is yet to come. 190 Attend now, generals! _Questenberg._ The prince Cardinal Begins his route at the approach of spring From the Milanese; and leads a Spanish army Through Germany into the Netherlands. That he may march secure and unimpeded, 195 'Tis the Emperor's will you grant him a detachment Of eight horse-regiments from the army here. _Wallenstein._ Yes, yes! I understand!--Eight regiments! Well, Right well concerted, father Lamormain! Eight thousand horse! Yes, yes! 'Tis as it should be! 200 I see it coming! _Questenberg._ There is nothing coming. All stands in front: the counsel of state-prudence, The dictate of necessity!---- _Wallenstein._ What then? What, my Lord Envoy? May I not be suffered To understand, that folks are tired of seeing 205 The sword's hilt in my grasp: and that your court Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use The Spanish title, to drain off my forces, To lead into the empire a new army Unsubjected to my control. To throw me 210 Plumply aside,--I am still too powerful for you To venture that. My stipulation runs, That all the Imperial forces shall obey me Where'er the German is the native language. Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals 215 That take their route, as visitors, through the empire, There stands no syllable in my stipulation. No syllable! And so the politic court Steals in a-tiptoe, and creeps round behind it; First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with, 220 Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow And make short work with me. What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy? Straight-forward man! His compact with me pinches The Emperor. He would that I moved off!-- 225 Well!--I will gratify him! [_Here there commences an agitation among the Generals which increases continually._ It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes! I see not yet, by what means they will come at The moneys they have advanced, or how obtain The recompense their services demand. 230 Still a new leader brings new claimants forward, And prior merit superannuates quickly. There serve here many foreigners in the army, And were the man in all else brave and gallant, I was not wont to make nice scrutiny 235 After his pedigree or catechism. This will be otherwise, i'the time to come. Well--me no longer it concerns. [_He seats himself._ _Max Piccolomini._ Forbid it. Heaven, that it should come to this! Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation-- 240 The Emperor is abused--it cannot be. _Isolani._ It cannot be; all goes to instant wreck. _Wallenstein._ Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani! What we with toil and foresight have built up, Will go to wreck--all go to instant wreck. 245 What then? another chieftain is soon found, Another army likewise (who dares doubt it?) Will flock from all sides to the Emperor At the first beat of his recruiting drum. [_During this speech, ISOLANI, TERTSKY, ILLO and MARADAS talk confusedly with great agitation._ _Max Piccolomini (busily and passionately going from one to another, and soothing them)._ Hear, my commander! Hear me, generals! 250 Let me conjure you, Duke! Determine nothing, Till we have met and represented to you Our joint remonstrances.--Nay, calmer! Friends! I hope all may be yet set right again. _Tertsky._ Away! let us away! in the antechamber 255 Find we the others. [_They go._ _Butler (to Questenberg)._ If good counsel gain Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy! You will be cautious how you shew yourself In public for some hours to come--or hardly Will that gold key protect you from maltreatment. 260 [_Commotions heard from without._ _Wallenstein._ A salutary counsel----Thou, Octavio! Wilt answer for the safety of our guest. Farewell, Von Questenberg! [_QUESTENBERG is about to speak._ Nay, not a word. Not one word more of that detested subject! You have performed your duty--We know how 265 To separate the office from the man. [_As QUESTENBERG is going off with OCTAVIO, GOETZ, TIEFENBACH, KOLATTO, press in; several other_ Generals _following them._ _Goetz._ Where's he who means to rob us of our general? _Tiefenbach (at the same time)._ What are we forced to hear? That thou wilt leave us? _Kolatto (at the same time)._ We will live with thee, we will die with thee. _Wallenstein (pointing to Illo)._ There! the Field-Marshal knows our will. [_Exit._ 270 FOOTNOTES: [634:1] The original is not translatable into English: ----Und sein _Sold_ Muss dem _Soldaten_ werden, darnach heisst er. It might perhaps have been thus rendered: 'And that for which he sold his services, The soldier must receive.' But a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, &c. . . . rank. There reigns a momentary silence._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [56] _there_ 1800. [79] _that_ 1800. [83] _did_ 1800. [91] Arn't] An't 1800, 1828, 1829. [105] _pay . . . covenant_ 1800. [135] _I_ 1800. [Before 170] _Wallenstein (raising his voice, as all, but Illo, had remained silent, and seemingly scrupulous)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [171] _Max Piccolomini (after a long pause)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [176] _so . . . here_ 1800. [182] _event_ 1800. [206] _my_ 1800. [244] _we_ 1800. [270] _Wallenstein (with stateliness and, &c.)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 270] [_While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops._ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT II SCENE I SCENE--_A small Chamber._ _ILLO and TERTSKY._ _Tertsky._ Now for this evening's business! How intend you To manage with the generals at the banquet? _Illo._ Attend! We frame a formal declaration, Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves Collectively, to be and to remain 5 His both with life and limb, and not to spare The last drop of our blood for him, provided So doing we infringe no oath nor duty, We may be under to the Emperor.--Mark! This reservation we expressly make 10 In a particular clause, and save the conscience. Now hear! This formula so framed and worded Will be presented to them for perusal Before the banquet. No one will find in it Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further! 15 After the feast, when now the vap'ring wine Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let A counterfeited paper, in the which This one particular clause has been left out, Go round for signatures. _Tertsky._ How? think you then 20 That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath, Which we had tricked them into by a juggle? _Illo._ We shall have caught and caged them! Let them then Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave Loud as they may against our treachery, 25 At court their signatures will be believed Far more than their most holy affirmations. Traitors they are, and must be; therefore wisely Will make a virtue of necessity. _Tertsky._ Well, well, it shall content me; let but something 30 Be done, let only some decisive blow Set us in motion. _Illo._ Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance How, or how far, we may thereby propel The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade 35 The Duke, that they are his--Let him but act In his determined mood, as if he had them, And he will have them. Where he plunges in, He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it. _Tertsky._ His policy is such a labyrinth, 40 That many a time when I have thought myself Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me Ignorant of the ground where I was standing. He lends the enemy his ear, permits me To write to them, to Arnheim; to Sesina 45 Himself comes forward blank and undisguised; Talks with us by the hour about his plans, And when I think I have him--off at once---- He has slipped from me, and appears as if He had no scheme, but to retain his place. 50 _Illo._ He give up his old plans! I'll tell you, friend! His soul is occupied with nothing else, Even in his sleep--They are his thoughts, his dreams, That day by day he questions for this purpose The motions of the planets---- _Tertsky._ Ay! you know 55 This night, that is now coming, he with Seni Shuts himself up in the astrological tower To make joint observations--for I hear, It is to be a night of weight and crisis; And something great, and of long expectation, 60 Is to make its procession in the heaven. _Illo._ Come! be we bold and make dispatch. The work In this next day or two must thrive and grow More than it has for years. And let but only Things first turn up auspicious here below---- 65 Mark what I say--the right stars too will shew themselves. Come, to the generals. All is in the glow, And must be beaten while 'tis malleable. _Tertsky._ Do you go thither, Illo. I must stay And wait here for the Countess Tertsky. Know 70 That we too are not idle. Break one string, A second is in readiness. _Illo._ Yes! Yes! I saw your Lady smile with such sly meaning. What's in the wind? _Tertsky._ A secret. Hush! she comes. [_Exit ILLO._ LINENOTES: [6] _His_ 1800. [7] _him_ 1800. [8] nor] or 1800, 1828, 1829. [31] _done_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [38] _will_ 1800. [70] _wait_ 1800. SCENE II _The COUNTESS steps out from a Closet._ _COUNT and COUNTESS TERTSKY._ _Tertsky._ Well--is she coming?--I can keep him back No longer. _Countess._ She will be there instantly. You only send him. _Tertsky._ I am not quite certain, I must confess it, Countess, whether or not We are earning the Duke's thanks hereby. You know, 5 No ray has broken from him on this point. You have o'er-ruled me, and yourself know best How far you dare proceed. _Countess._ I take it on me. [_Talking to herself, while she is advancing._ Here's no need of full powers and commissions-- My cloudy Duke! we understand each other-- 10 And without words. What, could I not unriddle, Wherefore the daughter should be sent for hither, Why first he, and no other, should be chosen To fetch her hither! This sham of betrothing her To a bridegroom,[641:1] whom no one knows--No! no!---- 15 This may blind others! I see through thee, Brother! But it beseems thee not, to draw a card At such a game. Not yet!--It all remains Mutely delivered up to my finessing---- Well--thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke Friedland! In her who is thy sister.---- 20 _Servant (enters)._ The commanders! _Tertsky (to the Countess)._ Take care you heat his fancy and affections-- Possess him with a reverie, and send him, Absent and dreaming, to the banquet; that He may not boggle at the signature. 25 _Countess._ Take you care of your guests!--Go, send him hither. _Tertsky._ All rests upon his undersigning. _Countess._ Go to your guests! Go---- _Illo (comes back)._ Where art staying, Tertsky? The house is full, and all expecting you. 30 _Tertsky._ Instantly! Instantly! [_To the COUNTESS._ And let him not Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion In the old man---- _Countess._ A truce with your precautions! [_Exeunt TERTSKY and ILLO._ FOOTNOTES: [641:1] In Germany, after honourable addresses have been paid and formally accepted, the lovers are called Bride and Bridegroom, even though the marriage should not take place till years afterwards. LINENOTES: [6] broken] broke out 1800, 1828, 1829. [13] _he_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] whom] when 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] _Countess (interrupting him)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE III _COUNTESS, MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Max._ Aunt Tertsky? may I venture? [_Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks around him with uneasiness._ She's not here! Where is she? _Countess._ Look but somewhat narrowly In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie Conceal'd behind that screen. _Max._ There lie her gloves![642:1] [_Snatches at them, but the COUNTESS takes them herself._ You unkind Lady! You refuse me this-- 5 You make it an amusement to torment me. _Countess._ And this the thanks you give me for my trouble? _Max._ O, if you felt the oppression at my heart! Since we've been here, so to constrain myself-- With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances-- 10 These, these are not my habits! _Countess._ You have still Many new habits to acquire, young friend! But on this proof of your obedient temper I must continue to insist; and only On this condition can I play the agent 15 For your concerns. _Max._ But wherefore comes she not? Where is she? _Countess._ Into my hands you must place it Whole and entire. Whom could you find, indeed, More zealously affected to your interest? No soul on earth must know it--not your father. 20 He must not above all. _Max._ Alas! what danger? Here is no face on which I might concentre All the enraptured soul stirs up within me. O Lady! tell me. Is all changed around me? Or is it only I? I find myself, 25 As among strangers! Not a trace is left Of all my former wishes, former joys. Where has it vanished to? There was a time When even, methought, with such a world as this I was not discontented. Now how flat! 30 How stale! No life, no bloom, no flavour in it! My comrades are intolerable to me. My father--Even to him I can say nothing. My arms, my military duties--O! They are such wearying toys! _Countess._ But, gentle friend! 35 I must entreat it of your condescension, You would be pleased to sink your eye, and favour With one short glance or two this poor stale world, Where even now much, and of much moment, Is on the eve of its completion. _Max._ Something, 40 I can't but know, is going forward round me. I see it gathering, crowding, driving on, In wild uncustomary movements. Well, In due time, doubtless, it will reach even me. Where think you I have been, dear lady? Nay, 45 No raillery. The turmoil of the camp, The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in, The pointless jest, the empty conversation, Oppress'd and stifled me. I gasped for air-- I could not breathe--I was constrain'd to fly, 50 To seek a silence out for my full heart; And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness. No smiling, Countess! In the church was I. There is a cloister here to the heaven's gate,[644:1] Thither I went, there found myself alone. 55 Over the altar hung a holy mother; A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend That I was seeking in this moment. Ah, How oft have I beheld that glorious form In splendour, mid ecstatic worshippers; 60 Yet, still it moved me not! and now at once Was my devotion cloudless as my love. _Countess._ Enjoy your fortune and felicity! Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active. 65 Only be manageable when that friendship Points you the road to full accomplishment. How long may it be since you declared your passion? _Max._ This morning did I hazard the first word. _Countess._ This morning the first time in twenty days? 70 _Max._ 'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here And Nepomuck, where you had joined us, and-- That was the last relay of the whole journey! In a balcony we were standing mute, And gazing out upon the dreary field: 75 Before us the dragoons were riding onward, The safe-guard which the Duke had sent us--heavy The inquietude of parting lay upon me, And trembling ventured I at length these words: This all reminds me, noble maiden, that 80 To-day I must take leave of my good fortune. A few hours more, and you will find a father, Will see yourself surrounded by new friends, And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger, Lost in the many--'Speak with my aunt Tertsky!' 85 With hurrying voice she interrupted me. She faltered. I beheld a glowing red Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground Raised slowly up her eye met mine--no longer Did I control myself. [_The PRINCESS THEKLA appears at the door, and remains standing, observed by the COUNTESS, but not by PICCOLOMINI._ With instant boldness 90 I caught her in my arms, my mouth touched hers; There was a rustling in the room close by; It parted us--'Twas you. What since has happened, You know. _Countess._ And is it your excess of modesty; Or are you so incurious, that you do not 95 Ask me too of my secret? _Max._ Of your secret? _Countess._ Why, yes! When in the instant after you I stepped into the room, and found my niece there, What she in this first moment of the heart Ta'en with surprise-- _Max._ Well? 100 FOOTNOTES: [642:1] All this is terribly childish, at least appears so to an _English_ lover. Besides it is modern French Comedy--for which, by the by, we want a word to distinguish it from the _toto caelo_ different Comedy which Shakespere and his contemporaries worked up into their Tragedy with such felicity of action and reaction. _MS. R_. [644:1] I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister or the name of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have translated it in the former sense; but fearful of having made some blunder, I add the original--Es ist ein Kloster hier _zur Himmelspforte_. LINENOTES: _Max (peeping in on the stage shyly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [7] thanks] thank 1800, 1828, 1829. [8] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [17] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [21] _He_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [72] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [91] mouth] _lips_ MS. R. [94] _Countess (after a pause, with a stolen glance at Thekla)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [96] _your_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [100] _Max (with eagerness)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Thekla (to the Countess)._ Spare yourself the trouble: That hears he better from myself. _Max._ My Princess! What have you let her hear me say, aunt Tertsky? _Thekla (to the Countess)._ Has he been here long? _Countess._ Yes; and soon must go. Where have you stayed so long? _Thekla._ Alas! my mother 5 Wept so again! and I--I see her suffer, Yet cannot keep myself from being happy. _Max._ Now once again I have courage to look on you. To-day at noon I could not. The dazzle of the jewels that play'd round you 10 Hid the beloved from me. _Thekla._ Then you saw me With your eye only--and not with your heart? _Max._ This morning, when I found you in the circle Of all your kindred, in your father's arms, Beheld myself an alien in this circle, 15 O! what an impulse felt I in that moment To fall upon his neck, to call him father! But his stern eye o'erpowered the swelling passion-- It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants, That like a crown of stars enwreathed your brows, 20 They scared me too! O wherefore, wherefore should he At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban Of excommunication round you, wherefore Dress up the angel as for sacrifice, And cast upon the light and joyous heart 25 The mournful burthen of his station? Fitly May love dare woo for love; but such a splendour Might none but monarchs venture to approach. _Thekla._ Hush! not a word more of this mummery. You see how soon the burthen is thrown off. 30 [_To the COUNTESS._ He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not? 'Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy! He had quite another nature on the journey-- So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. [_To MAX._ It was my wish to see you always so, 35 And never otherwise! _Max._ You find yourself In your great father's arms, belovéd lady! All in a new world, which does homage to you, And which, wer't only by its novelty, Delights your eye. _Thekla._ Yes; I confess to you 40 That many things delight me here: this camp, This motley stage of warriors, which renews So manifold the image of my fancy, And binds to life, binds to reality, What hitherto had but been present to me 45 As a sweet dream! _Max._ Alas! not so to me. It makes a dream of my reality. Upon some island in the ethereal heights I've lived for these last days. This mass of men Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge 50 That, reconducting to my former life, Divides me and my heaven. _Thekla._ The game of life Looks cheerful, when one carries in one's heart The inalienable treasure. 'Tis a game, Which having once reviewed, I turn more joyous 55 Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss. In this short time that I've been present here, What new unheard-of things have I not seen! And yet they all must give place to the wonder Which this mysterious castle guards. _Countess._ And what 60 Can this be then? Methought I was acquainted With all the dusky corners of this house. _Thekla._ Ay, but the road thereto is watched by spirits, Two griffins still stand sentry at the door. _Countess (laughs)._ The astrological tower!--How happens it 65 That this same sanctuary, whose access Is to all others so impracticable, Opens before you even at your approach? _Thekla._ A dwarfish old man with a friendly face And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services 70 Were mine at first sight, opened me the doors. _Max._ That is the Duke's astrologer, old Seni. _Thekla._ He questioned me on many points; for instance, When I was born, what month, and on what day, Whether by day or in the night. _Countess._ He wished 75 To erect a figure for your horoscope. _Thekla._ My hand too he examined, shook his head With much sad meaning, and the lines methought, Did not square over truly with his wishes. _Countess._ Well, Princess, and what found you in this tower? 80 My highest privilege has been to snatch A side-glance, and away! _Thekla._ [647:1]It was a strange Sensation that came o'er me, when at first From the broad sunshine I stepped in; and now The narrowing line of day-light, that ran after 85 The closing door, was gone; and all about me 'Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows Fantastically cast. Here six or seven Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me In a half-circle. Each one in his hand 90 A sceptre bore, and on his head a star; And in the tower no other light was there But from these stars: all seemed to come from them. 'These are the planets,' said that low old man, 'They govern worldly fates, and for that cause 95 Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you, Spiteful, and cold, an old man melancholy, With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn. He opposite, the king with the red light, An arm'd man for the battle, that is Mars: 100 And both these bring but little luck to man.' But at his side a lovely lady stood, The star upon her head was soft and bright, And that was Venus, the bright star of joy. On the left hand, lo! Mercury, with wings. 105 Quite in the middle glittered silver-bright A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien; And this was Jupiter, my father's star: And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon. _Max._ O never rudely will I blame his faith 110 In the might of stars and angels! 'Tis not merely The human being's Pride that peoples space With life and mystical predominance; Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love This visible nature, and this common world, 115 Is all too narrow: yea, a deeper import Lurks in the legend told my infant years Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place; Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 120 And spirits; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine. The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 125 That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanished. They live no longer in the faith of reason! But still the heart doth need a language, still 130 Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, And to yon starry world they now are gone, Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth With man as with their friend;[649:1] and to the lover Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 135 Shoot influence down: and even at this day 'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, And Venus who brings every thing that's fair! _Thekla._ And if this be the science of the stars, I too, with glad and zealous industry, 140 Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. It is a gentle and affectionate thought, That in immeasurable heights above us, At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, With sparkling stars for flowers. _Countess._ Not only roses, 145 But thorns too hath the heaven; and well for you Leave they your wreath of love inviolate; What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune, The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces. _Max._ Soon will his gloomy empire reach its close. 150 Blest be the General's zeal: into the laurel Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish Will have remained for his great heart! Enough Has he performed for glory, and can now 155 Live for himself and his. To his domains Will he retire; he has a stately seat Of fairest view at Gitschin; Reichenberg, And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly-- Even to the foot of the huge mountains here 160 Stretches the chase and covers of his forests: His ruling passion, to create the splendid, He can indulge without restraint; can give A princely patronage to every art, And to all worth a Sovereign's protection. 165 Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses-- _Countess._ Yet I would have you look, and look again, Before you lay aside your arms, young friend! A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it, That you should woo and win her with the sword. 170 _Max._ O, that the sword could win her! _Countess._ What was that? Did you hear nothing? Seem'd, as if I heard Tumult and larum in the banquet-room. [_Exit COUNTESS._ FOOTNOTES: [647:1] In this and in Max's reply to it I have taken more liberty than in any other part of the play--except perhaps in Gordon's character of Wallenstein [Act III. Scene ii]. In truth, Max's reply after the first nine lines is almost my own, as are the first seven lines of Thekla's description. The remainder I take a little pride in as a specimen of translation, fully equal, and in diction and rhythmic feeling superior, to the original. _S. T. C._ _MS. R_. [649:1] No more of talk, where God or Angel Guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar used To sit indulgent. _Paradise Lost_, ix. 1-3. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. LINENOTES: [2] _Max (stepping backward)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [5] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [17] _father_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _his_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [54] inalienable] unalienable 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 56] [_Breaking off, and in a sportive tone._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [60] _Countess (recollecting)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [63] _Thekla (smiling)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [126] their] her 1829. [160] huge] _Silesian_ MS. R. SCENE V _THEKLA and MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Thekla (as soon us the Countess is out of sight, in a quick low voice to Piccolomini)._ Don't trust them! They are false! _Max._ Impossible! _Thekla._ Trust no one here but me. I saw at once, They had a purpose. _Max._ Purpose! but what purpose? And how can we be instrumental to it? _Thekla._ I know no more than you; but yet believe me: 5 There's some design in this! to make us happy, To realize our union--trust me, love! They but pretend to wish it. _Max._ But these Tertskys---- Why use we them at all? Why not your mother? Excellent creature! she deserves from us 10 A full and filial confidence. _Thekla._ She doth love you, Doth rate you high before all others--but-- But such a secret--she would never have The courage to conceal it from my father. For her own peace of mind we must preserve it 15 A secret from her too. _Max._ Why any secret? I love not secrets. Mark, what I will do. I'll throw me at your father's feet--let him Decide upon my fortunes!--He is true, He wears no mask--he hates all crooked ways-- 20 He is so good, so noble! _Thekla (falls on his neck)._ That are you! _Max._ You knew him only since this morn; but I Have liv'd ten years already in his presence, And who knows whether in this very moment He is not merely waiting for us both 25 To own our loves, in order to unite us. You are silent!---- You look at me with such a hopelessness! What have you to object against your father? _Thekla._ I? Nothing. Only he's so occupied-- 30 He has no leisure time to think about The happiness of us two. [_Taking his hand tenderly._ Follow me! Let us not place too great a faith in men. These Tertskys--we will still be grateful to them For every kindness, but not trust them further 35 Than they deserve;--and in all else rely---- On our own hearts! _Max._ O! shall we e'er be happy? _Thekla._ Are we not happy now? Art thou not mine? Am I not thine? There lives within my soul A lofty courage--'tis love gives it me! 40 I ought to be less open--ought to hide My heart more from thee--so decorum dictates:[651:1] But where in this place could'st thou seek for truth, If in my mouth thou did'st not find it? FOOTNOTES: [651:1] What may not a man write and publish, who writes with the press waiting, and composes p. 86 while the printer is composing p. 85? _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [3] _purpose_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [18] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [37] _e'er_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _To them enters the COUNTESS TERTSKY._ _Countess._ Come! My husband sends me for you--It is now The latest moment. Part you! _Thekla._ O, not yet! It has been scarce a moment. _Countess._ Aye! Then time Flies swiftly with your Highness, Princess niece! 5 _Max._ There is no hurry, aunt. _Countess._ Away! Away! The folks begin to miss you. Twice already His father has asked for him. _Thekla._ Ha! his father? _Countess._ You understand that, niece! _Thekla._ Why needs he To go at all to that society? 10 'Tis not his proper company. They may Be worthy men, but he's too young for them. In brief, he suits not such society. _Countess._ You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly here? _Thekla._ Yes! you have hit it, aunt! That is my meaning. 15 Leave him here wholly! Tell the company-- _Countess._ What? have you lost your senses, niece?-- Count, you remember the conditions. Come! _Max (to Thekla)._ Lady, I must obey. Farewell, dear lady! [_THEKLA turns away from him with a quick motion._ What say you then, dear lady? _Thekla (without looking at him)._ Nothing. Go! 20 _Max._ Can I, when you are angry---- [_He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands silent a moment, then throws herself into his arms; he presses her fast to his heart._ _Countess._ Off! Heavens! if any one should come! Hark! What's that noise? It comes this way.----Off! [_MAX tears himself away out of her arms, and goes. The COUNTESS accompanies him. THEKLA follows him with her eyes at first, walks restlessly across the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost in thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it as by a sudden emotion, and after she has played a while an irregular and melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into the music and sings._ _Thekla (plays and sings)._ The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, The damsel paces along the shore; 25 The billows they tumble with might, with might; And she flings out her voice to the darksome night; Her bosom is swelling with sorrow; The world it is empty, the heart will die, There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky: 30 Thou Holy One, call thy child away! I've lived and loved, and that was to-day-- Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.[653:1] FOOTNOTES: [653:1] I found it not in my power to translate this song with _literal_ fidelity, preserving at the same time the Alcaic Movement, and have therefore added the original with a prose translation. Some of my readers may be more fortunate. _Thekla (spielt und singt)._ Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn, Das Mägdlein wandelt an Ufers Grün, Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht, Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht, Das Auge von Weinen getrübet: Das Herz ist gestorben, die Welt ist leer, Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr. Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurück, Ich habe genossen das irdische Glück, Ich habe gelebt und geliebet. LITERAL TRANSLATION. _Thekla (plays and sings)._ The oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to and fro on the green of the shore; the wave breaks with might, with might, and she sings out into the dark night, her eye discoloured with weeping: the heart is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and have loved. I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which the author of _The Tale of Rosamond Gray and Blind Margaret_ has favoured me, and which appears to me to have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads. The clouds are black'ning, the storms threat'ning, The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan; Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, Her eye upward roving: The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, In this world plainly all seemeth amiss; To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one, I have partaken of all earth's bliss, Both living and loving. The text of Lamb's version as printed in _Works_, 1818, i. 42 is as follows: BALLAD. FROM THE GERMAN. The clouds are blackening, the storms threatening, And ever the forest maketh a moan: Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, Thus by herself she singeth alone, Weeping right plenteously. The world is empty, the heart is dead surely, In this world plainly all seemeth amiss: To thy breast, holy one, take now thy little one, I have had earnest of all earth's bliss Living most lovingly. _Spring, 1800._ LINENOTES: [1] _Countess (in a pressing manner)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [3] The latest, &c. [_They not appearing to attend to what she says, she steps between them._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [9] _that_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] _Thekla (with energy)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VII _COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA._ _Countess._ Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him, Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, And so must be flung after him! For you, Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought It had been more beseeming to have shewn yourself 5 More chary of your person. _Thekla._ And what mean you? _Countess._ I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten Who you are, and who he is. But perchance That never once occurred to you. _Thekla._ What then? _Countess._ That you're the daughter of the Prince-Duke Friedland. 10 _Thekla._ Well--and what farther? _Countess._ What? a pretty question! _Thekla._ He was born that which we have but become. He's of an ancient Lombard family, Son of a reigning princess. _Countess._ Are you dreaming? Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth! 15 We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him To honour with his hand the richest heiress In Europe. _Thekla._ That will not be necessary. _Countess._ Methinks 'twere well though not to run the hazard. _Thekla._ His father loves him, Count Octavio 20 Will interpose no difficulty---- _Countess._ His! His father! his! But yours, niece, what of yours? _Thekla._ Why I begin to think you fear his father, So anxiously you hide it from the man! His father, his, I mean. _Countess (looks at her)._ Niece, you are false. 25 _Thekla._ Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me! _Countess._ You hold your game for won already. Do not Triumph too soon!-- _Thekla._ Nay now, be friends with me. _Countess._ It is not yet so far gone. _Thekla._ I believe you. _Countess._ Did you suppose your father had laid out 30 His most important life in toils of war, Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, Had banished slumber from his tent, devoted His noble head to care, and for this only, To make a happy pair of you? At length 35 To draw you from your convent, and conduct In easy triumph to your arms the man That chanc'd to please your eyes! All this, methinks, He might have purchased at a cheaper rate. _Thekla._ That which he did not plant for me might yet 40 Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. And if my friendly and affectionate fate, Out of his fearful and enormous being, Will but prepare the joys of life for me-- [655:1]_Countess._ Thou seest it with a love-lorn maiden's eyes. 45 Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art. Into no house of joyance hast thou stepped, For no espousals dost thou find the walls Deck'd out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing. Here is no splendour but of arms. Or think'st thou 50 That all these thousands are here congregated To lead up the long dances at thy wedding? Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, Thy mother's eye in tears: upon the balance Lies the great destiny of all our house. 55 Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, O thrust it far behind thee! Give thou proof, Thou'rt the daughter of the Mighty--his Who where he moves creates the wonderful. Not to herself the woman must belong, 60 Annexed and bound to alien destinies. But she performs the best part, she the wisest, Who can transmute the alien into self, Meet and disarm necessity by choice; And what must be, take freely to her heart, 65 And bear and foster it with mother's love. _Thekla._ Such ever was my lesson in the convent. I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself Only as his--his daughter--his, the Mighty! His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me 70 From the far distance, wakened in my soul No other thought than this--I am appointed To offer up myself in passiveness to him. _Countess._ That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it. I and thy mother gave thee the example. 75 _Thekla._ My fate hath shewn me him, to whom behoves it That I should offer up myself. In gladness Him will I follow. _Countess._ Not thy fate hath shewn him! Thy heart, say rather--'twas thy heart, my child! _Thekla._ Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulses. 80 I am all his! His Present--his alone, Is this new life, which lives in me. He hath A right to his own creature. What was I Ere his fair love infused a soul into me? _Countess._ Thou would'st oppose thy father then, should he 85 Have otherwise determined with thy person? [_THEKLA remains silent. The COUNTESS continues._ Thou mean'st to force him to thy liking?--Child, His name is Friedland. _Thekla._ My name too is Friedland. He shall have found a genuine daughter in me. _Countess._ What? he has vanquished all impediment, 90 And in the wilful mood of his own daughter Shall a new struggle rise for him? Child! child! As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone; The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, 95 I trust, it ne'er shall come. His will is yet Unknown to me: 'tis possible his aims May have the same direction as thy wish. But this can never, never be his will, That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, 100 Should'st e'er demean thee as a love-sick maiden; And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever Be destined to await him, yet, with sacrifices The highest love can bring, must pay for it. [_Exit COUNTESS._ 105 _Thekla._ I thank thee for the hint. It turns My sad presentiment to certainty. And it is so!--Not one friend have we here, Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves! O she said rightly--no auspicious signs 110 Beam on this covenant of our affections. This is no theatre, where hope abides. The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here. And love himself, as he were armed in steel, Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. 115 [_Music from the banquet-room is heard._ There's a dark spirit walking in our house, And swiftly will the Destiny close on us. It drove me hither from my calm asylum, It mocks my soul with charming witchery, It lures me forward in a seraph's shape, 120 I see it near, I see it nearer floating, It draws, it pulls me with a god-like power-- And lo! the abyss--and thither am I moving-- I have no power within me not to move! [_The music from the banquet-room becomes louder._ O when a house is doomed in fire to perish, 125 Many a dark heaven drives his clouds together, Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights, Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms, And fiends and angels mingling in their fury, Sling fire-brands at the burning edifice.[658:1] 130 [_Exit THEKLA._ FOOTNOTES: [655:1] A noble speech, and with the additional excellence of being in character. _MS. R_. [658:1] There are few, who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two concluding lines of this soliloquy; and still fewer, I would fain hope, who would not have been more disposed to shudder, had I given a _faithful_ translation. For the readers of German I have added the original: Blind-wüthend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gebäude.[658:A] [658:A] The two lines are sufficiently fustian, but this seems no reason for interpreting 'the God of Joy' as any higher divinity than Comus or rather an allegoric personage. Festivity alluding to the festive music and uproar heard from the banquet-room. _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [6] _Thekla (rising)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [8] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [12] _born . . . become_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [16] _entreat_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [21] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [22] _His . . . his_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [25] _His . . . his_ 1800, 1828, 1829. _Countess (looks at her, as scrutinizing)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. _false_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] _Thekla (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [58] _his_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [74] _is_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [76] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [78] _Him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [81] _His_ Present--_his_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [88] _My_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [103] _if_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 106] _Thekla (who during the last speech had been standing evidently lost in her reflections)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [111] covenant] couvenant 1800. [126] a] and 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VIII _A large Saloon lighted up with festal Splendour; in the midst of it, and in the Centre of the Stage, a Table richly set out, at which eight_ Generals _are sitting, among whom are OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, TERTSKY, and MARADAS. Right and left of this, but farther back, two other Tables, at each of which six Persons are placed. The Middle Door, which is standing open, gives to the Prospect a Fourth Table, with the same Number of Persons. More forward stands the sideboard. The whole front of the Stage is kept open for the Pages and Servants in waiting. All is in Motion. The Band of Music belonging to Tertsky's Regiment march across the Stage, and draw up round the Tables. Before they are quite off from the Front of the Stage, MAX PICCOLOMINI appears, TERTSKY advances towards him with a Paper, ISOLANI comes up to meet him with a Beaker or Service-cup._ _TERTSKY, ISOLANI, MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Isolani._ Here brother, what we love! Why, where hast been? Off to thy place--quick! Tertsky here has given The mother's holiday wine up to free booty. Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle. Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving 5 At yonder table ducal crowns in shares; There's Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up, With Egenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's, And all the great Bohemian feodalities. Be nimble, lad! and something may turn up 10 For thee--who knows? off--to thy place! quick! march! _Tiefenbach and Goetz (call out from the second and third tables)._ Count Piccolomini! _Tertsky._ Stop, ye shall have him in an instant.--Read This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth, The wording satisfies you. They've all read it, 15 Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe His individual signature. _Max (reads)._ 'Ingratis servire nefas.' _Isolani._ That sounds to my ears very much like Latin, And being interpreted, pray what may't mean? _Tertsky._ No honest man will serve a thankless master. 20 _Max._ 'Inasmuch as our supreme Commander, the illustrious Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the manifold affronts and grievances which he has received, had expressed his determination to quit the Emperor, but on our unanimous entreaty has graciously consented to remain still with the army, and not to 25 part from us without our approbation thereof, so we, collectively and _each in particular_, in the stead of an oath personally taken, do hereby oblige ourselves--likewise by him honourably and faithfully to hold, and in nowise whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready to shed for his interests the last drop of 30 our blood, so far, namely, as _our oath to the Emperor will permit it_. (_These last words are repeated by ISOLANI._) In testimony of which we subscribe our names.' _Tertsky._ Now!--are you willing to subscribe this paper? _Isolani._ Why should he not? All officers of honour 35 Can do it, aye, must do it.--Pen and ink here! _Tertsky._ Nay, let it rest till after meal. _Isolani (drawing Max along)._ Come, Max. [_Both seat themselves at their table._ LINENOTES: [9] feodalities] feodalties 1800. SCENE IX _TERTSKY, NEUMANN._ _Tertsky (beckons to Neumann who is waiting at the side-table, and steps forward with him to the edge of the stage)._ Have you the copy with you, Neumann? Give it. It may be changed for the other? _Neumann._ I have copied it Letter by letter, line by line; no eye Would e'er discover other difference, Save only the omission of that clause, 5 According to your Excellency's order. _Tertsky._ Right! lay it yonder, and away with this-- It has performed its business--to the fire with it-- _NEUMANN lays the copy on the table and steps back again to the side-table._ SCENE X _ILLO (comes out from the second chamber), TERTSKY._ _Illo._ How goes it with young Piccolomini? _Tertsky._ All right, I think. He has started no objection. _Illo._ He is the only one I fear about-- He and his father. Have an eye on both! _Tertsky._ How looks it at your table: you forget not 5 To keep them warm and stirring? _Illo._ O, quite cordial, They are quite cordial in the scheme. We have them. And 'tis as I predicted too. Already It is the talk, not merely to maintain The Duke in station. 'Since we're once for all 10 Together and unanimous, why not,' Says Montecuculi, 'aye, why not onward, And make conditions with the Emperor There in his own Vienna?' Trust me, Count, Were it not for these said Piccolomini, 15 We might have spared ourselves the cheat. _Tertsky._ And Butler? How goes it there? Hush! SCENE XI _To them enter BUTLER from the second table._ _Butler._ Don't disturb yourselves. Field Marshal, I have understood you perfectly. Good luck be to the scheme; and as to me, You may depend upon me. _Illo._ May we, Butler? _Butler._ With or without the clause, all one to me! 5 You understand me? My fidelity The Duke may put to any proof--I'm with him! Tell him so! I'm the Emperor's officer, As long as 'tis his pleasure to remain The Emperor's general! and Friedland's servant, 10 As soon as it shall please him to become His own lord. _Tertsky._ You would make a good exchange. No stern economist, no Ferdinand, Is he to whom you plight your services. _Butler._ I do not put up my fidelity 15 To sale, Count Tertsky! Half a year ago I would not have advised you to have made me An overture to that, to which I now Offer myself of my own free accord.-- But that is past! and to the Duke, Field Marshal, 20 I bring myself together with my regiment. And mark you, 'tis my humour to believe, The example which I give will not remain Without an influence. _Illo._ Who is ignorant, That the whole army look to Colonel Butler, 25 As to a light that moves before them? _Butler._ Ey? Then I repent me not of that fidelity Which for the length of forty years I held, If in my sixtieth year my old good name Can purchase for me a revenge so full. 30 Start not at what I say, sir Generals! My real motives--they concern not you. And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect That this your game had crooked my judgment--or That fickleness, quick blood, or such light cause, 35 Had driven the old man from the track of honour, Which he so long had trodden.--Come, my friends! I'm not thereto determined with less firmness, Because I know and have looked steadily At that on which I have determined. _Illo._ Say, 40 And speak roundly, what are we to deem you? _Butler._ A friend! I give you here my hand! I'm yours With all I have. Not only men, but money Will the Duke want.----Go, tell him, sirs! I've earned and laid up somewhat in his service, 45 I lend it him; and is he my survivor, It has been already long ago bequeathed him. He is my heir. For me, I stand alone, Here in the world; nought know I of the feeling That binds the husband to a wife and children. 50 My name dies with me, my existence ends. _Illo._ 'Tis not your money that he needs--a heart Like yours weighs tons of gold down, weighs down millions! _Butler._ I came a simple soldier's boy from Ireland To Prague--and with a master, whom I buried. 55 From lowest stable-duty I climbed up, Such was the fate of war, to this high rank, The plaything of a whimsical good fortune. And Wallenstein too is a child of luck, I love a fortune that is like my own. 60 _Illo._ All powerful souls have kindred with each other. _Butler._ This is an awful moment! to the brave, To the determined, an auspicious moment. The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the Maine To found a mighty dukedom. He of Halberstadt, 65 That Mansfeld, wanted but a longer life To have marked out with his good sword a lordship That should reward his courage. Who of these Equals our Friedland? there is nothing, nothing So high, but he may set the ladder to it! 70 _Tertsky._ That's spoken like a man! _Butler._ Do you secure the Spaniard and Italian-- I'll be your warrant for the Scotchman Lesly. Come! to the company! _Tertsky._ Where is the master of the cellar? Ho! 75 Let the best wines come up. Ho! cheerly, boy! Luck comes to-day, so give her hearty welcome. [_Exeunt, each to his table._ LINENOTES: [After 3] [_with an air of mystery_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [4] _Illo (with vivacity)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] _Butler (with a haughty look)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [34] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [36] Had] Has 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE XII _The_ Master of the Cellar _advancing with NEUMANN_, Servants _passing backwards and forwards._ _Master of the Cellar._ The best wine! O! if my old mistress, his lady mother, could but see these wild goings on, she would turn herself round in her grave. Yes, yes, sir officer! 'tis all down the hill with this noble house! no end, no moderation! And this marriage with the Duke's sister, a 5 splendid connection, a very splendid connection! but I tell you, sir officer, it bodes no good. _Neumann._ Heaven forbid! Why, at this very moment the whole prospect is in bud and blossom! _Master of the Cellar._ You think so?--Well, well! much 10 may be said on that head. _First Servant (comes)._ Burgundy for the fourth table. _Master of the Cellar._ Now, sir lieutenant, if this isn't the seventieth flask---- _First Servant._ Why, the reason is, that German lord, 15 Tiefenbach, sits at that table. _Master of the Cellar (continuing his discourse to Neumann)._ They are soaring too high. They would rival kings and electors in their pomp and splendour; and wherever the Duke leaps, not a minute does my gracious master, the Count, loiter on the brink----(_To the_ Servants)--What do 20 you stand there listening for? I will let you know you have legs presently. Off! see to the tables, see to the flasks! Look there! Count Palfi has an empty glass before him! _Runner (comes)._ The great service-cup is wanted, sir; that rich gold cup with the Bohemian arms on it. The Count 25 says you know which it is. _Master of the Cellar._ Ay! that was made for Frederick's coronation by the artist William--there was not such another prize in the whole booty at Prague. _Runner._ The same!--a health is to go round in him. 30 _Master of the Cellar._ This will be something for the tale-bearers--this goes to Vienna. _Neumann._ Permit me to look at it.--Well, this is a cup indeed! How heavy! as well it may be, being all gold.--And what neat things are embossed on it! how natural 35 and elegant they look! There, on that first quarter, let me see. That proud Amazon there on horseback, she that is taking a leap over the crosier and mitres, and carries on a wand a hat together with a banner, on which there's a goblet represented. Can you tell me what all this signifies? 40 _Master of the Cellar._ The woman whom you see there on horseback, is the Free Election of the Bohemian Crown. That is signified by the round hat, and by that fiery steed on which she is riding. The hat is the pride of man; for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors 45 is no free man. _Neumann._ But what is the cup there on the banner? _Master of the Cellar._ The cup signifies the freedom of the Bohemian Church, as it was in our forefathers' times. Our forefathers in the wars of the Hussites forced from the Pope 50 this noble privilege: for the Pope, you know, will not grant the cup to any layman. Your true Moravian values nothing beyond the cup; it is his costly jewel, and has cost the Bohemians their precious blood in many and many a battle. _Neumann._ And what says that chart that hangs in the air 55 there, over it all? _Master of the Cellar._ That signifies the Bohemian letter royal, which we forced from the Emperor Rudolph--a precious, never to be enough valued parchment that secures to the new Church the old privileges of free ringing and 60 open psalmody. But since he of Steiermärk has ruled over us, that is at an end; and after the battle of Prague, in which Count Palatine Frederick lost crown and empire, our faith hangs upon the pulpit and the altar--and our brethren look at their homes over their shoulders; but the letter 65 royal the Emperor himself cut to pieces with his scissors. _Neumann._ Why, my good Master of the Cellar! you are deep read in the chronicles of your country! _Master of the Cellar._ So were my forefathers, and for that reason were they minstrels, and served under Procopius and 70 Ziska. Peace be with their ashes! Well, well! they fought for a good cause though--There! carry it up! _Neumann._ Stay! let me but look at this second quarter. Look there! That is, when at Prague Castle the Imperial Counsellors, Martinitz and Stawata were hurled down head 75 over heels. 'Tis even so! there stands Count Thur who commands it. [Runner _takes the service-cup and goes off with it._ _Master of the Cellar._ O let me never more hear of that day. It was the three and twentieth of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand, six hundred, and eighteen. It seems to me 80 as it were but yesterday--from that unlucky day it all began, all the heart-aches of the country. Since that day it is now sixteen years, and there has never once been peace on the earth. [_Health drunk aloud at the second table._ The Prince of Weimar! Hurra! [_At the third and fourth table._ Long live Prince William! Long live Duke Bernard! 85 Hurra! [_Music strikes up._ _First Servant._ Hear 'em! Hear 'em! What an uproar! _Second Servant (comes in running)._ Did you hear? They have drunk the Prince of Weimar's health. _Third Servant._ The Swedish Chief Commander! 90 _First Servant (speaking at the same time)._ The Lutheran! _Second Servant._ Just before, when Count Deodate gave out the Emperor's health, they were all as mum as a nibbling mouse. _Master of the Cellar._ Po, po! When the wine goes in, 95 strange things come out. A good servant hears, and hears not!--You should be nothing but eyes and feet, except when you are called. _Second Servant (to the Runner, to whom he gives secretly a flask of wine, keeping his eye on the Master of the Cellar, standing between him and the Runner)._ Quick, Thomas! before the Master of the Cellar runs this way--'tis a flask of 100 Frontignac!--Snapped it up at the third table.--Canst go off with it? _Runner (hides it in his pocket)._ All right! [_Exit the_ Second Servant. _Third Servant (aside to the First)._ Be on the hark, Jack! that we may have right plenty to tell to father Quivoga--He will 105 give us right plenty of absolution in return for it. _First Servant._ For that very purpose I am always having something to do behind Illo's chair.--He is the man for speeches to make you stare with! _Master of the Cellar (to Neumann)._ Who, pray, may that 110 swarthy man be, he with the cross, that is chatting so confidentially with Esterhats? _Neumann._ Ay! he too is one of those to whom they confide too much. He calls himself Maradas, a Spaniard is he. _Master of the Cellar (impatiently)._ Spaniard! Spaniard!--I 115 tell you, friend; nothing good comes of those Spaniards. All these out-landish[665:1] fellows are little better than rogues. _Neumann._ Fy, fy! you should not say so, friend. There are among them our very best generals, and those on whom the Duke at this moment relies the most. 120 _Master of the Cellar (taking the flask out of the Runner's pocket)._ My son, it will be broken to pieces in your pocket. [_TERTSKY hurries in, fetches away the paper, and calls to a_ Servant _for pen and ink, and goes to the back of the stage._ _Master of the Cellar (to the Servants)._ The Lieutenant-General stands up.--Be on the watch.--Now! They break up.--Off, and move back the forms. [_They rise at all the tables, the_ Servants _hurry off the front of the stage to the tables; part of the guests come forward._ FOOTNOTES: [665:1] There is a humour in the original which cannot be given in the translation. 'Die _welschen_ alle,' &c., which word in classical German means the _Italians_ alone; but in its first sense, and at present in the _vulgar_ use of the word, signifies foreigners in general. Our word wall-nuts, I suppose, means _outlandish_ nuts--Wallae nuces, in German 'Welschnüsse'.--_T._ LINENOTES: [13] isn't] a'nt 1800, 1828, 1829. [31] _Master of the Cellar (shaking his head while he fetches and rinses the cups)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [74] _there_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 83] _drunk_] _drank_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [89] drunk] drank 1800, 1828, 1829. [98] called] called to 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE XIII _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI enters in conversation with MARADAS, and both place themselves quite on the edge of the stage on one side of the proscenium. On the side directly opposite, MAX PICCOLOMINI, by himself, lost in thought, and taking no part in any thing that is going forward. The middle space between both, but rather more distant from the edge of the stage, is filled up by BUTLER, ISOLANI, GOETZ, TIEFENBACH, and KOLATTO._ _Isolani (while the company is coming forward)._ Good night, good night, Kolatto! Good night, Lieutenant-General!--I should rather say, good morning. _Goetz (to Tiefenbach)._ Noble brother! _Tiefenbach._ Ay! 'twas a royal feast indeed. 5 _Goetz._ Yes, my Lady Countess understands these matters. Her mother-in-law, heaven rest her soul, taught her!--Ah! that was a housewife for you! _Tiefenbach._ There was not her like in all Bohemia for setting out a table. 10 _Octavio (aside to Maradas)._ Do me the favour to talk to me--talk of what you will--or of nothing. Only preserve the appearance at least of talking. I would not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture that there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive observation. 15 _Isolani (on the point of going)._ Lights! lights! _Tertsky (advances with the paper to Isolani)._ Noble brother! two minutes longer!--Here is something to subscribe. _Isolani._ Subscribe as much as you like--but you must excuse me from reading it. 20 _Tertsky._ There is no need. It is the oath which you have already read.--Only a few marks of your pen! [_ISOLANI hands over the paper to OCTAVIO respectfully._ _Tertsky._ Nay, nay, first come first served. There is no precedence here. [_OCTAVIO runs over the paper with apparent indifference. TERTSKY watches him at some distance._ _Goetz (to Tertsky)._ Noble Count! with your 25 permission--Good night. _Tertsky._ Where's the hurry? Come, one other composing draught. (_To the Servants_)--Ho! _Goetz._ Excuse me--an't able. _Tertsky._ A thimble-full! 30 _Goetz._ Excuse me. _Tiefenbach (sits down)._ Pardon me, nobles!--This standing does not agree with me. _Tertsky._ Consult only your own convenience, General! _Tiefenbach._ Clear at head, sound in stomach--only my legs 35 won't carry me any longer. _Isolani._ Poor legs! how should they? Such an unmerciful load! [_OCTAVIO subscribes his name, and reaches over the paper to TERTSKY, who gives it to ISOLANI; and he goes to the table to sign his name._ _Tiefenbach._ 'Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought it on. Out in all weathers--ice and snow--no help for it.--I 40 shall never get the better of it all the days of my life. _Goetz._ Why, in simple verity, your Swede makes no nice enquiries about the season. _Tertsky (observing Isolani, whose hand trembles excessively, so that he can scarce direct his pen)._ Have you had that ugly complaint long, noble brother?--Dispatch it. 45 _Isolani._ The sins of youth! I have already tried the Chalybeate waters. Well--I must bear it. [_TERTSKY gives the paper to MARADAS; he steps to the table to subscribe._ _Octavio (advancing to Butler)._ You are not over fond of the orgies of Bacchus, Colonel! I have observed it. You would, I think, find yourself more to your liking in the uproar of a battle, 50 than of a feast. _Butler._ I must confess, 'tis not in my way. _Octavio._ Nor in mine either, I can assure you; and I am not a little glad, my much honoured Colonel Butler, that we agree so well in our opinions. A half dozen good friends at most, 55 at a small round table, a glass of genuine Tokay, open hearts, and a rational conversation--that's my taste! _Butler._ And mine too, when it can be had. [_The paper comes to TIEFENBACH, who glances over it at the same time with GOETZ and KOLATTO. MARADAS in the mean time returns to OCTAVIO, all this takes place, the conversation with BUTLER proceeding uninterrupted._ _Octavio (introducing Maradas to Butler)._ Don Balthasar Maradas! likewise a man of our stamp, and long ago your admirer. 60 [_BUTLER bows._ _Octavio (continuing)._ You are a stranger here--'twas but yesterday you arrived--you are ignorant of the ways and means here. 'Tis a wretched place--I know, at our age, one loves to be snug and quiet--What if you moved your lodgings?--Come, be my visitor. (_BUTLER makes a low bow._) Nay, without 65 compliment!--For a friend like you, I have still a corner remaining. _Butler._ Your obliged humble servant, my Lord Lieutenant-General! [_The paper comes to BUTLER, who goes to the table to subscribe it. The front of the stage is vacant, so that both the PICCOLOMINIS, each on the side where he had been from the commencement of the scene, remain alone._ _Octavio (after having some time watched his son in silence, advances somewhat nearer to him)._ You were long absent from us, friend! 70 _Max._ I----urgent business detained me. _Octavio._ And, I observe, you are still absent! _Max._ You know this crowd and bustle always makes me silent. 75 _Octavio._ May I be permitted to ask what business 'twas that detained you? Tertsky knows it without asking! _Max._ What does Tertsky know? _Octavio._ He was the only one who did not miss you. _Isolani._ Well done, father! Rout out his baggage! Beat 80 up his quarters! there is something there that should not be. _Tertsky (with the paper)._ Is there none wanting? Have the whole subscribed? _Octavio._ All. _Tertsky (calling aloud)._ Ho! Who subscribes? 85 _Butler (to Tertsky)._ Count the names. There ought to be just thirty. _Tertsky._ Here is a cross. _Tiefenbach._ That's my mark. _Isolani._ He cannot write; but his cross is a good cross, and 90 is honoured by Jews as well as Christians. _Octavio (presses on to Max)._ Come, general! let us go. It is late. _Tertsky._ One Piccolomini only has signed. _Isolani (pointing to Max)._ Look! that is your man, that statue there, who has had neither eye, ear, nor tongue for us the 95 whole evening. [_MAX receives the paper from TERTSKY, which he looks upon vacantly._ LINENOTES: [After 4] (_making the usual compliment after meals_) 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 15] [_He continues to fix his eye on the whole following scene._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [37] _Isolani (pointing at his corpulence)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. should] _should_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 53] _Octavio (stepping nearer to him friendlily)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 68] _Butler (coldly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 76] _Octavio (advancing still nearer)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [76] business 'twas] the business was 1800, 1828, 1829. [77] _Tertsky_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 80] _Isolani (who has been attending to them from some distance, steps up)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [93] _One_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE XIV _To these enter ILLO from the inner room. He has in his hand the golden service-cup, and is extremely distempered with drinking: GOETZ and BUTLER follow him, endeavouring to keep him back._ _Illo._ What do you want? Let me go. _Goetz and Butler._ Drink no more, Illo! For heaven's sake, drink no more. _Illo (goes up to Octavio, and shakes him cordially by the hand, and then drinks)._ Octavio! I bring this to you! Let all grudge be drowned in this friendly bowl! I know well enough, ye 5 never loved me--Devil take me!--and I never loved you!--I am always even with people in that way!--Let what's past be past--that is, you understand--forgotten! I esteem you infinitely. (_Embracing him repeatedly._) You have not a dearer friend on earth than I--but that you know. The fellow that cries rogue 10 to you calls me villain--and I'll strangle him!--my dear friend! _Tertsky (whispering to him)._ Art in thy senses? For heaven's sake, Illo! think where you are! _Illo (aloud)._ What do you mean?--There are none but friends here, are there? Not a sneaker among us, thank heaven! 15 _Tertsky (to Butler)._ Take him off with you, force him off, I entreat you, Butler! _Butler (to Illo)._ Field Marshal! a word with you. [_Leads him to the sideboard._ _Illo._ A thousand for one! Fill--Fill it once more up to the brim.--To this gallant man's health! 20 _Isolani (to Max, who all the while has been staring on the paper with fixed but vacant eyes)._ Slow and sure, my noble brother!--Hast parsed it all yet?--Some words yet to go through?--Ha? _Max._ What am I to do? _Tertsky (and at the same time Isolani)._ Sign your name. _Max (returns the paper)._ Let it stay till to-morrow. It is 25 business--to-day I am not sufficiently collected. Send it to me to-morrow. _Tertsky._ Nay, collect yourself a little. _Isolani._ Awake, man! awake!--Come, thy signature, and have done with it! What? Thou art the youngest in the 30 whole company, and wouldest be wiser than all of us together? Look there! thy father has signed--we have all signed. _Tertsky (to Octavio)._ Use your influence. Instruct him. _Octavio._ My son is at the age of discretion. _Illo (leaves the service-cup on the sideboard)._ What's the dispute? 35 _Tertsky._ He declines subscribing the paper. _Max._ I say, it may as well stay till to-morrow. _Illo._ It cannot stay. We have all subscribed to it--and so must you.--You must subscribe. _Max._ Illo, good night! 40 _Illo._ No! You come not off so! The Duke shall learn who are his friends. [_All collect round ILLO and MAX._ _Max._ What my sentiments are towards the Duke, the Duke knows, every one knows--what need of this wild stuff? 45 _Illo._ This is the thanks the Duke gets for his partiality to Italians and foreigners.--Us Bohemians he holds for little better than dullards--nothing pleases him but what's outlandish. _Tertsky (to the commanders, who at Illo's words give a sudden start, as preparing to resent them)._ It is the wine that speaks, and not his reason. Attend not to him, I entreat you. 50 _Isolani._ Wine invents nothing: it only tattles. _Illo._ He who is not with me is against me. Your tender consciences! Unless they can slip out by a back-door, by a puny proviso---- _Tertsky._ He is stark mad--don't listen to him! 55 _Illo._ Unless they can slip out by a proviso.--What of the proviso? The devil take this proviso! _Max._ What is there here then of such perilous import? You make me curious--I must look closer at it. _Tertsky (in a low voice to Illo)._ What are you doing, Illo? 60 You are ruining us. _Tiefenbach (to Kolatto)._ Ay, ay! I observed, that before we sat down to supper, it was read differently. _Goetz._ Why, I seemed to think so too. _Isolani._ What do I care for that? Where there stand other 65 names, mine can stand too. _Tiefenbach._ Before supper there was a certain proviso therein, or short clause concerning our duties to the Emperor. _Butler (to one of the commanders)._ For shame, for shame! Bethink you. What is the main business here? The question 70 now is, whether we shall keep our General, or let him retire. One must not take these things too nicely and over-scrupulously. _Isolani (to one of the Generals)._ Did the Duke make any of these provisos when he gave you your regiment? 75 _Tertsky (to Goetz)._ Or when he gave you the office of army-purveyancer, which brings you in yearly a thousand pistoles! _Illo._ He is a rascal who makes us out to be rogues. If there be any one that wants satisfaction, let him say so,--I am his man. 80 _Tiefenbach._ Softly, softly! 'Twas but a word or two. _Max (having read the paper gives it back)._ Till to-morrow, therefore! _Illo (stammering with rage and fury, loses all command over himself, and presents the paper to Max with one hand, and his sword in the other)._ Subscribe--Judas! _Isolani._ Out upon you, Illo! 85 _Octavio, Tertsky, Butler (all together)._ Down with the sword! _Max (rushes on him suddenly and disarms him, then to Count Tertsky)._ Take him off to bed. [_MAX leaves the stage. ILLO cursing and raving is held back by some of the Officers, and amidst a universal confusion the curtain drops._ LINENOTES: [11] _dear_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] here, are there? (_looks round the whole circle with a jolly and triumphant air_) 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 16] _Tertsky (to Butler, eagerly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 19] _Illo (cordially)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [22] _parsed_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 23] _Max (waking as from a dream)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 24] [_OCTAVIO directs his eyes on him with intense anxiety._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _business_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 49] _Tertsky (in extreme embarrassment, to the, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 51] _Isolani (with a bitter laugh)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [51] _tattles_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 55] _Tertsky (interrupting him)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 56] _Illo (raising his voice to the highest pitch)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [57] _proviso_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 58] _Max (has his attention roused, and looks again into the paper)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [67] _was_ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT III SCENE I SCENE.--_A Chamber in PICCOLOMINI'S Mansion.--Night._ _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI. A_ Valet de Chambre, _with Lights._ _Octavio._----And when my son comes in, conduct him hither. What is the hour? _Valet._ 'Tis on the point of morning. _Octavio._ Set down the light. We mean not to undress. You may retire to sleep. [_Exit Valet. OCTAVIO paces, musing, across the chamber; MAX PICCOLOMINI enters unobserved, and looks at his father for some moments in silence._ _Max._ Art thou offended with me? Heaven knows 5 That odious business was no fault of mine. 'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature. What thou hadst sanctioned, should not, it might seem, Have come amiss to me. But--'tis my nature-- Thou know'st that in such matters I must follow 10 My own light, not another's. _Octavio (embraces him)._ Follow it, O follow it still further, my best son! To-night, dear boy! it hath more faithfully Guided thee than the example of thy father. _Max._ Declare thyself less darkly. _Octavio._ I will do so. 15 For after what has taken place this night, There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two. [_Both seat themselves._ Max Piccolomini! what thinkest thou of The oath that was sent round for signatures? _Max._ I hold it for a thing of harmless import, 20 Although I love not these set declarations. _Octavio._ And on no other ground hast thou refused The signature they fain had wrested from thee? _Max._ It was a serious business----I was absent-- The affair itself seemed not so urgent to me. 25 _Octavio._ Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion? _Max._ Suspicion! what suspicion? Not the least. _Octavio._ Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini: He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss. _Max._ I know not what thou meanest. _Octavio._ I will tell thee. 30 Fain would they have extorted from thee, son, The sanction of thy name to villainy; Yea, with a single flourish of thy pen, Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honour! _Max (rises)._ Octavio! _Octavio._ Patience! Seat yourself. Much yet 35 Hast thou to hear from me, friend!--hast for years Lived in incomprehensible illusion. Before thine eyes is Treason drawing out As black a web as e'er was spun for venom: A power of hell o'erclouds thy understanding. 40 I dare no longer stand in silence--dare No longer see thee wandering on in darkness, Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes. _Max._ My father! Yet, ere thou speak'st, a moment's pause of thought! If your disclosures should appear to be 45 Conjectures only--and almost I fear They will be nothing further--spare them! I Am not in that collected mood at present, That I could listen to them quietly. _Octavio._ The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light, 50 The more impatient cause have I, my son, To force it on thee. To the innocence And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee With calm assurance--but I see the net Preparing--and it is thy heart itself 55 Alarms me for thine innocence--that secret, Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. Know, then, they are duping thee!--a most foul game With thee and with us all--nay, hear me calmly-- The Duke even now is playing. He assumes 60 The mask, as if he would forsake the army; And in this moment makes he preparations That army from the Emperor to steal, And carry it over to the enemy! _Max._ That low Priest's legend I know well, but did not 65 Expect to hear it from thy mouth. _Octavio._ That mouth, From which thou hearest it at this present moment, Doth warrant thee that it is no Priest's legend. _Max._ How mere a maniac they supposed the Duke! What, he can meditate?--the Duke?--can dream 70 That he can lure away full thirty thousand Tried troops and true, all honourable soldiers, More than a thousand noblemen among them, From oaths, from duty, from their honour lure them, And make them all unanimous to do 75 A deed that brands them scoundrels? _Octavio._ Such a deed, With such a front of infamy, the Duke No wise desires--what he requires of us Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing He wishes, but to give the Empire peace. 80 And so, because the Emperor hates this peace, Therefore the Duke--the Duke will force him to it. All parts of the Empire will he pacify, And for his trouble will retain in payment (What he has already in his gripe)--Bohemia! 85 _Max._ Has he, Octavio, merited of us, That we--that we should think so vilely of him? _Octavio._ What we would think is not the question here. The affair speaks for itself--and clearest proofs! Hear me, my son--'tis not unknown to thee, 90 In what ill credit with the Court we stand. But little dost thou know, or guess, what tricks, What base intrigues, what lying artifices, Have been employed--for this sole end--to sow Mutiny in the camp! All bands are loosed-- 95 Loosed all the bands, that link the officer To his liege Emperor, all that bind the soldier Affectionately to the citizen. Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers The state he's bound to guard. To such a height 100 'Tis swoln, that at this hour the Emperor Before his armies--his own armies--trembles; Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears The traitor's poniards, and is meditating To hurry off and hide his tender offspring---- 105 Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans-- No! from his own troops hide and hurry them! _Max._ Cease, cease! thou tortur'st, shatter'st me. I know That oft we tremble at an empty terror; But the false phantasm brings a real misery. 110 _Octavio._ It is no phantasm. An intestine war, Of all the most unnatural and cruel, Will burst out into flames, if instantly We do not fly and stifle it. The Generals Are many of them long ago won over; 115 The subalterns are vacillating--whole Regiments and garrisons are vacillating. To foreigners our strong holds are entrusted; To that suspected Schafgotch is the whole Force of Silesia given up: to Tertsky 120 Five regiments, foot and horse--to Isolani, To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops. _Max._ Likewise to both of us. _Octavio._ Because the Duke Believes he has secured us--means to lure us Still further on by splendid promises. 125 To me he portions forth the princedoms, Glatz And Sagan; and too plain I see the angle With which he doubts not to catch thee. _Max._ No! no! I tell thee--no! _Octavio._ O open yet thine eyes! And to what purpose think'st thou he has called us 130 Hither to Pilsen?--to avail himself Of our advice?--O when did Friedland ever Need our advice?--Be calm, and listen to me. To sell ourselves are we called hither, and, Decline we that--to be his hostages. 135 Therefore doth noble Galas stand aloof; Thy father, too, thou would'st not have seen here, If higher duties had not held him fettered. _Max._ He makes no secret of it--needs make none-- That we're called hither for his sake--he owns it. 140 He needs our aidance to maintain himself-- He did so much for us; and 'tis but fair That we too should do somewhat now for him. _Octavio._ And know'st thou what it is which we must do? That Illo's drunken mood betrayed it to thee. 145 Bethink thyself--what hast thou heard, what seen? The counterfeited paper--the omission Of that particular clause, so full of meaning, Does it not prove, that they would bind us down To nothing good? _Max._ That counterfeited paper 150 Appears to me no other than a trick Of Illo's own device. These underhand Traders in great men's interests ever use To urge and hurry all things to the extreme. They see the Duke at variance with the court, 155 And fondly think to serve him, when they widen The breach irreparably. Trust me, father, The Duke knows nothing of all this. _Octavio._ It grieves me That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter A faith so specious; but I may not spare thee! 160 For this is not a time for tenderness. Thou must take measures, speedy ones--must act. I therefore will confess to thee, that all Which I've entrusted to thee now--that all Which seems to thee so unbelievable, 165 That--yes, I will tell thee--Max! I had it all From his own mouth--from the Duke's mouth I had it. _Max._ No!--no!--never! _Octavio._ Himself confided to me What I, 'tis true, had long before discovered By other means--himself confided to me, 170 That 'twas his settled plan to join the Swedes; And, at the head of the united armies, Compel the Emperor-- _Max._ He is passionate. The Court has stung him--he is sore all over With injuries and affronts; and in a moment 175 Of irritation, what if he, for once, Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man. _Octavio._ Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me: And having construed my astonishment Into a scruple of his power, he shewed me 180 His written evidences--shewed me letters, Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave Promise of aidance, and defin'd the amount. _Max._ It cannot be!--can _not_ be! _can_ not be! Dost thou not see, it cannot! 185 Thou wouldest of necessity have shewn him Such horror, such deep loathing--that or he Had taken thee for his better genius, or Thou stood'st not now a living man before me-- _Octavio._ I have laid open my objections to him, 190 Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness; But my abhorrence, the full sentiment Of my whole heart--that I have still kept sacred To my own consciousness. _Max._ And thou hast been So treacherous? That looks not like my father! 195 I trusted not thy words, when thou didst tell me Evil of him; much less can I now do it, That thou calumniatest thy own self. _Octavio._ I did not thrust myself into his secrecy. _Max._ Uprightness merited his confidence. 200 _Octavio._ He was no longer worthy of sincerity. _Max._ Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy Of thee, Octavio! _Octavio._ Gave I him a cause To entertain a scruple of my honour? _Max._ That he did not, evinced his confidence. 205 _Octavio._ Dear son, it is not always possible Still to preserve that infant purity Which the voice teaches in our inmost heart. Still in alarm, for ever on the watch Against the wiles of wicked men, e'en Virtue 210 Will sometimes bear away her outward robes Soiled in the wrestle with Iniquity. This is the curse of every evil deed, That, propagating still, it brings forth evil. I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms: 215 I but perform my orders; the Emperor Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy, Far better were it, doubtless, if we all Obeyed the heart at all times; but so doing, In this our present sojourn with bad men, 220 We must abandon many an honest object. 'Tis now our call to serve the Emperor, By what means he can best be served--the heart May whisper what it will--this is our call! _Max._ It seems a thing appointed, that to-day 225 I should not comprehend, not understand thee. The Duke thou say'st did honestly pour out His heart to thee, but for an evil purpose; And thou dishonestly hast cheated him For a good purpose! Silence, I entreat thee-- 230 My friend thou stealest not from me-- Let me not lose my father! _Octavio._ As yet thou know'st not all, my son. I have Yet somewhat to disclose to thee. [_After a pause._ Duke Friedland Hath made his preparations. He relies 235 Upon his stars. He deems us unprovided, And thinks to fall upon us by surprise. Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already The golden circle in his hand. He errs. We too have been in action--he but grasps 240 His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious! _Max._ O nothing rash, my sire! By all that's good Let me invoke thee--no precipitation! _Octavio._ With light tread stole he on his evil way, With light tread hath Vengeance stole on after him. 245 Unseen she stands already, dark behind him-- But one step more--he shudders in her grasp! Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet Thou know'st but his ostensible commission; He brought with him a private one, my son! 250 And that was for me only. _Max._ May I know it? _Octavio (seizes the patent)._ Max! [_A pause._ ----In this disclosure place I in thy hands The Empire's welfare and thy father's life. Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein: A powerful tie of love, of veneration, 255 Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth. Thou nourishest the wish.--O let me still Anticipate thy loitering confidence! The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself Yet closer to him---- _Max._ Father---- _Octavio._ O my son! 260 I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I Equally sure of thy collectedness? Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance, To enter this man's presence, when that I Have trusted to thee his whole fate? _Max._ According 265 As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime. [_OCTAVIO takes a paper out of his escrutoire, and gives it to him._ _Max._ What? how? a full Imperial patent! _Octavio._ Read it. _Max (just glances on it)._ Duke Friedland sentenced and condemned! _Octavio._ Even so. _Max (throws down the paper)._ O this is too much! O unhappy error! 270 _Octavio._ Read on. Collect thyself. _Max (after he has read further, with a look of affright and astonishment on his father)._ How! what! Thou! thou! _Octavio._ But for the present moment, till the King Of Hungary may safely join the army, Is the command assigned to me. _Max._ And think'st thou, Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him? 275 O never hope it!--Father! father! father! An inauspicious office is enjoined thee. This paper here--this! and wilt thou enforce it? The mighty in the middle of his host, Surrounded by his thousands, him would'st thou 280 Disarm--degrade! Thou art lost, both thou and all of us. _Octavio._ What hazard I incur thereby, I know. In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty Will cover with his shield the Imperial house, And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness. 285 The Emperor hath true servants still; and even Here in the camp, there are enough brave men, Who for the good cause will fight gallantly. The faithful have been warned--the dangerous Are closely watched. I wait but the first step, 290 And then immediately---- _Max._ What! on suspicion? Immediately? _Octavio._ The Emperor is no tyrant. The deed alone he'll punish, not the wish. The Duke hath yet his destiny in his power. Let him but leave the treason uncompleted, 295 He will be silently displaced from office, And make way to his Emperor's royal son. An honourable exile to his castles Will be a benefaction to him rather Than punishment. But the first open step---- 300 _Max._ What callest thou such a step? A wicked step Ne'er will he take; but thou mightest easily, Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him. _Octavio._ Nay, howsoever punishable were Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps 305 Which he hath taken openly, permit A mild construction. It is my intention To leave this paper wholly uninforced Till some act is committed which convicts him Of a high-treason, without doubt or plea, 310 And that shall sentence him. _Max._ But who the judge? _Octavio._ Thyself. _Max._ For ever, then, this paper will lie idle. _Octavio._ Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be proved. After the counter-promise of this evening, 315 It cannot be but he must deem himself Secure of the majority with us; And of the army's general sentiment He hath a pleasing proof in that petition Which thou delivered'st to him from the regiments. 320 Add this too--I have letters that the Rhinegrave Hath changed his route, and travels by forced marches To the Bohemian Forest. What this purports, Remains unknown; and, to confirm suspicion, This night a Swedish nobleman arrived here. 325 _Max._ I have thy word. Thou'lt not proceed to action Before thou hast convinced me--me myself. _Octavio._ Is it possible? Still, after all thou know'st, Canst thou believe still in his innocence? _Max._ Thy judgment may mistake; my heart can not. 330 These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine; But they expound not Friedland--I have faith: For as he knits his fortunes to the stars, Even so doth he resemble them in secret, Wonderful, still inexplicable courses! 335 Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solved. These smokes, at once, will kindle into flame-- The edges of this black and stormy cloud Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view The Unapproachable glide out in splendour. 340 _Octavio._ I will await it. LINENOTES: Act III, Scene I. _A Chamber, &c. . . . It is Night. Octavio, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [8] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 12] _Octavio (goes up to him and embraces him)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [39] for] from 1800, 1828, 1829. [47] They] There 1828, 1829. [After 56] [_Fixing his eye steadfastly on his son's face._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [57] _mine_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 57] [_Max attempts to answer but hesitates, and casts his eyes to the ground, embarrassed. Octavio, after a pause._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [63] _steal_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [69] supposed] suppose 1800, 1828, 1829. [78] wise] ways 1800, 1828, 1829. [81] _this_ 1800. [82] _force_ 1800. [88] _we would_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [104] traitor's] traitors' 1800, 1828, 1829. [127] angle] _angel_ 1800, 1828, 1829, 1834 _angle_ 1852. Angle, der Angel, a curious misprint perpetuated in the new edition. [MS. note by Derwent Coleridge.] [128] _thee_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [166] That--yes, I will tell thee-- (_a pause_), &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.] [Before 168] _Max (in excessive agitation)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [192] _abhorrence_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [193] _whole_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [194] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [197] _now_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [209] alarm] alarum 1828, 1829. [233] _Octavio (suppressing resentment)._ _1800, 1828, 1829. [245] With light tread] And light of tread 1800, 1828, 1829. [250] _private_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [257] _wish_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [259] _hope_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [317] _us_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [322] Hath] Had 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 330] _Max (with enthusiasm)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 330] [_Moderates his voice and manner._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _OCTAVIO and MAX as before. To them the_ Valet of the Chamber. _Octavio._ How now, then? _Valet._ A dispatch is at the door. _Octavio._ So early? From whom comes he then? Who is it? _Valet._ That he refused to tell me. _Octavio._ Lead him in: And, hark you--let it not transpire. [_Exit_ Valet--_the_ Cornet _steps in._ _Octavio._ Ha! Cornet--is it you? and from Count Galas? 5 Give me your letters. _Cornet._ The Lieutenant-General Trusted it not to letters. _Octavio._ And what is it? _Cornet._ He bade me tell you--Dare I speak openly here? _Octavio._ My son knows all. _Cornet._ We have him. _Octavio._ Whom? _Cornet._ Sesina, The old negotiator. _Octavio._ And you have him? 10 _Cornet._ In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand Found and secured him yester morning early: He was proceeding then to Regenspurg, And on him were dispatches for the Swede. _Octavio._ And the dispatches---- _Cornet._ The Lieutenant-General 15 Sent them that instant to Vienna, and The prisoner with them. _Octavio._ This is, indeed, a tiding! That fellow is a precious casket to us, Enclosing weighty things.--Was much found on him? _Cornet._ I think, six packets, with Count Tertsky's arms. 20 _Octavio._ None in the Duke's own hand? _Cornet._ Not that I know. _Octavio._ And old Sesina? _Cornet._ He was sorely frightened, When it was told him he must to Vienna. But the Count Altringer bade him take heart, Would he but make a full and free confession. 25 _Octavio._ Is Altringer then with your Lord? I heard That he lay sick at Linz. _Cornet._ These three days past He's with my master, the Lieutenant-General, At Frauenberg. Already have they sixty Small companies together, chosen men; 30 Respectfully they greet you with assurances, That they are only waiting your commands. _Octavio._ In a few days may great events take place. And when must you return? _Cornet._ I wait your orders. _Octavio._ Remain till evening. [Cornet _signifies his assent and obeisance, and is going._ _Octavio._ No one saw you--ha? 35 _Cornet._ No living creature. Through the cloister wicket The Capuchins, as usual, let me in. _Octavio._ Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself concealed. I hold it probable, that yet ere evening I shall dispatch you. The development 40 Of this affair approaches: ere the day, That even now is dawning in the heaven, Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot That must decide our fortunes will be drawn. [_Exit_ Cornet. LINENOTES: [9] _Sesina_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 10] _Octavio (eagerly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE III _OCTAVIO and MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Octavio._ Well--and what now, son? All will soon be clear; For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina. _Max._ I will procure me light a shorter way. Farewell. _Octavio._ Where now?--Remain here. _Max._ To the Duke. 5 _Octavio._ What---- _Max._ If thou hast believed that I shall act A part in this thy play---- Thou hast miscalculated on me grievously. My way must be straight on. True with the tongue, 10 False with the heart--I may not, cannot be: Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me-- As his friend trust me--and then lull my conscience With such low pleas as these:--'I ask'd him not-- He did it all at his own hazard--and 15 My mouth has never lied to him.'--No, no! What a friend takes me for, that I must be. --I'll to the Duke; ere yet this day is ended Will I demand of him that he do save His good name from the world, and with one stride 20 Break through and rend this fine-spun web of yours. He can, he will!--I still am his believer. Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him. How far may not this Tertsky have proceeded-- 25 What may not he himself too have permitted Himself to do, to snare the enemy, The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save His own mouth shall convict him--nothing less! And face to face will I go question him. 30 _Octavio._ Thou wilt? _Max._ I will, as sure as this heart beats. _Octavio._ I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee. I calculated on a prudent son, Who would have blest the hand beneficent That plucked him back from the abyss--and lo! 35 A fascinated being I discover, Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders, Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal. Go, question him!--Be mad enough, I pray thee. The purpose of thy father, of thy Emperor, 40 Go, give it up free booty:--Force me, drive me To an open breach before the time. And now, Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded My secret purpose even to this hour, And laid to sleep Suspicion's piercing eyes, 45 Let me have lived to see that mine own son, With frantic enterprise, annihilates My toilsome labours and state-policy. _Max._ Aye--this state-policy! O how I curse it! You will some time, with your state-policy, 50 Compel him to the measure: it may happen, Because ye are determined that he is guilty, Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off, You close up every outlet, hem him in Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him-- 55 Yes, ye,--ye force him, in his desperation, To set fire to his prison. Father! Father! That never can end well--it cannot--will not! And let it be decided as it may, I see with boding heart the near approach 60 Of an ill-starred unblest catastrophe. For this great Monarch-spirit, if he fall, Will drag a world into the ruin with him. And as a ship (that midway on the ocean Takes fire) at once, and with a thunder-burst 65 Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven; So will he, falling, draw down in his fall All us, who're fixed and mortised to his fortune. Deem of it what thou wilt; but pardon me, 70 That I must bear me on in my own way. All must remain pure betwixt him and me; And, ere the day-light dawns, it must be known Which I must lose--my father, or my friend. [_During his exit the curtain drops._ LINENOTES: [Before 3] _Max (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has been in a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length starts as one resolved)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 6] _Octavio (alarmed)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 7] _Max (returning)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [14] ask'd] ask 1800, 1828, 1829. [16] _mouth_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [22] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [52] _determined_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [53] _make_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [56] _ye_,--_ye force_ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT IV SCENE I SCENE--_A Room fitted up for astrological Labours, and provided with celestial Charts, with Globes, Telescopes, Quadrants, and other mathematical Instruments.--Seven Colossal Figures, representing the Planets, each with a transparent Star of a different Colour on its Head, stand in a Semi-circle in the Back-ground, so that Mars and Saturn are nearest the Eye.--The remainder of the Scene, and its Disposition, is given in the Fourth Scene of the Second Act.--There must be a Curtain over the Figures, which may be dropped, and conceal them on Occasions._ [_In the Fifth Scene of this Act it must be dropped; but in the Seventh Scene, it must be again drawn up wholly or in part._] _WALLENSTEIN at a black Table, on which a Speculum Astrologicum is described with Chalk. SENI is taking Observations through a window._ _Wallenstein._ All well--and now let it be ended, Seni.--Come, The dawn commences, and Mars rules the hour. We must give o'er the operation. Come, We know enough. _Seni._ Your Highness must permit me Just to contemplate Venus. She's now rising: 5 Like as a sun, so shines she in the east. _Wallenstein._ She is at present in her perigee, And shoots down now her strongest influences. [_Contemplating the figure on the table._ Auspicious aspect! fateful in conjunction, At length the mighty three corradiate; 10 And the two stars of blessing, Jupiter And Venus, take between them the malignant Slily-malicious Mars, and thus compel Into my service that old mischief-founder; For long he viewed me hostilely, and ever 15 With beam oblique, or perpendicular, Now in the Quartile, now in the Secundan, Shot his red lightnings at my stars, disturbing Their blessed influences and sweet aspects. Now they have conquered the old enemy, 20 And bring him in the heavens a prisoner to me. _Seni (who has come down from the window)._ And in a corner house, your Highness--think of that! That makes each influence of double strength. _Wallenstein._ And sun and moon, too, in the Sextile aspect, The soft light with the vehement--so I love it. 25 Sol is the heart, Luna the head of heaven, Bold be the plan, fiery the execution. _Seni._ And both the mighty Lumina by no Maleficus affronted. Lo! Saturnus, Innocuous, powerless, in cadente Domo. 30 _Wallenstein._ The empire of Saturnus is gone by; Lord of the secret birth of things is he; Within the lap of earth, and in the depths Of the imagination dominates; And his are all things that eschew the light. 35 The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance; For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now, And the dark work, complete of preparation, He draws by force into the realm of light. Now must we hasten on to action, ere 40 The scheme, and most auspicious positure Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight; For the heavens journey still, and sojourn not. [_There are knocks at the door._ There's some one knocking there. See who it is. _Tertsky (from without)._ Open, and let me in. _Wallenstein._ Aye--'tis Tertsky. 45 What is there of such urgence? We are busy. _Tertsky (from without)._ Lay all aside at present, I entreat you. It suffers no delaying. _Wallenstein._ Open, Seni! [_While SENI opens the doors for TERTSKY, WALLENSTEIN draws the curtain over the figures._ _Tertsky (enters)._ Hast thou already heard it? He is taken. Galas has given him up to the Emperor. 50 [_SENI draws off the black table, and exit._ LINENOTES: [14] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] SOL . . . LUNA 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY._ _Wallenstein (to Tertsky)._ Who has been taken?--Who is given up? _Tertsky._ The man who knows our secrets, who knows every Negotiation with the Swede and Saxon, Through whose hands all and every thing has passed-- _Wallenstein (drawing back)._ Nay, not Sesina?--Say, No! I entreat thee. 5 _Tertsky._ All on his road for Regenspurg to the Swede He was plunged down upon by Galas' agent, Who had been long in ambush, lurking for him. There must have been found on him my whole packet To Thur, to Kinsky, to Oxenstirn, to Arnheim: 10 All this is in their hands; they have now an insight Into the whole--our measures, and our motives. SCENE III _To them enters ILLO._ _Illo (to Tertsky)._ Has he heard it? _Tertsky._ He has heard it. _Illo (to Wallenstein)._ Thinkest thou still To make thy peace with the Emperor, to regain His confidence?--E'en were it now thy wish To abandon all thy plans, yet still they know What thou hast wished; then forwards thou must press; 5 Retreat is now no longer in thy power. _Tertsky._ They have documents against us, and in hands, Which shew beyond all power of contradiction-- _Wallenstein._ Of my hand-writing--no iota. Thee I punish for thy lies. _Illo._ And thou believest, 10 That what this man, that what thy sister's husband, Did in thy name, will not stand on thy reck'ning? His word must pass for thy word with the Swede, And not with those that hate thee at Vienna. _Tertsky._ In writing thou gav'st nothing--But bethink thee, 15 How far thou ventured'st by word of mouth With this Sesina? And will he be silent? If he can save himself by yielding up Thy secret purposes, will he retain them? _Illo._ Thyself dost not conceive it possible; 20 And since they now have evidence authentic How far thou hast already gone, speak!--tell us, What art thou waiting for? thou canst no longer Keep thy command; and beyond hope of rescue Thou'rt lost, if thou resign'st it. _Wallenstein._ In the army 25 Lies my security. The army will not Abandon me. Whatever they may know, The power is mine, and they must gulp it down-- And substitute I caution for my fealty, They must be satisfied, at least appear so. 30 _Illo._ The army, Duke, is thine now--for this moment-- 'Tis thine: but think with terror on the slow, The quiet power of time. From open violence The attachment of thy soldiery secures thee To-day--to-morrow; but grant'st thou them a respite, 35 Unheard, unseen, they'll undermine that love On which thou now dost feel so firm a footing, With wily theft will draw away from thee One after the other---- _Wallenstein._ 'Tis a curséd accident! _Illo._ O, I will call it a most blessed one, 40 If it work on thee as it ought to do, Hurry thee on to action--to decision. The Swedish General---- _Wallenstein._ He's arrived! Know'st thou What his commission is---- _Illo._ To thee alone Will he entrust the purpose of his coming. 45 _Wallenstein._ A curséd, curséd accident! Yes, yes, Sesina knows too much, and won't be silent. _Tertsky._ He's a Bohemian fugitive and rebel, His neck is forfeit. Can he save himself At thy cost, think you he will scruple it? 50 And if they put him to the torture, will he, Will he, that dastardling, have strength enough---- _Wallenstein._ Their confidence is lost--irreparably! And I may act what way I will, I shall Be and remain for ever in their thought 55 A traitor to my country. How sincerely Soever I return back to my duty, It will no longer help me---- _Illo._ Ruin thee, That it will do! Not thy fidelity, Thy weakness will be deemed the sole occasion---- 60 _Wallenstein._ What! I must realize it now in earnest, Because I toy'd too freely with the thought? Accurséd he who dallies with a devil! And must I--I must realize it now-- Now, while I have the power, it must take place? 65 _Illo._ Now--now--ere they can ward and parry it! _Wallenstein (looking at the paper of signatures)._ I have the Generals' word--a written promise! Max Piccolomini stands not here--how's that? _Tertsky._ It was----he fancied---- _Illo._ Mere self-willedness. There needed no such thing 'twixt him and you. 70 _Wallenstein._ He is quite right--there needeth no such thing. The regiments, too, deny to march for Flanders-- Have sent me in a paper of remonstrance, And openly resist the Imperial orders. The first step to revolt's already taken. 75 _Illo._ Believe me, thou wilt find it far more easy To lead them over to the enemy Than to the Spaniard. _Wallenstein._ I will hear, however, What the Swede has to say to me. _Illo (to Tertsky)._ Go, call him! He stands without the door in waiting. _Wallenstein._ Stay! 80 Stay yet a little. It hath taken me All by surprise,--it came too quick upon me; 'Tis wholly novel, that an accident, With its dark lordship, and blind agency, Should force me on with it. _Illo._ First hear him only, 85 And after weigh it. [_Exeunt TERTSKY and ILLO._ LINENOTES: [13] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [31] _is_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [52] _he_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 53] _Wallenstein (lost in thought)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 61] _Wallenstein (pacing up and down in extreme agitation)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [64] I _must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [65] _must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [79] _Illo (eagerly to Tertsky)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _Wallenstein._ Is it possible? Is't so? I can no longer what I would? No longer draw back at my liking? I Must do the deed, because I thought of it, And fed this heart here with a dream? Because 5 I did not scowl temptation from my presence, Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, And only kept the road, the access open? By the great God of Heaven! it was not 10 My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolve. I but amused myself with thinking of it. The free-will tempted me, the power to do Or not to do it.--Was it criminal To make the fancy minister to hope, 15 To fill the air with pretty toys of air, And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me? Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not The road of duty close beside me--but One little step, and once more I was in it! 20 Where am I? Whither have I been transported? No road, no track behind me, but a wall, Impenetrable, insurmountable, Rises obedient to the spells I muttered And meant not--my own doings tower behind me. 25 A punishable man I seem, the guilt, Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me; The equivocal demeanour of my life Bears witness on my prosecutor's party; And even my purest acts from purest motives 30 Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss. Were I that thing, for which I pass, that traitor, A goodly outside I had sure reserved, Had drawn the coverings thick and double round me, Been calm and chary of my utterance. 35 But being conscious of the innocence Of my intent, my uncorrupted will, I gave way to my humours, to my passion: Bold were my words, because my deeds were not. Now every planless measure, chance event, 40 The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph, And all the May-games of a heart o'erflowing, Will they connect, and weave them all together Into one web of treason; all will be plan, My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark, 45 Step tracing step, each step a politic progress; And out of all they'll fabricate a charge So specious, that I must myself stand dumb. I am caught in my own net, and only force, Naught but a sudden rent can liberate me. 50 How else! since that the heart's unbiass'd instinct Impelled me to the daring deed, which now Necessity, self-preservation, orders. Stern is the On-look of Necessity, Not without shudder many a human hand 55 Grasps the mysterious urn of destiny. My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom, Once suffered to escape from its safe corner Within the heart, its nursery and birthplace, Sent forth into the Foreign, it belongs 60 For ever to those sly malicious powers Whom never art of man conciliated. What is thy enterprize? thy aim? thy object? Hast honestly confessed it to thyself? Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake, 65 Power on an ancient consecrated throne, Strong in possession, founded in old custom; Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots Fixed to the people's pious nursery-faith. This, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 70 That feared I not. I brave each combatant, Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye, Who full himself of courage kindles courage In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible, The which I fear--a fearful enemy, 75 Which in the human heart opposes me, By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. Not that, which full of life, instinct with power, Makes known its present being, that is not The true, the perilously formidable. 80 O no! it is the common, the quite common, The thing of an eternal yesterday, What ever was, and evermore returns, Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling! For of the wholly common is man made, 85 And custom is his nurse! Woe then to them, Who lay irreverent hands upon his old House furniture, the dear inheritance From his forefathers. For time consecrates; And what is grey with age becomes religion. 90 Be in possession, and thou hast the right, And sacred will the many guard it for thee! [_To the_ Page, _who here enters._ The Swedish officer?--Well, let him enter. [_The_ Page _exit, WALLENSTEIN fixes his eye in deep thought on the door._ Yet is it pure--as yet!--the crime has come Not o'er this threshold yet--so slender is 95 The boundary that divideth life's two paths. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Wallenstein (in soliloquy)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [2] _can . . . would_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [4] _do . . . thought_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 25] [_Pauses and remains in deep thought._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [39] _not_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [48] _dumb_ 1800. [50] _rent_ 1800. [After 50] [_Pauses again._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [53] _orders_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [55] many] may 1800, 1828, 1829. [56] Grasps] Grasp 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 62] [_Paces in agitation through the chamber, then pauses, and, after the pause, breaks out again into audible soliloquy._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _WALLENSTEIN and WRANGEL._ _Wallenstein._ Your name is Wrangel? _Wrangel._ Gustave Wrangel, General Of the Sudermanian Blues. _Wallenstein._ It was a Wrangel Who injured me materially at Stralsund, And by his brave resistance was the cause Of the opposition which that sea-port made. 5 _Wrangel._ It was the doing of the element With which you fought, my Lord! and not my merit. The Baltic Neptune did assert his freedom, The sea and land, it seemed, were not to serve One and the same. _Wallenstein (makes a motion for him to take a seat, and seats himself)._ And where are your credentials? 10 Come you provided with full powers, Sir General? _Wrangel._ There are so many scruples yet to solve---- _Wallenstein (having read the credentials)._ An able letter!--Ay--he is a prudent, Intelligent master, whom you serve, Sir General! The Chancellor writes me, that he but fulfils 15 His late departed Sovereign's own idea In helping me to the Bohemian crown. _Wrangel._ He says the truth. Our great King, now in heaven, Did ever deem most highly of your Grace's Pre-eminent sense and military genius; 20 And always the commanding Intellect, He said, should have command, and be the King. _Wallenstein._ Yes, he might say it safely.--General Wrangel, [_Taking his hand._ Come, fair and open--Trust me, I was always A Swede at heart. Ey! that did you experience 25 Both in Silesia and at Nuremburg; I had you often in my power, and let you Always slip out by some back door or other. 'Tis this for which the Court can ne'er forgive me, Which drives me to this present step: and since 30 Our interests so run in one direction, E'en let us have a thorough confidence Each in the other. _Wrangel._ Confidence will come Has each but only first security. _Wallenstein._ The Chancellor still, I see, does not quite trust me; 35 And, I confess--the gain does not wholly lie To my advantage--Without doubt he thinks If I can play false with the Emperor, Who is my Sov'reign, I can do the like With the enemy, and that the one too were 40 Sooner to be forgiven me than the other. Is not this your opinion too, Sir General? _Wrangel._ I have here an office merely, no opinion. _Wallenstein._ The Emperor hath urged me to the uttermost. I can no longer honourably serve him. 45 For my security, in self-defence, I take this hard step, which my conscience blames. _Wrangel._ That I believe. So far would no one go Who was not forced to it. [_After a pause._ What may have impelled Your princely Highness in this wise to act 50 Toward your Sovereign Lord and Emperor, Beseems not us to expound or criticize. The Swede is fighting for his good old cause. With his good sword and conscience. This concurrence, This opportunity, is in our favour, 55 And all advantages in war are lawful. We take what offers without questioning; And if all have its due and just proportions---- _Wallenstein._ Of what then are ye doubting? Of my will? Or of my power? I pledged me to the Chancellor, 60 Would he trust me with sixteen thousand men, That I would instantly go over to them With eighteen thousand of the Emperor's troops. _Wrangel._ Your Grace is known to be a mighty war-chief, To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus. 65 'Tis talked of still with fresh astonishment, How some years past, beyond all human faith, You called an army forth, like a creation: But yet---- _Wallenstein._ But yet? _Wrangel._ But still the Chancellor thinks, It might yet be an easier thing from nothing 70 To call forth sixty thousand men of battle, Than to persuade one sixtieth part of them-- _Wallenstein._ What now? Out with it, friend! _Wrangel._ To break their oaths. _Wallenstein._ And he thinks so?--He judges like a Swede, And like a Protestant. You Lutherans 75 Fight for your Bible. You are interested About the cause; and with your hearts you follow Your banners.--Among you, whoe'er deserts To the enemy, hath broken covenant With two Lords at one time.--We've no such fancies. 80 _Wrangel._ Great God in Heaven! Have then the people here No house and home, no fire-side, no altar? _Wallenstein._ I will explain that to you, how it stands-- The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it, And has good cause to love it--but this army, 85 That calls itself the Imperial, this that houses Here in Bohemia, this has none--no country; This is an outcast of all foreign lands, Unclaimed by town or tribe, to whom belongs Nothing, except the universal sun. 90 _Wrangel._ But then the Nobles and the Officers? Such a desertion, such a felony, It is without example, my Lord Duke, In the world's history. _Wallenstein._ They are all mine-- Mine unconditionally--mine on all terms. 95 Not me, your own eyes you must trust. [_He gives him the paper containing the written oath. WRANGEL reads it through, and, having read it, lays it on the table, remaining silent._ So then? Now comprehend you? _Wrangel._ Comprehend who can! My Lord Duke; I will let the mask drop--yes! I've full powers for a final settlement. The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here 100 With fifteen thousand men, and only waits For orders to proceed and join your army. Those orders I give out, immediately We're compromised. _Wallenstein._ What asks the Chancellor? _Wrangel._ Twelve Regiments, every man a Swede--my head 105 The warranty--and all might prove at last Only false play---- _Wallenstein (starting)._ Sir Swede! _Wrangel._ Am therefore forced T' insist thereon, that he do formally, Irrevocably break with the Emperor, Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland. 110 _Wallenstein._ Come, brief and open! What is the demand? _Wrangel._ That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regiments Attached to the Emperor, that he seize Prague, And to the Swedes give up that city, with The strong pass Egra. _Wallenstein._ That is much indeed! 115 Prague!--Egra's granted--But--but Prague!--'Twon't do. I give you every security Which you may ask of me in common reason-- But Prague--Bohemia--these, Sir General, I can myself protect. _Wrangel._ We doubt it not. 120 But 'tis not the protection that is now Our sole concern. We want security, That we shall not expend our men and money All to no purpose. _Wallenstein._ 'Tis but reasonable. _Wrangel._ And till we are indemnified, so long 125 Stays Prague in pledge. _Wallenstein._ Then trust you us so little? _Wrangel (rising)._ The Swede, if he would treat well with the German, Must keep a sharp look-out. We have been called Over the Baltic, we have saved the empire From ruin--with our best blood have we seal'd 130 The liberty of faith, and gospel truth. But now already is the benefaction No longer felt, the load alone is felt.---- Ye look askance with evil eye upon us, As foreigners, intruders in the empire, 135 And would fain send us, with some paltry sum Of money, home again to our old forests. No, no! my Lord Duke! no!--it never was For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver, That we did leave our King by the Great Stone.[696:1] 140 No, not for gold and silver have there bled So many of our Swedish Nobles--neither Will we, with empty laurels for our payment, Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens Will we remain upon the soil, the which 145 Our Monarch conquered for himself, and died. _Wallenstein._ Help to keep down the common enemy, And the fair border land must needs be yours. _Wrangel._ But when the common enemy lies vanquished, Who knits together our new friendship then? 150 We know, Duke Friedland! though perhaps the Swede Ought not t' have known it, that you carry on Secret negotiations with the Saxons. Who is our warranty, that we are not The sacrifices in those articles 155 Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us? _Wallenstein (rises)._ Think you of something better, Gustave Wrangel! Of Prague no more. _Wrangel._ Here my commission ends. _Wallenstein._ Surrender up to you my capital! Far liever would I face about, and step 160 Back to my Emperor. _Wrangel._ If time yet permits---- _Wallenstein._ That lies with me, even now, at any hour. _Wrangel._ Some days ago, perhaps. To-day, no longer, No longer since Sesina is a prisoner. My Lord Duke, hear me--We believe that you 165 At present do mean honourably by us. Since yesterday we're sure of that--and now This paper warrants for the troops, there's nothing Stands in the way of our full confidence. Prague shall not part us. Hear! The Chancellor 170 Contents himself with Albstadt, to your Grace He gives up Ratschin and the narrow side, But Egra above all must open to us, Ere we can think of any junction. _Wallenstein._ You, You therefore must I trust, and you not me? 175 I will consider of your proposition. _Wrangel._ I must entreat, that your consideration Occupy not too long a time. Already Has this negotiation, my Lord Duke! Crept on into the second year. If nothing 180 Is settled this time, will the Chancellor Consider it as broken off for ever. _Wallenstein._ Ye press me hard. A measure, such as this, Ought to be thought of. _Wrangel._ Ay! but think of this too, That sudden action only can procure it 185 Success--think first of this, your Highness. [_Exit WRANGEL._ FOOTNOTES: [696:1] A great stone near Lützen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of their great King having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which he lost his life. LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Wallenstein (after having fixed a searching look on him)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 10] _Wallenstein (makes the motion, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [23] _might_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 23] [_Taking his hand affectionately._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [36] wholly lie] lie wholly 1828, 1829. [40] _the one_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [41] _other_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [61] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [74] _so_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [77] _hearts_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [78] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [84] _has_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [96] must] may 1800, 1828, 1829. [103] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. out] you 1828, 1829. [Before 105] _Wrangel (considerately)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [107] _Wrangel (calmly proceeding)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [144] _Citizens_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [154] _we_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [164] Sesina is] Sesina's been 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 164] [_Wallenstein is struck, and silenced._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [167] _yesterday_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [184] _thought_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, and ILLO (re-enter)._ _Illo._ Is't all right? _Tertsky._ Are you compromised? _Illo._ This Swede Went smiling from you. Yes! you're compromised. _Wallenstein._ As yet is nothing settled: and (well weighed) I feel myself inclined to leave it so. _Tertsky._ How? What is that? _Wallenstein._ Come on me what will come, 5 The doing evil to avoid an evil Cannot be good! _Tertsky._ Nay, but bethink you, Duke? _Wallenstein._ To live upon the mercy of these Swedes! Of these proud-hearted Swedes! I could not bear it. _Illo._ Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant? 10 Bringest thou not more to them than thou receivest? LINENOTES: [10] _Wallenstein (sarcastically)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [11] _Countess (to the others)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VII _To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY._ _Wallenstein._ Who sent for you? There is no business here For women. _Countess._ I am come to bid you joy. _Wallenstein._ Use thy authority, Tertsky, bid her go. _Countess._ Come I perhaps too early? I hope not. _Wallenstein._ Set not this tongue upon me, I entreat you. 5 You know it is the weapon that destroys me. I am routed, if a woman but attack me. I cannot traffic in the trade of words With that unreasoning sex. _Countess._ I had already Given the Bohemians a king. _Wallenstein._ They have one, 10 In consequence, no doubt. _Countess._ Ha! what new scruple? _Tertsky._ The Duke will not. _Countess._ He will not what he must! _Illo._ It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced, When folks begin to talk to me of conscience, And of fidelity. _Countess._ How? then, when all 15 Lay in the far-off distance, when the road Stretched out before thine eyes interminably, Then hadst thou courage and resolve; and now, Now that the dream is being realized, The purpose ripe, the issue ascertained, 20 Dost thou begin to play the dastard now? Planned merely, 'tis a common felony; Accomplished, an immortal undertaking: And with success comes pardon hand in hand; For all event is God's arbitrement. 25 _Servant (enters)._ The Colonel Piccolomini. _Countess._ --Must wait. _Wallenstein._ I cannot see him now. Another time. _Servant._ But for two minutes he entreats an audience. Of the most urgent nature is his business. _Wallenstein._ Who knows what he may bring us? I will hear him. 30 _Countess._ Urgent for him, no doubt; but thou mayest wait. _Wallenstein._ What is it? _Countess._ Thou shalt be informed hereafter. First let the Swede and thee be compromised. [_Exit_ Servant. _Wallenstein._ If there were yet a choice! if yet some milder Way of escape were possible--I still 35 Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme. _Countess._ Desir'st thou nothing further? Such a way Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off. Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away All thy past life; determine to commence 40 A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too, As well as Fame and Fortune.--To Vienna-- Hence--to the Emperor--kneel before the throne; Take a full coffer with thee--say aloud, Thou did'st but wish to prove thy fealty; 45 Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede. _Illo._ For that too 'tis too late. They know too much. He would but bear his own head to the block. _Countess._ I fear not that. They have not evidence To attaint him legally, and they avoid 50 The avowal of an arbitrary power. They'll let the Duke resign without disturbance. I see how all will end. The King of Hungary Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself Be understood, that then the Duke retires. 55 There will not want a formal declaration. The young King will administer the oath To the whole army; and so all returns To the old position. On some morrow morning The Duke departs; and now 'tis stir and bustle 60 Within his castles. He will hunt, and build, Superintend his horses' pedigrees; Creates himself a court, gives golden keys, And introduceth strictest ceremony In fine proportions, and nice etiquette; 65 Keeps open table with high cheer; in brief, Commenceth mighty King--in miniature. And while he prudently demeans himself, And gives himself no actual importance, He will be let appear whate'er he likes; 70 And who dares doubt, that Friedland will appear A mighty Prince to his last dying hour? Well now, what then? Duke Friedland is as others, A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath raised To price and currency, a Jonah's Gourd, 75 An over-night creation of court-favour, Which with an undistinguishable ease Makes Baron or makes Prince. _Wallenstein._ Take her away. Let in the young Count Piccolomini. _Countess._ Art thou in earnest? I entreat thee! Canst thou 80 Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave, So ignominiously to be dried up? Thy life, that arrogated such a height To end in such a nothing! To be nothing, When one was always nothing, is an evil 85 That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil, But to become a nothing, having been---- _Wallenstein (starts up)._ Shew me a way out of this stifling crowd, Ye Powers of Aidance! Shew me such a way As I am capable of going.--I 90 Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler; I cannot warm by thinking; cannot say To the good luck that turns her back upon me, Magnanimously: 'Go! I need thee not.' Cease I to work, I am annihilated, 95 Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun, If so I may avoid the last extreme; But ere I sink down into nothingness, Leave off so little, who began so great, Ere that the world confuses me with those 100 Poor wretches, whom a day creates and crumbles, This age and after-ages[701:1] speak my name With hate and dread; and Friedland be redemption For each accurséd deed! _Countess._ What is there here, then, So against nature? Help me to perceive it! 105 O let not Superstition's nightly goblins Subdue thy clear bright spirit! Art thou bid To murder?--with abhorr'd accurséd poniard, To violate the breasts that nourished thee? That were against our nature, that might aptly 110 Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken.[701:2] Yet not a few, and for a meaner object, Have ventured even this, ay, and performed it. What is there in thy case so black and monstrous? Thou art accused of treason--whether with 115 Or without justice is not now the question-- Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly Of the power which thou possessest--Friedland! Duke! Tell me, where lives that thing so meek and tame, That doth not all his living faculties 120 Put forth in preservation of his life? What deed so daring, which necessity And desperation will not sanctify? _Wallenstein._ Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me: He loved me; he esteemed me; I was placed 125 The nearest to his heart. Full many a time We like familiar friends, both at one table, Have banquetted together. He and I-- And the young kings themselves held me the bason Wherewith to wash me--and is't come to this? 130 _Countess._ So faithfully preserv'st thou each small favour, And hast no memory for contumelies? Must I remind thee, how at Regenspurg This man repaid thy faithful services? All ranks and all conditions in the Empire 135 Thou hadst wronged, to make him great,--hadst loaded on thee, On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world. No friend existed for thee in all Germany, And why? because thou hadst existed only For the Emperor. To the Emperor alone 140 Clung Friedland in that storm which gathered round him At Regenspurg in the Diet--and he dropped thee! He let thee fall! He let thee fall a victim To the Bavarian, to that insolent! Deposed, stript bare of all thy dignity 145 And power, amid the taunting of thy foes, Thou wert let drop into obscurity.-- Say not, the restoration of thy honour Hath made atonement for that first injustice. No honest good-will was it that replaced thee, 150 The law of hard necessity replaced thee, Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not. _Wallenstein._ Not to their good wishes, that is certain, Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted For this high office; and if I abuse it, 155 I shall therein abuse no confidence. _Countess_. Affection! confidence!--They needed thee. Necessity, impetuous remonstrant! Who not with empty names, or shews of proxy, Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol, 160 Ever seeks out the greatest and the best, And at the rudder places him, e'en though She had been forced to take him from the rabble-- She, this Necessity, it was that placed thee In this high office, it was she that gave thee 165 Thy letters patent of inauguration. For, to the uttermost moment that they can. This race still help themselves at cheapest rate With slavish souls, with puppets! At the approach Of extreme peril, when a hollow image 170 Is found a hollow image and no more, Then falls the power into the mighty hands Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born, Who listens only to himself, knows nothing Of stipulations, duties, reverences 175 And, like the emancipated force of fire, Unmastered scorches, ere it reaches them, Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy. _Wallenstein._ 'Tis true! they saw me always as I am-- Always! I did not cheat them in the bargain. 180 I never held it worth my pains to hide The bold all-grasping habit of my soul. _Countess._ Nay rather--thou hast ever shewn thyself A formidable man, without restraint; Hast exercised the full prerogatives 185 Of thy impetuous nature, which had been Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not thou, Who hast still remained consistent with thyself, But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee, Entrusted such a power in hands they feared. 190 For, by the laws of Spirit, in the right Is every individual character That acts in strict consistence with itself. Self-contradiction is the only wrong. Wert thou another being, then, when thou 195 Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire And sword, and desolation, through the Circles Of Germany, the universal scourge, Didst mock all ordinances of the empire, The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst, 200 Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy, All to extend thy Sultan's domination? Then was the time to break thee in, to curb Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance. But no! the Emperor felt no touch of conscience, 205 What served him pleased him, and without a murmur He stamped his broad seal on these lawless deeds. What at that time was right, because thou didst it For him, to-day is all at once become Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed 210 Against him.--O most flimsy superstition! _Wallenstein (rising)._ I never saw it in this light before. 'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly. And even this prince's mantle, which I wear, 215 I owe to what were services to him, But most high misdemeanours 'gainst the empire. _Countess._ Then betwixt thee and him (confess it, Friedland!) The point can be no more of right and duty, Only of power and opportunity. 220 That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder, Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat, Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest 225 Of the now empty seat. The moment comes-- It is already here, when thou must write The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 230 And tell thee, 'Now's the time!' The starry courses Hast thou thy life long measured to no purpose? The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings? [_Pointing to the different objects in the room._ The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven, Hast pictured on these walls, and all around thee 235 In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed These seven presiding Lords of Destiny-- For toys? Is all this preparation nothing? Is there no marrow in this hollow art, That even to thyself it doth avail 240 Nothing, and has no influence over thee In the great moment of decision?---- _Wallenstein (interrupting the Countess)._ Send Wrangel to me--I will instantly Dispatch three couriers---- _Illo (hurrying out)._ God in heaven be praised! _Wallenstein._ It is his evil genius and mine. 245 Our evil genius! It chastises him Through me, the instrument of his ambition; And I expect no less, than that Revenge E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard. Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope 250 To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime Has, in the moment of its perpetration, Its own avenging angel--dark misgiving, An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. He can no longer trust me--Then no longer 255 Can I retreat--so come that which must come.-- Still destiny preserves its due relations, The heart within us is its absolute Vicegerent. [_To TERTSKY._ Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel To my state-cabinet. Myself will speak to 260 The couriers.--And dispatch immediately A servant for Octavio Piccolomini. [_To the COUNTESS._ No exultation--woman, triumph not! For jealous are the Powers of Destiny. Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, 265 Incroach upon their rights and privileges. We sow the seed, and they the growth determine. [_While he is making his exit the curtain drops._ FOOTNOTES: [701:1] Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word 'after-world' for _posterity_, 'Es spreche Welt und _Nachwelt_ meinen Nahmen' might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: 'Let world and after-world speak out my name,' &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. [701:2] I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a literal translation of this line: 'werth Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.' 1800, 1828, 1829. LINENOTES: [12] _will not . . . must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _Countess (hastily)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 31] _Countess (laughs)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [78] _Wallenstein (in extreme agitation)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 88] _Wallenstein (starts up in violent agitation)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [90] _As I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [110] _were_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [118] _Duke_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [137] _thee_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [149] Hath] Has 1800, 1828, 1829. [157] _needed_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [163] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [187] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [189] _they_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [209] _For him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [211] _Against him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [220] and opportunity] and th' opportunity 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 242] _Wallenstein (during this last speech walks up and down with inward struggles, labouring with passions; stops suddenly, stands still, then, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [245] _his . . . mine_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [246] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [249] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 262] [_To the COUNTESS, who cannot conceal her triumph._ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT V SCENE I SCENE--_As in the preceding Act._ _WALLENSTEIN, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI._ _Wallenstein (coming forward in conversation)._ He sends me word from Linz, that he lies sick; But I have sure intelligence, that he Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Galas. Secure them both, and send them to me hither. Remember, thou tak'st on thee the command 5 Of those same Spanish regiments,--constantly Make preparation, and be never ready; And if they urge thee to draw out against me, Still answer yes, and stand as thou wert fettered. I know, that it is doing thee a service 10 To keep thee out of action in this business. Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances; Steps of extremity are not thy province, Therefore have I sought out this part for thee. Thou wilt this time be of most service to me 15 By thy inertness. The mean time, if fortune Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know What is to do. _Enter MAX PICCOLOMINI._ Now go, Octavio. This night must thou be off, take my own horses: Him here I keep with me--make short farewell-- 20 Trust me, I think we all shall meet again In joy and thriving fortunes. _Octavio (to his son)._ I shall see you Yet ere I go. LINENOTES: [3] Secretes] Secrets 1828, 1829, 1893. [9] YES 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _WALLENSTEIN, MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Max (advances to him)._ My General! _Wallenstein._ That am I no longer, if Thou styl'st thyself the Emperor's officer. _Max._ Then thou wilt leave the army, General? _Wallenstein._ I have renounced the service of the Emperor. _Max._ And thou wilt leave the army? _Wallenstein._ Rather hope I 5 To bind it nearer still and faster to me. [_He seats himself._ Yes, Max, I have delayed to open it to thee, Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike. Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is 10 To exercise the single apprehension Where the sums square in proof; But where it happens, that of two sure evils One must be taken, where the heart not wholly Brings itself back from out the strife of duties, 15 There 'tis a blessing to have no election, And blank necessity is grace and favour. --This is now present: do not look behind thee.-- It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards! Think not! judge not! prepare thyself to act! 20 The Court--it hath determined on my ruin, Therefore I will to be beforehand with them. We'll join the Swedes--right gallant fellows are they, And our good friends. [_He stops himself, expecting PICCOLOMINI'S answer._ I have ta'en thee by surprise. Answer me not. 25 I grant thee time to recollect thyself. [_He rises, and retires at the back of the stage. MAX remains for a long time motionless, in a trance of excessive anguish. At his first motion WALLENSTEIN returns, and places himself before him._ _Max._ My General, this day thou makest me Of age to speak in my own right and person, For till this day I have been spared the trouble To find out my own road. Thee have I followed 30 With most implicit unconditional faith, Sure of the right path if I followed thee. To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer Me to myself, and forcest me to make Election between thee and my own heart. 35 _Wallenstein._ Soft cradled thee thy Fortune till to-day; Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport, Indulge all lovely instincts, act for ever With undivided heart. It can remain No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads 40 Start from each other. Duties strive with duties. Thou must needs choose thy party in the war Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him Who is thy Emperor. _Max._ War! is that the name? War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence. 45 Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is. Is that a good war, which against the Emperor Thou wagest with the Emperor's own army? O God of heaven! what a change is this. Beseems it me to offer such persuasion 50 To thee, who like the fixed star of the pole Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean? O! what a rent thou makest in my heart! The ingrained instinct of old reverence. The holy habit of obediency, 55 Must I pluck live asunder from thy name? Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me-- It always was as a god looking at me! Duke Wallenstein, its power is not departed: The senses still are in thy bonds, although, 60 Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself. _Wallenstein._ Max, hear me. _Max._ O! do it not, I pray thee, do it not! There is a pure and noble soul within thee, Knows not of this unblest, unlucky doing. Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only 65 Which hath polluted thee--and innocence, It will not let itself be driven away From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not, Thou canst not, end in this. It would reduce All human creatures to disloyalty 70 Against the nobleness of their own nature. 'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief, Which holdeth nothing noble in free will, And trusts itself to impotence alone Made powerful only in an unknown power. 75 _Wallenstein._ The world will judge me sternly, I expect it. Already have I said to my own self All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids The extreme,--can he by going round avoid it? But here there is no choice. Yes--I must use 80 Or suffer violence--so stands the case, There remains nothing possible but that. _Max._ O that is never possible for thee! 'Tis the last desperate resource of those Cheap souls, to whom their honour, their good name 85 Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep, Which having staked and lost, they stake themselves In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich, And glorious; with an unpolluted heart Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest! 90 But he, who once hath acted infamy, Does nothing more in this world. _Wallenstein (grasps his hand)._ Calmly, Max! Much that is great and excellent will we Perform together yet. And if we only Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon 95 Forgotten, Max, by what road we ascended. Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now, That yet was deeply sullied in the winning. To the evil spirit doth the earth belong, Not to the good. All, that the powers divine 100 Send from above, are universal blessings: Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes, But never yet was man enriched by them: In their eternal realm no property Is to be struggled for--all there is general. 105 The jewel, the all-valued gold we win From the deceiving Powers, depraved in nature, That dwell beneath the day and blessed sun-light. Not without sacrifices are they rendered Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth 110 That e'er retired unsullied from their service. _Max._ Whate'er is human, to the human being Do I allow--and to the vehement And striving spirit readily I pardon The excess of action; but to thee, my General! 115 Above all others make I large concession. For thou must move a world, and be the master-- He kills thee, who condemns thee to inaction. So be it then! maintain thee in thy post By violence. Resist the Emperor, 120 And if it must be, force with force repel: I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it. But not--not to the traitor--yes!--the word Is spoken out---- Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon. 125 That is no mere excess! that is no error Of human nature--that is wholly different, O that is black, black as the pit of hell! Thou canst not hear it nam'd, and wilt thou do it? O turn back to thy duty. That thou canst, 130 I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna. I'll make thy peace for thee with the Emperor. He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He Shall see thee, Duke! with my unclouded eye, And I bring back his confidence to thee. 135 _Wallenstein._ It is too late. Thou knowest not what has happened. _Max._ Were it too late, and were things gone so far, That a crime only could prevent thy fall, Then--fall! fall honourably, even as thou stood'st. Lose the command. Go from the stage of war. 140 Thou canst with splendour do it--do it too With innocence. Thou hast liv'd much for others, At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee. My destiny I never part from thine. _Wallenstein._ It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing 145 Thy words, one after the other are the mile-stones Left fast behind by my post couriers, Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra. Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced. I cannot give assent to my own shame 150 And ruin. Thou--no--thou canst not forsake me! So let us do, what must be done, with dignity, With a firm step. What am I doing worse Than did famed Cæsar at the Rubicon, When he the legions led against his country, 155 The which his country had delivered to him? Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost, As I were, if I but disarmed myself. I trace out something in me of his spirit. Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear. 160 [_MAX quits him abruptly. WALLENSTEIN, startled and overpowered, continues looking after him, and is still in this posture when TERTSKY enters._ LINENOTES: [86] _saving . . . Keep_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [104] _property_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [116] _all_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [123] _traitor_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 128] [_WALLENSTEIN betrays a sudden agitation._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [129] _nam'd . . . do_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 148] [_MAX stands as convulsed, with a gesture and countenance expressing the most intense anguish._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [150] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [151] _Thou_--no 1800, 1828, 1829. [160] _that other thing_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE III _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY._ _Tertsky._ Max Piccolomini just left you? _Wallenstein._ Where is Wrangel? _Tertsky._ He is already gone. _Wallenstein._ In such a hurry? _Tertsky._ It is as if the earth had swallowed him. He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him. I wished some words with him--but he was gone. 5 How, when, and where, could no one tell me. Nay, I half believe it was the devil himself; A human creature could not so at once Have vanished. _Illo (enters)._ Is it true that thou wilt send Octavio? _Tertsky._ How, Octavio! Whither send him? 10 _Wallenstein._ He goes to Frauenberg, and will lead hither The Spanish and Italian regiments. _Illo._ No! Nay, Heaven forbid! _Wallenstein._ And why should Heaven forbid? _Illo._ Him!--that deceiver! Would'st thou trust to him The soldiery? Him wilt thou let slip from thee, 15 Now, in the very instant that decides us---- _Tertsky._ Thou wilt not do this!--No! I pray thee, no! _Wallenstein._ Ye are whimsical. _Illo._ O but for this time, Duke, Yield to our warning! Let him not depart. _Wallenstein._ And why should I not trust him only this time, 20 Who have always trusted him? What, then, has happened, That I should lose my good opinion of him? In complaisance to your whims, not my own, I must, forsooth, give up a rooted judgment. Think not I am a woman. Having trusted him 25 E'en till to-day, to-day too will I trust him. _Tertsky._ Must it be he--he only? Send another. _Wallenstein._ It must be he, whom I myself have chosen; He is well fitted for the business. Therefore I gave it him. _Illo._ Because he's an Italian-- 30 Therefore is he well fitted for the business. _Wallenstein._ I know you love them not--nor sire nor son-- Because that I esteem them, love them--visibly Esteem them, love them more than you and others, E'en as they merit. Therefore are they eye-blights, 35 Thorns in your foot-path. But your jealousies, In what affect they me or my concerns? Are they the worse to me because you hate them? Love or hate one another as you will, I leave to each man his own moods and likings; 40 Yet know the worth of each of you to me. _Illo._ Von Questenberg, while he was here, was always Lurking about with this Octavio. _Wallenstein._ It happened with my knowledge and permission. _Illo._ I know that secret messengers came to him 45 From Galas---- _Wallenstein._ That's not true. _Illo._ O thou art blind With thy deep-seeing eyes. _Wallenstein._ Thou wilt not shake My faith for me--my faith, which founds itself On the profoundest science. If 'tis false, Then the whole science of the stars is false. 50 For know, I have a pledge from fate itself, That he is the most faithful of my friends. _Illo._ Hast thou a pledge, that this pledge is not false? _Wallenstein._ There exist moments in the life of man, When he is nearer the great soul of the world 55 Than is man's custom, and possesses freely The power of questioning his destiny: And such a moment 'twas, when in the night Before the action in the plains of Lützen, Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts, 60 I looked out far upon the ominous plain. My whole life, past and future, in this moment Before my mind's eye glided in procession, And to the destiny of the next morning The spirit, filled with anxious presentiment, 65 Did knit the most removed futurity. Then said I also to myself, 'So many Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars, And as on some great number set their All Upon thy single head, and only man 70 The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day Will come, when destiny shall once more scatter All these in many a several direction: Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee.' I yearn'd to know which one was faithfullest 75 Of all, this camp included. Great Destiny, Give me a sign! And he shall be the man, Who, on the approaching morning, comes the first To meet me with a token of his love: And thinking this, I fell into a slumber. 80 Then midmost in the battle was I led In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult! Then was my horse killed under me: I sank: And over me away, all unconcernedly, Drove horse and rider--and thus trod to pieces 85 I lay, and panted like a dying man. Then seized me suddenly a saviour arm; It was Octavio's--I awoke at once, 'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me. 'My brother,' said he,'do not ride to-day 90 The dapple, as you're wont; but mount the horse Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother! In love to me. A strong dream warned me so.' It was the swiftness of this horse that snatched me From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons. 95 My cousin rode the dapple on that day. And never more saw I or horse or rider. _Illo._ That was a chance. _Wallenstein._ There's no such thing as chance. In brief, 'tis signed and sealed that this Octavio Is my good angel--and now no word more. [_He is retiring._ _Tertsky._ This is my comfort--Max remains our hostage. 100 _Illo._ And he shall never stir from here alive. _Wallenstein (stops and turns himself round)._ Are ye not like the women, who for ever Only recur to their first word, although One had been talking reason by the hour? 105 Know, that the human being's thoughts and deeds Are not, like ocean billows, blindly moved. The inner world, his microcosmus, is The deep shaft, out of which they spring eternally. They grow by certain laws, like the tree's fruit-- 110 No juggling chance can metamorphose them. Have I the human kernel first examined? Then I know, too, the future will and action. LINENOTES: [38] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [76] included] include 1800. [89] _Octavio_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [98] _Wallenstein (significantly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [112] _kernel_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV SCENE--_A Chamber in PICCOLOMINI'S Dwelling-House._ _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, ISOLANI (entering)._ _Isolani._ Here am I--Well! who comes yet of the others? _Octavio._ But, first, a word with you, Count Isolani. _Isolani._ Will it explode, ha?--Is the Duke about To make the attempt? In me, friend, you may place Full confidence.--Nay, put me to the proof. 5 _Octavio._ That may happen. _Isolani._ Noble brother, I am Not one of those men who in words are valiant, And when it comes to action skulk away. The Duke has acted towards me as a friend. God knows it is so; and I owe him all---- 10 He may rely on my fidelity. _Octavio._ That will be seen hereafter. _Isolani._ Be on your guard, All think not as I think; and there are many Who still hold with the Court--yes, and they say That those stolen signatures bind them to nothing. 15 _Octavio._ I am rejoiced to hear it. _Isolani._ You rejoice! _Octavio._ That the Emperor has yet such gallant servants And loving friends. _Isolani._ Nay, jeer not, I entreat you. They are no such worthless fellows, I assure you. _Octavio._ I am assured already. God forbid 20 That I should jest!--In very serious earnest I am rejoiced to see an honest cause So strong. _Isolani._ The Devil!--what!--why, what means this? Are you not, then----For what, then, am I here? _Octavio._ That you may make full declaration, whether 25 You will be called the friend or enemy Of the Emperor. _Isolani._ That declaration, friend, I'll make to him in whom a right is placed To put that question to me. _Octavio._ Whether, Count, 30 That right is mine, this paper may instruct you. _Isolani._ Why,--why--what! This is the Emperor's hand and seal! [_Reads._ 'Whereas the officers collectively Throughout our army will obey the orders Of the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini 35 As from ourselves.'----Hem!--Yes! so!--Yes! yes!-- I--I give you joy, Lieutenant-General! _Octavio._ And you submit you to the order? _Isolani._ I---- But you have taken me so by surprise-- Time for reflection one must have---- _Octavio._ Two minutes. 40 _Isolani._ My God! But then the case is---- _Octavio._ Plain and simple. You must declare you, whether you determine To act a treason 'gainst your Lord and Sovereign, Or whether you will serve him faithfully. _Isolani._ Treason!--My God!--But who talks then of treason? 45 _Octavio._ That is the case. The Prince-Duke is a traitor-- Means to lead over to the enemy The Emperor's army.--Now, Count!--brief and full-- Say, will you break your oath to the Emperor? Sell yourself to the enemy?--Say, will you? 50 _Isolani._ What mean you? I--I break my oath, d'ye say, To his Imperial Majesty? Did I say so?--When, when have I said that? _Octavio._ You have not said it yet--not yet. This instant I wait to hear, Count, whether you will say it. 55 _Isolani._ Aye! that delights me now, that you yourself Bear witness for me that I never said so. _Octavio._ And you renounce the Duke then? _Isolani._ If he's planning Treason--why, treason breaks all bonds asunder. _Octavio._ And are determined, too, to fight against him? 60 _Isolani._ He has done me service--but if he's a villain, Perdition seize him!--All scores are rubbed off. _Octavio._ I am rejoiced that you're so well disposed. This night break off in the utmost secrecy With all the light-armed troops--it must appear 65 As came the order from the Duke himself. At Frauenberg's the place of rendezvous; There will Count Galas give you further orders. _Isolani._ It shall be done. But you'll remember me With the Emperor--how well disposed you found me. 70 _Octavio._ I will not fail to mention it honourably. [_Exit ISOLANI. A_ Servant _enters._ What, Colonel Butler!--Shew him up. _Isolani (returning)._ Forgive me too my bearish ways, old father! Lord God! how should I know, then, what a great Person I had before me. _Octavio._ No excuses! 75 _Isolani._ I am a merry lad, and if at time A rash word might escape me 'gainst the court Amidst my wine--You know no harm was meant. [_Exit._ _Octavio._ You need not be uneasy on that score. That has succeeded. Fortune favour us 80 With all the others only but as much! LINENOTES: [Before 2] _Octavio (with an air of mystery)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 3] _Isolani (assuming the same air of mystery)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [27] _Isolani (with an air of defiance)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 32] _Isolani (stammering)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [36] _Hem_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [40] _must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [55] _will_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER._ _Butler._ At your command, Lieutenant-General. _Octavio._ Welcome, as honoured friend and visitor. _Butler._ You do me too much honour. _Octavio (after both have seated themselves)._ You have not Returned the advances which I made you yesterday-- Misunderstood them, as mere empty forms. 5 That wish proceeded from my heart--I was In earnest with you--for 'tis now a time In which the honest should unite most closely. _Butler._ 'Tis only the like-minded can unite. _Octavio._ True! and I name all honest men like-minded. 10 I never charge a man but with those acts To which his character deliberately Impels him; for alas! the violence Of blind misunderstandings often thrusts The very best of us from the right track. 15 You came through Frauenberg. Did the Count Galas Say nothing to you? Tell me. He's my friend. _Butler._ His words were lost on me. _Octavio._ It grieves me sorely To hear it: for his counsel was most wise. I had myself the like to offer. _Butler._ Spare 20 Yourself the trouble--me th' embarrassment, To have deserved so ill your good opinion. _Octavio._ The time is precious--let us talk openly. You know how matters stand here. Wallenstein Meditates treason--I can tell you further-- 25 He has committed treason; but few hours Have past, since he a covenant concluded With the enemy. The messengers are now Full on their way to Egra and to Prague. To-morrow he intends to lead us over 30 To the enemy. But he deceives himself; For prudence wakes--the Emperor has still Many and faithful friends here, and they stand In closest union, mighty though unseen. This manifesto sentences the Duke-- 35 Recalls the obedience of the army from him, And summons all the loyal, all the honest, To join and recognize in me their leader. Choose--will you share with us an honest cause? Or with the evil share an evil lot? 40 _Butler (rises)._ His lot is mine. _Octavio._ Is that your last resolve? _Butler._ It is. _Octavio._ Nay, but bethink you, Colonel Butler! As yet you have time. Within my faithful breast That rashly uttered word remains interred. Recall it, Butler! choose a better party: 45 You have not chosen the right one. _Butler (going)._ Any other Commands for me, Lieutenant-General? _Octavio._ See your white hairs! Recall that word! _Butler._ Farewell! _Octavio._ What, would you draw this good and gallant sword In such a cause? Into a curse would you 50 Transform the gratitude which you have earned By forty years' fidelity from Austria? _Butler (laughing with bitterness)._ Gratitude from the House of Austria. [_He is going._ _Octavio (permits him to go as far as the door, then calls after him)._ Butler! _Butler._ What wish you? _Octavio._ How was't with the Count? _Butler._ Count? what? _Octavio._ The title that you wished, I mean. 55 _Butler (starts in sudden passion)._ Hell and damnation! _Octavio._ You petitioned for it-- And your petition was repelled--Was it so? _Butler._ Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunished. Draw! _Octavio._ Nay! your sword to 'ts sheath![718:1] and tell me calmly, How all that happened. I will not refuse you 60 Your satisfaction afterwards.--Calmly, Butler! _Butler._ Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness For which I never can forgive myself. Lieutenant-General! Yes--I have ambition. Ne'er was I able to endure contempt. 65 It stung me to the quick, that birth and title Should have more weight than merit has in the army. I would fain not be meaner than my equal, So in an evil hour I let myself Be tempted to that measure--It was folly! 70 But yet so hard a penance it deserved not. It might have been refused; but wherefore barb And venom the refusal with contempt? Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn The grey-haired man, the faithful veteran? 75 Why to the baseness of his parentage Refer him with such cruel roughness, only Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself? But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm Which wanton power treads on in sport and insult. 80 _Octavio._ You must have been calumniated. Guess you The enemy, who did you this ill service? _Butler._ Be't who it will--a most low-hearted scoundrel, Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard, Some young squire of some ancient family, 85 In whose light I may stand, some envious knave, Stung to his soul by my fair self-earned honours! _Octavio._ But tell me! Did the Duke approve that measure? _Butler._ Himself impelled me to it, used his interest In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. 90 _Octavio._ Ay? Are you sure of that? _Butler._ I read the letter. _Octavio._ And so did I--but the contents were different. By chance I'm in possession of that letter-- Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. [_He gives him the letter._ _Butler._ Ha! what is this? _Octavio._ I fear me, Colonel Butler, 95 An infamous game have they been playing with you. The Duke, you say, impelled you to this measure? Now, in this letter talks he in contempt Concerning you, counsels the Minister To give sound chastisement to your conceit, 100 For so he calls it. [_BUTLER reads through the letter, his knees tremble, he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it._ You have no enemy, no persecutor; There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe The insult you received to the Duke only. His aim is clear and palpable. He wished 105 To tear you from your Emperor--he hoped To gain from your revenge what he well knew (What your long-tried fidelity convinced him) He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason. A blind tool would he make you, in contempt 110 Use you, as means of most abandoned ends. He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded In luring you away from that good path On which you had been journeying forty years! _Butler._ Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me? 115 _Octavio._ More than forgive you. He would fain compensate For that affront, and most unmerited grievance Sustained by a deserving, gallant veteran. From his free impulse he confirms the present, Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. 120 The regiment, which you now command, is yours. [_BUTLER attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labours inwardly with violent emotions; tries to speak, and cannot. At length he takes his sword from the belt, and offers it to PICCOLOMINI._ _Octavio._ What wish you? Recollect yourself, friend. _Butler._ Take it. _Octavio._ But to what purpose? Calm yourself. _Butler._ O take it! I am no longer worthy of this sword. _Octavio._ Receive it then anew from my hands--and 125 Wear it with honour for the right cause ever. _Butler._----Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign! _Octavio._ You'll make amends. Quick! break off from the Duke! _Butler._ Break off from him! _Octavio._ What now? Bethink thyself. _Butler (no longer governing his emotion)._ Only break off from him?--He dies!--he dies! 130 _Octavio._ Come after me to Frauenberg, where now All who are loyal are assembling under Counts Altringer and Galas. Many others I've brought to a remembrance of their duty. This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. 135 _Butler._ Count Piccolomini! Dare that man speak Of honour to you, who once broke his troth? _Octavio._ He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. _Butler._ Then leave me here, upon my word of honour! _Octavio._ What's your design? _Butler._ Leave me and my regiment. 140 _Octavio._ I have full confidence in you. But tell me What are you brooding? _Butler._ That the deed will tell you. Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. Ye may trust safely. By the living God Ye give him over, not to his good angel! 145 Farewell. [_Exit BUTLER._ _Servant (enters with a billet)._ A stranger left it, and is gone. The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. [_Exit_ Servant. _Octavio (reads)._ 'Be sure, make haste! Your faithful Isolan.' --O that I had but left this town behind me. To split upon a rock so near the haven!-- 150 Away! This is no longer a safe place for me! Where can my son be tarrying? FOOTNOTES: [718:1] It probably did not suit Schiller's purposes to remark, what he doubtless knew, that Butler was of a noble Irish family, indeed one of the noblest. _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [18] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [55] _Octavio (coldly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 92] [_BUTLER is suddenly struck._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 115] _Butler (his voice trembling)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 136] _Butler (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to Octavio with resolved countenance)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _OCTAVIO and MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Octavio (advances to Max)._ I am going off, my son. [_Receiving no answer he takes his hand._ My son, farewell. _Max._ Farewell. _Octavio._ Thou wilt soon follow me? _Max._ I follow thee? Thy way is crooked--it is not my way. [_OCTAVIO drops his hand, and starts back._ O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere, Ne'er had it come to this--all had stood otherwise. 5 He had not done that foul and horrible deed, The virtuous had retained their influence o'er him: He had not fallen into the snares of villains. Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice Did'st creep behind him--lurking for thy prey? 10 O, unblest falsehood! Mother of all evil! Thou misery-making demon, it is thou That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth, Sustainer of the world, had saved us all! Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee! 15 Wallenstein has deceived me--O, most foully! But thou hast acted not much better. _Octavio._ Son! My son, ah! I forgive thy agony! _Max._ Was't possible? had'st thou the heart, my father, Had'st thou the heart to drive it to such lengths, 20 With cold premeditated purpose? Thou-- Had'st thou the heart, to wish to see him guilty, Rather than saved? Thou risest by his fall. Octavio, 'twill not please me. _Octavio._ God in Heaven! _Max._ O, woe is me! sure I have changed my nature. 25 How comes suspicion here--in the free soul? Hope, confidence, belief, are gone; for all Lied to me, all what I e'er loved or honoured. No! No! Not all! She--she yet lives for me, And she is true, and open as the Heavens! 30 Deceit is every where, hypocrisy, Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury: The single holy spot is now our love, The only unprofaned in human nature. _Octavio._ Max!--we will go together. 'Twill be better. 35 _Max._ What? ere I've taken a last parting leave, The very last--no never! _Octavio._ Spare thyself The pang of necessary separation. Come with me! Come, my son! [_Attempts to take him with him._ _Max._ No! as sure as God lives, no! 40 _Octavio._ Come with me, I command thee! I, thy father. _Max._ Command me what is human. I stay here. _Octavio._ Max! in the Emperor's name I bid thee come. _Max._ No Emperor has power to prescribe Laws to the heart; and would'st thou wish to rob me 45 Of the sole blessing which my fate has left me, Her sympathy? Must then a cruel deed Be done with cruelty? The unalterable Shall I perform ignobly--steal away, With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No! 50 She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish, Hear the complaints of the disparted soul, And weep tears o'er me. Oh! the human race Have steely souls--but she is as an angel. From the black deadly madness of despair 55 Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words Of comfort, plaining, loose this pang of death! _Octavio._ Thou wilt not tear thyself away; thou canst not. O, come, my son! I bid thee save thy virtue. _Max._ Squander not thou thy words in vain. 60 The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it. _Octavio._ Max! Max! if that most damnéd thing could be, If thou--my son--my own blood--(dare I think it?) Do sell thyself to him, the infamous, Do stamp this brand upon our noble house, 65 Then shall the world behold the horrible deed, And in unnatural combat shall the steel Of the son trickle with the father's blood. _Max._ O hadst thou always better thought of men, Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion! 70 Unholy miserable doubt! To him Nothing on earth remains unwrenched and firm, Who has no faith. _Octavio._ And if I trust thy heart, Will it be always in thy power to follow it? _Max._ The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpower'd--as little 75 Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it. _Octavio._ O, Max! I see thee never more again! _Max._ Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me. _Octavio._ I go to Frauenberg--the Pappenheimers I leave thee here, the Lothrings too; Toskana 80 And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee. They love thee, and are faithful to their oath, And will far rather fall in gallant contest Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour. _Max._ Rely on this, I either leave my life 85 In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen. _Octavio._ Farewell, my son! _Max._ Farewell! _Octavio._ How? not one look Of filial love? No grasp of the hand at parting? It is a bloody war, to which we are going, And the event uncertain and in darkness. 90 So used we not to part--it was not so! Is it then true? I have a son no longer? [_MAX falls into his arms, they hold each [other] for a long time in a speechless embrace, then go away at different sides._ _The Curtain drops._ LINENOTES: [Before 1] (_MAX enters almost in a state of derangement from extreme agitation, his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of compassion. He paces with long strides through the chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws himself into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly before him_). 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 19] _Max (rises and contemplates his father with looks of suspicion)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] what] that 1828, 1829. [33] The single holy spot is our love 1800. [Before 41] _Octavio (more urgently)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 62] _Octavio (trembling, and losing all self-command)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [63] _think_ 1800. [75] _thou_ 1800. THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR TO THE FIRST EDITION The two Dramas, PICCOLOMINI, or the first part of WALLENSTEIN, and WALLENSTEIN, are introduced in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. This is written in rhyme, and in nine-syllable verse, in the same _lilting_ metre (if that expression may be permitted) 5 with the second Eclogue of Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar. This Prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not deficient in character; but to have translated it into prose, or into any other metre than that of the original, would have given a false notion both of its style and purport; to have 10 translated it into the same metre would have been incompatible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes; and it would have been unadvisable from the incongruity of those lax verses with the present taste of the English Public. Schiller's intention 15 seems to have been merely to have prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of the laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient not to translate it. 20 The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their conception of that author from the _Robbers_, and the _Cabal_ and _Love_, plays in which the main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused without some 25 portion of disappointment the Dramas, which it has been my employment to translate. They should, however, reflect that these are Historical Dramas, taken from a popular German History; that we must therefore judge of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans; or by analogy, with the interest 30 excited in us by similar Dramas in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignorant enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare yet, merely as illustration, I would say that we should proceed to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but from Richard the Second, or the 35 three parts of Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these plays more individual beauties, 40 more passages the excellence of which will bear reflection, than in the former productions of Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have 45 wholly overclouded the beauties of the Scene in the first Act of the first Play between Questenberg, Max, and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except the Scene of the setting sun in the _Robbers_, I know of no part in Schiller's Plays which equals the whole of the first Scene of the fifth Act of the concluding Play. It 50 would be unbecoming in me to be more diffuse on this subject. A Translator stands connected with the original Author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excellencies than defects: indeed he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his 55 own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an afterview of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses from our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without effect. 60 Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the Translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of a living Author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. If he render his 65 original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must necessarily destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought it my duty to remain 70 bound by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages rendered possible. LINENOTES: Title] Part Second. The Death of Wallenstein. A Tragedy. The Death of Wallenstein. Preface of the Translator. 1828, 1829. [10] notion] idea 1800, 1828, 1829. [21] conception] idea 1800, 1828, 1829. [41] the excellence of which] whose excellence 1800, 1828, 1829. [60] effect] effort 1834. [66] sense] _sense_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [67] spirit] _spirit_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [68] compensation] _compensation_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 72] S. T. Coleridge 1800, 1828, 1829. DRAMATIS PERSONAE _WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in the Thirty Years' War._ _DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein._ _THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland._ _THE COUNTESS TERTSKY, Sister of the Duchess._ _LADY NEUBRUNN._ _OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General._ _MAX PICCOLOMINI, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers._ _COUNT TERTSKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein._ _ILLO, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's confidant._ _BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons._ _GORDON, Governor of Egra._ _MAJOR GERALDIN._ _CAPTAIN DEVEREUX._ _CAPTAIN MACDONALD._ _NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Tertsky._ _SWEDISH CAPTAIN._ _SENI._ _BURGOMASTER of Egra._ _ANSPESSADE of the Cuirassiers._ _GROOM OF THE CHAMBER_, } _belonging to the Duke._ _A PAGE_, } _CUIRASSIERS, DRAGOONS, SERVANTS._ THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN ACT I SCENE I SCENE--_A Chamber in the House of the DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND._ _COUNTESS TERTSKY, THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN (the two latter sit at the same table at work)._ _Countess (watching them from the opposite side)._ So you have nothing, niece, to ask me? Nothing? I have been waiting for a word from you. And could you then endure in all this time Not once to speak his name? [_The COUNTESS rises and advances to her._ Why, how comes this? Perhaps I am already grown superfluous, 5 And other ways exist, besides through me? Confess it to me, Thekla! have you seen him? _Thekla._ To-day and yesterday I have not seen him. _Countess._ And not heard from him either? Come, be open! _Thekla._ No syllable. _Countess._ And still you are so calm? 10 _Thekla._ I am. _Countess._ May't please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn! [_Exit LADY NEUBRUNN._ LINENOTES: [4] [_THEKLA remaining silent, the, &c._, 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _The COUNTESS, THEKLA._ _Countess._ It does not please me, Princess! that he holds Himself so still, exactly at this time. _Thekla._ Exactly at this time? _Countess._ He now knows all. 'Twere now the moment to declare himself. _Thekla._ If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. 5 _Countess._ 'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart Is now no more in nonage: for you love, And boldness dwells with love--that you have proved. Your nature moulds itself upon your father's 10 More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you Hear, what were too much for her fortitude. _Thekla._ Enough! no further preface, I entreat you. At once, out with it! Be it what it may, It is not possible that it should torture me 15 More than this introduction. What have you To say to me? Tell me the whole and briefly! _Countess._ You'll not be frightened-- _Thekla._ Name it, I entreat you. _Countess._ It lies within your power to do your father A weighty service-- _Thekla._ Lies within my power? 20 _Countess._ Max Piccolomini loves you. You can link him Indissolubly to your father. _Thekla._ I? What need of me for that? And is he not Already linked to him? _Countess._ He was. _Thekla._ And wherefore Should he not be so now--not be so always? 25 _Countess._ He cleaves to the Emperor too. _Thekla._ Not more than duty And honour may demand of him. _Countess._ We ask Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour. Duty and honour! Those are ambiguous words with many meanings. 30 You should interpret them for him: his love Should be the sole definer of his honour. _Thekla._ How? _Countess._ The Emperor or you must he renounce. _Thekla._ He will accompany my father gladly In his retirement. From himself you heard, 35 How much he wished to lay aside the sword. _Countess._ He must not lay the sword aside, we mean; He must unsheath it in your father's cause. _Thekla._ He'll spend with gladness and alacrity His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause, 40 If shame or injury be intended him. _Countess._ You will not understand me. Well, hear then! Your father has fallen off from the Emperor, And is about to join the enemy With the whole soldiery-- _Thekla._ Alas, my mother! 45 _Countess._ There needs a great example to draw on The army after him. The Piccolomini Possess the love and reverence of the troops; They govern all opinions, and wherever They lead the way, none hesitate to follow. 50 The son secures the father to our interests-- You've much in your hands at this moment. _Thekla._ Ah, My miserable mother! what a death-stroke Awaits thee!--No! She never will survive it. _Countess._ She will accommodate her soul to that 55 Which is and must be. I do know your mother. The far-off future weights upon her heart With torture of anxiety; but is it Unalterably, actually present, She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly. 60 _Thekla._ O my fore-boding bosom! Even now, E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror! And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp; I knew it well--no sooner had I entered, A heavy ominous presentiment 65 Revealed to me, that spirits of death were hovering Over my happy fortune. But why think I First of myself? My mother! O my mother! _Countess._ Calm yourself! Break not out in vain lamenting! Preserve you for your father the firm friend, 70 And for yourself the lover, all will yet Prove good and fortunate. _Thekla._ Prove good? What good? Must we not part? Part ne'er to meet again? _Countess._ He parts not from you! He can not part from you. _Thekla._ Alas for his sore anguish! It will rend 75 His heart asunder. _Countess._ If indeed he loves you, His resolution will be speedily taken. _Thekla._ His resolution will be speedily taken-- O do not doubt of that! A resolution! Does there remain one to be taken? _Countess._ Hush! 80 Collect yourself! I hear your mother coming. _Thekla._ How shall I bear to see her? _Countess._ Collect yourself. LINENOTES: [2] _still . . . this_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [3] _this_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [9] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [20] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [31] _You_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [37] _not_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [72] Prove _good_ 1800. [74] _can_ 1800. [80] _taken_ 1800. SCENE III _To them enter the DUCHESS._ _Duchess (to the Countess)._ Who was here, sister? I heard some one talking, And passionately too. _Countess._ Nay! There was no one. _Duchess._ I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise Scatters my spirits, and announces to me The footstep of some messenger of evil. 5 And can you tell me, sister, what the event is? Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure, And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal? Tell me, has he dismissed Von Questenberg With a favourable answer? _Countess._ No, he has not. 10 _Duchess._ Alas! then all is lost! I see it coming, The worst that can come! Yes, they will depose him; The accurséd business of the Regenspurg diet Will all be acted o'er again! _Countess._ No! never! Make your heart easy, sister, as to that. 15 [_THEKLA throws herself upon her mother, and enfolds her in her arms, weeping._ _Duchess._ Yes, my poor child! Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother In the Empress. O that stern unbending man! In this unhappy marriage what have I Not suffered, not endured. For ev'n as if 20 I had been linked on to some wheel of fire That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward, I have passed a life of frights and horrors with him, And ever to the brink of some abyss With dizzy headlong violence he whirls me. 25 Nay, do not weep, my child! Let not my sufferings Presignify unhappiness to thee, Nor blacken with their shade the fate that waits thee. There lives no second Friedland: thou, my child, Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny. 30 _Thekla._ O let us supplicate him, dearest mother! Quick! quick! here's no abiding-place for us. Here every coming hour broods into life Some new affrightful monster. _Duchess._ Thou wilt share An easier, calmer lot, my child! We too, 35 I and thy father, witnessed happy days. Still think I with delight of those first years, When he was making progress with glad effort, When his ambition was a genial fire, Not that consuming flame which now it is. 40 The Emperor loved him, trusted him: and all He undertook could not but be successful. But since that ill-starred day at Regenspurg, Which plunged him headlong from his dignity, A gloomy uncompanionable spirit, 45 Unsteady and suspicious, has possessed him. His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer Did he yield up himself in joy and faith To his old luck, and individual power; But thenceforth turned his heart and best affections 50 All to those cloudy sciences, which never Have yet made happy him who followed them. _Countess._ You see it, sister! as your eyes permit you. But surely this is not the conversation To pass the time in which we are waiting for him. 55 You know he will be soon here. Would you have him Find her in this condition? _Duchess._ Come, my child! Come, wipe away thy tears, and shew thy father A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here Is off--this hair must not hang so dishevelled. 60 Come, dearest! dry thy tears up. They deform Thy gentle eye--well now--what was I saying? Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini Is a most noble and deserving gentleman. _Countess._ That is he, sister! _Thekla (to the Countess)._ Aunt, you will excuse me? 65 [_Is going._ _Countess._ But whither? See, your father comes. _Thekla._ I cannot see him now. _Countess._ Nay, but bethink you. _Thekla._ Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence. _Countess._ But he will miss you, will ask after you. _Duchess._ What now? Why is she going? 70 _Countess._ She's not well. _Duchess._ What ails then my beloved child? [_Both follow the PRINCESS, and endeavour to detain her. During this WALLENSTEIN appears, engaged in conversation with ILLO._ LINENOTES: [Between 14, 15] [_THEKLA, in extreme agitation, throws herself, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] _fate_ 1800. [40] _flame_ 1800. [53] _your_ 1800. [56] be soon] soon be 1828, 1829. [57] _her_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [65] _Thekla (to the Countess, with marks of great oppression of spirits)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 72] _Duchess (anxiously)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, COUNTESS, DUCHESS, THEKLA._ _Wallenstein._ All quiet in the camp? _Illo._ It is all quiet. _Wallenstein._ In a few hours may couriers come from Prague With tidings, that this capital is ours. Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops Assembled in this town make known the measure 5 And its result together. In such cases Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost Still leads the herd. An imitative creature Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other, Than that the Pilsen army has gone through 10 The forms of homage to us; and in Pilsen They shall swear fealty to us, because The example has been given them by Prague. Butler, you tell me, has declared himself. _Illo._ At his own bidding, unsolicited, 15 He came to offer you himself and regiment. _Wallenstein._ I find we must not give implicit credence To every warning voice that makes itself Be listened to in the heart. To hold us back, Oft does the lying spirit counterfeit 20 The voice of Truth and inward Revelation, Scattering false oracles. And thus have I To intreat forgiveness, for that secretly I've wrong'd this honourable gallant man, This Butler: for a feeling, of the which 25 I am not master (fear I would not call it), Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering, At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion. And this same man, against whom I am warned, This honest man is he, who reaches to me 30 The first pledge of my fortune. _Illo._ And doubt not That his example will win over to you The best men in the army. _Wallenstein._ Go and send Isolani hither. Send him immediately. He is under recent obligations to me. 35 With him will I commence the trial. Go. [_ILLO exit._ _Wallenstein (turns himself round to the females)._ Lo, there the mother with the darling daughter! For once we'll have an interval of rest-- Come! my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour In the beloved circle of my family. 40 _Countess._ 'Tis long since we've been thus together, brother. _Wallenstein (to the Countess aside)._ Can she sustain the news? Is she prepared? _Countess._ Not yet. _Wallenstein._ Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me, For there is a good spirit on thy lips. Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill: 45 She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice Will drive away from me the evil demon That beats his black wings close above my head. _Duchess._ Where is thy lute, my daughter? Let thy father 50 Hear some small trial of thy skill. _Thekla._ My mother! I-- _Duchess._ Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer Thy father. _Thekla._ O my mother! I--I cannot. _Countess._ How, what is that, niece? _Thekla (to the Countess)._ O spare me--sing--now--in this sore anxiety, 55 Of the o'erburthen'd soul--to sing to him, Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong Into her grave! _Duchess._ How, Thekla? Humoursome? What! shall thy father have expressed a wish In vain? _Countess._ Here is the lute. _Thekla._ My God! how can I-- 60 [_The orchestra plays. During the ritornello THEKLA expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings: and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly._ _Duchess._ My child! O she is ill-- _Wallenstein._ What ails the maiden? Say, is she often so? _Countess._ Since then herself Has now betrayed it, I too must no longer Conceal it. _Wallenstein._ What? _Countess._ She loves him! _Wallenstein._ Loves him! Whom? _Countess._ Max does she love! Max Piccolomini. 65 Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister? _Duchess._ Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart? God's blessing on thee, my sweet child! Thou needest Never take shame upon thee for thy choice. _Countess._ This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it 70 To thine own self. Thou shouldest have chosen another To have attended her. _Wallenstein._ And does he know it? _Countess._ Yes, and he hopes to win her. _Wallenstein._ Hopes to win her! Is the boy mad? _Countess._ Well--hear it from themselves. _Wallenstein._ He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's daughter! 75 Aye?--The thought pleases me. The young man has no grovelling spirit. _Countess._ Since Such and such constant favour you have shewn him-- _Wallenstein._ He chooses finally to be my heir. And true it is, I love the youth; yea, honour him. 80 But must he therefore be my daughter's husband! Is it daughters only? Is it only children That we must shew our favour by? _Duchess._ His noble disposition and his manners-- _Wallenstein._ Win him my heart, but not my daughter. _Duchess._ Then 85 His rank, his ancestors-- _Wallenstein._ Ancestors! What? He is a subject, and my son-in-law I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe. _Duchess._ O dearest Albrecht! Climb we not too high. Lest we should fall too low. _Wallenstein._ What? have I paid 90 A price so heavy to ascend this eminence, And jut out high above the common herd, Only to close the mighty part I play In Life's great drama, with a common kinsman? Have I for this-- [_pause._] She is the only thing 95 That will remain behind of me on earth; And I will see a crown around her head, Or die in the attempt to place it there. I hazard all--all! and for this alone, To lift her into greatness-- 100 Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking-- [_pause._ And I must now, like a soft-hearted father, Couple together in good peasant fashion The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking-- And I must do it now, even now, when I 105 Am stretching out the wreath that is to twine My full accomplished work--no! she is the jewel, Which I have treasured long, my last, my noblest, And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me For less than a king's sceptre. _Duchess._ O my husband! 110 You're ever building, building to the clouds, Still building higher, and still higher building, And ne'er reflect, that the poor narrow basis Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column. _Wallenstein (to the Countess)._ Have you announced the place of residence 115 Which I have destined for her? _Countess._ No! not yet. 'Twere better you yourself disclosed it to her. _Duchess._ How? Do we not return to Karn then? _Wallenstein._ No. _Duchess._ And to no other of your lands or seats? _Wallenstein._ You would not be secure there. _Duchess._ Not secure 120 In the Emperor's realms, beneath the Emperor's Protection? _Wallenstein._ Friedland's wife may be permitted No longer to hope that. _Duchess._ O God in heaven! And have you brought it even to this? _Wallenstein._ In Holland You'll find protection. _Duchess._ In a Lutheran country? 125 What? And you send us into Lutheran countries? _Wallenstein._ Duke Franz of Lauenburg conducts you thither. _Duchess._ Duke Franz of Lauenburg? The ally of Sweden, the Emperor's enemy. _Wallenstein._ The Emperor's enemies are mine no longer. 130 _Duchess (casting a look of terror on the Duke and the Countess)._ Is it then true? It is. You are degraded? Deposed from the command? O God in heaven! _Countess (aside to the Duke)._ Leave her in this belief. Thou seest she cannot Support the real truth. LINENOTES: [26] _fear_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [48] from] _for_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [56] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [95] Have I for this-- [_Stops suddenly, repressing himself._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 101] [_He recollects himself._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [118] Kärn 1800. [123] _that_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _To them enter COUNT TERTSKY._ _Countess._ --Tertsky! What ails him? What an image of affright! He looks as he had seen a ghost. _Tertsky (leading Wallenstein aside)._ Is it thy command that all the Croats-- _Wallenstein._ Mine! 5 _Tertsky._ We are betrayed. _Wallenstein._ What? _Tertsky._ They are off! This night The Jägers likewise--all the villages In the whole round are empty. _Wallenstein._ Isolani? _Tertsky._ Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely. _Wallenstein._ I? _Tertsky._ No! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodate? 10 They are vanished both of them. SCENE VI _To them enter ILLO._ _Illo._ Has Tertsky told thee? _Tertsky._ He knows all. _Illo._ And likewise That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz, Kolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee? _Tertsky._ Damnation! _Wallenstein (winks at them)._ Hush! _Countess (who has been watching them anxiously from the distance and now advances to them)._ Tertsky! Heaven! What is it? What has happened? 5 _Wallenstein (scarcely suppressing his emotions)._ Nothing! let us be gone! _Tertsky (following him)._ Theresa, it is nothing. _Countess (holding him back)._ Nothing? Do I not see, that all the lifeblood Has left your cheeks--look you not like a ghost? That even my brother but affects a calmness? 10 _Page (enters)._ An Aid-de-Camp enquires for the Count Tertsky. [_TERTSKY follows the Page._ _Wallenstein._ Go, hear his business. [_To ILLO._ This could not have happened So unsuspected without mutiny. Who was on guard at the gates? _Illo._ 'Twas Tiefenbach. 15 _Wallenstein._ Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay, And Tertsky's grenadiers relieve him. [_ILLO is going._ Stop! Hast thou heard aught of Butler? _Illo._ Him I met. He will be here himself immediately. Butler remains unshaken. [_ILLO exit. WALLENSTEIN is following him._ _Countess._ Let him not leave thee, sister! go, detain him! 20 There's some misfortune. _Duchess (clinging to him)._ Gracious heaven! What is it? _Wallenstein._ Be tranquil! leave me, sister! dearest wife! We are in camp, and this is nought unusual; Here storm and sunshine follow one another With rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits 25 Champ the curb angrily, and never yet Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women Ill suit the scene where men must act. [_He is going: TERTSKY returns._ _Tertsky._ Remain here. From this window must we see it. 30 _Wallenstein (to the Countess)._ Sister, retire! _Countess._ No--never. _Wallenstein._ 'Tis my will. _Tertsky (leads the Countess aside, and drawing her attention to the Duchess)._ Theresa! _Duchess._ Sister, come! since he commands it. LINENOTES: [4] _Wallenstein (winks to them)._ 1800. SCENE VII _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY._ _Wallenstein (stepping to the window)._ What now, then? _Tertsky._ There are strange movements among all the troops, And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously, With gloomy silentness, the several corps Marshal themselves, each under its own banners. 5 Tiefenbach's corps makes threatening movements; only The Pappenheimers still remain aloof In their own quarters, and let no one enter. _Wallenstein._ Does Piccolomini appear among them? _Tertsky._ We are seeking him: he is no where to be met with. 10 _Wallenstein._ What did the Aid-de-Camp deliver to you? _Tertsky._ My regiments had dispatched him; yet once more They swear fidelity to thee, and wait The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager. _Wallenstein._ But whence arose this larum in the camp? 15 It should have been kept secret from the army, Till fortune had decided for us at Prague. _Tertsky._ O that thou hadst believed me! Yester evening Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker, That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 20 Thou gav'st him thy own horses to flee from thee. _Wallenstein._ The old tune still! Now, once for all, no more Of this suspicion--it is doting folly. _Tertsky._ Thou did'st confide in Isolani too; And lo! he was the first that did desert thee. 25 _Wallenstein._ It was but yesterday I rescued him From abject wretchedness. Let that go by. I never reckon'd yet on gratitude. And wherein doth he wrong in going from me? He follows still the god whom all his life 30 He has worshipped at the gaming table. With My Fortune, and my seeming destiny, He made the bond, and broke it not with me. I am but the ship in which his hopes were stowed, And with the which well-pleased and confident 35 He traversed the open sea; now he beholds it In imminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks, And hurries to preserve his wares. As light As the free bird from the hospitable twig Where it had nested, he flies off from me: 40 No human tie is snapped betwixt us two. Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived, Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man. Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life Impress their characters on the smooth forehead, 45 Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth: Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul Warmeth the inner frame. _Tertsky._ Yet, would I rather Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrowed one. 50 LINENOTES: [6] makes] make 1800, 1828, 1829. [11] Aid-de-Camp] Aide-de-Camp 1800. [32] FORTUNE 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VIII _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO._ _Illo._ Treason and mutiny! _Tertsky._ And what further now? _Illo._ Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders To go off guard--Mutinous villains! _Tertsky._ Well! _Wallenstein._ What followed? _Illo._ They refused obedience to them. 5 _Tertsky._ Fire on them instantly! Give out the order. _Wallenstein._ Gently! what cause did they assign? _Illo._ No other, They said, had right to issue orders but Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. _Wallenstein._ What? How is that? 10 _Illo._ He takes that office on him by commission, Under sign-manual of the Emperor. _Tertsky._ From the Emperor--hear'st thou, Duke? _Illo._ At his incitement The Generals made that stealthy flight-- _Tertsky._ Duke! hearest thou? _Illo._ Caraffa too, and Montecuculi, 15 Are missing, with six other Generals, All whom he had induced to follow him. This plot he has long had in writing by him From the Emperor; but 'twas finally concluded With all the detail of the operation 20 Some days ago with the Envoy Questenberg. [_WALLENSTEIN sinks down into a chair and covers his face._ _Tertsky._ O hadst thou but believed me! LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Illo (who enters agitated with rage)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [9] _Piccolomini_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [10] _Wallenstein (in a convulsion of agony)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _To them enter the COUNTESS._ _Countess._ This suspense, This horrid fear--I can no longer bear it. For heaven's sake, tell me, what has taken place. _Illo._ The regiments are all falling off from us. _Tertsky._ Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor. 5 _Countess._ O my foreboding! [_Rushes out of the room._ _Tertsky._ Hadst thou but believed me! Now seest thou how the stars have lied to thee. _Wallenstein._ The stars lie not; but we have here a work Wrought counter to the stars and destiny. The science is still honest: this false heart 10 Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven. On a divine law divination rests; Where nature deviates from that law, and stumbles Out of her limits, there all science errs. True, I did not suspect! Were it superstition 15 Never by such suspicion t' have affronted The human form, O may that time ne'er come In which I shame me of the infirmity. The wildest savage drinks not with the victim Into whose breast he means to plunge the sword. 20 This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed: 'Twas not thy prudence that did conquer mine; A bad heart triumphed o'er an honest one. No shield received the assassin stroke; thou plungest Thy weapon on an unprotected breast-- 25 Against such weapons I am but a child. SCENE X _To these enter BUTLER._ _Tertsky (meeting him)._ O look there! Butler! Here we've still a friend! _Wallenstein (meets him with outspread arms, and embraces him with warmth)._ Come to my heart, old comrade! Not the sun Looks out upon us more revivingly In the earliest month of spring, Than a friend's countenance in such an hour. 5 _Butler._ My General: I come-- _Wallenstein (leaning on Butler's shoulders)._ Know'st thou already? That old man has betrayed me to the Emperor. What say'st thou? Thirty years have we together Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship. We have slept in one camp-bed, drunk from one glass, 10 One morsel shared! I leaned myself on him, As now I lean me on thy faithful shoulder. And now in the very moment, when, all love, All confidence, my bosom beat to his, He sees and takes the advantage, stabs the knife 15 Slowly into my heart. [_He hides his face on BUTLER'S breast._ _Butler._ Forget the false one. What is your present purpose? _Wallenstein._ Well remembered! Courage my soul! I am still rich in friends, Still loved by Destiny; for in the moment, That it unmasks the plotting hypocrite, 20 It sends and proves to me one faithful heart. Of the hypocrite no more! Think not, his loss Was that which struck the pang: O no! his treason Is that which strikes this pang! No more of him! Dear to my heart, and honoured were they both, 25 And the young man--yes--he did truly love me, He--he--has not deceived me. But enough, Enough of this--Swift counsel now beseems us. The Courier, whom Count Kinsky sent from Prague I expect him every moment: and whatever 30 He may bring with him, we must take good care To keep it from the mutineers. Quick, then! Dispatch some messenger you can rely on To meet him, and conduct him to me. [_ILLO is going._ _Butler (detaining him)._ My General, whom expect you then? _Wallenstein._ The Courier 35 Who brings me word of the event at Prague. _Butler (hesitating)._ Hem! _Wallenstein._ And what now? _Butler._ You do not know it? _Wallenstein._ Well? _Butler._ From what that larum in the camp arose? _Wallenstein._ From what? _Butler._ That Courier. _Wallenstein._ Well? _Butler._ Is already here. _Tertsky and Illo (at the same time)._ Already here? _Wallenstein._ My Courier? _Butler._ For some hours. 40 _Wallenstein._ And I not know it? _Butler._ The centinels detain him In custody. _Illo._ Damnation! _Butler._ And his letter Was broken open, and is circulated Through the whole camp. _Wallenstein._ You know what it contains? _Butler._ Question me not. _Tertsky._ Illo! alas for us. 45 _Wallenstein._ Hide nothing from me--I can hear the worst. Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely. _Butler._ Yes! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments At Budweiss, Tabor, Brannau, Konigingratz, At Brun and Znaym, have forsaken you, 50 And ta'en the oaths of fealty anew To the Emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Tertsky, And Illo have been sentenced. [_TERTSKY and ILLO express alarm and fury. WALLENSTEIN remains firm and collected._ _Wallenstein._ 'Tis decided! 'Tis well! I have received a sudden cure From all the pangs of doubt: with steady stream 55 Once more my life-blood flows! My soul's secure! In the night only Friedland's stars can beam. Lingering irresolute, with fitful fears I drew the sword--'twas with an inward strife, While yet the choice was mine. The murderous knife 60 Is lifted for my heart! Doubt disappears! I fight now for my head and for my life. [_Exit WALLENSTEIN; the others follow him._ LINENOTES: [11] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [12] _thy_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [21] _faithful_ 1800. [26] _did_ 1800. [39] _Wallenstein (with eager expectation)._ Well? 1800, 1828, 1829. [42] _Illo (stamping with his foot)._ Damnation! 1800, 1828, 1829. [48] _is_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE XI _Countess Tertsky (enters from a side room)._ I can endure no longer. No! [_Looks around her._ Where are they? No one is here. They leave me all alone, Alone in this sore anguish of suspense. And I must wear the outward shew of calmness Before my sister, and shut in within me 5 The pangs and agonies of my crowded bosom. It is not to be borne.--If all should fail; If--if he must go over to the Swedes, An empty-handed fugitive, and not As an ally, a covenanted equal, 10 A proud commander with his army following; If we must wander on from land to land, Like the Count Palatine, of fallen greatness An ignominious monument--But no! That day I will not see! And could himself 15 Endure to sink so low, I would not bear To see him so low sunken. SCENE XII _COUNTESS, DUCHESS, THEKLA._ _Thekla (endeavouring to hold back the Duchess)._ Dear mother, do stay here! _Duchess._ No! Here is yet Some frightful mystery that is hidden from me. Why does my sister shun me? Don't I see her Full of suspense and anguish roam about From room to room?--Art thou not full of terror? 5 And what import these silent nods and gestures Which stealthwise thou exchangest with her? _Thekla._ Nothing: Nothing, dear Mother! _Duchess (to the Countess)._ Sister, I will know. _Countess._ What boots it now to hide it from her? Sooner Or later she must learn to hear and bear it. 10 'Tis not the time now to indulge infirmity, Courage beseems us now, a heart collected, And exercise and previous discipline Of fortitude. One word, and over with it! Sister, you are deluded. You believe, 15 The Duke has been deposed--The Duke is not Deposed--he is---- _Thekla (going to the Countess)._ What? do you wish to kill her? _Countess._ The Duke is---- _Thekla (throwing her arms round her mother)._ O stand firm! stand firm, my mother! _Countess._ Revolted is the Duke, he is preparing 20 To join the enemy, the army leave him, And all has failed. LINENOTES: [10] _must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [12] collected] collect 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 22] [_During these words the DUCHESS totters, and falls in a fainting fit into the arms of her daughter. While THEKLA is calling for help, the curtain drops._ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT II SCENE I SCENE--_A spacious Room in the DUKE OF FRIEDLAND'S Palace._ _Wallenstein (in armour)._ Thou hast gained thy point, Octavio! Once more am I Almost as friendless as at Regenspurg. There I had nothing left me, but myself-- But what one man can do, you have now experience. The twigs have you hewed off, and here I stand 5 A leafless trunk. But in the sap within Lives the creating power, and a new world May sprout forth from it. Once already have I Proved myself worth an army to you--I alone! Before the Swedish strength your troops had melted; 10 Beside the Lech sank Tilly, your last hope; Into Bavaria, like a winter torrent, Did that Gustavus pour, and at Vienna In his own palace did the Emperor tremble. Soldiers were scarce, for still the multitude 15 Follow the luck: all eyes were turned on me, Their helper in distress; the Emperor's pride Bowed itself down before the man he had injured. 'Twas I must rise, and with creative word Assemble forces in the desolate camps. 20 I did it. Like a god of war, my name Went through the world. The drum was beat--and, lo! The plough, the work-shop is forsaken, all Swarm to the old familiar long-loved banners; And as the wood-choir rich in melody 25 Assemble quick around the bird of wonder, When first his throat swells with his magic song, So did the warlike youth of Germany Crowd in around the image of my eagle. I feel myself the being that I was. 30 It is the soul that builds itself a body, And Friedland's camp will not remain unfilled. Lead then your thousands out to meet me--true! They are accustomed under me to conquer, But not against me. If the head and limbs 35 Separate from each other, 'twill be soon Made manifest, in which the soul abode. (_ILLO and TERTSKY enter._) Courage, friends! Courage! We are still unvanquished; I feel my footing firm; five regiments, Tertsky, Are still our own, and Butler's gallant troops; 40 And a host of sixteen thousand Swedes to-morrow. I was not stronger, when nine years ago I marched forth, with glad heart and high of hope, To conquer Germany for the Emperor. LINENOTES: [11] sank] sunk 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, TERTSKY. (To them enter NEUMANN, who leads TERTSKY aside, and talks with him.)_ _Tertsky._ What do they want? _Wallenstein._ What now? _Tertsky._ Ten Cuirassiers From Pappenheim request leave to address you In the name of the regiment. _Wallenstein (hastily to Neumann)._ Let them enter. [_Exit NEUMANN._ This May end in something. Mark you. They are still Doubtful, and may be won. 5 SCENE III _WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO, Ten_ Cuirassiers _(led by an_ Anspessade,[745:1] _march up and arrange themselves, after the word of command, in one front before the DUKE, and make their obeisance. He takes his hat off, and immediately covers himself again)._ _Anspessade._ Halt! Front! Present! _Wallenstein (after he has run through them with his eye, to the Anspessade)._ I know thee well. Thou art out of Brüggin in Flanders: Thy name is Mercy. _Anspessade._ Henry Mercy. _Wallenstein._ Thou wert cut off on the march, surrounded by the Hessians, and didst fight thy way with a hundred and 5 eighty men through their thousand. _Anspessade._ 'Twas even so, General! _Wallenstein._ What reward hadst thou for this gallant exploit? _Anspessade._ That which I asked for: the honour to serve in this corps. 10 _Wallenstein (turning to a second)._ Thou wert among the volunteers that seized and made booty of the Swedish battery at Altenburg. _Second Cuirassier._ Yes, General! _Wallenstein._ I forget no one with whom I have exchanged 15 words. (_A pause_). Who sends you? _Anspessade._ Your noble regiment, the Cuirassiers of Piccolomini. _Wallenstein._ Why does not your colonel deliver in your request, according to the custom of service? 20 _Anspessade._ Because we would first know whom we serve. _Wallenstein._ Begin your address. _Anspessade (giving the word of command)._ Shoulder your arms! _Wallenstein (turning to a third)._ Thy name is Risbeck, Cologne is thy birthplace. 25 _Third Cuirassier._ Risbeck of Cologne. _Wallenstein._ It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish colonel, Diebald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg. _Third Cuirassier._ It was not I, General! _Wallenstein._ Perfectly right! It was thy elder brother: 30 thou hadst a younger brother too: Where did he stay? _Third Cuirassier._ He is stationed at Olmutz with the Imperial army. _Wallenstein (to the Anspessade)._ Now then--begin. _Anspessade._ There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 35 Commanding us---- _Wallenstein._ Who chose you? _Anspessade._ Every company Drew its own man by lot. _Wallenstein._ Now! to the business. _Anspessade._ There came to hand a letter from the Emperor Commanding us collectively, from thee All duties of obedience to withdraw, 40 Because thou wert an enemy and traitor. _Wallenstein._ And what did you determine? _Anspessade._ All our comrades At Brannau, Budweiss, Prague and Olmutz, have Obeyed already, and the regiments here, 45 Tiefenbach and Toscana, instantly Did follow their example. But--but we Do not believe that thou art an enemy And traitor to thy country, hold it merely For lie and trick, and a trumped-up Spanish story! 50 Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose is, For we have found thee still sincere and true: No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt The gallant General and the gallant troops. _Wallenstein._ Therein I recognize my Pappenheimers. 55 _Anspessade._ And this proposal makes thy regiment to thee: Is it thy purpose merely to preserve In thy own hands this military sceptre, Which so becomes thee, which the Emperor Made over to thee by a covenant? 60 Is it thy purpose merely to remain Supreme commander of the Austrian armies?-- We will stand by thee, General! and guarantee Thy honest rights against all opposition. And should it chance, that all the other regiments 65 Turn from thee, by ourselves will we stand forth Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty, Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces, Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true, 70 That thou in traitorous wise wilt lead us over To the enemy, which God in heaven forbid! Then we too will forsake thee, and obey That letter---- _Wallenstein._ Hear me, children! _Anspessade._ Yes, or no! There needs no other answer. _Wallenstein._ Yield attention. 75 You're men of sense, examine for yourselves; Ye think, and do not follow with the herd: And therefore have I always shewn you honour Above all others, suffered you to reason; Have treated you as free men, and my orders 80 Were but the echoes of your prior suffrage.-- _Anspessade._ Most fair and noble has thy conduct been To us, my General! With thy confidence Thou hast honoured us, and shewn us grace and favour Beyond all other regiments; and thou seest 85 We follow not the common herd. We will Stand by thee faithfully. Speak but one word-- Thy word shall satisfy us, that it is not A treason which thou meditatest--that Thou meanest not to lead the army over 90 To the enemy; nor e'er betray thy country. _Wallenstein._ Me, me are they betraying. The Emperor Hath sacrificed me to my enemies, And I must fall, unless my gallant troops Will rescue me. See! I confide in you. 95 And be your hearts my strong hold! At this breast The aim is taken, at this hoary head. This is your Spanish gratitude, this is our Requital for that murderous fight at Lutzen! For this we threw the naked breast against 100 The halbert, made for this the frozen earth Our bed, and the hard stone our pillow! never stream Too rapid for us, nor wood too impervious: With cheerful spirit we pursued that Mansfield Through all the turns and windings of his flight; 105 Yea, our whole life was but one restless march; And homeless, as the stirring wind, we travelled O'er the war-wasted earth. And now, even now, That we have well-nigh finished the hard toil, The unthankful, the curse-laden toil of weapons, 110 With faithful indefatigable arm Have rolled the heavy war-load up the hill, Behold! this boy of the Emperor's bears away The honours of the peace, an easy prize! He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks 115 The olive branch, the hard-earn'd ornament Of this grey head, grown grey beneath the helmet. _Anspessade._ That shall he not, while we can hinder it! No one, but thou, who hast conducted it With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war. 120 Thou led'st us out into the bloody field Of death, thou and no other shalt conduct us home, Rejoicing, to the lovely plains of peace-- Shalt share with us the fruits of the long toil-- _Wallenstein._ What? Think you then at length in late old age 125 To enjoy the fruits of toil? Believe it not. Never, no never, will you see the end Of the contest! you and me, and all of us, This war will swallow up! War, war, not peace, Is Austria's wish; and therefore, because I 130 Endeavoured after peace, therefore I fall. For what cares Austria, how long the war Wears out the armies and lays waste the world? She will but wax and grow amid the ruin, And still win new domains. [_The Cuirassiers express agitation by their gestures._ Ye're moved--I see 135 A noble rage flash from your eyes, ye warriors! Oh that my spirit might possess you now Daring as once it led you to the battle! Ye would stand by me with your veteran arms, Protect me in my rights; and this is noble! 140 But think not that you can accomplish it, Your scanty number! to no purpose will you Have sacrificed you for your General. No! let us tread securely, seek for friends; The Swedes have proffered us assistance, let us 145 Wear for a while the appearance of good will, And use them for your profit, till we both Carry the fate of Europe in our hands, And from our camp to the glad jubilant world Lead Peace forth with the garland on her head! 150 _Anspessade._ 'Tis then but mere appearances which thou Dost put on with the Swede? Thou'lt not betray The Emperor? Wilt not turn us into Swedes? This is the only thing which we desire To learn from thee. _Wallenstein._ What care I for the Swedes? 155 I hate them as I hate the pit of hell, And under Providence I trust right soon To chase them to their homes across their Baltic. My cares are only for the whole: I have A heart--it bleeds within me for the miseries 160 And piteous groaning of my fellow-Germans. Ye are but common men, but yet ye think With minds not common; ye appear to me Worthy before all others, that I whisper ye A little word or two in confidence! 165 See now! already for full fifteen years The war-torch has continued burning, yet No rest, no pause of conflict. Swede and German, Papist and Lutheran! neither will give way To the other, every hand's against the other. 170 Each one is party and no one a judge. Where shall this end? Where's he that will unravel This tangle, ever tangling more and more. It must be cut asunder. I feel that I am the man of destiny, 175 And trust, with your assistance, to accomplish it. FOOTNOTES: [745:1] Anspessade, in German, _Gefreiter_, a soldier inferior to a corporal, but above the centinels. The German name implies that he is exempt from mounting guard. LINENOTES: [21] _whom_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [36] _Wallenstein (interrupting him)._ Who chose you? 1800, 1828, 1829. [46] Toscana] Toscano 1828, 1829. [After 50] (_With warmth._) 1800, 1828, 1829. [141] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 143] [_Confidentially._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [147] your] our 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _To these enter BUTLER._ _Butler (passionately)._ General! This is not right! _Wallenstein._ What is not right? _Butler._ It must needs injure us with all honest men. _Wallenstein._ But what? _Butler._ It is an open proclamation Of insurrection. _Wallenstein._ Well, well--but what is it? _Butler._ Count Tertsky's regiments tear the Imperial Eagle 5 From off the banners, and instead of it, Have reared aloft thy arms. _Anspessade (abruptly to the Cuirassiers)._ Right about! March! _Wallenstein._ Cursed be this counsel, and accursed who gave it! [_To the Cuirassiers, who are retiring._ Halt, children, halt! There's some mistake in this; Hark!--I will punish it severely. Stop! 10 They do not hear. (_To ILLO._) Go after them, assure them, And bring them back to me, cost what it may. [_ILLO hurries out._ This hurls us headlong. Butler! Butler! You are my evil genius, wherefore must you Announce it in their presence? It was all 15 In a fair way. They were half won, those madmen With their improvident over-readiness-- A cruel game is fortune playing with me. The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies. 20 SCENE V _To these enter the DUCHESS, who rushes into the Chamber. THEKLA and the COUNTESS follow her._ _Duchess._ O Albrecht! What hast thou done? _Wallenstein._ And now comes this beside. _Countess._ Forgive me, brother! It was not in my power. They know all. _Duchess._ What hast thou done? _Countess (to Tertsky)._ Is there no hope? Is all lost utterly? 5 _Tertsky._ All lost. No hope. Prague in the Emperor's hands, The soldiery have ta'en their oaths anew. _Countess._ That lurking hypocrite. Octavio! Count Max is off too? _Tertsky._ Where can he be? He's Gone over to the Emperor with his father. 10 [_THEKLA rushes out into the arms of her mother, hiding her face in her bosom._ _Duchess (enfolding her in her arms)._ Unhappy child! and more unhappy mother! _Wallenstein (aside to Tertsky)._ Quick! Let a carriage stand in readiness In the court behind the palace. Scherfenberg Be their attendant; he is faithful to us; To Egra he'll conduct them, and we follow. 15 [_To ILLO, who returns._ Thou hast not brought them back? _Illo._ Hear'st thou the uproar? The whole corps of the Pappenheimers is Drawn out: the younger Piccolomini, Their colonel, they require; for they affirm, That he is in the palace here, a prisoner; 20 And if thou dost not instantly deliver him, They will find means to free him with the sword. _Tertsky._ What shall we make of this? _Wallenstein._ Said I not so? O my prophetic heart! he is still here. He has not betrayed me--he could not betray me. 25 I never doubted of it. _Countess._ If he be Still here, then all goes well; for I know what [_Embracing THEKLA._ Will keep him here for ever. _Tertsky._ It can't be. His father has betrayed us, is gone over To the Emperor--the son could not have ventured 30 To stay behind. _Thekla (her eye fixed on the door)._ There he is! LINENOTES: [9] _he_ 1800. [After 22] [_All stand amazed._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _To these enter MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Max._ Yes! here he is! I can endure no longer To creep on tiptoe round this house, and lurk In ambush for a favourable moment. This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers. [_Advancing to THEKLA._ Turn not thine eyes away. O look upon me! 5 Confess it freely before all. Fear no one, Let who will hear that we both love each other. Wherefore continue to conceal it? Secrecy Is for the happy--misery, hopeless misery, Needeth no veil! Beneath a thousand suns 10 It dares act openly. [_He observes the COUNTESS looking on THEKLA with expressions of triumph._ No, Lady! No! Expect not, hope it not. I am not come To stay: to bid farewell, farewell for ever. For this I come! 'Tis over! I must leave thee! Thekla, I must--must leave thee! Yet thy hatred 15 Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me One look of sympathy, only one look. Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me, Thekla! [_Grasps her hand._ O God! I cannot leave this spot--I cannot! Cannot let go this hand. O tell me, Thekla! 20 That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced That I cannot act otherwise. [_THEKLA, avoiding his look, points with her hand to her father. MAX turns round to the DUKE, whom he had not till then perceived._ Thou here? It was not thou, whom here I sought. I trusted never more to have beheld thee. My business is with her alone. Here will I 25 Receive a full acquittal from this heart-- For any other I am no more concerned. _Wallenstein._ Think'st thou, that fool-like, I shall let thee go, And act the mock-magnanimous with thee? Thy father is become a villain to me; 30 I hold thee for his son, and nothing more: Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been given Into my power. Think not, that I will honour That ancient love, which so remorselessly He mangled. They are now past by, those hours 35 Of friendship and forgiveness. Hate and vengeance Succeed--'tis now their turn--I too can throw All feelings of the man aside--can prove Myself as much a monster as thy father! _Max._ Thou wilt proceed with me, as thou hast power. 40 Thou know'st, I neither brave nor fear thy rage. What has detained me here, that too thou know'st. [_Taking THEKLA by the hand._ See, Duke! All--all would I have owed to thee, Would have received from thy paternal hand The lot of blessed spirits. This hast thou 45 Laid waste for ever--that concerns not thee. Indifferent thou tramplest in the dust Their happiness, who most are thine. The god Whom thou dost serve, is no benignant deity. Like as the blind irreconcileable 50 Fierce element, incapable of compact, Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow.[753:1] _Wallenstein._ Thou art describing thy own father's heart. The adder! O, the charms of hell o'erpowered me. He dwelt within me, to my inmost soul 55 Still to and fro he passed, suspected never! On the wide ocean, in the starry heaven Did mine eyes seek the enemy, whom I In my heart's heart had folded! Had I been To Ferdinand what Octavio was to me, 60 War had I ne'er denounced against him. No, I never could have done it. The Emperor was My austere master only, not my friend. There was already war 'twixt him and me When he delivered the Commander's Staff 65 Into my hands; for there's a natural Unceasing war 'twixt cunning and suspicion; Peace exists only betwixt confidence And faith. Who poisons confidence, he murders The future generations. _Max._ I will not 70 Defend my father. Woe is me, I cannot! Hard deeds and luckless have ta'en place, one crime Drags after it the other in close link. But we are innocent: how have we fallen Into this circle of mishap and guilt? 75 To whom have we been faithless? Wherefore must The evil deeds and guilt reciprocal Of our two fathers twine like serpents round us? Why must our fathers' Unconquerable hate rend us asunder, Who love each other? _Wallenstein._ Max, remain with me. 80 Go you not from me, Max! Hark! I will tell thee-- How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou Wert brought into my tent a tender boy, Not yet accustomed to the German winters; Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours; 85 Thou would'st not let them go.-- At that time did I take thee in my arms, And with my mantle did I cover thee; I was thy nurse, no woman could have been A kinder to thee; I was not ashamed 90 To do for thee all little offices, However strange to me; I tended thee Till life returned; and when thine eyes first opened, I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have I Altered my feelings towards thee? Many thousands 95 Have I made rich, presented them with lands; Rewarded them with dignities and honours; Thee have I loved: my heart, my self, I gave To thee! They all were aliens: thou wert Our child and inmate.[755:1] Max! Thou canst not leave me; 100 It cannot be; I may not, will not think That Max can leave me. _Max._ O my God! _Wallenstein._ I have Held and sustained thee from thy tottering childhood. What holy bond is there of natural love? What human tie, that does not knit thee to me? 105 I love thee, Max! What did thy father for thee, Which I too have not done, to the height of duty? Go hence, forsake me, serve thy Emperor; He will reward thee with a pretty chain Of gold; with his ram's fleece will he reward thee; 110 For that the friend, the father of thy youth, For that the holiest feeling of humanity, Was nothing worth to thee. _Max._ O God! how can I Do otherwise? Am I not forced to do it? My oath--my duty--honour-- _Wallenstein._ How? Thy duty? 115 Duty to whom? Who art thou? Max! bethink thee What duties may'st thou have? If I am acting A criminal part toward the Emperor, It is my crime, not thine. Dost thou belong To thine own self? Art thou thine own commander? 120 Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the world, That in thy actions thou should'st plead free agency? On me thou'rt planted, I am thy Emperor; To obey me, to belong to me, this is Thy honour, this a law of nature to thee! 125 And if the planet, on the which thou liv'st And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit starts, It is not in thy choice, whether or no Thou'lt follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee onward Together with his ring and all his moons. 130 With little guilt stepp'st thou into this contest, Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee, For that thou heldst thy friend more worth to thee Than names and influences more removed. For justice is the virtue of the ruler, 135 Affection and fidelity the subject's. Not every one doth it beseem to question The far-off high Arcturus. Most securely Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty--let The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star. 140 FOOTNOTES: [753:1] I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear that I should not have done amiss, had I taken this liberty more frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original with a literal translation. Weh denen die auf dich vertraun, an Dich Die sichre Hütte ihres Glückes lehnen, Gelockt von deiner gastlichen Gestalt. Schnell, unverhofft, bei nächtlich stiller Weile Gährt's in dem tückschen Feuerschlunde, ladet Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg Treibt über alle Pflanzungen der Menschen Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstörung. WALLENSTEIN. Du schilderst deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide, In dieser schwarzen Heuchlersbrust gestaltet. O mich hat Höllenkunst getäuscht. Mir sandte Der Abgrund den verstecktesten der Geister, Den Lügekundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn Als Freund an meine Seite. Wer vermag Der Hölle Macht zu widerstehn! Ich zog Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen, Mit meinem Herzblut nährt' ich ihn, er sog Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Brüsten. Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn, Weit offen Hess ich des Gedankens Thore, Und warf die Schlüssel weiser Vorsicht weg, Am Sternenhimmel, &c. LITERAL TRANSLATION. Alas! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean the secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the treacherous gulf of fire; it discharges itself with raging force, and away over all the plantations of men drives the wild stream in frightful devastation. WALLENSTEIN. Thou art portraying thy father's heart; as thou describest, even so is it shaped in his entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. O, the art of hell has deceived me! The Abyss sent up to me the most spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. Who may withstand the power of hell? I took the basilisk to my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished him; he sucked himself glutfull at the breasts of my love. I never harboured evil towards him; wide open did I leave the door of my thoughts; I threw away the key of wise foresight. In the starry heaven, &c.--We find a difficulty in believing this to have been written by Schiller. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines, which it is difficult to believe that Schiller could have written. _1834_. [755:1] This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate simplicity of the original-- Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, _Du_ warst Das Kind des Hauses. Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger. _O si sic omnia!_ LINENOTES: [After 4] [_Advancing to THEKLA, who has thrown herself into her mother's arms._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [14] _must_ leave 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 40] _Max (calmly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [60] _Ferdinand . . . me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [98] _lov'd_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [117] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [124] _me . . . belong_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VII _To these enter NEUMANN._ _Wallenstein._ What now? _Neumann._ The Pappenheimers are dismounted, And are advancing now on foot, determined With sword in hand to storm the house, and free The Count, their colonel. _Wallenstein (to Tertsky)._ Have the cannon planted. I will receive them with chain-shot. [_Exit TERTSKY._ 5 Prescribe to me with sword in hand! Go, Neumann! 'Tis my command that they retreat this moment, And in their ranks in silence wait my pleasure. [_NEUMANN exit. ILLO steps to the window._ _Countess._ Let him go, I entreat thee, let him go. _Illo (at the window)._ Hell and perdition! _Wallenstein._ What is it? 10 _Illo._ They scale the council-house, the roof's uncovered. They level at this house the cannon---- _Max._ Madmen! _Illo._ They are making preparations now to fire on us. _Duchess and Countess._ Merciful Heaven! _Max (to Wallenstein)._ Let me go to them! _Wallenstein._ Not a step! _Max (pointing to Thekla and the Duchess)._ But their life! Thine! 15 _Wallenstein._ What tidings bring'st thou, Tertsky? SCENE VIII _To these TERTSKY (returning)._ _Tertsky._ Message and greeting from our faithful regiments. Their ardour may no longer be curbed in. They intreat permission to commence the attack, And if thou would'st but give the word of onset, They could now charge the enemy in rear, 5 Into the city wedge them, and with ease O'erpower them in the narrow streets. _Illo._ O come! Let not their ardour cool. The soldiery Of Butler's corps stand by us faithfully; We are the greater number. Let us charge them, 10 And finish here in Pilsen the revolt. _Wallenstein._ What? shall this town become a field of slaughter, And brother-killing Discord, fire-eyed, Be let loose through its streets to roam and rage? Shall the decision be delivered over 15 To deaf remorseless Rage, that hears no leader? Here is not room for battle, only for butchery. Well, let it be! I have long thought of it, So let it burst then! [_Turns to MAX._ Well, how is it with thee? Wilt thou attempt a heat with me. Away! 20 Thou art free to go. Oppose thyself to me, Front against front, and lead them to the battle; Thou'rt skilled in war, thou hast learned somewhat under me, I need not be ashamed of my opponent, And never had'st thou fairer opportunity 25 To pay me for thy schooling. _Countess._ Is it then, Can it have come to this?--What! Cousin, Cousin! Have you the heart? _Max._ The regiments that are trusted to my care I have pledged my troth to bring away from Pilsen 30 True to the Emperor, and this promise will I Make good, or perish. More than this no duty Requires of me. I will not fight against thee, Unless compelled; for though an enemy, Thy head is holy to me still. 35 [_Two reports of cannon. ILLO and TERTSKY hurry to the window._ _Wallenstein._ What's that? _Tertsky._ He falls. _Wallenstein._ Falls! Who? _Illo._ Tiefenbach's corps Discharged the ordnance. _Wallenstein._ Upon whom? _Illo._ On Neumann, Your messenger. _Wallenstein (starting up)._ Ha! Death and hell! I will-- _Tertsky._ Expose thyself to their blind frenzy? _Duchess and Countess._ No! For God's sake, no! _Illo._ Not yet, my General! 40 _Countess._ O, hold him! hold him! _Wallenstein._ Leave me---- _Max._ Do it not Not yet! This rash and bloody deed has thrown them Into a frenzy-fit--allow them time---- _Wallenstein._ Away! too long already have I loitered. They are emboldened to these outrages, 45 Beholding not my face. They shall behold My countenance, shall hear my voice---- Are they not my troops? Am I not their General, And their long-feared commander? Let me see, Whether indeed they do no longer know 50 That countenance, which was their sun in battle! From the balcony (mark!) I shew myself To these rebellious forces, and at once Revolt is mounded, and the high-swoln current Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience. 55 [_Exit WALLENSTEIN; ILLO, TERTSKY, and BUTLER follow._ LINENOTES: [48] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _COUNTESS, DUCHESS, MAX, and THEKLA._ _Countess (to the Duchess)._ Let them but see him--there is hope still, sister. _Duchess._ Hope! I have none! _Max (who during the last scene has been standing at a distance, advances)._ This can I not endure. With most determined soul did I come hither, My purposed action seemed unblameable To my own conscience--and I must stand here 5 Like one abhorred, a hard inhuman being; Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love! Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish, Whom I with one word can make happy--O! My heart revolts within me, and two voices 10 Make themselves audible within my bosom. My soul's benighted; I no longer can Distinguish the right track. O, well and truly Didst thou say, father, I relied too much On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro-- 15 I know not what to do. _Countess._ What! you know not? Does not your own heart tell you? O! then I Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, A frightful traitor to us--he has plotted Against our General's life, has plunged us all 20 In misery--and you're his son! 'Tis yours To make the amends--Make you the son's fidelity Outweigh the father's treason, that the name Of Piccolomini be not a proverb Of infamy, a common form of cursing 25 To the posterity of Wallenstein. _Max._ Where is that voice of truth which I dare follow? It speaks no longer in my heart. We all But utter what our passionate wishes dictate: O that an angel would descend from Heaven, 30 And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light. [_His eyes glance on THEKLA._ What other angel seek I? To this heart, To this unerring heart, will I submit it, Will ask thy love, which has the power to bless 35 The happy man alone, averted ever From the disquieted and guilty--canst thou Still love me, if I stay? Say that thou canst, And I am the Duke's---- _Countess._ Think, niece---- _Max._ Think nothing, Thekla! Speak what thou feelest. _Countess._ Think upon your father. 40 _Max._ I did not question thee, as Friedland's daughter. Thee, the beloved and the unerring god Within thy heart, I question. What's at stake? Not whether diadem of royalty Be to be won or not--that might'st thou think on. 45 Thy friend, and his soul's quiet, are at stake; The fortune of a thousand gallant men, Who will all follow me; shall I forswear My oath and duty to the Emperor? Say, shall I send into Octavio's camp 50 The parricidal ball? For when the ball Has left its cannon, and is on its flight, It is no longer a dead instrument! It lives, a spirit passes into it, The avenging furies seize possession of it, 55 And with sure malice guide it the worst way. _Thekla._ O! Max---- _Max._ Nay, not precipitately either, Thekla. I understand thee. To thy noble heart The hardest duty might appear the highest. The human, not the great part, would I act. 60 Ev'n from my childhood to this present hour, Think what the Duke has done for me, how loved me, And think too, how my father has repaid him. O likewise the free lovely impulses Of hospitality, the pious friend's 65 Faithful attachment, these too are a holy Religion to the heart; and heavily The shudderings of nature do avenge Themselves on the barbarian that insults them. Lay all upon the balance, all--then speak, 70 And let thy heart decide it. _Thekla._ O, thy own Hath long ago decided. Follow thou Thy heart's first feeling---- _Countess._ Oh! ill-fated woman! _Thekla._ Is it possible, that that can be the right, The which thy tender heart did not at first 75 Detect and seize with instant impulse? Go, Fulfil thy duty! I should ever love thee. Whate'er thou had'st chosen, thou would'st still have acted Nobly and worthy of thee--but repentance Shall ne'er disturb thy soul's fair peace. _Max._ Then I 80 Must leave thee, must part from thee! _Thekla._ Being faithful To thine own self, thou art faithful too to me: If our fates part, our hearts remain united. A bloody hatred will divide for ever The houses Piccolomini and Friedland; 85 But we belong not to our houses--Go! Quick! quick! and separate thy righteous cause From our unholy and unblessed one! The curse of heaven lies upon our head: 'Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me 90 My father's guilt drags with it to perdition. Mourn not for me: My destiny will quickly be decided. [_MAX clasps her in his arms. There is heard from behind the Scene a loud, wild, long continued cry, 'Vivat Ferdinandus,' accompanied by warlike instruments._ LINENOTES: [Before 3] _Max (who . . . distance in a visible struggle of feelings, advances)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [22] _amends_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [23] _Outweigh_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [37] _can'st_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [40] _feelest_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [45] _think_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [46] _his_ _1800_.] [57] _Max (interrupting her)._ Nay, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 92] [_MAX . . . in extreme emotion. There is . . . instruments. MAX and THEKLA remain without motion in each other's embraces._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE X _To these enter TERTSKY._ _Countess (meeting him)._ What meant that cry? What was it? _Tertsky._ All is lost! _Countess._ What! they regarded not his countenance? _Tertsky._ 'Twas all in vain. _Duchess._ They shouted Vivat! _Tertsky._ To the Emperor. _Countess._ The traitors! _Tertsky._ Nay! he was not once permitted Even to address them. Soon as he began, 5 With deafening noise of warlike instruments They drowned his words. But here he comes. SCENE XI _To these enter WALLENSTEIN, accompanied by ILLO and BUTLER._ _Wallenstein (as he enters)._ Tertsky! _Tertsky._ My General? _Wallenstein._ Let our regiments hold themselves In readiness to march; for we shall leave Pilsen ere evening. [_Exit TERTSKY._ Butler! _Butler._ Yes, my General. _Wallenstein._ The Governor at Egra is your friend 5 And countryman. Write to him instantly By a Post Courier. He must be advised, That we are with him early on the morrow. You follow us yourself, your regiment with you. _Butler._ It shall be done, my General! _Wallenstein (steps between Max and Thekla)._ Part! _Max._ O God! 10 [Cuirassiers _enter with drawn swords, and assemble in the back-ground. At the same time there are heard from below some spirited passages out of the Pappenheim March, which seem to address MAX._ _Wallenstein (to the Cuirassiers)._ Here he is, he is at liberty: I keep him No longer. [_He turns away, and stands so that MAX cannot pass by him nor approach the PRINCESS._ _Max._ Thou know'st that I have not yet learnt to live Without thee! I go forth into a desert, Leaving my all behind me. O do not turn 15 Thine eyes away from me! O once more shew me Thy ever dear and honoured countenance. [_MAX attempts to take his hand, but is repelled; he turns to the COUNTESS._ Is there no eye that has a look of pity for me? [_The COUNTESS turns away from him; he turns to the DUCHESS._ My mother! _Duchess._ Go where duty calls you. Haply The time may come, when you may prove to us 20 A true friend, a good angel at the throne Of the Emperor. _Max._ You give me hope; you would not Suffer me wholly to despair. No! No! Mine is a certain misery--Thanks to heaven That offers me a means of ending it. 25 [_The military music begins again. The stage fills more and more with armed men. MAX sees BUTLER, and addresses him._ And you here, Colonel Butler--and will you Not follow me? Well, then! remain more faithful To your new lord, than you have proved yourself To the Emperor. Come, Butler! promise me, Give me your hand upon it, that you'll be 30 The guardian of his life, its shield, its watchman. He is attainted, and his princely head Fair booty for each slave that trades in murder. Now he doth need the faithful eye of friendship, And those whom here I see-- [_Casting suspicious looks on ILLO and BUTLER._ _Illo._ Go--seek for traitors 35 In Galas', in your father's quarters. Here Is only one. Away! away! and free us From his detested sight! Away! [_MAX attempts once more to approach THEKLA. WALLENSTEIN prevents him. MAX stands irresolute, and in apparent anguish. In the mean time the stage fills more and more; and the horns sound from below louder and louder, and each time after a shorter interval._ _Max._ Blow, blow! O were it but the Swedish Trumpets, And all the naked swords, which I see here, 40 Were plunged into my breast! What purpose you? You come to tear me from this place! Beware, Ye drive me not in desperation.--Do it not! Ye may repent it! [_The stage is entirely filled with armed men._ Yet more! weight upon weight to drag me down! 45 Think what ye're doing. It is not well done To choose a man despairing for your leader; You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark! For your own ruin you have chosen me: 50 Who goes with me, must be prepared to perish. [_He turns to the background, there ensues a sudden and violent movement among the_ Cuirassiers; _they surround him, and carry him off in wild tumult. WALLENSTEIN remains immovable. THEKLA sinks into her mother's arms. The curtain falls. The music becomes loud and overpowering, and passes into a complete war-march--the orchestra joins it--and continues during the interval between the second and third Act._ LINENOTES: [10] _Wallenstein (steps between Max and Thekla, who have remained during this time in each others arms)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT III SCENE I _The_ Burgomaster's _House at Egra._ _BUTLER._ _Butler._ Here then he is, by his destiny conducted. Here, Friedland! and no farther! From Bohemia Thy meteor rose, traversed the sky awhile, And here upon the borders of Bohemia Must sink. Thou hast forsworn the ancient colours, 5 Blind man! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes. Profaner of the altar and the hearth, Against thy Emperor and fellow-citizens Thou mean'st to wage the war. Friedland, beware-- The evil spirit of revenge impels thee-- 10 Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee not! LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Butler (just arrived)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _BUTLER and GORDON._ _Gordon._ Is it you? How my heart sinks! The Duke a fugitive traitor! His princely head attainted! O my God! _Butler._ You have received the letter which I sent you By a post-courier? _Gordon._ Yes! and in obedience to it 5 Opened the strong hold to him without scruple. For an imperial letter orders me To follow your commands implicitly. But yet forgive me; when even now I saw The Duke himself, my scruples recommenced. 10 For truly, not like an attainted man, Into this town did Friedland make his entrance; His wonted majesty beamed from his brow, And calm, as in the days when all was right, Did he receive from me the accounts of office; 15 'Tis said, that fallen pride learns condescension: But sparing and with dignity the Duke Weighed every syllable of approbation, As masters praise a servant who has done His duty, and no more. _Butler._ 'Tis all precisely 20 As I related in my letter. Friedland Has sold the army to the enemy, And pledged himself to give up Prague and Egra. On this report the regiments all forsook him, The five excepted that belong to Tertsky, 25 And which have followed him, as thou hast seen. The sentence of attainder is passed on him, And every loyal subject is required To give him in to justice, dead or living. _Gordon._ A traitor to the Emperor--Such a noble! 30 Of such high talents! What is human greatness! I often said, this can't end happily. His might, his greatness, and this obscure power Are but a covered pit-fall. The human being May not be trusted to self-government. 35 The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks Of ancient custom, are all necessary To keep him in the road of faith and duty. The authority entrusted to this man Was unexampled and unnatural 40 It placed him on a level with his Emperor, Till the proud soul unlearned submission. Wo is me; I mourn for him! for where he fell, I deem Might none stand firm. Alas! dear General, We in our lucky mediocrity 45 Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate, What dangerous wishes such a height may breed In the heart of such a man. _Butler._ Spare your laments Till he need sympathy; for at this present He is still mighty, and still formidable. 50 The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches, And quickly will the junction be accomplished. This must not be! The Duke must never leave This strong hold on free footing; for I have Pledged life and honour here to hold him prisoner, 55 And your assistance 'tis on which I calculate. _Gordon._ O that I had not lived to see this day! From his hand I received this dignity, He did himself entrust this strong hold to me, Which I am now required to make his dungeon. 60 We subalterns have no will of our own: The free, the mighty man alone may listen To the fair impulse of his human nature. Ah! we are but the poor tools of the law, Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at! 65 _Butler._ Nay, let it not afflict you, that your power Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error! The narrow path of duty is securest. _Gordon._ And all then have deserted him, you say? He has built up the luck of many thousands; 70 For kingly was his spirit: his full hand Was ever open! Many a one from dust Hath he selected, from the very dust Hath raised him into dignity and honour. And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased, 75 Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour. _Butler._ Here's one, I see. _Gordon._ I have enjoyed from him No grace or favour. I could almost doubt, If ever in his greatness he once thought on An old friend of his youth. For still my office 80 Kept me at distance from him; and when first He to this citadel appointed me, He was sincere and serious in his duty. I do not then abuse his confidence, If I preserve my fealty in that 85 Which to my fealty was first delivered. _Butler._ Say, then, will you fulfil the attainder on him? _Gordon._ If it be so--if all be as you say-- If he've betrayed the Emperor, his master, Have sold the troops, have purposed to deliver 90 The strong holds of the country to the enemy-- Yea, truly!---there is no redemption for him! Yet it is hard, that me the lot should destine To be the instrument of his perdition; For we were pages at the court of Bergau 95 At the same period; but I was the senior. _Butler._ I have heard so---- _Gordon._ 'Tis full thirty years since then. A youth who scarce had seen his twentieth year Was Wallenstein, when he and I were friends: Yet even then he had a daring soul: 100 His frame of mind was serious and severe Beyond his years: his dreams were of great objects. He walked amidst us of a silent spirit, Communing with himself: yet I have known him Transported on a sudden into utterance 105 Of strange conceptions; kindling into splendour His soul revealed itself, and he spake so That we looked round perplexed upon each other, Not knowing whether it were craziness, Or whether it were a god that spoke in him. 110 _Butler._ But was it where he fell two story high From a window-ledge, on which he had fallen asleep; And rose up free from injury? From this day (It is reported) he betrayed clear marks Of a distempered fancy. _Gordon._ He became 115 Doubtless more self-enwrapt and melancholy; He made himself a Catholic. Marvellously His marvellous preservation had transformed him. Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted And privileged being, and, as if he were 120 Incapable of dizziness or fall, He ran along the unsteady rope of life. But now our destinies drove us asunder: He paced with rapid step the way of greatness, Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, and Dictator. 125 And now is all, all this too little for him; He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, And plunges in unfathomable ruin. _Butler._ No more, he comes. LINENOTES: [After 72] [_With a sly glance on BUTLER._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 88] _Gordon (pauses reflecting--then as in deep dejection)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE III _To these enter WALLENSTEIN, in conversation with the_ Burgomaster _of Egra._ _Wallenstein._ You were at one time a free town. I see, Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. Why the half eagle only? _Burgomaster._ We were free, But for these last two hundred years has Egra Remained in pledge to the Bohemian crown, 5 Therefore we bear the half eagle, the other half Being cancelled till the empire ransom us, If ever that should be. _Wallenstein._ Ye merit freedom. Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears To no designing whispering court-minions. 10 What may your imposts be? _Burgomaster._ So heavy that We totter under them. The garrison Lives at our costs. _Wallenstein._ I will relieve you. Tell me, There are some Protestants among you still? [_The_ Burgomaster _hesitates._ Yes, yes; I know it. Many lie concealed 15 Within these walls--Confess now--you yourself-- Be not alarmed. I hate the Jesuits. Could my will have determined it, they had Been long ago expelled the empire. Trust me-- Mass-book or Bible--'tis all one to me. 20 Of that the world has had sufficient proof. I built a church for the reformed in Glogan At my own instance. Hark'e, Burgomaster! What is your name? _Burgomaster._ Pachhälbel, may it please you. _Wallenstein._ Hark'e!---- 25 But let it go no further, what I now Disclose to you in confidence. [_Laying his hand on the_ Burgomaster's _shoulder._ The times Draw near to their fulfilment, Burgomaster! The high will fall, the low will be exalted. Hark'e! But keep it to yourself! The end 30 Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy-- A new arrangement is at hand. You saw The three moons that appeared at once in the Heaven. _Burgomaster._ With wonder and affright! _Wallenstein._ Whereof did two Strangely transform themselves to bloody daggers. 35 And only one, the middle moon, remained Steady and clear. _Burgomaster._ We applied it to the Turks. _Wallenstein._ The Turks! That all?--I tell you, that two empires Will set in blood, in the East and in the West, And Luth'ranism alone remain. [_Observing GORDON and BUTLER._ I'faith, 40 'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard This evening, as we journeyed hitherward; 'Twas on our left hand. Did you hear it here? _Gordon._ Distinctly. The wind brought it from the South. _Butler._ It seemed to come from Weiden or from Neustadt. 45 _Wallenstein._ Tis likely. That's the route the Swedes are taking. How strong is the garrison? _Gordon._ Not quite two hundred Competent men, the rest are invalids. _Wallenstein._ Good! And how many in the vale of Jochim? _Gordon._ Two hundred arquebussiers have I sent thither 50 To fortify the posts against the Swedes. _Wallenstein._ Good! I commend your foresight. At the works too You have done somewhat? _Gordon._ Two additional batteries I caused to be run up. They were needless. The Rhinegrave presses hard upon us, General! 55 _Wallenstein._ You have been watchful in your Emperor's service. I am content with you, Lieutenant-Colonel. [_To BUTLER._ Release the outposts in the vale of Jochim With all the stations in the enemy's route. [_To GORDON._ Governor, in your faithful hands I leave 60 My wife, my daughter, and my sister. I Shall make no stay here, and wait but the arrival Of letters, to take leave of you, together With all the regiments. LINENOTES: [2] _half_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 16] [_Fixes his eye on him. The_ Burgomaster _alarmed._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [27] Disclose to you in confidence. [_Laying . . . shoulder with a certain solemnity._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _To these enter COUNT TERTSKY._ _Tertsky._ Joy, General; joy! I bring you welcome tidings. _Wallenstein._ And what may they be? _Tertsky._ There has been an engagement At Neustadt; the Swedes gained the victory. _Wallenstein._ From whence did you receive the intelligence? _Tertsky._ A countryman from Tirschenseil conveyed it. 5 Soon after sunrise did the fight begin! A troop of the Imperialists from Fachau Had forced their way into the Swedish camp; The cannonade continued full two hours; There were left dead upon the field a thousand 10 Imperialists, together with their Colonel; Further than this he did not know. _Wallenstein._ How came Imperial troops at Neustadt? Altringer, But yesterday, stood sixty miles from there. Count Galas' force collects at Frauenberg, 15 And have not the full complement. Is it possible, That Suys perchance had ventured so far onward? It cannot be. _Tertsky._ We shall soon know the whole, For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous. SCENE V _To these enter ILLO._ _Illo (to Wallenstein)._ A courier, Duke! he wishes to speak with thee. _Tertsky._ Does he bring confirmation of the victory? _Wallenstein._ What does he bring? Whence comes he? _Illo._ From the Rhinegrave. And what he brings I can announce to you Beforehand. Seven leagues distant are the Swedes; 5 At Neustadt did Max Piccolomini Throw himself on them with the cavalry; A murderous fight took place! o'erpower'd by numbers The Pappenheimers all, with Max their leader, Were left dead on the field. 10 _Wallenstein (after a pause)._ Where is the messenger? Conduct me to him. [_WALLENSTEIN is going, when LADY NEUBRUNN rushes into the room. Some servants follow her and run across the stage._ _Neubrunn._ Help! Help! _Illo and Tertsky (at the same time)._ What now? _Neubrunn._ The Princess! _Wallenstein and Tertsky._ Does she know it? _Neubrunn._ She is dying! [_Hurries off the stage, when WALLENSTEIN and TERTSKY follow her._ LINENOTES: [Before 2] _Tertsky (eagerly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 3] _Wallenstein (at the same time)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 9] [_WALLENSTEIN shudders and turns pale._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 11] _Wallenstein (after a pause, in a low voice)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [13] _Neubrunn (at the same time with them)._ She is dying! 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _BUTLER and GORDON._ _Gordon._ What's this? _Butler._ She has lost the man she lov'd-- Young Piccolomini, who fell in the battle. _Gordon._ Unfortunate Lady! _Butler._ You have heard what Illo Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors, And marching hitherward. _Gordon._ Too well I heard it. 5 _Butler._ They are twelve regiments strong, and there are five Close by us to protect the Duke. We have Only my single regiment; and the garrison Is not two hundred strong. _Gordon._ 'Tis even so. _Butler._ It is not possible with such small force 10 To hold in custody a man like him. _Gordon._ I grant it. _Butler._ Soon the numbers would disarm us. And liberate him. _Gordon._ It were to be feared. _Butler (after a pause)._ Know, I am warranty for the event; With my head have I pledged myself for his, 15 Must make my word good, cost it what it will, And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner, Why--death makes all things certain! _Gordon._ Butler! What? Do I understand you? Gracious God! You could-- _Butler._ He must not live. _Gordon._ And you can do the deed! 20 _Butler._ Either you or I. This morning was his last. _Gordon._ You would assassinate him. _Butler._ 'Tis my purpose. _Gordon._ Who leans with his whole confidence upon you! _Butler._ Such is his evil destiny! _Gordon._ Your General! The sacred person of your General! 25 _Butler._ My General he has been. _Gordon._ That 'tis only A '_has been_' washes out no villainy. And without judgment passed? _Butler._ The execution Is here instead of judgment. _Gordon._ This were murder, Not justice. The most guilty should be heard. 30 _Butler._ His guilt is clear, the Emperor has passed judgment, And we but execute his will. _Gordon._ We should not Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. A word may be recalled, a life can never be. _Butler._ Dispatch in service pleases sovereigns. 35 _Gordon._ No honest man's ambitious to press forward To the hangman's service. _Butler._ And no brave man loses His colour at a daring enterprize. _Gordon._ A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience. _Butler._ What then? Shall he go forth anew to kindle 40 The unextinguishable flame of war? _Gordon._ Seize him, and hold him prisoner--do not kill him. _Butler._ Had not the Emperor's army been defeated, I might have done so.--But 'tis now past by. _Gordon._ O, wherefore opened I the strong hold to him! 45 _Butler._ His destiny and not the place destroys him. _Gordon._ Upon these ramparts, as beseemed a soldier, I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel! _Butler._ Yes! and a thousand gallant men have perished. _Gordon._ Doing their duty--that adorns the man! 50 But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it. _Butler (brings out a paper)._ Here is the manifesto which commands us To gain possession of his person. See-- It is addressed to you as well as me. Are you content to take the consequences, 55 If through our fault he escape to the enemy? _Gordon._ I?--Gracious God! _Butler._ Take it on yourself. Let come of it what may, on you I lay it. _Gordon._ O God in heaven! _Butler._ Can you advise aught else Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose? 60 Say if you can. For I desire his fall, Not his destruction. _Gordon._ Merciful heaven! what must be I see as clear as you. Yet still the heart Within my bosom beats with other feelings! _Butler._ Mine is of harder stuff! Necessity 65 In her rough school hath steeled me. And this Illo And Tertsky likewise, they must not survive him. _Gordon._ I feel no pang for these. Their own bad hearts Impelled them, not the influence of the stars. 'Twas they who strewed the seeds of evil passions 70 In his calm breast, and with officious villainy Watered and nursed the pois'nous plants. May they Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite! _Butler._ And their death shall precede his! We meant to have taken them alive this evening 75 Amid the merry-making of a feast, And kept them prisoners in the citadels. But this makes shorter work. I go this instant To give the necessary orders. LINENOTES: [19] _You_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [20] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _has been_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [58] Come of it what it may, on you I lay it. 1800, 1828, 1829. [77] kept] keep 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VII _To these enter ILLO and TERTSKY._ _Tertsky._ Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come The Swedes--twelve thousand gallant warriors, Illo! Then straightways for Vienna. Cheerily, friend! What! meet such news with such a moody face? _Illo._ It lies with us at present to prescribe 5 Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitors, Those skulking cowards that deserted us; One has already done his bitter penance The Piccolomini, be his the fate Of all who wish us evil! This flies sure 10 To the old man's heart; he has his whole life long Fretted and toiled to raise his ancient house From a Count's title to the name of Prince; And now must seek a grave for his only son. _Butler._ 'Twas pity though! A youth of such heroic 15 And gentle temperament! The Duke himself, 'Twas easily seen, how near it went to his heart. _Illo._ Hark'e, old friend! That is the very point That never pleased me in our General-- He ever gave the preference to the Italians. 20 Yea, at this very moment, by my soul! He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over, Could he thereby recall his friend to life. _Tertsky._ Hush, hush! Let the dead rest! This evening's business Is, who can fairly drink the other down-- 25 Your regiment, Illo! gives the entertainment. Come! we will keep a merry carnival-- The night for once be day, and mid full glasses Will we expect the Swedish Avantgarde. _Illo._ Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day, 30 For there's hot work before us, friends! This sword Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to the hilt In Austrian blood. _Gordon._ Shame, shame! what talk is this, My Lord Field Marshal? Wherefore foam you so Against your Emperor? _Butler._ Hope not too much 35 From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs! How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns; The Emperor still is formidably strong. _Illo._ The Emperor has soldiers, no commander, For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 40 Is but a tyro. Galas? He's no luck, And was of old the ruiner of armies. And then this viper, this Octavio, Is excellent at stabbing in the back, But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field. 45 _Tertsky._ Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed; Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the Duke! And only under Wallenstein can Austria Be conqueror. _Illo._ The Duke will soon assemble A mighty army, all come crowding, streaming 50 To banners dedicate by destiny To fame and prosperous fortune. I behold Old times come back again, he will become Once more the mighty Lord which he has been. How will the fools, who've now deserted him, 55 Look then? I can't but laugh to think of them, For lands will he present to all his friends, And like a King and Emperor reward True services; but we've the nearest claims. [_To GORDON._ You will not be forgotten, Governor! 60 He'll take you from this nest and bid you shine In higher station: your fidelity Well merits it. _Gordon._ I am content already, And wish to climb no higher; where great height is The fall must needs be great. 'Great height, great depth.' 65 _Illo._ Here you have no more business for to-morrow; The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. Come, Tertsky, it is supper-time. What think you? Say, shall we have the State illuminated In honour of the Swede? And who refuses 70 To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. _Tertsky._ Nay! Nay! not that, it will not please the Duke-- _Illo._ What! we are masters here; no soul shall dare Avow himself imperial where we've rule. Gordon! Good night, and for the last time, take 75 A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles To make secure, the watch-word may be altered At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys To the Duke himself, and then you're quit for ever Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow 80 The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. _Tertsky (as he is going, to Butler)._ You come though to the castle. _Butler._ At the right time. [_Exeunt TERTSKY and ILLO._ LINENOTES: [50] come] comes 1800, 1828, 1829. [74] Avow himself imperial where we've the rule. 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VIII _GORDON and BUTLER._ _Gordon (looking after them)._ Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding! They rush into the outspread net of murder, In the blind drunkenness of victory; I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, This overflowing and fool-hardy villain 5 That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood. _Butler._ Do as he ordered you. Send round patroles. Take measures for the citadel's security; When they are within I close the castle gate That nothing may transpire. _Gordon._ Oh! haste not so! 10 Nay, stop; first tell me---- _Butler._ You have heard already, To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night Alone is ours. They make good expedition. But we will make still greater. Fare you well. _Gordon._ Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, 15 I pray you, promise me! _Butler._ The sun has set; A fateful evening doth descend upon us, And brings on their long night! Their evil stars Deliver them unarmed into our hands. And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 20 The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, The Duke was ever a great calculator; His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, To move and station, as his game required. Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 25 Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of it: Still calculating, calculating still; And yet at last his calculation proves Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo! His own life will be found among the forfeits. 30 _Gordon._ O think not of his errors now; remember His greatness, his munificence, think on all The lovely features of his character, On all the noble exploits of his life, And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen 35 Arrest the lifted sword. _Butler._ It is too late. I suffer not myself to feel compassion, Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now: [_Grasping GORDON'S hand._ Gordon! 'Tis not my hatred (I pretend not To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him) 40 Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate. Hostile concurrences of many events Control and subjugate me to the office. In vain the human being meditates 45 Free action. He is but the wire-worked[777:1] puppet Of the blind power, which out of his own choice Creates for him a dread necessity. What too would it avail him, if there were A something pleading for him in my heart-- 50 Still I must kill him. _Gordon._ If your heart speak to you, Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God. Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous Bedewed with blood--his blood? Believe it not! _Butler._ You know not. Ask not! Wherefore should it happen, 55 That the Swedes gained the victory, and hasten With such forced marches hitherward? Fain would I Have given him to the Emperor's mercy.--Gordon! I do not wish his blood--But I must ransom The honour of my word--it lies in pledge-- 60 And he must die, or---- [_Passionately grasping GORDON'S hand._ Listen then, and know! I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us. _Gordon._ O! to save such a man---- _Butler._ What! _Gordon._ It is worth A sacrifice.--Come, friend! Be noble-minded! Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, 65 Forms our true honour. _Butler._ He is a great Lord, This Duke--and I am but of mean importance. This is what you would say? Wherein concerns it The world at large, you mean to hint to me, Whether the man of low extraction keeps 70 Or blemishes his honour-- So that the man of princely rank be saved. We all do stamp our value on ourselves. The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. There does not live on earth the man so stationed, 75 That I despise myself compared with him. Man is made great or little by his own will; Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies. _Gordon._ I am endeavouring to move a rock. Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 80 I cannot hinder you, but may some God Rescue him from you! [_Exit GORDON._ FOOTNOTES: [777:1] We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a sentiment in the mouth of any character.--T[RANSLATOR]. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. LINENOTES: [10] _Gordon (with earnest anxiety)._ Oh! &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. [38] _duty_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [62] _dishonour'd_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [66] _Butler (with a cold and haughty air)._ He is, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _Butler (alone)._ I treasured my good name all my life long; The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon! He prizes above all his fealty; His conscious soul accuses him of nothing; 5 In opposition to his own soft heart He subjugates himself to an iron duty. Me in a weaker moment passion warped; I stand beside him, and must feel myself The worst man of the two. What though the world 10 Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet One man does know it, and can prove it too-- High-minded Piccolomini! There lives the man who can dishonour me! This ignominy blood alone can cleanse! 15 Duke Friedland, thou or I--Into my own hands Fortune delivers me--The dearest thing a man has is himself. (_The curtain drops._) LINENOTES: [12] _One_ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT IV SCENE I SCENE--_BUTLER'S Chamber._ _BUTLER, and MAJOR GERALDIN._ _Butler._ Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes, For there must be no firing---- Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room, And soon as the dessert is served up, rush all in And cry--Who is loyal to the Emperor? 5 I will overturn the table--while you attack Illo and Tertsky, and dispatch them both. The castle-palace is well barred and guarded, That no intelligence of this proceeding May make its way to the Duke.--Go instantly; 10 Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux And the Macdonald?---- _Geraldin._ They'll be here anon. [_Exit GERALDIN._ _Butler._ Here's no room for delay. The citizens Declare for him, a dizzy drunken spirit Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke 15 A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages And golden times. Arms too have been given out By the town-council, and a hundred citizens Have volunteered themselves to stand on guard. Dispatch then be the word. For enemies 20 Threaten us from without and from within. SCENE II _BUTLER, CAPTAIN DEVEREUX, and MACDONALD._ _Macdonald._ Here we are, General. _Devereux._ What's to be the watchword? _Butler._ Long live the Emperor! _Both (recoiling)._ How? _Butler._ Live the House of Austria! _Devereux._ Have we not sworn fidelity to Friedland? _Macdonald._ Have we not marched to this place to protect him? _Butler._ Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy! 5 _Devereux._ Why, yes! in his name you administered Our oath. _Macdonald._ And followed him yourself to Egra. _Butler._ I did it the more surely to destroy him. _Devereux._ So then! _Macdonald._ An altered case! _Butler (to Devereux)._ Thou wretched man! So easily leav'st thou thy oath and colours? 10 _Devereux._ The devil!--I but followed your example, If you could prove a villain, why not we? _Macdonald._ We've nought to do with thinking--that's your business. You are our General, and give out the orders; We follow you, though the track lead to hell. 15 _Butler._ Good then! we know each other. _Macdonald._ I should hope so. _Devereux._ Soldiers of fortune are we--who bids most, He has us. _Macdonald._ 'Tis e'en so! _Butler._ Well, for the present Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers. _Devereux._ We wish no other. _Butler._ Ay, and make your fortunes. 20 _Macdonald._ That is still better. _Butler._ Listen! _Both._ We attend. _Butler._ It is the Emperor's will and ordinance To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland, Alive or dead. _Devereux._ It runs so in the letter. _Macdonald._ Alive or dead--these were the very words. 25 _Butler._ And he shall be rewarded from the State In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto. _Devereux._ Ay? That sounds well. The words sound always well That travel hither from the Court. Yes! yes! We know already what Court-words import. 30 A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour, Or an old charger, or a parchment patent, And such like.--The Prince-duke pays better. _Macdonald._ Yes, The Duke's a splendid paymaster. _Butler._ All over With that, my friends! His lucky stars are set. 35 _Macdonald._ And is that certain? _Butler._ You have my word for it. _Devereux._ His lucky fortunes all past by? _Butler._ For ever. He is as poor as we. _Macdonald._ As poor as we? _Devereux._ Macdonald, we'll desert him. _Butler._ We'll desert him? Full twenty thousand have done that already; 40 We must do more, my countrymen! In short-- We--we must kill him. _Both._ Kill him! _Butler._ Yes! must kill him. And for that purpose have I chosen you. _Both._ Us! _Butler._ You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald. 45 _Devereux (after a pause)._ Choose you some other. _Butler._ What? art dastardly? Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for-- Thou conscientious of a sudden? _Devereux._ Nay, To assassinate our Lord and General-- _Macdonald._ To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath-- _Butler._ The oath 50 Is null, for Friedland is a traitor. _Devereux._ No, no! It is too bad! _Macdonald._ Yes, by my soul! It is too bad. One has a conscience too-- _Devereux._ If it were not our chieftain, who so long Has issued the commands, and claim'd our duty. 55 _Butler._ Is that the objection? _Devereux._ Were it my own father, And the Emperor's service should demand it of me, It might be done perhaps--But we are soldiers, And to assassinate our chief commander, That is a sin, a foul abomination, 60 From which no monk or confessor absolves us. _Butler._ I am your Pope, and give you absolution. Determine quickly! _Devereux._ 'Twill not do! _Macdonald._ 'Twon't do! _Butler._ Well, off then! and--send Pestalutz to me. _Devereux._ The Pestalutz-- _Macdonald._ What may you want with him? 65 _Butler._ If you reject it, we can find enough-- _Devereux._ Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bounty As well as any other. What think you, Brother Macdonald? _Macdonald._ Why if he must fall, And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 70 One would not give place to this Pestalutz. _Devereux._ When do you purpose he should fall? _Butler._ This night. To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates. _Devereux._ You take upon you all the consequences! _Butler._ I take the whole upon me. _Devereux._ And it is 75 The Emperor's will, his express absolute will? For we have instances, that folks may like The murder, and yet hang the murderer. _Butler._ The manifesto says--alive or dead. Alive--'tis not possible--you see it is not. 80 _Devereux._ Well, dead then! dead! But how can we come at him? The town is fill'd with Tertsky's soldiery. _Macdonald._ Ay! and then Tertsky still remains, and Illo-- _Butler._ With these you shall begin--you understand me? _Devereux._ How? And must they too perish? _Butler._ They the first. 85 _Macdonald._ Hear, Devereux? A bloody evening this. _Devereux._ Have you a man for that? Commission me-- _Butler._ 'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin; This is a carnival night, and there's a feast Given at the castle--there we shall surprise them, 90 And hew them down. The Pestalutz and Lesley Have that commission--soon as that is finished-- _Devereux._ Hear, General! It will be all one to you. Hark'e! let me exchange with Geraldin. _Butler._ 'Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke. 95 _Devereux._ Danger! The devil! What do you think me, General? 'Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear. _Butler._ What can his eye do to thee? _Devereux._ Death and hell! Thou know'st that I'm no milk-sop, General! But 'tis not eight days since the Duke did send me 100 Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat Which I have on! and then for him to see me Standing before him with the pike, his murderer, That eye of his looking upon this coat-- Why--why--the devil fetch me! I'm no milk-sop! 105 _Butler._ The Duke presented thee this good warm coat, And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience To run him through the body in return. A coat that is far better and far warmer Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle. 110 How doth he thank the Emperor? With revolt, And treason. _Devereux._ That is true. The devil take Such thankers! I'll dispatch him. _Butler._ And would'st quiet Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply Pull off the coat; so canst thou do the deed 115 With light heart and good spirits. _Devereux._ You are right. That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat-- So there's an end of it. _Macdonald._ Yes, but there's another Point to be thought of. _Butler._ And what's that, Macdonald? _Macdonald._ What avails sword or dagger against him? 120 He is not to be wounded--he is-- _Butler._ What? _Macdonald._ Safe against shot, and stab and flash! Hard frozen, Secured, and warranted by the black art! His body is impenetrable, I tell you. _Devereux._ In Inglestadt there was just such another-- 125 His whole skin was the same as steel; at last We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocks. _Macdonald._ Hear what I'll do. _Devereux._ Well? _Macdonald._ In the cloister here There's a Dominican, my countryman. I'll make him dip my sword and pike for me 130 In holy water, and say over them One of his strongest blessings. That's probatum! Nothing can stand 'gainst that. _Butler._ So do, Macdonald! But now go and select from out the regiment Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, 135 And let them take the oaths to the Emperor. Then when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds Are passed, conduct them silently as may be To the house--I will myself be not far off. _Devereux._ But how do we get through Hartschier and Gordon, 140 That stand on guard there in the inner chamber? _Butler._ I have made myself acquainted with the place. I lead you through a back-door that's defended By one man only. Me my rank and office Give access to the Duke at every hour. 145 I'll go before you--with one poniard-stroke Cut Hartschier's wind-pipe, and make way for you. _Devereux._ And when we are there, by what means shall we gain The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming The servants of the Court; for he has here 150 A numerous company of followers? _Butler._ The attendants fill the right wing; he hates bustle, And lodges in the left wing quite alone. _Devereux._ Were it well over--hey, Macdonald? I Feel queerly on the occasion, devil knows! 155 _Macdonald._ And I too. 'Tis too great a personage. People will hold us for a brace of villains. _Butler._ In plenty, honour, splendour--You may safely Laugh at the people's babble. _Devereux._ If the business Squares with one's honour--if that be quite certain-- 160 _Butler._ Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand His Crown and Empire. The reward can be No small one. _Devereux._ And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the Emperor? _Butler._ Yes!--Yes!--to rob him of his crown and life. 165 _Devereux._ And he must fall by the executioner's hands, Should we deliver him up to the Emperor Alive? _Butler._ It were his certain destiny. _Devereux._ Well! Well! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not Lie long in pain. 170 [_Exeunt BUTLER through one door, MACDONALD and DEVEREUX through the other._ LINENOTES: [13] _thinking_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 16] _Butler (appeased)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [28] _words_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [42] _Both (starting back)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [45] thee, Macdonald] the Macdonald 1800. [65] _Devereux (hesitates)._ The Pestalutz-- 1800, 1828, 1829. [69] _must_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [70] _will_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 72] _Devereux (after some reflection)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [120] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [121] _Butler (starting up)._ What? 1800, 1828, 1829. [122] flash] slash 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE III SCENE--_A Gothic Apartment at the DUCHESS FRIEDLAND'S. THEKLA on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The DUCHESS and LADY NEUBRUNN busied about her. WALLENSTEIN and the COUNTESS in conversation._ _Wallenstein._ How knew she it so soon? _Countess._ She seems to have Foreboded some misfortune. The report Of an engagement, in the which had fallen A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her. I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 5 The Swedish Courier, and with sudden questioning, Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret. Too late we missed her, hastened after her, We found her lying in his arms, all pale And in a swoon. _Wallenstein._ A heavy, heavy blow! 10 And she so unprepared! Poor child! How is it? [_Turning to the DUCHESS._ Is she coming to herself? _Duchess._ Her eyes are opening. _Countess._ She lives. _Thekla (looking around her)._ Where am I? _Wallenstein (steps to her, raising her up in his arms)._ Come, cheerly, Thekla! be my own brave girl! See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in 15 Thy father's arms. _Thekla (standing up)._ Where is he? Is he gone? _Duchess._ Who gone, my daughter? _Thekla._ He--the man who uttered That word of misery. _Duchess._ O! think not of it, My Thekla! _Wallenstein._ Give her sorrow leave to talk! Let her complain--mingle your tears with hers, 20 For she hath suffered a deep anguish; but She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla Hath all her father's unsubdued heart. _Thekla._ I am not ill. See, I have power to stand. Why does my mother weep? Have I alarmed her? 25 It is gone by--I recollect myself-- [_She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one._ Where is he? Please you, do not hide him from me. You see I have strength enough: now I will hear him. _Duchess._ No, never shall this messenger of evil Enter again into thy presence, Thekla! 30 _Thekla._ My father-- _Wallenstein._ Dearest daughter! _Thekla._ I'm not weak-- Shortly I shall be quite myself again. You'll grant me one request? _Wallenstein._ Name it, my daughter. _Thekla._ Permit the stranger to be called to me, And grant me leave, that by myself I may 35 Hear his report and question him. _Duchess._ No, never! _Countess._ 'Tis not advisable--assent not to it. _Wallenstein._ Hush! Wherefore would'st thou speak with him, my daughter? _Thekla._ Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected; I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 40 Only to spare me. I will not be spared. The worst is said already: I can hear Nothing of deeper anguish! _Countess and Duchess._ Do it not. _Thekla._ The horror overpowered me by surprise. My heart betrayed me in the stranger's presence; 45 He was a witness of my weakness, yea, I sank into his arms; and that has shamed me. I must replace myself in his esteem, And I must speak with him, perforce, that he, The stranger, may not think ungently of me. 50 _Wallenstein._ I see she is in the right, and am inclined To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him. [_LADY NEUBRUNN goes to call him._ _Duchess._ But I, thy mother, will be present-- _Thekla._ 'Twere More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him: Trust me, I shall behave myself the more 55 Collectedly. _Wallenstein._ Permit her her own will. Leave her alone with him: for there are sorrows, Where of necessity the soul must be Its own support. A strong heart will rely On its own strength alone. In her own bosom, 60 Not in her mother's arms, must she collect The strength to rise superior to this blow. It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated Not as the woman, but the heroine. [_Going._ _Countess (detaining him)._ Where art thou going? I heard Tertsky say 65 That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence To-morrow early, but to leave us here. _Wallenstein._ Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection Of gallant men. _Countess._ O take us with you, brother. Leave us not in this gloomy solitude 70 To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt Magnify evils to a shape of horror. _Wallenstein._ Who speaks of evil? I entreat you, sister, Use words of better omen. _Countess._ Then take us with you. O leave us not behind you in a place 75 That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy And sick within me is my heart---- These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault. I cannot tell you, brother, how this place Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 80 Come, sister, join you your entreaty!--Niece, Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you! _Wallenstein._ The place's evil omens will I change, Making it that which shields and shelters for me My best beloved. _Lady Neubrunn (returning)._ The Swedish officer. 85 _Wallenstein._ Leave her alone with him. [_Exit._ _Duchess (to Thekla who starts and shivers)._ There--pale as death!--Child, 'tis impossible That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy mother. _Thekla._ The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me. [_Exeunt DUCHESS and COUNTESS._ LINENOTES: SCENE--_A Gothic and gloomy, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [66] _thy_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _THEKLA, the_ Swedish Captain, _LADY NEUBRUNN._ _Captain._ Princess--I must entreat your gentle pardon-- My inconsiderate rash speech--How could I-- _Thekla._ You did behold me in my agony. A most distressful accident occasioned You from a stranger to become at once 5 My confidant. _Captain._ I fear you hate my presence, For my tongue spake a melancholy word. _Thekla._ The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you. The horror which came o'er me interrupted Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 10 Continue it to the end. _Captain._ Princess, 'twill Renew your anguish. _Thekla._ I am firm.---- I will be firm. Well--how began the engagement? _Captain._ We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt, Entrenched but insecurely in our camp, 15 When towards evening rose a cloud of dust From the wood thitherward; our vanguard fled Into the camp, and sounded the alarm. Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers, Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines, 20 And leapt the trenches; but their heedless courage Had borne them onward far before the others-- The infantry were still at distance, only The Pappenheimers followed daringly Their daring leader---- [_THEKLA betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed._ _Captain._ Both in van and flanks 25 With our whole cavalry we now received them; Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. They neither could advance, nor yet retreat; And as they stood on every side wedged in, 30 The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud, Inviting a surrender; but their leader, Young Piccolomini---- [_THEKLA, as giddy, grasps a chair._ Known by his plume, And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches; Himself leapt first, the regiment all plunged after. 35 His charger, by a halbert gored, reared up, Flung him with violence off, and over him The horses, now no longer to be curbed,---- [_THEKLA, who has accompanied the last speech with all the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her whole frame, and is falling. The LADY NEUBRUNN runs to her, and receives her in her arms._ _Neubrunn._ My dearest lady---- _Captain._ I retire. _Thekla._ 'Tis over. Proceed to the conclusion. _Captain._ Wild despair 40 Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw Their leader perish; every thought of rescue Was spurn'd; they fought like wounded tigers; their Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery; A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 45 Finish'd before their last man fell. _Thekla._ And where---- Where is--You have not told me all. _Captain (after a pause)._ This morning We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth Did bear him to interment; the whole army Followed the bier. A laurel decked his coffin; 50 The sword of the deceased was placed upon it, In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self. Nor tears were wanting; for there are among us Many, who had themselves experienced The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners; 55 All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave Would willingly have saved him; but himself Made vain the attempt--'tis said he wished to die. _Neubrunn (to Thekla who has hidden her countenance)._ Look up, my dearest lady---- _Thekla._ Where is his grave? _Captain._ At Neustadt, lady; in a cloister church 60 Are his remains deposited, until We can receive directions from his father. _Thekla._ What is the cloister's name? _Captain._ Saint Catharine's. _Thekla._ And how far is it thither? _Captain._ Near twelve leagues. _Thekla._ And which the way? _Captain._ You go by Tirschenreit 65 And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts. _Thekla._ Who Is their commander? _Captain._ Colonel Seckendorf. [_THEKLA steps to the table, and takes a ring from a casket._ _Thekla._ You have beheld me in my agony, And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, accept [_Giving him the ring._ A small memorial of this hour. Now go! 70 _Captain._ Princess---- [_THEKLA silently makes signs to him to go, and turns from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to speak. LADY NEUBRUNN repeats the signal, and he retires._ LINENOTES: [Before 1] _Captain (respectfully approaching her)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 3] _Thekla (with dignity)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [3] did behold] have beheld 1800, 1828, 1829. [13] _will_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [46] _Thekla (faltering)._ And where-- 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 71] _Captain (confused)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN._ _Thekla (falls on Lady Neubrunn's neck)._ Now, gentle Neubrunn, shew me the affection Which thou hast ever promised--prove thyself My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim. This night we must away! _Neubrunn._ Away! and whither? _Thekla._ Whither! There is but one place in the world. 5 Thither where he lies buried! To his coffin! _Neubrunn._ What would you do there? _Thekla._ What do there? That would'st thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved. There, there is all that still remains of him. That single spot is the whole earth to me. 10 _Neubrunn._ That place of death---- _Thekla._ Is now the only place, Where life yet dwells for me: detain me not! Come and make preparations: let us think Of means to fly from hence. _Neubrunn._ Your father's rage---- _Thekla._ That time is past---- 15 And now I fear no human being's rage. _Neubrunn._ The sentence of the world! The tongue of calumny! _Thekla._ Whom am I seeking? Him who is no more. Am I then hastening to the arms----O God! I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 20 _Neubrunn._ And we alone, two helpless feeble women? _Thekla._ We will take weapons: my arms shall protect thee. _Neubrunn._ In the dark night-time? _Thekla._ Darkness will conceal us. _Neubrunn._ This rough tempestuous night---- _Thekla._ Had he a soft bed Under the hoofs of his war-horses? _Neubrunn._ Heaven! 25 And then the many posts of the enemy!-- _Thekla._ They are human beings. Misery travels free Through the whole earth. _Neubrunn._ The journey's weary length-- _Thekla._ The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 30 _Neubrunn._ How can we pass the gates? _Thekla._ Gold opens them. Go, do but go. _Neubrunn._ Should we be recognized-- _Thekla._ In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland. _Neubrunn._ And where procure we horses for our flight? 35 _Thekla._ My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him. _Neubrunn._ Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord? _Thekla._ He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer. _Neubrunn._ Dear lady! and your mother? _Thekla._ Oh! my mother! _Neubrunn._ So much as she has suffered too already; 40 Your tender mother--Ah! how ill prepared For this last anguish! _Thekla._ Woe is me! my mother! [_Pauses._ Go instantly. _Neubrunn._ But think what you are doing! _Thekla._ What can be thought, already has been thought. _Neubrunn._ And being there, what purpose you to do? 45 _Thekla._ There a divinity will prompt my soul. _Neubrunn._ Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted! And this is not the way that leads to quiet. _Thekla._ To a deep quiet, such as he has found. It draws me on, I know not what to name it, 50 Resistless does it draw me to his grave. There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow. O hasten, make no further questioning! There is no rest for me till I have left These walls--they fall in on me--A dim power 55 Drives me from hence--Oh mercy! What a feeling! What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill, They crowd the place! I have no longer room here! Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm! They press on me; they chase me from these walls-- 60 Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men! _Neubrunn._ You frighten me so, lady, that no longer I dare stay here myself. I go and call Rosenberg instantly. [_Exit LADY NEUBRUNN._ LINENOTES: [22] arms] arm 1800, 1828, 1829. [44] _can_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _Thekla._ His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop Of his true followers, who offered up Themselves to avenge his death: and they accuse me Of an ignoble loitering--they would not Forsake their leader even in his death--they died for him! 5 And shall I live?---- For me too was that laurel-garland twined That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket: I throw it from me. O! my only hope;-- To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds-- 10 That is the lot of heroes upon earth! [_Exit THEKLA._[793:1] (_The curtain drops._) FOOTNOTES: [793:1] The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_. LINENOTES: [4] _they_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [5] _they_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [6] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. ACT V SCENE I SCENE--_A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground. WALLENSTEIN sitting at a table. The_ Swedish Captain _standing before him._ _Wallenstein._ Commend me to your lord. I sympathize In his good fortune; and if you have seen me Deficient in the expressions of that joy Which such a victory might well demand, Attribute it to no lack of good will, 5 For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell, And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow The citadel shall be surrendered to you On your arrival. [_The_ Swedish Captain _retires. WALLENSTEIN sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The COUNTESS TERTSKY enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her, and recollects himself._ _Wallenstein._ Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she? 10 _Countess._ My sister tells me, she was more collected After her conversation with the Swede. She has now retired to rest. _Wallenstein._ The pang will soften, She will shed tears. _Countess._ I find thee altered too, My brother! After such a victory 15 I had expected to have found in thee A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm! Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art, Our sun. _Wallenstein._ Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's Thy husband? _Countess._ At a banquet--he and Illo. 20 _Wallenstein (rises)._ The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber. _Countess._ Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee! _Wallenstein (moves to the window)._ There is a busy motion in the Heaven, The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower, Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[794:1] of the moon, 25 Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light. No form of star is visible! That one White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, Is from Cassiopeia, and therein Is Jupiter. (_A pause._) But now 30 The blackness of the troubled element hides him! [_He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance._ _Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand)._ What art thou brooding on? _Wallenstein._ Methinks, If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He, is the star of my nativity, And often marvellously hath his aspect 35 Shot strength into my heart. _Countess._ Thou'lt see him again. _Wallenstein._ See him again? O never, never again. _Countess._ How? _Wallenstein._ He is gone--is dust. _Countess._ Whom meanest thou then? _Wallenstein._ He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished! For him there is no longer any future, 40 His life is bright--bright without spot it was, And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap. Far off is he, above desire and fear; No more submitted to the change and chance 45 Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well With him! but who knows what the coming hour Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us! _Countess._ Thou speakest Of Piccolomini. What was his death? The courier had just left thee as I came. 50 [_WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent._ Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view, Let us look forward into sunny days, Welcome with joyous heart the victory, Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; 55 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. _Wallenstein._ I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious. What does not man grieve down? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life. For O! he stood beside me, like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and familiar 65 With golden exhalations of the dawn. Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished--and returns not. _Countess._ O be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70 Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold. _Wallenstein (stepping to the door)._ Who interrupts us now at this late hour? It is the Governor. He brings the keys Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! 75 _Countess._ O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee-- A boding fear possesses me! _Wallenstein._ Fear? Wherefore? _Countess._ Should'st thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee! _Wallenstein._ Fancies! _Countess._ O my soul Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80 And if I combat and repel them waking, They still rush down upon my heart in dreams, I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired. _Wallenstein._ This was a dream of favourable omen, 85 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. _Countess._ To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo! It was no more a chamber; the Chartreuse At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, 90 And where it is thy will that thou should'st be Interred. _Wallenstein._ Thy soul is busy with these thoughts. _Countess._ What dost thou not believe that oft in dreams A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us? _Wallenstein._ There is no doubt that there exist such voices. 95 Yet I would not call them Voices of warning that announce to us Only the inevitable. As the sun, Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits 100 Of great events stride on before the events, And in to-day already walks to-morrow. That which we read of the fourth Henry's death Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale Of my own future destiny. The King 105 Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air: like funeral knells 110 Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris. _Countess._ And to thee The voice within thy soul bodes nothing? _Wallenstein._ Nothing. 115 Be wholly tranquil. _Countess._ And another time I hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from me Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall, There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped; I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee; 120 When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me-- 'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelop us. _Wallenstein._ That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125 _Countess (gazing on him)._ If it should come to that--if I should see thee, Who standest now before me in the fulness Of life-- [_She falls on his breast and weeps._ _Wallenstein._ The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee-- Alphabets wound not--and he finds no hands. 130 _Countess._ If he should find them, my resolve is taken-- I bear about me my support and refuge. [_Exit COUNTESS._ FOOTNOTES: [794:1] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity. 'Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung, Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht Der Wolken Zug, _die Mondessichel wankt_, Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse Helle.' The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word 'falcated'. 'The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark _falcated_.' The words 'wanken' and 'schweben' are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So 'der Wolken Zug'--The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.--The Masses of the Clouds sweep onward in swift _stream_. LINENOTES: [17] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 21] _Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [25] sweep] fly _1800_: sail MS. R. [Before 37] _Wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [41] _was_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [47] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [57, 58] This anguish will be wearied down, I know; What pang is permanent with man? A very inadequate translation of the original. 'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich, Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!' _Literally_-- I shall _grieve down_ this blow, of that I'm conscious: What does not man grieve down? 1800, 1828, 1829. NOTE. In 1834 the _literal_ translation of ll. 57, 58 was substituted for the text of the variant and the footnote was omitted. [65] Clothing the palpable and the familiar 1800, 1828, 1829. [68] _beautiful_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [96] _them_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [114] _thee_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [131] _should_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE II _WALLENSTEIN, GORDON._ _Wallenstein._ All quiet in the town? _Gordon._ The town is quiet. _Wallenstein._ I hear a boisterous music! and the Castle Is lighted up. Who are the revellers? _Gordon._ There is a banquet given at the Castle To the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo. 5 _Wallenstein._ In honour of the victory.--This tribe Can shew their joy in nothing else but feasting. [_Rings. The_ Groom of the Chamber _enters._ Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep. [_WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON._ So we are guarded from all enemies, And shut in with sure friends. 10 For all must cheat me, or a face like this [_Fixing his eye on GORDON._ Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask. [_The_ Groom of the Chamber _takes off his mantle, collar and scarf._ _Wallenstein._ Take care--what is that? _Groom of the Chamber._ The golden chain is snapped in two. _Wallenstein._ Well, it has lasted long enough. Here--give it. [_He takes and looks at the chain._ 'Twas the first present of the Emperor. 15 He hung it round me in the war of Friule, He being then Archduke; and I have worn it Till now from habit---- From superstition if you will. Belike, It was to be a talisman to me, 20 And while I wore it on my neck in faith, It was to chain to me all my life long The volatile fortune whose first pledge it was. Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune Must spring up for me; for the potency 25 Of this charm is dissolved. [Groom of the Chamber _retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before GORDON in a posture of meditation._ How the old time returns upon me! I Behold myself once more at Burgau, where We two were pages of the Court together. We oftentimes disputed: thy intention 30 Was ever good; but thou wert wont to play The moralist and preacher, and would'st rail at me That I strove after things too high for me, Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, And still extol to me the golden mean. 35 --Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend To thy own self. See, it has made thee early A superannuated man, and (but That my munificent stars will intervene) Would let thee in some miserable corner 40 Go out like an untended lamp. _Gordon._ My Prince! With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, And watches from the shore the lofty ship Stranded amid the storm. _Wallenstein._ Art thou already In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not. 45 The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows; My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate; And while we stand thus front to front almost, I might presume to say, that the swift years 50 Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair. [_He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against GORDON._ Who now persists in calling Fortune false? To me she has proved faithful, with fond love Took me from out the common ranks of men, And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 55 Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. Nothing is common in my destiny, Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares Interpret then my life for me as 'twere One of the undistinguishable many? 60 True in this present moment I appear Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again. The high flood will soon follow on this ebb; The fountain of my fortune, which now stops Repressed and bound by some malicious star, 65 Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes. _Gordon._ And yet remember I the good old proverb, 'Let the night come before we praise the day.' I would be slow from long-continued fortune To gather hope: for hope is the companion 70 Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven. Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men, For still unsteady are the scales of fate. _Wallenstein (smiling)._ I hear the very Gordon that of old Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching; 75 I know well, that all sublunary things Are still the vassals of vicissitude. The unpropitious gods demand their tribute. This long ago the ancient Pagans knew: And therefore of their own accord they offered 80 To themselves injuries, so to atone The jealousy of their divinities: And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. [_After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner._ I too have sacrific'd to him--For me There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 85 He fell! No joy from favourable fortune Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. The envy of my destiny is glutted: Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning Was drawn off which would else have shattered me. 90 SCENE III _To these enter SENI._ _Wallenstein._ Is not that Seni? and beside himself, If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hither At this late hour, Baptista? _Seni._ Terror, Duke! On thy account. _Wallenstein._ What now? _Seni._ Flee ere the day-break! Trust not thy person to the Swedes! _Wallenstein._ What now 5 Is in thy thoughts? _Seni (with louder voice)._ Trust not thy person to these Swedes. _Wallenstein._ What is it then? _Seni (still more urgently)._ O wait not the arrival of these Swedes! An evil near at hand is threatening thee From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! 10 Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition-- Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee! _Wallenstein._ Baptista, thou art dreaming!--Fear befools thee. _Seni._ Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. Come, read it in the planetary aspects; 15 Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee From false friends! _Wallenstein._ From the falseness of my friends Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. The warning should have come before! At present I need no revelation from the stars 20 To know that. _Seni._ Come and see! trust thine own eyes! A fearful sign stands in the house of life; An enemy, a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet--O be warned! Deliver not thyself up to these heathens 25 To wage a war against our holy church. _Wallenstein (laughing gently)._ The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now I recollect. This junction with the Swedes Did never please thee--lay thyself to sleep, Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear. 30 _Gordon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shewn marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to Wallenstein)._ My Duke and General! May I dare presume? _Wallenstein._ Speak freely. _Gordon._ What if 'twere no mere creation Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'd To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its organ. _Wallenstein_. Ye're both feverish! 35 How can mishap come to me from the Swedes? They sought this junction with me--'tis their interest. _Gordon (with difficulty suppressing his emotion)._ But what if the arrival of these Swedes-- What if this were the very thing that winged The ruin that is flying to your temples? 40 [_Flings himself at his feet._ There is yet time, my Prince. _Seni._ O hear him! hear him! _Gordon (rises)._ The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, This citadel shall close its gates upon him. If then he will besiege us, let him try it. But this I say; he'll find his own destruction 45 With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner Than weary down the valour of our spirit. He shall experience what a band of heroes, Inspirited by an heroic leader, Is able to perform. And if indeed 50 It be thy serious wish to make amends For that which thou hast done amiss,--this, this Will touch and reconcile the Emperor, Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy, And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 55 Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour, Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen. _Wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent awhile, betraying strong emotion)._ Gordon--your zeal and fervour lead you far. Well, well--an old friend has a privilege. Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 60 Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could, Yet I--I ne'er could let myself be pardoned. Had I foreknown what now has taken place, That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, My first death-offering: and had the heart 65 Spoken to me, as now it has done--Gordon, It may be, I might have bethought myself. It may be too, I might not. Might or might not, Is now an idle question. All too seriously Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon! 70 Let it then have its course. [_Stepping to the window._ All dark and silent--at the castle too All is now hushed--Light me, Chamberlain! [_The_ Groom of the Chamber, _who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation, and throws himself at the DUKE'S feet._ And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish My reconcilement with the Emperor. 75 Poor man! he hath a small estate in Cärnthen, And fears it will be forfeited because He's in my service. Am I then so poor, That I no longer can indemnify My servants? Well! To no one I employ 80 Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief That fortune has fled from me, go! Forsake me. This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, And then go over to thy Emperor. Gordon, good night! I think to make a long 85 Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil Of this last day or two were great. May't please you! Take care that they awake me not too early. [_Exit WALLENSTEIN, the_ Groom of the Chamber _lighting him. SENI follows. GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE with his eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar._ LINENOTES: [51] amends] amend 1800, 1828, 1829. [87] were] was 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IV _GORDON, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes)._ _Butler (not yet come into view of the stage)._ Here stand in silence till I give the signal. _Gordon (starts up)._ 'Tis he, he has already brought the murderers. _Butler._ The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep. _Gordon._ What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him? Shall I call up the house? Alarm the guards? 5 _Butler (appears, but scarcely on the stage)._ A light gleams hither from the corridor. It leads directly to the Duke's bedchamber. _Gordon._ But then I break my oath to the Emperor; If he escape and strengthen the enemy, Do I not hereby call down on my head 10 All the dread consequences? _Butler (stepping forward)._ Hark! Who speaks there? _Gordon._ 'Tis better, I resign it to the hands Of providence. For what am I, that I Should take upon myself so great a deed? I have not murdered him, if he be murdered: 15 But all his rescue were my act and deed; Mine--and whatever be the consequences, I must sustain them. _Butler (advances)._ I should know that voice. _Gordon._ Butler! _Butler._ 'Tis Gordon. What do you want here? Was it so late then, when the Duke dismissed you? 20 _Gordon._ Your hand bound up and in a scarf? _Butler._ 'Tis wounded. That Illo fought as he was frantic, till At last we threw him on the ground. _Gordon._ Both dead? _Butler._ Is he in bed? _Gordon._ Ah, Butler! _Butler._ Is he? speak. _Gordon._ He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven 25 Refuses your arm. See--'tis wounded!-- _Butler._ There is no need of my arm. _Gordon._ The most guilty Have perished, and enough is given to justice. [_The_ Groom of the Chamber _advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth, commanding silence._ _Gordon._ He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep! _Butler._ No! he shall die awake. [_Is going._ _Gordon._ His heart still cleaves 30 To earthly things: he's not prepared to step Into the presence of his God! _Butler (going)._ God's merciful! _Gordon (holds him)._ Grant him but this night's respite. _Butler (hurrying off)._ The next moment May ruin all. _Gordon (holds him still)._ One hour!---- _Butler._ Unhold me! What Can that short respite profit him? _Gordon._ O--Time 35 Works miracles. In one hour many thousands Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they, Thought follows thought within the human soul. Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose, His heart may change its purpose--some new tidings 40 May come; some fortunate event, decisive, May fall from Heaven and rescue him. O what May not one hour achieve! _Butler._ You but remind me, How precious every minute is! (_He stamps on the floor._) LINENOTES: [13] that _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [15] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [16] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [17] _Mine_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [19] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [23] _Gordon (shuddering)._ Both dead? 1800, 1828, 1829. [25] _not_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [26] _your_ 1800, 1828. [27] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [39] _Your_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [40] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE V _To these enter MACDONALD and DEVEREUX, with the_ Halberdiers. _Gordon (throwing himself between him and them)._ No, monster! First over my dead body thou shalt tread. I will not live to see the accursed deed! _Butler (forcing him out of the way)._ Weak-hearted dotard! [_Trumpets are heard in the distance._ _Devereux and Macdonald._ Hark! The Swedish trumpets! The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten! 5 _Gordon (rushes out)._ O, God of Mercy! _Butler (calling after him)._ Governor, to your post! _Groom of the Chamber (hurries in)._ Who dares make larum here? Hush! The Duke sleeps. _Devereux (with loud harsh voice)._ Friend, it is time now to make larum. _Groom of the Chamber._ Help! Murder! _Butler._ Down with him! _Groom of the Chamber (run through the body by Devereux, falls at the entrance of the gallery)._ Jesus Maria! _Butler._ Burst the doors open! 10 [_They rush over the body into the gallery--two doors are heard to crash one after the other--Voices deadened by the distance--Clash of arms--then all at once a profound silence._ SCENE VI _Countess Tertsky (with a light)._ Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself Is no where to be found! The Neubrunn too, Who watched by her, is missing. If she should Be flown--But whither flown? We must call up Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 5 Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O If that my husband now were but returned Home from the banquet: Hark! I wonder whether The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard Voices and tread of feet here! I will go 10 And listen at the door. Hark! What is that? 'Tis hastening up the steps! SCENE VII _COUNTESS, GORDON._ _Gordon (rushes in out of breath)._ 'Tis a mistake, 'Tis not the Swedes--Ye must proceed no further-- Butler! O God! Where is he? [_Then observing the COUNTESS._ Countess! Say---- _Countess._ You are come then from the castle? Where's my husband? _Gordon._ Your husband!--Ask not!--To the Duke---- 5 _Countess._ Not till You have discovered to me---- _Gordon._ On this moment Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the Duke. While we are speaking---- [_Calling loudly._ Butler! Butler! God! _Countess._ Why, he is at the castle with my husband. [_BUTLER comes from the gallery._ _Gordon._ 'Twas a mistake--'Tis not the Swedes--it is 10 The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General Has sent me hither, will be here himself Instantly.--You must not proceed. _Butler._ He comes Too late. [_GORDON dashes himself against the wall._ _Gordon._ O God of mercy! _Countess._ What too late? Who will be here himself? Octavio 15 In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the Duke? [_She rushes to the gallery._ LINENOTES: [Before 5] _Gordon (in an agony of affright)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VIII Servants _run across the stage full of terror. The whole Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses._ _Seni (from the gallery)._ O bloody frightful deed! _Countess._ What is it, Seni? _Page (from the gallery)._ O piteous sight! [_Other_ Servants _hasten in with torches._ _Countess._ What is it? For God's sake! _Seni._ And do you ask? Within the Duke lies murder'd--and your husband Assassinated at the Castle. [_The COUNTESS stands motionless._ _Female Servant (rushing across the stage)._ Help! Help! the Duchess! 5 _Burgomaster (enters)._ What mean these confused Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house? _Gordon._ Your house is cursed to all eternity. In your house doth the Duke lie murdered! _Burgomaster (rushing out)._ Heaven forbid! _First Servant._ Fly! fly! they murder us all! _Second Servant (carrying silver plate)._ That way! The lower 10 Passages are blocked up. _Voice (from behind the Scene)._ Make room for the Lieutenant-General! [_At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly._ _Voice (from behind the Scene)._ Keep back the people! Guard the door. LINENOTES: [3] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE IX _To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from out the Corridor with the_ Halberdiers. _WALLENSTEIN'S dead body is carried over the back part of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry._ _Octavio (entering abruptly)._ It must not be! It is not possible! Butler! Gordon! I'll not believe it. Say no! [_GORDON without answering points with his hand to the body of WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror._ _Devereux (to Butler)._ Here is the golden fleece--the Duke's sword-- _Macdonald._ Is it your order-- _Butler (pointing to Octavio)._ Here stands he who now 5 Hath the sole power to issue orders. [_DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain on the stage._ _Octavio (turning to Butler)._ Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted? O God of Justice! To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty Of this foul deed. _Butler._ Your hand is pure. You have 10 Availed yourself of mine. _Octavio._ Merciless man! Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord-- And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, With bloody, most accursed assassination! _Butler._ I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence. 15 _Octavio._ O curse of Kings, Infusing a dread life into their words, And linking to the sudden transient thought The unchangeable irrevocable deed. Was there necessity for such an eager 20 Despatch? Could'st thou not grant the merciful A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel. To leave no interval between the sentence, And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem God only, the immutable! _Butler._ For what 25 Rail you against me? What is my offence? The Empire from a fearful enemy Have I delivered, and expect reward. The single difference betwixt you and me Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow; 30 I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand Astonished that blood is come up. I always Knew what I did, and therefore no result Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit. Have you aught else to order?--for this instant 35 I make my best speed to Vienna; place My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, And hope to gain the applause which undelaying And punctual obedience may demand From a just judge. [_Exit BUTLER._ 40 LINENOTES: [10] _hand_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 15] _Butler (calmly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE X _To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, pale and disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned._ _Octavio (meeting her)._ O Countess Tertsky! These are the results Of luckless unblest deeds. _Countess._ They are the fruits Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared. 5 This house of splendour, and of princely glory, Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver The keys. _Octavio._ O Countess! my house too is desolate. 10 _Countess._ Who next is to be murdered? Who is next To be maltreated? Lo! The Duke is dead. The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified! Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity Be imputed to the faithful as a crime-- 15 The evil destiny surprised my brother Too suddenly; he could not think on them. _Octavio._ Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault Hath heavily been expiated--nothing 20 Descended from the father to the daughter, Except his glory and his services. The Empress honours your adversity, Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears! 25 Yield yourself up in hope and confidence To the Imperial Grace! _Countess._ To the grace and mercy of a greater Master Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body Of the Duke have its place of final rest? 30 In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found, At Gitschin rests the Countess Wallenstein; And by her side, to whom he was indebted For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished He might sometime repose in death! O let him 35 Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor Is now proprietor of all our castles. This sure may well be granted us--one sepulchre Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers! 40 _Octavio._ Countess, you tremble, you turn pale! _Countess._ You think More worthily of me, than to believe I would survive the downfall of my house. We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp After a monarch's crown--the crown did fate 45 Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit That to the crown belong! We deem a Courageous death more worthy of our free station Than a dishonoured life.--I have taken poison. _Octavio._ Help! Help! Support her! _Countess._ Nay, it is too late. 50 In a few moments is my fate accomplished. [_Exit COUNTESS._ _Gordon._ O house of death and horrors! [_An officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal._ _Gordon (steps forward and meets him)._ What is this? It is the Imperial Seal. [_He reads the Address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word._ To the Prince Piccolomini. [_OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven._ (_The curtain drops._) LINENOTES: [10] _Octavio (with a deep anguish)._ O Countess! 1800, 1828, 1829. [27] _Countess (with her eye raised to heaven)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [41] _Countess (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and dignity)._ You think 1800, 1828, 1829. [54] _Prince_ 1800, 1828, 1829. The following mistranslations, which were noted in the _Westminster Review_, Art. 3, July 1850, are recorded in the Notes affixed to _The Dramatic Works_ of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1852, pp. 426-7. THE PICCOLOMINI. Act I, Scene 2, line 106. 'Der Posten' is rendered 'travelling-bills' instead of an 'item' or 'article in an account'. Act I, Scene 4, line 27. 'Geschmeidig' is rendered 'hammered out' instead of 'pliant'. Act I, Scene 8, line 28. 'Das holde Kind' is rendered 'The voice of my child' instead of 'The charming child'. Act I, Scene 9, line 13. 'Jagdzug' is rendered 'hunting dress' instead of 'hunting stud'. Act II, Scene 7, line 9. 'Was denn?' is rendered 'What then?' instead of 'What?' Act II, Scene 12, lines 94, 95. 'Ist unser Glaub' eine Kanzel und Altar' is rendered 'Our faith hangs upon the pulpit and altar' instead of 'is without pulpit and altar'. Act II, Scene 12, line 104. 'Taboriten' is rendered 'minstrels' instead of 'a branch of the Hussites'. [Pointed out by Ferd. Freiligrath, _Athenaeum_, Aug. 31, 1861.] Act IV, Scene 7, line 103. 'Losung' is rendered 'redemption' instead of 'watchword'. THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. Act II, Scene 6, _Note._ 'Verstecktesten' is rendered 'most spotted' instead of 'most secret'. REMORSE[812:1] PREFACE This Tragedy was written in the summer and autumn of the year 1797; at Nether Stowey, in the county of Somerset. By whose recommendation, and of the manner in which both the Play and the Author were treated by the Recommender, let me be permitted to relate: that I knew of its having been received only by a third person; that I could procure neither answer nor the manuscript; and that but for an accident I should have had no copy of the Work itself. That such treatment would damp a young man's exertions may be easily conceived: there was no need of after-misrepresentation and calumny, as an additional sedative. [812:2][As an amusing anecdote, and in the wish to prepare future Authors, as young as I then was and as ignorant of the world, of[812:3] the treatment they may meet with, I will add, that the Person[812:4] who by a twice conveyed recommendation (in the year 1797) had urged me to write a Tragedy[812:5]: who on my own objection that I was utterly ignorant of all Stage-tactics had promised that _he_ would himself make the necessary alterations, if the Piece should be at all representable; who together with the copy of the Play (hastened by his means so as to prevent the full developement[812:6] of the characters) received a letter from the Author to this purport, '_that conscious of his inexperience, he had cherished no expectations, and should therefore feel no disappointment from the rejection of the Play; but that if beyond his hopes Mr. ---- found in it any capability of being adapted to the Stage, it was delivered to him as if it had been his own Manuscript, to add, omit, or alter, as he saw occasion; and that (if it were rejected) the Author would deem himself amply remunerated by the addition to his Experience, which he should receive, if Mr. ----would point out[812:7] to him the nature of its unfitness for public Representation_';--that this very Person returned[813:1] me no answer, and[813:2], spite of repeated applications, retained my Manuscript when I was not conscious of any other Copy being in existence (my duplicate having been destroyed by an accident); that he[813:3] suffered this Manuscript to wander about the Town from his house, so that but ten days ago I saw[813:4] the song in the third Act _printed_ and set to music, without my name, by Mr. Carnaby, in the year 1802; likewise that the same person asserted[813:5] (as I have been assured) that the Play was rejected, because I would not submit to the alteration of one ludicrous line; and finally[813:6] in the year 1806 amused and delighted (as who was ever in his company, if I may trust the universal report, without being amused and delighted?) a large company at the house of a highly respectable Member of Parliament, with the ridicule of the[813:7] Tragedy, as 'a _fair specimen_', of the _whole_ of which he adduced a line: '_Drip! drip! drip! there's nothing here but dripping._' In the original copy of the Play, in the first Scene of the fourth Act, Isidore _had_ commenced his Soliloquy in the Cavern with the words: 'Drip! drip! a ceaseless sound of water-drops,'[813:8],[813:9] as far as I can at present recollect: for on the possible ludicrous association being pointed out to me, I instantly and thankfully struck out the line. And as to my obstinate _tenacity_, not only my old acquaintance, but (I dare boldly aver) both the Managers of Drury Lane Theatre, and every Actor and Actress, whom I have recently met in the Green Room, will repel the accusation: perhaps not without surprise.] I thought it right to record these circumstances;[814:1] but I turn gladly and with sincere gratitude to the converse. In the close of last year I was advised to present the Tragedy once more to the Theatre. Accordingly having altered the names, I ventured to address a letter to Mr. Whitbread, requesting information as to whom I was to present my Tragedy. My Letter was instantly and most kindly answered, and I have now nothing to tell but a Tale of Thanks. I should scarce know where to begin, if the goodness of the Manager, Mr. ARNOLD, had not called for my first acknowledgements. Not merely as an _acting Play_, but as a dramatic _Poem_, the 'REMORSE' has been importantly and manifoldly benefited by his suggestions. I can with severest truth say, that every hint he gave me was the ground of some improvement. In the next place it is my duty to mention Mr. RAYMOND, the Stage Manager. Had the 'REMORSE' been his own Play--nay, that is saying too little--had I been his brother, or his dearest friend, he could not have felt or exerted himself more zealously. As the Piece is now acting, it may be thought presumptuous in me to speak of the Actors; yet how can I abstain, feeling, as I do, Mrs. GLOVER'S[814:2] powerful assistance, and knowing the circumstances[814:3] under which she consented to act Alhadra? A time will come, when without painfully oppressing her feelings, I may speak of this more fully. To Miss SMITH I have an equal, though different acknowledgement to make, namely, for her acceptance of a character not fully developed, and quite inadequate to her extraordinary powers. She enlivened and supported many passages, which (though not perhaps wholly uninteresting in the closet) would but for her have hung heavy on the ears of a Theatrical Audience. And in speaking the Epilogue, a composition which (I fear) my hurry will hardly excuse, and which, as unworthy of her name, is here [1828, 1829, 1834] omitted, she made a sacrifice, which only her established character with all judges of Tragic action, could have rendered compatible with her duty to herself. To Mr. DE CAMP'S judgement and full conception of Isidore; to Mr. POPE'S accurate representation of the partial, yet honourable Father; to Mr. ELLISTON'S energy in the character of ALVAR, and who in more than one instance _gave_ it beauties and striking points, which not only delighted but surprised me; and to Mr. RAE[815:1], to whose zeal, and unwearied study of his part, I am not less indebted as a _Man_, than to his impassioned realization of ORDONIO, as an _Author_;----to these, and to all concerned with the bringing out of the Play, I can address but one word--THANKS!--but that word is uttered sincerely! and to persons constantly before the eye of the Public, a public acknowledgement becomes appropriate, and a duty. I defer all answers to the different criticisms on the Piece to an Essay, which I am about to publish immediately, on Dramatic Poetry, relatively to the present State of the Metropolitan Theatres. From the necessity of hastening the Publication I was obliged to send the Manuscript intended for the Stage: which is the sole cause of the number of directions printed in italics. S. T. COLERIDGE. FOOTNOTES: [812:1] Preface, Prologue, and Epilogue do not appear in the 1834 edition. [812:2] The long passage here placed within square brackets [] appeared in the first edition only. [812:3] of for _MS. R_. (For _MS. R_ see p. 819.)] [812:4] Richard Brinsley Sheridan. [812:5] Tragedy for his theatre _MS. R_. [812:6] I need not say to Authors, that as to the _essentials_ of a Poem, little can be superinduced without dissonance, after the first warmth of conception and composition. [Note by _S. T. C._, first edition.] [812:7] would condescend to point out _MS. R_. [813:1] not only returned _MS. R_. [813:2] and not only _MS. R_. [813:3] that he not only _MS. R_. [813:4] I for the first time saw _MS. R_. [813:5] likewise . . . assured not only asserted _MS. R_. [813:6] but finally (and it is this last fact alone, which was malice for which no excuse of indolence self-made is adduced which determined me to refer to what I had already forgiven and almost forgotten) in the year 1806 _MS. R_. [813:7] the this _MS. R_. [813:8] (Private.) Had the Piece been really silly (and I have proof positive that Sheridan did not think it so) yet 10 years afterwards to have committed a breach of confidence in order to injure the otherwise . . . that on the ground of an indiscretion into which he had himself seduced the writer, and the writer, too, a man whose reputation was his Bread--a man who had devoted the firstlings of his talents to the celebration of Sheridan's genius--and who after he met treatment not only never spoke unkindly or resentfully of it, but actually was zealous and frequent in defending and praising his public principles of conduct in the _Morning Post_--and all this in the presence of men of Rank previously disposed to think highly . . . I am sure you will not be surprised that _this_ did provoke me, and that it justifies to my heart the detail here printed. S. T. COLERIDGE. P.S.--I never spoke severely of R. B. S. but once and then I confess, I _did_ say that Sheridan was Sheridan. _MS. R_. [813:9] The fourth act of the play in its original shape, and, presumably, as sent to Sheridan, opened with the following lines:-- 'Drip! drip! drip! drip!--in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch.' In _MS. III_ the opening lines are erased and the fourth Act opens thus:-- This ceaseless dreary sound of { [*water-drops*] { dropping water I would they had not fallen upon my Torch! After the lapse of sixteen years Coleridge may have confused the corrected version with the original. There is no MS. authority for the line as quoted in the Preface. [814:1] 'This circumstance.' Second edition. [814:2] The caste was as follows:--_Marquis Valdez_, Mr. Pope; _Don Alvar_, Mr. Elliston; _Don Ordonio_, Mr. Rae; _Monviedro_, Mr. Powell; _Zulimez_, Mr. Crooke; _Isidore_, Mr. De Camp; _Naomi_, Mr. Wallack; _Donna Teresa_, Miss Smith; _Alhadra_, Mrs. Glover. [814:3] Mrs. G.'s eldest child was buried on the Thursday--two others were ill, and one, with croup given over (tho' it has since recovered) and spite of her's, the physician's and my most passionate remonstrances, she was forced to act Alhadra on the Saturday!!! Mrs. Glover (I do not much like her, in some respects) was duped into a marriage with a worthless Sharper, who passed himself off on her as a man of rank and fortune and who now lives and feeds himself and his vices on her salary--and hence all her affections flow in the channel of her maternal feelings. She is a passionately fond mother, and to act Alhadra on the Saturday after the Thursday's Burial! _MS. H_. (For _MS. H_ _see_ p. 819.) [815:1] Poor Rae! a good man as Friend, Husband, Father. He did his best! but his person is so insignificant, tho' a handsome man off the stage--and, worse than that, the thinness and an insufficiency of his voice--yet Ordonio has done him service. _MS. H_. PROLOGUE BY C. LAMB[816:1] _Spoken by_ Mr. _CARR_ There are, I am told, who sharply criticise Our modern theatres' unwieldy size. We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, Who think a house can never be too large: Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, 5 Shakes some prescrib'd Lyceum's petty sphere; And pleased to mark the grin from space to space Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face.-- O might old Betterton or Booth return To view our structures from their silent urn, 10 Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, Or Garrick get a day-rule from the shades-- Where now, perhaps, in mirth which Spirits approve, He imitates the ways of men above, And apes the actions of our upper coast, 15 As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost:-- How might they bless our ampler scope to please, And hate their own old shrunk up audiences.-- Their houses yet were palaces to those, Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose, 20 Shakspeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, Like giant pent in disproportion'd cage, Mourn'd his contracted strengths and crippled rage. He who could tame his vast ambition down To please some scatter'd gleanings of a town, 25 And, if some hundred auditors supplied Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, How had he felt, when that dread curse of Lear's Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, While deep-struck wonder from applauding bands 30 Return'd the tribute of as many hands! Rude were his guests; he never made his bow To such an audience as salutes us now. He lack'd the balm of labour, female praise. Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, 35 Or came to see a youth with awkward art And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part. The very use, since so essential grown, Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown. The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, 40 The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest-- The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, Where Jaques fed his solitary vein-- No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, Seen only by the intellectual eye. 45 Those scenic helps, denied to Shakspeare's page, Our Author owes to a more liberal age. Nor pomp nor circumstance are wanting here; 'Tis for himself alone that he must fear. Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride, 50 That (be the laurel granted or denied) He first essay'd in this distinguished fane, Severer muses and a tragic strain. FOOTNOTES: [816:1] A rejected address--which poor Charles was restless to have used. I fitted him with an Epilogue of the same calibre with his Prologue, but I thought it would be going a little too far to publish mine. _MS. H_. EPILOGUE _Written by the Author, and spoken by_ Miss _SMITH in the character of TERESA._ [As printed in _The Morning Chronicle_, Jan. 28, 1813.] Oh! the procrastinating idle rogue, The Poet has just sent his Epilogue; Ay, 'tis just like him!--and the _hand_! [_Poring over the manuscript._ The stick! I could as soon decipher Arabic! But, hark! my wizard's own poetic elf 5 Bids me take courage, and make one myself! An heiress, and with sighing swains in plenty From blooming nineteen to full-blown five-and-twenty, Life beating high, and youth upon the wing, 'A six years' absence was a heavy thing!' 10 Heavy!--nay, let's describe things as they are, With sense and nature 'twas at open war-- Mere affectation to be singular. Yet ere you overflow in condemnation, Think first of poor Teresa's education; 15 'Mid mountains wild, near billow-beaten rocks, Where sea-gales play'd with her dishevel'd locks, Bred in the spot where first to light she sprung, With no Academies for ladies young-- Academies--(sweet phrase!) that well may claim 20 From Plato's sacred grove th' appropriate name! No morning visits, no sweet waltzing dances-- And then for reading--what but huge romances, With as stiff morals, leaving earth behind 'em, As the brass-clasp'd, brass-corner'd boards that bind 'em. 25 Knights, chaste as brave, who strange adventures seek, And faithful loves of ladies, fair as meek; Or saintly hermits' wonder-raising acts, Instead of--novels founded upon facts! Which, decently immoral, have the art 30 To spare the blush, and undersap the heart! Oh, think of these, and hundreds worse than these, Dire disimproving disadvantages, And grounds for pity, not for blame, you'll see, E'en in Teresa's six years' constancy. 35 [_Looking at the manuscript._ But stop! what's this?--Our Poet bids me say, That he has woo'd your feelings in this Play By no too real woes, that make you groan, Recalling kindred griefs, perhaps your own, Yet with no image compensate the mind, 40 Nor leave one joy for memory behind. He'd wish no loud laugh, from the sly, shrewd sneer, To unsettle from your eyes the quiet tear That Pity had brought, and Wisdom would leave there. Now calm he waits your judgment! (win or miss), 45 By no loud plaudits saved, damn'd by no factious hiss. [S. T. C.] REMORSE[819:1] A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS[819:2] DRAMATIS PERSONAE 1797. 1813-1834. _VELEZ = MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and Doña Teresa's Guardian._ _ALBERT = DON ALVAR, the eldest son._ _OSORIO = DON ORDONIO, the youngest son._ _FRANCESCO = MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor._ _MAURICE = ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar._ _FERDINAND = ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian._ _Familiars of the Inquisition._ _NAOMI = NAOMI._ _Moors, Servants, &c._ _MARIA = DOÑA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress._ _ALHADRA, wife } = _ALHADRA, Wife of Isidore._ of FERDINAND_, } _FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION._ _MOORS, SERVANTS_, &c. _Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death._ FOOTNOTES: [819:1] _Remorse_, a recast of _Osorio_, was first played at Drury Lane Theatre, January 23, 1813, and had a run of twenty nights. It was first published as a pamphlet of seventy-two pages in 1813, and ran through three editions. The Second Edition, which numbered seventy-eight pages, was enlarged by an Appendix consisting of a passage which formed part of Act IV, Scene 2 of _Osorio_, and had been published in the _Lyrical Ballads_ (1798, 1800, 1802, and 1805) as a separate poem entitled 'The Foster-Mother's Tale' (_vide ante_, pp. 182-4, 571-4), and of a second passage numbering twenty-eight lines, which was afterwards printed as a footnote to _Remorse_, Act II, Scene 2, line 42 (_vide post_, p. 842) 'You are a painter, &c.' The Third Edition was a reissue of the Second. In the _Athenæum_, April 1, 1896, J. D. Campbell points out that there were three issues of the First Edition, of which he had only seen the first; viz. (1) the normal text [Edition I]; (2) a second issue [Edition I (_b_)] quoted by the Editor (R. H. Shepherd) of _Osorio_, 1877, as a variant of Act V, line 252; (3) a third issue quoted by the same writer in his edition of _P. W._, 1877-80, iii. 154, 155 [Edition I (_c_)]. There is a copy of Edition I (_b_) in the British Museum: save in respect of Act V, line 252, it does not vary from Edition I. I have not seen a copy of Edition I (_c_). Two copies of _Remorse_ annotated by S. T. Coleridge have passed through my hands, (1) a copy of the First Edition presented to the Manager of the Theatre, J. G. Raymond (_MS. R._), and (2) a copy of the Second Edition presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson (_MS. H._). _Remorse_ is included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. [819:2] This Tragedy has a particular advantage--it has the _first_ scene, in which Prologue plays Dialogue with Dumby. (_MS. H._) ACT I SCENE I _The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada._ _DON ALVAR, wrapt in a Boat cloak, and ZULIMEZ (a Moresco), both as just landed._ _Zulimez._ No sound, no face of joy to welcome us! _Alvar._ My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, 'Tis surely this--after long years of exile, 5 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I press Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers! _Zulimez._ Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar, 10 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. It is too hazardous! reveal yourself, And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt! _Alvar._ Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother, Injured indeed! O deeply injured! yet 15 Ordonio's brother. _Zulimez._ Nobly-minded Alvar! This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye. _Alvar._ The more behoves it I should rouse within him Remorse! that I should save him from himself. _Zulimez._ Remorse is as the heart in which it grows: 20 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy, It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost Weeps only tears of poison! _Alvar._ And of a brother, Dare I hold this, unproved? nor make one effort 25 To save him?--Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee, That this same life, which he conspired to take, Himself once rescued from the angry flood, And at the imminent hazard of his own. Add too my oath-- _Zulimez._ You have thrice told already 30 The years of absence and of secrecy, To which a forced oath bound you; if in truth A suborned murderer have the power to dictate A binding oath-- _Alvar._ My long captivity Left me no choice: the very wish too languished 35 With the fond hope that nursed it; the sick babe Drooped at the bosom of its famished mother. But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy; The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, No motive could have tempted him to falsehood: 40 In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, When with abhorrence of his own black purpose The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, Fell from his palsied hand-- _Zulimez._ Heavy presumption! _Alvar._ It weighed not with me--Hark! I will tell thee all; 45 As we passed by, I bade thee mark the base Of yonder cliff-- _Zulimez._ That rocky seat you mean, Shaped by the billows?-- _Alvar._ There Teresa met me The morning of the day of my departure. We were alone: the purple hue of dawn 50 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, And blending with the blushes on her cheek, Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light. There seemed a glory round us, and Teresa The angel of the vision![821:1] Had'st thou seen 55 How in each motion her most innocent soul Beamed forth and brightened, thou thyself would'st tell me, Guilt is a thing impossible in her! She must be innocent! _Zulimez._ Proceed, my lord! _Alvar._ A portrait which she had procured by stealth, 60 (For even then it seems her heart foreboded Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry) A portrait of herself with thrilling hand She tied around my neck, conjuring me, With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 65 To my own knowledge: nor did she desist, Till she had won a solemn promise from me, That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed. 70 _Zulimez._ A damning proof! _Alvar._ My own life wearied me! And but for the imperative voice within, With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. That voice, which quelled me, calmed me: and I sought The Belgic states: there joined the better cause; 75 And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like trance: a long imprisonment followed. The fulness of my anguish by degrees Waned to a meditative melancholy; 80 And still the more I mused, my soul became More doubtful, more perplexed; and still Teresa, Night after night, she visited my sleep, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me! 85 Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless! Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.-- The Moorish robes?-- _Zulimez._ All, all are in the sea-cave, 90 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners Secrete the boat there. _Alvar._ Above all, the picture Of the assassination-- _Zulimez._ Be assured That it remains uninjured. _Alvar._ Thus disguised I will first seek to meet Ordonio's--wife! 95 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, And this the hour; her words, her very looks Will acquit her or convict. _Zulimez._ Will they not know you? _Alvar._ With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 100 Trust the disguise; and as to my complexion, My long imprisonment, the scanty food, This scar--and toil beneath a burning sun, Have done already half the business for us. Add too my youth, since last we saw each other. 105 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice A hoarser note--Besides, they think me dead: And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize. _Zulimez._ 'Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 110 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, I'll seek our mariners; and in the dusk Transport whate'er we need to the small dell In the Alpujarras--there where Zagri lived. 115 _Alvar._ I know it well: it is the obscurest haunt Of all the mountains--[823:1] [_Both stand listening._ Voices at a distance! Let us away! [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [821:1] May not a man, without breach of the 8th Commandment, take out of his left pocket and put into his right? _MS. H._ (_Vide ante_, p. 406, _To William Wordsworth_, l. 43.) [823:1] Till the Play was printed off, I never remembered or, rather, never recollected that this phrase was taken from Mr. Wordsworth's Poems. Thank God it was not from his MSS. Poems; and at the 2nd Edition I was afraid to point it out lest it should appear a trick to introduce his name. _MS. H._ [Coleridge is thinking of a line in _The Brothers_, 'It is the loneliest place in all these hills.'] LINENOTES: [19] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [20] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [31] years] year Editions 1, 2, 3. [35] wish] _Wish_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [36] hope] _Hope_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [55] _After_ vision! [_Then with agitation_ Editions 1, 2, 3. [56-9] Compare _Destiny of Nations_, ll. 174-6, p. 137. [59] _After_ _Zulimez (with a sigh)_, Editions 1, 2, 3 1829. [86] Yes] And Edition 1. [95] wife] _wife_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [105] since] when Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [113] I'll] I will Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [115] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. SCENE II _Enter TERESA and VALDEZ._ _Teresa._ I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son And Alvar's brother. _Valdez._ Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead. _Teresa._ I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez, But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5 Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living. _Valdez._ Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me; I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fixed her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy. I must not see thee wretched. _Teresa._ There are woes Ill bartered for the garishness of joy! If it be wretched with an untired eye 20 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevelled by the pleasant sea breeze, To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight! If it be wretched 25 To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, To go through each minutest circumstance Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;[824:1] (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 30 Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and played the selfsame tune He used to play, and listened to the shadow Herself had made)--if this be wretchedness, 35 And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died, died just ere his return! Then see him listening to my constancy, Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 40 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply in some more fantastic mood, To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45 My Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assured reality He should return, and see a brother's infant Smile at him from my arms? 50 Oh what a thought! _Valdez._ A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. The very week he promised his return---- _Teresa._ Was it not then a busy joy? to see him, After those three years' travels! we had no fears-- 55 The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter. Almost endeared his absence! Yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy! What then if now---- _Valdez._ O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts, Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless! 60 Yes, I am old--I have no pleasant fancies-- Hectic and unrefreshed with rest-- _Teresa._ My father! _Valdez._ The sober truth is all too much for me! I see no sail which brings not to my mind The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 65 By the Algerine--to perish with his captors! _Teresa._ Oh no! he did not! _Valdez_. Captured in sight of land! From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen---- _Teresa._ His capture, not his death. _Valdez._ Alas! how aptly thou forget'st a tale 70 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, In the same storm that baffled his own valour, And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes: Gallant Ordonio! O beloved Teresa, 75 Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar, And most delight his spirit, go, make thou His brother happy, make his aged father Sink to the grave in joy. _Teresa._ For mercy's sake Press me no more! I have no power to love him. 80 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow, Chill me like dew-damps of the unwholesome night: My love, a timorous and tender flower, Closes beneath his touch. _Valdez._ You wrong him, maiden! You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well 85 To character by such unkindly phrases The stir and workings of that love for you Which he has toiled to smother. 'Twas not well, Nor is it grateful in you to forget His wounds and perilous voyages, and how 90 With an heroic fearlessness of danger He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. It was not well--You have moved me even to tears. _Teresa._ Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez! pardon me! It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 95 A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried Beyond myself, if I but hear of one Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not Born in one day, like twins of the same parent? Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father! 100 A six years' absence is a heavy thing, Yet still the hope survives---- _Valdez (looking forward)._ Hush! 'tis Monviedro. _Teresa._ The Inquisitor! on what new scent of blood? _Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA._ _Monviedro._ Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord, 105 My present need is with your son. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he. [_Enter from the opposite side DON ORDONIO._ My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. _Ordonio._ Hail, reverend father! what may be the business? 110 _Monviedro._ My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the Inquisition Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, 115 But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessoned by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 120 Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevailed with me that---- _Ordonio._ Reverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. [_Then to ALHADRA._ 125 I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me. _Monviedro._ My mind foretold me That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely 130 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel! The warranter of a Moresco's faith! Now I return. _Alhadra._ My Lord, my husband's name 135 Is Isidore. (_ORDONIO starts._) You may remember it: Three years ago, three years this very week, You left him at Almeria. _Monviedro._ Palpably false! This very week, three years ago, my lord, (You needs must recollect it by your wound) 140 You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! What, is he ill, my Lord? how strange he looks! _Valdez._ You pressed upon him too abruptly, father! The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. 145 _Ordonio._ O Heavens! I?--I doted? Yes! I doted on him. [_ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage, VALDEZ follows._ _Teresa._ I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought Should force itself upon me?--Yet I feel it! 150 _Monviedro._ The drops did start and stand upon his forehead! I will return. In very truth, I grieve To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman! _Alhadra (to Teresa)._ O gentle lady! make the father stay, Until my lord recover. I am sure, 155 That he will say he is my husband's friend. _Teresa._ Stay, father! stay! my lord will soon recover. _Ordonio (as they return, to Valdez)._ Strange, that this Monviedro Should have the power so to distemper me! _Valdez._ Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son! 160 _Monviedro._ My lord, I truly grieve---- _Ordonio._ Tut! name it not. A sudden seizure, father! think not of it. As to this woman's husband, I do know him. I know him well, and that he is a Christian. _Monviedro._ I hope, my lord, your merely human pity 165 Doth not prevail---- _Ordonio._ 'Tis certain that he was a catholic; What changes may have happened in three years, I can not say; but grant me this, good father: Myself I'll sift him: if I find him sound, 170 You'll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house. _Monviedro._ Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust--you have it. _Ordonio._ I will attend you home within an hour. 175 _Valdez._ Meantime return with us and take refreshment. _Alhadra_. Not till my husband's free! I may not do it. I will stay here. _Teresa (aside)._ Who is this Isidore? _Valdez._ Daughter! _Teresa._ With your permission, my dear lord, 180 I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze. [_Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO and ORDONIO._ _Alhadra._ Hah! there he goes! a bitter curse go with him, A scathing curse! You hate him, don't you, lady? _Teresa._ Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you. 185 _Alhadra._ These fell inquisitors! these sons of blood! As I came on, his face so maddened me, That ever and anon I clutched my dagger And half unsheathed it---- _Teresa._ Be more calm, I pray you. _Alhadra._ And as he walked along the narrow path 190 Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager; 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his Familiars held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 195 O, it had been most sweet! _Teresa._ Hush! hush for shame! Where is your woman's heart? _Alhadra._ O gentle lady! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Many and strange! Besides, I am a Christian, And Christians never pardon--'tis their faith! 200 _Teresa._ Shame fall on those who so have shewn it to thee! _Alhadra._ I know that man; 'tis well he knows not me. Five years ago (and he was the prime agent), Five years ago the holy brethren seized me. _Teresa._ What might your crime be? _Alhadra._ I was a Moresco! 205 They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison house, Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, It was a toil to breathe it! when the door, 210 Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down. Oh miserable! by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 215 Brought daily; for the little wretch was sickly-- My rage had dried away its natural food.[830:1] In darkness I remained--the dull bell counting, Which haply told me, that the all-cheering sun Was rising on our garden. When I dozed, 220 My infant's moanings mingled with my slumbers And waked me.--If you were a mother, lady, I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises And peevish cries so fretted on my brain That I have struck the innocent babe in anger. 225 _Teresa._ O Heaven! it is too horrible to hear. _Alhadra._ What was it then to suffer? 'Tis most right That such as you should hear it.--Know you not, What nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal?[830:2] Great evils ask great passions to redress them, 230 And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence. _Teresa._ You were at length released? _Alhadra._ Yes, at length I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven! 'Twas the first time my infant smiled. No more-- For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, 235 A trance comes on which makes me o'er again All I then was--my knees hang loose and drag, And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh, That you would start and shudder! _Teresa._ But your husband-- _Alhadra._ A month's imprisonment would kill him, Lady. 240 _Teresa._ Alas, poor man! _Alhadra._ He hath a lion's courage, Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance; Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships nature in the hill and valley, Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all-- 245 _Enter ALVAR disguised as a Moresco, and in Moorish garments._ _Teresa._ Know you that stately Moor? _Alhadra._ I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpujarras. _Teresa._ The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger, So near this seat? _Alhadra._ He wears the Moorish robes too, 250 As in defiance of the royal edict. [_ALHADRA advances to ALVAR, who has walked to the back of the stage, near the rocks. TERESA drops her veil._ _Alhadra._ Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race---- _Alvar._ You have mistaken me. I am a Christian. _Alhadra._ He deems, that we are plotting to ensnare him: 255 Speak to him, Lady--none can hear you speak, And not believe you innocent of guile. _Teresa._ If aught enforce you to concealment, Sir-- _Alhadra._ He trembles strangely. [_ALVAR sinks down and hides his face in his robe._ _Teresa._ See, we have disturbed him. [_Approaches nearer to him._ I pray you, think us friends--uncowl your face, 260 For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. I pray you, think us friends! _Alvar (raising his head)._ Calm, very calm! 'Tis all too tranquil for reality! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, 265 That voice, that innocent voice! She is no traitress! _Teresa._ Let us retire (_haughtily to Alhadra_). _Alhadra._ He is indeed a Christian. _Alvar (aside)._ She deems me dead, yet wears no mourning garment! Why should my brother's--wife--wear mourning garments? 270 [_To TERESA._ Your pardon, noble dame! that I disturbed you: I had just started from a frightful dream. _Teresa._ Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said, They prophesy-- _Alvar._ The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit 275 The ever-frowning Present is its image. _Teresa._ Traitress! (_Then aside._) What sudden spell o'ermasters me? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman? _Alvar._ I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant With blindest trust, and a betrothéd maid, 280 Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me: For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her. This maid so idolized, that trusted friend Dishonoured in my absence, soul and body! Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 285 And murderers were suborned against my life. But by my looks, and most impassioned words, I roused the virtues that are dead in no man, Even in the assassins' hearts! they made their terms, And thanked me for redeeming them from murder. 290 _Alhadra._ You are lost in thought: hear him no more, sweet Lady! _Teresa._ From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood! Well sir, what happened then? _Alvar._ On a rude rock, A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs, 295 Whose thready leaves to the low-breathing gale Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, I stayed, as though the hour of death were passed, And I were sitting in the world of spirits-- For all things seemed unreal! There I sate-- 300 The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, Black, sultry, close! and ere the midnight hour A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear, That woods, and sky, and mountains, seemed one havock. The second flash of lightning shewed a tree 305 Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous: My soul worked high, I bared my head to the storm, And with loud voice and clamorous agony, Kneeling I prayed to the great Spirit that made me, Prayed, that Remorse might fasten on their hearts, 310 And cling with poisonous tooth, inextricable As the gored lion's bite! _Teresa._ A fearful curse! _Alhadra._ But dreamt you not that you returned and killed them? Dreamt you of no revenge? _Alvar._ She would have died Died in her guilt--perchance by her own hands! 315 And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds, I might have met the evil glance of frenzy, And leapt myself into an unblest grave! I prayed for the punishment that cleanses hearts: For still I loved her! _Alhadra._ And you dreamt all this? 320 _Teresa._ My soul is full of visions all as wild! _Alhadra._ There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales. _Teresa (lifts up her veil, and advances to Alvar)._ Stranger, farewell! I guess not who you are, Nor why you so addressed your tale to me. Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplexed me, 325 With obscure memory of something past, Which still escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pampered with long wishing. If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling, Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream, 330 Drove you to this, your not ungentle, wildness-- You have my sympathy, and so farewell! But if some undiscovered wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, 335 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, Nor shall you want my favourable pleading.[833:1] [_Exeunt TERESA and ALHADRA._ _Alvar (alone)._ 'Tis strange! It cannot be! my Lord Ordonio! Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not do it! I cursed him once--and one curse is enough! 340 How sad she looked, and pale! but not like guilt-- And her calm tones--sweet as a song of mercy! If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, Hell scarce were Hell. And why not innocent? Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her? 345 But ere she married him, he had stained her honour; Ah! there I am hampered. What if this were a lie Framed by the assassin? Who should tell it him, If it were truth? Ordonio would not tell him. Yet why one lie? all else, I know, was truth. 350 No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience! And she referred to me--fondly, methought! Could she walk here if she had been a traitress? Here where we played together in our childhood? Here where we plighted vows? where her cold cheek 355 Received my last kiss, when with suppressed feelings She had fainted in my arms? It cannot be! 'Tis not in nature! I will die believing, That I shall meet her where no evil is, No treachery, no cup dashed from the lips. 360 I'll haunt this scene no more! live she in peace! Her husband--aye her husband! May this angel New mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, heaven, That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [824:1] [Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.] _Editions 2, 3, 1829._ Here Valdez bends back, with a smile of _wonder_ at the witness of the Fancy, which Teresa noting, she checks her enthusiasm, and in a persuasive half-pleading tone and action exemplifies her meaning in the little Tale included in the Parenthesis. _MS. Note to First Edition._ [830:1] 218-20. Compare Fragment. [830:2] 229. Compare line 13 of the lines 'Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune', p. 157. [833:1] (_then an half-pause and dropping the voice as hinted by the relaxation of the metre_--'Nor shall you,' &c.).--I mention this because it is one of the lines for which Mr. Gifford (whose §§ in the _Quarterly Rev._ drove M. L. _mad_ with a severer fit than she had ever had before) declared me at Murray's shop fit to be whipt as an idle Schoolboy--and, alas, I had conceited it to be a little beauty! _MS. H_. LINENOTES: [29] him] _him_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [50] my] _my_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [51] _After_ thought [_Clasping her forehead._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [54] _Teresa (abruptly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [61] fancies] dreams Edition 1. [62] _Teresa (with great tenderness)._ My, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [75] Gallant Ordonio! (_Pauses, then tenderly._) Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [77] And most delight his spirit, go, thou make Edition 1. [94] Lord Valdez] my father Edition 1. [103] _forward_] _forwards_ Editions 1, 2, 3. [104] what] some Edition 1. [105] _Monviedro (having first made his obeisance to Valdez and Teresa)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 106] [_Looking forward_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [112] his] their Edition 1. [118] lessoned] lessened Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, 1834. [133] warranter] guarantee Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [136] Stage-direction om. Edition 1. [142] murderers] _murderers_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [After 142] [_TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and horror. ORDONIO'S appearance to be collected from what follows._ [143] _Mon. (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO)._ What, is he ill, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [144] _Valdez (angrily)._ You, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. pressed upon] started on Edition 1. [146] _Ordonio (starting as in sudden agitation)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. I?--I] _I?_--_I_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 146: [_Then recovering himself._ Editions 1, 2, 3. [147] doted] _doted_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 147] _. . . follows soothing him._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [148] _Teresa (her eye following Ordonio)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [163] do] _do_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [164] is] _is_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [167] was] _was_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [183] A scathing curse! [_Then, as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 184] _Teresa (perceiving that Alhadra is conscious she has spoken imprudently)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [185] my] _my_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [188] my] _my_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [199] Many and strange! Besides, (_ironically_) I, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [218-20] In darkness I remained--counting the bell Which haply told me, that the blessed Sun Was rising on my garden. Edition 1. [248] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [249] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [254] _Alvar (interrupting her)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [256] you] _you_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 267] [_They advance to the front of the Stage._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [268] _Alhadra (with scorn)._ He is, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 278] [_TERESA looks round uneasily, but gradually becomes attentive as ALVAR proceeds in the next speech._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [310] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [312] As the gored lion's _bite_! _Teresa (shuddering)._ A fearful curse! Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [313] _Alhadra (fiercely)._ But dreamt, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [314] _Alvar (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress)._ She would, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [331] wildness] kindness Editions 1, 2, 3. [338] my] _my_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [339] Her] _Her_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [348] him] _him_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [350] know] _know_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [352] me] _me_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [362] husband] _husband_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [After 364] End of the Act First. Editions 1, 2, 3. ACT II SCENE I _A wild and mountainous country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance from ISIDORE'S house._ _Ordonio._ Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners. _Isidore._ Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! 5 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide When for my follies I was made to wander, With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them: Now but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 10 Had been my bed and pillow. _Ordonio._ Good Isidore! Why this to me? It is enough, you know it. _Isidore._ A common trick of gratitude, my lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart---- _Ordonio._ Enough! A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 15 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. _Isidore._ And how, my lord? I pray you to name the thing. I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied! _Ordonio._ Why--that--Lady-- _Isidore._ 'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you: 20 Have you a son, my lord? _Ordonio._ O miserable-- [_Aside._ Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. I told you what I wished--now for the truth-- She loved the man you kill'd. _Isidore._ You jest, my lord? _Ordonio._ And till his death is proved she will not wed me. 25 _Isidore._ You sport with me, my lord? _Ordonio._ Come, come! this foolery Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it! _Isidore._ I can bear this, and any thing more grievous From you, my lord--but how can I serve you here? _Ordonio._ Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture 30 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics-- _Isidore._ I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you. _Ordonio._ In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true: 35 Her lover schooled her in some newer nonsense! Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye: And such do love the marvellous too well 40 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy With a strange music, that she knows not of-- With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, Then leave, as one sure token of his death, That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck 45 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. _Isidore._ Will that be a sure sign? _Ordonio._ Beyond suspicion. Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, (By some base spell he had bewitched her senses) She whispered such dark fears of me forsooth, 50 As made this heart pour gall into my veins. And as she coyly bound it round his neck She made him promise silence; and now holds The secret of the existence of this portrait Known only to her lover and herself. 55 But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on them, And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. _Isidore._ But now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord, and I refuse-- But this I can not do. _Ordonio._ Where lies your scruple? 60 _Isidore._ Why--why, my lord! You know you told me that the lady lov'd you, Had loved you with incautious tenderness; That if the young man, her betrothéd husband, Returned, yourself, and she, and the honour of both 65 Must perish. Now though with no tenderer scruples Than those which being native to the heart, Than those, my lord, which merely being a man-- _Ordonio._ This fellow is a Man--he killed for hire One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples! 70 [_Then turning to ISIDORE._ These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering-- Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, Spelling thy villainy. _Isidore._ My lord--my lord, I can bear much--yes, very much from you! But there's a point where sufferance is meanness: 75 I am no villain--never kill'd for hire-- My gratitude---- _Ordonio._ O aye--your gratitude! 'Twas a well-sounding word--what have you done with it? _Isidore._ Who proffers his past favours for my virtue-- _Ordonio._ Virtue---- _Isidore._ Tries to o'erreach me--is a very sharper, 80 And should not speak of gratitude, my lord. I knew not 'twas your brother! _Ordonio._ And who told you? _Isidore._ He himself told me. _Ordonio._ Ha! you talk'd with him! And those, the two Morescoes who were with you? _Isidore._ Both fell in a night brawl at Malaga. 85 _Ordonio (in a low voice)._ My brother-- _Isidore._ Yes, my lord, I could not tell you! I thrust away the thought--it drove me wild. But listen to me now--I pray you listen---- _Ordonio._ Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of it. _Isidore._ My lord, it much imports your future safety 90 That you should hear it. _Ordonio (turning off from Isidore)._ Am not I a man! 'Tis as it should be! tut--the deed itself Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler! _Isidore._ We met him in the very place you mentioned. Hard by a grove of firs-- _Ordonio._ Enough--enough-- 95 _Isidore._ He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; In fine, compelled a parley. _Ordonio._ Alvar! brother! _Isidore._ He offered me his purse-- _Ordonio._ Yes? _Isidore._ Yes--I spurned it.-- He promised us I know not what--in vain! Then with a look and voice that overawed me, 100 He said, What mean you, friends? My life is dear: I have a brother and a promised wife, Who make life dear to me--and if I fall, That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance. There was a likeness in his face to yours; 105 I asked his brother's name: he said--Ordonio, Son of Lord Valdez! I had well nigh fainted. At length I said (if that indeed I said it, And that no Spirit made my tongue its organ,) That woman is dishonoured by that brother, 110 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him He wore her portrait round his neck. He look'd As he had been made of the rock that propt his back-- Aye, just as you look now--only less ghastly! 115 At length recovering from his trance, he threw His sword away, and bade us take his life, It was not worth his keeping. _Ordonio._ And you kill'd him? Oh blood hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you! He was his Maker's Image undefac'd! 120 It seizes me--by Hell I will go on! What--would'st thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't save thee! Oh cold--cold--cold! shot through with icy cold! _Isidore (aside)._ Were he alive he had returned ere now. The consequence the same--dead through his plotting! 125 _Ordonio._ O this unutterable dying away--here-- This sickness of the heart! What if I went And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds? Aye! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! What have I done but that which nature destined, 130 Or the blind elements stirred up within me? If good were meant, why were we made these beings? And if not meant-- _Isidore._ You are disturbed, my lord! _Ordonio (starts)._ A gust of the soul! i'faith it overset me. O 'twas all folly--all! idle as laughter! 135 Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me. _Isidore (in a low voice)._ I'll perish first! _Ordonio._ What dost thou mutter of? _Isidore._ Some of your servants know me, I am certain. _Ordonio._ There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you. _Isidore._ They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watched 140 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, Who as it seemed was gathering herbs and wild flowers. I had followed him at distance, seen him scale Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stole after him unnoticed. There I marked, 145 That mid the chequer work of light and shade With curious choice he plucked no other flowers, But those on which the moonlight fell: and once I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard-- Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment. 150 _Ordonio._ Doubtless you question'd him? _Isidore._ 'Twas my intention, Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies Lurk every where, already (as it seemed) Had given commission to his apt familiar 155 To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning, Was by this trusty agent stopped midway. I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him In that lone place, again concealed myself: Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, 160 And in your name, as lord of this domain, Proudly he answered, 'Say to the Lord Ordonio, He that can bring the dead to life again!' _Ordonio._ A strange reply! _Isidore._ Aye, all of him is strange. He called himself a Christian, yet he wears 165 The Moorish robes, as if he courted death. _Ordonio._ Where does this wizard live? _Isidore (pointing to the distance)._ You see that brooklet? Trace its course backward: through a narrow opening It leads you to the place. _Ordonio._ How shall I know it? _Isidore._ You cannot err. It is a small green dell 170 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, And from its shape our peasants aptly call it The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, And round its banks tall wood that branches over, And makes a kind of faery forest grow 175 Down in the water. At the further end A puny cataract falls on the lake; And there, a curious sight! you see its shadow For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, Up through the foliage of those faery trees. 180 His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it. _Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the scene, and then turning round to Isidore)._ Ha!--Who lurks there! Have we been overheard? There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glitters---- _Isidore._ 'Neath those tall stones, which propping each the other, Form a mock portal with their pointed arch? 185 Pardon my smiles! 'Tis a poor idiot boy, Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears. And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head, And staring at his bough from morn to sun-set, 190 See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises. _Ordonio._ 'Tis well, and now for this same wizard's lair. _Isidore._ Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch. _Ordonio._ I shall not fail to find it. 195 [_Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE._ LINENOTES: [3] My] _My_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [17] And how, my lord? I pray you name the thing. Editions 1, 2, 3. [19] _Ordonio (with embarrassment and hesitation)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [23] truth] _truth_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [24] _Isidore (looking as suddenly alarmed)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [37] upon] on _Edition 1_.] [61] _Isidore (with stammering)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [63] incautious] _incautious_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [67] native] _native_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [69] _Ordonio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [79] _Ordonio (with bitter scorn)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [83] _Ordonio (alarmed)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [84] those] these Edition 1. [91] Am I not a _man_? Edition 1. I] _I_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [97] _Ordonio (sighing as if lost in thought)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [98] _Ordonio (with eager suspicion)._ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [98] _Isidore (indignantly)._ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [108] I] _I_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [109] its] his Edition 1. [120] He was the image of the Deity. Edition 1. [After 120] [_A pause._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 122] [_A pause._ _Editions 2, 3, 1829_. [127] This sickness of the heart [_A pause._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, &c. [After 129] [_A pause._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [Before 134] _Ordonio (starts, looking at him wildly; then, after a pause, during which his features are forced into a smile)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [145] Stole] Stoln Editions 1, 2, 3. [161] your] _your_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 181] Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch. _Ord._ I shall not fail to find it. [_Exit ORDONIO. ISIDORE goes into his Cottage._ Edition 1. [182-95] om. Edition 1. SCENE II _The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ and ALHADRA, as on the point of leaving._ _Alhadra (addressing Alvar)._ Farewell then! and though many thoughts perplex me, Aught evil or ignoble never can I Suspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art, The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need Of such a leader. _Alvar._ Nobly-minded woman! 5 Long time against oppression have I fought, And for the native liberty of faith Have bled and suffered bonds. Of this be certain: Time, as he courses onward, still unrolls The volume of concealment. In the future, 10 As in the optician's glassy cylinder, The indistinguishable blots and colours Of the dim past collect and shape themselves, Upstarting in their own completed image To scare or to reward. I sought the guilty, 15 And what I sought I found: but ere the spear Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose To the Avenger I leave vengeance, and depart! Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, 20 Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee: For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. Once more, farewell. [_Exit ALHADRA._ Yes, to the Belgic states We will return. These robes, this stained complexion, Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. 25 Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past services. _Zulimez._ And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours, You let a murderer hold? _Alvar._ O faithful Zulimez! 30 That my return involved Ordonio's death, I trust, would give me an unmingled pang, Yet bearable: but when I see my father Strewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground, Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa-- 35 Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants His infants--poor Teresa!--all would perish, All perish--all! and I (nay bear with me) Could not survive the complicated ruin! _Zulimez._ Nay now! I have distress'd you--you well know, 40 I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True,'tis tiresome! You are a painter,[842:1] one of many fancies! You can call up past deeds, and make them live On the blank canvas! and each little herb, That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, 45 You have learnt to name---- Hark! heard you not some footsteps? _Alvar._ What if it were my brother coming onwards? I sent a most mysterious message to him. _Enter ORDONIO_ _Alvar._ It is he! _Ordonio (to himself as he enters)._ If I distinguish'd right her gait and stature, 50 It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, That passed me as I entered. A lit taper, In the night air, doth not more naturally Attract the night-flies round it, than a conjuror Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. 55 [_Addressing ALVAR._ You know my name, I guess, if not my person. I am Ordonio, son of the Lord Valdez. _Alvar._ The Son of Valdez! [_ORDONIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants._ _Zulimez (to Alvar)._ Why, what ails you now? How your hand trembles! Alvar, speak! what wish you? _Alvar._ To fall upon his neck and weep forgiveness! 60 _Ordonio (returning, and aloud)._ Plucked in the moonlight from a ruined abbey-- Those only, which the pale rays visited! O the unintelligible power of weeds, When a few odd prayers have been muttered o'er them: Then they work miracles! I warrant you, 65 There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks Some serviceable imp. There's one of you Hath sent me a strange message. _Alvar._ I am he. _Ordonio._ With you, then, I am to speak: [_Haughtily waving his hand to ZULIMEZ._ And mark you, alone. [_Exit ZULIMEZ._ 70 'He that can bring the dead to life again!'-- Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard, But one that strips the outward rind of things! _Alvar._ 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds, That are all dust and rottenness within. 75 Would'st thou I should strip such? _Ordonio._ Thou quibbling fool, What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journeyed hither To sport with thee? _Alvar._ O no, my lord! to sport Best suits the gaiety of innocence. _Ordonio (aside)._ O what a thing is man! the wisest heart 80 A fool! a fool that laughs at its own folly, Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._ You are poor! _Alvar._ What follows thence? _Ordonio._ That you would fain be richer. The inquisition, too--You comprehend me? You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power, 85 Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty: And for the boon I ask of you but this, That you should serve me--once--for a few hours. _Alvar._ Thou art the son of Valdez! would to Heaven That I could truly and for ever serve thee. 90 _Ordonio._ The slave begins to soften. [_Aside._ You are my friend, 'He that can bring the dead to life again,' Nay, no defence to me! The holy brethren Believe these calumnies--I know thee better. Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee! 95 _Alvar (aside)._ Alas! this hollow mirth--Declare your business. _Ordonio._ I love a lady, and she would love me But for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants here, no listeners? [_ORDONIO steps to the door._ _Alvar._ What, faithless too? False to his angel wife? 100 To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan, Ill-starr'd Teresa!----Wretch! my softer soul Is pass'd away, and I will probe his conscience! _Ordonio._ In truth this lady lov'd another man, But he has perish'd. _Alvar._ What! you kill'd him? hey? 105 _Ordonio._ I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it! Insolent slave! how dar'dst thou-- [_Turns abruptly from ALVAR, and then to himself._ Why! what's this? 'Twas idiotcy! I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a fool's cap-- _Alvar._ Fare thee well--[845:1] I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. [_ALVAR is retiring._ _Ordonio._ Ho! [_Calling to ALVAR._ 110 _Alvar._ Be brief, what wish you? _Ordonio._ You are deep at bartering--You charge yourself At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. _Alvar._ I listen to you. _Ordonio._ In a sudden tempest Did Alvar perish--he, I mean--the lover-- 115 The fellow---- _Alvar._ Nay, speak out! 'twill ease your heart To call him villain!--Why stand'st thou aghast? Men think it natural to hate their rivals. _Ordonio._ Now, till she knows him dead, she will not wed me. _Alvar._ Are you not wedded, then? Merciful Heaven! 120 Not wedded to Teresa? _Ordonio._ Why, what ails thee? What, art thou mad? why look'st thou upward so? Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air? _Alvar._ Proceed. I shall be silent. _Ordonio._ To Teresa? Politic wizard! ere you sent that message, 125 You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient In all my fortunes. Hah! you prophesied A golden crop! Well, you have not mistaken-- Be faithful to me and I'll pay thee nobly. _Alvar._ Well! and this lady! 130 _Ordonio._ If we could make her certain of his death, She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her, She tied a little portrait round his neck, Entreating him to wear it. _Alvar._ Yes! he did so! _Ordonio._ Why no: he was afraid of accidents, 135 Of robberies, and shipwrecks, and the like. In secrecy he gave it me to keep, Till his return. _Alvar._ What! he was your friend then? _Ordonio._ I was his friend.-- Now that he gave it me, 140 This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard-- Can call the dead man up--he will not come.-- He is in heaven then--there you have no influence. Still there are tokens--and your imps may bring you Something he wore about him when he died. 145 And when the smoke of the incense on the altar Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this picture. What say you now? _Alvar._ Ordonio, I will do it. _Ordonio._ We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Valdez. 150 I will prepare him. Music too, and incense, (For I have arranged it--music, altar, incense) All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, And here, what you will value more, a purse. Come early for your magic ceremonies. 155 _Alvar._ I will not fail to meet you. _Ordonio._ Till next we meet, farewell! [_Exit ORDONIO._ _Alvar (alone, indignantly flings the purse away and gazes passionately at the portrait)._ And I did curse thee! At midnight! on my knees! and I believed Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress! thee dishonour'd! O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly! 160 Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses, Thy infant loves--should not thy maiden vows Have come upon my heart? And this sweet Image Tied round my neck with many a chaste endearment, And thrilling hands, that made me weep and tremble-- 165 Ah, coward dupe! to yield it to the miscreant, Who spake pollution of thee! barter for life This farewell pledge, which with impassioned vow I had sworn that I would grasp--ev'n in my Death-pang! I am unworthy of thy love, Teresa, 170 Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, Which ever smiled on me! Yet do not scorn me-- I lisp'd thy name, ere I had learnt my mother's. Dear portrait! rescued from a traitor's keeping, I will not now profane thee, holy image, 175 To a dark trick. That worst bad man shall find A picture, which will wake the hell within him, And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience. FOOTNOTES: [842:1] The following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as (if I may say so without disrespect to the Public) to gratify my own feelings, the passage being no mere _fancy_ portrait; but a slight, yet not unfaithful, profile of one[842:A], who still lives, nobilitate felix, arte clarior, vitâ colendissimus. _Zulimez (speaking of Alvar in the third person)._ Such was the noble Spaniard's own relation. He told me, too, how in his early youth, And his first travels, 'twas his choice or chance To make long sojourn in sea-wedded Venice; There won the love of that divine old man, Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian! Who, like a second and more lovely Nature, By the sweet mystery of lines and colours Changed the blank canvas to a magic mirror, That made the absent present; and to shadows Gave light, depth, substance, bloom, yea, thought and motion. He loved the old man, and revered his art: And though of noblest birth and ample fortune, The young enthusiast thought it no scorn But this inalienable ornament, To be his pupil, and with filial zeal By practice to appropriate the sage lessons, Which the gay, smiling old man gladly gave. The art, he honoured thus, requited him: And in the following and calamitous years Beguiled the hours of his captivity. _Alhadra._ And then he framed this picture? and unaided By arts unlawful, spell, or talisman! _Alvar._ A potent spell, a mighty talisman! The imperishable memory of the deed, Sustained by love, and grief, and indignation! So vivid were the forms within his brain, His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them! [Note in Appendix to the second and later editions of _Remorse_.] [842:A] Sir George Beaumont. [Written 1814.] _Editions 1828, 1829_. [845:1] The line should run thus: And wear a fool's cap. _Alvar._ Fare thee well! (Oh! Brother!) (_aside_) _Then aloud_] I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. _MS. H_. LINENOTES: [9] Time] TIME Editions 2, 3, 1829. [10] future] FUTURE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [13] past] PAST Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [36] her] _her_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [37] His] _His_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [40] _Zulimez (much affected)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [49] _Alvar (starting)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [58] _Alvar (with deep emotion)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [66] lurks] works Edition 1. [68] Hath] Who Edition 1. [89] _Alvar (solemnly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 94] [_Then with great bitterness._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [109] _Alvar (watching his agitation)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 110] [_Alvar retires to the back of the stage._ Edition 1. [111] _Ordonio (having recovered himself)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [119] _Ordonio (hesitating)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [120] _Alvar (with eager vehemence)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [121] Teresa] TERESA Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [124] _Alvar (recollecting himself)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. Teresa] _Teresa_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [After 124] [_ALVAR sits, and leaning on the table, hides his face._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [130] _Alvar (lifting up his head)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [134] _Alvar (sighing)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [140] _Ordonio (wounded and embarrassed)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [147] will] can Edition 1. [148] _Alvar (after a pause)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [159] _Thee_ perjur'd, _thee_ a traitress Edition 1. _Thee_ perjur'd, _thee_ a traitress! _Thee_ dishonoured Editions 2, 3, 1829. [161] inarticulate] _inarticulate_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [162] infant . . . maiden] _Infant . . . Maiden_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [167-9] barter . . . Death-pang om. Edition 1. [168] which with] with which Editions 2, 3. [174] portrait] Image Edition 1. [After 178] End of the Second Act. Editions 1, 2, 3. ACT III SCENE I _A Hall of Armory, with an Altar at the back of the Stage. Soft Music from an instrument of Glass or Steel._ _VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered._ _Ordonio._ This was too melancholy, Father. _Valdez._ Nay, My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search We found him in an open place in the wood. To which spot he had followed a blind boy, 5 Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely moving notes: and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank: And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep, 10 His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe A silver toy his grandam had late given him. Methinks I see him now as he then look'd-- Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress, 15 Yet still he wore it. _Alvar (aside)._ My tears must not flow! I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father! _Enter TERESA and_ Attendants. _Teresa._ Lord Valdez, you have asked my presence here, And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me) My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery. 20 _Ordonio._ Believe you then no preternatural influence: Believe you not that spirits throng around us? _Teresa._ Say rather that I have imagined it A possible thing: and it has sooth'd my soul As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me 25 To traffic with the black and frenzied hope That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. [_To ALVAR._ Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you here, On such employment! With far other thoughts I left you. 30 _Ordonio (aside)._ Ha! he has been tampering with her? _Alvar._ O high-soul'd Maiden! and more dear to me Than suits the stranger's name!-- I swear to thee I will uncover all concealéd guilt. Doubt, but decide not! Stand ye from the altar. 35 [_Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scene._ _Alvar._ With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm I call up the departed! Soul of Alvar! Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell: So may the gates of Paradise, unbarr'd, Cease thy swift toils! Since haply thou art one 40 Of that innumerable company Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, With noise too vast and constant to be heard: Fitliest unheard! For oh, ye numberless, 45 And rapid travellers! what ear unstunn'd, What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against The rushing of your congregated wings? [_Music._ Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head! Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart sands, 50 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion To the parch'd caravan that roams by night! And ye upbuild on the becalmed waves That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven 55 Stands vast, and moves in blackness! Ye too split The ice mount! and with fragments many and huge Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulfs Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff! Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance, 60 Till from the blue swoln corse the soul toils out, And joins your mighty army. [_Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear, Sweet Spirit.'_ Soul of Alvar! Hear the mild spell, and tempt no blacker charm! By sighs unquiet, and the sickly pang Of a half-dead, yet still undying hope, 65 Pass visible before our mortal sense! So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine, Her knells and masses that redeem the dead! SONG _Behind the Scenes, accompanied by the same Instrument as before._ Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, Lest a blacker charm compel! 70 So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell. And at evening evermore, In a chapel on the shore, Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly, 75 Yellow tapers burning faintly, Doleful masses chaunt for thee, Miserere Domine! Hark! the cadence dies away On the quiet moonlight sea: 80 The boatmen rest their oars and say, Miserere Domine! [_A long pause._ _Ordonio._ The innocent obey nor charm nor spell! My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit, Burst on our sight, a passing visitant! 85 Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, O 'twere a joy to me! _Alvar._ A joy to thee! What if thou heard'st him now? What if his spirit Re-enter'd its cold corse, and came upon thee With many a stab from many a murderer's poniard? 90 What if (his stedfast eye still beaming pity And brother's love) he turn'd his head aside, Lest he should look at thee, and with one look Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence? _Valdez._ These are unholy fancies! _Ordonio._ Yes, my father, 95 He is in Heaven! _Alvar (still to Ordonio)._ But what if he had a brother, Who had lived even so, that at his dying hour, The name of Heaven would have convulsed his face, More than the death-pang? _Valdez._ Idly prating man! Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother 100 Stands here before thee--a father's blessing on him! He is most virtuous. _Alvar (still to Ordonio)._ What, if his very virtues Had pampered his swoln heart and made him proud? And what if pride had duped him into guilt? Yet still he stalked a self-created god, 105 Not very bold, but exquisitely cunning; And one that at his mother's looking-glass Would force his features to a frowning sternness? Young Lord! I tell thee, that there are such beings-- Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 110 To see these most proud men, that loath mankind, At every stir and buzz of coward conscience, Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites! Away, away! Now let me hear more music. [_Music again._ _Teresa._ 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! 115 But whatsoe'er it mean, I dare no longer Be present at these lawless mysteries, This dark provoking of the hidden Powers! Already I affront--if not high Heaven-- Yet Alvar's memory!--Hark! I make appeal 120 Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens, Comfort and faithful hope! Let us retire. _Alvar (to Teresa)._ O full of faith and guileless love, thy Spirit 125 Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent! [_Exeunt TERESA and_ Attendant. _Music as before._ The spell is mutter'd--Come, thou wandering shape, Who own'st no master in a human eye, Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, or foul, 130 If he be dead, O come! and bring with thee That which he grasp'd in death! But if he live, Some token of his obscure perilous life. [_The whole Music dashes into a Chorus._ CHORUS Wandering demons, hear the spell! Lest a blacker charm compel-- 135 [_The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly, and an illuminated picture of ALVAR'S assassination is discovered, and having remained a few seconds is then hidden by ascending flames._ _Ordonio (starting)._ Duped! duped! duped!--the traitor Isidore! [_At this instant the doors are forced open, MONVIEDRO and the_ Familiars of the Inquisition, Servants, _&c., enter and fill the stage._ _Monviedro._ First seize the sorcerer! suffer him not to speak! The holy judges of the Inquisition Shall hear his first words.--Look you pale, Lord Valdez? Plain evidence have we here of most foul sorcery. 140 There is a dungeon underneath this castle, And as you hope for mild interpretation, Surrender instantly the keys and charge of it. _Ordonio (recovering himself as from stupor, to Servants)._ Why haste you not? Off with him to the dungeon! [_All rush out in tumult._ LINENOTES: [16] _Alvar (aside)._ Stage-direction om. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [33] stranger's] _Stranger's_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [35] Doubt, but decide not! Stand from off the altar. Edition 1. [After 49] [_Music expressive of the movements and images that follow._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [54] upbuild] build up Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [62] Stage-direction [_Here behind, &c._ om. Edition 1. [75] chaunter] Chaunters Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [80] quiet] yellow Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [95] _Ordonio (struggling with his feelings)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [122] bend] kneel Edition 1. [125] _Alvar (to Teresa anxiously)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [129] a human eye] an eye of flesh Edition 1. [134] demons] demon Edition 1. [136] _Ordonio (starting in great agitation)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [141] this] the Edition 1. SCENE II _Interior of a Chapel, with painted Windows._ _Enter TERESA._ _Teresa._ When first I entered this pure spot, forebodings Press'd heavy on my heart: but as I knelt, Such calm unwonted bliss possess'd my spirit, A trance so cloudless, that those sounds, hard by, Of trampling uproar fell upon mine ear 5 As alien and unnoticed as the rain-storm Beats on the roof of some fair banquet-room, While sweetest melodies are warbling---- _Enter VALDEZ._ _Valdez._ Ye pitying saints, forgive a father's blindness, And extricate us from this net of peril! 10 _Teresa._ Who wakes anew my fears, and speaks of peril? _Valdez._ O best Teresa, wisely wert thou prompted! This was no feat of mortal agency! That picture--Oh, that picture tells me all! With a flash of light it came, in flames it vanished, 15 Self-kindled, self-consum'd: bright as thy life, Sudden and unexpected as thy fate, Alvar! My son! My son!--The Inquisitor-- _Teresa._ Torture me not! But Alvar--Oh of Alvar? _Valdez._ How often would he plead for these Morescoes! 20 The brood accurst! remorseless, coward murderers! _Teresa._ So? so?--I comprehend you--He is---- _Valdez._ He is no more! _Teresa._ O sorrow! that a father's voice should say this, A Father's Heart believe it! _Valdez._ A worse sorrow Are fancy's wild hopes to a heart despairing! 25 _Teresa._ These rays that slant in through those gorgeous windows, From yon bright orb--though coloured as they pass, Are they not light?--Even so that voice, Lord Valdez! Which whispers to my soul, though haply varied By many a fancy, many a wishful hope, 30 Speaks yet the truth: and Alvar lives for me! _Valdez._ Yes, for three wasting years, thus and no other, He has lived for thee--a spirit for thy spirit! My child, we must not give religious faith To every voice which makes the heart a listener 35 To its own wish. _Teresa._ I breath'd to the Unerring Permitted prayers. Must those remain unanswer'd, Yet impious sorcery, that holds no commune Save with the lying spirit, claim belief? _Valdez._ O not to-day, not now for the first time 40 Was Alvar lost to thee-- Accurst assassins! Disarmed, o'erpowered, despairing of defence, At his bared breast he seem'd to grasp some relique More dear than was his life---- _Teresa._ O Heavens! my portrait! And he did grasp it in his death pang! Off, false demon, 45 That beat'st thy black wings close above my head![853:1] [_ORDONIO enters with the keys of the dungeon in his hand._ Hush! who comes here? The wizard Moor's employer! Moors were his murderers, you say? Saints shield us From wicked thoughts---- [_VALDEZ moves towards the back of the stage to meet ORDONIO, and during the concluding lines of TERESA'S speech appears as eagerly conversing with him._ Is Alvar dead? what then? The nuptial rites and funeral shall be one! 50 Here's no abiding-place for thee, Teresa.-- Away! they see me not--Thou seest me, Alvar! To thee I bend my course.--But first one question, One question to Ordonio.--My limbs tremble-- There I may sit unmark'd--a moment will restore me. 55 [_Retires out of sight._ _Ordonio (as he advances with Valdez)._ These are the dungeon keys. Monviedro knew not, That I too had received the wizard's message, 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' But now he is satisfied, I plann'd this scheme To work a full conviction on the culprit, 60 And he entrusts him wholly to my keeping. _Valdez._ 'Tis well, my son! But have you yet discovered (Where is Teresa?) what those speeches meant-- Pride, and hypocrisy, and guilt, and cunning? Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on you, 65 And you, I know not why, look'd pale and trembled-- Why--why, what ails you now?-- _Ordonio._ Me? what ails me? A pricking of the blood--It might have happen'd At any other time.--Why scan you me? _Valdez._ His speech about the corse, and stabs and murderers, 70 Bore reference to the assassins---- _Ordonio._ Dup'd! dup'd! dup'd! The traitor, Isidore! [_A pause, then wildly._ I tell thee, my dear father! I am most glad of this. _Valdez._ True--sorcery Merits its doom; and this perchance may guide us To the discovery of the murderers. 75 I have their statures and their several faces So present to me, that but once to meet them Would be to recognize. _Ordonio._ Yes! yes! we recognize them. I was benumb'd, and staggered up and down Through darkness without light--dark--dark--dark! 80 My flesh crept chill, my limbs felt manacled As had a snake coil'd round them!--Now 'tis sunshine, And the blood dances freely through its channels! [_Then to himself._ This is my virtuous, grateful Isidore! [_Then mimicking ISIDORE'S manner and voice._ 'A common trick of gratitude, my lord!' 85 Old Gratitude! a dagger would dissect His 'own full heart'--'twere good to see its colour. _Valdez._ These magic sights! O that I ne'er had yielded To your entreaties! Neither had I yielded, But that in spite of your own seeming faith 90 I held it for some innocent stratagem, Which love had prompted, to remove the doubts Of wild Teresa--by fancies quelling fancies! _Ordonio._ Love! love! and then we hate! and what? and wherefore? Hatred and love! fancies opposed by fancies! 95 What? if one reptile sting another reptile? Where is the crime? The goodly face of nature Hath one disfeaturing stain the less upon it. Are we not all predestined transiency, And cold dishonour? Grant it, that this hand 100 Had given a morsel to the hungry worms Somewhat too early--Where's the crime of this? That this must needs bring on the idiotcy Of moist-eyed penitence--'tis like a dream! _Valdez._ Wild talk, my son! But thy excess of feeling---- 105 Almost I fear it hath unhinged his brain. _Ordonio (Teresa reappears and advances slowly)._ Say, I had laid a body in the sun! Well! in a month there swarm forth from the corse A thousand, nay, ten thousand sentient beings In place of that one man.--Say, I had kill'd him! 110 [_TERESA stops listening._ Yet who shall tell me, that each one and all Of these ten thousand lives is not as happy, As that one life, which being push'd aside, Made room for these unnumbered---- _Valdez._ O mere madness! [_TERESA moves hastily forwards, and places herself directly before ORDONIO._ _Ordonio._ Teresa? or the phantom of Teresa? 115 _Teresa._ Alas! the phantom only, if in truth The substance of her being, her life's life, Have ta'en its flight through Alvar's death-wound-- [_A pause._ Where-- (Even coward murder grants the dead a grave) O tell me, Valdez!--answer me, Ordonio! 120 Where lies the corse of my betrothéd husband? _Ordonio._ There, where Ordonio likewise would fain lie! In the sleep-compelling earth, in unpierc'd darkness![856:1] For while we live-- An inward day that never, never sets, 125 Glares round the soul, and mocks the closing eyelids! Over his rocky grave the fir-grove sighs A lulling ceaseless dirge! 'Tis well with him. [_Strides off towards the altar, but returns as VALDEZ is speaking._ _Teresa._ The rock! the fir-grove! [_To VALDEZ._ Did'st thou hear him say it? Hush! I will ask him! _Valdez._ Urge him not--not now! 130 This we beheld. Nor he nor I know more, Than what the magic imagery revealed. The assassin, who pressed foremost of the three---- _Ordonio._ A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful villain, Whom I will strangle! _Valdez._ While his two companions---- 135 _Ordonio._ Dead! dead already! what care we for the dead? _Valdez (to Teresa)._ Pity him! soothe him! disenchant his spirit! These supernatural shews, this strange disclosure, And this too fond affection, which still broods O'er Alvar's fate, and still burns to avenge it-- 140 These, struggling with his hopeless love for you, Distemper him, and give reality To the creatures of his fancy. _Ordonio._ Is it so? Yes! yes! even like a child, that too abruptly Roused by a glare of light from deepest sleep 145 Starts up bewildered and talks idly. Father! What if the Moors that made my brother's grave, Even now were digging ours? What if the bolt, Though aim'd, I doubt not, at the son of Valdez, Yet miss'd its true aim when it fell on Alvar? 150 _Valdez._ Alvar ne'er fought against the Moors,--say rather, He was their advocate; but you had march'd With fire and desolation through their villages.-- Yet he by chance was captured. _Ordonio._ Unknown, perhaps, Captured, yet as the son of Valdez, murdered. 155 Leave all to me. Nay, whither, gentle lady? _Valdez._ What seek you now? _Teresa._ A better, surer light To guide me---- _Both Valdez and Ordonio._ Whither? _Teresa._ To the only place Where life yet dwells for me, and ease of heart. These walls seem threatening to fall in upon me! 160 Detain me not! a dim power drives me hence, And that will be my guide. _Valdez._ To find a lover! Suits that a high-born maiden's modesty? O folly and shame! Tempt not my rage, Teresa! _Teresa._ Hopeless, I fear no human being's rage. 165 And am I hastening to the arms----O Heaven! I haste but to the grave of my belov'd! [_Exit, VALDEZ following after her._ _Ordonio._ This, then, is my reward! and I must love her? Scorn'd! shudder'd at! yet love her still? yes! yes! By the deep feelings of revenge and hate 170 I will still love her--woo her--win her too! [_A pause._ Isidore safe and silent, and the portrait Found on the wizard--he, belike, self-poison'd To escape the crueller flames----My soul shouts triumph! The mine is undermined! blood! blood! blood! 175 They thirst for thy blood! thy blood, Ordonio! [_A pause._ The hunt is up! and in the midnight wood With lights to dazzle and with nets they seek A timid prey: and lo! the tiger's eye Glares in the red flame of his hunter's torch! 180 To Isidore I will dispatch a message, And lure him to the cavern! aye, that cavern! He cannot fail to find it. Thither I'll lure him, Whence he shall never, never more return! [_Looks through the side window._ A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea, 185 And now 'tis gone! All shall be done to-night. [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [853:1] 45-6. Compare _The Death of Wallenstein_, Act I, Sc. IV, ll. 48-9. See note by J. D. Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 650. [856:1] It was pleasing to observe, during the Rehearsal all the Actors and Actresses and even the Mechanics on the stage clustering round while these lines were repeating just as if it had been a favourite strain of Music. But from want of depth and volume of voice in Rae, they did not produce an equal effect on the Public till after the Publication--and _then_ they (I understand) were applauded. I have never seen the Piece since the first Night. _S. T. C._ LINENOTES: SCENE II] SCENE III. _Interior of a Chapel._ Edition 1. [20] would he] wouldst thou Edition 1. [22] _Teresa (wildly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. _Valdez (with averted countenance)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [24] A worse sorrow] And how painful Edition 1. [41] Was Alvar lost to thee-- [_Turning off, aloud, but yet as to himself._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [44] _Teresa (with faint shriek)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. my] _my_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [45] He grasp'd it in his death-pang! Edition 1. did] _did_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [49] Is] _Is_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [52] Thou] _Thou_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 55] Stage-direction om. Edition 1. [67] _Ordonio (confused)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [73] _Valdez (confused)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 83] [_Turns off abruptly; then to himself._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [84] grateful] _grateful_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [94] _Ordonio (in a slow voice, as reasoning to himself)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [101] Had] _Had_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 105] [_Averting himself._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [107] _Ordonio (now in soliloquy, and now addressing his father; and just after the speech has commenced, Teresa_, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [110] kill'd] _kill'd_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 110] [_TERESA starts and stops listening._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [Before 115] _Ordonio (checking the feeling of surprise, and forcing his tones into an expression of playful courtesy)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [124] live] LIVE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [128] him] HIM Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 128] [_Strides off in agitation towards the altar_, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [129] _Teresa (recoiling with the expression appropriate to the passion)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. thou] _thou_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [131] beheld . . . he] _beheld . . . He_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [134] grateful] _grateful_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [135] _Valdez (looking with anxious disquiet at his Son, yet attempting to proceed with his description)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [146] Starts up bewildered and talks idly. [_Then mysteriously._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [158] _Both._ Whither Edition 1. [168] must] _must_ Editions 1, 2, 3. [171] win] _win_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [176] thy] _thy_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 186] end of the Third Act. Editions 1, 2, 3. ACT IV SCENE I _A cavern, dark, except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side at the further end of it; supposed to be cast on it from a crevice in a part of the cavern out of sight. ISIDORE alone, an extinguished torch in his hand._ _Isidore._ Faith 'twas a moving letter--very moving! 'His life in danger, no place safe but this! 'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude.' And yet--but no! there can't be such a villain. It can not be! Thanks to that little crevice, 5 Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and sit by it. To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep-- Any thing but this crash of water drops! These dull abortive sounds that fret the silence 10 With puny thwartings and mock opposition! So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear. [_He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight: and returns._ A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! I was just in--and those damn'd fingers of ice Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha!--what's that--it mov'd. 15 [_ISIDORE stands staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time ORDONIO enters with a torch, and halloes to ISIDORE._ _Isidore._ I swear that I saw something moving there! The moonshine came and went like a flash of lightning---- I swear, I saw it move. _Ordonio (goes into the recess, then returns)._ A jutting clay stone Drops on the long lank weed, that grows beneath: And the weed nods and drips.[859:1] _Isidore._ A jest to laugh at! 20 It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord. _Ordonio._ What scar'd you, then? _Isidore._ You see that little rift? But first permit me! [_Lights his torch at ORDONIO'S, and while lighting it._ (A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 25 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) You see that crevice there? My torch extinguished by these water-drops, And marking that the moonlight came from thence, I stept in to it, meaning to sit there; 30 But scarcely had I measured twenty paces-- My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink Of a huge chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine Filling the void so counterfeited substance, 35 That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. Was it my own fear? Fear too hath its instincts![860:1] (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye) An arm of frost above and from behind me 40 Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven! You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here! My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. _Ordonio._ It must have shot some pleasant feelings through you. _Isidore._ If every atom of a dead man's flesh 45 Should creep, each one with a particular life, Yet all as cold as ever--'twas just so! Or had it drizzled needle-points of frost Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald-- _Ordonio._ Why, Isidore, I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, 50 I grant you, even a brave man for a moment-- But such a panic-- _Isidore._ When a boy, my lord! I could have sate whole hours beside that chasm, Push'd in huge stones and heard them strike and rattle Against its horrid sides: then hung my head 55 Low down, and listened till the heavy fragments Sank with faint crash in that still groaning well, Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never A living thing came near--unless, perchance, Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould 60 Close at its edge. _Ordonio._ Art thou more coward now? _Isidore._ Call him, that fears his fellow-man, a coward! I fear not man--but this inhuman cavern, It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. Beside, (you'll smile, my lord) but true it is, 65 My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted By what had passed between us in the morning. O sleep of horrors! Now run down and stared at By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance-- Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, 70 But only being afraid--stifled with fear! While every goodly or familiar form Had a strange power of breathing terror round me![861:1] I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes; And, I entreat your lordship to believe me, 75 In my last dream---- _Ordonio._ Well? _Isidore._ I was in the act Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra Wak'd me: she heard my heart beat. _Ordonio._ Strange enough! Had you been here before? _Isidore._ Never, my lord! But mine eyes do not see it now more clearly, 80 Than in my dream I saw--that very chasm. _Ordonio (after a pause)._ I know not why it should be! yet it is-- _Isidore._ What is, my lord? _Ordonio._ Abhorrent from our nature To kill a man.-- _Isidore._ Except in self-defence. _Ordonio._ Why that's my case; and yet the soul recoils from it-- 85 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, Have sterner feelings? _Isidore._ Something troubles you. How shall I serve you? By the life you gave me, By all that makes that life of value to me, My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, 90 Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, If it be innocent! But this, my lord! Is not a place where you could perpetrate, No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness, When ten strides off we know 'tis cheerful moonlight, 95 Collects the guilt, and crowds it round the heart. It must be innocent. _Ordonio._ Thyself be judge. One of our family knew this place well. _Isidore._ Who? when? my lord? _Ordonio._ What boots it, who or when? Hang up thy torch--I'll tell his tale to thee. 100 [_They hang up their torches on some ridge in the cavern._ He was a man different from other men, And he despised them, yet revered himself. _Isidore (aside)._ He? He despised? Thou'rt speaking of thyself! I am on my guard, however: no surprise. [_Then to ORDONIO._ What, he was mad? _Ordonio._ All men seemed mad to him! 105 Nature had made him for some other planet, And pressed his soul into a human shape By accident or malice. In this world He found no fit companion. _Isidore._ Of himself he speaks. [_Aside._ Alas! poor wretch! 110 Mad men are mostly proud. _Ordonio._ He walked alone, And phantom thoughts unsought-for troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities; and with these shadows His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happened, 115 A fancy crossed him wilder than the rest: To this in moody murmur and low voice He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep: The man who heard him.-- Why did'st thou look round? _Isidore._ I have a prattler three years old, my lord! 120 In truth he is my darling. As I went From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep-- But I am talking idly--pray proceed! And what did this man? _Ordonio._ With this human hand He gave a substance and reality 125 To that wild fancy of a possible thing.-- Well it was done! Why babblest thou of guilt? The deed was done, and it passed fairly off. And he whose tale I tell thee--dost thou listen? _Isidore._ I would, my lord, you were by my fire-side, 130 I'd listen to you with an eager eye, Though you began this cloudy tale at midnight, But I do listen--pray proceed, my lord. _Ordonio._ Where was I? _Isidore._ He of whom you tell the tale-- _Ordonio._ Surveying all things with a quiet scorn, 135 Tamed himself down to living purposes, The occupations and the semblances Of ordinary men--and such he seemed! But that same over ready agent--he-- _Isidore._ Ah! what of him, my lord? _Ordonio._ He proved a traitor, 140 Betrayed the mystery to a brother-traitor, And they between them hatch'd a damnéd plot To hunt him down to infamy and death. What did the Valdez? I am proud of the name Since he dared do it.-- [_ORDONIO grasps his sword, and turns off from ISIDORE, then after a pause returns._ Our links burn dimly. 145 _Isidore._ A dark tale darkly finished! Nay, my lord! Tell what he did. _Ordonio._ That which his wisdom prompted-- He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill'd the traitor. _Isidore._ No! the fool! 150 He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen That he who gulled thee with a whimpered lie To murder his own brother, would not scruple To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous, 155 And he could steal upon thee in the dark! _Ordonio._ Thou would'st not then have come, if-- _Isidore._ Oh yes, my lord! I would have met him arm'd, and scar'd the coward. [_ISIDORE throws off his robe; shews himself armed, and draws his sword._ _Ordonio._ Now this is excellent and warms the blood! 160 My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien, And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of-- Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it 165 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. _Isidore._ And all my little ones fatherless-- Die thou first. [_They fight, ORDONIO disarms ISIDORE, and in disarming him throws his sword up that recess opposite to which they were standing. ISIDORE hurries into the recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him; a loud cry of 'Traitor! Monster!' is heard from the cavern, and in a moment ORDONIO returns alone._ _Ordonio._ I have hurl'd him down the chasm! treason for treason. He dreamt of it: henceforward let him sleep, A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. 170 His dream too is made out--Now for his friend. [_Exit ORDONIO._ FOOTNOTES: [859:1] 18-20. Compare _This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison_, ll. 17-20, p. 179. See note by J. D. Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 651. [860:1] 38-9. These two lines uttered in an under-voice, and timidly, as anticipating Ordonio's sneer, and yet not able to disguise his own superstition. (_Marginal Note to First Edition._) What trouble had I not, and at last almost fruitless, to teach De Camp the hurried under-voice with which Isidore should utter these two lines, as anticipating Ordonio's scorn, and yet unable to suppress his own superstition--and yet De Camp, spite of voice, person, and inappropriate protrusion of the chest, understood and realised his part better than all the rest--to the man of sense, I mean. _MS. H_. [861:1] 72-3. In the _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, ii. 73 Coleridge puts these lines into another shape:-- The simplest and the most familiar things Gain a strange power of spreading awe around them. See note by J. D. Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 651. LINENOTES: [After 12] [_He goes . . . moonlight: returns after a minute's elapse, in an extasy of fear._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [13] pit] _pit_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [18] _Ordonio (goes . . . returns, and with great scorn)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [20] _Isidore (forcing a laugh faintly.)_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [47] ever] eve Edition 1. [49] _Ordonio (interrupting him)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [51] brave] _brave_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [60] battens] fattens Edition 1. [68-73] om. Edition 1. [71] afraid] _afraid_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [82] _Ordonio (stands lost in thought, then after a pause)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. is] _is_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [97] It must be innocent. [_ORDONIO darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions, speaking of himself in the third person._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [103] He? He] He? _He_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [124] this] _his_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [127] Well it was done! [_Then very wildly._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [140] him . . . He] _him . . . He_, Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [155] thee] _thee_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 167] [_They fight . . . standing._ (The rest of the stage-direction is here omitted.) _Isid. (springing wildly towards Ordonio)._ Still I can strangle thee! _Ord._ Nay fool, stand off! I'll kill thee, but not so. Go fetch thy sword. [_ISIDORE hurries into the recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him . . . returns alone._ Edition 1. [169] dreamt] _dreamt_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [171] dream] _dream_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. SCENE II _The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle, with the Iron Gate of a Dungeon visible._ _Teresa._ Heart-chilling superstition! thou canst glaze Ev'n pity's eye with her own frozen tear. In vain I urge the tortures that await him; Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, My second mother, shuts her heart against me! 5 Well, I have won from her what most imports The present need, this secret of the dungeon Known only to herself.--A Moor! a Sorcerer! No, I have faith, that Nature ne'er permitted Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, 10 I doubt not that Ordonio had suborned him To act some part in some unholy fraud; As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, And that Ordonio meditates revenge! 15 But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him, And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar. _Enter VALDEZ._ _Valdez._ Still sad?--and gazing at the massive door Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of, Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it 20 When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats. Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee! A stately man, and eloquent and tender-- Who then need wonder if a lady sighs Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans-- 25 _Teresa._ The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, That I should feel too little for mine enemy, If it were possible I could feel more, Even though the dearest inmates of our household 30 Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are-- _Valdez._ Hush, thoughtless woman! _Teresa._ Nay, it wakes within me More than a woman's spirit. _Valdez._ No more of this-- What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us! I dare not listen to you. _Teresa._ My honoured lord, 35 These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, As if to give a voice to the mute image. _Valdez._ ----We have mourned for Alvar. Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. 40 Have I no other son? _Teresa._ Speak not of him! That low imposture! That mysterious picture! If this be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it. _Valdez._ Is this well? 45 _Teresa._ Yes, it is truth: saw you his countenance? How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear Displaced each other with swift interchanges? O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.---- I would call up before thine eyes the image 50 Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born![866:1] His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips! That spiritual and almost heavenly light In his commanding eye--his mien heroic, 55 Virtue's own native heraldry! to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears, Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd 60 The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, Oh, what a grief was there--for joy to envy, Or gaze upon enamour'd! O my father! Recall that morning when we knelt together, And thou didst bless our loves! O even now, 65 Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him, As at that moment he rose up before thee, Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him Ordonio's dark perturbéd countenance! Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn 70 From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind! To take in exchange that brooding man, who never Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl. _Valdez._ Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle An old man's passion! was it not enough, 75 That thou hast made my son a restless man, Banish'd his health, and half unhing'd his reason; But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion? And toil to blast his honour? I am old, A comfortless old man! _Teresa._ O grief! to hear 80 Hateful entreaties from a voice we love! _Enter a_ Peasant _and presents a letter to VALDEZ._ _Valdez (reading it)._ 'He dares not venture hither!' Why, what can this mean? 'Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition, That watch around my gates, should intercept him; But he conjures me, that without delay 85 I hasten to him--for my own sake entreats me To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd-- He will reveal a secret, the joy of which Will even outweigh the sorrow.'--Why what can this be? Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, 90 To have in me a hostage for his safety. Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants! I will go thither--let them arm themselves. [_Exit VALDEZ._ _Teresa (alone)._ The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd. Yet anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear 95 A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep. O Alvar! Alvar! that they could return, Those blessed days that imitated heaven, When we two wont to walk at eventide; 100 When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard The voice of that Almighty One who loved us In every gale that breathed, and wave that murmur'd! O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure Hath half assumed the countenance of grief, 105 And the deep sigh seemed to heave up a weight Of bliss, that pressed too heavy on the heart. [_A pause._ And this majestic Moor, seems he not one Who oft and long communing with my Alvar Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, 110 And guides me to him with reflected light? What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery Be groping for him with envenomed poniard-- Hence, womanish fears, traitors to love and duty-- I'll free him. [_Exit TERESA._ FOOTNOTES: [866:1] 52-63. Compare Fragment No. 39, p. 1005. LINENOTES: [Before 1] stage-direction _om._ Scene II is headed '_The Sea-Coast_' Edition 1. _The interior . . . of Dungeon visible._ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [17] know] knew Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [18] _Valdez._ Still sad, Teresa! This same wizard haunts you Edition 1. [19-22] om. Edition 1. [After 23] [_With a sneer._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [26] _Teresa (with solemn indignation)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [33] woman's] woman Edition 1. [62] _there_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [80, 81] _Teresa._ O Grief . . . we love! om. Edition 1. SCENE III _The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress._ _Alhadra._ Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands. Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl, 5 (Strange! very strange!) the screech-owl only wakes! Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty! Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood. Why such a thing am I?--Where are these men? 10 I need the sympathy of human faces, To beat away this deep contempt for all things, Which quenches my revenge. O! would to Alla, The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed To bring me food! or rather that my soul 15 Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course. And think myself the only being alive! 20 My children!--Isidore's children!--Son of Valdez, This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant! To stupify a woman's heart with anguish Till she forgot--even that she was a mother! [_She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of_ Morescoes, _all in Moorish garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till NAOMI enters_. _Naomi._ Woman! May Alla and the Prophet bless thee! 25 We have obeyed thy call. Where is our chief? And why didst thou enjoin these Moorish garments? _Alhadra (raising her eyes, and looking round on the circle)._ Warriors of Mahomet! faithful in the battle! My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work An honourable deed? And would ye work it 30 In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes! They are spell-blasted: and whoever wears them, His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, And his bones soften. _Naomi._ Where is Isidore? _Alhadra._ This night I went from forth my house, and left 35 His children all asleep: and he was living! And I return'd and found them still asleep, But he had perished---- _All Morescoes._ Perished? _Alhadra._ He had perished! Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know That he is fatherless--a desolate orphan! 40 Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm Revenge his murder? _One Moresco (to another)._ Did she say his murder? _Naomi._ Murder? Not murdered? _Alhadra._ Murdered by a Christian! [_They all at once draw their sabres._ _Alhadra (to Naomi, who advances from the circle)._ Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword; This is thy chieftain's! [_He steps forward to take it._ Dost thou dare receive it? 45 For I have sworn by Alla and the Prophet, No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez! [_A pause._ Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer! 50 _Naomi._ He dies, by Alla! _All (kneeling)._ By Alla! _Alhadra._ This night your chieftain armed himself, And hurried from me. But I followed him At distance, till I saw him enter--there! _Naomi._ The cavern? _Alhadra._ Yes, the mouth of yonder cavern 55 After a while I saw the son of Valdez Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise entered. There was another and a longer pause; And once, methought I heard the clash of swords! And soon the son of Valdez re-appeared: 60 He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, And seemed as he were mirthful! I stood listening, Impatient for the footsteps of my husband! _Naomi._ Thou called'st him? _Alhadra._ I crept into the cavern-- 'Twas dark and very silent. What said'st thou? 65 No! no! I did not dare call, Isidore, Lest I should hear no answer! A brief while, Belike, I lost all thought and memory Of that for which I came! After that pause, O Heaven! I heard a groan, and followed it: 70 And yet another groan, which guided me Into a strange recess--and there was light, A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground; Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink: I spake; and whilst I spake, a feeble groan 75 Came from that chasm! it was his last! his death-groan! _Naomi._ Comfort her, Alla! _Alhadra._ I stood in unimaginable trance And agony that cannot be remembered, Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan! 80 But I had heard his last: my husband's death-groan! _Naomi._ Haste! let us onward. _Alhadra._ I looked far down the pit-- My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment: And it was stained with blood. Then first I shrieked, My eye-balls burnt, my brain grew hot as fire, 85 And all the hanging drops of the wet roof Turned into blood--I saw them turn to blood! And I was leaping wildly down the chasm, When on the farther brink I saw his sword, And it said, Vengeance!--Curses on my tongue! 90 The moon hath moved in Heaven, and I am here, And he hath not had vengeance! Isidore! Spirit of Isidore! thy murderer lives! Away! away! _All._ Away! away! [_She rushes off, all following her._ LINENOTES: [1-24] om. Edition 1. [Before 25] _The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress; her eye fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA._ _A Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle._ _Naomi._ Woman! may Alla, &c. Edition 1. Stage-direction after 24 [_She fixes . . . and remain silent till the Second in Command, NAOMI, enters, distinguished by his dress and armour, and by the silent obeisance paid to him on his entrance by the other_ Moors. Editions 2, 3, 1829. [Before 28] _Alhadra (lifting up eyes, and looking, &c.)._ Edition 1. [35] _Alhadra (in a deep low voice)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [54] _there_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [65] 'Twas dark and very silent. [_Then wildly._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [72] _light_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 77] _All._ Haste, let us seek the murderer. Edition 1. ACT V SCENE I _A Dungeon._ _ALVAR (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds._ _Alvar._ And this place my forefathers made for man! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us-- Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? Is this the only cure? Merciful God! 5 Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt, till, chang'd to poison, They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot! 10 Then we call in our pampered mountebanks: And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces, at the clanking hour, Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon 15 By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed By sights of evermore deformity! With other ministrations thou, O Nature! 20 Healest thy wandering and distempered child: Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets; Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters! Till he relent, and can no more endure 25 To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit healed and harmonized By the benignant touch of love and beauty. 30 I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone, In that dark angle, the sole resting-place! But the self-approving mind is its own light And life's best warmth still radiates from the heart Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose. 35 [_Retires out of sight._ _Enter TERESA with a taper._ _Teresa._ It has chilled my very life----my own voice scares me; Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose The substance of my being--my strongest grasp Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. I seek to cheat the echo.--How the half sounds 40 Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here-- [_Looking round._ O for one human face here--but to see One human face here to sustain me.--Courage! It is but my own fear! The life within me, It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, 45 Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh! If I faint? If this inhuman den should be At once my death-bed and my burial vault? [_Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess._ _Alvar (rushes towards her, and catches her as she is falling)._ O gracious heaven! it is, it is Teresa! Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock 50 Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, And joy complete what terror has begun. O ye impetuous beatings here, be still! Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold! Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa! 55 _Teresa (recovering)._ I heard a voice; but often in my dreams I hear that voice! and wake and try--and try-- To hear it waking! but I never could-- And 'tis so now--even so! Well! he is dead-- Murdered perhaps! and I am faint, and feel 60 As if it were no painful thing to die! _Alvar._ Believe it not, sweet maid! Believe it not, Belovéd woman! 'Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch. _Teresa._ Ha! Who art thou? _Alvar._ Suborned by his brother-- _Teresa_. Didst thou murder him? 65 And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man, I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee! _Alvar._ Ordonio--he-- _Teresa._ If thou didst murder him-- His spirit ever at the throne of God Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy for thee, 70 With tears in Heaven! _Alvar._ Alvar was not murdered. Be calm! Be calm, sweet maid! _Teresa._ Nay, nay, but tell me! [_A pause._ O 'tis lost again! This dull confuséd pain-- [_A pause._ Mysterious man! Methinks I can not fear thee: for thine eye 75 Doth swim with love and pity--Well! Ordonio-- Oh my foreboding heart! And he suborned thee, And thou didst spare his life? Blessings shower on thee, As many as the drops twice counted o'er In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa! 80 _Alvar._ I can endure no more. The Moorish sorcerer Exists but in the stain upon his face. That picture-- _Teresa._ Ha! speak on! _Alvar._ Beloved Teresa! It told but half the truth. O let this portrait Tell all--that Alvar lives--that he is here! 85 Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar. [_Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her._ _Teresa (receiving the portrait)._ The same--it is the same! Ah! Who art thou? Nay, I will call thee, Alvar! [_She falls on his neck._ _Alvar._ O joy unutterable! But hark! a sound as of removing bars At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while 90 Conceal thyself, my love! It is Ordonio. For the honour of our race, for our dear father; O for himself too (he is still my brother) Let me recall him to his nobler nature, That he may wake as from a dream of murder! 95 O let me reconcile him to himself, Open the sacred source of penitent tears, And be once more his own beloved Alvar. _Teresa._ O my all virtuous love! I fear to leave thee With that obdurate man. _Alvar._ Thou dost not leave me! 100 But a brief while retire into the darkness: O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee! _Teresa._ The sound of thy voice shall be my music! Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [_Exit._ 105 [_A noise at the Dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters, with a goblet in his hand._ _Ordonio._ Hail, potent wizard! in my gayer mood I poured forth a libation to old Pluto, And as I brimmed the bowl, I thought on thee. Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, Hast tricked me foully; yet I hate thee not. 110 Why should I hate thee? this same world of ours, 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain, And we the air-bladders that course up and down, And joust and tilt in merry tournament; And when one bubble runs foul of another, 115 The weaker needs must break. _Alvar._ I see thy heart! There is a frightful glitter in thine eye Which doth betray thee. Inly-tortured man, This is the revelry of a drunken anguish, Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, 120 And quell each human feeling. _Ordonio._ Feeling! feeling! The death of a man--the breaking of a bubble-- 'Tis true I cannot sob for such misfortunes; But faintness, cold and hunger--curses on me If willingly I e'er inflicted them! 125 Come, take the beverage; this chill place demands it. [_ORDONIO proffers the goblet._ _Alvar._ Yon insect on the wall, Which moves this way and that its hundred limbs, Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, It were an infinitely curious thing! 130 But it has life, Ordonio! life, enjoyment! And by the power of its miraculous will Wields all the complex movements of its frame Unerringly to pleasurable ends! Saw I that insect on this goblet's brim 135 I would remove it with an anxious pity! _Ordonio._ What meanest thou? _Alvar._ There's poison in the wine. _Ordonio._ Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the wine. There's poison in't--which of us two shall drink it? For one of us must die! _Alvar._ Whom dost thou think me? 140 _Ordonio._ The accomplice and sworn friend of Isidore. _Alvar._ I know him not. And yet methinks, I have heard the name but lately. Means he the husband of the Moorish woman? Isidore? Isidore? 145 _Ordonio._ Good! good! that lie! by heaven it has restored me. Now I am thy master!--Villain! thou shalt drink it, Or die a bitterer death. _Alvar._ What strange solution Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, And drug them to unnatural sleep? [_ALVAR takes the goblet, and throws it to the ground._ My master! 150 _Ordonio._ Thou mountebank! _Alvar._ Mountebank and villain! What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword! What boots a weapon in a withered arm? I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest! I speak, and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 155 And turn it to a motionless distraction! Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning, Thy faith in universal villainy, Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn For all thy human brethren--out upon them! 160 What have they done for thee? have they given thee peace? Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made The darkness pleasant when thou wak'st at midnight? Art happy when alone? Can'st walk by thyself With even step and quiet cheerfulness? 165 Yet, yet thou may'st be saved---- _Ordonio._ Saved? saved? _Alvar._ One pang! Could I call up one pang of true remorse! _Ordonio._ He told me of the babes that prattled to him. His fatherless little ones! remorse! remorse! Where got'st thou that fool's word? Curse on remorse! 170 Can it give up the dead, or recompact A mangled body? mangled--dashed to atoms! Not all the blessings of a host of angels Can blow away a desolate widow's curse! And though thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 175 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear! _Alvar._ But Alvar---- _Ordonio._ Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, Even thee; and yet I pray thee speak it out. Still Alvar!--Alvar!--howl it in mine ear! Heap it like coals of fire upon my heart, 180 And shoot it hissing through my brain! _Alvar._ Alas! That day when thou didst leap from off the rock Into the waves, and grasped thy sinking brother, And bore him to the strand; then, son of Valdez, How sweet and musical the name of Alvar! 185 Then, then, Ordonio, he was dear to thee, And thou wert dear to him: heaven only knows How very dear thou wert! Why did'st thou hate him! O heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck, And weep forgiveness! _Ordonio._ Spirit of the dead! 190 Methinks I know thee! ha! my brain turns wild At its own dreams!--off--off, fantastic shadow! _Alvar._ I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not! _Ordonio._ Cheat! villain! traitor! whatsoever thou be-- I fear thee, man! _Teresa (rushing out and falling on Alvar's neck)._ Ordonio! 'tis thy brother! 195 [_ORDONIO runs upon ALVAR with his sword. TERESA flings herself on ORDONIO and arrests his arm._ Stop, madman, stop! _Alvar._ Does then this thin disguise impenetrably Hide Alvar from thee? Toil and painful wounds And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, Have marred perhaps all trait and lineament 200 Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother, My anguish for thy guilt! Ordonio--Brother! Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me. _Ordonio (drawing back, and gazing at Alvar)._ Touch me not! Touch not pollution, Alvar! I will die. [_He attempts to fall on his sword, ALVAR and TERESA prevent him._ _Alvar._ We will find means to save your honour. Live, 205 Oh live, Ordonio! for our father's sake! Spare his grey hairs! _Teresa._ And you may yet be happy. _Ordonio._ O horror! not a thousand years in heaven Could recompose this miserable heart, Or make it capable of one brief joy! 210 Live! live! Why yes! 'Twere well to live with you: For is it fit a villain should be proud? My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother! [_Kneeling._ Forgive me, Alvar!----Curse me with forgiveness! _Alvar._ Call back thy soul, Ordonio, and look round thee! 215 Now is the time for greatness! Think that heaven-- _Teresa._ O mark his eye! he hears not what you say. _Ordonio._ Yes, mark his eye! there's fascination in it! Thou said'st thou did'st not know him--That is he! He comes upon me! _Alvar._ Heal, O heal him, heaven! 220 _Ordonio._ Nearer and nearer! and I can not stir! Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? He would have died to save me, and I killed him-- A husband and a father!-- _Teresa._ Some secret poison Drinks up his spirits! _Ordonio._ Let the eternal justice 225 Prepare my punishment in the obscure world-- I will not bear to live--to live--O agony! And be myself alone my own sore torment! [_The doors of the dungeon are broken open, and in rush ALHADRA, and the band of_ Morescoes. _Alhadra._ Seize first that man! [_ALVAR presses onward to defend ORDONIO._ _Ordonio._ Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. 230 Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it! Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes. _Alhadra._ My husband-- _Ordonio_. Yes, I murdered him most foully. 235 _Alvar and Teresa._ O horrible! _Alhadra._ Why did'st thou leave his children? Demon, thou should'st have sent thy dogs of hell To lap their blood. Then, then I might have hardened My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet though dark, 240 And bade the race of men raise up a mourning For a deep horror of desolation, Too great to be one soul's particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee. The time is not yet come for woman's anguish, 245 I have not seen his blood--Within an hour Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence! _Teresa._ He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee! 250 O let him live! That agéd man, his father---- _Alhadra._ Why had he such a son? [_Shouts from the distance of_ Rescue! Rescue! Alvar! Alvar! _and the voice of VALDEZ heard._ Rescue?--and Isidore's spirit unavenged?-- The deed be mine! [_Suddenly stabs ORDONIO._ Now take my life! _Ordonio (staggering from the wound)._ Atonement! _Alvar (while with Teresa supporting Ordonio)._ Arm of avenging Heaven 255 Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished hope-- But go! my word was pledged to thee. _Ordonio._ Away! Brave not my Father's rage! I thank thee! Thou-- [_Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR._ She hath avenged the blood of Isidore! I stood in silence like a slave before her 260 That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing heart With bitterer agonies than death can give. Forgive me, Alvar! Oh!--could'st thou forget me! [_Dies._ [_ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO._ _Alhadra (to the Moors)._ I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordained it wisely, 265 That still extremes bring their own cure. That point In misery, which makes the oppressed Man Regardless of his own life, makes him too Lord of the Oppressor's--Knew I a hundred men Despairing, but not palsied by despair, 270 This arm should shake the kingdoms of the world; The deep foundations of iniquity Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; The strongholds of the cruel men should fall, Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall; 275 Till desolation seemed a beautiful thing, And all that were and had the spirit of life, Sang a new song to her who had gone forth, Conquering and still to conquer! [_ALHADRA hurries off with the_ Moors; _the stage fills with armed_ Peasants, _and_ Servants, _ZULIMEZ and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms._ _Alvar._ Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide, 280 Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing. [_Both kneel to VALDEZ._ _Valdez._ My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, heaven! _Teresa._ Me too, my Father? _Valdez._ Bless, Oh bless my children! [_Both rise._ _Alvar._ Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, 285 Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward Monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, 290 At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate. LINENOTES: [30] touch] torch Edition 1. [36] life] life-blood Edition 1. [After 41] As in a dream I ask; if it be a dream Edition 1. [46] Beyond which I scarce dare to look! (_shudders_) Edition 1. [After 46] [_Shuddering._ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [After 48] [_Faintly . . . recess, and moves hastily towards her._ Edition 1. [After 55] _Teresa (recovering, looks round wildly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [62] _Alvar (eagerly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [64] _Teresa (retires from him, and feebly supports herself against a pillar of the dungeon)._ Ha! who art thou? _Alvar (exceedingly affected)._ Suborned, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [65] _thou_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [72] _Teresa (wildly)._ Nay, nay, but tell me! [_A pause, then presses her forehead._ O 'tis lost again! This dull confused pain. [_A pause, she gazes at ALVAR._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [77] _he_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [83] _Teresa (advances towards him)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [98] own om. Edition 1. [After 103] [_Retiring, she returns hastily and embracing ALVAR._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [Before 106] _Ordonio (with affected gravity)._ Edition 1 (c) (?). [107] old Pluto] oblivion Edition 1. [After 115] [_Waving his hand to ALVAR._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [150] [_ALVAR . . . and throws it to the ground with stern contempt._ Edition 1. [_ALVAR . . . and throwing it to the ground, &c._ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [166] _Ordonio (vacantly repeating the words)._ Saved? Saved? Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [177] _Alvar (almost overcome by his feelings)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [193] _Alvar (seizing his hand)._ Edition 1. [After 195] [_ORDONIO with frantic wildness runs, &c._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [203] _Ordonio (drawing back and gazing at Alvar with a countenance of at once awe and terror)._ Touch me not! Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [207] And] Oh Edition 1. [214] _Curse_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [218] _Ordonio (pointing at vacancy)._ Edition 1. (_pointing at the vacancy_). Editions 2, 3, 1829. [225] _Ordonio (fiercely recollecting himself)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [After 229] (_Alvar presses on as if to defend Ordonio._) Edition 1. [243] one] one's 1829. [After 244] [_Struggling to suppress her feelings._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [246] _his_ Editions 2, 3, 1829. [252] _Alhadra (sternly)._ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [254] _my_ Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. [254-9] The deed be mine! (_Suddenly stabs ORDONIO._) Now take _my_ life! _Alv. (while with TERESA supporting ORDONIO)._ Arm of avenging Heaven! Thou hast snatch'd from me my most cherish'd hope But go! my word was pledged to thee. Away! Brave not my Father's vengeance! [_The Moors hurry off ALHADRA._ _Ord._ She hath aveng'd the blood of Isidore. Edition 1. [255] _Ordonio (with great majesty)._ 'Tis well thou hast avenged thyself, O Woman! Edition 1 (b). [_Note._--In his collation of _Remorse_ with _Osorio_, the Editor of _P. W._ 1877-1880, iv. 154 affixes to lines 289-303 of the Fifth Act of _Osorio_ the following variant, said to be derived from the First Edition of _Remorse_:--After the cry of 'No mercy' (_Osorio_, Act V, l. 300), '_NAOMI advances with the sword and ALHADRA snatches it from him and suddenly stabs ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes through the Moors and catches him in his arms._' After Ordonio's dying speech [ll. 304-307], there are '_shouts of Alvar! Alvar! behind the scenes. A Moor rushes in_'-- _Moor._ We are surprised! away! away! this instant! The country is in arms! Lord Valdez heads them, And still cries out, 'My son! my Alvar lives!' Haste to the shore! they come the opposite road. Your wives and children are already safe. The boat is on the shore--the vessel waits. _Alhadra._ Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety Thy word stands pledged. _Alvar._ Arm of avenging Heaven! I had two cherish'd hopes--the one remains, The other thou hast snatch'd from me: but my word Is pledged to thee; nor shall it be retracted-- Edition 1 (c) (?). [For MS. version of this variant see note on p. 597.]] [257] But go!] Yet, yet MS. H. [After 259] (_ORDONIO follows ALHADRA with his eye which then raising languidly to ALVAR he compleats his meaning_, but substituting '_the_' for '_Thee_'). Marginal stage-direction inserted in MS. R.] Stage-direction preceding 265 and 265-79: om. Edition 1. [Before 280] [_The stage fills with armed peasants . . . ALVAR'S arms._ Edition 1. APPENDIX The following Scene, as unfit for the stage, was taken from the tragedy, in the year 1797, and published in the Lyrical Ballads. [1798, pp. 28-31: _vide ante_, pp. 182-4.] _Enter Teresa and Selma._ _Teresa._ 'Tis said, he spake of you familiarly, As mine and Alvar's common foster-mother. _Selma._ Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be That joined your names with mine! O my sweet Lady, As often as I think of those dear times, 5 When you two little ones would stand, at eve, On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase; then bid me sing to you---- 'Tis more like heaven to come, than what has been! 10 _Teresa._ But that entrance, Selma? _Selma._ Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! _Teresa._ No one. _Selma._ My husband's father told it me, Poor old Sesina--angels rest his soul; He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam 15 Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, 20 And reared him at the then Lord Valdez' cost. And so the babe grew up a pretty boy, A pretty boy, but most unteachable---- And never learn'd a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, 25 And whistled, as he were a bird himself. And all the autumn 'twas his only play To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood, 30 A grey-haired man, he loved this little boy: The boy loved him, and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a rare and learned youth: 35 But O! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read, Till his brain turned; and ere his twentieth year He had unlawful thoughts of many things: And though he prayed, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. 40 But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Valdez ne'er was wearied with him. And once, as by the north side of the chapel They stood together chained in deep discourse, The earth heaved under them with such a groan, 45 That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened; A fever seized him, and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized, 50 And cast into that hole. My husband's father Sobbed like a child--it almost broke his heart: And once he was working near this dungeon, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, 55 How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, 60 He made that cunning entrance I described, And the young man escaped. _Teresa._ 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears. And what became of him? _Selma._ He went on shipboard 65 With those bold voyagers who made discovery Of golden lands. Sesina's younger brother Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain, He told Sesina, that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, 70 In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, And all alone set sail by silent moonlight Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed, He lived and died among the savage men. 75 ZAPOLYA[883:1] A CHRISTMAS TALE IN TWO PARTS[883:2] +Par pyri chrê toiauta legein cheimônos en hôra.+ APUD ATHENAEUM. ADVERTISEMENT The form of the following dramatic poem is in humble imitation of the _Winter's Tale_ of Shakspeare, except that I have called the first part a Prelude instead of a first Act, as a somewhat nearer resemblance to the plan of the ancients, of which one specimen is left us in the Æschylean Trilogy of the _Agamemnon_, the _Orestes_, and the _Eumenides_. Though a matter of form merely, yet two plays, on different periods of the same tale, might seem less bold, than an interval of twenty years between a first and second act. This is, however, in mere obedience to custom. The effect does not, in reality, at all depend on the Time of the interval; but on a very different principle. There are cases in which an interval of twenty hours between the acts would have a worse effect (_i. e._ render the imagination less disposed to take the position required) than twenty years in other cases. For the rest, I shall be well content if my readers will take it up, read and judge it, as a Christmas tale. FOOTNOTES: [883:1] First published in 1817: included in 1828, 1829 and 1834. _Zapolya_ was written at Calne, in Wiltshire, in 1815. It was offered to the Committee of Management of Drury Lane Theatre, and rejected, in March, 1816. [883:2] Title Zapolya, &c. The Prelude entitled 'The Usurper's Fortune'; and The Sequel entitled 'The Usurper's Fate'. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. _1817_. LINENOTES: _Orestes_] _Choephoroe_ MS. S. T. C. PART I THE PRELUDE, ENTITLED 'THE USURPER'S FORTUNE' CHARACTERS _EMERICK, Usurping King of Illyria._ _RAAB KIUPRILI, an Illyrian Chieftain._ _CASIMIR, Son of KIUPRILI._ _CHEF RAGOZZI, a Military Commander._ _ZAPOLYA, Queen of Illyria._ SCENE I _Front of the Palace with a magnificent Colonnade. On one side a military Guard-house. Sentries pacing backward and forward before the Palace. CHEF RAGOZZI, at the door of the Guard-house, as looking forwards at some object in the distance._ _Chef Ragozzi._ My eyes deceive me not, it must be he. Who but our chief, my more than father, who But Raab Kiuprili moves with such a gait? Lo! e'en this eager and unwonted haste But agitates, not quells, its majesty. 5 My patron! my commander! yes, 'tis he! Call out the guards. The Lord Kiuprili comes. [_Drums beat, &c., the_ Guard _turns out._ _Enter RAAB KIUPRILI._ _Raab Kiuprili (making a signal to stop the drums, &c.)._ Silence! enough! This is no time, young friend, For ceremonious dues. The summoning drum, Th' air-shattering trumpet, and the horseman's clatter, 10 Are insults to a dying sovereign's ear. Soldiers, 'tis well! Retire! your General greets you, His loyal fellow-warriors. [_Guards retire._ _Chef Ragozzi._ Pardon my surprise. Thus sudden from the camp, and unattended! What may these wonders prophesy? _Raab Kiuprili._ Tell me first, 15 How fares the king? His majesty still lives? _Chef Ragozzi._ We know no otherwise; but Emerick's friends (And none but they approach him) scoff at hope. _Raab Kiuprili._ Ragozzi! I have reared thee from a child, And as a child I have reared thee. Whence this air 20 Of mystery? That face was wont to open Clear as the morning to me, shewing all things. Hide nothing from me. _Chef Ragozzi._ O most loved, most honoured, The mystery that struggles in my looks Betrayed my whole tale to thee, if it told thee 25 That I am ignorant; but fear the worst. And mystery is contagious. All things here Are full of motion: and yet all is silent: And bad men's hopes infect the good with fears. _Raab Kiuprili._ I have trembling proof within how true thou speakest. 30 _Chef Ragozzi._ That the prince Emerick feasts the soldiery, Gives splendid arms, pays the commanders' debts, And (it is whispered) by sworn promises Makes himself debtor--hearing this, thou hast heard All---- 35 But what my lord will learn too soon himself. _Raab Kiuprili._ Ha!--Well then, let it come! Worse scarce can come. This letter written by the trembling hand Of royal Andreas calls me from the camp To his immediate presence. It appoints me, 40 The Queen, and Emerick, guardians of the realm, And of the royal infant. Day by day, Robbed of Zapolya's soothing cares, the king Yearns only to behold one precious boon, And with his life breathe forth a father's blessing. 45 _Chef Ragozzi._ Remember you, my lord! that Hebrew leech Whose face so much distempered you? _Raab Kiuprili._ Barzoni? I held him for a spy; but the proof failing (More courteously, I own, than pleased myself), I sent him from the camp. _Chef Ragozzi._ To him, in chief, 50 Prince Emerick trusts his royal brother's health. _Raab Kiuprili._ Hide nothing, I conjure you! What of him? _Chef Ragozzi._ With pomp of words beyond a soldier's cunning, And shrugs and wrinkled brow, he smiles and whispers! Talks in dark words of women's fancies; hints 55 That 'twere a useless and a cruel zeal To rob a dying man of any hope, However vain, that soothes him: and, in fine, Denies all chance of offspring from the Queen. _Raab Kiuprili._ The venomous snake! My heel was on its head, 60 And (fool!) I did not crush it! _Chef Ragozzi._ Nay, he fears Zapolya will not long survive her husband. _Raab Kiuprili._ Manifest treason! Even this brief delay Half makes me an accomplice----(If he live,) [_Is moving toward the palace._ If he but live and know me, all may---- _Chef Ragozzi._ Halt! [_Stops him._ 65 On pain of death, my Lord! am I commanded To stop all ingress to the palace. _Raab Kiuprili._ Thou! _Chef Ragozzi._ No place, no name, no rank excepted-- _Raab Kiuprili._ Thou! _Chef Ragozzi._ This life of mine, O take it, Lord Kiuprili! I give it as a weapon to thy hands, 70 Mine own no longer. Guardian of Illyria, Useless to thee, 'tis worthless to myself. Thou art the framer of my nobler being; Nor does there live one virtue in my soul, One honourable hope, but calls thee father. 75 Yet ere thou dost resolve, know that yon palace Is guarded from within, that each access Is thronged by armed conspirators, watched by ruffians Pampered with gifts, and hot upon the spoil Which that false promiser still trails before them. 80 I ask but this one boon--reserve my life Till I can lose it for the realm and thee! _Raab Kiuprili._ My heart is rent asunder. O my country, O fallen Illyria, stand I here spell-bound? Did my King love me? Did I earn his love? 85 Have we embraced as brothers would embrace? Was I his arm, his thunder-bolt? And now Must I, hag-ridden, pant as in a dream? Or, like an eagle, whose strong wings press up Against a coiling serpent's folds, can I 90 Strike but for mockery, and with restless beak Gore my own breast?--Ragozzi, thou art faithful? _Chef Ragozzi._ Here before Heaven I dedicate my faith To the royal line of Andreas. _Raab Kiuprili._ Hark, Ragozzi! Guilt is a timorous thing ere perpetration: 95 Despair alone makes wicked men be bold. Come thou with me! They have heard my voice in flight, Have faced round, terror-struck, and feared no longer The whistling javelins of their fell pursuers. Ha! what is this? [_Black flag displayed from the Tower of the Palace: a death-bell tolls, &c._ Vengeance of Heaven! He is dead. 100 _Chef Ragozzi._ At length then 'tis announced. Alas! I fear, That these black death-flags are but treason's signals. _Raab Kiuprili._ A prophecy too soon fulfilled! See yonder! O rank and ravenous wolves! the death-bell echoes Still in the doleful air--and see! they come. 105 _Chef Ragozzi._ Precise and faithful in their villainy Even to the moment, that the master traitor Had pre-ordained them. _Raab Kiuprili._ Was it over-haste, Or is it scorn, that in this race of treason Their guilt thus drops its mask, and blazons forth 110 Their infamous plot even to an idiot's sense? _Chef Ragozzi._ Doubtless they deem Heaven too usurp'd! Heaven's justice Bought like themselves! Being equal all in crime, Do you press on, ye spotted parricides! For the one sole pre-eminence yet doubtful, 115 The prize of foremost impudence in guilt? _Raab Kiuprili._ The bad man's cunning still prepares the way For its own outwitting. I applaud, Ragozzi! Ragozzi! I applaud, In thee, the virtuous hope that dares look onward And keeps the life-spark warm of future action 120 Beneath the cloak of patient sufferance. Act and appear, as time and prudence prompt thee: I shall not misconceive the part thou playest. Mine is an easier part--to brave the usurper. [_Enter a procession of EMERICK'S Adherents_, Nobles, Chieftains, _and_ Soldiers, _with Music. They advance toward the front of the stage. KIUPRILI makes the signal for them to stop.--The Music ceases._ _Leader of the Procession._ The Lord Kiuprili!--Welcome from the camp. 125 _Raab Kiuprili._ Grave magistrates and chieftains of Illyria, In good time come ye hither, if ye come As loyal men with honourable purpose To mourn what can alone be mourned; but chiefly To enforce the last commands of royal Andreas 130 And shield the Queen, Zapolya: haply making The mother's joy light up the widow's tears. _Leader._ Our purpose demands speed. Grace our procession; A warrior best will greet a warlike king. _Raab Kiuprili._ This patent written by your lawful king, 135 (Lo! his own seal and signature attesting) Appoints as guardians of his realm and offspring, The Queen, and the Prince Emerick, and myself. [_Voices of_ Live KING EMERICK! an EMERICK! an EMERICK! What means this clamour? Are these madmen's voices? Or is some knot of riotous slanderers leagued 140 To infamize the name of the king's brother With a lie black as Hell? unmanly cruelty, Ingratitude, and most unnatural treason? [_Murmurs._ What mean these murmurs? Dare then any here Proclaim Prince Emerick a spotted traitor? 145 One that has taken from you your sworn faith, And given you in return a Judas' bribe, Infamy now, oppression in reversion, And Heaven's inevitable curse hereafter? [_Loud murmurs, followed by cries_--EMERICK! No Baby Prince! No Changelings! Yet bear with me awhile! Have I for this 150 Bled for your safety, conquered for your honour? Was it for this, Illyrians! that I forded Your thaw-swoln torrents, when the shouldering ice Fought with the foe, and stained its jagged points With gore from wounds I felt not? Did the blast 155 Beat on this body, frost-and-famine-numbed, Till my hard flesh distinguished not itself From the insensate mail, its fellow warrior? And have I brought home with me Victory, And with her, hand in hand, firm-footed Peace, 160 Her countenance twice lighted up with glory, As if I had charmed a goddess down from Heaven? But these will flee abhorrent from the throne Of usurpation! [_Murmurs increase--and cries of_ Onward! Onward! Have you then thrown off shame, And shall not a dear friend, a loyal subject, 165 Throw off all fear? I tell ye, the fair trophies Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe, Love's natural offerings to a rightful king, Will hang as ill on this usurping traitor, This brother-blight, this Emerick, as robes 170 Of gold plucked from the images of gods Upon a sacrilegious robber's back. [_Enter LORD CASIMIR._ _Casimir._ Who is this factious insolent, that dares brand The elected King, our chosen Emerick? My father! _Raab Kiuprili._ Casimir! He, he a traitor! 175 Too soon indeed, Ragozzi! have I learnt it. [_Aside._ _Casimir._ My father and my lord! _Raab Kiuprili._ I know thee not! _Leader._ Yet the remembrancing did sound right filial. _Raab Kiuprili._ A holy name and words of natural duty Are blasted by a thankless traitor's utterance. 180 _Casimir._ O hear me, Sire! not lightly have I sworn Homage to Emerick. Illyria's sceptre Demands a manly hand, a warrior's grasp. The queen Zapolya's self-expected offspring At least is doubtful: and of all our nobles, 185 The king, inheriting his brother's heart, Hath honoured us the most. Your rank, my lord! Already eminent, is--all it can be-- Confirmed: and me the king's grace hath appointed Chief of his council and the lord high steward. 190 _Raab Kiuprili._ (Bought by a bribe!) I know thee now still less. _Casimir._ So much of Raab Kiuprili's blood flows here, That no power, save that holy name of father, Could shield the man who so dishonoured me. _Raab Kiuprili._ The son of Raab Kiuprili a bought bond-slave, 195 Guilt's pander, treason's mouth-piece, a gay parrot, School'd to shrill forth his feeder's usurp'd titles. And scream, Long live King Emerick! _Leaders._ Aye, King Emerick! Stand back, my lord! Lead us, or let us pass. _Soldier._ Nay, let the general speak! _Soldiers._ Hear him! hear him! _Raab Kiuprili._ Hear me, 200 Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria, Hear, and avenge me! Twice ten years have I Stood in your presence, honoured by the king: Beloved and trusted. Is there one among you Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe? 205 Or one false whisper in his sovereign's ear? Who here dares charge me with an orphan's rights Outfaced, or widow's plea left undefended? And shall I now be branded by a traitor, A bought, bribed wretch, who, being called my son, 210 Doth libel a chaste matron's name, and plant Hensbane and aconite on a mother's grave? The underling accomplice of a robber, That from a widow and a widow's offspring Would steal their heritage? To God a rebel, 215 And to the common father of his country A recreant ingrate! _Casimir._ Sire! your words grow dangerous. High-flown romantic fancies ill-beseem Your age and wisdom. 'Tis a statesman's virtue, To guard his country's safety by what means 220 It best may be protected--come what will Of these monk's morals! _Raab Kiuprili (aside)._ Ha! the elder Brutus Made his soul iron, though his sons repented. They boasted not their baseness. [_Draws his sword._ Infamous changeling! Recant this instant, and swear loyalty, 225 And strict obedience to thy sovereign's will; Or, by the spirit of departed Andreas, Thou diest---- [Chiefs, _&c., rush to interpose; during the tumult enter EMERICK, alarmed._ _Emerick._ Call out the guard! Ragozzi! seize the assassin.---- Kiuprili? Ha!---- [_Making signs to the guard to retire._ Pass on, friends! to the palace. 230 [_Music recommences.--The Procession passes into the Palace._ _Emerick._ What? Raab Kiuprili? What? a father's sword Against his own son's breast? _Raab Kiuprili._ 'Twould best excuse him, Were he thy son, Prince Emerick. I abjure him. _Emerick._ This is my thanks, then, that I have commenced A reign to which the free voice of the nobles 235 Hath called me, and the people, by regards Of love and grace to Raab Kiuprili's house? _Raab Kiuprili._ What right hadst thou, Prince Emerick, to bestow them? _Emerick._ By what right dares Kiuprili question me? _Raab Kiuprili._ By a right common to all loyal subjects-- 240 To me a duty! As the realm's co-regent, Appointed by our sovereign's last free act, Writ by himself.-- [_Grasping the Patent._ _Emerick._ Aye!--Writ in a delirium! _Raab Kiuprili._ I likewise ask, by whose authority The access to the sovereign was refused me? 245 _Emerick._ By whose authority dared the general leave His camp and army, like a fugitive? _Raab Kiuprili._ A fugitive, who, with victory for his comrade, Ran, open-eyed, upon the face of death! A fugitive, with no other fear, than bodements 250 To be belated in a loyal purpose-- At the command, Prince! of my king and thine, Hither I came; and now again require Audience of Queen Zapolya; and (the States Forthwith convened) that thou dost shew at large, 255 On what ground of defect thou'st dared annul This thy King's last and solemn act--hast dared Ascend the throne, of which the law had named, And conscience should have made thee, a protector. _Emerick._ A sovereign's ear ill brooks a subject's questioning! 260 Yet for thy past well-doing--and because 'Tis hard to erase at once the fond belief Long cherished, that Illyria had in thee No dreaming priest's slave, but a Roman lover Of her true weal and freedom--and for this, too, 265 That, hoping to call forth to the broad day-light And fostering breeze of glory all deservings, I still had placed thee foremost. _Raab Kiuprili._ Prince! I listen. _Emerick._ Unwillingly I tell thee, that Zapolya, Maddened with grief, her erring hopes proved idle-- 270 _Casimir._ Sire! speak the whole truth! Say, her fraud detected! _Emerick._ According to the sworn attests in council Of her physician---- _Raab Kiuprili (aside)._ Yes! the Jew, Barzoni! _Emerick._ Under the imminent risk of death she lies, Or irrecoverable loss of reason, 275 If known friend's face or voice renew the frenzy. _Casimir (to Kiuprili)._ Trust me, my lord! a woman's trick has duped you-- Us too--but most of all, the sainted Andreas. Even for his own fair fame, his grace prays hourly For her recovery, that (the States convened) 280 She may take counsel of her friends. _Emerick._ Right, Casimir! Receive my pledge, lord general. It shall stand In her own will to appear and voice her claims; Or (which in truth I hold the wiser course) With all the past passed by, as family quarrels, 285 Let the Queen Dowager, with unblenched honours, Resume her state, our first Illyrian matron. _Raab Kiuprili._ Prince Emerick! you speak fairly, and your pledge too Is such, as well would suit an honest meaning. _Casimir._ My lord! you scarce know half his grace's goodness. 290 The wealthy heiress, high-born fair Sarolta, Bred in the convent of our noble ladies, Her relative, the venerable abbess, Hath, at his grace's urgence, wooed and won for me. _Emerick._ Long may the race, and long may that name flourish, 295 Which your heroic deeds, brave chief, have rendered Dear and illustrious to all true Illyrians. _Raab Kiuprili._ The longest line that ever tracing herald Or found or feigned, placed by a beggar's soul Hath but a mushroom's date in the comparison: 300 And with the soul, the conscience is coeval, Yea, the soul's essence. _Emerick._ Conscience, good my lord, Is but the pulse of reason. Is it conscience, That a free nation should be handed down, Like the dull clods beneath our feet, by chance 305 And the blind law of lineage? That whether infant, Or man matured, a wise man or an idiot, Hero or natural coward, shall have guidance Of a free people's destiny, should fall out In the mere lottery of a reckless nature, 310 Where few the prizes and the blanks are countless? Or haply that a nation's fate should hang On the bald accident of a midwife's handling The unclosed sutures of an infant's skull? _Casimir._ What better claim can sovereign wish or need 315 Than the free voice of men who love their country? Those chiefly who have fought for't? Who by right, Claim for their monarch one, who having obeyed, So hath best learnt to govern; who, having suffered, Can feel for each brave sufferer and reward him? 320 Whence sprang the name of Emperor? Was it not By Nature's fiat? In the storm of triumph, 'Mid warriors' shouts, did her oracular voice Make itself heard: Let the commanding spirit Possess the station of command! _Raab Kiuprili._ Prince Emerick, 325 Your cause will prosper best in your own pleading. _Emerick (aside to Casimir)._ Ragozzi was thy school-mate--a bold spirit! Bind him to us!--Thy father thaws apace! [_Then aloud._ Leave us awhile, my lord!--Your friend, Ragozzi, Whom you have not yet seen since his return, 330 Commands the guard to-day. [_CASIMIR retires to the Guard-house; and after a time appears before it with CHEF RAGOZZI._ We are alone. What further pledge or proof desires Kiuprili? Then, with your assent---- _Raab Kiuprili._ Mistake not for assent The unquiet silence of a stern resolve Throttling the impatient voice. I have heard thee, Prince! 335 And I have watched thee, too; but have small faith in A plausible tale told with a flitting eye. [_EMERICK turns as about to call for the Guard._ In the next moment I am in thy power, In this thou art in mine. Stir but a step, Or make one sign--I swear by this good sword, 340 Thou diest that instant. _Emerick._ Ha, ha!--Well, Sir!--Conclude your homily. _Raab Kiuprili._ A tale which, whether true or false, comes guarded Against all means of proof, detects itself. The Queen mew'd up--this too from anxious care 345 And love brought forth of a sudden, a twin birth With thy discovery of her plot to rob thee Of a rightful throne!--Mark how the scorpion, falsehood, Coils round in its own perplexity, and fixes Its sting in its own head! _Emerick._ Aye! to the mark! 350 _Raab Kiuprili._ Had'st thou believed thine own tale, had'st thou fancied Thyself the rightful successor of Andreas, Would'st thou have pilfered from our school-boys' themes These shallow sophisms of a popular choice? What people? How convened? or, if convened, 355 Must not the magic power that charms together Millions of men in council, needs have power To win or wield them? Better, O far better Shout forth thy titles to yon circling mountains, And with a thousand-fold reverberation 360 Make the rocks flatter thee, and the volleying air, Unbribed, shout back to thee, King Emerick! By wholesome laws to embank the sovereign power, To deepen by restraint, and by prevention Of lawless will to amass and guide the flood 365 In its majestic channel, is man's task And the true patriot's glory! In all else Men safelier trust to Heaven, than to themselves When least themselves in the mad whirl of crowds Where folly is contagious, and too oft 370 Even wise men leave their better sense at home To chide and wonder at them when returned. _Emerick (aloud)._ Is't thus thou scoff'st the people? most of all, The soldiers, the defenders of the people? _Raab Kiuprili._ O most of all, most miserable nation, 375 For whom the imperial power, enormous bubble! Is blown and kept aloft, or burst and shattered By the bribed breath of a lewd soldiery! Chiefly of such, as from the frontiers far, (Which is the noblest station of true warriors) 380 In rank licentious idleness beleaguer City and Court, a venomed thorn i'the side Of virtuous kings, the tyrant's slave and tyrant, Still ravening for fresh largess! But with such What title claim'st thou, save thy birth? What merits 385 Which many a liegeman may not plead as well, Brave though I grant thee? If a life outlaboured Head, heart, and fortunate arm, in watch and war, For the land's fame and weal; if large acquests, Made honest by the aggression of the foe, 390 And whose best praise is, that they bring us safety; If victory, doubly-wreathed, whose under-garland Of laurel-leaves looks greener and more sparkling Thro' the grey olive-branch; if these, Prince Emerick! Give the true title to the throne, not thou-- 395 No! (let Illyria, let the infidel enemy Be judge and arbiter between us!) I, I were the rightful sovereign! _Emerick._ I have faith That thou both think'st and hop'st it. Fair Zapolya, A provident lady-- _Raab Kiuprili._ Wretch beneath all answer! 400 _Emerick._ Offers at once the royal bed and throne! _Raab Kiuprili._ To be a kingdom's bulwark, a king's glory, Yet loved by both, and trusted, and trust-worthy, Is more than to be king; but see! thy rage Fights with thy fear. I will relieve thee! Ho! [_To the_ Guard. 405 _Emerick._ Not for thy sword, but to entrap thee, ruffian! Thus long I have listened--Guard--ho! from the Palace. [_The_ Guard _post from the Guard-house with CHEF RAGOZZI at their head, and then a number from the Palace--CHEF RAGOZZI demands KIUPRILI'S sword, and apprehends him._ _Casimir._ O agony! [_To EMERICK._ Sire, hear me! [_To KIUPRILI, who turns from him._ Hear me, father! _Emerick._ Take in arrest that traitor and assassin! Who pleads for his life, strikes at mine, his sovereign's. 410 _Raab Kiuprili._ As the Co-regent of the Realm, I stand Amenable to none save to the States Met in due course of law. But ye are bond-slaves, Yet witness ye that before God and man I here impeach Lord Emerick of foul treason, 415 And on strong grounds attaint him with suspicion Of murder-- _Emerick._ Hence with the madman! _Raab Kiuprili._ Your Queen's murder, The royal orphan's murder: and to the death Defy him, as a tyrant and usurper. [_Hurried off by RAGOZZI and the_ Guard. _Emerick._ Ere twice the sun hath risen, by my sceptre 420 This insolence shall be avenged. _Casimir._ O banish him! This infamy will crush me. O for my sake, Banish him, my liege lord! _Emerick._ What? to the army? Be calm, young friend! Nought shall be done in anger. The child o'erpowers the man. In this emergence 425 I must take counsel for us both. Retire. [_Exit CASIMIR._ _Emerick (alone, looks at a Calendar)._ The changeful planet, now in her decay, Dips down at midnight, to be seen no more. With her shall sink the enemies of Emerick, Cursed by the last look of the waning moon: 430 And my bright destiny, with sharpened horns, Shall greet me fearless in the new-born crescent. [_Exit._ _Scene changes to the back of the Palace--a Wooded Park, and Mountains. Enter ZAPOLYA, with an infant in arms._ _Zapolya._ Hush, dear one! hush! My trembling arm disturbs thee! Thou, the protector of the helpless! Thou, The widow's husband and the orphan's father, 435 Direct my steps! Ah whither? O send down Thy angel to a houseless babe and mother, Driven forth into the cruel wilderness! Hush, sweet one! Thou art no Hagar's offspring: thou art The rightful heir of an anointed king! 440 What sounds are those? It is the vesper chaunt Of labouring men returning to their home! Their queen has no home! Hear me, heavenly Father! And let this darkness---- Be as the shadow of thy outspread wings 445 To hide and shield us! Start'st thou in thy slumbers? Thou canst not dream of savage Emerick. Hush! Betray not thy poor mother! For if they seize thee I shall grow mad indeed, and they'll believe Thy wicked uncle's lie. Ha! what? A soldier? 450 [_Enter CHEF RAGOZZI._ _Chef Ragozzi._ Sure Heaven befriends us. Well! he hath escaped! O rare tune of a tyrant's promises That can enchant the serpent treachery From forth its lurking hole in the heart. 'Ragozzi! O brave Ragozzi! Count! Commander! What not?' 455 And all this too for nothing! a poor nothing! Merely to play the underling in the murder Of my best friend Kiuprili! His own son--monstrous! Tyrant! I owe thee thanks, and in good hour Will I repay thee, for that thou thought'st me too 460 A serviceable villain. Could I now But gain some sure intelligence of the queen: Heaven bless and guard her! _Zapolya (coming forward)._ Art thou not Ragozzi? _Chef Ragozzi._ The Queen! Now then the miracle is full! 465 I see heaven's wisdom is an over-match For the devil's cunning. This way, madam, haste! _Zapolya._ Stay! Oh, no! Forgive me if I wrong thee! This is thy sovereign's child: Oh, pity us, And be not treacherous! [_Kneeling._ _Chef Ragozzi (raising her)._ Madam! For mercy's sake! 470 _Zapolya._ But tyrants have a hundred eyes and arms! _Chef Ragozzi._ Take courage, madam! 'Twere too horrible, (I can not do't) to swear I'm not a monster!-- Scarce had I barr'd the door on Raab Kiuprili-- _Zapolya._ Kiuprili! How? _Chef Ragozzi._ There is not time to tell it,-- 475 The tyrant called me to him, praised my zeal-- (And be assured I overtopt his cunning And seemed right zealous.) But time wastes: In fine, Bids me dispatch my trustiest friends, as couriers With letters to the army. The thought at once 480 Flashed on me. I disguised my prisoner-- _Zapolya._ What, Raab Kiuprili? _Chef Ragozzi._ Yes! my noble general! I sent him off, with Emerick's own pacquet, Haste, and post haste--Prepared to follow him---- _Zapolya._ Ah, how? Is it joy or fear? My limbs seem sinking!-- 485 _Chef Ragozzi (supporting her)._ Heaven still befriends us. I have left my charger, A gentle beast and fleet, and my boy's mule, One that can shoot a precipice like a bird, Just where the wood begins to climb the mountains. The course we'll thread will mock the tyrant's guesses, 490 Or scare the followers. Ere we reach the main road The Lord Kiuprili will have sent a troop To escort me. Oh, thrice happy when he finds The treasure which I convoy! _Zapolya._ One brief moment, That praying for strength I may have strength. This babe, 495 Heaven's eye is on it, and its innocence Is, as a prophet's prayer, strong and prevailing! Through thee, dear babe, the inspiring thought possessed me, When the loud clamor rose, and all the palace Emptied itself--(They sought my life, Ragozzi!) 500 Like a swift shadow gliding, I made way To the deserted chamber of my lord.-- [_Then to the infant._ And thou didst kiss thy father's lifeless lips, And in thy helpless hand, sweet slumberer! Still clasp'st the signet of thy royalty. 505 As I removed the seal, the heavy arm Dropt from the couch aslant, and the stiff finger Seemed pointing at my feet. Provident Heaven! Lo, I was standing on the secret door, Which, through a long descent where all sound perishes, 510 Led out beyond the palace. Well I knew it---- But Andreas framed it not! He was no tyrant! _Chef Ragozzi._ Haste, madam! Let me take this precious burden! [_He kneels as he takes the child._ _Zapolya._ Take him! And if we be pursued, I charge thee, Flee thou and leave me! Flee and save thy king! 515 [_Then as going off, she looks back on the palace._ Thou tyrant's den, be called no more a palace! The orphan's angel at the throne of heaven Stands up against thee, and there hover o'er thee A Queen's, a Mother's, and a Widow's curse. Henceforth a dragon's haunt, fear and suspicion 520 Stand sentry at thy portals! Faith and honour, Driven from the throne, shall leave the attainted nation: And, for the iniquity that houses in thee, False glory, thirst of blood, and lust of rapine, (Fateful conjunction of malignant planets) 525 Shall shoot their blastments on the land. The fathers Henceforth shall have no joy in their young men, And when they cry: Lo! a male child is born! The mother shall make answer with a groan. For bloody usurpation, like a vulture, 530 Shall clog its beak within Illyria's heart. Remorseless slaves of a remorseless tyrant, They shall be mocked with sounds of liberty, And liberty shall be proclaimed alone To thee, O Fire! O Pestilence! O Sword! 535 Till Vengeance hath her fill.--And thou, snatched hence, Poor friendless fugitive! with mother's wailing, Offspring of Royal Andreas, shalt return, With trump and timbrel-clang, and popular shout, In triumph to the palace of thy fathers! [_Exeunt._ LINENOTES: [3] _such_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [20] And _as_ a child have reared thee _1817_. And _as_ a child I, &c. 1828, 1829. [22] to] on 1817. [Before 30] _Raab Kiuprili (his hand to his heart)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [32] commanders'] commander's 1817, 1828, 1829. [35] All---- [_Then, in a subdued and saddened voice._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [39] ANDREAS 1817, 1828, 1829. [43] ZAPOLYA 1817, 1828, 1829. [70] _thy_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 103] _Raab Kiuprili (looking forwards anxiously)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [113] Bought like themselves! [_During this conversation music is heard, first solemn and funereal, and then changing to spirited and triumphal._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [118] . . . I applaud, Ragozzi! [_Musing to himself--then--_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [135] _lawful_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [159] VICTORY 1817, 1828, 1829. [160] PEACE 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 172] [_During the last four lines, enter LORD CASIMIR, with expressions of anger and alarm._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 174] [_Starts--then approaching with timid respect._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [175] My father! _Raab Kiuprili (turning away)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 177] _Casimir (with reverence)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [187] _Your_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 192] _Casimir (struggling with his passion)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [210] _my_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [223] _his_ 1817. [224] _They BOASTED_ not _their baseness._ [_Starts, and draws his sword._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [230.] Kiuprili? Ha!---- [_With lowered voice, at the same time with one hand making, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 230] [_Music . . . Palace.--During which time EMERICK and KIUPRILI regard each other stedfastly._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [233] _thy--I_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [234] thanks] thank 1817. [240] _me_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [243] _Emerick (with a contemptuous sneer)._ Aye!--Writ, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [252] _my_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [268] _thee_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [271] fraud] _frauds_ 1817: fraud's 1828, 1829. [288] _speak_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 298] _Raab Kiuprili (sternly)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 343] _Raab Kiuprili (in a somewhat suppressed voice)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [349] Coils round its perplexity 1817. [Before 351] _Raab Kiuprili (aloud: he and Emerick standing at equi-distance from the Palace and the Guard-house)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [351] _fancied_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [354] _popular choice_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 375] _Raab Kiuprili (aloud)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [395] _thou_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [410] _his_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [423] _Emerick (scornfully)._ What? &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 426] [_Exit CASIMIR in agitation._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 433] _Scene changes to another view, namely the back, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [447] _Thou_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 451] [_She starts back--and enter, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [454-5] 'Ragozzi . . . What not?'] _Ragozzi . . . What not?_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [460] _me_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 464] _Zapolya (coming fearfully forward)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [483] _him_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [495] _have_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [512] _Andreas_: _He_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [524] rapine] ravine 1817. [528] _Lo! . . . borne!_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [533] _sounds_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 536] [_Again to the infant._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 540] END OF THE PRELUDE. 1817. PART II THE SEQUEL, ENTITLED 'THE USURPER'S FATE' ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS _OLD BATHORY, a Mountaineer._ _BETHLEN BATHORY, the young Prince Andreas, supposed son of Old BATHORY._ _LORD RUDOLPH, a Courtier, but friend to the Queen's party._ _LASKA, Steward to CASIMIR, betrothed to GLYCINE._ _PESTALUTZ, an Assassin, in EMERICK'S employ._ _LADY SAROLTA, Wife of LORD CASIMIR._ _GLYCINE, Orphan Daughter of CHEF RAGOZZI._ _Between the flight of the Queen, and the civil war which immediately followed, and in which EMERICK remained the victor, a space of twenty years is supposed to have elapsed._ USURPATION ENDED; OR, SHE COMES AGAIN ACT I SCENE I _A Mountainous Country. BATHORY'S Dwelling at the end of the Stage. Enter LADY SAROLTA and GLYCINE._ _Glycine._ Well then! our round of charity is finished. Rest, Madam! You breathe quick. _Sarolta._ What, tired, Glycine? No delicate court-dame, but a mountaineer By choice no less than birth, I gladly use The good strength Nature gave me. _Glycine._ That last cottage 5 Is built as if an eagle or a raven Had chosen it for her nest. _Sarolta._ So many are The sufferings which no human aid can reach, It needs must be a duty doubly sweet To heal the few we can. Well! let us rest. 10 _Glycine._ There? [_Pointing to BATHORY'S dwelling._ _Sarolta._ Here! For on this spot Lord Casimir Took his last leave. On yonder mountain-ridge I lost the misty image which so long Lingered, or seemed at least to linger on it. _Glycine._ And what if even now, on that same ridge, 15 A speck should rise, and still enlarging, lengthening, As it clomb downwards, shape itself at last To a numerous cavalcade, and spurring foremost, Who but Sarolta's own dear lord returned From his high embassy? _Sarolta._ Thou hast hit my thought! 20 All the long day, from yester-morn to evening, The restless hope fluttered about my heart. Oh we are querulous creatures! Little less Than all things can suffice to make us happy; And little more than nothing is enough 25 To discontent us.--Were he come, then should I Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place. _Glycine._ But our best sports belike, and gay processions Would to my lord have seemed but work-day sights 30 Compared with those the royal court affords. _Sarolta._ I have small wish to see them. A spring morning With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops (Each orbéd drop an orb of glory in it) 35 Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement Lord Casimir's wish alone would have made sacred: But, in good truth, his loving jealousy Did but command, what I had else entreated. _Glycine._ And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, 40 Been wedded to the noblest of the realm, So beautiful besides, and yet so stately---- _Sarolta._ Hush! Innocent flatterer! _Glycine._ Nay! to my poor fancy The royal court would seem an earthly heaven, Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious. 45 _Sarolta._ So doth the ignorant distance still delude us! Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee, In its mere self cold, drear, colourless void, Seen from below and in the large, becomes The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods! 50 Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance? And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed? _Glycine._ Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole, For we danced round it. _Sarolta._ Ah, Glycine! why, Why did you then betroth yourself? _Glycine._ Because 55 My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me! _Sarolta._ Yes, at my lord's request, but never wished, My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched. Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife. _Glycine._ Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam! 60 To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him, And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska But I shall tremble. _Sarolta._ Not with fear, I think, For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage. [_Exit GLYCINE into the cottage, SAROLTA continues her speech looking after her._ Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, 65 And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion, Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine, A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel More as a mother than a mistress to thee! Thou art a soldier's orphan! that--the courage, 70 Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee! Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood, Or there's no faith in instinct! [_Angry voices and clamour within._ _Re-enter GLYCINE._ _Glycine._ Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants, 75 And my lord's steward, Laska, at their head, Have come to search for old Bathory's son, Bethlen, that brave young man! 'twas he, my lady, That took our parts, and beat off the intruders, And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him 80 With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king. Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This way! Lady Sarolta's here.-- [_Calling without._ _Sarolta._ Be calm, Glycine. _Enter LASKA and_ Servants _with OLD BATHORY._ _Laska (to Bathory)._ We have no concern with you! What needs your presence? _Old Bathory._ What! Do you think I'll suffer my brave boy 85 To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians, And leave it to their malice,--yes, mere malice!-- To tell its own tale? [_LASKA and_ Servants _bow to Lady SAROLTA._ _Sarolta._ Laska! What may this mean? _Laska._ Madam! and may it please your ladyship! This old man's son, by name Bethlen Bathory, 90 Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he, On yester-eve, being his lordship's birth-day, Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir: The lord high steward of the realm, moreover---- _Sarolta._ Be brief! We know his titles! _Laska._ And moreover 95 Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick. And furthermore, said witnesses make oath, Led on the assault upon his lordship's servants; Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman, His badge of livery of your noble house, 100 And trampled it in scorn. _Sarolta (to the Servants who offer to speak)._ You have had your spokesman! Where is the young man thus accused? _Old Bathory._ I know not: But if no ill betide him on the mountains, He will not long be absent! _Sarolta._ Thou art his father? 105 _Old Bathory._ None ever with more reason prized a son; Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him. But more than one, now in my lady's presence, Witnessed the affray, besides these men of malice; And if I swerve from truth---- _Glycine._ Yes! good old man! 110 My lady! pray believe him! _Sarolta._ Hush, Glycine Be silent, I command you. [_Then to BATHORY._ Speak! we hear you! _Old Bathory._ My tale is brief. During our festive dance, Your servants, the accusers of my son, Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort, 115 To our village maidens. He (could he do less?) Rose in defence of outraged modesty, And so persuasive did his cudgel prove, (Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to women Are always cowards) that they soon took flight, 120 And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters, Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words Which their own threats provoked. _Sarolta._ Old man! you talk Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect To the livery of our house? _Old Bathory._ Even such respect 125 As the sheep's skin should gain for the hot wolf That hath begun to worry the poor lambs! _Laska._ Old insolent ruffian! _Glycine._ Pardon! pardon, madam! I saw the whole affray. The good old man Means no offence, sweet lady!--You, yourself, 130 Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians! Shame on you! _Sarolta._ What! Glycine? Go, retire! [_Exit GLYCINE._ Be it then that these men faulted. Yet yourself, Or better still belike the maidens' parents, Might have complained to us. Was ever access 135 Denied you? Or free audience? Or are we Weak and unfit to punish our own servants? _Old Bathory._ So then! So then! Heaven grant an old man patience! And must the gardener leave his seedling plants, Leave his young roses to the rooting swine 140 While he goes ask their master, if perchance His leisure serve to scourge them from their ravage? _Laska._ Ho! Take the rude clown from your lady's presence! I will report her further will! _Sarolta._ Wait then, Till thou hast learnt it! Fervent good old man! 145 Forgive me that, to try thee, I put on A face of sternness, alien to my meaning! [_Then speaks to the_ Servants. Hence! leave my presence! and you, Laska! mark me! Those rioters are no longer of my household! If we but shake a dewdrop from a rose 150 In vain would we replace it, and as vainly Restore the tear of wounded modesty To a maiden's eye familiarized to licence.-- But these men, Laska-- _Laska (aside)._ Yes, now 'tis coming. _Sarolta._ Brutal aggressors first, then baffled dastards, 155 That they have sought to piece out their revenge With a tale of words lured from the lips of anger Stamps them most dangerous; and till I want Fit means for wicked ends, we shall not need Their services. Discharge them! You, Bathory! 160 Are henceforth of my household! I shall place you Near my own person. When your son returns, Present him to us! _Old Bathory._ Ha! what strangers here! [906:1]What business have they in an old man's eye? Your goodness, lady--and it came so sudden-- 165 I can not--must not--let you be deceived. I have yet another tale, but-- [_Then to SAROLTA aside._ not for all ears! _Sarolta._ I oft have passed your cottage, and still praised Its beauty, and that trim orchard-plot, whose blossoms The gusts of April showered aslant its thatch. 170 Come, you shall show it me! And, while you bid it Farewell, be not ashamed that I should witness The oil of gladness glittering on the water Of an ebbing grief. [_BATHORY shows her into his cottage._ _Laska (alone)._ Vexation! baffled! school'd! Ho! Laska! wake! why? what can all this mean? 175 She sent away that cockatrice in anger! Oh the false witch! It is too plain, she loves him. And now, the old man near my lady's person, She'll see this Bethlen hourly! [_LASKA flings himself into the seat. GLYCINE peeps in._ _Glycine._ Laska! Laska! Is my lady gone? _Laska._ Gone. _Glycine._ Have you yet seen him? 180 Is he returned? [_LASKA starts up._ Has the seat stung you, Laska? _Laska._ No, serpent! no; 'tis you that sting me; you! What! you would cling to him again? _Glycine._ Whom? _Laska._ Bethlen! Bethlen! Yes; gaze as if your very eyes embraced him! 185 Ha! you forget the scene of yesterday! Mute ere he came, but then--Out on your screams, And your pretended fears! _Glycine._ Your fears, at least, Were real, Laska! or your trembling limbs And white cheeks played the hypocrites most vilely! 190 _Laska._ I fear! whom? what? _Glycine._ I know what I should fear, Were I in Laska's place. _Laska._ What? _Glycine._ My own conscience, For having fed my jealousy and envy With a plot, made out of other men's revenges, Against a brave and innocent young man's life! 195 Yet, yet, pray tell me! _Laska._ You will know too soon. _Glycine._ Would I could find my lady! though she chid me-- Yet this suspense-- [_Going._ _Laska._ Stop! stop! one question only-- I am quite calm-- _Glycine._ Ay, as the old song says, Calm as a tiger, valiant as a dove. 200 Nay now, I have marred the verse: well! this one question-- _Laska._ Are you not bound to me by your own promise? And is it not as plain-- _Glycine._ Halt! that's two questions. _Laska._ Pshaw! Is it not as plain as impudence, That you're in love with this young swaggering beggar, 205 Bethlen Bathory? When he was accused, Why pressed you forward? Why did you defend him? _Glycine._ Question meet question: that's a woman's privilege, Why, Laska, did you urge Lord Casimir To make my lady force that promise from me? 210 _Laska._ So then, you say, Lady Sarolta, forced you? _Glycine._ Could I look up to her dear countenance, And say her nay? As far back as I wot of All her commands were gracious, sweet requests. How could it be then, but that her requests 215 Must needs have sounded to me as commands? And as for love, had I a score of loves, I'd keep them all for my dear, kind, good mistress. _Laska._ Not one for Bethlen? _Glycine._ Oh! that's a different thing. To be sure he's brave, and handsome, and so pious 220 To his good old father. But for loving him-- Nay, there, indeed you are mistaken, Laska! Poor youth! I rather think I grieve for him; For I sigh so deeply when I think of him! And if I see him, the tears come in my eyes, 225 And my heart beats; and all because I dreamt That the war-wolf[908:1] had gored him as he hunted In the haunted forest! _Laska._ You dare own all this? Your lady will not warrant promise-breach. Mine, pampered Miss! you shall be; and I'll make you 230 Grieve for him with a vengeance. Odd's, my fingers Tingle already! [_Makes threatening signs._ _Glycine (aside)._ Ha! Bethlen coming this way! [_GLYCINE then cries out._ Oh, save me! save me! Pray don't kill me, Laska! _Enter BETHLEN in a Hunting Dress._ _Bethlen._ What, beat a woman! _Laska (to Glycine)._ O you cockatrice! _Bethlen._ Unmanly dastard, hold! _Laska._ Do you chance to know 235 Who--I--am, Sir?--('Sdeath! how black he looks!) _Bethlen._ I have started many strange beasts in my time, But none less like a man, than this before me That lifts his hand against a timid female. _Laska._ Bold youth! she's mine. _Glycine._ No, not my master yet, 240 But only is to be; and all, because Two years ago my lady asked me, and I promised her, not him; and if she'll let me, I'll hate you, my lord's steward. _Bethlen._ Hush, Glycine! _Glycine._ Yes, I do, Bethlen; for he just now brought 245 False witnesses to swear away your life: Your life, and old Bathory's too. _Bethlen._ Bathory's! Where is my father? Answer, or----Ha! gone! [_LASKA during this time retires from the Stage._ _Glycine._ Oh, heed not him! I saw you pressing onward, And did but feign alarm. Dear gallant youth, 250 It is your life they seek! _Bethlen._ My life? _Glycine._ Alas, Lady Sarolta even-- _Bethlen._ She does not know me! _Glycine._ Oh that she did! she could not then have spoken With such stern countenance. But though she spurn me, I will kneel, Bethlen-- _Bethlen._ Not for me, Glycine! 255 What have I done? or whom have I offended? _Glycine._ Rash words, 'tis said, and treasonous of the king. [_BETHLEN mutters to himself._ _Glycine (aside)._ So looks the statue, in our hall, o' the god, The shaft just flown that killed the serpent! _Bethlen._ King! _Glycine._ Ah, often have I wished you were a king. 260 You would protect the helpless every where, As you did us. And I, too, should not then Grieve for you, Bethlen, as I do; nor have The tears come in my eyes; nor dream bad dreams That you were killed in the forest; and then Laska 265 Would have no right to rail at me, nor say (Yes, the base man, he says,) that I--I love you. _Bethlen._ Pretty Glycine! wert thou not betrothed-- But in good truth I know not what I speak. This luckless morning I have been so haunted 270 With my own fancies, starting up like omens, That I feel like one, who waking from a dream Both asks and answers wildly.--But Bathory? _Glycine._ Hist! 'tis my lady's step! She must not see you! [_BETHLEN retires._ _Enter from the Cottage SAROLTA and BATHORY._ _Sarolta._ Go, seek your son! I need not add, be speedy-- 275 You here, Glycine? [_Exit BATHORY._ _Glycine._ Pardon, pardon, Madam! If you but saw the old man's son, you would not, You could not have him harmed. _Sarolta._ Be calm, Glycine! _Glycine._ No, I shall break my heart. _Sarolta._ Ha! is it so? O strange and hidden power of sympathy, 280 That of--like fates, though all unknown to each, Dost make blind instincts, orphan's heart to orphan's Drawing by dim disquiet! _Glycine._ Old Bathory-- _Sarolta._ Seeks his brave son. Come, wipe away thy tears. Yes, in good truth, Glycine, this same Bethlen 285 Seems a most noble and deserving youth. _Glycine._ My lady does not mock me? _Sarolta._ Where is Laska? Has he not told thee? _Glycine._ Nothing. In his fear-- Anger, I mean--stole off--I am so fluttered-- Left me abruptly-- _Sarolta._ His shame excuses him! 290 He is somewhat hardly tasked; and in discharging His own tools, cons a lesson for himself. Bathory and the youth henceforward live Safe in my lord's protection. _Glycine._ The saints bless you! Shame on my graceless heart! How dared I fear, 295 Lady Sarolta could be cruel? _Sarolta._ Come, Be yourself, girl! _Glycine._ O, 'tis so full here! And now it can not harm him if I tell you, That the old man's son-- _Sarolta._ Is not that old man's son! A destiny, not unlike thine own, is his. 300 For all I know of thee is, that thou art A soldier's orphan: left when rage intestine[911:1] Shook and engulphed the pillars of Illyria. This other fragment, thrown back by that same earthquake, This, so mysteriously inscribed by nature, 305 Perchance may piece out and interpret thine. Command thyself! Be secret! His true father---- Hear'st thou? _Glycine._ O tell-- _Bethlen (rushing out)._ Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven! Who is my father? _Sarolta (gazing with surprise)._ Thine? Thy father? Rise! _Glycine._ Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310 _Sarolta._ His countenance, not his act! _Glycine._ Rise, Bethlen! Rise! _Bethlen._ No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan's tongue Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth And have no power to rise! Give me a father! There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes 315 That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it, And bring it back, and make it plead for me In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me A name in the world! _Sarolta._ By that blest Heaven I gazed at, I know not who thou art. And if I knew, 320 Dared I--But rise! _Bethlen._ Blest spirits of my parents, Ye hover o'er me now! Ye shine upon me! And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin, I feel and seek the light I can not see! _Sarolta._ Thou see'st yon dim spot on the mountain's ridge, 325 But what it is thou know'st not. Even such Is all I know of thee--haply, brave youth, Is all Fate makes it safe for thee to know! _Bethlen._ Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger, And it shall be my birth-right! _Sarolta (aside)._ That look again!-- 330 The wood which first incloses, and then skirts The highest track that leads across the mountains-- Thou know'st it, Bethlen? _Bethlen._ Lady, 'twas my wont To roam there in my childhood oft alone And mutter to myself the name of father. 335 For still Bathory (why, till now I guessed not) Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror---- _Glycine._ Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves, Vampires, and monstrous---- _Sarolta._ Moon-calves, credulous girl! 340 Haply some o'ergrown savage of the forest Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest. After that last great battle, (O young man! Thou wakest anew my life's sole anguish) that Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory 345 Led by a cry, far inward from the track, In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest, Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe. The robe that wrapt thee was a widow's mantle. _Bethlen._ An infant's weakness doth relax my frame. 350 O say--I fear to ask---- _Sarolta._ And I to tell thee. _Bethlen._ Strike! O strike quickly! See, I do not shrink. I am stone, cold stone. _Sarolta._ Hid in a brake hard by, Scarce by both palms supported from the earth, A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning 355 Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes, That strained towards the babe. At length one arm Painfully from her own weight disengaging, She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated 360 Thy foster-father took thee in his arms, And kneeling spake: 'If aught of this world's comfort Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man's troth, That at my life's risk I will save thy child!' Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing 365 A loud voice, but it died upon her lips In a faint whisper, 'Fly! Save him! Hide--hide all!' _Bethlen._ And did he leave her? What! had I a mother? And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life With the desertion of a dying mother? 370 Oh agony! _Glycine._ Alas! thou art bewildered, And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant! _Bethlen._ What else can I remember, but a mother Mangled and left to perish? _Sarolta._ Hush, Glycine! It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: 375 Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine, And it will find a mirror in the waters It now makes boil above it. Check him not! _Bethlen._ O that I were diffused among the waters That pierce into the secret depths of earth, 380 And find their way in darkness! Would that I Could spread myself upon the homeless winds! And I would seek her! for she is not dead! She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady! You were about to say, that he returned-- 385 _Sarolta._ Deep Love, the godlike in us, still believes Its objects as immortal as itself! _Bethlen._ And found her still-- _Sarolta._ Alas! he did return, He left no spot unsearched in all the forest, But she (I trust me by some friendly hand) 390 Had been borne off. _Bethlen._ O whither? _Glycine._ Dearest Bethlen! I would that you could weep like me! O do not Gaze so upon the air! _Sarolta._ While he was absent, A friendly troop, 'tis certain, scoured the wood, Hotly pursued indeed by Emerick. _Bethlen._ Emerick. 395 Oh hell! _Glycine._ Bethlen! _Bethlen._ Hist! I'll curse him in a whisper! This gracious lady must hear blessings only. She hath not yet the glory round her head, Nor those strong eagle wings, which make swift way To that appointed place, which I must seek; 400 Or else she were my mother! _Sarolta._ Noble youth! From me fear nothing! Long time have I owed Offerings of expiation for misdeeds Long past that weigh me down, though innocent! Thy foster-father hid the secret from thee, 405 For he perceived thy thoughts as they expanded, Proud, restless, and ill-sorting with thy state! Vain was his care! Thou'st made thyself suspected E'en where suspicion reigns, and asks no proof But its own fears! Great Nature hath endowed thee 410 With her best gifts! From me thou shalt receive All honourable aidance! But haste hence! Travel will ripen thee, and enterprise Beseems thy years! Be thou henceforth my soldier! And whatsoe'er betide thee, still believe 415 That in each noble deed, achieved or suffered, Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth! And may the light that streams from thine own honour Guide thee to that thou seekest! _Glycine._ Must he leave us? _Bethlen._ And for such goodness can I return nothing 420 But some hot tears that sting mine eyes? Some sighs That if not breathed would swell my heart to stifling? May heaven and thine own virtues, high-born lady, Be as a shield of fire, far, far aloof To scare all evil from thee! Yet, if fate 425 Hath destined thee one doubtful hour of danger, From the uttermost region of the earth, methinks, Swift as a spirit invoked, I should be with thee! And then, perchance, I might have power to unbosom These thanks that struggle here. Eyes fair as thine 430 Have gazed on me with tears of love and anguish, Which these eyes saw not, or beheld unconscious; And tones of anxious fondness, passionate prayers, Have been talked to me! But this tongue ne'er soothed A mother's ear, lisping a mother's name! 435 O, at how dear a price have I been loved And no love could return! One boon then, lady! Where'er thou bidd'st, I go thy faithful soldier, But first must trace the spot, where she lay bleeding Who gave me life. No more shall beast of ravine 440 Affront with baser spoil that sacred forest! Or if avengers more than human haunt there, Take they what shape they list, savage or heavenly, They shall make answer to me, though my heart's blood Should be the spell to bind them. Blood calls for blood! 445 [_Exit Bethlen._ _Sarolta._ Ah! it was this I feared. To ward off this Did I withhold from him that old Bathory Returning hid beneath the self-same oak, Where the babe lay, the mantle, and some jewel Bound on his infant arm. _Glycine._ Oh, let me fly 450 And stop him! Mangled limbs do there lie scattered Till the lured eagle bears them to her nest. And voices have been heard! And there the plant grows That being eaten gives the inhuman wizard Power to put on the fell hyæna's shape. 455 _Sarolta._ What idle tongue hath bewitched thee, Glycine? I hoped that thou had'st learnt a nobler faith. _Glycine._ O chide me not, dear lady; question Laska, Or the old man. _Sarolta._ Forgive me, I spake harshly. It is indeed a mighty sorcery 460 That doth enthral thy young heart, my poor girl, And what hath Laska told thee? _Glycine._ Three days past A courier from the king did cross that wood; A wilful man, that armed himself on purpose: And never hath been heard of from that time! 465 [_Sound of horns without._ _Sarolta._ Hark! dost thou hear it! _Glycine._ 'Tis the sound of horns! Our huntsmen are not out! _Sarolta._ Lord Casimir Would not come thus! [_Horns again._ _Glycine._ Still louder! _Sarolta._ Haste we hence! For I believe in part thy tale of terror! But, trust me, 'tis the inner man transformed: 470 Beasts in the shape of men are worse than war-wolves. [_SAROLTA and GLYCINE exeunt. Trumpets, &c. louder. Enter EMERICK, LORD RUDOLPH, LASKA, and_ Huntsmen _and_ Attendants. _Rudolph._ A gallant chase, sire. _Emerick._ Aye, but this new quarry That we last started seems worth all the rest. [_then to Laska._ And you--excuse me--what's your name? _Laska._ Whatever Your majesty may please. _Emerick._ Nay, that's too late, man. 475 Say, what thy mother and thy godfather Were pleased to call thee. _Laska._ Laska, my liege sovereign. _Emerick._ Well, my liege subject, Laska! And you are Lord Casimir's steward? _Laska._ And your majesty's creature. _Emerick._ Two gentle dames made off at our approach. 480 Which was your lady? _Laska_ My liege lord, the taller. The other, please your grace, is her poor handmaid, Long since betrothed to me. But the maid's froward-- Yet would your grace but speak-- _Emerick._ Hum, master steward! I am honoured with this sudden confidence. 485 Lead on. [_to Laska, then to Rudolph._ Lord Rudolph, you'll announce our coming. Greet fair Sarolta from me, and entreat her To be our gentle hostess. Mark, you add How much we grieve, that business of the state Hath forced us to delay her lord's return. 490 _Lord Rudolph (aside)._ Lewd, ingrate tyrant! Yes, I will announce thee. _Emerick._ Now onward all. [_Exeunt attendants._ A fair one, by my faith! If her face rival but her gait and stature, My good friend Casimir had his reasons too. 'Her tender health, her vow of strict retirement, 495 Made early in the convent--His word pledged--' All fictions, all! fictions of jealousy. Well! If the mountain move not to the prophet, The prophet must to the mountain! In this Laska There's somewhat of the knave mixed up with dolt. 500 Through the transparence of the fool, methought, I saw (as I could lay my finger on it) The crocodile's eye, that peered up from the bottom. This knave may do us service. Hot ambition Won me the husband. Now let vanity 505 And the resentment for a forced seclusion Decoy the wife! Let him be deemed the aggressor Whose cunning and distrust began the game! [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [906:1] This line was borrowed unconsciously from the Excursion. ['Why should a tear be in an old man's eye?' _Excursion_, Bk. I, l. 598 (1814).] Refers (i. e. 'strangers' in l. 163) to the tears which he feels starting in his eye. The following line was borrowed from Mr. Wordsworth's Excursion. _1817_, _1828_, _1829_. [908:1] For the best account of the War-wolf or Lycanthropus, see Drayton's _Moon-calf_, Chalmers' English Poets, vol. iv, p. 133. [911:1] In the English dramatic Iambic pentameter, a [macron] and hypera-catalectic, [_sic_] the arsis strengthened by the emphasis (in which our blank verse differs from the Greek Prosody, which acknowledges no influence from emphasis) and assisted by the following caesura, permits the licence of an amphimacer [macron breve macron] for a spondee [macron macron]: the intermediate [breve] being sucked -- [u] -- up. Thus, orphan: left:--and still more easily an amphibrach for a spondee. This oth | er fragment | thrown back, &c. [u] -- |[u] -- [u] | [u] -- [MS. note by S. T. C. in copy of first Edition to lines 302 and 304. In the text 'órphan' and 'frágment' are marked with an accent.] LINENOTES: [11] [_Pointing to BATHORY'S dwelling. SAROLTA answering, points to where she then stands._ [56] _you_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 74] [_Angry voices and clamour without._ 1817. [Before 89] _Laska (pompously, as commencing a set speech)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [132] _Sarolta (speaks with affected anger)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 132] [_Exit GLYCINE, mournfully._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [135] _us_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [174] Of an ebbing grief. [_BATHORY bowing, shows, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [179] She'll see . . . hourly. [_LASKA . . . peeps in timidly._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [180] _Laska (surlily)._ Gone. 1817, 1828, 1829. [181] Is he returned? [_LASKA starts up from his seat._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [188] _Your_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [191] I should] _I_ should 1817, 1828, 1829. [196] _Laska (malignantly)._ You, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [207] _you_: _you_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [209] _you_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [211] _forced_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [221] _loving_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [222] _there_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [223] _grieve_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 233] [_GLYCINE then cries out as if afraid of being beaten._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [235] _Laska (pompously)._ Do you, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [241] _is_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [243] _her_: _him_: _she'll_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 248] [_LASKA during this time slinks off the Stage, using threatening gestures to GLYCINE._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [249] _him_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [251] _your_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 257] [_BETHLEN mutters to himself indignantly._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 259] _Bethlen (muttering aside)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [279] _Glycine._ No . . . heart. [_Sobbing._ _Sarolta (taking her hand)._ Ha! &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [297] O, 'tis so full _here_. [_At her heart._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [299] _not_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [301] _thee_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [308] _Glycine (eagerly)._ O tell-- _Bethlen (who had overheard the last few words, now rushes out)._ Yes, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [309] _Thy_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [340] _Sarolta (with a smile)._ Moon-calves, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 342] [_Then speaking again to BETHLEN._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 352] [_Striking his breast._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [384] _can not_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [393] _Sarolta (continuing the story)._ While, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [396] _Glycine (to silence him)._ Bethlen! 1817, 1828, 1829. [401] _she_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [414] _my_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [456] _thee_ 1817, 1828, 1847. [467] _Our_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [480] _Two_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [492] _Emerick (solus)._ A fair, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [494] _his_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [495-6] '_Her tender . . . pledged_--' 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 508] END OF ACT I 1817. ACT II SCENE I _A savage wood. At one side a cavern, overhung with ivy. ZAPOLYA and RAAB KIUPRILI discovered: both, but especially the latter, in rude and savage garments._ _Raab Kiuprili._ Heard you then aught while I was slumbering? _Zapolya._ Nothing. Only your face became convulsed. We miserable! Is heaven's last mercy fled? Is sleep grown treacherous? _Raab Kiuprili._ O for a sleep, for sleep itself to rest in! I dream'd I had met with food beneath a tree, 5 And I was seeking you, when all at once My feet became entangled in a net: Still more entangled as in rage I tore it. At length I freed myself, had sight of you, But as I hastened eagerly, again 10 I found my frame encumbered: a huge serpent Twined round my chest, but tightest round my throat. _Zapolya._ Alas! 'twas lack of food: for hunger chokes! _Raab Kiuprili._ And now I saw you by a shrivelled child Strangely pursued. You did not fly, yet neither 15 Touched you the ground, methought, but close above it Did seem to shoot yourself along the air, And as you passed me, turned your face and shrieked. _Zapolya._ I did in truth send forth a feeble shriek, Scarce knowing why. Perhaps the mock'd sense craved 20 To hear the scream, which you but seemed to utter. For your whole face looked like a mask of torture! Yet a child's image doth indeed pursue me Shrivelled with toil and penury! _Raab Kiuprili._ Nay! what ails you? _Zapolya._ A wondrous faintness there comes stealing o'er me. 25 Is it Death's lengthening shadow, who comes onward, Life's setting sun behind him? _Raab Kiuprili._ Cheerly! The dusk Will quickly shroud us. Ere the moon be up, Trust me I'll bring thee food! _Zapolya._ Hunger's tooth has Gnawn itself blunt. O, I could queen it well 30 O'er my own sorrows as my rightful subjects. But wherefore, O revered Kiuprili! wherefore Did my importunate prayers, my hopes and fancies, Force thee from thy secure though sad retreat? Would that my tongue had then cloven to my mouth! 35 But Heaven is just! With tears I conquered thee, And not a tear is left me to repent with! Had'st thou not done already--had'st thou not Suffered--oh, more than e'er man feigned of friendship? _Raab Kiuprili._ Yet be thou comforted! What! had'st thou faith 40 When I turned back incredulous? 'Twas thy light That kindled mine. And shall it now go out, And leave thy soul in darkness? Yet look up, And think thou see'st thy sainted lord commissioned And on his way to aid us! Whence those late dreams, 45 Which after such long interval of hopeless And silent resignation all at once Night after night commanded thy return Hither? and still presented in clear vision This wood as in a scene? this very cavern? 50 Thou darest not doubt that Heaven's especial hand Worked in those signs. The hour of thy deliverance Is on the stroke:--for misery can not add Grief to thy griefs, or patience to thy sufferance! _Zapolya._ Can not! Oh, what if thou wert taken from me? 55 Nay, thou said'st well: for that and death were one. Life's grief is at its height indeed; the hard Necessity of this inhuman state Hath made our deeds inhuman as our vestments. Housed in this wild wood, with wild usages, 60 Danger our guest, and famine at our portal-- Wolf-like to prowl in the shepherd's fold by night! At once for food and safety to affrighten The traveller from his road-- [_GLYCINE is heard singing without._ _Raab Kiuprili._ Hark! heard you not A distant chaunt? 65 SONG _By GLYCINE_ A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold-- Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted! He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled 70 Within that shaft of sunny mist; His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, All else of amethyst! And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu! Love's dreams prove seldom true. 75 The blossoms, they make no delay: The sparkling dew-drops will not stay. Sweet month of May, We must away; Far, far away! 80 To-day! to-day!' _Zapolya._ Sure 'tis some blest spirit! For since thou slew'st the usurper's emissary That plunged upon us, a more than mortal fear Is as a wall, that wards off the beleaguerer 85 And starves the poor besieged. [_Song again._ _Raab Kiuprili._ It is a maiden's voice! quick to the cave! _Zapolya._ Hark! her voice falters! [_Exit ZAPOLYA._ _Raab Kiuprili._ She must not enter The cavern, else I will remain unseen! [_KIUPRILI retires to one side of the stage. GLYCINE enters singing._ _Glycine._ A savage place! saints shield me! Bethlen! Bethlen! 90 Not here?--There's no one here! I'll sing again! [_Sings again._ If I do not hear my own voice, I shall fancy Voices in all chance sounds! [_Starts._ 'Twas some dry branch Dropt of itself! Oh, he went forth so rashly, Took no food with him--only his arms and boar-spear! 95 What if I leave these cakes, this cruse of wine, Here by this cave, and seek him with the rest? _Raab Kiuprili (unseen)._ Leave them and flee! _Glycine (shrieks, then recovering.)_ Where are you? _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen.)_ Leave them! _Glycine._ 'Tis Glycine! Speak to me, Bethlen! speak in your own voice! 100 All silent!--If this were the war-wolf's den! 'Twas not his voice!-- [_GLYCINE leaves the provisions, and exit. KIUPRILI comes forward, seizes them and carries them into the cavern. GLYCINE returns._ _Glycine._ Shame! Nothing hurt me! If some fierce beast have gored him, he must needs Speak with a strange voice. Wounds cause thirst and hoarseness! Speak, Bethlen! or but moan. St--St----No--Bethlen! 105 If I turn back and he should be found dead here, [_She creeps nearer and nearer to the cavern._ I should go mad!--Again!--'Twas my own heart! Hush, coward heart! better beat loud with fear, Than break with shame and anguish! [_As she approaches to enter the cavern, KIUPRILI stops her. GLYCINE shrieks._ Saints protect me! _Raab Kiuprili._ Swear then by all thy hopes, by all thy fears-- 110 _Glycine._ Save me! _Raab Kiuprili._ Swear secrecy and silence! _Glycine._ I swear! _Raab Kiuprili._ Tell what thou art, and what thou seekest? _Glycine._ Only A harmless orphan youth, to bring him food-- _Raab Kiuprili._ Wherefore in this wood? _Glycine._ Alas! it was his purpose-- _Raab Kiuprili._ With what intention came he? Would'st thou save him, 115 Hide nothing! _Glycine._ Save him! O forgive his rashness! He is good, and did not know that thou wert human! _Raab Kiuprili._ Human? With what design? _Glycine._ To kill thee, or If that thou wert a spirit, to compel thee By prayers, and with the shedding of his blood, 120 To make disclosure of his parentage. But most of all-- _Zapolya (rushing out from the cavern)._ Heaven's blessing on thee! Speak! _Glycine._ Whether his mother live, or perished here! _Zapolya._ Angel of mercy, I was perishing And thou did'st bring me food: and now thou bring'st 125 The sweet, sweet food of hope and consolation To a mother's famished heart! His name, sweet maiden! _Glycine._ E'en till this morning we were wont to name him Bethlen Bathory! _Zapolya._ Even till this morning? This morning? when my weak faith failed me wholly! 130 Pardon, O thou that portion'st out our sufferance, And fill'st again the widow's empty cruse! Say on! _Glycine._ The false ones charged the valiant youth With treasonous words of Emerick-- _Zapolya._ Ha! my son! _Glycine._ And of Lord Casimir-- _Raab Kiuprili (aside)._ O agony! my son! 135 _Glycine._ But my dear lady-- _Zapolya and Raab Kiuprili._ Who? _Glycine._ Lady Sarolta Frowned and discharged these bad men. _Raab Kiuprili (to himself)._ Righteous Heaven Sent me a daughter once, and I repined That it was not a son. A son was given me. My daughter died, and I scarce shed a tear: 140 And lo! that son became my curse and infamy. _Zapolya (embraces Glycine)._ Sweet innocent! and you came here to seek him, And bring him food. Alas! thou fear'st? _Glycine._ Not much! My own dear lady, when I was a child, Embraced me oft, but her heart never beat so. 145 For I too am an orphan, motherless! _Raab Kiuprili (to Zapolya)._ O yet beware, lest hope's brief flash but deepen The after gloom, and make the darkness stormy! In that last conflict, following our escape, The usurper's cruelty had clogged our flight 150 With many a babe and many a childing mother. This maid herself is one of numberless Planks from the same vast wreck. [_Then to GLYCINE again._ Well! Casimir's wife-- _Glycine._ She is always gracious, and so praised the old man That his heart o'erflowed, and made discovery 155 That in this wood-- _Zapolya._ O speak! _Glycine._ A wounded lady-- [_ZAPOLYA faints--they both support her._ _Glycine._ Is this his mother? _Raab Kiuprili._ She would fain believe it, Weak though the proofs be. Hope draws towards itself The flame with which it kindles. [_Horn heard without._ To the cavern! Quick! quick! _Glycine._ Perchance some huntsmen of the king's. 160 _Raab Kiuprili._ Emerick? _Glycine._ He came this morning-- [_They retire to the cavern, bearing ZAPOLYA. Then enter BETHLEN, armed with a boar-spear._ _Bethlen._ I had a glimpse Of some fierce shape; and but that Fancy often Is Nature's intermeddler, and cries halves With the outward sight, I should believe I saw it Bear off some human prey. O my preserver! 165 Bathory! Father! Yes, thou deserv'st that name! Thou did'st not mock me! These are blessed findings! The secret cypher of my destiny [_Looking at his signet._ Stands here inscribed: it is the seal of fate! Ha!--Had ever monster fitting lair, 'tis yonder! 170 Thou yawning den, I well remember thee! Mine eyes deceived me not. Heaven leads me on! Now for a blast, loud as a king's defiance, To rouse the monster couchant o'er his ravine! [_Blows the horn--then a pause._ Another blast! and with another swell 175 To you, ye charméd watchers of this wood! If haply I have come, the rightful heir Of vengeance: if in me survive the spirits Of those, whose guiltless blood flowed streaming here! [_Blows again louder._ Still silent? Is the monster gorged? Heaven shield me! 180 Thou, faithful spear! be both my torch and guide. [_As BETHLEN is about to enter, KIUPRILI speaks from the cavern unseen._ _Raab Kiuprili_. Withdraw thy foot! Retract thine idle spear, And wait obedient! _Bethlen._ Ha! What art thou? speak! _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen)._ Avengers! _Bethlen._ By a dying mother's pangs E'en such am I. Receive me! _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen)._ Wait! Beware! 185 At thy first step, thou treadest upon the light, Thenceforth must darkling flow, and sink in darkness! _Bethlen._ Ha! see my boar-spear trembles like a reed!-- Oh, fool! mine eyes are duped by my own shuddering.-- Those piléd thoughts, built up in solitude, 190 Year following year, that pressed upon my heart As on the altar of some unknown God, Then, as if touched by fire from heaven descending. Blazed up within me at a father's name-- Do they desert me now?--at my last trial? 195 Voice of command! and thou, O hidden Light! I have obeyed! Declare ye by what name I dare invoke you! Tell what sacrifice Will make you gracious. _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen)._ Patience! Truth! Obedience! Be thy whole soul transparent! so the Light, 200 Thou seekest, may enshrine itself within thee! Thy name? _Bethlen._ Ask rather the poor roaming savage, Whose infancy no holy rite had blest, To him, perchance, rude spoil or ghastly trophy, In chase or battle won, have given a name. 205 I have none--but like a dog have answered To the chance sound which he that fed me, called me. _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen)._ Thy birth-place? _Bethlen._ Deluding spirits! Do ye mock me? Question the Night! Bid Darkness tell its birth-place? Yet hear! Within yon old oak's hollow trunk, 210 Where the bats cling, have I surveyed my cradle! The mother-falcon hath her nest above it, And in it the wolf litters!----I invoke you, Tell me, ye secret ones! if ye beheld me As I stood there, like one who having delved 215 For hidden gold hath found a talisman, O tell! what rights, what offices of duty This signet doth command? What rebel spirits Owe homage to its Lord? _Raab Kiuprili (still unseen)._ More, guiltier, mightier, Than thou mayest summon! Wait the destined hour! 220 _Bethlen._ O yet again, and with more clamorous prayer, I importune ye! Mock me no more with shadows! This sable mantle--tell, dread voice! did this Enwrap one fatherless! _Zapolya (unseen)._ One fatherless! _Bethlen._ A sweeter voice!--A voice of love and pity! 225 Was it the softened echo of mine own? Sad echo! but the hope it kill'd was sickly, And ere it died it had been mourned as dead! One other hope yet lives within my soul: Quick let me ask!--while yet this stifling fear, 230 This stop of the heart, leaves utterance!--Are--are these The sole remains of her that gave me life? Have I a mother? [_ZAPOLYA rushes out to embrace him._ Ha! _Zapolya._ My son! my son! A wretched--Oh no, no! a blest--a happy mother! [_They embrace. KIUPRILI and GLYCINE come forward and the curtain drops._ LINENOTES: [21] _hear_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [57] _Life's_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [59] _Hath_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [70] sank] _sank_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [75-6] om. 1817. [Before 90] _Glycine (fearfully)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [102] [_GLYCINE leaves the provisions, and exit fearfully. . . . GLYCINE returns, having recovered herself._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 118] _Raab Kiuprili (repeats the word)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [118] Human? [_Then sternly._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [135] _my_ 1817, 1828, 1829. _Glycine._ And of Lord Casimir-- _Raab Kiuprili (aside)._ O agony! _my_ son. Erased [? by S. T. C. in copy of 1817.] [137] _Raab Kiuprili (turning off and to himself)._ 1817, 1828, 1839. [137-41] _Raab Kiuprili_ (_turning off_, &c.) . . . infamy. Erased [? by S. T. C. in copy of 1817]. [156] _Zapolya (in agitation)._ O speak. 1817, 1838, 1829. [170] Ha!-- (_observing the cave_). 1817, 1828, 1829. [183] _Bethlen (in amazement)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [196] VOICE: LIGHT 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 225] _Bethlen (starting)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [233] [_ZAPOLYA . . . him._ _BETHLEN starts._ Ha! _Zapolya (embracing him)._ My son, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. After 234 and stage directions. END OF ACT II. 1817. ACT III SCENE I _A stately room in LORD CASIMIR'S castle. Enter EMERICK and LASKA._ _Emerick._ I do perceive thou hast a tender conscience, Laska, in all things that concern thine own Interest or safety. _Laska._ In this sovereign presence I can fear nothing, but your dread displeasure. _Emerick._ Perchance, thou think'st it strange, that I of all men 5 Should covet thus the love of fair Sarolta, Dishonouring Casimir? _Laska._ Far be it from me! Your Majesty's love and choice bring honour with them. _Emerick._ Perchance, thou hast heard that Casimir is my friend, Fought for me, yea, for my sake, set at nought 10 A parent's blessing; braved a father's curse? _Laska (aside)._ Would I but knew now, what his Majesty meant! Oh yes, Sire! 'tis our common talk, how Lord Kiuprili, my Lord's father-- _Emerick._ 'Tis your talk, Is it, good statesman Laska? _Laska._ No, not mine, 15 Not mine, an please your Majesty! There are Some insolent malcontents indeed that talk thus-- Nay worse, mere treason. As Bathory's son, The fool that ran into the monster's jaws. _Emerick._ Well, 'tis a loyal monster if he rids us 20 Of traitors! But art sure the youth's devoured? _Laska._ Not a limb left, an please your Majesty! And that unhappy girl-- _Emerick._ Thou followed'st her Into the wood? [_LASKA bows assent._ Henceforth then I'll believe That jealousy can make a hare a lion. 25 _Laska._ Scarce had I got the first glimpse of her veil, When, with a horrid roar that made the leaves Of the wood shake-- _Emerick._ Made thee shake like a leaf! _Laska._ The war-wolf leapt; at the first plunge he seized her; Forward I rushed! _Emerick._ Most marvellous! _Laska._ Hurled my javelin; 30 Which from his dragon-scales recoiling-- _Emerick._ Enough! And take, friend, this advice. When next thou tonguest it, Hold constant to thy exploit with this monster, And leave untouched your common talk aforesaid, What your Lord did, or should have done. _Laska._ My talk? 35 The saints forbid! I always said, for my part, 'Was not the king Lord Casimir's dearest friend? Was not that friend a king? Whate'er he did 'Twas all from pure love to his Majesty.' _Emerick._ And this then was thy talk? While knave and coward, 40 Both strong within thee, wrestle for the uppermost, In slips the fool and takes the place of both. Babbler! Lord Casimir did, as thou and all men. He loved himself, loved honours, wealth, dominion. All these were set upon a father's head: 45 Good truth! a most unlucky accident! For he but wished to hit the prize; not graze The head that bore it: so with steady eye Off flew the parricidal arrow.--Even As Casimir loved Emerick, Emerick 50 Loves Casimir, intends him no dishonour. He winked not then, for love of me forsooth! For love of me now let him wink! Or if The dame prove half as wise as she is fair, He may still pass his hand, and find all smooth. 55 [_Passing his hand across his brow._ _Laska._ Your Majesty's reasoning has convinced me. _Emerick._ Thee! 'Tis well! and more than meant. For by my faith I had half forgotten thee.--Thou hast the key? [_LASKA bows._ And in your lady's chamber there's full space? _Laska._ Between the wall and arras to conceal you. 60 _Emerick._ Here! This purse is but an earnest of thy fortune, If thou prov'st faithful. But if thou betrayest me, Hark you!--the wolf that shall drag thee to his den Shall be no fiction. [_Exit EMERICK. LASKA manet with a key in one hand, and a purse in the other._ _Laska._ Well then! here I stand, Like Hercules, on either side a goddess. 65 Call this (_looking at the purse_) Preferment; this (_holding up the key_) Fidelity! And first my golden goddess: what bids she? Only:--'This way, your Majesty! hush! The household Are all safe lodged.'--Then, put Fidelity Within her proper wards, just turn her round-- 70 So--the door opens--and for all the rest, 'Tis the king's deed, not Laska's. Do but this And--'I'm the mere earnest of your future fortunes.' But what says the other?--Whisper on! I hear you! [_Putting the key to his ear._ All very true!--but, good Fidelity! 75 If I refuse King Emerick, will you promise, And swear now, to unlock the dungeon door, And save me from the hangman? Aye! you're silent! What, not a word in answer? A clear nonsuit! Now for one look to see that all are lodged 80 At the due distance--then--yonder lies the road For Laska and his royal friend, King Emerick! [_Exit LASKA. Then enter BATHORY and BETHLEN._ _Bethlen._ He looked as if he were some God disguised In an old warrior's venerable shape To guard and guide my mother. Is there not 85 Chapel or oratory in this mansion? _Old Bathory._ Even so. _Bethlen._ From that place then am I to take A helm and breast-plate, both inlaid with gold, And the good sword that once was Raab Kiuprili's. _Old Bathory._ Those very arms this day Sarolta show'd me-- 90 With wistful look. I'm lost in wild conjectures! _Bethlen._ O tempt me not, e'en with a wandering guess, To break the first command a mother's will Imposed, a mother's voice made known to me! 'Ask not, my son,' said she, 'our names or thine. 95 The shadow of the eclipse is passing off The full orb of thy destiny! Already The victor Crescent glitters forth and sheds O'er the yet lingering haze a phantom light. Thou canst not hasten it! Leave then to Heaven 100 The work of Heaven: and with a silent spirit Sympathize with the powers that work in silence!' Thus spake she, and she looked as she were then Fresh from some heavenly vision! [_Re-enter LASKA, not perceiving them._ _Laska._ All asleep! [_Then observing BETHLEN, stands in idiot-affright._ I must speak to it first--Put--put the question! 105 I'll confess all! [_Stammering with fear._ _Old Bathory._ Laska! what ails thee, man? _Laska (pointing to Bethlen)._ There! _Old Bathory._ I see nothing! where? _Laska._ He does not see it! Bethlen, torment me not! _Bethlen._ Soft! Rouse him gently! He hath outwatched his hour, and half asleep, With eyes half open, mingles sight with dreams. 110 _Old Bathory._ Ho! Laska! Don't you know us! 'tis Bathory And Bethlen! _Laska._ Good now! Ha! ha! An excellent trick. Afraid? Nay, no offence! But I must laugh. But are you sure now, that 'tis you, yourself? _Bethlen._ Would'st be convinced? _Laska._ No nearer, pray! consider! 115 If it should prove his ghost, the touch would freeze me To a tombstone. No nearer! _Bethlen._ The fool is drunk! _Laska._ Well now! I love a brave man to my heart. I myself braved the monster, and would fain Have saved the false one from the fate she tempted. 120 _Old Bathory._ You, Laska? _Bethlen (to Bathory)._ Mark! Heaven grant it may be so! Glycine? _Laska._ She! I traced her by the voice. You'll scarce believe me, when I say I heard The close of a song: the poor wretch had been singing: As if she wished to compliment the war-wolf 125 At once with music and a meal! _Bethlen (to Bathory)._ Mark that! _Laska._ At the next moment I beheld her running, Wringing her hands with, 'Bethlen! O poor Bethlen!' I almost fear, the sudden noise I made, Rushing impetuous through the brake, alarmed her. 130 She stopt, then mad with fear, turned round and ran Into the monster's gripe. One piteous scream I heard. There was no second--I-- _Bethlen._ Stop there! We'll spare your modesty! Who dares not honour Laska's brave tongue, and high heroic fancy? 135 _Laska._ You too, Sir Knight, have come back safe and sound! You played the hero at a cautious distance! Or was it that you sent the poor girl forward To stay the monster's stomach? Dainties quickly Pall on the taste and cloy the appetite! 140 _Old Bathory._ Laska, beware! Forget not what thou art! Should'st thou but dream thou'rt valiant, cross thyself! And ache all over at the dangerous fancy! _Laska._ What then! you swell upon my lady's favour, High Lords and perilous of one day's growth! 145 But other judges now sit on the bench! And haply, Laska hath found audience there, Where to defend the treason of a son Might end in lifting up both son and father Still higher; to a height from which indeed 150 You both may drop, but, spite of fate and fortune, Will be secured from falling to the ground. 'Tis possible too, young man! that royal Emerick, At Laska's rightful suit, may make inquiry By whom seduced, the maid so strangely missing-- 155 _Bethlen._ Soft! my good Laska! might it not suffice, If to yourself, being Lord Casimir's steward, I should make record of Glycine's fate? _Laska._ 'Tis well! it shall content me! though your fear Has all the credit of these lowered tones. 160 First we demand the manner of her death? _Bethlen._ Nay! that's superfluous! Have you not just told us, That you yourself, led by impetuous valour, Witnessed the whole? My tale's of later date. After the fate, from which your valour strove 165 In vain to rescue the rash maid, I saw her! _Laska._ Glycine? _Bethlen._ Nay! Dare I accuse wise Laska, Whose words find access to a monarch's ear, Of a base, braggart lie? It must have been Her spirit that appeared to me. But haply 170 I come too late? It has itself delivered Its own commission to you? _Old Bathory._ 'Tis most likely! And the ghost doubtless vanished, when we entered And found brave Laska staring wide--at nothing! _Laska._ 'Tis well! You've ready wits! I shall report them, 175 With all due honour, to his Majesty! Treasure them up, I pray! A certain person, Whom the king flatters with his confidence, Tells you, his royal friend asks startling questions! 'Tis but a hint! And now what says the ghost! 180 _Bethlen._ Listen! for thus it spake: 'Say thou to Laska, Glycine, knowing all thy thoughts engrossed In thy new office of king's fool and knave, Foreseeing thou'lt forget with thine own hand To make due penance for the wrongs thou'st caused her, 185 For thy soul's safety, doth consent to take it From Bethlen's cudgel'--thus. [_Beats him off._ Off! scoundrel! off! [_LASKA runs away._ _Old Bathory._ The sudden swelling of this shallow dastard Tells of a recent storm: the first disruption Of the black cloud that hangs and threatens o'er us. 190 _Bethlen._ E'en this reproves my loitering. Say where lies The oratory? _Old Bathory._ Ascend yon flight of stairs! Midway the corridor a silver lamp Hangs o'er the entrance of Sarolta's chamber, And facing it, the low arched oratory! 195 Me thou'lt find watching at the outward gate: For a petard might burst the bars, unheard By the drenched porter, and Sarolta hourly Expects Lord Casimir, spite of Emerick's message! _Bethlen._ There I will meet you! And till then good-night! 200 Dear good old man, good-night! _Old Bathory._ O yet one moment! What I repelled, when it did seem my own, I cling to, now 'tis parting--call me father! It can not now mislead thee. O my son, Ere yet our tongues have learnt another name, 205 Bethlen!--say 'Father' to me! _Bethlen._ Now, and for ever My father! other sire than thou, on earth I never had, a dearer could not have! From the base earth you raised me to your arms, And I would leap from off a throne, and kneeling, 210 Ask Heaven's blessing from thy lips. My father! _Bathory._ Go! Go! [_Exit BETHLEN._ May every star now shining over us, Be as an angel's eye, to watch and guard him! [_Exit BATHORY._ _Scene changes to a splendid Bed-chamber, hung with tapestry._ _SAROLTA and an_ Attendant. _Attendant._ We all did love her, madam! _Sarolta._ She deserved it! Luckless Glycine! rash, unhappy girl! 215 'Twas the first time she e'er deceived me. _Attendant._ She was in love, and had she not died thus, With grief for Bethlen's loss, and fear of Laska, She would have pined herself to death at home. _Sarolta._ Has the youth's father come back from his search? 220 _Attendant._ He never will, I fear me. O dear lady! That Laska did so triumph o'er the old man-- It was quite cruel--'You'll be sure,' said he, 'To meet with part at least of your son Bethlen, Or the war-wolf must have a quick digestion! 225 Go! Search the wood by all means! Go! I pray you!' _Sarolta._ Inhuman wretch! _Attendant._ And old Bathory answered With a sad smile, 'It is a witch's prayer, And may Heaven read it backwards.' Though she was rash, 'Twas a small fault for such a punishment! 230 _Sarolta._ Nay! 'twas my grief, and not my anger spoke. Small fault indeed! but leave me, my poor girl! I feel a weight that only prayer can lighten. [_Exit_ Attendant. O they were innocent, and yet have perished In their May of life; and Vice grows old in triumph. 235 Is it Mercy's hand, that for the bad man holds Life's closing gate?---- Still passing thence petitionary Hours To woo the obdurate spirit to repentance? Or would this dullness tell me, that there is 240 Guilt too enormous to be duly punished, Save by increase of guilt? The Powers of Evil Are jealous claimants. Guilt too hath its ordeal, And Hell its own probation!--Merciful Heaven, Rather than this, pour down upon thy suppliant 245 Disease, and agony, and comfortless want! O send us forth to wander on, unsheltered! Make our food bitter with despiséd tears! Let viperous scorn hiss at us as we pass! Yea, let us sink down at our enemy's gate, 250 And beg forgiveness and a morsel of bread! With all the heaviest worldly visitations Let the dire father's curse that hovers o'er us Work out its dread fulfilment, and the spirit Of wronged Kiuprili be appeased. But only, 255 Only, O merciful in vengeance! let not That plague turn inward on my Casimir's soul! Scare thence the fiend Ambition, and restore him To his own heart! O save him! Save my husband! [_During the latter part of this speech EMERICK comes forward from his hiding-place. SAROLTA seeing him, without recognising him._ In such a shape a father's curse should come. 260 _Emerick (advancing)._ Fear not. _Sarolta._ Who art thou? Robber? Traitor? _Emerick._ Friend! Who in good hour hath startled these dark fancies, Rapacious traitors, that would fain depose Joy, love, and beauty, from their natural thrones: Those lips, those angel eyes, that regal forehead. 265 _Sarolta_. Strengthen me, Heaven! I must not seem afraid! [_Aside._ The king to-night then deigns to play the masker. What seeks your Majesty? _Emerick._ Sarolta's love; And Emerick's power lies prostrate at her feet. _Sarolta._ Heaven guard the sovereign's power from such debasement! 270 Far rather, Sire, let it descend in vengeance On the base villain, on the faithless slave Who dared unbar the doors of these retirements! For whom? Has Casimir deserved this insult? O my misgiving heart! If--if--from Heaven 275 Yet not from you, Lord Emerick! _Emerick._ Chiefly from me. Has he not like an ingrate robbed my court Of Beauty's star, and kept my heart in darkness? First then on him I will administer justice-- If not in mercy, yet in love and rapture. 280 [_Seizes her._ _Sarolta._ Help! Treason! Help! _Emerick._ Call louder! Scream again! Here's none can hear you! _Sarolta._ Hear me, hear me, Heaven! _Emerick._ Nay, why this rage? Who best deserves you? Casimir, Emerick's bought implement, the jealous slave That mews you up with bolts and bars? or Emerick 285 Who proffers you a throne? Nay, mine you shall be. Hence with this fond resistance! Yield; then live This month a widow, and the next a queen! _Sarolta._ Yet, yet for one brief moment [_Struggling._ Unhand me, I conjure you. [_She throws him off, and rushes towards a toilet. EMERICK follows, and as she takes a dagger, he grasps it in her hand._ _Emerick._ Ha! Ha! a dagger; 290 A seemly ornament for a lady's casket! 'Tis held, devotion is akin to love, But yours is tragic! Love in war! It charms me, And makes your beauty worth a king's embraces! [_During this speech BETHLEN enters armed._ _Bethlen._ Ruffian, forbear! Turn, turn and front my sword! 295 _Emerick._ Pish! who is this? _Sarolta._ O sleepless eye of Heaven! A blest, a blessed spirit! Whence camest thou? May I still call thee Bethlen? _Bethlen._ Ever, lady, Your faithful soldier! _Emerick._ Insolent slave! Depart Know'st thou not me? _Bethlen._ I know thou art a villain 300 And coward! That thy devilish purpose marks thee! What else, this lady must instruct my sword! _Sarolta._ Monster, retire! O touch him not, thou blest one! This is the hour that fiends and damnéd spirits Do walk the earth, and take what form they list! 305 Yon devil hath assumed a king's! _Bethlen._ Usurped it! _Emerick._ The king will play the devil with thee indeed! But that I mean to hear thee howl on the rack, I would debase this sword, and lay thee prostrate At this thy paramour's feet; then drag her forth 310 Stained with adulterous blood, and-- --mark you, traitress! Strumpeted first, then turned adrift to beggary! Thou prayed'st for't too. _Sarolta._ Thou art so fiendish wicked, That in thy blasphemies I scarce hear thy threats! _Bethlen._ Lady, be calm! fear not this king of the buskin! 315 A king? Oh laughter! A king Bajazet! That from some vagrant actor's tiring-room, Hath stolen at once his speech and crown! _Emerick._ Ah! treason! Thou hast been lessoned and tricked up for this! As surely as the wax on thy death-warrant 320 Shall take the impression of this royal signet, So plain thy face hath ta'en the mask of rebel! [_BETHLEN seizes EMERICK'S hand and eagerly observes the signet._ _Bethlen._ It must be so! 'Tis e'en the counterpart! But with a foul usurping cypher on it! The light hath flashed from Heaven, and I must follow it! 325 O curst usurper! O thou brother-murderer! That mad'st a star-bright queen a fugitive widow! Who fill'st the land with curses, being thyself All curses in one tyrant! see and tremble! This is Kiuprili's sword that now hangs o'er thee! 330 Kiuprili's blasting curse, that from its point Shoots lightnings at thee. Hark! in Andreas' name, Heir of his vengeance, hell-hound! I defy thee. [_They fight, and just as EMERICK is disarmed, in rush CASIMIR, OLD BATHORY, and_ Attendants. _CASIMIR runs in between the combatants, and parts them; in the struggle BETHLEN'S sword is thrown down._ _Casimir._ The king! disarmed too by a stranger! Speak! What may this mean? _Emerick._ Deceived, dishonored lord! 335 Ask thou yon fair adultress! She will tell thee A tale, which would'st thou be both dupe and traitor, Thou wilt believe against thy friend and sovereign! Thou art present now, and a friend's duty ceases: To thine own justice leave I thine own wrongs. 340 Of half thy vengeance I perforce must rob thee, For that the sovereign claims. To thy allegiance I now commit this traitor and assassin. [_Then to the_ Attendants. Hence with him to the dungeon! and to-morrow, Ere the sun rises,--Hark! your heads or his! 345 _Bethlen._ Can Hell work miracles to mock Heaven's justice? _Emerick._ Who speaks to him dies! The traitor that has menaced His king, must not pollute the breathing air, Even with a word! _Casimir (to Bathory)._ Hence with him to the dungeon! [_Exit BETHLEN, hurried off by BATHORY and_ Attendants. _Emerick._ We hunt to-morrow in your upland forest: 350 Thou (_to Casimir_) wilt attend us: and wilt then explain This sudden and most fortunate arrival. [_Exit EMERICK; Manent CASIMIR and SAROLTA._ _Sarolta._ My lord! my husband! look whose sword lies yonder! It is Kiuprili's, Casimir; 'tis thy father's! And wielded by a stripling's arm, it baffled, 355 Yea, fell like Heaven's own lightnings on that Tarquin. _Casimir._ Hush! hush! I had detected ere I left the city The tyrant's curst intent. Lewd, damnéd ingrate! For him did I bring down a father's curse! 360 Swift, swift must be our means! To-morrow's sun Sets on his fate or mine! O blest Sarolta! No other prayer, late penitent, dare I offer, But that thy spotless virtues may prevail O'er Casimir's crimes, and dread Kiuprili's curse! 365 [_Exeunt._ LINENOTES: [5] _I_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [34] _common-talk_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [35] _My_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [37-9] '_Was not the . . . Majesty._' 1817, 1828, 1829. [40] _thy_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [51] _him_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [52] _me_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [56] _Emerick (with a slight start, as one who had been talking aloud to himself: then with scorn)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [63] _thee_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [68-9] '_This way . . . safe lodged._' 1817, 1828, 1829. [73] '_I'm . . . fortunes._' 1817, 1828, 1829. [95-102] '_Ask not my son_,' said she, '_our . . . in silence!_' 1817, 1828, 1829. [112] _Laska (recovering himself)._ Good now. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 115] _Bethlen (holding up his hand as if to strike him)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [116] _should_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 118] _Laska (still more recovering)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [121] _You_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [128] '_Bethlen! O poor Bethlen!_' 1817, 1828, 1829. [151] _may_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 161] [_Then very pompously._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [174] _brave_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [181-7] '_Say thou . . . cudgel_' 1817, 1828, 1829. [212] _Bathory._ Go! Go! [_BETHLEN breaks off and exit. BATHORY looks affectionately after him._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 213] _Scene changes . . . tapestry._ _SAROLTA in an elegant Night Dress, and an_ Attendant. 1817, 1828, 1829. [223-6] '_You'll be sure_,' said he, '_To meet with PART . . . pray you!_' 1817, 1828, 1829. [228-9] '_It is . . . backwards._' 1817, 1828, 1829. [234] _they_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [257] _soul_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [272] villain] ingrate 1817, 1828, 1829. [300] _me_ 1817. [311] Stained with adulterous blood, and-- [_Then to Sarolta._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 322] [_EMERICK points his hand haughtily towards BETHLEN, who catching a sight of the signet, seizes his hand and eagerly observes the signet, then flings the hand back with indignant joy._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [339] _now_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [341] _half_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [342] _that_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 353] [_Pointing to the sword which BETHLEN had been disarmed of by the_ Attendants. 1817, 1828, 1829. [357] _Casimir._ Hush! Hush! [_In an under voice._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 362] [_Embracing her._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 365] [_Exeunt consulting._ 1817, 1828, 1829. END OF ACT III. 1817. ACT IV SCENE I _A glade in a wood. Enter CASIMIR looking anxiously around._ _Casimir._ This needs must be the spot! O, here he comes! _Enter LORD RUDOLPH._ Well met, Lord Rudolph!---- Your whisper was not lost upon my ear, And I dare trust-- _Lord Rudolph._ Enough! the time is precious! You left Temeswar late on yester-eve? 5 And sojourned there some hours? _Casimir._ I did so! _Lord Rudolph._ Heard you Aught of a hunt preparing? _Casimir._ Yes; and met The assembled huntsmen! _Lord Rudolph._ Was there no word given? _Casimir._ The word for me was this:--The royal Leopard Chases thy milk-white dedicated Hind. 10 _Lord Rudolph._ Your answer? _Casimir._ As the word proves false or true Will Casimir cross the hunt, or join the huntsmen! _Lord Rudolph._ The event redeemed their pledge? _Casimir._ It did, and therefore Have I sent back both pledge and invitation. The spotless Hind hath fled to them for shelter, 15 And bears with her my seal of fellowship! [_They take hands._ _Lord Rudolph._ But Emerick! how when you reported to him Sarolta's disappearance, and the flight Of Bethlen with his guards? _Casimir._ O he received it As evidence of their mutual guilt. In fine, 20 With cozening warmth condoled with, and dismissed me. _Lord Rudolph._ I entered as the door was closing on you: His eye was fixed, yet seemed to follow you,-- With such a look of hate, and scorn and triumph, As if he had you in the toils already, 25 And were then choosing where to stab you first. But hush! draw back! _Casimir._ This nook is at the furthest From any beaten track. _Lord Rudolph._ There! mark them! [_Points to where LASKA and PESTALUTZ cross the Stage._ _Casimir._ Laska! _Lord Rudolph._ One of the two I recognized this morning; His name is Pestalutz: a trusty ruffian 30 Whose face is prologue still to some dark murder. Beware no stratagem, no trick of message, Dispart you from your servants. _Casimir (aside)._ I deserve it. The comrade of that ruffian is my servant: The one I trusted most and most preferred. 35 But we must part. What makes the king so late? It was his wont to be an early stirrer. _Lord Rudolph._ And his main policy. To enthral the sluggard nature in ourselves Is, in good truth, the better half of the secret To enthral the world: for the will governs all. 40 See, the sky lowers! the cross-winds waywardly Chase the fantastic masses of the clouds With a wild mockery of the coming hunt! _Casimir._ Mark yonder mass! I make it wear the shape Of a huge ram that butts with head depressed. 45 _Lord Rudolph (smiling)._ Belike, some stray sheep of the oozy flock, Which, if bards lie not, the Sea-shepherds tend, Glaucus or Proteus. But my fancy shapes it A monster couchant on a rocky shelf. _Casimir._ Mark too the edges of the lurid mass-- 50 Restless, as if some idly-vexing Sprite, On swift wing coasting by, with tetchy hand Pluck'd at the ringlets of the vaporous Fleece. These are sure signs of conflict nigh at hand, And elemental war! [_A single trumpet heard at some distance._ _Lord Rudolph._ That single blast 55 Announces that the tyrant's pawing courser Neighs at the gate. [_Trumpets._ Hark! now the king comes forth! For ever 'midst this crash of horns and clarions He mounts his steed, which proudly rears an-end While he looks round at ease, and scans the crowd, 60 Vain of his stately form and horsemanship! I must away! my absence may be noticed. _Casimir._ Oft as thou canst, essay to lead the hunt Hard by the forest-skirts; and ere high noon Expect our sworn confederates from Temeswar. 65 I trust, ere yet this clouded sun slopes westward, That Emerick's death, or Casimir's, will appease The manes of Zapolya and Kiuprili! [_Exit RUDOLPH._ The traitor, Laska!---- And yet Sarolta, simple, inexperienced, 70 Could see him as he was, and often warned me. Whence learned she this?--O she was innocent! And to be innocent is Nature's wisdom! The fledge-dove knows the prowlers of the air, Feared soon as seen, and flutters back to shelter. 75 And the young steed recoils upon his haunches, The never-yet-seen adder's hiss first heard. O surer than Suspicion's hundred eyes Is that fine sense, which to the pure in heart, By mere oppugnancy of their own goodness, 80 Reveals the approach of evil. Casimir! O fool! O parricide! through yon wood did'st thou, With fire and sword, pursue a patriot father, A widow and an orphan. Dar'st thou then (Curse-laden wretch) put forth these hands to raise 85 The ark, all sacred, of thy country's cause? Look down in pity on thy son, Kiuprili! And let this deep abhorrence of his crime, Unstained with selfish fears, be his atonement! O strengthen him to nobler compensation 90 In the deliverance of his bleeding country! [_Exit CASIMIR._ _Scene changes to the mouth of a Cavern, as in Act II. ZAPOLYA and GLYCINE discovered._ _Zapolya._ Our friend is gone to seek some safer cave: Do not then leave me long alone, Glycine! Having enjoyed thy commune, loneliness, That but oppressed me hitherto, now scares. 95 _Glycine._ I shall know Bethlen at the furthest distance, And the same moment I descry him, lady, I will return to you. [_Exit GLYCINE._ [_Enter OLD BATHORY, speaking as he enters._ _Old Bathory._ Who hears? A friend! A messenger from him who bears the signet! _Zapolya._ He hath the watch-word!--Art thou not Bathory? 100 _Old Bathory._ O noble lady! greetings from your son! [_BATHORY kneels._ _Zapolya._ Rise! rise! Or shall I rather kneel beside thee, And call down blessings from the wealth of Heaven Upon thy honoured head? When thou last saw'st me I would full fain have knelt to thee, and could not, 105 Thou dear old man! How oft since then in dreams Have I done worship to thee, as an angel Bearing my helpless babe upon thy wings! _Old Bathory._ O he was born to honour! Gallant deeds And perilous hath he wrought since yester-eve. 110 Now from Temeswar (for to him was trusted A life, save thine, the dearest) he hastes hither-- _Zapolya._ Lady Sarolta mean'st thou? _Old Bathory._ She is safe. The royal brute hath overleapt his prey, And when he turned, a sworded Virtue faced him. 115 My own brave boy--O pardon, noble lady! Your son---- _Zapolya._ Hark! Is it he? _Old Bathory._ I hear a voice Too hoarse for Bethlen's! 'Twas his scheme and hope, Long ere the hunters could approach the forest, To have led you hence.--Retire. _Zapolya._ O life of terrors! 120 _Old Bathory._ In the cave's mouth we have such 'vantage ground That even this old arm-- [_Exeunt ZAPOLYA and BATHORY into the cave._ _Enter LASKA and PESTALUTZ._ _Laska._ Not a step further! _Pestalutz._ Dastard! was this your promise to the king? _Laska._ I have fulfilled his orders. Have walked with you As with a friend: have pointed out Lord Casimir: 125 And now I leave you to take care of him. For the king's purposes are doubtless friendly. _Pestalutz._ Be on your guard, man! _Laska._ Ha! what now? _Pestalutz._ Behind you! 'Twas one of Satan's imps, that grinned and threatened you For your most impudent hope to cheat his master! 130 _Laska._ Pshaw! What! you think 'tis fear that makes me leave you? _Pestalutz._ Is't not enough to play the knave to others, But thou must lie to thine own heart? _Laska._ Friend! Laska will be found at his own post, Watching elsewhere for the king's interest. 135 There's a rank plot that Laska must hunt down, 'Twixt Bethlen and Glycine! _Pestalutz._ What! the girl Whom Laska saw the war-wolf tear in pieces? _Laska._ Well! Take my arms! Hark! should your javelin fail you, These points are tipt with venom. [_Seeing GLYCINE without._ By Heaven! Glycine! 140 Now as you love the king, help me to seize her! [_They run out after GLYCINE. Enter BATHORY from the cavern._ _Old Bathory._ Rest, lady, rest! I feel in every sinew A young man's strength returning! Which way went they? The shriek came thence. [_Enter GLYCINE._ _Glycine._ Ha! weapons here? Then, Bethlen, thy Glycine 145 Will die with thee or save thee! [_She seizes them and rushes out. BATHORY following. Music, and_ Peasants _with hunting spears cross the stage, singing chorally._ CHORAL SONG Up, up! ye dames, ye lasses gay! To the meadows trip away. 'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, And scare the small birds from the corn. 150 Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. Leave the hearth and leave the house 155 To the cricket and the mouse: Find grannam out a sunny seat, With babe and lambkin at her feet. Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go 160 With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. [_Exeunt_ Huntsmen. _Re-enter BATHORY, BETHLEN, and GLYCINE._ _Glycine._ And now once more a woman---- _Bethlen._ Was it then That timid eye, was it those maiden hands That sped the shaft, which saved me and avenged me? 165 _Old Bathory._ 'Twas as a vision blazoned on a cloud By lightning, shaped into a passionate scheme Of life and death! I saw the traitor, Laska, Stoop and snatch up the javelin of his comrade; The point was at your back, when her shaft reached him. 170 The coward turned, and at the self-same instant The braver villain fell beneath your sword. [_Enter ZAPOLYA._ _Zapolya._ Bethlen! my child! and safe too! _Bethlen._ Mother! Queen. Royal Zapolya! name me Andreas! Nor blame thy son, if being a king, he yet 175 Hath made his own arm minister of his justice. So do the gods who launch the thunderbolt! _Zapolya._ O Raab Kiuprili! Friend! Protector! Guide! In vain we trenched the altar round with waters, A flash from Heaven hath touched the hidden incense-- 180 _Bethlen._ And that majestic form that stood beside thee Was Raab Kiuprili! _Zapolya._ It was Raab Kiuprili; As sure as thou art Andreas, and the king. _Old Bathory._ Hail Andreas! hail my king! _Andreas._ Stop, thou revered one, Lest we offend the jealous destinies 185 By shouts ere victory. Deem it then thy duty To pay this homage, when 'tis mine to claim it. _Glycine._ Accept thine hand-maid's service! [_Kneeling._ _Zapolya._ Raise her, son! O raise her to thine arms! she saved thy life, And through her love for thee, she saved thy mother's! 190 Hereafter thou shalt know, that this dear maid Hath other and hereditary claims Upon thy heart, and with Heaven guarded instinct But carried on the work her sire began! _Andreas._ Dear maid! more dear thou canst not be! the rest 195 Shall make my love religion. Haste we hence: For as I reached the skirts of this high forest, I heard the noise and uproar of the chase, Doubling its echoes from the mountain foot. _Glycine._ Hark! sure the hunt approaches. [_Horn without, and afterwards distant thunder._ _Zapolya._ O Kiuprili! 200 _Old Bathory._ The demon-hunters of the middle air Are in full cry, and scare with arrowy fire The guilty! Hark! now here, now there, a horn Swells singly with irregular blast! the tempest Has scattered them! [_Horns at a distance._ _Zapolya._ O Heavens! where stays Kiuprili? 205 _Old Bathory._ The wood will be surrounded! leave me here. _Andreas._ My mother! let me see thee once in safety. I too will hasten back, with lightning's speed, To seek the hero! _Old Bathory._ Haste! my life upon it I'll guide him safe. _Andreas (thunder)._ Ha! what a crash was there! 210 Heaven seems to claim a mightier criminal Than yon vile subaltern. _Zapolya._ Your behest, High powers, Lo, I obey! To the appointed spirit, That hath so long kept watch round this drear cavern, In fervent faith, Kiuprili, I entrust thee! 215 [_Exeunt ZAPOLYA, ANDREAS, and GLYCINE._ _Old Bathory._ Yon bleeding corse may work us mischief still: Once seen, 'twill rouse alarm and crowd the hunt From all parts towards this spot. Stript of its armour, I'll drag it hither. [_Exit BATHORY. Several_ Hunters _cross the Stage. Enter KIUPRILI._ _Raab Kiuprili (throwing off his disguise)._ Since Heaven alone can save me, Heaven alone 220 Shall be my trust. Haste! haste! Zapolya, flee! Gone! Seized perhaps? Oh no, let me not perish Despairing of Heaven's justice! Faint, disarmed, Each sinew powerless; senseless rock, sustain me! Thou art parcel of my native land! A sword! 225 Ha! and my sword! Zapolya hath escaped, The murderers are baffled, and there lives An Andreas to avenge Kiuprili's fall!-- There was a time, when this dear sword did flash As dreadful as the storm-fire from mine arm-- 230 I can scarce raise it now--yet come, fell tyrant! And bring with thee my shame and bitter anguish, To end his work and thine! Kiuprili now Can take the death-blow as a soldier should. [_Re-enter BATHORY, with the dead body of PESTALUTZ._ _Old Bathory._ Poor tool and victim of another's guilt! 235 Thou follow'st heavily: a reluctant weight! Good truth, it is an undeservéd honour That in Zapolya and Kiuprili's cave A wretch like thee should find a burial-place. 'Tis he!--In Andreas' and Zapolya's name 240 Follow me, reverend form! Thou need'st not speak, For thou canst be no other than Kiuprili. _Kiuprili._ And are they safe? [_Noise without._ _Old Bathory._ Conceal yourself, my lord! I will mislead them! _Kiuprili._ Is Zapolya safe? _Old Bathory._ I doubt it not; but haste, haste, I conjure you! [_Enter CASIMIR._ 245 _Casimir._ Monster! Thou shalt not now escape me! _Old Bathory._ Stop, lord Casimir! It is no monster. _Casimir._ Art thou too a traitor? Is this the place where Emerick's murderers lurk? Say where is he that, tricked in this disguise, 250 First lured me on, then scared my dastard followers? Thou must have seen him. Say where is th' assassin? _Old Bathory._ There lies the assassin! slain by that same sword That was descending on his curst employer, When entering thou beheld'st Sarolta rescued! 255 _Casimir._ Strange providence! what then was he who fled me? Thy looks speak fearful things! Whither, old man! Would thy hand point me? _Old Bathory._ Casimir, to thy father. _Casimir._ The curse! the curse! Open and swallow me, Unsteady earth! Fall, dizzy rocks! and hide me! 260 _Old Bathory._ Speak, speak, my lord! _Kiuprili._ Bid him fulfil his work! _Casimir._ Thou art Heaven's immediate minister, dread spirit! O for sweet mercy, take some other form, And save me from perdition and despair! _Old Bathory._ He lives! _Casimir._ Lives! A father's curse can never die! 265 _Kiuprili._ O Casimir! Casimir! _Old Bathory._ Look! he doth forgive you! Hark! 'tis the tyrant's voice. [_EMERICK'S voice without._ _Casimir._ I kneel, I kneel! Retract thy curse! O, by my mother's ashes, Have pity on thy self-abhorring child! If not for me, yet for my innocent wife, 270 Yet for my country's sake, give my arm strength, Permitting me again to call thee father! _Kiuprili._ Son, I forgive thee! Take thy father's sword; When thou shalt lift it in thy country's cause, In that same instant doth thy father bless thee! 275 [_Enter EMERICK._ _Emerick._ Fools! Cowards! follow--or by Hell I'll make you Find reason to fear Emerick, more than all The mummer-fiends that ever masqueraded As gods or wood-nymphs!-- Ha! 'tis done then! Our necessary villain hath proved faithful, 280 And there lies Casimir, and our last fears! Well!--Aye, well!---- And is it not well? For though grafted on us, And filled too with our sap, the deadly power Of the parent poison-tree lurked in its fibres: 285 There was too much of Raab Kiuprili in him: The old enemy looked at me in his face, E'en when his words did flatter me with duty. _Enter CASIMIR and BATHORY._ _Old Bathory (aside)._ This way they come! _Casimir (aside)._ Hold them in check awhile, The path is narrow! Rudolph will assist thee. 290 _Emerick (aside)._ And ere I ring the alarum of my sorrow, I'll scan that face once more, and murmur--Here Lies Casimir, the last of the Kiuprilis! Hell! 'tis Pestalutz! _Casimir (coming forward)._ Yes, thou ingrate Emerick! 'Tis Pestalutz! 'tis thy trusty murderer! 295 To quell thee more, see Raab Kiuprili's sword! _Emerick._ Curses on it and thee! Think'st thou that petty omen Dare whisper fear to Emerick's destiny? Ho! Treason! Treason! _Casimir._ Then have at thee, tyrant! [_They fight. EMERICK falls._ _Emerick._ Betrayed and baffled 300 By mine own tool!----Oh! [_Dies._ _Casimir._ Hear, hear, my Father! Thou should'st have witnessed thine own deed. O Father, Wake from that envious swoon! The tyrant's fallen! Thy sword hath conquered! As I lifted it Thy blessing did indeed descend upon me; 305 Dislodging the dread curse. It flew forth from me And lighted on the tyrant! _Enter RUDOLPH, BATHORY, and_ Attendants. _Rudolph and Bathory._ Friends! friends to Casimir! _Casimir._ Rejoice, Illyrians! the usurper's fallen. _Rudolph._ So perish tyrants! so end usurpation! 310 _Casimir._ Bear hence the body, and move slowly on! One moment---- Devoted to a joy, that bears no witness, I follow you, and we will greet our countrymen With the two best and fullest gifts of heaven-- 315 A tyrant fallen, a patriot chief restored! [_CASIMIR enters the Cavern._ SCENE.--_Chamber in CASIMIR'S Castle._ Confederates _discovered._ _First Confederate._ It cannot but succeed, friends. From this palace E'en to the wood, our messengers are posted With such short interspace, that fast as sound Can travel to us, we shall learn the event! 320 _Enter another Confederate._ What tidings from Temeswar? _Second Confederate._ With one voice Th' assembled chieftains have deposed the tyrant: He is proclaimed the public enemy, And the protection of the law withdrawn. _First Confederate._ Just doom for him, who governs without law! 325 Is it known on whom the sov'reignty will fall? _Second Confederate._ Nothing is yet decided: but report Points to Lord Casimir. The grateful memory Of his renownéd father---- _Enter SAROLTA._ Hail to Sarolta! _Sarolta._ Confederate friends! I bring to you a joy 330 Worthy your noble cause! Kiuprili lives, And from his obscure exile, hath returned To bless our country. More and greater tidings Might I disclose; but that a woman's voice Would mar the wondrous tale. Wait we for him, 335 The partner of the glory--Raab Kiuprili; For he alone is worthy to announce it. [_Shouts of_ 'Kiuprili, Kiuprili,' _and_ 'The Tyrant's fallen,' _without. Enter KIUPRILI, CASIMIR, RUDOLPH, BATHORY, and_ Attendants. _Raab Kiuprili._ Spare yet your joy, my friends! A higher waits you: Behold, your Queen! [_Enter ZAPOLYA and ANDREAS royally attired, with GLYCINE._ _Confederate._ Comes she from heaven to bless us? _Other Confederates._ It is! it is! _Zapolya._ Heaven's work of grace is full! 340 Kiuprili, thou art safe! _Raab Kiuprili._ Royal Zapolya! To the heavenly powers, pay we our duty first; Who not alone preserved thee, but for thee And for our country, the one precious branch Of Andreas' royal house. O countrymen, 345 Behold your King! And thank our country's genius, That the same means which have preserved our sovereign, Have likewise reared him worthier of the throne By virtue than by birth. The undoubted proofs Pledged by his royal mother, and this old man, 350 (Whose name henceforth be dear to all Illyrians) We haste to lay before the assembled council. _All._ Hail, Andreas! Hail, Illyria's rightful king! _Andreas._ Supported thus, O friends! 'twere cowardice Unworthy of a royal birth, to shrink 355 From the appointed charge. Yet, while we wait The awful sanction of convened Illyria, In this brief while, O let me feel myself The child, the friend, the debtor!--Heroic mother!-- But what can breath add to that sacred name? 360 Kiuprili! gift of Providence, to teach us That loyalty is but the public form Of the sublimest friendship, let my youth Climb round thee, as the vine around its elm: Thou my support and I thy faithful fruitage. 365 My heart is full, and these poor words express not, They are but an art to check its over-swelling. Bathory! shrink not from my filial arms! Now, and from henceforth thou shalt not forbid me To call thee father! And dare I forget 370 The powerful intercession of thy virtue, Lady Sarolta? Still acknowledge me Thy faithful soldier!--But what invocation Shall my full soul address to thee, Glycine? Thou sword that leap'dst forth from a bed of roses: 375 Thou falcon-hearted dove? _Zapolya._ Hear that from me, son! For ere she lived, her father saved thy life, Thine, and thy fugitive mother's! _Casimir._ Chef Ragozzi! O shame upon my head! I would have given her To a base slave! _Zapolya._ Heaven overruled thy purpose, 380 And sent an angel to thy house to guard her! Thou precious bark! freighted with all our treasures! The sports of tempests, and yet ne'er the victim, How many may claim salvage in thee! Take her, son! A queen that brings with her a richer dowry 385 Than orient kings can give! _Sarolta._ A banquet waits!-- On this auspicious day, for some few hours I claim to be your hostess. Scenes so awful With flashing light, force wisdom on us all! E'en women at the distaff hence may see, 390 That bad men may rebel, but ne'er be free; May whisper, when the waves of faction foam, None love their country, but who love their home: For freedom can with those alone abide, Who wear the golden chain, with honest pride, 395 Of love and duty, at their own fire-side: While mad ambition ever doth caress Its own sure fate, in its own restlessness! END OF ZAPOLYA. LINENOTES: [After 16] [_They take hands, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [37] _Lord Rudolph._ And his main policy too. 1817. [44-55] _Casimir._ Mark too, the edges of yon lurid mass! Restless and vext, as if some angering hand, With fitful, tetchy snatch, unrolled and pluck'd The jetting ringlets of the vaporous fleece! These are sure signs of conflict nigh at hand, And elemental war! 1817-1851. [Note.--The text of 1829, 1831 is inscribed in Notebook 20 (1808-1825).] [47] Which, as Poets tell us, the Sea-Shepherds tend, Notebook 20. [48] _my_ 1828, 1829. [57] Neighs at the gate. [_A volley of Trumpets._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 68: [_Exit RUDOLPH and manet CASIMIR._ [95-6] That but oppressed me hitherto, now scares me. You will ken Bethlen? _Glycine._ O at farthest distance, Yea, oft where Light's own courier-beam exhausted Drops at the threshold, and forgets its message, A something round me of a wider reach Feels his approach, and trembles back to tell me. MS. correction (in the margin of Zapolya 1817) inserted in text of P. and D. W. 1877, iv. pp. 270-71. [After 99] [_ZAPOLYA, who had been gazing affectionately after GLYCINE, starts at BATHORY'S voice._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 128] _Pestalutz (affecting to start)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [128] _Laska (in affright)._ Ha, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 134] _Laska (pompously)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [137] _Pestalutz (with a sneer)._ What! &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 139] _Laska (throwing down a bow and arrows)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [139] Take] there's 1817, 1828, 1829. [140] These points are tipt with venom. [_Starts and sees GLYCINE without._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 141] [_They run . . . GLYCINE, and she shrieks without: then enter, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [144] The shriek came thence. [_Clash of swords, and BETHLEN'S voice heard from behind the scenes; GLYCINE enters alarmed; then, as seeing LASKA'S bow and arrows._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 146] [_She seizes . . . following her. Lively and irregular music, and_ Peasants _with hunting spears, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829.] [After 162] _Re-enter, as the_ Huntsmen _pass off, BATHORY, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 163] _Glycine (leaning on Bethlen)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 166] _Bathory (to Bethlen exultingly)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Linenote _Before_ 181: _Bethlen (hastily)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [184] _Bathory._ Hail . . . my king! [_Triumphantly._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [205] Has scattered them! [_Horns heard as from different places at a distance._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [207] _thee_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 209] [_Thunder again._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 211] [_Pointing without to the body of PESTALUTZ._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [213] Lo] Low _1828_, _1829_.] [After 215] [_Exeunt . . . GLYCINE, ANDREAS, having in haste dropt his sword. Manet BATHORY._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [216] Yon bleeding corse (_pointing to Pestalutz's body_) 1817, 1828, 1829. [219] I'll drag it hither. [_Exit BATHORY. After awhile several_ Hunters _cross the stage as scattered. Some time after, enter KIUPRILI in his disguise, fainting with fatigue, and as pursued._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [221] Shall be my trust. [_Then speaking as to ZAPOLYA in the Cavern._ Haste! . . . flee! [_He enters the Cavern, and then returns in alarm._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [225] _Thou_ art parcel of my native land. [_Then observing the sword._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [226] _my_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [230] arm] arms 1817, 1828, 1829. [232] bitter] bitterer 1817. [233] _his_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 239] [_Then observing KIUPRILI._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 245] [_As he retires, in rushes CASIMIR._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [246] _Casimir (entering)._ Monster! 1817, 1828, 1829. [253] _Bathory._ There (_pointing to the body of PESTALUTZ_) 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 256] [_BATHORY points to the Cavern, whence KIUPRILI advances._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 259] _Casimir (discovering Kiuprili)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before_ 261] _Bathory (to Kiuprili)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [261] _Kiuprili (holds out the sword to Bathory)._ Bid him, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 266] _Kiuprili (in a tone of pity)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 275] [_KIUPRILI and CASIMIR embrace; they all retire to the Cavern supporting KIUPRILI. CASIMIR as by accident drops his robe, and BATHORY throws it over the body of PESTALUTZ._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 276] _Emerick (entering)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [279] As gods or wood-nymphs!-- [_Then sees the body of PESTALUTZ, covered by CASIMIR'S cloak._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [281] _last_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [283] _not_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 288] [_As EMERICK moves towards the body, enter from the Cavern CASIMIR and BATHORY._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 289] _Bathory (pointing to where the noise is, and aside to Casimir)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [289] _Casimir (aside to Bathory)._ Hold, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 291] _Emerick (aside, not perceiving Casimir and Bathory, and looking at the dead body)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 293] [_Uncovers the face, and starts._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [301] _Casimir (triumphantly)._ Hear, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 308] _Rudolph and Bathory (entering)._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 316] [_Exeunt CASIMIR into the Cavern. The rest on the opposite side._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [Before 317] _Scene changes to a splendid Chamber, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 337] [_Shouts . . . without. Then enter KIUPRILI . . ._ Attendants, _after the clamour has subsided._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [339] Behold, your Queen! [_Enter from opposite side, ZAPOLYA, &c._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [365] _my . . . I_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [377] _thy_ 1817, 1828, 1829. [381] And sent an angel (_pointing to SAROLTA_) to thy, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 382] [_To ANDREAS._ 1817, 1828, 1829. [384] How many may claim salvage in thee! (_Pointing to GLYCINE._) Take, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829. [After 398] FINIS. 1817. EPIGRAMS[951:1] 1 EPIGRAM AN APOLOGY FOR SPENCERS Said William to Edmund I can't guess the reason Why Spencers abound in this bleak wintry season. Quoth Edmund to William, I perceive you're no Solon-- Men may purchase a half-coat when they cannot a whole-one. BRISTOLIENSIS. March 21, 1796. First published in _The Watchman_, No. IV. March 25, 1796. First collected _Poems_, 1907. 2 EPIGRAM ON A LATE MARRIAGE BETWEEN AN OLD MAID AND FRENCH PETIT MAÎTRE Tho' Miss ----'s match is a subject of mirth, She considered the matter full well, And wisely preferred leading one ape on earth To perhaps a whole dozen in hell. First published in _The Watchman_, No. V, April 2, 1796. Included in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 45. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 368. 3 EPIGRAM ON AN AMOROUS DOCTOR From Rufa's eye sly Cupid shot his dart And left it sticking in Sangrado's heart. No quiet from that moment has he known, And peaceful sleep has from his eyelids flown. And opium's force, and what is more, alack! His own orations cannot bring it back. In short, unless she pities his afflictions, Despair will make him take his _own prescriptions_. First published in _The Watchman_, No. V, April 2, 1796. Included in _Lit. Rem._, i. 45. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 368. 4 EPIGRAM Of smart pretty Fellows in Bristol are numbers, some Who so modish are grown, that they think plain sense cumbersome; And lest they should seem to be queer or ridiculous, They affect to believe neither God or _old Nicholas_! First published in article 'To Caius Gracchus' (signed S. T. Coleridge) in _The Watchman_, No. V, p. 159. Reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850, i. 164. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 368. 5 ON DEPUTY ---- By many a booby's vengeance bit I leave your haunts, ye sons of wit! And swear, by Heaven's blessed light, That Epigrams no more I'll write. Now hang that ***** for an ass, Thus to thrust in his idiot face, Which spite of oaths, if e'er I spy, I'll write an Epigram--or die. LABERIUS. First published in _Morning Post_, Jan. 2, 1798. First collected, _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 369. 6 [EPIGRAM] To be ruled like a Frenchman the Briton is loth, Yet in truth a _direct-tory_ governs them both. 1798. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 166. 7 ON MR. ROSS, USUALLY COGNOMINATED _NOSY_[953:1] I fancy whenever I spy Nosy Ross, More great than a Lion is Rhy nose ros. 1799. Now first published from an MS. 8 [EPIGRAM] Bob now resolves on marriage schemes to trample, And now he'll have a wife all in a trice. Must I advise--Pursue thy dad's example And marry not.--There, heed now my advice. Imitated from Lessing's 'Bald willst du, Trill, und bald willst du dich nicht beweiben.' _Sinngedicht_ No. 93. Now first published from an MS. 9 [EPIGRAM] Say what you will, Ingenious Youth! You'll find me neither Dupe nor Dunce: Once you deceived me--only once, 'Twas then when you told me the Truth. 1799. First published from an MS. in 1893. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 45. _An einen Lügner._ 'Du magst so oft, so fein, als dir nur möglich, lügen.' 10 [ANOTHER VERSION] If the guilt of all lying consists in deceit, Lie on--'tis your duty, sweet youth! For believe me, then only we find you a cheat When you cunningly tell us the truth. 1800. First published in _Annual Anthology_, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 163. 11 ON AN INSIGNIFICANT[954:1] No doleful faces here, no sighing-- Here rots a thing that _won_ by dying: 'Tis Cypher lies beneath this crust-- Whom Death _created_ into dust. 1799. First published from an MS. in 1893. The two last lines were printed for the first time in 1834. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 52. _Grabschrift des Nitulus._ 'Hier modert Nitulus, jungfräuliches Gesichts, Der durch den Tod gewann: er wurde Staub aus Nichts.' 12 [EPIGRAM] There comes from old Avaro's grave A deadly stench--why, sure they have Immured his _soul_ within his grave? 1799. First published in _Keepsake_, 1829, p. 122. Included in _Lit. Rem._, i. 46. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 27. _Auf Lukrins Grab._ 'Welch tötender Gestank hier, wo Lukrin begraben.' 13 ON A SLANDERER From yonder tomb of recent date, There comes a strange mephitic blast. Here lies--Ha! Backbite, you at last-- 'Tis he indeed: and sure as fate, They buried him in overhaste-- Into the earth he has been cast, And in this grave, Before the man had breathed his last. 1799. First published from an MS. in 1893. An expansion of [Epigram] No. 12. 14 LINES IN A GERMAN STUDENT'S ALBUM We both attended the same College, Where sheets of paper we did blur many, And now we're going to sport our knowledge, In England I, and you in Germany. First published in Carlyon's _Early Years, &c._, 1856, i. 68. First collected _P. and D. W._, ii. 374. 15 [HIPPONA] Hippona lets no silly flush Disturb her cheek, nought makes her blush. Whate'er obscenities you say, She nods and titters frank and gay. Oh Shame, awake one honest flush For this,--that nothing makes her blush. First published in _Morning Post_, (?) Aug. 29, 1799. Included in _An. Anth._, 1800, and in _Essays, &c._, iii. 971. First collected _P. and D. W._, ii. 164. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 10. _Auf Lucinden._ 'Sie hat viel Welt, die muntere Lucinde.' 16 ON A READER OF HIS OWN VERSES Hoarse Mævius reads his hobbling verse To all and at all times, And deems them both divinely smooth, His voice as well as rhymes. But folks say, Mævius is no ass! But Mævius makes it clear That he's a monster of an ass, An ass without an ear. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 7, 1799. Included in _An. Anth._, 1800; _Keepsake_, 1829, p. 122; _Lit. Rem._, i. 49. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 162. Adapted from Wernicke's _Epigrams_, Bk. IX, No. 42. _An einen gewissen Pritschmeister._ 'Umsonst dass jedermann, dieweil du manches Blatt.' 17 ON A REPORT OF A MINISTER'S DEATH WRITTEN IN GERMANY Last Monday all the Papers said That Mr. ---- was dead; Why, then, what said the City? The tenth part sadly shook their head, And shaking sigh'd and sighing said, 'Pity, indeed, 'tis pity!' But when the said report was found A rumour wholly without ground, Why, then, what said the city? The other _nine_ parts shook their head, Repeating what the tenth had said, 'Pity, indeed, 'tis pity!' First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 18, 1799. Included in _Keepsake_, 1829, p. 122; _Lit. Rem._, i. 46. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 166. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 29. _Auf den falschen Ruf von Nigrins Tode._ 'Es sagte, sonder alle Gnade, die ganze Stadt Nigrinen tot.' LINENOTES: [2] That Mr. ---- was surely dead M. P. [3] Why] Ah M. P. [4] their] the M. P. [9] Why] Ah M. P. [10] their] the M. P. 18 [DEAR BROTHER JEM] Jem writes his verses with more speed Than the printer's boy can set 'em; Quite as fast as we can read, And only not so fast as we forget 'em. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1799. Included in _An. Anth._, 1800; _Essays, &c._, 1850, iii. 974. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 164. 19 JOB'S LUCK Sly Beelzebub took all occasions To try Job's constancy and patience; He took his honours, took his health, He took his children, took his wealth, His camels, horses, asses, cows-- And the _sly_ Devil did not take his spouse. But Heaven that brings out good from evil, And loves to disappoint the Devil, Had predetermined to restore _Twofold_ all Job had before, His children, camels, horses, cows,-- _Short-sighted_ Devil, not to take his _spouse_! 1799. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 26, 1801. Included in _Annual Register_, 1827, and _Keepsake_, 1829. First collected 1834. The first stanza of 'Job's Luck' is adapted from Fr. v. Logan's _Sinngedicht_, _Hiob's Weib_. Lessing's edition, Bk. III, No. 90:-- 'Als der Satan ging von Hiob, ist sein Anwalt dennoch blieben, Hiobs Weib; er hätte nimmer einen bessern aufgetrieben.' The second stanza is adapted from Fr. v. Logan's _Sinngedicht_, _Auf den Hornutus_, _ibid._ Bk. I, No. 68:-- 'Hornutus las, was Gott Job habe weggenommen, Sei doppelt ihm hernach zu Hause wiederkommen: Wie gut, sprach er, war dies, dass Gott sein Weib nicht nahm, Auf dass Job ihrer zwei für eine nicht bekam!' The original source is a Latin epigram by John Owen (_Audoenus Oxoniensis_), Bk. III, No. 198. See _N. and Q._, 1st Series, ii. 516. LINENOTES: Title] The Devil Outwitted M. P. [3] honours] honour M. P. 20 ON THE SICKNESS OF A GREAT MINISTER Pluto commanded death to take away Billy--Death made pretences to obey, And only made pretences, for he shot A headless dart that struck nor wounded not. The ghaunt Economist who (tho' my grandam Thinks otherwise) ne'er shoots his darts at random Mutter'd, 'What? put my Billy in arrest? Upon my life that were a pretty jest! So flat a thing of Death shall ne'er be said or sung-- No! Ministers and Quacks, them take I not so young.' First, published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 1, 1799. Now reprinted for the first time. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 119. _Auf die Genesung einer Buhlerin._ 'Dem Tode wurde jüngst von Pluto anbefohlen.' 21 [TO A VIRTUOUS OECONOMIST] WERNICKE You're careful o'er your wealth 'tis true: Yet so that of your plenteous store The needy takes and blesses you, For you hate Poverty, but not the Poor. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 28, 1799. Now reprinted for the first time. Adapted from Wernicke's _Epigrams_ (Bk. I, No. 49). _An den sparsamen Celidon._ 'Du liebst zwar Geld und Gut, doch so dass dein Erbarmen Der Arme fühlt.' 22 [L'ENFANT PRODIGUE] Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing, But prithee where lies Jack's estate? In Algebra for there I found of late A quantity call'd less than nothing. First published in _Morning Post_, Nov. 16, 1799. Included in An. Anth., 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 163. 23 ON SIR RUBICUND NASO A COURT ALDERMAN AND WHISPERER OF SECRETS Speak out, Sir! you're safe, for so ruddy your nose That, talk where you will, 'tis all _under the Rose_. First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 7, 1799. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 975. First collected _Poems_, 1907. Compare Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 35. _Auf eine lange Nase._ 24 TO MR. PYE On his _Carmen Seculare_ (a title which has by various persons who have heard it, been thus translated, 'A Poem _an age long_'). Your poem must _eternal_ be, _Eternal!_ it can't fail, For 'tis _incomprehensible_, And without head or tail! First published in _Morning Post_, Jan. 24, 1800. Included in _Keepsake_, 1829, p. 277. First collected _P. and D. W._, ii. 161. 25 [NINETY-EIGHT] O would the Baptist come again And preach aloud with might and main Repentance to our viperous race! But should this miracle take place, I hope, ere Irish ground he treads, He'll lay in a good stock of heads! First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 162. Adapted from Friedrich von Logau's _Sinngedicht_, _Johannes der Täufer_, Lessing's edition, Bk. I, No. 30:-- 'Nicht recht! nicht recht! würd' immer schrein Johannes, sollt' er wieder sein. Doch käm er, riet' ich, dass er dächte, Wie viel er Köpf' in Vorrat brächte.' 26 OCCASIONED BY THE FORMER I hold of all our viperous race The greedy creeping things in place Most vile, most venomous; and then The United Irishmen! To come on earth should John determine, Imprimis, we'll excuse his sermon. Without a word the good old Dervis Might work incalculable service, At once from tyranny and riot Save laws, lives, liberties and moneys, If sticking to his ancient diet He'd but eat up our locusts and _wild honeys_! First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 162. LINENOTES: [After 4] Now by miraculous deeds to stir them MS. 27 [A LIAR BY PROFESSION] As Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking, Whom should we see on t'other side pass by But Informator with a stranger talking, So I exclaim'd, 'Lord, what a lie!' Quoth Dick--'What, can you hear him?' 'Hear him! stuff! I saw him open his mouth--an't that enough?' First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, ii. 163. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 142. _Auf den Ley._ 'Der gute Mann, den Ley beiseite dort gezogen!' 28 TO A PROUD PARENT Thy babes ne'er greet thee with the father's name; 'My Lud!' they lisp. Now whence can this arise? Perhaps their mother feels an honest shame And will not teach her infant to tell lies. First published in _An. Anth._, 1800, included in _Essays, &c._, ii. 997. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 164. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 17. _An den Doktor Sp * *._ 'Dein Söhnchen lässt dich nie den Namen Vater hören.' 29 RUFA Thy lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast, It don't surprise me in the least To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast. But that so dainty clean a beast licks thee, Yes--that surprises me. First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 164. Adapted from Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 66. _An die Dorilis._ 'Dein Hündchen, Dorilis, ist zärtlich, tändelnd, rein.' 30 ON A VOLUNTEER SINGER Swans sing before they die--'twere no bad thing Should certain persons die before they sing. First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. Included in _Keepsake_, 1829, p. 277; _Essays, &c._, 1850, ii. 988. First collected in 1834. 31 OCCASIONED BY THE LAST A JOKE (cries Jack) without a sting-- _Post obitum_ can no man sing. And true, if Jack don't mend his manners And quit the atheistic banners, _Post obitum_ will Jack run foul Of such _folks_ as can only _howl_. First published in _An. Anth._, 1800. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 988. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii, 165. LINENOTES: [1] joke] jest Essays, &c. [5] _folks_] sparks Essays, &c. 32 EPITAPH ON MAJOR DIEMAN Know thou who walks't by, Man! that wrapp'd up in lead, man, What once was a Dieman, now lies here a dead man. Alive a proud MAJOR! but ah me! of our poor all, The soul having gone, he is now merely Corporal. ? 1800. Now first published from MS. 33 ON THE ABOVE As long as ere the life-blood's running, Say, what can stop a Punster's punning? He dares bepun even thee, O Death! To _pun_ish him, Stop thou his breath. ? 1800. Now first published from MS. 34 EPITAPH ON A BAD MAN Of him that in this gorgeous tomb doth lie, This sad brief tale is all that Truth can give-- He lived like one who never thought to die, He died like one who dared not hope to live![961:1] First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 22, 1801. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 168. ANOTHER VERSION Under this stone does Walter Harcourt lie, Who valued nought that God or man could give; He lived as if he never thought to die; He died as if he dared not hope to live![962:1] [The name Walter Harcourt has been supplied by the editor.--S. C.] _OBIIT_ SATURDAY, SEPT. 10, 1830. W. H. _EHEU_! Beneath this stone does William Hazlitt lie, Thankless of all that God or man could give. He lived like one who never thought to die, He died like one who dared not hope to live. 35 TO A CERTAIN MODERN NARCISSUS Do call, dear Jess, whene'er my way you come; My looking-glass will always be at home. First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 16, 1801. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 978. First collected in 1893. 36 TO A CRITIC WHO EXTRACTED A PASSAGE FROM A POEM WITHOUT ADDING A WORD RESPECTING THE CONTEXT, AND THEN DERIDED IT AS UNINTELLIGIBLE. Most candid critic, what if I, By way of joke, pull out your eye, And holding up the fragment, cry, 'Ha! ha! that men such fools should be! Behold this shapeless Dab!--and he Who own'd it, fancied it could _see_!' The joke were mighty analytic, But should you like it, candid critic? First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 16, 1801: included in _Keepsake_, 1829, and in _Essays, &c._, iii. 977-8. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 167. 37 ALWAYS AUDIBLE Pass under Jack's window at twelve at night You'll hear him still--he's roaring! Pass under Jack's window at twelve at noon, You'll hear him still--he's snoring! First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 19, 1801. First collected 1893. 38 PONDERE NON NUMERO Friends should be _weigh'd_, not _told_; who boasts to have won A _multitude_ of friends, he ne'er had _one_. First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 26, 1801. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 978. First collected in 1893. Adapted from Friedrich von Logan's _Sinngedicht_ (Lessing's edition, Bk. II, No. 65). 'Freunde muss man sich erwählen Nur nach Wägen, nicht nach Zählen.' Cf. also Logan, Book II, No. 30. 39 THE COMPLIMENT QUALIFIED To wed a fool, I really cannot see Why thou, Eliza, art so very loth; Still on a par with other pairs you'd be, Since thou hast wit and sense enough for both. First published in _Morning Post_, Dec. 26, 1801. First collected 1893. The title referred to an epigram published in _M. P._ Dec. 24, 1801. 40 [The twenty-one 'Original Epigrams' following were printed in the _Morning Post_, in September and October, 1802, over the signature '+ESTÊSE+'. They were included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 978-86, and were first collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 171-8.] What is an Epigram? a dwarfish whole, Its body brevity, and wit its soul. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Included in _Poetical Register_, 1802 (1803), ii. 253; and in _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. Cf. Wernicke's _Beschaffenheit der Überschriften_ (i. e. The Nature of the epigram), Bk. I, No. 1. 'Dann lässt die Überschrift kein Leser aus der Acht, _Wenn in der Kürz' ihr Leib, die Seel' in Witz bestehet_.' 41 Charles, grave or merry, at no lie would stick, And taught at length his memory the same trick. Believing thus what he so oft repeats, He's brought the thing to such a pass, poor youth, That now himself and no one else he cheats, Save when unluckily he tells the truth. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Included in _P. R._ 1802, ii. 317, and _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 42 An evil spirit's on thee, friend! of late! Ev'n from the hour thou cam'st to thy Estate. Thy mirth all gone, thy kindness, thy discretion, Th' estate hath prov'd to thee a most complete _possession_. Shame, shame, old friend! would'st thou be truly best, Be thy wealth's Lord, not slave! _possessor_ not _possess'd_. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Included in _P. R._ 1802, ii. 317, and _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 43 Here lies the Devil--ask no other name. Well--but you mean Lord----? Hush! we mean the same. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Included in _P. R._ 1802, ii. 363, and _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 44 TO ONE WHO PUBLISHED[964:1] IN PRINT WHAT HAD BEEN ENTRUSTED TO HIM BY MY FIRESIDE Two things hast thou made known to half the nation, My secrets and my want of penetration: For O! far more than all which thou hast penn'd It shames me to have call'd a wretch, like thee, my friend! First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Adapted from Wernicke's _Epigrams_ (Bk. I, No. 12), _An einen falschen Freund._ 'Weil ich mich dir vertraut, eh' ich dich recht gekennet.' 45 '_Obscuri sub luce maligna._'--VIRG. Scarce any scandal, but has a handle; In truth most falsehoods have their rise; Truth first unlocks Pandora's box, And out there fly a host of lies. Malignant light, by cloudy night, To precipices it decoys one! One nectar-drop from Jove's own shop Will flavour a whole cup of poison. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. 46 Old Harpy jeers at castles in the air, And thanks his stars, whenever Edmund speaks, That such a dupe as that is not his heir-- But know, old Harpy! that these fancy freaks, Though vain and light, as floating gossamer, Always amuse, and sometimes mend the heart: A young man's idlest hopes are still his pleasures, And fetch a higher price in Wisdom's mart Than all the unenjoying Miser's treasures. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23, 1802. Included in _P. R._, 1802, ii. 868. Adapted from Wernicke, Bk. VII, No. 40, _An einen Geizhals_. 'Steht's einem Geizhals an auf Aelius zu schmähn Weil er vergebens hofft auf was nicht kann geschehn?' 47 TO A VAIN YOUNG LADY Didst thou think less of thy dear self Far more would others think of thee! Sweet Anne! the knowledge of thy wealth Reduces thee to poverty. Boon Nature gave wit, beauty, health, On thee as on her darling pitching; Couldst thou forget thou'rt thus enrich'd That moment would'st thou become rich in! And wert thou not so self-bewitch'd, Sweet Anne! thou wert, indeed, bewitching. First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 23 1802. Included in _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 48 A HINT TO PREMIERS AND FIRST CONSULS FROM AN OLD TRAGEDY, VIZ. AGATHA TO KING ARCHELAUS Three truths should make thee often think and pause; The first is, that thou govern'st over men; The second, that thy power is from the laws; And this the third, that thou must die!--and then?-- First published in _Morning Post_, Sept. 27, 1802. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 992. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 162. 49 From me, Aurelia! you desired Your proper praise to know; Well! you're the FAIR by all admired-- Some twenty years ago. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 2, 1802. 50 FOR A HOUSE-DOG'S COLLAR When thieves come, I bark: when gallants, I am still-- So perform both my Master's and Mistress's will. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 2, 1802. Included in _The Friend_ (title, 'For a French House-Dog's Collar'), No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 51 In vain I praise thee, Zoilus! In vain thou rail'st at me! Me no one credits, Zoilus! And no one credits thee! First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 2, 1802. Adapted from a Latin Epigram 'In Zoilum,' by George Buchanan: 'Frustra ego te laudo, frustra Me, Zoile, laedis; Nemo mihi credit, Zoile, nemo, tibi.' 52 EPITAPH ON A MERCENARY MISER A poor benighted Pedlar knock'd One night at SELL-ALL'S door, The same who saved old SELL-ALL'S life-- 'Twas but the year before! And Sell-all rose and let him in, Not utterly unwilling, But first he bargain'd with the man, And took his only shilling! That night he dreamt he'd given away his pelf, Walk'd in his sleep, and sleeping hung himself! And now his soul and body rest below; And here they say his punishment and fate is To lie awake and every hour to know How many people read his tombstone GRATIS. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 9, 1802. 53 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN AN AUTHOR AND HIS FRIEND _Author._ Come; your opinion of my manuscript! _Friend._ Dear Joe! I would almost as soon be whipt. _Author._ But I _will_ have it! _Friend._ If it must be had--(_hesitating_) You write so ill, I scarce could read the hand-- _Author._ A mere evasion! _Friend._ And you spell so bad, That what I read I could not understand. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 54 +Môrosophia+ OR WISDOM IN FOLLY Tom Slothful talks, as slothful Tom beseems, What he shall shortly gain and what be doing, Then drops asleep, and so prolongs his dreams And thus _enjoys_ at once what half the world are _wooing_. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 55 Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf! He shews his _clothes_! Alas! he shews _himself_. O that they knew, these overdrest self-lovers, What hides the body oft the mind discovers. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 56 FROM AN OLD GERMAN POET That France has put us oft to rout With _powder_, which ourselves found out; And laughs at us for fools in _print_, Of which our genius was the Mint; All this I easily admit, For we have genius, France has wit. But 'tis too bad, that blind and mad To Frenchmen's wives each travelling German goes, Expands his manly vigour by _their_ sides, Becomes the father of his country's foes And turns _their warriors_ oft to parricides. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. Adapted from Wernicke's _Epigrams_ (Bk. VIII, No. 4), _Auf die Buhlerey der Deutschen in Frankreich_. 'Dass Frankreich uns pflegt zu verwunden Durch Pulver, welches wir erfunden.' 57 ON THE CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE, THAT IN THE GERMAN LANGUAGE THE SUN IS FEMININE, AND THE MOON IS MASCULINE Our English poets, bad and good, agree To make the Sun a male, the Moon a she. He drives HIS dazzling diligence on high, In verse, as constantly as in the sky; And cheap as blackberries our sonnets shew The Moon, Heaven's huntress, with HER silver bow; By which they'd teach us, if I guess aright, Man rules the day, and woman rules the night. In Germany, they just reverse the thing; The Sun becomes a queen, the Moon a king. Now, that the Sun should represent the women, The Moon the men, to me seem'd mighty humming; And when I first read German, made me stare. Surely it is not that the wives are there As _common_ as the Sun, to lord and loon, And all their husbands _hornéd_ as the Moon. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. Adapted from Wernicke's _Epigrams_ (Bk. VII, No. 15), _Die Sonne und der Mond_. 'Die Sonn' heisst die, der Mond heisst der In unsrer Sprach', und kommt daher, Weil meist die Fraun wie die _gemein_, Wie der _gehörnt_ wir Männer sein.' 58 SPOTS IN THE SUN My father confessor is strict and holy, _Mi Fili_, still he cries, _peccare noli_. And yet how oft I find the pious man At Annette's door, the lovely courtesan! Her soul's deformity the good man wins And not her charms! he comes to hear her sins! Good father! I would fain not do thee wrong; But ah! I fear that they who oft and long Stand gazing at the sun, to count each spot, _Must_ sometimes find the sun itself too hot. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 59 When Surface talks of other people's worth He has the weakest memory on earth! And when his own good deeds he deigns to mention, His _memory_ still is no whit better grown; But then he makes up for it, all will own, By a prodigious talent of _invention_. First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 60 TO MY CANDLE THE FAREWELL EPIGRAM Good Candle, thou that with thy brother, Fire, Art my best friend and comforter at night, Just snuff'd, thou look'st as if thou didst desire That I on thee an epigram should write. Dear Candle, burnt down to a finger-joint, Thy own flame is an epigram of sight; 'Tis _short_, and _pointed_, and _all over_ light, Yet gives _most_ light and burns the keenest at the point. _Valete et Plaudite._ First published in _Morning Post_, Oct. 11, 1802. 61 EPITAPH ON HIMSELF Here sleeps at length poor Col., and without screaming-- Who died as he had always lived, a-dreaming: Shot dead, while sleeping, by the Gout within-- Alone, and all unknown, at E'nbro' in an Inn. 'Composed in my sleep for myself while dreaming that I was dying' . . . at the Black Bull, Edinburgh, Tuesday, Sept. 13, 1803. Sent in a letter to Thomas Wedgwood, Sept. 16, 1803. First published Cottle's _Reminiscences_, 1848, p. 467. First collected in 1893. 62 THE TASTE OF THE TIMES Some whim or fancy pleases every eye; For talents premature 'tis now the rage: In Music how great Handel would have smil'd T' have seen what crowds are raptur'd with a child! A Garrick we have had in little Betty-- And now we're told we have a Pitt in Petty! All must allow, since thus it is decreed, He is a very _petty_ Pitt indeed! ? 1806. First printed (from an autograph MS.) by Mr. Bertram Dobell in the _Athenæum_, Jan. 9, 1904. Now collected for the first time. 63 ON PITT AND FOX Britannia's boast, her glory and her pride, Pitt in his Country's service lived and died: At length resolv'd, like Pitt had done, to do, For once to serve his Country, Fox died too! First published by Mr. B. Dobell in the _Athenæum_, Jan. 6, 1904. This epigram belongs to the same MS. source as the preceding, 'On the Taste of the Times,' and may have been the composition of S. T. C. In _Fugitive Pieces_ (1806) (see _P. W._, 1898, i. 34) Byron published a reply 'for insertion in the _Morning Chronicle_ to the following illiberal impromptu on the death of Mr. Fox, which appeared in the _Morning Post_ [Sept. 26, 1806]:-- "Our Nation's Foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour when Pitt resigned his breath: These feelings wide let Sense and Truth unclue, We give the palm where Justice points its due."' I have little doubt that this 'illiberal impromptu' was published by S. T. C., who had just returned from Italy and was once more writing for the press. It is possible that he veiled his initials in the line, 'Let Sense and Truth unClue.' 64 An excellent adage commands that we should Relate of the dead that alone which is good; But of the great Lord who here lies in lead We know nothing good but that he is dead. First published in _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 986. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 178. 65 COMPARATIVE BREVITY OF GREEK AND ENGLISH +chryson anêr heurôn elipe brochon, autar ho chryson hon lipen ouch heurôn hêpsen hon heure brochon.+ Jack finding gold left a rope on the ground: Bill missing his gold used the rope which he found. First published in _Omniana_, 1812, ii. 123. First collected in _P. and D. W._ 1877, ii. 374. 66 EPIGRAM ON THE SECRECY OF A CERTAIN LADY 'She's secret as the grave, allow!' 'I do; I cannot doubt it. But 'tis a grave with tombstone on, That tells you all about it.' First published in _The Courier_, Jan. 3, 1814. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 986. Now collected for the first time. 67 MOTTO FOR A TRANSPARENCY DESIGNED BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON AND EXHIBITED AT BRISTOL ON 'PROCLAMATION DAY'--_June 29, 1814._ We've fought for Peace, and conquer'd it at last, The rav'ning vulture's leg seems fetter'd fast! Britons, rejoice! and yet be wary too: The chain may break, the clipt wing sprout anew. First published in Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1836, ii. 145. First collected 1890. ANOTHER VERSION We've conquered us a Peace, like lads true metalled: And Bankrupt _Nap's_ accounts seem all now settled. _Ibid._ ii. 145. First collected 1893. 68 Money, I've heard a wise man say, Makes herself wings and flies away-- Ah! would she take it in her head To make a pair for me instead. First published (from an MS.) in 1893. 69 MODERN CRITICS No private grudge they need, no personal spite, The _viva sectio_ is its own delight! All enmity, all envy, they disclaim, Disinterested thieves of our good name-- Cool, sober murderers of their neighbours' fame! First published in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, ii. 118. First collected in _P. W._, 1885, ii. 363. 70 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM Parry seeks the Polar ridge, Rhymes seeks S. T. Coleridge, Author of Works, whereof--tho' not in Dutch-- The public little knows--the publisher too much. First published in 1834. 71 TO A LADY WHO REQUESTED ME TO WRITE A POEM UPON NOTHING On nothing, Fanny, shall I write? Shall I not one charm of thee indite? The Muse is most unruly, And vows to sing of what's more free, More soft, more beautiful than thee;-- And that is _Nothing_, truly! First published in the _Gazette of Fashion_, Feb. 22, 1822. Reprinted (by Mr. Bertram Dobell) in _N. and Q._, 10th Series, vol. vi, p. 145. Now collected for the first time. 72 SENTIMENTAL The rose that blushes like the morn, Bedecks the valleys low; And so dost thou, sweet infant corn, My Angelina's toe. But on the rose there grows a thorn That breeds disastrous woe; And so dost thou, remorseless corn, On Angelina's toe. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 59. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 366. 73 So Mr. Baker heart did pluck-- And did a-courting go! And Mr. Baker is a buck; For why? he _needs_ the _doe_. First published in _Letters, Conversations, &c._, 1836, ii. 21. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 373. 74 AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS 'A heavy wit shall hang at every lord,' So sung Dan Pope; but 'pon my word, He was a story-teller, Or else the times have altered quite; For wits, or heavy, now, or light Hang each by a bookseller. S. T. C. First published in _News of Literature_, Dec. 10, 1825. See _Arch. Constable and his Literary Correspondents_, 1873, iii. 482. First collected in 1893. 75 THE ALTERNATIVE This way or that, ye Powers above me! I of my grief were rid-- Did Enna either really love me, Or cease to think she did. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 59. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 987. First collected in _P. W._, 1885, ii. 364. 76 In Spain, that land of Monks and Apes, The thing called Wine doth come from grapes, But on the noble River Rhine, The thing called Gripes doth come from Wine! First published in _Memoirs of C. M. Young_, 1871, p. 221. First collected in 1893. 77 INSCRIPTION FOR A TIME-PIECE Now! It is gone--Our brief hours travel post, Each with its thought or deed, its Why or How:-- But know, each parting hour gives up a ghost To dwell within thee--an eternal Now! First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 60. First collected in 1844. 78 ON THE MOST VERACIOUS ANECDOTIST, AND SMALL-TALK MAN, THOMAS HILL, ESQ.[974:1] Tom Hill, who laughs at Cares and Woes, As nauci--nili--pili-- What is _he_ like, as I suppose? Why, to be sure, a Rose--a Rose. At least, no soul that Tom Hill knows Could e'er recall a _Li-ly_. Now first published from an MS. 79 Nothing speaks our mind so well As to speak Nothing. Come then, tell Thy Mind in Tears, whoe'er thou be That ow'st a name to Misery: None can _fluency_ deny To Tears, the Language of the Eye. Now first published from an MS. in the British Museum. 80 EPITAPH OF THE PRESENT YEAR ON THE MONUMENT OF THOMAS FULLER A Lutheran stout, I hold for Goose-and-Gaundry Both the Pope's Limbo and his fiery Laundry: No wit e'er saw I in Original Sin, And no Sin find I in Original Wit; But if I'm all in the wrong, and, Grin for Grin, Scorch'd Souls must pay for each too lucky hit,-- Oh, Fuller! much I fear, so vast thy debt, Thou art not out of Purgatory yet; Tho' one, eight, three and three this year is reckon'd, And thou, I think, didst die _sub_ Charles the Second. Nov. 28, 1833. Now first published from an MS. FOOTNOTES: [951:1] A great, perhaps the greater, number of Coleridge's Epigrams are adaptations from the German of Wernicke, Lessing, and other less known epigrammatists. They were sent to the _Morning Post_ and other periodicals to supply the needs of the moment, and with the rarest exceptions they were deliberately excluded from the collected editions of his poetical works which received his own sanction, and were published in his lifetime. Collected for the first time by Mrs. H. N. Coleridge and reprinted in the third volume of _Essays on His Own Times_ (1850), they have been included, with additions and omissions, in _P. and D. W._, 1877-1880, _P. W._, 1885, _P. W._, 1890, and the Illustrated Edition of Coleridge's _Poems_, issued in 1907. The adaptations from the German were written and first published between 1799 and 1802. Of the earlier and later epigrams the greater number are original. Four epigrams were published anonymously in _The Watchman_, in April, 1796. Seventeen epigrams, of which twelve are by Coleridge, two by Southey, and three by Tobin, were published anonymously in the _Annual Anthology_ of 1800. Between January 2, 1798, and October 11, 1802 Coleridge contributed at least thirty-eight epigrams to the _Morning Post_. Most of these epigrams appeared under the well-known signature +ESTÊSE+. Six epigrams, of which five had been published in the _Morning Post_, were included in _The Friend_ (No. 11, Oct. 26, 1809). Finally, Coleridge contributed six epigrams to the _Keepsake_, of which four had been published in the _Morning Post_, and one in the _Annual Anthology_. Epigrams were altogether excluded from _Sibylline Leaves_ and from the three-volume editions of 1828 and 1829; but in 1834 the rule was relaxed and six epigrams were allowed to appear. Two of these, _In An Album_ ('Parry seeks the Polar Ridge') and _On an Insignificant_ (''Tis Cypher lies beneath this Crust') were published for the first time. For the discovery of the German originals of some twenty epigrams, now for the first time noted and verified, I am indebted to the generous assistance of Dr. Hermann Georg Fiedler, Taylorian Professor of the German Language and Literature at Oxford, and of my friend Miss Katharine Schlesinger. [953:1] N.B. Bad in itself, and, as Bob Allen used to say of his puns, looks damned ugly upon paper. [954:1] Lines 3, 4, with the heading 'On an Insignificant,' were written by S. T. C. in Southey's copy of the _Omniana_ of 1812 [see nos. 9, 11]. See _P. W._, 1885, ii. 402, _Note_. [961:1] The antithesis was, perhaps, borrowed from an Epigram entitled 'Posthumous Fame', included in _Elegant Extracts_, ii. 260. If on his spacious marble we rely, Pity a worth like his should ever die! If credit to his real life we give, Pity a wretch like him should ever live. [962:1] The first and second versions are included in _Essays, &c._, 1850, iii. 976: the third version was first published in 1893. In 1830 Coleridge re-wrote (he did not publish) the second version as an Epitaph on Hazlitt. The following apologetic note was affixed:-- 'With a sadness at heart, and an earnest hope grounded on his misanthropic sadness, when I first knew him in his twentieth or twenty-first year, that a something existed in his bodily organism that in the sight of the All-Merciful lessened his responsibility, and the moral imputation of his acts and feelings.' _MS._ [964:1] The 'One who published' was, perhaps, Charles Lloyd, in his novel, _Edmund Oliver_, 2 vols. 1798. Compare the following Epigram of Prior's:-- To John I ow'd great obligation, But John unhappily thought fit To publish it to all the nation: Sure John and I are more than quit. [974:1] Extempore, in reply to a question of Mr. Theodore Hook's--'Look at him, and say what you think: Is not he like a Rose?' JEUX D'ESPRIT 1 MY GODMOTHER'S BEARD[976:1] So great the charms of Mrs. Mundy, That men grew rude, a kiss to gain: This so provok'd the dame that one day To Pallas chaste she did complain: Nor vainly she address'd her prayer, Nor vainly to that power applied; The goddess bade a length of hair In deep recess her muzzle hide: Still persevere! to love be callous! For I have your petition heard! To snatch a kiss were vain (cried Pallas) Unless you first should shave your beard. ? 1791 First published in _Table Talk and Omniana_, 1888, p. 392. The lines were inscribed by Coleridge in Gillman's copy of the _Omniana_ of 1812. An apologetic note is attached. J. P. Collier (_Old Man's Diary_, 1871, March 5, 1832, Part I, p. 34) says that Coleridge 'recited the following not very good epigram by him on his godmother's beard; the consequence of which was that he was struck out of her will'. Most probably the lines, as inscribed on the margin of _Omniana_, were written about 1830 or 1831. First collected in _Coleridge's Poems_, 1907. LINENOTES: [4] Pallas chaste] Wisdom's Power S. T. C. 2 LINES TO THOMAS POOLE [Quoted in a letter from Coleridge to John Thelwall, dated Dec. 17, 1796.] . . . . Joking apart, I would to God we could sit by a fire-side and joke _vivâ voce_, face to face--Stella [Mrs. Thelwall] and Sara [Mrs. S. T. Coleridge], Jack Thelwall and I!--as I once wrote to my dear _friend_ T. Poole,-- Repeating Such verse as Bowles, heart honour'd Poet sang, That wakes the Tear, yet steals away the Pang, Then, or with Berkeley, or with Hobbes romance it, Dissecting Truth with metaphysic lancet. Or, drawn from up these dark unfathom'd wells, In wiser folly chink the Cap and Bells. How many tales we told! what jokes we made, Conundrum, Crambo, Rebus, or Charade; Ænigmas that had driven the Theban mad, And Puns, these best when exquisitely bad; And I, if aught of archer vein I hit, With my own laughter stifled my own wit. 1796. First published in 1893. 3 TO A WELL-KNOWN MUSICAL CRITIC, REMARKABLE FOR HIS EARS STICKING THROUGH HIS HAIR. O ----! O ----! of you we complain For exposing those ears to the wind and the rain. Thy face, a huge whitlow just come to a head, Ill agrees with those ears so raw and so red. A Musical Critic of old fell a-pouting When he saw how his asinine honours were sprouting; But he hid 'em quite snug, in a full friz of hair, And the Barber alone smoked his donkeys [so] rare. Thy judgment much worse, and thy _perkers_ as ample, O give heed to King Midas, and take his example. Thus to _publish_ your fate is as useless as wrong-- You but prove by your ears, what we guessed from your tongue. LABERIUS. First published in the _Morning Post_, January 4, 1798. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877-80, ii. 370. 4 TO T. POOLE AN INVITATION Plucking flowers from the Galaxy On the pinions of Abstraction, I did quite forget to ax 'e, Whether you have an objaction, With us to swill 'e and to swell 'e And make a pig-stie of your belly. A lovely limb most dainty Of a _ci-devant_ Mud-raker, I makes bold to acquaint 'e We've trusted to the Baker: And underneath it satis Of the subterrene apple By the erudite 'clep'd _taties_-- With which, if you'ld wish to grapple, As sure as I'm a sloven, The clock will not strike twice one, When the said dish will be out of the oven, And the dinner will be a nice one. P.S. Besides we've got some cabbage. You Jew-dog, if you linger, May the Itch in pomp of scabbage Pop out between each finger. January, 1797. First published (_minus_ the postscript) in _Thomas Poole and His Friends_, 1888, i. 211. 5 SONG TO BE SUNG BY THE LOVERS OF ALL THE NOBLE LIQUORS COMPRISED UNDER THE NAME OF ALE. A. Ye drinkers of Stingo and Nappy so free, Are the Gods on Olympus so happy as we? B. They cannot be so happy! For why? they drink no Nappy. A. But what if Nectar, in their lingo, Is but another name for Stingo? B. Why, then we and the Gods are equally blest, And Olympus an Ale-house as good as the best! First published in _Morning Post_, September 18, 1801. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 995-6. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 167. 6 DRINKING _VERSUS_ THINKING OR, A SONG AGAINST THE NEW PHILOSOPHY My Merry men all, that drink with glee This fanciful Philosophy, Pray tell me what good is it? If _antient Nick_ should come and take, The same across the Stygian Lake, I guess we ne'er should miss it. Away, each pale, self-brooding spark That goes truth-hunting in the dark, Away from our carousing! To Pallas we resign such fowls-- Grave birds of wisdom! ye're but owls, And all your trade but _mousing_! My merry men all, here's punch and wine, And spicy bishop, drink divine! Let's live while we are able. While Mirth and Sense sit, hand in glove, This Don Philosophy we'll shove Dead drunk beneath the table! First published in _Morning Post_, September 25, 1801. Included in _Essays, &c._, iii. 966-7. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 168. 7 THE WILLS OF THE WISP A SAPPHIC _Vix ea nostra voco_ Lunatic Witch-fires! Ghosts of Light and Motion! Fearless I see you weave your wanton dances Near me, far off me; you, that tempt the traveller Onward and onward. Wooing, retreating, till the swamp beneath him Groans--and 'tis dark!--This woman's wile--I know it! Learnt it from _thee_, from _thy_ perfidious glances! Black-ey'd Rebecca! First published in _Morning Post_, December 1, 1801. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 169. 8 TO CAPTAIN FINDLAY When the squalls were flitting and fleering And the vessel was tacking and veering; Bravo! Captain Findlay, Who foretold a fair wind Of a constant mind; For he knew which way the wind lay, Bravo! Captain Findlay. A Health to Captain Findlay, Bravo! Captain Findlay! When we made but ill speed with the Speedwell, Neither poets nor sheep could feed well: Now grief rotted the Liver, Yet Malta, dear Malta, as far off as ever! Bravo! Captain Findlay, Foretold a fair wind, Of a constant mind, For he knew which way the wind lay! May 4, 1804. Now first published from a Notebook. The rhymes are inserted between the following entries:--'Thursday night--Wind chopped about and about, once fairly to the west, for a minute or two--but now, 1/2 past 9, the Captain comes down and promises a fair wind for to-morrow. We shall see.' 'Well, and we have got a wind the right way at last!' 9 ON DONNE'S POEM 'TO A FLEA' Be proud as Spaniards! Leap for pride ye Fleas! Henceforth in Nature's mimic World grandees. In Phoebus' archives registered are ye, And this your patent of Nobility. No skip-Jacks now, nor civiller skip-Johns, Dread Anthropophagi! specks of living bronze, I hail you one and all, sans Pros or Cons, Descendants from a noble race of Dons. What tho' that great ancestral Flea be gone, Immortal with immortalising Donne, His earthly spots bleached off a Papist's gloze, In purgatory fire on Bardolph's nose. 1811. Now first published from an MS. 10 [EX LIBRIS S. T. C.][981:1] This, Hannah Scollock! may have been the case; Your writing therefore I will not erase. But now this Book, once yours, belongs to me, The _Morning Post's_ and _Courier's_ S. T. C.;-- Elsewhere in College, knowledge, wit and scholarage To Friends and Public known as S. T. Coleridge. Witness hereto my hand, on Ashley Green, One thousand, twice four hundred, and fourteen Year of our Lord--and of the month November The fifteenth day, if right I do remember. 15th Nov. 1814. Ashley, Box, Bath. First published in _Lit. Rem._, iii. 57. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 387. 11 +EGÔENKAIPAN+ The following burlesque on the Fichtean Egoismus may, perhaps, be amusing to the few who have studied the system, and to those who are unacquainted with it, may convey as tolerable a likeness of Fichte's idealism as can be expected from an avowed caricature. [S. T. C.] The Categorical Imperative, or the annunciation of the New Teutonic God, +EGÔENKAIPAN+: a dithyrambic Ode, by QUERKOPF VON KLUBSTICK, Grammarian, and Subrector in Gymnasio. . . . _Eu! Dei vices gerens, ipse Divus_, (Speak English, Friend!) the God Imperativus, Here on this market-cross aloud I cry: 'I, I, I! I itself I! The form and the substance, the what and the why, The when and the where, and the low and the high, The inside and outside, the earth and the sky, I, you, and he, and he, you and I, All souls and all bodies are I itself I! All I itself I! (Fools! a truce with this starting!) All my I! all my I! He's a heretic dog who but adds Betty Martin!' Thus cried the God with high imperial tone: In robe of stiffest state, that scoff'd at beauty, A pronoun-verb imperative he shone-- Then substantive and plural-singular grown, He thus spake on:--'Behold in I alone (For Ethics boast a syntax of their own) Or if in ye, yet as I doth depute ye, In O! I, you, the vocative of duty! I of the world's whole Lexicon the root! Of the whole universe of touch, sound, sight, The genitive and ablative to boot: The accusative of wrong, the nom'native of right, And in all cases the case absolute! Self-construed, I all other moods decline: Imperative, from nothing we derive us; Yet as a super-postulate of mine, Unconstrued antecedence I assign, To X Y Z, the God Infinitivus!' 1815. First published in _Biographia Literaria_, 1817, i. 148_n._ First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 370. 12 THE BRIDGE STREET COMMITTEE Jack Snipe Eats Tripe: It is therefore credible That tripe is edible. And therefore, perforce, It follows, of course, That the Devil will gripe All who do not eat Tripe. And as Nic is too slow To fetch 'em below: And Gifford, the attorney, Won't quicken their journey; The Bridge-Street Committee That colleague without pity, To imprison and hang Carlile and his gang, Is the pride of the City, And 'tis Association That, alone, saves the Nation From Death and Damnation. First published in _Letters and Conversations, &c._, 1836, i. 90, 91. These lines, which were inscribed in one of Coleridge's notebooks, refer to a 'Constitutional association' which promoted the prosecution of Richard Carlile, the publisher of Paine's _Age of Reason_, for blasphemy. See _Diary_ of H. C. Robinson, 1869, ii. 134, 135. First collected _P. W._, 1885, ii. 405. 13 NONSENSE SAPPHICS[983:1] Here's Jem's first copy of nonsense verses, All in the antique style of Mistress Sappho, Latin just like Horace the tuneful Roman, Sapph's imitator: But we Bards, we classical Lyric Poets, Know a thing or two in a scurvy Planet: Don't we, now? Eh? Brother Horatius Flaccus, Tip us your paw, Lad:-- Here's to Mæcenas and the other worthies; Rich men of England! would ye be immortal? Patronise Genius, giving Cash and Praise to Gillman Jacobus; Gillman Jacobus, he of Merchant Taylors', Minor ætate, ingenio at stupendus, Sapphic, Heroic, Elegiac,--what a Versificator! First published in _Essays, &c._, 1850, iii. 987. First collected 1893. 14 TO SUSAN STEELE ON RECEIVING THE PURSE EXTRUMPERY LINES My dearest Dawtie! That's never naughty-- When the Mare was stolen, and not before, The wise man got a stable-door: And he and I are brother Ninnies, One Beast _he_ lost and I two guineas; And as sure as it's wet when it above rains, The man's brains and mine both alike had thick coverings, For if he lost one mare, poor I lost two sovereigns! A cash-pouch I have got, but no cash to put in it, Tho' there's gold in the world and Sir Walter can win it: For your sake I'll keep it for better or worse, So here is a dear loving kiss for your purse. S. T. COLERIDGE. 1829. Now first published from an MS. 15 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS[984:1] I.--_By Likeness_ Fond, peevish, wedded pair! why all this rant? O guard your tempers! hedge your tongues about This empty head should warn you on that point-- The teeth were quarrelsome, and so fell out. S. T. C. II.--_Association by Contrast_ Phidias changed marble into feet and legs. Disease! vile anti-Phidias! thou, i' fegs! Hast turned my live limbs into marble pegs. III.--_Association by Time_ SIMPLICIUS SNIPKIN _loquitur_ I touch this scar upon my skull behind, And instantly there rises in my mind Napoleon's mighty hosts from Moscow lost, Driven forth to perish in the fangs of Frost. For in that self-same month, and self-same day, Down Skinner Street I took my hasty way-- Mischief and Frost had set the boys at play; I stept upon a slide--oh! treacherous tread!-- Fell smash with bottom bruised, and brake my head! Thus Time's co-presence links the great and small, Napoleon's overthrow, and Snipkin's fall. ? 1830. First published in _Fraser's Magazine_, Jan. 1835, Art. 'Coleridgeiana'. First collected 1893. 16 VERSES TRIVOCULAR Of one scrap of science I've evidence ocular. A heart of one chamber they call unilocular, And in a sharp frost, or when snow-flakes fall floccular, Your wise man of old wrapp'd himself in a Roquelaure, Which was called a Wrap-rascal when folks would be jocular. And shell-fish, the small, Periwinkle and Cockle are, So with them will I finish these verses trivocular. Now first published from an MS. 17 CHOLERA CURED BEFORE-HAND Or a premonition promulgated gratis for the use of the Useful Classes, specially those resident in St. Giles's, Saffron Hill, Bethnal Green, etc.; and likewise, inasmuch as the good man is merciful even to the beasts, for the benefit of the Bulls and Bears of the Stock Exchange. Pains ventral, subventral, In stomach or entrail, Think no longer mere prefaces For grins, groans, and wry faces; But off to the doctor, fast as ye can crawl! 5 Yet far better 'twould be not to have them at all. Now to 'scape inward aches, Eat no plums nor plum-cakes; Cry avaunt! new potato-- And don't drink, like old Cato. 10 Ah! beware of Dispipsy, And don't ye get tipsy! For tho' gin and whiskey May make you feel frisky, They're but crimps to Dispipsy; 15 And nose to tail, with this gipsy Comes, black as a porpus, The diabolus ipse, Call'd Cholery Morpus; Who with horns, hoofs, and tail, croaks for carrion to feed him, 20 Tho' being a Devil, no one never has seed him! Ah! then my dear honies, There's no cure for you For loves nor for monies:-- You'll find it too true. 25 Och! the hallabaloo! Och! och! how you'll wail, When the offal-fed vagrant Shall turn you as blue As the gas-light unfragrant, 30 That gushes in jets from beneath his own tail;-- 'Till swift as the mail, He at last brings the cramps on, That will twist you like Samson. So without further blethring, 35 Dear mudlarks! my brethren! Of all scents and degrees, (Yourselves and your shes) Forswear all cabal, lads, Wakes, unions, and rows, 40 Hot dreams and cold salads, And don't pig in styes that would suffocate sows! Quit Cobbett's, O'Connell's and Beelzebub's banners, And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, hands, and manners! July 26, 1832. First published in _P. W._ 1834. These lines were enclosed in a letter to J. H. Green, dated July 26, 1832, with the following introduction: 'Address premonitory to the Sovereign People, or the Cholera cured before-hand, promulgated _gratis_ for the use of the useful classes, specially of those resident in St. Giles, Bethnal Green, Saffron Hill, etc., by their Majesties', i. e. the People's, loyal subject--Demophilus Mudlarkiades.' LINENOTES: [1-6] om. Letter 1832. [7-8] To escape Belly ache Eat no plums nor plum cake Letter 1832. [12] And therefore don't get tipsy Letter 1832. [16] with this gipsy] of Dys Pipsy Letter 1832. [22] And oh! och my dear Honies Letter 1832. [28] offal-fed] horn-and-hoof'd Letter 1832. [41] dreams] drams Letter 1832. [44] And whitewash at once your Guts, Rooms and Manners Letter 1832. [After 44] Vivat Rex Popellio! Vivat Regina Plebs! Hurra! 3 times 3 thrice repeated Hurra! Letter, 1832. 18 TO BABY BATES You come from o'er the waters, From famed Columbia's land, And you have sons and daughters, And money at command. But I live in an island, Great Britain is its name, With money none to buy land, The more it is the shame. But we are all the children Of one great God of Love, Whose mercy like a mill-drain Runs over from above. Lullaby, lullaby, Sugar-plums and cates, Close your little peeping eye, Bonny Baby B----s. First collected 1893. 'Baby Bates' was the daughter of Joshua Bates, one of the donors of the Boston Library. Her father and mother passed a year (1828-1829) at Highgate, 'close to the house of Dr. and Mrs. Gillman.' See a letter to Mrs. Bates from S. T. C. dated Jan. 23, 1829. _N. and Q._ 4th Series, i. 469. 19 TO A CHILD[987:1] Little Miss Fanny, So cubic and canny, With blue eyes and blue shoes-- The Queen of the Blues! As darling a girl as there is in the world-- If she'll laugh, skip and jump, And not be _Miss Glump_! 1834. First published in _Athenæum_, Jan. 28, 1888. First collected 1893. FOOTNOTES: [976:1] 'There is a female saint (St. Vuilgefortis), whom the Jesuit Sautel, in his _Annus Sacer Poeticus_, has celebrated for her beard--a mark of divine favour bestowed upon her for her prayers.' _Omniana_, 1812, ii. 54. 'Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixere! What! can nothing be one's own? This is the more vexatious, for at the age of eighteen I lost a legacy of fifty pounds for the following epigram on my godmother's beard, which she had the _barbarity_ to revenge by striking me out of her will.' _S. T. C._ [981:1] These lines are written on a fly-leaf of a copy of _Five Bookes of the Church_ by Richard Field (folio 1635), under the inscription: 'Hannah Scollock, her book, February 10, 1787.' The volume was bequeathed to the poet's younger son, Derwent Coleridge, and is now in the possession of the Editor. [983:1] Written for James Gillman Junr. as a School Exercise, for _Merchant Taylors'_, c. 1822-3. [984:1] Written in pencil on the blank leaf of a book of lectures delivered at the London University, in which the Hartleyan doctrine of association was assumed as a true basis. [987:1] To Miss Fanny Boyce, afterwards Lady Wilmot Horton. FRAGMENTS FROM A NOTEBOOK[988:1] _Circa_ 1796-98 1 Light cargoes waft of modulated Sound From viewless Hybla brought, when Melodies Like Birds of Paradise on wings, that aye Disport in wild variety of hues, Murmur around the honey-dropping flower. First published in 1893. Compare _The Eolian Harp_ (Aug. 1795), lines 20-5 (_ante_ p. 101). 2 Broad-breasted rock--hanging cliff that glasses His rugged forehead in the calmy sea.[988:2] First published in 1893. Compare _Destiny of Nations_ (1796), lines 342, 343 (_ante_ p. 143). 3 Where Cam his stealthy flowings most dissembles And scarce the Willow's watery shadow trembles. First published in 1893. Compare line 1 of _A Fragment Found in a Lecture-Room_, 'Where deep in mud Cam rolls his slumbrous stream' (_ante_, p. 35). 4 With secret hand heal the conjectur'd wound, [or] Guess at the wound, and heal with secret hand. First published in 1893. The alternative line was first published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 279. 5 Outmalic'd Calumny's imposthum'd Tongue. First published in 1893. A line from _Verses to Horne Tooke_, July 4, 1796, line 20 (_ante_, p. 151). 6 And write Impromptus Spurring their Pegasus to tortoise gallop. First published in 1893. 7 Due to the Staggerers, that made drunk by Power Forget thirst's eager promise, and presume, Dark Dreamers! that the world forgets it too. First published in _Lit. Rem._, 1836, i. 27. LINENOTES: [1] Due] These L. R. 8 Perish warmth Unfaithful to its seeming! First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 279. 9 Old age, 'the shape and messenger of Death,' 'His wither'd Fist still knocking at Death's door.' First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 279. Quoted from Sackville's _Induction to a Mirrour for Magistrates_, stanza 48: 'His wither'd fist stil knocking at deathes dore, Tumbling and driveling as he drawes his breth; For briefe, the shape and messenger of death.' 10 God no distance knows, All of the whole possessing! First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 279. Compare _Religious Musings_, ll. 156-7. 11 Wherefore art thou come? doth not the Creator of all things know all things? And if thou art come to seek him, know that where thou wast, there he was. First published in 1893. Compare the _Wanderings of Cain_. 12 And cauldrons the scoop'd earth, a boiling sea. First published in 1893. 13 Rush on my ear, a cataract of sound. First published in 1893. 14 The guilty pomp, consuming while it flares. First published in 1893. 15 My heart seraglios a whole host of Joys. First published in 1893. 16 And Pity's sigh shall answer thy tale of Anguish Like the faint echo of a distant valley. First published in _Notizbuch_, 1896, p. 350. 17 A DUNGEON In darkness I remain'd--the neighb'ring clock Told me that now the rising sun shone lovely On my garden. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 279. Compare _Osorio_, Act I, lines 219-21 (_ante_, p. 528), and _Remorse_, Act I, Scene II, lines 218-20 (_ante_, p. 830). LINENOTES: [2] sun at dawn L. R. 18 The Sun (for now his orb 'gan slowly sink) Shot half his rays aslant the heath whose flowers Purpled the mountain's broad and level top; Rich was his bed of clouds, and wide beneath Expecting Ocean smiled with dimpled face. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. Compare _This Lime-Tree Bower_ (1797), lines 32-7 (_ante_, pp. 179, 180). 19 Leanness, disquietude, and secret Pangs. First published in _Notizbuch_, p. 351. 20 Smooth, shining, and deceitful as thin Ice. First published in _Notizbuch_, p. 355. 21 Wisdom, Mother of retired Thought. First published in 1893. 22 Nature wrote Rascal on his face, By chalcographic art! First published in 1893. 23 In this world we dwell among the tombs And touch the pollutions of the Dead. First published in 1893. Compare _Destiny of Nations_, ll. 177-8 (_ante_, p. 137). 24 The mild despairing of a Heart resigned. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. 25 Such fierce vivacity as fires the eye Of Genius fancy-craz'd. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. Compare _Destiny of Nations_, ll. 257, 258 (_ante_, p. 139). 26 ----like a mighty Giantess Seiz'd in sore travail and prodigious birth Sick Nature struggled: long and strange her pangs; Her groans were horrible, but O! most fair The Twins she bore--EQUALITY and PEACE! First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. Compare concluding lines of the second strophe of _Ode to the Departing Year_, 4{o}, 1796. 27 Discontent Mild as an infant low-plaining in its sleep. First published in 1893. 28 ----terrible and loud, As the strong Voice that from the Thunder-cloud Speaks to the startled Midnight. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. 29 The swallows Interweaving there, mid the pair'd sea-mews At distance wildly-wailing! First published in 1893. 30 The Brook runs over sea-weeds. Sabbath day--from the Miller's merry wheel The water-drops dripp'd leisurely. First published in 1893. It is possible the Fragments were some of the 'studies' for _The Brook_. See _Biog. Lit._, Cap. X, ed. 1907, i. 129. 31 On the broad mountain-top The neighing wild-colt races with the wind O'er fern and heath-flowers. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. 32 A long deep lane So overshadow'd, it might seem one bower-- The damp clay-banks were furr'd with mouldy moss. First published in 1893. 33 Broad-breasted Pollards, with broad-branching heads. First published in 1893. 34 'Twas sweet to know it only possible-- Some _wishes_ cross'd my mind and dimly cheer'd it-- And one or two poor melancholy Pleasures-- In these, the pale unwarming light of Hope Silv'ring their flimsy wing, flew silent by, Moths in the Moonlight. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 277, 278. LINENOTES: [4] In these] Each in L. R. [5] their] its L. R. 35 Behind the thin Grey cloud that cover'd but not hid the sky The round full moon look'd small. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 277. Compare _Christabel_, ll. 16, 17 (_ante_, p. 216). 36 The subtle snow In every breeze rose curling from the Grove Like pillars of cottage smoke. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 278. LINENOTES: The Subtle snow in every passing breeze Rose curling from the grove like shafts of smoke. L. R. 37 The sunshine lies on the cottage-wall, A-shining thro' the snow. First published in 1893. 38 A MANIAC in the woods--She crosses heedlessly the woodman's path--scourg'd by rebounding boughs. First published in 1893. Compare this with discarded stanza in 'Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladié' as printed in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799 (vide _ante_, p. 333). And how he cross'd the woodman's paths, Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat; How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs, And low stubs gor'd his feet. Note by J. D. Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, p. 456. 39 HYMNS--MOON In a cave in the mountains of Cashmeer, an image of ice, which makes its appearance thus: Two days before the new moon there appears a bubble of ice, which increases in size every day till the fifteenth day, at which it is an ell or more in height;--then, as the moon decreases the Image does also till it vanishes. _Mem._ Read the whole 107th page of Maurice's _Indostan_. First published in 1893. 'Hymns to the Sun, the Moon, and the Elements' are included in a list of projected works enumerated in the Gutch Notebook. The 'caves of ice' in _Kubla Khan_ may have been a reminiscence of the 107th page of Maurice's _Hindostan_. 40 The tongue can't speak when the mouth is cramm'd with earth-- A little mould fills up most eloquent mouths, And a square stone with a few pious texts Cut neatly on it, keeps the mould down tight. First published in 1893. Compare _Osorio_, Act III, lines 259-62 (_ante_, p. 560). 41 And with my whole heart sing the stately song, Loving the God that made me. First published in 1893. Compare _Fears in Solitude_, ll. 196-7 (_ante_, p. 263). 42 God's Image, Sister of the Cherubim! First published in 1893. Compare the last line of _The Ode to the Departing Year_ (_ante_, p. 168). 43 And re-implace God's Image in the Soul. First published in 1893. 44 And arrows steeled with wrath. First published in 1893. 45 Lov'd the same Love, and hated the same hate, Breath'd in his soul! etc. etc. First published in 1893. 46 O man! thou half-dead Angel! First published in 1893. 47 Thy stern and sullen eye, and thy dark brow Chill me, like dew-damps of th' unwholesome Night. My Love, a timorous and tender flower, Closes beneath thy Touch, unkindly man! Breath'd on by gentle gales of Courtesy And cheer'd by sunshine of impassion'd look-- Then opes its petals of no vulgar hues. First published in 1893. See _Remorse_, Act I, Sc. II, ll. 81-4 (_ante_, p. 826). Compare _Osorio_, Act. I, ll. 80-3 (_ante_, p. 522). 48 With skill that never Alchemist yet told, Made drossy Lead as ductile as pure Gold. First published in 1893. 49 Grant me a Patron, gracious Heaven! whene'er My unwash'd follies call for Penance drear: But when more hideous guilt this heart infests Instead of fiery coals upon my Pate, O let a _titled_ Patron be my Fate;-- That fierce Compendium of Ægyptian Pests! Right reverend Dean, right honourable Squire, Lord, Marquis, Earl, Duke, Prince,--or if aught higher, However proudly nicknamed, he shall be Anathema Maránatha to me! First published, _Lit. Rem._, i. 281. FOOTNOTES: [988:1] One of the earliest of Coleridge's Notebooks, which fell into the hands of his old schoolfellow, John Mathew Gutch, the printer and proprietor of _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal_, was purchased by the Trustees of the British Museum in 1868, and is now included in _Add. MSS._ as No. 27901. The fragments of verse contained in the notebook are included in _P. W._ 1893, pp. 453-8. The notebook as a whole was published by Professor A. Brandl in 1896 (_S. T. Coleridge's Notizbuch aus den Jahren 1795-1798_). Nineteen entries are included by H. N. Coleridge in _Poems and Poetical Fragments_ published in _Literary Remains_, 1836, i. 277-80. [988:2] An incorrect version of the lines was published in _Lit. Rem._, ii. 280. FRAGMENTS[996:1] 1 O'er the raised earth the gales of evening sigh; And, see, a daisy peeps upon its slope! I wipe the dimming waters from mine eye; Even on the cold grave lights the Cherub Hope.[996:2] ? 1787. First published in _Poems_, 1852 (p. 379, Note 1). First collected 1893. 2 Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud With arching Wings, the sea-mew o'er my head Posts on, as bent on speed, now passaging Edges the stiffer Breeze, now, yielding, drifts, Now floats upon the air, and sends from far A wildly-wailing Note. Now first published from an MS. Compare Fragment No. 29 of Fragments from a Notebook. 3 OVER MY COTTAGE The Pleasures sport beneath the thatch; But Prudence sits upon the watch; Nor Dun nor Doctor lifts the latch! 1799. First published from an MS. in 1893. Suggested by Lessing's _Sinngedicht_ No. 104. 4 In the lame and limping metre of a barbarous Latin poet-- Est meum et est tuum, amice! at si amborum nequit esse, Sit meum, amice, precor: quia certe sum mage pauper. 'Tis mine and it is likewise yours; But and if this will not do, Let it be mine, because that I Am the poorer of the Two! Nov. 1, 1801. First published in the Preface to _Christabel_, 1816. First collected 1893. 5 Names do not always meet with LOVE, And LOVE wants courage without a _name_.[997:1] Dec. 1801. Now first published from an MS. 6 The Moon, how definite its orb! Yet gaze again, and with a steady gaze-- 'Tis there indeed,--but where is it not?-- It is suffused o'er all the sapphire Heaven, Trees, herbage, snake-like stream, unwrinkled Lake, Whose very murmur does of it partake! And low and close the broad smooth mountain is more a thing of Heaven than when distinct by one dim shade, and yet undivided from the universal cloud in which it towers infinite in height. ? 1801. First published from an MS. in 1893. 7 Such love as mourning Husbands have To her whose Spirit has been newly given To her guardian Saint in Heaven-- Whose Beauty lieth in the grave-- (Unconquered, as if the Soul could find no purer Tabernacle, nor place of sojourn than the virgin Body it had before dwelt in, and wished to stay there till the Resurrection)-- Far liker to a Flower now than when alive, Cold to the Touch and blooming to the eye. Sept. 1803. Now first published from an MS. 8 [THE NIGHT-MARE DEATH IN LIFE] I know 'tis but a dream, yet feel more anguish Than if 'twere truth. It has been often so: Must I die under it? Is no one near? Will no one hear these stifled groans and wake me? ? 1803. Now first published from an MS. 9 Bright clouds of reverence, sufferably bright, That intercept the dazzle, not the Light; That veil the finite form, the boundless power reveal, Itself an earthly sun of pure intensest white. 1803. First published from an MS. in 1893. 10 A BECK IN WINTER[998:1] Over the broad, the shallow, rapid stream, The Alder, a vast hollow Trunk, and ribb'd-- All mossy green with mosses manifold, And ferns still waving in the river-breeze Sent out, like fingers, five projecting trunks-- The shortest twice 6 (?) of a tall man's strides.-- One curving upward in its middle growth Rose straight with grove of twigs--a pollard tree:-- The rest more backward, gradual in descent-- One in the brook and one befoamed its waters: One ran along the bank in the elk-like head And pomp of antlers-- Jan. 1804. Now first published from an MS. (pencil). 11 I from the influence of thy Looks receive, Access in every virtue, in thy Sight More wise, more wakeful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength.-- 1804. Now first published from an MS. 12 What never is, but only is to be This is not Life:-- O hopeless Hope, and Death's Hypocrisy! And with perpetual promise breaks its promises. 1804-5. Now first published from an MS. 13 The silence of a City, how awful at Midnight! Mute as the battlements and crags and towers That Fancy makes in the clouds, yea, as mute As the moonlight that sleeps on the steady vanes. (or) The cell of a departed anchoret, His skeleton and flitting ghost are there, Sole tenants-- And all the City silent as the Moon That steeps in quiet light the steady vanes Of her huge temples. 1804-5. Now first published from an MS. 14 O beauty in a beauteous body dight! Body that veiling brightness, beamest bright; Fair cloud which less we see, than by thee see the light. 1805. First published from an MS. in 1893. 15 O th' Oppressive, irksome weight Felt in an uncertain state: Comfort, peace, and rest adieu Should I prove at last untrue! Self-confiding wretch, I thought I could love thee as I ought, Win thee and deserve to feel All the Love thou canst reveal, And still I chuse thee, follow still. 1805. First published from an MS. in 1893. 16 'Twas not a mist, nor was it quite a cloud, But it pass'd smoothly on towards the sea-- Smoothly and lightly between Earth and Heaven: So, thin a cloud, It scarce bedimm'd the star that shone behind it: And Hesper now Paus'd on the welkin blue, and cloudless brink, A golden circlet! while the Star of Jove-- That other lovely star--high o'er my head Shone whitely in the centre of his Haze . . . one black-blue cloud Stretch'd, like the heaven, o'er all the cope of Heaven. Dec. 1797. First published from an MS. in 1893. 17 [NOT A CRITIC--BUT A JUDGE] Whom should I choose for my Judge? the earnest, impersonal reader, Who, in the work, forgets me and the world and himself! You who have eyes to detect, and Gall to Chastise the imperfect, Have you the heart, too, that loves,--feels and rewards the Compleat? 1805. Now first published from an MS. 18 A sumptuous and magnificent Revenge. March 1806. First published from an MS. in 1893. 19 [DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI] Come, come thou bleak December wind, And blow the dry leaves from the tree! Flash, like a love-thought, thro' me, Death! And take a life that wearies me. Leghorn, June 7, 1806. First published in _Letters of S. T. C._, 1875, ii. 499, n. 1. Now collected for the first time. Adapted from Percy's version of 'Waly, Waly, Love be bonny', st. 3. Marti'mas wind when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou cum? For of my life I am wearie. 20 As some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood, That crests its head with clouds, beneath the flood Feeds its deep roots, and with the bulging flank Of its wide base controls the fronting bank-- (By the slant current's pressure scoop'd away The fronting bank becomes a foam-piled bay) High in the Fork the uncouth Idol knits His channel'd brow; low murmurs stir by fits And dark below the horrid Faquir sits-- An Horror from its broad Head's branching wreath Broods o'er the rude Idolatry beneath-- 1806-7. Now first published from an MS. 21 Let Eagle bid the Tortoise sunward soar-- As vainly Strength speaks to a broken Mind.[1001:1] 1807. First published in _Thomas Poole and His Friends_, 1888, ii. 195. 22 The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul, The Soul's self-symbol, its image of itself. Its own yet not itself. Now first published from an MS. 23 Or Wren or Linnet, In Bush and Bushet; No tree, but in it A cooing Cushat. May 1807. Now first published from an MS. 24 The reed roof'd village still bepatch'd with snow Smok'd in the sun-thaw. 1798. Now first published from an MS. Compare _Frost at Midnight_, ll. 69-70, _ante_, p. 242. 25 And in Life's noisiest hour There whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, The heart's self-solace } and soliloquy. commune } 1807. Now first published from an MS. 26 You mould my Hopes you fashion me within: And to the leading love-throb in the heart, Through all my being, through my pulses beat; You lie in all my many thoughts like Light, Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve, On rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake; And looking to the Heaven that bends above you, How oft! I bless the lot that made me love you. 1807. Now first published from an MS. 27 And my heart mantles in its own delight. Now first published from an MS. 28 The spruce and limber yellow-hammer In the dawn of spring and sultry summer, In hedge or tree the hours beguiling With notes as of one who brass is filing. 1807. Now first published from an MS. 29 FRAGMENT OF AN ODE ON NAPOLEON O'erhung with yew, midway the Muses mount From thy sweet murmurs far, O Hippocrene! Turbid and black upboils an angry fount Tossing its shatter'd foam in vengeful spleen-- Phlegethon's rage Cocytus' wailings hoarse Alternate now, now mixt, made known its headlong course: Thither with terror stricken and surprise, (For sure such haunts were ne'er to Muse's choice) Euterpe led me. Mute with asking eyes I stood expectant of her heavenly voice. Her voice entranc'd my terror and made flow In a rude understrain the maniac fount below. 'Whene'er (the Goddess said) abhorr'd of Jove Usurping Power his hands in blood imbrues-- ? 1808. Now first published from an MS. 30 The singing Kettle and the purring Cat, The gentle breathing of the cradled Babe, The silence of the Mother's love-bright eye, And tender smile answering its smile of Sleep. 1803. First published from an MS. in 1893. 31 Two wedded hearts, if ere were such, Imprison'd in adjoining cells, Across whose thin partition-wall The builder left one narrow rent, And where, most content in discontent, A joy with itself at strife-- Die into an intenser life. 1808. First published from an MS. in 1893. ANOTHER VERSION The builder left one narrow rent, Two wedded hearts, if ere were such, Contented most in discontent, Still there cling, and try in vain to touch! O Joy! with thy own joy at strife, That yearning for the Realm above Wouldst die into intenser Life, And Union absolute of Love! 1808. First published from an MS. in 1893. 32 Sole Maid, associate sole, to me beyond Compare all living creatures dear-- Thoughts, which have found their harbour in thy heart Dearest! _me_ thought of _him_ to thee so dear! 1809. First published from an MS. in 1893. 33 EPIGRAM ON KEPLER FROM THE GERMAN No mortal spirit yet had clomb so high As Kepler--yet his Country saw him die For very want! the _Minds_ alone he fed, And so the _Bodies_ left him without bread. 1799. First published in _The Friend_, Nov. 30, 1809 (1818, ii. 95; 1850, ii. 69). First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 374. LINENOTES: [1] spirit] Genius MS. [2] yet] and MS. [3] _Minds_] _Souls_ MS. erased. 34 When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt: A flight of Hope for ever on the wing But made Tranquillity a conscious thing; And wheeling round and round in sportive coil, Fann'd the calm air upon the brow of Toil. 1810. First published from an MS. in 1893. 35 I have experienced The worst the world can wreak on me--the worst That can make Life indifferent, yet disturb With whisper'd discontent the dying prayer-- I have beheld the whole of all, wherein _My_ heart had any interest in this life To be disrent and torn from off my Hopes That nothing now is left. Why then live on? That hostage that the world had in its keeping Given by me as a pledge that I would live-- That hope of Her, say rather that pure Faith In her fix'd Love, which held me to keep truce With the tyranny of Life--is gone, ah! whither? What boots it to reply? 'tis gone! and now Well may I break this Pact, this league of Blood That ties me to myself--and break I shall. 1810. First published from an MS. in 1893. 36 As when the new or full Moon urges The high, large, long, unbreaking surges Of the Pacific main. 1811. First published from an MS. in 1893. 37 O mercy, O me, miserable man! Slowly my wisdom, and how slowly comes My Virtue! and how rapidly pass off My Joys! _my Hopes_! my Friendships, and my Love! 1811. Now first published from an MS. 38 A low dead Thunder mutter'd thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep-- Nature! sweet nurse, O take me in thy lap And tell me of my Father yet unseen, Sweet tales, and true, that lull me into sleep And leave me dreaming. 1811. First published from an MS. in 1893. 39 His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, Love's day-dawn on his lips, Put on such heavenly, spiritual light, At the same moment in his steadfast eye Were Virtue's native crest, th' innocent soul's Unconscious meek self-heraldry,--to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. He suffer'd nor complain'd;--though oft with tears He mourn'd th' oppression of his helpless brethren,-- And sometimes with a deeper holier grief Mourn'd for the oppressor--but this in sabbath hours-- A solemn grief, that like a cloud at sunset, Was but the veil of inward meditation Pierced thro' and saturate with the intellectual rays It soften'd. 1812. First published (with many alterations of the MS.) in _Lit. Rem._, i. 277. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1887, ii. 364. Compare Teresa's speech to Valdez, _Remorse_, Act IV, Scene II, lines 52-63 (_ante_, p. 866). 40 [ARS POETICA] In the two following lines, for instance, there is nothing objectionable, nothing which would preclude them from forming, in their proper place, part of a descriptive poem:-- 'Behold yon row of pines, that shorn and bow'd Bend from the sea-blast, seen at twilight eve.' But with a small alteration of rhythm, the same words would be equally in their place in a book of topography, or in a descriptive tour. The same image will rise into a semblance of poetry if thus conveyed:-- 'Yon row of bleak and visionary pines, By twilight-glimpse discerned, mark! how they flee From the fierce sea-blast, all their tresses wild Streaming before them.' 1815. First published in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, ii. 18; 1847, ii. 20. First collected 1893. 41 TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST STROPHE OF PINDAR'S SECOND OLYMPIC '_As nearly as possible word for word._' Ye harp-controlling hymns! (or) Ye hymns the sovereigns of harps! What God? what Hero? What Man shall we celebrate? Truly Pisa indeed is of Jove, But the Olympiad (or, the Olympic games) did Hercules establish, The first-fruits of the spoils of war. But Theron for the four-horsed car That bore victory to him, It behoves us now to voice aloud: The Just, the Hospitable, The Bulwark of Agrigentum, Of renowned fathers The Flower, even him Who preserves his native city erect and safe. 1815. First published in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, ii. 90; 1847, ii. 93. First collected 1893. 42 O! Superstition is the giant shadow Which the solicitude of weak mortality, Its back toward Religion's rising sun, Casts on the thin mist of th' uncertain future. 1816. First published from an MS. in 1893. 43 TRANSLATION OF A FRAGMENT OF HERACLITUS[1007:1] Not hers To win the sense by words of rhetoric, Lip-blossoms breathing perishable sweets; But by the power of the informing Word Roll sounding onward through a thousand years Her deep prophetic bodements. 1816. First published in _Lit. Rem._, iii. 418, 419. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 367. 44 Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketch'd the way, And wiser men than I went worse astray. First published as Motto to Essay II, _The Friend_, 1818, ii. 37; 1850, ii. 27. First collected 1893. 45 IMITATED FROM ARISTOPHANES (_Nubes_ 315, 317.) +megalai theai andrasin argois, haiper gnômên kai dialexin kai noun hêmin parechousi kai terateian kai perilexin kai krousin kai katalêpsin+ For the ancients . . . had their glittering VAPORS, which (as the comic poet tells us) fed a host of sophists. Great goddesses are they to lazy folks, Who pour down on us gifts of fluent speech, Sense most sententious, wonderful fine _effect_, And how to talk about it and about it, Thoughts brisk as bees, and pathos soft and thawy. 1817. First published in _The Friend_, 1818, iii. 179; 1850, iii. 138. First collected 1893. 46 Let clumps of earth, however glorified, Roll round and round and still renew their cycle-- Man rushes like a winged Cherub through The infinite space, and that which has been Can therefore never be again---- 1820. First published from an MS. in 1893. 47 TO EDWARD IRVING But _you_, honored IRVING, are as little disposed as myself to favor _such_ doctrine! [as that of Mant and D'Oyly on Infant Baptism]. Friend pure of heart and fervent! we have learnt A different lore! We may not thus profane The Idea and Name of Him whose Absolute Will _Is_ Reason--Truth Supreme!--Essential Order! 1824. First published in _Aids to Reflection_, 1825, p. 373. First collected 1893. 48 [LUTHER--DE DÆMONIBUS] _The devils are in woods, in waters, in wildernesses, and in dark pooly places, ready to hurt and prejudice people, etc._--_Doctoris Martini Lutheri Colloquia Mensalia_--(Translated by Captain Henry Bell. London, 1652, p. 370). 'The angel's like a flea, The devil is a bore;--' No matter for that! quoth S. T. C., I love him the better therefore. Yes! heroic Swan, I love thee even when thou gabblest like a goose; for thy geese helped to save the Capitol. 1826. First published in _Lit. Rem._, 1839, iv. 52. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 367. 49 THE NETHERLANDS Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green;-- Willows whose Trunks beside the shadows stood Of their own higher half, and willowy swamp:-- Farmhouses that at anchor seem'd--in the inland sky The fog-transfixing Spires-- Water, wide water, greenness and green banks, And water seen-- June 1828. Now first published from an MS. 50 ELISA[1009:1] TRANSLATED FROM CLAUDIAN Dulce dona mihi tu mittis semper Elisa! Et quicquid mittis Thura putare decet. The above adapted from an Epigram of Claudian [No. lxxxii, Ad Maximum Qui mel misit], by substituting _Thura_ for _Mella_: the original Distich being in return for a present of Honey. _Imitation_ Sweet Gift! and always doth Elisa send Sweet Gifts and full of fragrance to her Friend Enough for Him to know they come from HER: Whate'er she sends is Frankincense and Myrrh. ANOTHER ON THE SAME SUBJECT BY S. T. C. HIMSELF Semper Elisa! mihi tu suaveolentia donas: Nam quicquid donas, te redolere puto. _Translation_ Whate'er thou giv'st, it still is sweet to me, For _still_ I find it redolent of thee. 1833, 4. Now first published from an MS. 51 PROFUSE KINDNESS +Nêpioi oude isasin hosô pleon hêmisy pantos.+ HESIOD. [_Works and Days_, l. 40.] What a spring-tide of Love to dear friends in a shoal! Half of it to one were worth double the whole! Undated. First published in _P. W._, 1834. 52 I stand alone, nor tho' my heart should break, Have I, to whom I may complain or speak. Here I stand, a hopeless man and sad, Who hoped to have seen my Love, my Life. And strange it were indeed, could I be glad Remembering her, my soul's betrothéd wife. For in this world no creature that has life Was e'er to me so gracious and so good. Her loss is to my Heart, like the Heart's blood. ? S. T. C. Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893. These lines are inscribed on a fly-leaf of Tom. II of Benedetto Menzini's _Poesie_, 1782. 53 NAPOLEON The Sun with gentle beams his rage disguises, And, like aspiring Tyrants, temporises-- Never to be endured but when he falls or rises. ? S. T. C. Undated. Now first published from an MS. 54 Thicker than rain-drops on November thorn. Undated. Now first published from an MS. 55 His native accents to her stranger's ear, Skill'd in the tongues of France and Italy-- Or while she warbles with bright eyes upraised, Her fingers shoot like streams of silver light Amid the golden haze of thrilling strings. Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893. 56 Each crime that once estranges from the virtues Doth make the memory of their features daily More dim and vague, till each coarse counterfeit Can have the passport to our confidence Sign'd by ourselves. And fitly are they punish'd Who prize and seek the honest man but as A safer lock to guard dishonest treasures. ? S. T. C. Undated. First published in _Lit. Rem._, i. 281. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 365. 57 Where'er I find the Good, the True, the Fair, I ask no names--God's spirit dwelleth there! The unconfounded, undivided Three, Each for itself, and all in each, to see In man and Nature, is Philosophy. Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893. 58 A wind that with Aurora hath abiding Among the Arabian and the Persian Hills. Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893. 59 I [S. T. C.] find the following lines among my papers, in my own writing, but whether an unfinished fragment, or a contribution to some friend's production, I know not:-- What boots to tell how o'er his grave She wept, that would have died to save; Little they know the heart, who deem Her sorrow but an infant's dream Of transient love begotten; A passing gale, that as it blows Just shakes the ripe drop from the rose-- That dies and is forgotten. O Woman! nurse of hopes and fears, All lovely in thy spring of years, Thy soul in blameless mirth possessing, Most lovely in affliction's tears, More lovely still than tears suppressing. Undated. First published in Allsop's _Letters, Conversations_, &c. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii. 373. 60 THE THREE SORTS OF FRIENDS Though friendships differ endless _in degree_, The _sorts_, methinks, may be reduced to three. _Ac_quaintance many, and _Con_quaintance few; But for _In_quaintance I know only two-- The friend I've mourned with, and the maid I woo! MY DEAR GILLMAN--The ground and _matériel_ of this division of one's friends into _ac_, _con_ and _in_quaintance, was given by Hartley Coleridge when he was scarcely five years old [1801]. On some one asking him if Anny Sealy (a little girl he went to school with) was an acquaintance of his, he replied, very fervently pressing his right hand on his heart, 'No, she is an _in_quaintance!' 'Well! 'tis a father's tale'; and the recollection soothes your old friend and _in_quaintance, S. T. COLERIDGE. Undated. First published in _Fraser's Magazine_ for Jan. 1835, Art. _Coleridgeiana_, p. 54. First collected 1893. 61 If fair by Nature She honours the fair Boon with fair adorning, And graces that bespeak a gracious breeding, Can gracious Nature lessen Nature's Graces? If taught by both she betters both and honours Fair gifts with fair adorning, know you not There is a beauty that resides within;-- A fine and delicate spirit of womanhood Of inward birth?-- Now first published from an MS. 62 BO-PEEP AND I SPY-- In the corner _one_-- I spy Love! In the corner _None_, I spy Love. 1826. Now first published from an MS. 63 A SIMILE As the shy hind, the soft-eyed gentle Brute Now moves, now stops, approaches by degrees-- At length emerges from the shelt'ring Trees, Lur'd by her Hunter with the Shepherd's flute, Whose music travelling on the twilight breeze, When all besides was mute-- She oft had heard, and ever lov'd to hear; She fearful Beast! but that no sound of Fear---- Undated. Now first published from an MS. 64 BARON GUELPH OF ADELSTAN. A FRAGMENT For ever in the world of Fame We live and yet abide the same: Clouds may intercept our rays, Or desert Lands reflect our blaze. The beauteous Month of May began, And all was Mirth and Sport, When Baron Guelph of Adelstan Took leave and left the Court. From Fête and Rout and Opera far The full town he forsook, And changed his wand and golden star For Shepherd's Crown and Crook. The knotted net of light and shade Beneath the budding tree, A sweeter day-bed for him made Than Couch and Canopy. In copse or lane, as Choice or Chance Might lead him was he seen; And join'd at eve the village dance Upon the village green. Nor endless-- Undated. Now first published from an MS. FOOTNOTES: [996:1] The following 'Fragments', numbered 1-63, consist of a few translations and versicles inserted by Coleridge in his various prose works, and a larger number of fragments, properly so called, which were published from MS. sources in 1893, or are now published for the first time. These fragments are taken exclusively from Coleridge's Notebooks (the source of _Anima Poetæ_, 1895), and were collected, transcribed, and dated by the present Editor for publication in 1893. The fragments now published for the first time were either not used by J. D. Campbell in 1893, or had not been discovered or transcribed. The very slight emendations of the text are due to the fact that Mr. Campbell printed from copies, and that the collection as a whole has now for the second time been collated with the original MSS. Fragments numbered 64, 96, 98, 111, 113, in _P. W._, 1893, are quotations from the plays and poems of William Cartwright (1611-1643). They are not included in the present issue. Fragments 56, 58, 59, 61, 63, 67, 80, 81, 83, 88, 91, 93, 94, 117-120, are inserted in the text or among 'Jeux d'Esprit', or under other headings. The chronological order is for the most part conjectural, and differs from that suggested in 1893. It must be borne in mind that the entries in Coleridge's Notebooks are not continuous, and that the additional matter in prose or verse was inserted from time to time, wherever a page or half a page was not filled up. It follows that the context is an uncertain guide to the date of any given entry. Pains have been taken to exclude quotations from older writers, which Coleridge neither claimed nor intended to claim for his own, but it is possible that two or three of these fragments of verse are not original. [996:2] This quatrain, described as 'The concluding stanza of an Elegy on a Lady who died in Early Youth', is from part of a memorandum in S. T. C.'s handwriting headed 'Relics of my School-boy Muse; i. e. fragments of poems composed before my fifteenth year'. It follows _First Advent of Love_, 'O fair is Love's first hope,' &c. (vide _ante_, p. 443), and is compared with Age--a stanza written forty years later than the preceding--'Dewdrops are the gems of morning,' &c. (p. 440). ANOTHER VERSION. O'er her piled grave the gale of evening sighs, And flowers will grow upon its grassy slope, I wipe the dimming waters from mine eye Even on the cold grave dwells the Cherub Hope. _Unpublished Letter to Thomas Poole_, Feb. 1. 1801, on the death of Mrs. Robinson ('Perdita'). [997:1] These two lines, slightly altered, were afterwards included in _Alice du Clos_ (ll. 111, 112), _ante_, p. 473. [998:1] The lines are an attempt to reduce to blank verse one of many minute descriptions of natural objects and scenic effects. The concluding lines are illegible. [1001:1] These lines, 'slip torn from some old letter,' are endorsed by Poole, 'Reply of Coleridge on my urging him to exert himself.' First collected in 1893. [1007:1] The translation is embodied in a marginal note on the following quotation from _The Select Discourses_ by John Smith, 1660:-- '_So the Sibyl was noted by Heraclitus as +mainomenô stomati gelasta kai akallôpista phthengomenê+, as one speaking ridiculous and unseemly speeches with her furious mouth._' The fragment is misquoted and misunderstood: for +gelasta+, etc. should be +amyrista+ unperfumed, inornate lays, not redolent of art.--Render it thus: Not her's, etc. +Stomati mainomenô+ is 'with ecstatic mouth'. J. D. Campbell in a note to this Fragment (_P. W._, 1893, pp. 464-5) quotes the 'following prose translation of the same passage', from Coleridge's _Statesman's Manual_ (1816, p. 132); 'Multiscience (or a variety and quantity of acquired knowledge) does not test intelligence. But the Sibyll with wild enthusiastic mirth shrilling forth unmirthful, inornate and unperfumed truths, reaches to a thousand years with her voice through the power of God.' The prose translation is an amalgam of two fragments. The first sentence is quoted by Diogenes Laertius, ix. 1: the second by Plutarch, de Pyth. orac. 6, p. 377. [1009:1] These rhymes were addressed to a Miss Eliza Nixon, who supplied S. T. C. with books from a lending library. METRICAL EXPERIMENTS[1014:1] 1 AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE I heard a voice pealing loud triumph to-day: The voice of the Triumph, O Freedom, was thine! Sumptuous Tyranny challeng'd the fray,[1014:2] 'Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine.' Whose could the Triumph be Freedom but thine? Stars of the Heaven shine to feed thee; Hush'd are the Whirl-blasts and heed thee;-- By her depth, by her height, Nature swears thou art mine! 1. Amphibrach tetrameter catalectic [breve macron breve] | [breve macron breve] | [breve macron breve] | [breve macron] 2. Ditto. 3. Three pseudo amphimacers, and one long syllable. 4. Two dactyls, and one perfect Amphimacer. 5. = 1 and 2. 6. [macron breve macron] | [macron breve macron breve] | 7. [macron breve macron] | [macron breve macron breve] | 8. [macron breve macron] | [macron breve macron], [macron breve macron], [macron breve macron] 1801. Now first published from an MS. 2 TROCHAICS Thus she said, and, all around, Her diviner spirit, gan to borrow; Earthly Hearings hear unearthly sound, Hearts heroic faint, and sink aswound. Welcome, welcome, spite of pain and sorrow, Love to-day, and Thought to-morrow. 1801. Now first published from an MS. 3 THE PROPER UNMODIFIED DOCHMIUS (_i. e._ antispastic Catalectic) B[)e]n[=i]gn sh[=o][=o]t[)i]ng st[=a]rs, [)e]cst[=a]t[=i]c d[)e]l[=i]ght. _or_ The Lord's throne in Heaven [)a]m[=i]d [=a]ng[)e]l troops Amid troops of Angels God throned on high. 1801. Now first published from an MS. 4 IAMBICS No cold shall thee benumb, Nor darkness stain thy sight; To thee new Heat, new Light Shall from this object come, Whose Praises if thou now wilt sound aright, My Pen shall give thee leave hereafter to be dumb. 1801. Now first published from an MS. 5 NONSENSE Sing impassionate Soul! of Mohammed the complicate story: Sing, unfearful of Man, groaning and ending in care. Short the Command and the Toil, but endlessly mighty the Glory! Standing aloof if it chance, vainly our enemy's scare: What tho' we wretchedly fare, wearily drawing the Breath--, Malice in wonder may stare; merrily move we to Death. Now first published from an MS. 6 A PLAINTIVE MOVEMENT [11´ 4` 11´ 4` | 10´ 6` 4´ 10`] Go little Pipe! for ever I must leave thee, Ah, vainly true! Never, ah never! must I more receive thee? Adieu! adieu! Well, thou art gone! and what remains behind, Soothing the soul to Hope? The moaning Wind-- Hide with sere leaves my Grave's undaisied Slope. (?) October. 1814. [It would be better to alter this metre-- 10´ 6` 6´ 10` | 11´ 4` 11´ 4`: and still more plaintive if the 1st and 4th were 11´ 11´ as well as the 5th and 7th.] Now first published from an MS. 7 AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [macron breve macron] } [breve breve macron]; [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [macron breve macron] } [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [breve breve macron] } [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] When thy Beauty appears, In its graces and airs, All bright as an Angel new dight from the Sky, At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, So strangely you dazzle my Eye. Now first published from an MS. 8 NONSENSE VERSES [AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE] Ye fowls of ill presage, Go vanish into Night! Let all things sweet and fair Yield homage to the pair: From Infancy to Age Each Brow be smooth and bright, As Lake in evening light. To-day be Joy! and Sorrow Devoid of Blame (The widow'd Dame) Shall welcome be to-morrow. Thou, too, dull Night! may'st come unchid: This wall of Flame the Dark hath hid With turrets each a Pyramid;-- For the Tears that we shed, are Gladness, A mockery of Sadness! Now first published from an MS. 9 NONSENSE [AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE] I wish on earth to sing Of Jove the bounteous store, That all the Earth may ring With Tale of Wrong no more. I fear no foe in field or tent, Tho' weak our cause yet strong his Grace: As Polar roamers clad in Fur, Unweeting whither we were bent We found as 'twere a native place, Where not a Blast could stir: { For Jove had his Almighty Presence lent: { Each eye beheld, in each transfigured Face, { The radiant light of Joy, and Hope's forgotten Trace. _or_ { O then I sing Jove's bounteous store-- { On rushing wing while sea-mews roar, { And raking Tides roll Thunder on the shore. Now first published from an MS. 10 EXPERIMENTS IN METRE There in some darksome shade Methinks I'd weep Myself asleep, And there forgotten fade. First published from an MS. in 1893. 11 Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee! Why stays my Love? Bend, and in yon streamlet--lave thee! Why stays my Love? Oft have I at evening straying, Stood, thy branches long surveying, Graceful in the light breeze playing,-- Why stays my Love? 1. Four Trochees /. 2. One spondee, Iambic \. 3. Four Trochees 1. 4. Repeated from 2. 5, 6, 7. A triplet of 4 Trochees--8 repeated. First published from an MS. in 1893. 12 [macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve] [macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve] [breve macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron] [macron breve breve], [macron breve] [breve macron breve breve], [macron breve] etc. Songs of Shepherds and rustical Roundelays, Forms of Fancies and whistled on Reeds, Songs to solace young Nymphs upon Holidays Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds-- Round about, hornéd Lucinda they swarméd, And her they informéd, How minded they were, Each God and Goddess, To take human Bodies As Lords and Ladies to follow the Hare. Now first published from an MS. 13 A METRICAL ACCIDENT Curious instance of casual metre and rhyme in a prose narrative (_The Life of Jerome of Prague_). The metre is Amphibrach dimeter Catalectic [breve macron breve] | [breve macron], and the rhymes antistrophic. Then Jerome did call _a_ From his flame-pointed Fence; _b_ Which under he trod, _c_ As upward to mount _d_ From the fiery flood,-- _e_ 'I summon you all, _a_ A hundred years hence, _b_ To appear before God, _c_ To give an account _d_ Of my innocent blood!' _e_ July 7, 1826. Now first published from an MS. NOTES BY PROFESSOR SAINTSBURY 1. I think most ears would take these as anapaestic throughout. But the introduction of Milton's Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine as a _leit-motiv_ is of the first interest. Description of it, l. 4, very curious. I should have thought no one could have run 'drunk with wine' together as one foot. 2. Admirable! I hardly know better trochaics. 3. Very interesting: but the terminology odd. The dochmius, a five-syllabled foot, is (in _one_ form--there are about thirty!) an antispast [breve macron macron breve] _plus_ a syllable. Catalectic means (_properly_) _minus_ a syllable. But the verses as quantified are really dochmiac, and the only attempts I have seen. Shall I own I can't get any _English_ Rhythm on them? 4. More ordinary: but a good arrangement and wonderful for the date. 5. Not nonsense at all: but, metrically, really his usual elegiac. 6. This, _if early_, is almost priceless. It is not only lovely in itself, but an obvious attempt to recover the zig-zag outline and varied cadence of seventeenth century born--the things that Shelley to some extent, Beddoes and Darley more, and Tennyson and Browning most were to master. I subscribe (most humbly) to his suggestions, especially his second. 7. Very like some late seventeenth-century (Dryden time) motives and a _leetle_ 'Moorish'. 8. Like 6, and charming. 9. A sort of recurrence to _Pindaric_--again pioneer, as the soul of S. T. C. _had_ to be always. 10 and 11. Ditto. 13. Again, _I_ should say, anapaestic--but this anapaest and amphibrach quarrel is +aspondos+. FOOTNOTES: [1014:1] 'He attributed in part, his writing so little, to the extreme care and labour which he applied in elaborating his metres. He said that when he was intent on a new experiment in metre, the time and labour he bestowed were inconceivable; that he was quite an epicure in sound.'--Wordsworth on Coleridge (as reported by Mr. Justice Coleridge), _Memoirs of W. Wordsworth_, 1851, ii. 306. In a letter to Poole dated March 16, 1801, Coleridge writes: 'I shall . . . immediately publish my _Christabel_, with the Essays on the "Preternatural", and on Metre' (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 349). Something had been done towards the collection of materials for the first 'Essay', a great deal for the second. In a notebook (No. 22) which contains dated entries of 1805, 1815, &c., but of which the greater portion, as the context and various handwritings indicate, belongs to a much earlier date, there are some forty-eight numbered specimens of various metres derived from German and Italian sources. To some of these stanzas or strophes a metrical scheme with original variants is attached, whilst other schemes are exemplified by metrical experiments in English, headed 'Nonsense Verses'. Two specimens of these experiments, headed 'A Sunset' and 'What is Life', are included in the text of _P. W._, 1893 (pp. 172, 178), and in that of the present issue, pp. 393, 394. They are dated 1805 in accordance with the dates of Coleridge's own comments or afterthoughts, but it is almost certain that both sets of verses were composed in 1801. The stanza entitled 'An Angel Visitant' belongs to the same period. Ten other sets of 'Nonsense Verses' of uncertain but early date are now printed for the first time. [1014:2] Sumptuous Tyranny floating this way. [MS.] On p. 17 of Notebook 22 Coleridge writes:-- --[u][u],--[u] [u],--[u],-- Drunk with I--dolatry--drunk with, Wine. A noble metre if I can find a metre to precede or follow. S[=u]mpt[)u][)o]us D[=a]l[)i]l[)a] fl[=o]at[)i]ng th[)i]s w[=a]y Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine. Both lines are from Milton's _Samson Agonistes_. APPENDIX I FIRST DRAFTS, EARLY VERSIONS, ETC. A [Vide _ante_, p. 100] EFFUSION 35 Clevedon, August 20th, 1795.[1021:1] (First Draft) My pensive SARA! thy soft Cheek reclin'd Thus on my arm, how soothing sweet it is Beside our Cot to sit, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flowr'd Jasmine and the blossom'd myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5 And watch the Clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow-sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant, like thy polish'd Sense, Shine opposite! What snatches of perfume The noiseless gale from yonder bean-field wafts! 10 The stilly murmur of the far-off Sea Tells us of Silence! and behold, my love! In the half-closed window we will place the Harp, Which by the desultory Breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half willing to be woo'd, 15 Utters such sweet upbraidings as, perforce, Tempt to repeat the wrong! [_M. R._] EFFUSION, p. 96. (1797.) (Second Draft) My pensive SARA! thy soft Cheek reclin'd Thus on my arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5 And watch the Clouds that, late were rich with light, Slow-sadd'ning round, and mark the Star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should WISDOM be!) Shine opposite. How exquisite the Scents Snatch'd from yon Bean-field! And the world _so_ hush'd! 10 The stilly murmur of the far-off Sea Tells us of Silence! And that simplest Lute Plac'd lengthways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory Breeze caress'd (Like some coy Maid half-yielding to her Lover) 15 It pours such sweet Upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong. And now it's strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious Surges sink and rise In aëry voyage, Music such as erst 20 Round rosy bowers (so Legendaries tell) To sleeping Maids came floating witchingly By wand'ring West winds stoln from Faery land; Where on some magic Hybla MELODIES Round many a newborn honey-dropping Flower 25 Footless and wild, like Birds of Paradise, Nor pause nor perch, warbling on untir'd wing. And thus, my Love! as on the midway Slope Of yonder Hill I stretch my limbs at noon And tranquil muse upon Tranquillity. 30 Full many a Thought uncall'd and undetain'd And many idle flitting Phantasies Traverse my indolent and passive Mind As wild, as various, as the random Gales That swell or flutter on this subject Lute. 35 And what if All of animated Life Be but as Instruments diversly fram'd That tremble into thought, while thro' them breathes One infinite and intellectual Breeze, And all in diff'rent Heights so aptly hung, 40 That Murmurs indistinct and Bursts sublime, Shrill Discords and most soothing Melodies, Harmonious from Creation's vast concent-- Thus _God_ would be the universal Soul, Mechaniz'd matter as th' organic harps 45 And each one's Tunes be that, which each calls I. But thy more serious Look a mild Reproof Darts, O beloved Woman, and thy words Pious and calm check these unhallow'd Thoughts, These Shapings of the unregen'rate Soul, 50 Bubbles, that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling Spring: Thou biddest me walk humbly with my God! Meek Daughter in the family of Christ. Wisely thou sayest, and holy are thy words! 55 Nor may I unblam'd or speak or think of Him, Th' INCOMPREHENSIBLE! save when with Awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels, Who with his saving Mercies healèd me, A sinful and most miserable man 60 Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess PEACE and this COT, and THEE, my best-belov'd! [_MS. R._] FOOTNOTES: [1021:1] Now first published from Cottle's MSS. preserved in the Library of Rugby School. LINENOTES: [40-43] In diff'rent heights, so aptly hung, that all In half-heard murmurs and loud bursts sublime, Shrill discords and most soothing melodies, Raises one great concent--one concent formed, Thus God, the only universal Soul-- Alternative version, MS. R. B RECOLLECTION[1023:1] [Vide _ante_, pp. 53, 48] As the tir'd savage, who his drowsy frame Had bask'd beneath the sun's unclouded flame, Awakes amid the troubles of the air, The skiey deluge and white lightning's glare, Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, 5 And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep! So tost by storms along life's wild'ring way Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove, While HOPE with kisses nurs'd the infant LOVE! 10 Dear native brook! like peace so placidly Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek-- Dear native brook! where first young POESY Star'd wildly eager in her noon-tide dream; Where blameless Pleasures dimpled Quiet's cheek, 15 As water-lilies _ripple_ thy slow stream! How many various-fated years have past, What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast Numb'ring its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest 20 Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny blaze, But strait, with all their tints, thy waters rise, The crossing plank, and margin's willowy maze, And bedded sand, that, vein'd with various dyes, 25 Gleam'd thro' thy bright transparence to the gaze-- Ah! fair tho' faint those forms of memory seem Like Heaven's bright bow on thy smooth evening stream. FOOTNOTES: [1023:1] First published in _The Watchman_, No. V, April 2, 1796: reprinted in Note 39 (p. 566) of _P. W._, 1892. The Editor (J. D. Campbell) points out that this poem as printed in _The Watchman_ is made up of lines 71-86 of _Lines on an Autumnal Evening_ (vide _ante_, p. 53), of lines 2-11 of _Sonnet to the River Otter_, and of lines 13, 14 of _The Gentle Look_, and _Anna and Harland_. C THE DESTINY OF NATIONS [Add. (_MSS._) 34,225. f. 5. Vide _ante_, p. 131.] [DRAFT I] Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful King, Eternal Father! king omnipotent; Beneath whose shadowing banners wide-unfurl'd 5 Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling Hosts. Such Symphony demands best Instrument. Seize, then, my Soul, from Freedom's trophied dome The harp which hanging high between the shields Of Brutus and Leonidas, oft gives 10 A fitful music, when with breeze-like Touch Great Spirits passing thrill its wings: the Bard Listens and knows, thy will to work by Fame. For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use Of all the powers which God for use had given? 15 But chiefly this, him first to view, him last, Thro' shapes, and sounds, and all the world of sense, The change of empires, and the deeds of Man Translucent, as thro' clouds that veil the Light. But most, O Man! in thine in wasted Sense 20 And the still growth of Immortality Image of God, and his Eternity. But some there are who deem themselves most wise When they within this gross and visible sphere Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent 25 Proud in their meanness--and themselves they mock With noisy emptiness of learned phrase Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences, Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves, 30 Untenanting Creation of its God! But properties are God: the Naked Mass (If Mass there be, at best a guess obscure,) Acts only by its inactivity. Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier dream, 35 That as one body is the Aggregate Of Atoms numberless, each organiz'd, So by a strange and dim similitude Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds Form one all-conscious Spirit, who controlls 40 With absolute ubiquity of Thought All his component Monads: linked Minds, Each in his own sphere evermore evolving Its own entrusted powers--Howe'er this be, Whether a dream presumptious, caught from earth 45 And earthly form, or vision veiling Truth, Yet the Omnific Father of all Worlds God in God immanent, the eternal Word, That gives forth, yet remains--Sun, that at once Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the Height of Heaven, 50 Great general Agent in all finite souls, Doth in that action put on finiteness, For all his Thoughts are acts, and every act A Being of Substance; God impersonal, Yet in all worlds impersonate in all, 55 Absolute Infinite, whose dazzling robe Flows in rich folds, and darts in shooting Hues Of infinite Finiteness! he rolls each orb Matures each planet, and Tree, and spread thro' all Wields all the Universe of Life and Thought, 60 [Yet leaves to all the Creatures meanest, highest, Angelic Right, self-conscious Agency--] [_Note._ The last two lines of Draft I are erased.] [DRAFT II] Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Ere we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful king All-gracious Father, king Omnipotent! Mind! co-eternal Word! forth-breathing Sound! 5 Aye unconfounded: undivided Trine-- Birth and Procession; ever re-incircling Act! God in God immanent, distinct yet one! Omnific, Omniform. The Immoveable, That goes forth and remains, eke----and at once 10 Dawns, rises, and sets and crowns the height of Heaven! [Cf. _Anima Poetæ_, 1895, p. 162.] Such Symphony demands best Instrument. Seize then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome. The harp which hanging high between the shields Of Brutus and Leonidas, gives oft 15 A fateful Music, when with breeze-like Touch Pure spirits thrill its strings: the Poet's heart Listens, and smiling knows that Poets demand Once more to live for Man and work by Fame: For what is Freedom, but th' unfetter'd use 20 Of all the Powers, which God for use had given! Thro' the sweet Influence of harmonious Word---- * * * * * The zephyr-travell'd Harp, that flashes forth Jets and low wooings of wild melody That sally forth and seek the meeting Ear, 25 Then start away, half-wanton, half-afraid Like the red-breast forced by wintry snows, In the first visits by the genial Hearth, From the fair Hand, that tempts it to-- Or like a course of flame, from the deep sigh 30 Of the idly-musing Lover dreaming of his Love With thoughts and hopes and fears, {sinking, snatching, {as warily, upward Bending, recoiling, fluttering as itself * * * * * And cheats us with false prophecies of sound LINENOTES: [9] i. e. jure suo, by any inherent Right. [DRAFT III] Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful king, All Gracious Father, king Omnipotent! To Him, the inseparate, unconfounded TRINE, 5 MIND! Co-eternal WORD! Forth-breathing SOUND! Birth! and PROCESSION! Ever-circling ACT! GOD in GOD immanent, distinct yet one! Sole Rest, true Substance of all finite Being! Omnific! Omniform! The Immoveable, 10 That goes forth and remaineth: and at once Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the height of Heaven! * * * * * Such Symphony demands best Instrument. Seize then, my Soul! from Freedom's trophied dome The Harp, that hanging high between the Shields 15 Of Brutus and Leonidas, flashes forth Starts of shrill-music, when with breeze-like Touch Departed Patriots thrill the---- D PASSAGES IN SOUTHEY'S _Joan of Arc_ (FIRST EDITION, 1796) CONTRIBUTED BY S. T. COLERIDGE[1027:1]. [Vide _ante_, p. 131] BOOK I, ll. 33-51. _"O France," he cried, "my country"!_ When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds At close of day, stole on his ear a voice 35 Seraphic. "Son of Orleans! grieve no more. His eye not slept, tho' long the All-just endured The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds Rushes the storm, Ruin and Fear and Death. 40 Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven: Nor thou the wintry hours of adverse fate Dream useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile, The keen and icy wind that shivers _thee_ Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline 45 Firm thy strong heart for fearless enterprise As who, through many a summer night serene Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish; Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf From his bleak mountain and his den of snows 50 Leaps terrible and mocks the shepherd's spears." ll. 57-59. _nor those ingredients dire Erictho mingled on Pharsalia's field_, Making the soul retenant its cold corse. ll. 220-222. the groves of Paradise Gave their mild echoes to the choral songs Of new-born beings.-- ll. 267-280. _And oft the tear from his averted eye He dried; mindful of fertile fields laid waste_, Dispeopled hamlets, the lorn widow's groan, And the pale orphan's feeble cry for bread. 270 But when he told of those fierce sons of guilt That o'er this earth which God had fram'd so fair-- Spread desolation, and its wood-crown'd hills Make echo to the merciless war-dog's howl; And how himself from such foul savagery 275 Had scarce escap'd with life, then his stretch'd arm Seem'd, as it wielded the resistless sword Of Vengeance: in his eager eye the soul Was eloquent; warm glow'd his manly cheek; And beat against his side the indignant heart. 280 ll. 454-460. _then methought_ From a dark lowering cloud, the womb of tempests, 455 A giant arm burst forth and dropt a sword That pierc'd like lightning thro' the midnight air. Then was there heard a voice, which in mine ear Shall echo, at that hour of dreadful joy When the pale foe shall wither in my rage. 460 ll. 484-496[1029:1] Last evening lone in thought I wandered forth. Down in the dingle's depth there is a brook 485 That makes its way between the craggy stones, Murmuring hoarse murmurs. On an aged oak Whose root uptorn by tempests overhangs The stream, I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds Gather before the wind, while the rude dash 490 Of waters rock'd my senses, and the mists Rose round: there as I gazed, a form dim-seen Descended, like the dark and moving clouds That in the moonbeam change their shadowy shapes. His voice was on the breeze; he bade me hail 495 The missioned Maid! for lo! the hour was come. BOOK III, ll. 73-82. _Martyr'd patriots--spirits pure Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives_ Sow'd by your toil and by your blood manur'd 75 Th' imperishable seed, soon to become The Tree, beneath whose vast and mighty shade The sons of men shall pitch their tents in peace, And in the unity of truth preserve The bond of love. For by the eye of God 80 Hath Virtue sworn, that never one good act Was work'd in vain. BOOK IV, ll. 328-336. _The murmuring tide Lull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dream_ Rose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330 She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook, Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy course Made dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs; And where it spread into a glassy lake, _Of the old oak which on the smooth expanse, 335 Imag'd its hoary mossy-mantled boughs_. FOOTNOTES: [1027:1] Over and above the contributions to the Second Book of the _Joan of Arc_, which Southey acknowledged, and which were afterwards embodied in the _Destiny of Nations_, Coleridge claimed a number of passages in Books I, III, and IV. The passages are marked by S. T. C. in an annotated copy of the First Edition 4{o}, at one time the property of Coleridge's friend W. Hood of Bristol, and afterwards of John Taylor Brown. See _North British Review_, January, 1864. [1029:1] Suggested and in part written by S. T. C. LINENOTES: [37] not slept] slept not MS. corr. by Southey. [39] red] S. T. C. notes this word as Southey's. [46] Firm] S. T. C. writes against this word _Not English_. E [Vide _ante_, p. 186.] THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,[1030:1] IN SEVEN PARTS. ARGUMENT How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. I. It is an ancyent Marinere, And he stoppeth one of three: "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye "Now wherefore stoppest me? "The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, 5 "And I am next of kin; "The Guests are met, the Feast is set,-- "May'st hear the merry din. But still he holds the wedding-guest-- There was a Ship, quoth he-- 10 "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, "Marinere! come with me." He holds him with his skinny hand, Quoth he, there was a Ship-- "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! 15 "Or my Staff shall make thee skip. He holds him with his glittering eye-- The wedding guest stood still And listens like a three year's child; The Marinere hath his will. 20 The wedding-guest sate on a stone, He cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent man, The bright-eyed Marinere. The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd-- 25 Merrily did we drop Below the Kirk, below the Hill, Below the Light-house top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the Sea came he: 30 And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the Sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon-- The wedding-guest here beat his breast, 35 For he heard the loud bassoon. The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry Minstralsy. 40 The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent Man, The bright-eyed Marinere. Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 45 A Wind and Tempest strong! For days and weeks it play'd us freaks-- Like Chaff we drove along. Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow, And it grew wond'rous cauld: 50 And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld. And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen; Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken-- 55 The Ice was all between. The Ice was here, the Ice was there, The Ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd-- Like noises of a swound. 60 At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the Fog it came; And an it were a Christian Soul, We hail'd it in God's name. The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, 65 And round and round it flew: The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit, The Helmsman steer'd us thro'. And a good south wind sprung up behind. The Albatross did follow; 70 And every day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo! In mist or cloud on mast or shroud, It perch'd for vespers nine, Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white, 75 Glimmer'd the white moon-shine. "God save thee, ancyent Marinere! "From the fiends that plague thee thus-- "Why look'st thou so?"--with my cross bow I shot the Albatross. 80 II. The Sun came up upon the right, Out of the Sea came he; And broad as a weft upon the left Went down into the Sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, 85 But no sweet Bird did follow Ne any day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo! And I had done an hellish thing And it would work 'em woe: 90 For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That made the Breeze to blow. Ne dim ne red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird 95 That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist. The breezes blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free: 100 We were the first that ever burst Into that silent Sea. Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be And we did speak only to break 105 The silence of the Sea. All in a hot and copper sky The bloody sun at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. 110 Day after day, day after day, We stuck, ne breath ne motion. As idle as a painted Ship Upon a painted Ocean. Water, water, every where, 115 And all the boards did shrink: Water, water, everywhere, Ne any drop to drink. The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! 120 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy Sea. About, about, in reel and rout, The Death-fires danc'd at night; The water, like a witch's oils, 125 burnt green and blue and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the Land of Mist and Snow. 130 And every tongue thro' utter drouth Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks 135 Had I from old and young; Instead of the Cross the Albatross About my neck was hung. III. I saw a something in the Sky No bigger than my fist; 140 At first it seem'd a little speck And then it seem'd a mist: It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 145 And still it ner'd and ner'd; And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite, It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd. With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Ne could we laugh, ne wail: 150 Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm and suck'd the blood And cry'd, A sail! a sail! With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Agape they hear'd me call: 155 Gramercy! they for joy did grin And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all. She doth not tack from side to side-- Hither to work us weal 160 Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel. The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave 165 Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's mother send us grace) 170 As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she neres and neres! Are those _her_ Sails that glance in the Sun 175 Like restless gossameres? Are those _her_ naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are those two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere? 180 _His_ bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green. 185 _Her_ lips are red, _her_ looks are free, _Her_ locks are yellow as gold: Her skin is as white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold. 190 The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistled thrice. A gust of wind sterte up behind 195 And whistled thro' his bones; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans. With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; 200 While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips. One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) 205 Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang And curs'd me with his ee. Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan, With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 210 They dropp'd down one by one. Their souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass'd me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. 215 IV. "I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! "I fear thy skinny hand; "And thou art long, and lank, and brown, "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand. "I fear thee and thy glittering eye 220 "And thy skinny hand so brown-- Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all all alone Alone on the wide wide Sea; 225 And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony. The many men so beautiful, And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things 230 Liv'd on--and so did I. I look'd upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look'd upon the eldritch deck, And there the dead men lay. 235 I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust. I clos'd my lids and kept them close, 240 Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 245 Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look'd on me, Had never pass'd away. An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: 250 But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, 255 And no where did abide: Softly she was going up And a star or two beside-- Her beams bemock'd the sultry main Like morning frosts yspread; 260 But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship I watch'd the water-snakes: 265 They mov'd in tracks of shining white; And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire: 270 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: 275 A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; 280 And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. V. O sleep, it is a gentle thing, Belov'd from pole to pole! 285 To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, 290 I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew And when I awoke it rain'd. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams 295 And still my body drank. I mov'd and could not feel my limbs, I was so light, almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed Ghost. 300 The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails That were so thin and sere. The upper air bursts into life, 305 And a hundred fire-flags sheen To and fro they are hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out The stars dance on between. The coming wind doth roar more loud; 310 The sails do sigh, like sedge: The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge. Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, And the Moon is at its side: 315 Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning falls with never a jag A river steep and wide. The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down, like a stone! 320 Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: It had been strange, even in a dream 325 To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do: 330 They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, 335 But he said nought to me-- And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be! The day-light dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast: 340 Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pass'd. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again 345 Now mix'd, now one by one. Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 350 With their sweet jargoning. And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute. 355 It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night 360 Singeth a quiet tune. Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! "Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still." 365 Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn. Never sadder tale was heard 370 By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne. The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: 375 Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold. Till noon we silently sail'd on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship 380 Mov'd onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep From the land of mist and snow The spirit slid: and it was He That made the Ship to go. 385 The sails at noon left off their tune And the Ship stood still also. The sun right up above the mast Had fix'd her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir 390 With a short uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: 395 It flung the blood into my head, And I fell into a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, 400 I heard and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air, "Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man? "By him who died on cross, "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low 405 "The harmless Albatross. "The spirit who 'bideth by himself "In the land of mist and snow, "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man "Who shot him with his bow. 410 The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he the man hath penance done, And penance more will do. VI. FIRST VOICE. "But tell me, tell me! speak again, 415 "Thy soft response renewing-- "What makes that ship drive on so fast? "What is the Ocean doing? SECOND VOICE. "Still as a Slave before his Lord, "The Ocean hath no blast: 420 "His great bright eye most silently "Up to the moon is cast-- "If he may know which way to go, "For she guides him smooth or grim. "See, brother, see! how graciously 425 "She looketh down on him. FIRST VOICE. "But why drives on that ship so fast "Withouten wave or wind? SECOND VOICE. "The air is cut away before, "And closes from behind. 430 "Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, "Or we shall be belated: "For slow and slow that ship will go, "When the Marinere's trance is abated." I woke, and we were sailing on 435 As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 440 All fix'd on me their stony eyes That in the moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pass'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs 445 Ne turn them up to pray. And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen. 450 Like one, that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on And turns no more his head: Because he knows, a frightful fiend 455 Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breath'd a wind on me, Ne sound ne motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade. 460 It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek, Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 465 Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew. O dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 470 Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk? Is this mine own countrée? We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- "O let me be awake, my God! 475 "Or let me sleep alway!" The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon. 480 The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came. A little distance from the prow 485 Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare. I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, 490 The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood. They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, 495 A torch that's borne upright. Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on In the red and smoky light. I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. 500 There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness 505 The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. 510 A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-- O Christ! what saw I there? Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; 515 And by the Holy rood A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand: It was a heavenly sight: 520 They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light: This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but O! the silence sank, 525 Like music on my heart. Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear. 530 Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew. The wind, that shade nor motion made, 535 On me alone it blew. The pilot, and the pilot's boy I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy, The dead men could not blast. 540 I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 545 The Albatross's blood. VII. This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the Sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with Marineres 550 That come from a far Contrée. He kneels at morn and noon and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump. 555 The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! "Where are those lights so many and fair "That signal made but now? "Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said-- 560 "And they answer'd not our cheer. "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere! "I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were 565 "The skeletons of leaves that lag "My forest-brook along: "When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow, "And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below "That eats the she-wolfs young. 570 "Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look-- (The Pilot made reply) "I am afear'd--"Push on, push on! "Said the Hermit cheerily. The Boat came closer to the Ship, 575 But I ne spake ne stirr'd! The Boat came close beneath the Ship, And strait a sound was heard! Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: 580 It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; The Ship went down like lead. Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that had been seven days drown'd 585 My body lay afloat: But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship, The boat spun round and round: 590 And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit. The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes 595 And pray'd where he did sit. I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro, 600 "Ha! ha!" quoth he--"full plain I see, "The devil knows how to row." And now all in mine own Countrée I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 605 And scarcely he could stand. "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! The Hermit cross'd his brow-- "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner man art thou?" 610 Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free. Since then at an uncertain hour, 615 Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; 620 The moment that his face I see I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The Wedding-guests are there; 625 But in the Garden-bower the Bride And Bride-maids singing are: And hark the little Vesper-bell Which biddeth me to prayer. O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been 630 Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me 635 To walk together to the Kirk With a goodly company. To walk together to the Kirk And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, 640 Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And Youths, and Maidens gay. Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well who loveth well, 645 Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best, All things both great and small: For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. 650 The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. He went, like one that hath been stunn'd 655 And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. FOOTNOTES: [1030:1] First published in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, pp. [1]-27; republished in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800, vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1802, vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1805, vol. i; reprinted in _The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, Appendix, pp. 404-29, London: E. Moxon, Son, and Company, [1870]; reprinted in _Lyrical Ballads_ edition of 1798, edited by Edward Dowden, LL D., 1890, in _P. W._, 1893, Appendix E, pp. 512-20, and in _Lyrical Ballads_ . . . 1798, edited by Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. The text of the present issue has been collated with that of an early copy of _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798 (containing _Lewti_, pp. 63-7), presented by Coleridge to his sister-in-law, Miss Martha Fricker. The lines were not numbered in _L. B._, 1798. LINENOTES: [63] And an] As if MS. corr. by S. T. C. [75] Corrected in the Errata to fog-smoke white. [83] [*weft*] [S. T. C.] [179] For "those" read "these" Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798. [After 338] * * * * * * MS., L. B. 1798. F THE RAVEN [As printed in the _Morning Post_, March 10, 1798.] [Vide _ante_, p. 169.] Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree, There was of Swine a large company. They were making a rude repast, Grunting as they crunch'd the mast. Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high-- 5 One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy. Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly; He belong'd, I believe, to the witch MELANCHOLY! Blacker was he than the blackest jet; Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. 10 He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait, By the side of a river both deep and great. Where then did the Raven go? He went high and low-- O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! 15 Many Autumns, many Springs; Travell'd he with wand'ring wings; Many Summers, many Winters-- I can't tell half his adventures. At length he return'd, and with him a she; 20 And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree. They built them a nest in the topmost bough, And young ones they had, and were jolly enow. But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise: His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes. 25 He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke, But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart, And his wife she did die of a broken heart! 30 The branches from off it the Woodman did sever! And they floated it down on the course of the River: They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip, And with this tree and others they built up a ship. The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, 35 A tempest arose which no ship could withstand. It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast-- The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls-- They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. 40 The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet, They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET! G LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT[1049:1] [Vide _ante_, p. 253.] (1) [Add. MSS. 27,902.] High o'er the silver rocks I roved To forget the form I loved In hopes fond fancy would be kind And steal my Mary from my mind T'was twilight and the lunar beam 5 Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's stream As down its sides the water strayed Bright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d] It shone, half-sheltered from the view By pendent boughs of tressy yew 10 True, true to love but false to rest, So fancy whispered to my breast, So shines her forehead smooth and fair Gleaming through her sable hair I turned to heaven--but viewed on high 15 The languid lustre of her eye The moons mild radiant edge I saw Peeping a black-arched cloud below Nor yet its faint and paly beam Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam 20 I saw the white waves o'er and o'er Break against a curved shore Now disappearing from the sight Now twinkling regular and white Her mouth, her smiling mouth can shew 25 As white and regular a row Haste Haste, some God indulgent prove And bear me, bear me to my love Then might--for yet the sultry hour Glows from the sun's oppressive power 30 Then might her bosom soft and white Heave upon my swimming sight As yon two swans together heave Upon the gently-swelling wave Haste--haste some God indulgent prove 35 And bear--oh bear me to my love. (2) [Add. MSS. 35,343.] THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHAUNT [*Wild Indians*] High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd [*silver*] To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind! [*Cora*] Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam 5 Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! 10 True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast-- So shines my Lewti's forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair, Image of LEWTI! from my mind 15 [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind. [*Cora*] I saw a cloud of whitest hue; Onward to the Moon it pass'd! Still brighter and more bright it grew With floating colours not a few, 20 Till it reach'd the Moon at last. LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT (3) [Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.] High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart: for LEWTI is not kind. 25 Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m] Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon TAMAHA'S stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view 30 By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast-- So shines my LEWTI'S forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair! 35 Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart--for LEWTI is not kind. I saw a Cloud of whitest hue-- Onward to the Moon it pass'd. Still brighter and more bright it grew 40 With floating colours not a few, Till it reach'd the Moon at last: Then the Cloud was wholly bright With a rich and amber light! [*deep*] And so with many a hope I seek, 45 And so with joy I find my LEWTI: And even so my pale wan cheek Drinks in as deep a flush of Beauty Image of LEWTI! leave my mind If Lewti never will be kind! 50 Away the little Cloud, away. Away it goes--away so soon [*alone*] Alas! it has no power to stay: It's hues are dim, it's hues are grey Away it passes from the Moon. 55 And now tis whiter than before-- As white as my poor cheek will be, When, LEWTI! on my couch I lie A dying Man for Love of thee! [*Thou living Image*] Image of LEWTI in my mind, 60 Methinks thou lookest not [*kin*] unkind! FOOTNOTES: [1049:1] The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published in _Note 44_ of _P. W._, 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included in _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS., &c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first time. H INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE[1052:1] [Vide _ante_, p. 330.] TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST. SIR, The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the Old Ballad word, _Ladie_, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties _explode_ around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired [? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible. S. T. COLERIDGE. 1 O leave the Lily on its stem; O leave the Rose upon the spray; O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids! And listen to my lay. 2 A Cypress and a Myrtle bough, 5 This morn around my harp you twin'd, Because it fashion'd mournfully Its murmurs in the wind. 3 And now a Tale of Love and Woe, A woeful Tale of Love I sing: 10 Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs And trembles on the string. 4 But most, my own dear Genevieve! It sighs and trembles most for thee! O come and hear the cruel wrongs 15 Befel the dark Ladie! 5 Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. 20 6 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. 7 O ever in my waking dreams, 25 I dwell upon that happy hour, When midway on the Mount I sate Beside the ruin'd Tow'r. 8 The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve, 30 And she was there, my hope! my joy! My own dear Genevieve! 9 She lean'd against the armed Man The statue of the armed Knight-- She stood and listen'd to my harp, 35 Amid the ling'ring light. 10 I play'd a sad and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story, An old rude song, that fitted well The ruin wild and hoary. 40 11 She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace: For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face. 12 I told her of the Knight that wore 45 Upon his shield a burning brand. And how for ten long years he woo'd The Ladie of the Land: 13 I told her, how he pin'd, and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone, 50 With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own! 14 She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace. And she forgave me, that I gaz'd 55 Too fondly on her face! 15 But when I told the cruel scorn, That craz'd this bold and lovely Knight; And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night; 60 16 And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths, Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat; How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs, And low stubs gor'd his feet. 17 How sometimes from the savage den, 65 And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once, In green and sunny glade; 18 There came and look'd him in the face An Angel beautiful and bright, 70 And how he knew it was a Fiend, This mis'rable Knight! 19 And how, unknowing what he did, He leapt amid a lawless band, And sav'd from outrage worse than death 75 The Ladie of the Land. 20 And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees, And how she tended him in vain, And meekly strove to expiate The scorn that craz'd his brain; 80 21 And how she nurs'd him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest leaves A dying man he lay; 22 His dying words--but when I reach'd 85 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My fault'ring voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity. 23 All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guiltless Genevieve-- 90 The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve; 24 And hopes and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng; And gentle wishes long subdu'd, 95 Subdu'd and cherish'd long. 25 She wept with pity and delight-- She blush'd with love and maiden shame, And like the murmurs of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. 100 26 I saw her bosom heave and swell, Heave and swell with inward sighs-- I could not choose but love to see Her gentle bosom rise. 27 Her wet cheek glow'd; she stept aside, 105 As conscious of my look she stept; Then suddenly, with tim'rous eye, She flew to me, and wept; 28 She half-inclos'd me with her arms-- She press'd me with a meek embrace; 110 And, bending back her head, look'd up, And gaz'd upon my face. 29 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than see, 115 The swelling of her heart. 30 I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beaut'ous bride. 120 31 And now once more a tale of woe, A woeful tale of love, I sing: For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs, And trembles on the string. 32 When last I sang the cruel scorn 125 That craz'd this bold and lonely Knight, And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night; 33 I promis'd thee a sister tale Of Man's perfidious cruelty: 130 Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong Befel the Dark Ladie. _End of the Introduction._ FOOTNOTES: [1052:1] Published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799. Collated with two MSS.--_MS. (1)_; _MS. (2)_--in the British Museum [Add. MSS. 27,902]. See _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile of the Proofs, &c., edited by the late James Dykes Campbell, 1899. _MS. 1_ consists of thirty-two stanzas (unnumbered), written on nine pages: _MS. 2_ (which begins with stanza 6, and ends with stanza 30) of fourteen stanzas (unnumbered) written on four pages. LINENOTES: _Title_--The Dark Ladiè. MS. B. M. (1). [2] Rose upon] Rose-bud on MS. B. M. (1). [3] fair] dear erased MS. (1). [7] mournfully] sad and sweet MS. (1). [8] in] to MS. (1). [16] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2). [20] The song that makes her grieve. MS. (1). [21-4] Each thought, each feeling of the Soul, All lovely sights, each tender, name, All, all are ministers of Love, That stir our mortal frame. MS. (1). [22] All, all that stirs this mortal frame MS. B. M. (2). [24] feed] fan MS. (2). [25] O ever in my lonely walk erased MS. (1). In lonely walk and noontide dreams MS. (1). O ever when I walk alone erased MS. (1). [26] I feed upon that blissful hour MS. (1). I feed upon that hour of Bliss erased MS. (1). That ruddy eve that blissful hour erased MS. (1). [26] dwell] feed MS. (2). [27] we [*sate*] When midway on the mount I stood MS. (1). When we too stood upon the Hill erased MS. (1). [29] The Moonshine stole upon the ground erased MS. (1). The Moon [*be blended on*] the ground MS. (1). [30] Had] And erased MS. (1). [31] was there] stood near (was there _erased_) MS. (1). [33-6] Against a grey stone rudely carv'd, The statue of an armed Knight, in She lean'd [*the*] melancholy mood, [*And*] To watch'd the lingering Light MS. (1). [33-4] [*She lean'd against*] a [*chissold stone*] [*tall*] [*The statue of a*] MS. (1). [34] the] an MS. (1) [Stanza 10, revised.] [37] sad] soft MSS. (1, 2). doleful] mournful erased MS. (1). [39] An] And MS. (2). rude] wild erased MS. (1). [41-4] With flitting Blush and downcast eyes, In modest melancholy grace The Maiden stood: perchance I gaz'd Too fondly on her face. Erased MS. (1). [45-8] om. MS. (1). [49] [*I gaz'd and when*] I sang of love MS. (1). [53-6] With flitting Blush and downcast eyes and With downcast eyes _in_ modest grace for [*She listen'd; and perchance I gaz'd*] Too fondly on her face. MS. (1). [55] And] Yet MS. (1). [57] told] sang MS. (1). [59] roam'd] cross'd MS. (1). [60] or] nor MS. (1). [61-4] om. MS. (1).] [65] How sometimes from the hollow Trees MS. (1). [69-72] look'd There came and [*star'd*] him in the face An[d] Angel beautiful and bright, And how he knew it was a fiend And yell'd with strange affright. MS. (1). [74] lawless] murderous MS. (1). [77] clasp'd] kiss'd MS. (1). [79] meekly] how she MS. (1). [87] fault'ring] trembling MS. (1) erased. [90] guiltless] guileless MS. (1). [Between 96 and 97] And while midnight [*While*] Fancy like the [*nuptial*] Torch That bends and rises in the wind Lit up with wild and broken lights The Tumult of her mind. MS. (1) erased. [99] And like the murmur of a dream MSS. (1, 2). _And_ [*in a*] murmur [*faint and sweet*] MS. (1) erased. [100] [*She half pronounced my name.*] She breathed her Lover's name. MS. (1) erased. [101-4] I saw her gentle Bosom heave Th' inaudible and frequent sigh; modest And ah! the [*bashful*] Maiden mark'd The wanderings of my eye[s] MS. (1) erased. [105-8] om. MS. (1). [105] cheek] cheeks MS. (2). [108] flew] fled MS. (2). [109-16] side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And ask'd me with her swimming eyes might That I [*would*] rather feel than see Her gentle Bosom rise.-- _Or_ side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And closer still with bashful art-- That I might rather feel than see The swelling of her Heart. MS. (1) erased. [111] And] Then MS. (2) erased. [117] And now serene, serene and chaste But soon in calm and solemn tone MS. (1) erased. [118] And] She MS. (1) erased. virgin] maiden MSS. (1, 2). [120] bright] dear MS. (1) erased. beaut'ous] lovely MS. (1) erased. [125-8] When last I sang of Him whose heart Was broken by a woman's scorn-- And how he cross'd the mountain woods All frantic and forlorn MS. (1). [129] sister] moving MS. (1). [131] wrong] wrongs MS. (1). [132] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2). [After 132] _The Dark Ladiè._ MS. (1). I THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY.[1060:1] [Vide _ante_, p. 421.] AN HISTORIC DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS. FIRST PERFORMED WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, ON SATURDAY, FEBRUARY THE 7TH, 1801. APOECIDES. Quis hoc scit factum? EPIDICUS. Ego ita esse factum dico. PERIPHANES. Scin' tu istuc? EPIDICUS. Scio. PERIPHANES. Qui tu scis? EPIDICUS. Quia ego vidi. PERIPHANES. [Ipse vidistine [Tragediam?]] Nimis factum bene! EPIDICUS. Sed vestita, aurata, ornata, ut lepide! ut concinne! ut nove! [Proh Dii immortales! tempestatem (plausuum Populus) nobis nocte hac misit!][1060:2] (Plaut. _Epidicus_. Act 2. Scen. 2, ll. 22 sqq.) LONDON. PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1801. FOOTNOTES: [1060:1] Now first published from an MS. in the British Museum (Add. MSS. 34,225). The _Triumph of Loyalty_, 'a sort of dramatic romance' (see _Letter to Poole_, December 5, 1800; _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 343), was begun and left unfinished in the late autumn of 1800. An excerpt (ll. 277-358) was revised and published as 'A Night Scene. A Dramatic Fragment,' in _Sibylline Leaves_ (1817), vide _ante_, pp. 421-3. The revision of the excerpt (ll. 263-349) with respect to the order and arrangement of its component parts is indicated by asterisks, which appear to be contemporary with the MS. I have, therefore, in printing the MS., followed the revised and not the original order of these lines. Again, in the hitherto unpublished portion of the MS. (ll. 1-263) I have omitted rough drafts of passages which were rewritten, either on the same page or on the reverse of the leaf. [1060:2] The words enclosed in brackets are not to be found in the text. They were either invented or adapted by Coleridge _ad hoc_. The text of the passage as a whole has been reconstructed by modern editors. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Earl Henry MR. KEMBLE Don Curio MR. C. KEMBLE Sandoval MR. BARRYMORE Alva, the Chancellor MR. AICKIN Barnard, Earl Henry's Groom of the Chamber MR. SUETT Don Fernandez MR. BANNISTER, JUN. The Governor of the State Prison MR. DAVIS Herreras (Oropeza's Uncle) and three Conspirators MESSRS. PACKER, WENTWORTH, MATHEW, and GIBBON Officers and Soldiers of Earl Henry's Regiment. The Queen of Navarre MRS. SIDDONS Donna Oropeza MRS. POWELL Mira, her attendant MISS DECAMP Aspasia, a singer MRS. CROUCH Scene, partly at the Country seat of Donna Oropeza, and partly in Pampilona [_sic_], the Capital of Navarre. THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY ACT I SCENE I. _A cultivated Plain, skirted on the Left by a Wood. The Pyrenees are visible in the distance. Small knots of Soldiers all in the military Dress of the middle Ages are seen passing across the Stage. Then_ _Enter EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL, both armed._ _Sandoval._ A delightful plain this, and doubly pleasant after so long and wearisome a descent from the Pyranees [_sic_]. Did you not observe how our poor over wearied horses mended their pace as soon as they reached it? _Earl Henry._ I must entreat your forgiveness, gallant 5 Castilian! I ought ere this to have bade you welcome to my native Navarre. _Sandoval._ Cheerily, General! Navarre has indeed but ill repaid your services, in thus recalling you from the head of an army which you yourself had collected and disciplined. 10 But the wrongs and insults which you have suffered---- _Earl Henry._ Deserve my thanks, Friend! In the sunshine of Court-favor I could only _believe_ that I loved my Queen and my Country: now I _know_ it. But why name I my Country or my Sovereign? I owe all my Wrongs to the private enmity of 15 the Chancellor. _Sandoval._ Heaven be praised, you have atchieved [_sic_] a delicious revenge upon him!--that the same Courier who brought the orders for your recall carried back with him the first tidings of your Victory--it was exquisite good fortune! 20 _Earl Henry._ Sandoval! my gallant Friend! Let me not deceive you. To you I have vowed an undisguised openness. The gloom which overcast me, was occasioned by causes of less public import. _Sandoval._ Connected, I presume, with that Mansion, the 25 spacious pleasure grounds of which we noticed as we were descending from the mountain. Lawn and Grove, River and Hillock--it looked within these high walls, like a World of itself. _Earl Henry._ This Wood scarcely conceals these high walls 30 from us. Alas! I know the place too well. . . . Nay, why too well?--But wherefore spake you, Sandoval, of this Mansion? What know you? _Sandoval._ Nothing. Therefore I spake of it. On our descent from the mountain I pointed it out to you and asked to whom 35 it belonged--you became suddenly absent, and answered me only by looks of Disturbance and Anxiety. _Earl Henry._ That Mansion once belonged to Manric [_sic_], Lord of Valdez. _Sandoval._ Alas, poor Man! the same, who had dangerous 40 claims to the Throne of Navarre. _Earl Henry._ Claims?--Say rather, pretensions--plausible only to the unreasoning Multitude. _Sandoval._ Pretensions then (_with bitterness_). _Earl Henry._ Bad as these were, the means he employed to 45 give effect to them were still worse. He trafficked with France against the independence of his Country. He was a traitor, my Friend! and died a traitor's death. His two sons suffered with him, and many, (I fear, too many) of his adherents. _Sandoval._ Earl Henry! (_a pause_) If the sentence were just, 50 why was not the execution of it public. . . . It is reported, that they were--but no! I will not believe it--the honest soul of my friend would not justify so foul a deed. _Earl Henry._ Speak plainly--what is reported? _Sandoval._ That they were all assassinated by order of the 55 new Queen. _Earl Henry._ Accursed be the hearts that framed and the tongues that scattered the Calumny!--The Queen was scarcely seated on her throne; the Chancellor, who had been her Guardian, exerted a pernicious influence over her 60 judgement--she was taught to fear dangerous commotions in the Capital, she was intreated to prevent the bloodshed of the deluded citizens, and thus overawed she reluctantly consented to permit the reinforcement of an obsolete law, and---- _Sandoval._ They were not assassinated then?---- 65 _Earl Henry._ Why these bitter tones to me, Sandoval? Can a law assassinate? Don Manrique [_sic_] and his accomplices drank the sleepy poison adjudged by that law in the State Prison at Pampilona. At that time I was with the army on the frontiers of France. 70 _Sandoval._ Had you been in the Capital---- _Earl Henry._ I would have pledged my life on the safety of a public Trial and a public Punishment. _Sandoval._ Poisoned! The Father and his Sons!--And this, Earl Henry, was the first act of that Queen, whom you idolize! 75 _Earl Henry._ No, Sandoval, No! This was not _her_ act. She roused herself from the stupor of alarm, she suspended _in opposition to the advice of her council_, all proceedings against the inferior partisans of the Conspiracy; she facilitated the escape of Don Manrique's brother, and to Donna Oropeza, his 80 daughter and only surviving child, she restored all her father's possessions, nay became herself her Protectress and Friend. These were the acts, these the first acts of my royal Mistress. _Sandoval._ And how did Donna Oropeza receive these favors? _Earl Henry._ Why ask you that? Did they not fall on her, 85 like heavenly dews? _Sandoval._ And will they not rise again, like an earthly mist? What is Gratitude opposed to Ambition, filial revenge, and Woman's rivalry--what is it but a cruel Curb in the mouth of a fiery Horse, maddening the fierce animal whom it cannot 90 restrain? Forgive me, Earl Henry! I meant not to move you so deeply. _Earl Henry._ Sandoval, you have uttered that in a waking hour which having once dreamt, I feared the return of sleep lest I should dream it over again. My Friend (_his Voice 95 trembling_) I woo'd the daughter of Don Manrique, _but_ we are interrupted. _Sandoval._ It is Fernandez. _Earl Henry (struggling with his emotions)._ A true-hearted old fellow---- 100 _Sandoval._ As splenetic as he is brave. _Enter_ FERNANDEZ. _Earl Henry._ Well, my ancient! how did you like our tour through the mountains. (_EARL HENRY sits down on the seat by the woodside._) _Fernandez._ But little, General! and my faithful charger 105 Liked it still less. The field of battle in the level plain By Fontarabia was more to our taste. _Earl Henry._ Where is my brother, Don Curio! Have you Seen him of late? _Fernandez._ Scarcely, dear General! 110 For by my troth I have been laughing at him Even till the merry tears so filled my eyes That I lost sight of him. _Sandoval._ But wherefore, Captain. _Fernandez._ He hath been studying speeches with fierce gestures; Speeches brimfull of wrath and indignation, 115 The which he hopes to vent in open council: And, in the heat and fury of this fancy He grasp'd your groom of the Chamber by the throat Who squeaking piteously, Ey! quoth your brother, I cry you Mercy, Fool! Hadst been indeed 120 The Chancellor, I should have strangled thee. _Sandoval._ Ha, ha! poor Barnard! _Fernandez._ What you know my Gentleman, My Groom of the Chamber, my Sieur Barnard, hey? _Sandoval._ I know him for a barren-pated coxcomb. _Fernandez._ But very weedy, Sir! in worthless phrases, 125 A sedulous eschewer of the popular And the colloquial--one who seeketh dignity I' th' paths of circumlocution! It would have Surpris'd you tho', to hear how nat'rally He squeak'd when Curio had him by the throat. 130 _Sandoval._ I know him too for an habitual scorner Of Truth. _Fernandez._ And one that lies more dully than Old Women dream, without pretence of fancy, Humour or mirth, a most disinterested, Gratuitous Liar. _Earl Henry._ Ho! enough, enough! 135 Spare him, I pray you, were't but from respect To the presence of his Lord. _Sandoval._ I stand reprov'd. _Fernandez._ I too, but that I know our noble General Maintains him near his person, only that If he should ever go in jeopardy 140 Of being damn'd (as he's now persecuted) For his virtue and fair sense, he may be sav'd By the supererogation of this Fellow's Folly and Worthlessness.---- _Earl Henry._ Hold, hold, good Ancient! Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145 Well, but my brother---- _Fernandez._ He will soon be here. I swear by this, my sword, dear General. I swear he has a Hero's soul--I only Wish I could communicate to him My gift of governing the spleen.--Then he 150 Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment All put in cases--O, that stirs the Soldiery. _Earl Henry._ Impetuous Boy! _Fernandez._ Nay, Fear not for them, General. The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155 _Sandoval._ Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez; 'Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it, That the five Regiments who return with you Will be dispers'd in garrisons and castles, And other Jails of honourable name. 160 So great a crime it is to have been present In duty and devotion to a Hero! _Fernandez._ What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is The Soldier's friend, and rather than not give Snug pensions to brave Men, he'll overlook 165 All small disqualifying circumstances Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb, He'll count our scars, and set them down for maims. And gain us thus all privileges and profits Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170 _Earl Henry._ 'Tis but an idle rumour--See! they come. _Enter_ BARNARD _and a number of_ Soldiers, _their Colours wound up, and the Drums in Cases, and after them_ DON CURIO. _All pay the military Honors to the General. During this time_ FERNANDEZ _has hurried up in front of the Stage_. _Enter DON CURIO._ _Don Curio (advancing to EARL HENRY)._ Has Barnard told you? Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother! (_BARNARD goes beside CURIO._) And by our Father's soul they mean to saint you, Having first prov'd your Patience more than mortal. 175 _Earl Henry._ Take heed, Don Curio! lest with greater right They scoff my Brother for a choleric boy. What insult then? _Don Curio._ Our Friend, the Chancellor, Welcomes you home, and shares the common joy In the most happy tidings of your Victory: 180 But as to your demand of instant audience From the Queen's Royal Person,--'tis rejected! _Sandoval._ Rejected? _Barnard (making a deep obeisance)._ May it please the Earl! _Earl Henry._ Speak, Barnard. _Barnard._ The noble Youth, your very valiant brother, And wise as valiant (_bowing to DON CURIO who puffs at him_) rightly doth insinuate 185 Fortune deals nothing singly--whether Honors Or Insults, whether it be Joys or Sorrows, They crowd together on us, or at best Drop in in quick succession. _Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Ne'er rains it, but it pours,' or, at the best, 190 'More sacks upon the mill.' This fellow's a Perpetual plagiarist from his Grandmother, and How slily in the parcel wraps [he] up The stolen goods! _Earl Henry._ Be somewhat briefer, Barnard. _Barnard._ But could I dare insinuate to your Brother 195 A fearless Truth, Earl Henry--it were this: Even Lucifer, Prince of the Air, hath claims Upon our justice. _Fernandez._ Give the Devil his Due! Why, thou base Lacquerer of worm-eaten proverbs, [And] wherefore dost thou not tell us at once 200 What the Chancellor said to thee? _Barnard_ (_looking round superciliously at_ FERNANDEZ). The Queen hath left the Capital affecting Rural retirement, but 'I will hasten' (Thus said the Chancellor) 'I myself will hasten And lay before her Majesty the Tidings 205 Both of Earl Henry's Victory and return. She will vouchsafe, I doubt not, to re-enter Her Capital, without delay, and grant The wish'd for Audience with all public honour.' _Don Curio._ A mere Device, I say, to pass a slight on us. 210 _Fernandez (to himself)._ To think on't. Pshaw! A fellow, that must needs Have been decreed an Ass by acclamation, Had he not looked so very like an Owl. And he to---- (_turns suddenly round, and faces BARNARD who had even then come close beside him_). Boo!----Ah! is it you, Sieur Barnard! _Barnard._ No other, Sir! _Fernandez._ And is it not reported, 215 That you once sav'd the General's life? _Barnard._ 'Tis certain! _Fernandez._ Was he asleep? And were the hunters coming And did you bite him on the nose? _Barnard._ What mean you? _Fernandez._ That was the way in which the Flea i' th' Fable Once sav'd the Lion's life. _Earl Henry._ 'Tis well. 220 The Sun hath almost finish'd his Day's Travels; We too will finish ours. Go, gallant Comrades, And at the neighbouring Mansion, for us all, Claim entertainment in your General's name. _Exeunt_ Soldiers, &c. _As they are leaving the Stage._ _Fernandez_ (_to_ BARNARD). A word with you! You act the Chancellor 225 Incomparably well. _Barnard._ Most valiant Captain, Vouchsafe a manual union. _Fernandez_ (_griping_ [sic] _his hand with affected fervor_). 'Tis no wonder, Don Curio should mistook [_sic_] you for him. _Barnard._ Truly, The Chancellor, and I, it hath been notic'd Are of one stature. _Fernandez._ And Don Curio's _Gripe_ too 230 Had lent a guttural Music to your voice, A sort of bagpipe Buz, that suited well Your dignity of utterance. _Barnard (simpering courteously)._ Don Fernandez, Few are the storms that bring unmingled evil. _Fernandez (mocking him)._ 'Tis an ill wind, that blows no good, Sieur Barnard! [_Exeunt._ 235 _DON CURIO lingering behind._ _Don Curio._ I have offended you, my brother. _Earl H._ Yes! For you've not learnt the noblest part of valour, To suffer and obey. Drums put in cases, Colours wound up--what means this Mummery? We are sunk low indeed, if wrongs like our's 240 Must seek redress in impotent Freaks of Anger. (This way, Don Sandoval) of boyish anger---- (_Walks with SANDOVAL to the back of the Stage._) _Don Curio (to himself)._ Freaks! freaks! But what if they have sav'd from bursting The swelling heart of one, whose Cup of Hope Was savagely dash'd down--even from his lips?-- 245 Permitted just to see the face of War, Then like a truant boy, scourgd home again One Field my whole Campaign! One glorious Battle To madden one with Hope!--Did he not pause Twice in the fight, and press me to his breastplate, 250 And cry, that all might hear him, Well done, brother! No blessed Soul, just naturalized in Heaven, Pac'd ever by the side of an Immortal More proudly, Henry! than I fought by thine-- Shame on these tears!--this, too, is boyish anger! [_Exit._ 255 _EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL return to the front of the stage._ _Earl Henry._ I spake more harshly to him, than need was. _Sandoval._ Observ'd you how he pull'd his beaver down-- Doubtless to hide the tears, he could not check. _Earl Henry._ Go, sooth [_sic_] him, Friend!--And having reach'd the Castle Gain Oropeza's private ear, and tell her 260 Where you have left me. (_As SANDOVAL is going_) Nay, stay awhile with me. I am too full of dreams to meet her now. _Sandoval._ You lov'd the daughter of Don Manrique? _Earl Henry._ Loved? _Sandoval._ Did you not say, you woo'd her? _Earl Henry._ Once I lov'd Her whom I dar'd not woo!---- _Sandoval._ And woo'd perchance 265 One whom you lov'd not! _Earl Henry._ O I were most base Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo'd her Hoping to heal a deeper wound: but she Met my advances with an empassion'd Pride That kindled Love with Love. And when her Sire 270 Who in his dream of Hope already grasp'd The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit, with Insult, and in memory Of ancient Feuds, pour'd Curses on my head, Her Blessings overtook and baffled them. 275 But thou art stern, and with unkindling Countenance Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. _Sandoval._ Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously. But Oropeza-- _Earl Henry._ Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, 280 Beneath the walls, which open out at length Into the gloomiest covert of the Garden.-- The night ere my departure to the Army, She, nothing trembling, led me through that gloom, And to the covert by a silent stream, 285 Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. The night so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us! No leaflet stirr'd;--yet pleasure hung upon us, The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 290 A little further on an arbor stood, Fragrant with flowering Trees--I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the Darkness Their snow-white Blossoms made--thither she led me, To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled-- 295 I heard her heart beat--if 'twere not my own. _Sandoval._ A rude and searing note, my friend! _Earl Henry._ Oh! no! I have small memory of aught but pleasure. The inquietudes of fear, like lesser Streams Still flowing, still were lost in those of Love: 300 So Love grew mightier from the Pear, and Nature, Fleeing from Pain, shelter'd herself in Joy. The stars above our heads were dim and steady, Like eyes suffus'd with rapture. Life was in us: We were all life, each atom of our Frames 305 A living soul--I vow'd to die for her: With the faint voice of one who, having spoken, Relapses into blessedness, I vow'd it: That solemn Vow, a whisper scarcely heard, A murmur breath'd against a lady's Cheek. 310 Oh! there is Joy above the name of Pleasure, Deep self-possession, an intense Repose. No other than as Eastern Sages feign, The God, who floats upon a Lotos Leaf, Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, 315 Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, Relapses into bliss. Ah! was that bliss Fear'd as an alien, and too vast for man? For suddenly, intolerant of its silence, Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. 320 I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. Thro' the dark Bower she sent a hollow voice;-- 'Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?' I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed The unity and substance of my Being, 325 I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, I would exchange my unblench'd state with hers.-- Friend! by that winding passage, to the Bower I now will go--all objects there will teach me Unwavering Love, and singleness of Heart. 330 Go, Sandoval! I am prepar'd to meet her-- Say nothing of me--I myself will seek her-- Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment And Inquisition of that scanning eye.-- [_Earl Henry retires into the wood._ _Sandoval (alone)._ O Henry! always striv'st thou to be great 335 By thine own act--yet art thou never great But by the Inspiration of great Passion. The Whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves; from Heaven to Earth they stand, As though they were the Pillars of a Temple, 340 Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! But the Blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled: the mighty Columns were but sand, And lazy Snakes trail o'er the level ruins! I know, he loves the Queen. I know she is 345 His Soul's first love, and this is ever his nature-- To his first purpose, his soul toiling back Like the poor storm-wreck'd [sailor] to his Boat, Still swept away, still struggling to regain it. [_Exit._ * * * * * _Herreras._ He dies, that stirs! Follow me this instant. 350 (First Conspirator _takes his arrow, snaps it, and throws it on the ground. The two others do the same._) _Herreras._ Accursed cowards! I'll go myself, and make sure work (_drawing his Dagger_). (HERRERAS _strides towards the arbor, before he reaches it, stops and listens and then returns hastily to the front of the stage, as he turns his Back to the Arbor_, EARL HENRY _appears, watching the_ Conspirators, _and enters the Arbor unseen_.) _First Conspirator._ Has she _seen_ us think you? _The Mask._ No! she has not _seen_ us; but she heard us distinctly. _Herreras._ There was a rustling in the wood--go, all of 355 you, stand on the watch--towards the passage. _A Voice from the Arbor._ Mercy! Mercy! Tell me, why you murder me. _Herreras._ I'll do it first. (_Strides towards the Arbor, EARL HENRY rushes out of it._) 360 _The Mask._ Jesu Maria. (_They all three fly, EARL HENRY attempts to seize HERRERAS, who defending himself retreats into the Covert follow'd by the EARL. THE QUEEN comes from out the arbor, veiled--stands listening a moment, then lifts up her veil, with folded hands assumes the attitude of Prayer, and after a momentary silence breaks into audible soliloquy._) _The Queen._ I pray'd to thee, All-wonderful! And thou Didst make my very Prayer the Instrument, By which thy Providence sav'd me. Th' armed Murderer Who with suspended breath stood listening to me, Groan'd as I spake thy name. In that same moment, 365 O God! thy Mercy shot the swift Remorse That pierc'd his Heart. And like an Elephant Gor'd as he rushes to the first assault, He turn'd at once and trampled his Employers. But hark! (_drops her veil_)--O God in Heaven! they come again. 370 (_EARL HENRY returns with the Dagger in his hand._) _Earl Henry (as he is entering)._ The violent pull with which I seiz'd his Dagger Unpois'd me and I fell. [END OF THE FRAGMENT.] LINENOTES: [After 88] in which all her wrongs will appear twofold--(or) in a mist of which her Wrongs will wander, magnified into giant shapes. MS. erased. [110] After General! And yet I have not stirred from his side. That is to say-- MS. erased. [Before 211] Fortune! Plague take her for a blind old Baggage! That such a patch as Barnard should have had The Honour to have sav'd our General's life. That Barnard! that mock-man! that clumsy forgery Of Heaven's Image. Any other heart But mine own would have turn'd splenetic to think of it. MS. erased. [269] an empassion'd S. L.: empassioned 1834. [276] unkindling] unkindly S. L., 1834. [281] open] opens S. L. [285] the] that. a] that S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L. [288] o'er] near S. L. (corr. in Errata, p. [xi]) S. L. [289-290] No leaflet stirr'd; the air was almost sultry; So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o'er us! No leaflet stirr'd, yet pleasure hung upon S. L. [310] Cheek] Ear S. L. [After 312] Deep repose of bliss we lay No other than as Eastern Sages gloss, The God who floats upon a Lotos leaf Dreams for a thousand ages, then awaking Creates a World, then loathing the dull task Relapses into blessedness, when an omen Screamed from the Watch-tower--'twas the Watchman's cry, And Oropeza starting. MS. (alternative reading). [313] feign] paint S. L. [Before 314] Sandoval (_with a sarcastic smile_) S. L. [314-16] Compare Letter to Thelwall, Oct. 16, 1797, Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 229.] [317] bliss.-- _Earl Henry._ Ah! was that bliss S. L. [319] intolerant] impatient S. L. [325] unity and] purpose and the S. L. [After 327] Even as a Herdsboy mutely plighting troth Gives his true Love a Lily for a Rose. MS. erased. [334] Inquisition] keen inquiry S. L. [Before 335] Earl Henry thou art dear to me--perchance For these follies; since the Health of Reason, Our would-be Sages teach, engenders not The Whelks and Tumours of particular Friendship. MS. erased. [339] Heaven to Earth] Earth to Heaven S. L. J CHAMOUNY; THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE A HYMN [Vide _ante_, p. 376.] [As published in _The Morning Post_, Sept. 11, 1802] Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course--so long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O Chamouny! The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base Eave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form, 5 Resist from forth thy silent sea of pines How silently! Around thee, and above, Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep, An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10 It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity. O dread and silent form! I gaz'd upon thee, Till thou, still present to my bodily eye, Did'st vanish from my thought. Entranc'd in pray'r, 15 I worshipp'd the INVISIBLE alone. Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul, E'en like some deep enchanting melody, So sweet, we know not, we are list'ning to it. But I awoke, and with a busier mind, 20 And active will self-conscious, offer now Not, as before, involuntary pray'r And passive adoration!-- Hand and voice, Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake! Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines, awake! 25 Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn! And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare, O blacker, than the darkness, all the night, And visited, all night, by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink-- 30 Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald! Wake, O wake, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? 35 Who made thee father of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad, Who call'd you forth from Night and utter Death? From darkness let you loose, and icy dens, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks 40 For ever shatter'd, and the same for ever! Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam! And who commanded, and the silence came-- 45 'Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?' Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights Adown enormous ravines steeply slope, Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! 50 Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious, as the gates of Heav'n, Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flow'rs Of living blue spread garlands at your feet? 55 GOD! GOD! The torrents like a shout of nations, Utter! The ice-plain bursts, and answers GOD! GOD, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice, And pine groves with their soft, and soul-like sound, The silent snow-mass, loos'ning, thunders GOD! 60 Ye dreadless flow'rs! that fringe th' eternal frost! Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element, 65 Utter forth, GOD! and fill the hills with praise! And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare, Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low In adoration, I again behold, And to thy summit upward from thy base 70 Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus'd by tears, Awake, thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud! Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! Thou kingly spirit thron'd among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heav'n-- 75 Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun, Earth with her thousand voices calls on God! +ESTÊSE.+ K DEJECTION: AN ODE[1076:1] [Vide _ante_, p. 362.] [As first printed in the _Morning Post_, October 4, 1802.] "Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon With the Old Moon in her arms; And I fear, I fear, my Master dear, We shall have a deadly storm."[1076:2] BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE. LINENOTES: Motto_--2 Moon] one Letter to S. [4] There will be, &c. Letter to S. DEJECTION: AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802. I Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand Old ballad of SIR PATRICK SPENCE, This night; so tranquil now, will not go hence Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those, which mould yon cloud, in lazy flakes, 5 Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and rakes Upon the strings of this Oeolian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the New Moon, winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, 10 (With swimming phantom light o'erspread, But rimm'd and circled by a silver thread) I see the Old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming on of rain and squally blast: And O! that even now the gust were swelling, 15 And the slant night-show'r driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have rais'd me, while they aw'd, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20 II A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief, Which finds no nat'ral outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear-- O EDMUND! in this wan and heartless mood, 25 To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the Western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow-green: And still I gaze--and with how blank an eye! 30 And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them, or between, Now sparkling, now bedimm'd, but always seen; Yon crescent moon, as fix'd as if it grew, 35 In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue, A boat becalm'd! a lovely sky-canoe! I see them all so excellently fair-- I _see_, not _feel_ how beautiful they are! III My genial spirits fail; 40 And what can these avail, To lift the smoth'ring weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: 45 I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. IV O EDMUND! we receive but what we give, And in _our_ life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! 50 And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world, _allow'd_ To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth, A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 55 Enveloping the earth-- And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element! O pure of heart! Thou need'st not ask of me 60 What this strong music in the soul may be? What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making pow'r? Joy, virtuous EDMUND! joy that ne'er was given, 65 Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, Joy, EDMUND! is the spirit and the pow'r, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dow'r, A new Earth and new Heaven, Undream'd of by the sensual and the proud-- 70 JOY is the sweet voice, JOY the luminous cloud-- We, we ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light. 75 Yes, dearest EDMUND, yes! There was a time that, tho' my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence fancy made me dreams of happiness: 80 For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem'd mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth: Nor care I, that they rob me of my mirth, But oh! each visitation 85 Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, My shaping spirit of imagination. [The Sixth and Seventh Stanzas omitted.] * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * VIII O wherefore did I let it haunt my mind This dark distressful dream? I turn from it, and listen to the wind 90 Which long has rav'd unnotic'd. What a scream Of agony, by torture, lengthen'd out, That lute sent forth! O wind, that rav'st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn[1079:1], or blasted tree, Or pine-grove, whither woodman never clomb, 95 Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, Mad Lutanist! who, in this month of show'rs, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flow'rs, Mak'st devil's yule, with worse than wintry song, 100 The blossoms, buds, and tim'rous leaves among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty Poet, ev'n to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? 'Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, 105 With many groans of men, with smarting wounds-- At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings--all is over! 110 It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud-- A tale of less affright. And temper'd with delight, As EDMUND'S self had fram'd the tender lay-- 'Tis of a little child, 115 Upon a lonesome wild Not far from home; but she hath lost her way-- And now moans low, in utter grief and fear; And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother _hear_! IX 'Tis midnight, and small thoughts have I of sleep; 120 Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit him, gentle Sleep, with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above his dwelling, Silent, as though they _watch'd_ the sleeping Earth! 125 With light heart may he rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, And sing his lofty song, and teach me to rejoice! O EDMUND, friend of my devoutest choice, O rais'd from anxious dread and busy care, 130 By the immenseness of the good and fair Which thou see'st everywhere, Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice, To thee do all things live from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of thy living soul! 135 O simple spirit, guided from above, O lofty Poet, full of life and love, Brother and friend of my devoutest choice, Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice! +ESTÊSE.+ FOOTNOTES: [1076:1] Collated with the text of the poem as sent to W. Sotheby in a letter dated July 19, 1802 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 379-84). [1076:2] In the letter of July 19, 1802, the Ode is broken up and quoted in parts or fragments, illustrative of the mind and feelings of the writer. 'Sickness,' he explains, 'first forced me into _downright metaphysics_. For I believe that by nature I have more of the poet in me. In a poem written during that dejection, to Wordsworth, I thus expressed the thought in language more forcible than harmonious.' Then follow lines 76-87 of the text, followed by lines 87-98 of the text first published in _Sibylline Leaves_ ('For not to think of what I needs must feel,' &c.). He then reverts to the 'introduction of the poem':--'The first lines allude to a stanza in the Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence: "Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon with the old one in her arms: and I fear, I fear, my master dear, there will be a deadly Storm."' This serves as a motto to lines 1-75 and 129-39 of the first draft of the text. Finally he 'annexes as a _fragment_ a few lines (ll. 88-119) on the "Oeolian Lute", it having been introduced in its dronings in the first stanzas.' [1079:1] Tairn, a small lake, generally, if not always, applied to the lakes up in the mountains, and which are the feeders of those in the vallies. This address to the wind will not appear extravagant to those who have heard it at night, in a mountainous country. [Note in _M. P._] LINENOTES: [2] grand] dear Letter to S. [5] those] that Letter to S. cloud] clouds Letter to S. [12] by] with Letter to S. [17-20] om. Letter to S. [22] stifled] stifling Letter to S. [Between 24 and 25] This William, well thou knowest, Is that sore evil which I dread the most, And oftnest suffer. In this heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, That pipes within the larch-tree, not unseen, The larch, that pushes out in tassels green Its bundled leafits, woo'd to mild delights, By all the tender sounds and gentle sights, Of this sweet primrose-month, and vainly woo'd O dearest Poet, in this heartless mood. Letter to S. [37] a lovely sky-canoe] thy own sweet sky-canoe Letter to S. [_Note._ The reference is to the Prologue to 'Peter Bell'.] [48] Edmund] Wordsworth Letter to S. [58] potent] powerful Letter to S. [65] virtuous Edmund] blameless poet Letter to S. [67] Edmund] William Letter to S. [71] om. Letter to S. [74] the echoes] an echo Letter to S. [76] Edmund] poet Letter to S. [77] that] when Letter to S. [78] This] The Letter to S. [82] fruits] fruit Letter to S. After 87 six lines 'For not to think', &c., are inserted after a row of asterisks. The direction as to the omission of the Sixth and Seventh Stanzas is only found in the M. P. [88] O] Nay Letter to S. [93] That lute sent out! O thou wild storm without Letter to S. [98] who] that Letter to S. [106] of] from Letter to S. [109] Again! but all that noise Letter to S. [111] And it has other sounds, less fearful and less loud Letter to S. [114] Edmund's self] thou thyself Letter to S. [120-8] om. Letter to S. [129-39] Calm steadfast spirit, guided from above, O Wordsworth! friend of my devoutest choice, Great son of genius! full of light and love, Thus, thus, dost thou rejoice. To thee do all things live, from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of thy living Soul! Brother and friend of my devoutest choice, Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice! Letter to S. [_Note._ In the letter these lines follow line 75 of the text of the _M. P._] L TO W. WORDSWORTH[1081:1] (_Vide ante_, p. 403.) LINES COMPOSED, FOR THE GREATER PART ON THE NIGHT, ON WHICH HE FINISHED THE RECITATION OF HIS POEM (IN THIRTEEN BOOKS) CONCERNING THE GROWTH AND HISTORY OF HIS OWN MIND JAN{RY}, 1807. COLE-ORTON, NEAR ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. O friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me! Into my heart have I receiv'd that Lay, More than historic, that prophetic Lay, Wherein (high theme by Thee first sung aright) Of the Foundations and the Building-up 5 Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov'd to tell What may be told, to th' understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high! Of Smiles spontaneous, and mysterious Feard; 10 (The First-born they of Reason, and Twin-birth) Of Tides obedient to external Force, And _currents_ self-determin'd, as might seem, Or by interior Power: of Moments aweful, Now in thy hidden Life; and now abroad, 15 Mid festive Crowds, _thy_ Brows too garlanded, A Brother of the Feast: of _Fancies_ fair, Hyblæan Murmurs of poetic Thought, Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! 20 Of more than Fancy, of the Hope of Man Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow-- Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating, Ev'n as a Bark becalm'd on sultry seas Beneath the voice from Heaven, the bursting Crash 25 Of Heaven's immediate thunder! when no Cloud Is visible, or Shadow on the Main! Ah! soon night roll'd on night, and every Cloud Open'd its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft Now flutter'd, and now toss'd upon the Storm 30 Floating! Of Hope afflicted, and struck down, Thence summon'd homeward--homeward to thy Heart, Oft from the Watch-tower of Man's absolute Self, With Light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on--herself a Glory to behold, 35 The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain!) Of _Duty_, chosen Laws controlling choice, Virtue and Love! An Orphic Tale indeed, A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts To their own music chaunted! Ah great Bard! 40 Ere yet that last Swell dying aw'd the Air, With stedfast ken I view'd thee in the Choir Of ever-enduring Men. The truly Great Have all one Age, and from one visible space Shed influence: for they, both power and act, 45 Are permanent, and Time is not with them, Save as it worketh for them, they in it. Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, And to be plac'd, as they, with gradual fame Among the Archives of mankind, thy Work 50 Makes audible a linked Song of Truth, Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song Not learnt, but native, her own natural Notes! Dear shall it be to every human Heart. To me how more than dearest! Me, on whom 55 Comfort from Thee and utterance of thy Love Came with such heights and depths of Harmony Such sense of Wings uplifting, that the Storm Scatter'd and whirl'd me, till my Thoughts became A bodily Tumult! and thy faithful Hopes, 60 Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice Familiar once and more than musical To one cast forth, whose hope had seem'd to die, A Wanderer with a worn-out heart, [_sic_] 65 Mid Strangers pining with untended Wounds! O Friend! too well thou know'st, of what sad years The long suppression had benumb'd my soul, That even as Life returns upon the Drown'd, Th' unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains-- 70 Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe, Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart: And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye of Hope, And Hope, that would not know itself from Fear: Sense of pass'd Youth, and Manhood come in vain; 75 And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain; And all, which I had cull'd in Wood-walks wild, And all, which patient Toil had rear'd, and all, Commune with Thee had open'd out, but Flowers Strew'd on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier, 80 In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave! That way no more! and ill beseems it me, Who came a Welcomer in Herald's guise Singing of Glory and Futurity, To wander back on such unhealthful Road 85 Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm! and ill Such Intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths Strew'd before thy Advancing! Thou too, Friend! O injure not the memory of that Hour Of thy communion with my nobler mind 90 By pity or grief, already felt too long! Nor let my words import more blame than needs. The Tumult rose and ceas'd: for Peace is nigh Where Wisdom's Voice has found a list'ning Heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry Storms 95 The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal Hours, Already on the wing! Eve following eve, Dear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of Home Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail'd, And more desir'd, more precious, for thy song! 100 In silence list'ning, like a devout Child, My soul lay passive; by thy various strain Driven as in surges now, beneath the stars, With momentary Stars of my own Birth, Fair constellated Foam still darting off 105 Into the darkness! now a tranquil Sea Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon! And when O Friend! my Comforter! my Guide! Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength! Thy long sustained Lay finally clos'd, 110 And thy deep Voice had ceas'd (yet thou thyself Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both That happy Vision of beloved Faces! All, whom I deepliest love, in one room all!), Scarce conscious and yet conscious of it's Close, 115 I sate, my Being blended in one Thought, (Thought was it? or aspiration? or Resolve?) Absorb'd, yet hanging still upon the sound: And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer! S. T. COLERIDGE. FOOTNOTES: [1081:1] Now first printed from an original MS. in the possession of Mr. Gordon Wordsworth. LINENOTES: [37] controlling] ? impelling, ? directing. M YOUTH AND AGE [Vide _ante_, p. 439.] _MS. I_ 10 SEPT. 1823. WEDNESDAY MORNING, 10 O'CLOCK On the Tenth Day of September, Eighteen hundred Twenty Three, Wednesday morn, and I remember Ten on the Clock the Hour to be [_The Watch and Clock do both agree_] 5 An _Air_ that whizzed +dia enkephalou+ (right across the diameter of my Brain) exactly like a Hummel Bee, _alias_ Dumbeldore, the gentleman with Rappee Spenser (_sic_), with bands of Red, and Orange Plush Breeches, close by my ear, at once sharp and burry, right over the summit of Quantock [item of Skiddaw 10 (_erased_)] at earliest Dawn just between the Nightingale that I stopt to hear in the Copse at the Foot of Quantock, and the first Sky-Lark that was a Song-Fountain, dashing up and sparkling to the Ear's eye, in full column, or ornamented Shaft of sound in the order of Gothic Extravaganza, out of Sight, over 15 the Cornfields on the Descent of the Mountain on the other side--out of sight, tho' twice I beheld its _mute_ shoot downward in the sunshine like a falling star of silver:-- ARIA SPONTANEA Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like, Friendship is a shelt'ring tree-- 20 O the Joys, that came down shower-like, Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty, When I was young, ere I was old! [_O Youth that wert so glad, so bold, What quaint disguise hast thou put on? 25 Would'st make-believe that thou art gone? O Youth! thy Vesper Bell_] has not yet toll'd. Thou always were a Masker bold-- What quaint Disguise hast now put on? To make believe that thou art gone! 30 O Youth, so true, so fair, so free, Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd, Thou always, &c. * * * * * Ah! was it not enough, that Thou In Thy eternal Glory should outgo me? 35 Would'st thou not Grief's sad Victory allow * * * * * Hope's a Breeze that robs the Blossoms Fancy feeds, and murmurs the Bee---- * * * * * _MS. II_ 1 Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying Where Hope clings feeding like a Bee. Both were mine: Life went a Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young. _When_ I was young! ah woeful When! Ah for the Change twixt now and then! This House of Life, not built with hands Where now I sigh, where once I sung. _Or_ [This snail-like House, not built with hands, This Body that does me grievous wrong.] O'er Hill and dale and sounding Sands. How lightly then it flash'd along-- Like those trim Boats, unknown of yore, On Winding Lakes and Rivers wide, That ask no aid of Sail or Oar, That fear no spite of Wind or Tide. Pencil { Nought car'd this Body for wind or weather, { When youth and I liv'd in't together. 2 Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering Tree; O the joys that came down shower-like Of Beauty, Truth and Liberty When I was young 5 _When_ I was young, [*ah woeful when*] [*Ah for the change twixt now and then*] In Heat or Frost we car'd not whether Night and day we lodged together woeful when When I was young--ah [*words of agony*] 10 Ah for the change 'twixt now and then [*O youth my Home-Mate dear so long, so long:*] I thought that thou and I were one I scarce believe that thou art gone Thou always wert a Masker bold I [*mark that change,*] in garb and size 15 heave the Breath Those grisled Locks I well behold But still thy Heart is in thine eyes What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone _Or_ [O youth for years so many so sweet 20 It seem'd that Thou and I were one That still I nurse the fond deceit And scarce believe that thou art gone] When I was young--ere I was old Ah! happy ere, ah! woeful When 25 When I was young, ah woeful when Which says that Youth and I are twain! O Youth! for years so many and sweet 'Tis known that Thou and I were one I'll think it but a false conceit 30 [*Tis but a gloomy*] It cannot be, [*I'll not believe*] that thou art gone Thy Vesper Bell has not yet toll'd always [*And*] thou wert [*still*] a masker bold What hast [*Some*] strange disguise [*thou'st*] now put on To make believe that thou art gone? 35 I see these Locks in silvery slips, This dragging gait, this alter'd size But spring-tide blossoms on thy Lips And [*the young Heart*] is in thy eyes tears take sunshine from Life is but Thought so think I will 40 That Youth and I are Housemates still. Ere I was old Ere I was old! ah woeful ere Which tells me youth's no longer here! O Youth, &c. 45 Dewdrops are the Gems of Morning, But the Tears of mournful Eve: Where no Hope is Life's a Warning me That only serves to make [*us*] grieve, Now I am old. 50 N LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT[1087:1] [Vide _ante_, p. 488.] [FIRST DRAFT] In vain I supplicate the Powers above; There is no Resurrection for the Love That, nursed with tenderest care, yet fades away In the chilled heart by inward self-decay. Like a lorn Arab old and blind 5 Some caravan had left behind That sits beside a ruined Well, And hangs his wistful head aslant, Some sound he fain would catch-- Suspended there, as it befell, 10 O'er my own vacancy, And while I seemed to watch The sickly calm, as were of heart A place where Hope lay dead, The spirit of departed Love 15 Stood close beside my bed. She bent methought to kiss my lips As she was wont to do. Alas! 'twas with a chilling breath That awoke just enough of life in death 20 To make it die anew. FOOTNOTES: [1087:1] Now first published from an MS. O TWO VERSIONS OF THE EPITAPH[1088:1] INSCRIBED IN A COPY OF GREW'S _Cosmologia Sacra_ (1701) [Vide _ante_, p. 491.] 1 Epitaph in Hornsey Church yard Hic Jacet S. T. C. Stop, Christian Passer-by! Stop, Child of God! And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod There lies a Poet: or what once was He. [_Up_] O lift thy soul in prayer for S. T. C. That He who many a year with toil of breath 5 Found death in life, may here find life in death. Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame He ask'd, and hoped thro' Christ. Do thou the same. 2 ETESI'S [for Estesi's] Epitaph. Stop, Christian Visitor! Stop, Child of God, Here lies a Poet: or what once was He! [_O_] Pause, Traveller, pause and pray for S. T. C. That He who many a year with toil of Breath Found Death in Life, may here find Life in Death. 5 And read with gentle heart! Beneath this sod There lies a Poet, etc. 'Inscription on the Tomb-stone of one not unknown; yet more commonly known by the Initials of his Name than by the Name itself.' ESTEESE'S +autoepitaphion+[1089:1] (From a copy of the _Todten-Tanz_ which belonged to Thomas Poole.) Here lies a Poet; or what once was he: Pray, gentle Reader, pray for S. T. C. That he who threescore years, with toilsome breath, Found Death in Life, may now find Life in Death. FOOTNOTES: [1088:1] First published in _The Athenaeum_, April 7, 1888: included in the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 645). [1089:1] First published in the _Notes_ to 1893 (p. 646). P [HABENT SUA FATA--POETAE][1089:2] The Fox, and Statesman subtile wiles ensure, The Cit, and Polecat stink and are secure; Toads with their venom, doctors with their drug, The Priest, and Hedgehog, in their robes are snug! Oh, Nature! cruel step-mother, and hard, 5 To thy poor, naked, fenceless child the Bard! No Horns but those by luckless Hymen worn, And those (alas! alas!) not Plenty's Horn! With naked feelings, and with aching pride, He hears th' unbroken blast on every side! 10 Vampire Booksellers drain him to the heart, And Scorpion Critics cureless venom dart! FOOTNOTES: [1089:2] First published in Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1839, i. 172. Now collected for the first time. These lines, according to Cottle, were included in a letter written from Lichfield in January, 1796. They illustrate the following sentence: 'The present hour I seem in a quickset hedge of embarrassments! For shame! I ought not to mistrust God! but, indeed, to hope is far more difficult than to fear. Bulls have horns, Lions have talons.'--They are signed 'S. T. C.' and are presumably his composition. Q TO JOHN THELWALL[1090:1] Some, Thelwall! to the Patriot's meed aspire, Who, in safe rage, without or rent or scar, Bound pictur'd strongholds sketching mimic war Closet their valour--Thou mid thickest fire Leapst on the wall: therefore shall Freedom choose 5 Ungaudy flowers that chastest odours breathe, And weave for thy young locks a Mural wreath; Nor there my song of grateful praise refuse. My ill-adventur'd youth by Cam's slow stream Pin'd for a woman's love in slothful ease: 10 First by thy fair example [taught] to glow With patriot zeal; from Passion's feverish dream Starting I tore disdainful from my brow A Myrtle Crown inwove with Cyprian bough-- Blest if to me in manhood's years belong 15 Thy stern simplicity and vigorous Song. FOOTNOTES: [1090:1] Now first published from Cottle's MSS. in the Library of Rugby School. R[1090:2] 'Relative to a Friend remarkable for Georgoepiscopal Meanderings, and the combination of the _utile dulci_ during his walks to and from any given place, composed, together with a book and a half of an Epic Poem, during one of the _Halts_:-- 'Lest after this life it should prove my sad story That my soul must needs go to the Pope's Purgatory, Many prayers have I sighed, May T. P. * * * * be my guide, For so often he'll halt, and so lead me about, That e'er we get there, thro' earth, sea, or air, The last Day will have come, and the Fires have burnt out. 'JOB JUNIOR. '_circumbendiborum patientissimus_.' FOOTNOTES: [1090:2] Endorsed by T. P.: 'On my Walks. Written by Coleridge, September, 1807.' First published _Thomas Poole and His Friends_, by Mrs. Henry Sandford, 1888, ii. 196. APPENDIX II ALLEGORIC VISION[1091:1] A feeling of sadness, a peculiar melancholy, is wont to take possession of me alike in Spring and in Autumn. But in Spring it is the melancholy of Hope: in Autumn it is the melancholy of Resignation. As I was journeying on foot through the Appennine, I fell in with a pilgrim in whom the Spring and 5 the Autumn and the Melancholy of both seemed to have combined. In his discourse there were the freshness and the colours of April: Qual ramicel a ramo, Tal da pensier pensiero 10 In lui germogliava. But as I gazed on his whole form and figure, I bethought me of the not unlovely decays, both of age and of the late season, in the stately elm, after the clusters have been plucked from its entwining vines, and the vines are as bands of dried withies 15 around its trunk and branches. Even so there was a memory on his smooth and ample forehead, which blended with the dedication of his steady eyes, that still looked--I know not, whether upward, or far onward, or rather to the line of meeting where the sky rests upon the distance. But how may I express 20 that dimness of abstraction which lay on the lustre of the pilgrim's eyes like the flitting tarnish from the breath of a sigh on a silver mirror! and which accorded with their slow and reluctant movement, whenever he turned them to any object on the right hand or on the left? It seemed, methought, as 25 if there lay upon the brightness a shadowy presence of disappointments now unfelt, but never forgotten. It was at once the melancholy of hope and of resignation. We had not long been fellow-travellers, ere a sudden tempest of wind and rain forced us to seek protection in the vaulted 30 door-way of a lone chapelry; and we sate face to face each on the stone bench alongside the low, weather-stained wall, and as close as possible to the massy door. After a pause of silence: even thus, said he, like two strangers that have fled to the same shelter from the same storm, not 35 seldom do Despair and Hope meet for the first time in the porch of Death! All extremes meet, I answered; but yours was a strange and visionary thought. The better then doth it beseem both the place and me, he replied. From a Visionary wilt thou hear a Vision? Mark that vivid flash through this 40 torrent of rain! Fire and water. Even here thy adage holds true, and its truth is the moral of my Vision. I entreated him to proceed. Sloping his face toward the arch and yet averting his eye from it, he seemed to seek and prepare his words: till listening to the wind that echoed within the hollow edifice, 45 and to the rain without, Which stole on his thoughts with its two-fold sound, The clash hard by and the murmur all round,[1092:1] he gradually sank away, alike from me and from his own purpose, and amid the gloom of the storm and in the duskiness of that 50 place, he sate like an emblem on a rich man's sepulchre, or like a mourner on the sodded grave of an only one--an aged mourner, who is watching the waned moon and sorroweth not. Starting at length from his brief trance of abstraction, with courtesy and an atoning smile he renewed his discourse, and commenced his 55 parable. During one of those short furloughs from the service of the body, which the soul may sometimes obtain even in this its militant state, I found myself in a vast plain, which I immediately knew to be the Valley of Life. It possessed an 60 astonishing diversity of soils: here was a sunny spot, and there a dark one, forming just such a mixture of sunshine and shade, as we may have observed on the mountains' side in an April day, when the thin broken clouds are scattered over heaven. Almost in the very entrance of the valley stood 65 a large and gloomy pile, into which I seemed constrained to enter. Every part of the building was crowded with tawdry ornaments and fantastic deformity. On every window was portrayed, in glaring and inelegant colours, some horrible tale, or preternatural incident, so that not a ray of light could enter, 70 untinged by the medium through which it passed. The body of the building was full of people, some of them dancing, in and out, in unintelligible figures, with strange ceremonies and antic merriment, while others seemed convulsed with horror, or pining in mad melancholy. Intermingled with these, I observed 75 a number of men, clothed in ceremonial robes, who appeared now to marshal the various groups, and to direct their movements; and now with menacing countenances, to drag some reluctant victim to a vast idol, framed of iron bars intercrossed, which formed at the same time an immense cage, and the shape 80 of a human Colossus. I stood for a while lost in wonder what these things might mean; when lo! one of the directors came up to me, and with a stern and reproachful look bade me uncover my head, for that the place into which I had entered was the temple of 85 the only true Religion, in the holier recesses of which the great Goddess personally resided. Himself too he bade me reverence, as the consecrated minister of her rites. Awestruck by the name of Religion, I bowed before the priest, and humbly and earnestly intreated him to conduct me into her presence. 90 He assented. Offerings he took from me, with mystic sprinklings of water and with salt he purified, and with strange sufflations he exorcised me; and then led me through many a dark and winding alley, the dew-damps of which chilled my flesh, and the hollow echoes under my feet, mingled, methought, 95 with moanings, affrighted me. At length we entered a large hall, without window, or spiracle, or lamp. The asylum and dormitory it seemed of perennial night--only that the walls were brought to the eye by a number of self-luminous inscriptions in letters of a pale sepulchral light, which held strange neutrality 100 with the darkness, on the verge of which it kept its rayless vigil. I could read them, methought; but though each of the words taken separately I seemed to understand, yet when I took them in sentences, they were riddles and incomprehensible. As I stood meditating on these hard sayings, my guide thus addressed 105 me--'Read and believe: these are mysteries!'--At the extremity of the vast hall the Goddess was placed. Her features, blended with darkness, rose out to my view, terrible, yet vacant. I prostrated myself before her, and then retired with my guide, soul-withered, and wondering, and dissatisfied. 110 As I re-entered the body of the temple I heard a deep buzz as of discontent. A few whose eyes were bright, and either piercing or steady, and whose ample foreheads, with the weighty bar, ridge-like, above the eyebrows, bespoke observation followed by meditative thought; and a much larger number, who were 115 enraged by the severity and insolence of the priests in exacting their offerings, had collected in one tumultuous group, and with a confused outcry of 'This is the Temple of Superstition!' after much contumely, and turmoil, and cruel maltreatment on all sides, rushed out of the pile: and I, methought, joined them. 120 We speeded from the Temple with hasty steps, and had now nearly gone round half the valley, when we were addressed by a woman, tall beyond the stature of mortals, and with a something more than human in her countenance and mien, which yet could by mortals be only felt, not conveyed by words or 125 intelligibly distinguished. Deep reflection, animated by ardent feelings, was displayed in them: and hope, without its uncertainty, and a something more than all these, which I understood not, but which yet seemed to blend all these into a divine unity of expression. Her garments were white and matronly, and of 130 the simplest texture. We inquired her name. 'My name,' she replied, 'is Religion.' The more numerous part of our company, affrighted by the very sound, and sore from recent impostures or sorceries, hurried onwards and examined no farther. A few of us, struck 135 by the manifest opposition of her form and manners to those of the living Idol, whom we had so recently abjured, agreed to follow her, though with cautious circumspection. She led us to an eminence in the midst of the valley, from the top of which we could command the whole plain, and observe the relation of 140 the different parts to each other, and of each to the whole, and of all to each. She then gave us an optic glass which assisted without contradicting our natural vision, and enabled us to see far beyond the limits of the Valley of Life; though our eye even thus assisted permitted us only to behold a light and 145 a glory, but what we could not descry, save only that it was, and that it was most glorious. And now with the rapid transition of a dream, I had overtaken and rejoined the more numerous party, who had abruptly left us, indignant at the very name of religion. They journied 150 on, goading each other with remembrances of past oppressions, and never looking back, till in the eagerness to recede from the Temple of Superstition they had rounded the whole circle of the valley. And lo! there faced us the mouth of a vast cavern, at the base of a lofty and almost perpendicular rock, the interior 155 side of which, unknown to them and unsuspected, formed the extreme and backward wall of the Temple. An impatient crowd, we entered the vast and dusky cave, which was the only perforation of the precipice. At the mouth of the cave sate two figures; the first, by her dress and gestures, I knew to be 160 Sensuality; the second form, from the fierceness of his demeanour, and the brutal scornfulness of his looks, declared himself to be the monster Blasphemy. He uttered big words, and yet ever and anon I observed that he turned pale at his own courage. We entered. Some remained in the opening of the 165 cave, with the one or the other of its guardians. The rest, and I among them, pressed on, till we reached an ample chamber, that seemed the centre of the rock. The climate of the place was unnaturally cold. In the furthest distance of the chamber sate an old dim-eyed 170 man, poring with a microscope over the torso of a statue which had neither basis, nor feet, nor head; but on its breast was carved Nature! To this he continually applied his glass, and seemed enraptured with the various inequalities which it rendered visible on the seemingly polished surface of the 175 marble.--Yet evermore was this delight and triumph followed by expressions of hatred, and vehement railing against a Being, who yet, he assured us, had no existence. This mystery suddenly recalled to me what I had read in the holiest recess of the temple of Superstition. The old man spake in divers 180 tongues, and continued to utter other and most strange mysteries. Among the rest he talked much and vehemently concerning an infinite series of causes and effects, which he explained to be a string of blind men, the last of whom caught hold of the skirt of the one before him, he of the next, 185 and so on till they were all out of sight; and that they all walked infallibly straight, without making one false step though all were alike blind. Methought I borrowed courage from surprise, and asked him--Who then is at the head to guide them? He looked at me with ineffable contempt, not 190 unmixed with an angry suspicion, and then replied, 'No one.' The string of blind men went on for ever without any beginning; for although one blind man could not move without stumbling, yet infinite blindness supplied the want of sight. I burst into laughter, which instantly turned to terror--for as he started 195 forward in rage, I caught a glimpse of him from behind; and lo! I beheld a monster bi-form and Janus-headed, in the hinder face and shape of which I instantly recognised the dread countenance of Superstition--and in the terror I awoke. FOOTNOTES: [1091:1] First published in _The Courier_, Saturday, August 31, 1811: included in 1829, 1834-5, &c. (3 vols.), and in 1844 (1 vol.). Lines 1-56 were first published as part of the 'Introduction' to _A Lay Sermon, &c._, 1817, pp. xix-xxxi. The 'Allegoric Vision' dates from August, 1795. It served as a kind of preface or prologue to Coleridge's first Theological Lecture on 'The Origin of Evil. The Necessity of Revelation deduced from the Nature of Man. An Examination and Defence of the Mosaic Dispensation' (see Cottle's _Early Recollections_, 1837, i. 27). The purport of these Lectures was to uphold the golden mean of Unitarian orthodoxy as opposed to the Church on the one hand, and infidelity or materialism on the other. 'Superstition' stood for and symbolized the Church of England. Sixteen years later this opening portion of an unpublished Lecture was rewritten and printed in _The Courier_ (Aug. 31, 1811), with the heading 'An Allegoric Vision: Superstition, Religion, Atheism'. The attack was now diverted from the Church of England to the Church of Rome. 'Men clad in black robes,' intent on gathering in their Tenths, become 'men clothed in ceremonial robes, who with menacing countenances drag some reluctant victim to a vast idol, framed of iron bars intercrossed which formed at the same time an immense cage, and yet represented the form of a human Colossus. At the base of the Statue I saw engraved the words "To Dominic holy and merciful, the preventer and avenger of soul-murder".' The vision was turned into a political _jeu d'esprit_ levelled at the aiders and abettors of Catholic Emancipation, a measure to which Coleridge was more or less opposed as long as he lived. See _Constitution of Church and State_, 1830, _passim_. A third adaptation of the 'Allegorical Vision' was affixed to the Introduction to _A Lay Sermon: Addressed to the Higher and Middle Classes_, which was published in 1817. The first fifty-six lines, which contain a description of Italian mountain scenery, were entirely new, but the rest of the 'Vision' is an amended and softened reproduction of the preface to the Lecture of 1795. The moral he desires to point is the 'falsehood of extremes'. As Religion is the golden mean between Superstition and Atheism, so the righteous government of a righteous people is the mean between a selfish and oppressive aristocracy, and seditious and unbridled mob-rule. A probable 'Source' of the first draft of the 'Vision' is John Aikin's _Hill of Science, A Vision_, which was included in _Elegant Extracts_, 1794, ii. 801. In the present issue the text of 1834 has been collated with that of 1817 and 1829, but not (exhaustively) with the MS. (1795), or at all with the _Courier_ version of 1811. [1092:1] From the _Ode to the Rain_, 1802, ll. 15-16:-- O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, The clash hard by, and the murmur all round! LINENOTES: [21-3] --the breathed tarnish, shall I name it?--on the lustre of the pilgrim's eyes? Yet had it not a sort of strange accordance with 1817. [37] Compare: like strangers shelt'ring from a storm, Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death! _Constancy to an Ideal Object_, p. 456. [39] VISIONARY 1817, 1829. [40] VISION 1817, 1829. [49] sank] sunk 1817. [51-2] _or like_ an aged mourner on the sodden grave of an only one--a mourner, _who_ 1817. [57-9] It was towards morning when the Brain begins to reassume its waking state, and our dreams approach to the regular trains of Reality, that I found MS. 1795. [60] VALLEY OF LIFE 1817, 1829. [61] and here was 1817, 1829. [63] mountains' side] Hills MS. 1795. [75-86] intermingled with all these I observed a great number of men in Black Robes who appeared now marshalling the various Groups and now collecting with scrupulous care the Tenths of everything that grew within their reach. I stood wondering a while what these Things might be when one of these men approached me and with a reproachful Look bade me uncover my Head for the Place into which I had entered was the Temple of _Religion_. MS. 1795. [80] shape] form 1817. [92-3] of water he purified me, and then led MS. 1795. [94-9] chilled and its hollow echoes beneath my feet affrighted me, till at last we entered a large Hall where not even a Lamp glimmered. Around its walls I observed a number of phosphoric Inscriptions MS. 1795. [96-102] _large hall_ where not even a single lamp glimmered. It was made half visible by the wan phosphoric rays which proceeded from inscriptions on the walls, in letters of the same pale and sepulchral light. I could read them, methought; but though each one of the _words_ 1817. [106] _me_. The fallible becomes infallible, and the infallible remains fallible. Read and believe: these are MYSTERIES! In the middle of _the vast_ 1817. [106] MYSTERIES 1829. [108] _vacant_. No definite thought, no distinct image was afforded me: all was uneasy and obscure feeling. I _prostrated_ 1817. [118] SUPERSTITION 1817. [132] RELIGION 1817, 1829. [141] _parts_ of each to the other, _and of_ 1817, 1829. [146] _was_ 1817, 1829. [161] SENSUALITY 1817, 1829. [163] BLASPHEMY 1817, 1829. [173] NATURE 1817, 1829. [180] _Superstition_ 1817, 1829. spake] spoke 1817, 1829. [196] glimpse] glance 1817, 1829. [199] SUPERSTITION 1817, 1829. APPENDIX III [Vide _ante_ p. 237.] APOLOGETIC PREFACE TO 'FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER'[1097:1] At the house of a gentleman[1097:2] who by the principles and corresponding virtues of a sincere Christian consecrates a cultivated genius and the favourable accidents of birth, opulence, and splendid connexions, it was my good fortune to meet, in a dinner-party, with more men of celebrity in science or polite 5 literature than are commonly found collected round the same table. In the course of conversation, one of the party reminded an illustrious poet [Scott], then present, of some verses which he had recited that morning, and which had appeared in a newspaper under the name of a War-Eclogue, in which Fire, 10 Famine, and Slaughter were introduced as the speakers. The gentleman so addressed replied, that he was rather surprised that none of us should have noticed or heard of the poem, as it had been, at the time, a good deal talked of in Scotland. It may be easily supposed that my feelings were at this moment 15 not of the most comfortable kind. Of all present, one only [Sir H. Davy] knew, or suspected me to be the author; a man who would have established himself in the first rank of England's living poets[1097:3], if the Genius of our country had not decreed that he should rather be the first in the first rank of its philosophers 20 and scientific benefactors. It appeared the general wish to hear the lines. As my friend chose to remain silent, I chose to follow his example, and Mr. . . . . [Scott] recited the poem. This he could do with the better grace, being known to have ever been not only a firm and active Anti-Jacobin and 25 Anti-Gallican, but likewise a zealous admirer of Mr. Pitt, both as a good man and a great statesman. As a poet exclusively, he had been amused with the Eclogue; as a poet he recited it; and in a spirit which made it evident that he would have read and repeated it with the same pleasure had his own name been 30 attached to the imaginary object or agent. After the recitation our amiable host observed that in his opinion Mr. . . . . had over-rated the merits of the poetry; but had they been tenfold greater, they could not have compensated for that malignity of heart which could alone have 35 prompted sentiments so atrocious. I perceived that my illustrious friend became greatly distressed on my account; but fortunately I was able to preserve fortitude and presence of mind enough to take up the subject without exciting even a suspicion how nearly and painfully it interested me. 40 What follows is the substance of what I then replied, but dilated and in language less colloquial. It was not my intention, I said, to justify the publication, whatever its author's feelings might have been at the time of composing it. That they are calculated to call forth so severe a reprobation from a good man, 45 is not the worst feature of such poems. Their moral deformity is aggravated in proportion to the pleasure which they are capable of affording to vindictive, turbulent, and unprincipled readers. Could it be supposed, though for a moment, that the author seriously wished what he had thus wildly imagined, 50 even the attempt to palliate an inhumanity so monstrous would be an insult to the hearers. But it seemed to me worthy of consideration, whether the mood of mind and the general state of sensations in which a poet produces such vivid and fantastic images, is likely to co-exist, or is even compatible with, that 55 gloomy and deliberate ferocity which a serious wish to realize them would pre-suppose. It had been often observed, and all my experience tended to confirm the observation, that prospects of pain and evil to others, and in general all deep feelings of revenge, are commonly expressed in a few words, ironically tame, 60 and mild. The mind under so direful and fiend-like an influence seems to take a morbid pleasure in contrasting the intensity of its wishes and feelings with the slightness or levity of the expressions by which they are hinted; and indeed feelings so intense and solitary, if they were not precluded (as in almost 65 all cases they would be) by a constitutional activity of fancy and association, and by the specific joyousness combined with it, would assuredly themselves preclude such activity. Passion, in its own quality, is the antagonist of action; though in an ordinary and natural degree the former alternates with the latter, 70 and thereby revives and strengthens it. But the more intense and insane the passion is, the fewer and the more fixed are the correspondent forms and notions. A rooted hatred, an inveterate thirst of revenge, is a sort of madness, and still eddies round its favourite object, and exercises as it were a perpetual tautology 75 of mind in thoughts and words which admit of no adequate substitutes. Like a fish in a globe of glass, it moves restlessly round and round the scanty circumference, which it cannot leave without losing its vital element. There is a second character of such imaginary representations 80 as spring from a real and earnest desire of evil to another, which we often see in real life, and might even anticipate from the nature of the mind. The images, I mean, that a vindictive man places before his imagination, will most often be taken from the realities of life: they will be images of pain and 85 suffering which he has himself seen inflicted on other men, and which he can fancy himself as inflicting on the object of his hatred. I will suppose that we had heard at different times two common sailors, each speaking of some one who had wronged or offended him: that the first with apparent violence 90 had devoted every part of his adversary's body and soul to all the horrid phantoms and fantastic places that ever Quevedo dreamt of, and this in a rapid flow of those outrageous and wildly combined execrations, which too often with our lower classes serve for escape-valves to carry off the excess of their passions, 95 as so much superfluous steam that would endanger the vessel if it were retained. The other, on the contrary, with that sort of calmness of tone which is to the ear what the paleness of anger is to the eye, shall simply say, 'If I chance to be made boatswain, as I hope I soon shall, and can but once get that 100 fellow under my hand (and I shall be upon the watch for him), I'll tickle his pretty skin! I won't hurt him! oh no! I'll only cut the -- -- to the liver!' I dare appeal to all present, which of the two they would regard as the least deceptive symptom of deliberate malignity? nay, whether it would surprise them 105 to see the first fellow, an hour or two afterwards, cordially shaking hands with the very man the fractional parts of whose body and soul he had been so charitably disposing of; or even perhaps risking his life for him? What language Shakespeare considered characteristic of malignant disposition we see in the 110 speech of the good-natured Gratiano, who spoke 'an infinite deal of nothing more than any man in all Venice'; ----Too wild, too rude and bold of voice! the skipping spirit, whose thoughts and words reciprocally ran away with each other; 115 ----O be them damn'd, inexorable dog! And for thy life let justice be accused! and the wild fancies that follow, contrasted with Shylock's tranquil 'I stand here for Law'. Or, to take a case more analogous to the present subject, 120 should we hold it either fair or charitable to believe it to have been Dante's serious wish that all the persons mentioned by him (many recently departed, and some even alive at the time,) should actually suffer the fantastic and horrible punishments to which he has sentenced them in his Hell and Purgatory? 125 Or what shall we say of the passages in which Bishop Jeremy Taylor anticipates the state of those who, vicious themselves, have been the cause of vice and misery to their fellow-creatures? Could we endure for a moment to think that a spirit, like Bishop Taylor's, burning with Christian love; that a man 130 constitutionally overflowing with pleasurable kindliness; who scarcely even in a casual illustration introduces the image of woman, child, or bird, but he embalms the thought with so rich a tenderness, as makes the very words seem beauties and fragments of poetry from Euripides or Simonides;--can we 135 endure to think, that a man so natured and so disciplined, did at the time of composing this horrible picture, attach a sober feeling of reality to the phrases? or that he would have described in the same tone of justification, in the same luxuriant flow of phrases, the tortures about to be inflicted on a living 140 individual by a verdict of the Star-Chamber? or the still more atrocious sentences executed on the Scotch anti-prelatists and schismatics, at the command, and in some instances under the very eye of the Duke of Lauderdale, and of that wretched bigot who afterwards dishonoured and forfeited the throne of Great 145 Britain? Or do we not rather feel and understand, that these violent words were mere bubbles, flashes and electrical apparitions, from the magic cauldron of a fervid and ebullient fancy, constantly fuelled by an unexampled opulence of language? Were I now to have read by myself for the first time the poem 150 in question, my conclusion, I fully believe, would be, that the writer must have been some man of warm feelings and active fancy; that he had painted to himself the circumstances that accompany war in so many vivid and yet fantastic forms, as proved that neither the images nor the feelings were the result 155 of observation, or in any way derived from realities. I should judge that they were the product of his own seething imagination, and therefore impregnated with that pleasurable exultation which is experienced in all energetic exertion of intellectual power; that in the same mood he had generalized the causes of 160 the war, and then personified the abstract and christened it by the name which he had been accustomed to hear most often associated with its management and measures. I should guess that the minister was in the author's mind at the moment of composition as completely +apathês, anaimôsarkos+, as Anacreon's 165 grasshopper, and that he had as little notion of a real person of flesh and blood, Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb, [_Paradise Lost_, II. 668.] as Milton had in the grim and terrible phantom (half person, half allegory) which he has placed at the gates of Hell. I 170 concluded by observing, that the poem was not calculated to excite passion in any mind, or to make any impression except on poetic readers; and that from the culpable levity betrayed at the close of the eclogue by the grotesque union of epigrammatic wit with allegoric personification, in the allusion to the 175 most fearful of thoughts, I should conjecture that the 'rantin' Bardie', instead of really believing, much less wishing, the fate spoken of in the last line, in application to any human individual, would shrink from passing the verdict even on the Devil himself, and exclaim with poor Burns, 180 But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben! Oh! wad ye tak a thought an' men! Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- Still hae a stake-- I'm wae to think upon yon den, 185 Ev'n for your sake! I need not say that these thoughts, which are here dilated, were in such a company only rapidly suggested. Our kind host smiled, and with a courteous compliment observed, that the defence was too good for the cause. My voice faltered 190 a little, for I was somewhat agitated; though not so much on my own account as for the uneasiness that so kind and friendly a man would feel from the thought that he had been the occasion of distressing me. At length I brought out these words: 'I must now confess, sir! that I am author of that poem. It 195 was written some years ago. I do not attempt to justify my past self, young as I then was; but as little as I would now write a similar poem, so far was I even then from imagining that the lines would be taken as more or less than a sport of fancy. At all events, if I know my own heart, there was 200 never a moment in my existence in which I should have been more ready, had Mr. Pitt's person been in hazard, to interpose my own body, and defend his life at the risk of my own.' I have prefaced the poem with this anecdote, because to have printed it without any remark might well have been understood 205 as implying an unconditional approbation on my part, and this after many years' consideration. But if it be asked why I republished it at all, I answer, that the poem had been attributed at different times to different other persons; and what I had dared beget, I thought it neither manly nor honourable not to 210 dare father. From the same motives I should have published perfect copies of two poems, the one entitled The Devil's Thoughts, and the other, The Two Round Spaces on the Tombstone, but that the three first stanzas of the former, which were worth all the rest of the poem, and the best stanza of the 215 remainder, were written by a friend [Southey] of deserved celebrity; and because there are passages in both which might have given offence to the religious feelings of certain readers. I myself indeed see no reason why vulgar superstitions and absurd conceptions that deform the pure faith of a Christian 220 should possess a greater immunity from ridicule than stories of witches, or the fables of Greece and Rome. But there are those who deem it profaneness and irreverence to call an ape an ape, if it but wear a monk's cowl on its head; and I would rather reason with this weakness than offend it. 225 The passage from Jeremy Taylor to which I referred is found in his second Sermon on Christ's Advent to Judgment; which is likewise the second in his year's course of sermons. Among many remarkable passages of the same character in those discourses, I have selected this as the most so. 'But when this 230 Lion of the tribe of Judah shall appear, then Justice shall strike, and Mercy shall not hold her hands; she shall strike sore strokes, and Pity shall not break the blow. As there are treasures of good things, so hath God a treasure of wrath and fury, and scourges and scorpions; and then shall be produced the shame 235 of Lust and the malice of Envy, and the groans of the oppressed and the persecutions of the saints, and the cares of Covetousness and the troubles of Ambition, and the insolencies of traitors and the violences of rebels, and the rage of anger and the uneasiness of impatience, and the restlessness of unlawful desires; and by 240 this time the monsters and diseases will be numerous and intolerable, when God's heavy hand shall press the sanies and the intolerableness, the obliquity and the unreasonableness, the amazement and the disorder, the smart and the sorrow, the guilt and the punishment, out from all our sins, and pour them 245 into one chalice, and mingle them with an infinite wrath, and make the wicked drink off all the vengeance, and force it down their unwilling throats with the violence of devils and accursed spirits.' That this Tartarean drench displays the imagination rather 250 than the discretion of the compounder; that, in short, this passage and others of the same kind are in a bad taste, few will deny at the present day. It would, doubtless, have more behoved the good bishop not to be wise beyond what is written on a subject in which Eternity is opposed to Time, and a Death 255 threatened, not the negative, but the positive Opposite of Life; a subject, therefore, which must of necessity be indescribable to the human understanding in our present state. But I can neither find nor believe that it ever occurred to any reader to ground on such passages a charge against Bishop Taylor's 260 humanity, or goodness of heart. I was not a little surprised therefore to find, in the Pursuits of Literature and other works, so horrible a sentence passed on Milton's moral character, for a passage in his prose writings, as nearly parallel to this of Taylor's as two passages can well be conceived to be. All his 265 merits, as a poet, forsooth--all the glory of having written the Paradise Lost, are light in the scale, nay, kick the beam, compared with the atrocious malignity of heart, expressed in the offensive paragraph. I remembered, in general, that Milton had concluded one of his works on Reformation, written in the 270 fervour of his youthful imagination, in a high poetic strain, that wanted metre only to become a lyrical poem. I remembered that in the former part he had formed to himself a perfect ideal of human virtue, a character of heroic, disinterested zeal and devotion for Truth, Religion, and public Liberty, in act and in 275 suffering, in the day of triumph and in the hour of martyrdom. Such spirits, as more excellent than others, he describes as having a more excellent reward, and as distinguished by a transcendant glory: and this reward and this glory he displays and particularizes with an energy and brilliance that announced the 280 Paradise Lost as plainly, as ever the bright purple clouds in the east announced the coming of the Sun. Milton then passes to the gloomy contrast, to such men as from motives of selfish ambition and the lust of personal aggrandizement should, against their own light, persecute truth and the true religion, and 285 wilfully abuse the powers and gifts entrusted to them, to bring vice, blindness, misery and slavery, on their native country, on the very country that had trusted, enriched and honoured them. Such beings, after that speedy and appropriate removal from their sphere of mischief which all good and humane men must 290 of course desire, will, he takes for granted by parity of reason, meet with a punishment, an ignominy, and a retaliation, as much severer than other wicked men, as their guilt and its consequences were more enormous. His description of this imaginary punishment presents more distinct pictures to the 295 fancy than the extract from Jeremy Taylor; but the thoughts in the latter are incomparably more exaggerated and horrific. All this I knew; but I neither remembered, nor by reference and careful re-perusal could discover, any other meaning, either in Milton or Taylor, but that good men will be rewarded, and 300 the impenitent wicked, punished, in proportion to their dispositions and intentional acts in this life; and that if the punishment of the least wicked be fearful beyond conception, all words and descriptions must be so far true, that they must fall short of the punishment that awaits the transcendantly wicked. Had 305 Milton stated either his ideal of virtue, or of depravity, as an individual or individuals actually existing? Certainly not! Is this representation worded historically, or only hypothetically? Assuredly the latter! Does he express it as his own wish that after death they should suffer these tortures? or as 310 a general consequence, deduced from reason and revelation, that such will be their fate? Again, the latter only! His wish is expressly confined to a speedy stop being put by Providence to their power of inflicting misery on others! But did he name or refer to any persons living or dead? No! But the 315 calumniators of Milton daresay (for what will calumny not dare say?) that he had Laud and Strafford in his mind, while writing of remorseless persecution, and the enslavement of a free country from motives of selfish ambition. Now what if a stern anti-prelatist should daresay, that in speaking of the insolencies of 320 traitors and the violences of rebels, Bishop Taylor must have individualised in his mind Hampden, Hollis, Pym, Fairfax, Ireton, and Milton? And what if he should take the liberty of concluding, that, in the after-description, the Bishop was feeding and feasting his party-hatred, and with those individuals before 325 the eyes of his imagination enjoying, trait by trait, horror after horror, the picture of their intolerable agonies? Yet this bigot would have an equal right thus to criminate the one good and great man, as these men have to criminate the other. Milton has said, and I doubt not but that Taylor with equal 330 truth could have said it, 'that in his whole life he never spake against a man even that his skin should be grazed.' He asserted this when one of his opponents (either Bishop Hall or his nephew) had called upon the women and children in the streets to take up stones and stone him (Milton). It is known that 335 Milton repeatedly used his interest to protect the royalists; but even at a time when all lies would have been meritorious against him, no charge was made, no story pretended, that he had ever directly or indirectly engaged or assisted in their persecution. Oh! methinks there are other and far better feelings 340 which should be acquired by the perusal of our great elder writers. When I have before me, on the same table, the works of Hammond and Baxter; when I reflect with what joy and dearness their blessed spirits are now loving each other; it seems a mournful thing that their names should be perverted to 345 an occasion of bitterness among us, who are enjoying that happy mean which the human too-much on both sides was perhaps necessary to produce. 'The tangle of delusions which stifled and distorted the growing tree of our well-being has been torn away; the parasite-weeds that fed on its very roots have been 350 plucked up with a salutary violence. To us there remain only quiet duties, the constant care, the gradual improvement, the cautious unhazardous labours of the industrious though contented gardener--to prune, to strengthen, to engraft, and one by one to remove from its leaves and fresh shoots the slug and 355 the caterpillar. But far be it from us to undervalue with light and senseless detraction the conscientious hardihood of our predecessors, or even to condemn in them that vehemence, to which the blessings it won for us leave us now neither temptation nor pretext. We antedate the feelings, in order to 360 criminate the authors, of our present liberty, light and toleration.' (_The Friend_, No. IV. Sept. 7, 1809.) [1818, i. 105.] If ever two great men might seem, during their whole lives, to have moved in direct opposition, though neither of them has at any time introduced the name of the other, Milton and 365 Jeremy Taylor were they. The former commenced his career by attacking the Church-Liturgy and all set forms of prayer. The latter, but far more successfully, by defending both. Milton's next work was against the Prelacy and the then existing Church-Government--Taylor's in vindication and 370 support of them. Milton became more and more a stern republican, or rather an advocate for that religious and moral aristocracy which, in his day, was called republicanism, and which, even more than royalism itself, is the direct antipode of modern jacobinism. Taylor, as more and more sceptical concerning the fitness of 375 men in general for power, became more and more attached to the prerogatives of monarchy. From Calvinism, with a still decreasing respect for Fathers, Councils, and for Church-antiquity in general, Milton seems to have ended in an indifference, if not a dislike, to all forms of ecclesiastic government, and to 380 have retreated wholly into the inward and spiritual church-communion of his own spirit with the Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world. Taylor, with a growing reverence for authority, an increasing sense of the insufficiency of the Scriptures without the aids of tradition and the consent of 385 authorized interpreters, advanced as far in his approaches (not indeed to Popery, but) to Roman-Catholicism, as a conscientious minister of the English Church could well venture. Milton would be and would utter the same to all on all occasions: he would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 390 truth. Taylor would become all things to all men, if by any means he might benefit any; hence he availed himself, in his popular writings, of opinions and representations which stand often in striking contrast with the doubts and convictions expressed in his more philosophical works. He appears, indeed, 395 not too severely to have blamed that management of truth (istam falsitatem dispensativam) authorized and exemplified by almost all the fathers: Integrum omnino doctoribus et coetus Christiani antistitibus esse, ut dolos versent, falsa veris intermisceant et imprimis religionis hostes fallant, dummodo 400 veritatis commodis et utilitati inserviant. The same antithesis might be carried on with the elements of their several intellectual powers. Milton, austere, condensed, imaginative, supporting his truth by direct enunciation of lofty moral sentiment and by distinct visual representations, and in 405 the same spirit overwhelming what he deemed falsehood by moral denunciation and a succession of pictures appalling or repulsive. In his prose, so many metaphors, so many allegorical miniatures. Taylor, eminently discursive, accumulative, and (to use one of his own words) agglomerative; still more 410 rich in images than Milton himself, but images of fancy, and presented to the common and passive eye, rather than to the eye of the imagination. Whether supporting or assailing, he makes his way either by argument or by appeals to the affections, unsurpassed even by the schoolmen in subtlety, 415 agility, and logic wit, and unrivalled by the most rhetorical of the fathers in the copiousness and vividness of his expressions and illustrations. Here words that convey feelings, and words that flash images, and words of abstract notion, flow together, and whirl and rush onward like a stream, at once rapid and full 420 of eddies; and yet still interfused here and there we see a tongue or islet of smooth water, with some picture in it of earth or sky, landscape or living group of quiet beauty. Differing then so widely and almost contrariantly, wherein did these great men agree? wherein did they resemble each 425 other? In genius, in learning, in unfeigned piety, in blameless purity of life, and in benevolent aspirations and purposes for the moral and temporal improvement of their fellow-creatures! Both of them wrote a Latin Accidence, to render education more easy and less painful to children; both of them composed 430 hymns and psalms proportioned to the capacity of common congregations; both, nearly at the same time, set the glorious example of publicly recommending and supporting general toleration, and the liberty both of the Pulpit and the press! In the writings of neither shall we find a single sentence, like 435 those meek deliverances to God's mercy, with which Laud accompanied his votes for the mutilations and loathsome dungeoning of Leighton and others!--nowhere such a pious prayer as we find in Bishop Hall's memoranda of his own life, concerning the subtle and witty atheist that so grievously perplexed 440 and gravelled him at Sir Robert Drury's till he prayed to the Lord to remove him, and behold! his prayers were heard: for shortly afterward this Philistine-combatant went to London, and there perished of the plague in great misery! In short, nowhere shall we find the least approach, in the lives and 445 writings of John Milton or Jeremy Taylor, to that guarded gentleness, to that sighing reluctance, with which the holy brethren of the Inquisition deliver over a condemned heretic to the civil magistrate, recommending him to mercy, and hoping that the magistrate will treat the erring brother with 450 all possible mildness!--the magistrate who too well knows what would be his own fate if he dared offend them by acting on their recommendation. The opportunity of diverting the reader from myself to characters more worthy of his attention, has led me far beyond my 455 first intention; but it is not unimportant to expose the false zeal which has occasioned these attacks on our elder patriots. It has been too much the fashion first to personify the Church of England, and then to speak of different individuals, who in different ages have been rulers in that church, as if in some 460 strange way they constituted its personal identity. Why should a clergyman of the present day feel interested in the defence of Laud or Sheldon? Surely it is sufficient for the warmest partisan of our establishment that he can assert with truth,--when our Church persecuted, it was on mistaken principles 465 held in common by all Christendom; and at all events, far less culpable was this intolerance in the Bishops, who were maintaining the existing laws, than the persecuting spirit afterwards shewn by their successful opponents, who had no such excuse, and who should have been taught mercy by their own sufferings, 470 and wisdom by the utter failure of the experiment in their own case. We can say that our Church, apostolical in its faith, primitive in its ceremonies, unequalled in its liturgical forms; that our Church, which has kindled and displayed more bright and burning lights of genius and learning than all other protestant 475 churches since the reformation, was (with the single exception of the times of Laud and Sheldon) least intolerant, when all Christians unhappily deemed a species of intolerance their religious duty; that Bishops of our church were among the first that contended against this error; and finally, that since the 480 reformation, when tolerance became a fashion, the Church of England in a tolerating age, has shewn herself eminently tolerant, and far more so, both in spirit and in fact, than many of her most bitter opponents, who profess to deem toleration itself an insult on the rights of mankind! As to 485 myself, who not only know the Church-Establishment to be tolerant, but who see in it the greatest, if not the sole safe bulwark of toleration. I feel no necessity of defending or palliating oppressions under the two Charleses, in order to exclaim with a full and fervent heart, Esto perpetua! 490 FOOTNOTES: [1097:1] First published in _Sibylline Leaves_ in 1817: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. The 'Apologetic Preface' must have been put together in 1815, with a view to publication in the volume afterwards named _Sibylline Leaves_, but the incident on which it turns most probably took place in the spring of 1803, when both Scott and Coleridge were in London. Davy writing to Poole, May 1, 1803, says that he generally met Coleridge during his stay in town, 'in the midst of large companies, where he was the image of power and activity,' and Davy, as we know, was one of Sotheby's guests. In a letter to Mrs. Fletcher dated Dec. 18, 1830 (?), Scott tells the story in his own words, but throws no light on date or period. The implied date (1809) in Morritt's report of Dr. Howley's conversation (Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, 1837, ii. 245) is out of the question, as Coleridge did not leave the Lake Country between Sept. 1808 and October 1810. Coleridge set great store by 'his own stately account of this lion-show' (ibid.). In a note in a MS. copy of _Sibylline Leaves_ presented to his son Derwent he writes:--'With the exception of this slovenly sentence (ll. 109-19) I hold this preface to be my happiest effort in prose composition.' [1097:2] William Sotheby (1756-1838), translator of Wieland's _Oberon_ and the _Georgics_ of Virgil. Coleridge met him for the first time at Keswick in July, 1802. [1097:3] 'The compliment I can witness to be as just as it is handsomely recorded,' Sir W. Scott to Mrs. Fletcher, _Fragmentary Remains of Sir H. Davy_, 1858, p. 113. LINENOTES: [24] _he_ 1817, 1829. [41] What follows is substantially the same as _I then_ 1817, 1829. [56] _realize_ 1817, 1829. [93] outrageous] outrè, 1817, 1829. [95] _escape-valves_ 1817, 1829. _liver_ 1817, 1829. [106] afterwards] afterward 1817, 1829. [119] '_I . . . Law_' 1817, 1829. [125] _Hell and Purgatory_ 1817, 1829. [135] a Euripides _1817_: an Euripides 1829. [136] _so_ natured 1817, 1829. [172] _passion . . . any_ 1817, 1829. [173] _poetic_ 1817, 1829. For _betrayed in_ r. _betrayed by_, Errata, 1817, p. [xi].] [174] in the grotesque 1817. [195] am author] am the author 1817. [203] my body MS. corr. 1817. [212-3] _The . . . Thoughts_ 1817, 1829. [213-4] _The . . . Tombstone_ 1817, 1829. [238] insolencies] _indolence_ 1829. [238-9] _and the . . . rebels_ 1817, 1829. [252] _in . . . taste_ 1817, 1829. [256] _positive_ 1817, 1829. Opposite] Oppositive 1829, 1893. [264] _his_ 1817, 1829. [267] PARADISE LOST 1817, 1829. [273] former] preceding MS. corr. 1817. [278] and as] as MS. corr. 1817. [295] _pictures_ 1817, 1829. [296] _thoughts_ 1817, 1829. [310] _wish . . . should_ 1817, 1829. [312] _will be_ 1817, 1829. [316] _daresay_ 1817, 1829. [320] _daresay_ 1817, 1829. [320-1] _insolencies . . . rebels_ 1817, 1829. [335] _him_ 1817, 1829. [346] _us_ 1817, 1829. [347] _human_ TOO-MUCH 1817, 1829. [349] has] have 1817. [360] _feelings_ 1817, 1829. [361] _authors_ 1817, 1829. [373] _called_ 1817, 1829. [380] _all_ 1817, 1829. [387] Roman-Catholicism] Catholicism 1817, 1829. [393] _popular_ 1817, 1829. [396] _too severely . . . management_ 1817, 1829. [397] _istam . . . dispensativam_ 1817, 1829. [410] _agglomerative_ 1817, 1829. [416] logic] logical 1817, 1829. [420] and at once whirl 1817, 1829. [422] islet] isle 1829. Carlyle in the _Life of John Sterling_, cap. viii, quotes the last two words of the Preface. Was it from the same source that he caught up the words 'Balmy sunny islets, islets of the blest and the intelligible' which he uses to illustrate the lucid intervals in Coleridge's monologue? [436] _meek . . . mercy_ 1817, 1829. [441] _he . . . him_ 1817, 1829. [450] _hoping_ 1817, 1829. [461] _they_ 1817, 1829. [467] culpable were the Bishops 1817, 1829. [481] reformation] Revolution in 1688 MS. corr. 1817. [488] _bulwark_ 1817, 1829. [490] ESTO PERPETUA 1817, 1829. [After 490] Braving the cry. O the Vanity and self-dotage of Authors! I, yet, after a reperusal of the preceding Apol. Preface, now some 20 years since its first publication, dare deliver it as my own judgement that both in style and thought it is a work creditable to the head and heart of the Author, tho' he happens to have been the same person, only a few stone lighter and with chesnut instead of silver hair, with his Critic and Eulogist. S. T. Coleridge, May, 1829. [_MS. Note in a copy of the edition of 1829, vol. i, p. 353._] APPENDIX IV PROSE VERSIONS OF POEMS, ETC. A QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS IN THE COURT OF LOVE [Vide _ante_, p. 409.] Why is my Love like the Sun? 1. The Dawn = the presentiment of my Love. No voice as yet had made the air Be music with thy name: yet why That obscure [over _aching_] Hope: that yearning Sigh? That sense of Promise everywhere? Beloved! flew thy spirit by? 2. The Sunrise = the suddenness, the all-at-once of Love--and the first silence--the beams of Light fall first on the distance, the interspace still dark. 3. The Cheerful Morning--the established Day-light universal. 4. The Sunset--who can behold it, and think of the Sun-rise? It takes all the thought to itself. The Moon-reflected Light--soft, melancholy, warmthless--the absolute purity (nay, it is always _pure_, but), the incorporeity of Love in absence--Love _per se_ is a Potassium--it can subsist by itself, tho' in presence it has a natural and necessary combination with the comburent principle. All other Lights (the fixed Stars) not borrowed from the absent Sun--Lights for other worlds, not for me. I see them and admire, but they irradiate nothing. B PROSE VERSION OF GLYCINE'S SONG IN ZAPOLYA [Vide _ante_, pp. 426, 919, 920.] 1 On the sky with liquid openings of Blue, The slanting pillar of sun mist, Field-inward flew a little Bird. Pois'd himself on the column, Sang with a sweet and marvellous voice, 5 Adieu! adieu! I must away, Far, far away, Set off to-day. 2 Listened--listened--gaz'd-- Sight of a Bird, sound of a voice-- 10 It was so well with me, and yet so strange. Heart! Heart! Swell'st thou with joy or smart? But the Bird went away-- Adieu! adieu! 15 3 All cloudy the heavens falling and falling-- Then said I--Ah! summer again-- The swallow, the summer-bird is going, And so will my Beauty fall like the leaves From my pining for his absence, 20 And so will his Love fly away. Away! away! Like the summer-bird, Swift as the Day. 4 But lo! again came the slanting sun-shaft, 25 Close by me pois'd on its wing, The sweet Bird sang again, And looking on my tearful Face Did it not say, 'Love has arisen, 30 True Love makes its summer, In the Heart'? 1845 C _Notebook No. 29, p. 168._ 21 Feb. 1825. MY DEAR FRIEND I have often amused myself with the thought of a self-conscious Looking-glass, and the various metaphorical applications of such a fancy--and this morning it struck across the Eolian Harp of my Brain that there was something pleasing and emblematic (of what I did not distinctly make out) in two such Looking-glasses fronting, each seeing the other in itself, and itself in the other. Have you ever noticed the Vault or snug little Apartment which the Spider spins and weaves for itself, by spiral threads round and round, and sometimes with strait lines, so that its lurking parlour or withdrawing-room is an oblong square? This too connected itself in my mind with the melancholy truth, that as we grow older, the World (alas! how often it happens that the less we love it, the more we care for it, the less reason we have to value its Shews, the more anxious are we about them--alas! how often do we become more and more loveless, as Love which can outlive all change save a change with regard to itself, and all loss save the loss of its _Reflex_, is more needed to sooth us and alone is able so to do!) What was I saying? O, I was adverting to the fact that as we advance in years, the World, that spidery Witch, spins its threads narrower and narrower, still closing on us, till at last it shuts us up within four walls, walls of flues and films, windowless--and well if there be sky-lights, and a small opening left for the Light from above. I do not know that I have anything to add, except to remind you, that _pheer_ or _phere_ for _Mate_, _Companion_, _Counterpart_, is a word frequently used by Spencer (_sic_) and Herbert, and the Poets generally, who wrote before the Restoration (1660), before I say that this premature warm and sunny day, antedating Spring, called forth the following. * * * * * Strain in the manner of G. HERBERT, which might be entitled THE ALONE MOST DEAR: a Complaint of Jacob to Rachel as in the tenth year of her service he saw in her or _fancied_ that he saw symptoms of Alienation. [*N.B. The Thoughts and Images being modernized and turned into English.*] (_It was fancy_) [Pencil note by Mrs. Gillman.] All Nature seems at work. [*Snails*] Slugs leave their lair; The Bees are stirring; Birds are on the wing; And WINTER slumb'ring in the open air Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring. And [*But*] I the while, the sole unbusy thing. Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. Yet well I ken the banks where[1111:1]Amaranths blow Have traced the fount whence Streams of Nectar flow. Bloom, O ye Amaranths! bloom for whom ye may-- For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams! away! ? _Lip unbrighten'd, wreathless B._ With unmoist Lip and wreathless Brow I stroll; And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul? WORK without Hope draws nectar in a sieve; And HOPE without an Object cannot live. I speak in figures, inward thoughts and woes Interpreting by Shapes and outward shews: { Where daily nearer me with magic Ties, { What time and where, (wove close with magic Ties Line over line, and thickning as they rise) The World her spidery threads on all sides spin Side answ'ring side with narrow interspace, My Faith (say I; I and my Faith are one) Hung, as a Mirror, there! And face to face (For nothing else there was between or near) One Sister Mirror hid the dreary Wall, { bright compeer But _that_ is broke! And with that { only pheere[1111:2] I lost my object and my inmost All---- Faith _in_ the Faith of THE ALONE MOST DEAR! JACOB HODIERNUS. Ah! me!! Call the World spider: and at fancy's touch Thought becomes image and I see it such. With viscous masonry of films and threads Tough as the nets in Indian Forests found It blends the Waller's and the Weaver's trades And soon the tent-like Hangings touch the ground A dusky chamber that excludes the day But cease the prelude and resume the lay FOOTNOTES: [1111:1] _Literally_ rendered is Flower Fadeless, or never-fading, from the Greek a NOT and marain[=o] to wither. [1111:2] Mate, Counterpart. D _Note to Line 34 of the_ Joan of Arc _Book II. 1796, pp. 41, 42_. Line 34. Sir Isaac Newton at the end of the last edition of his Optics supposes that a very subtile and elastic fluid, which he calls aether, is diffused thro' the pores of gross bodies, as well as thro' the open spaces that are void of gross matter: he supposes it to pierce all bodies, and to touch their least particles, acting on them with a force proportional to their number or to the matter of the body on which it acts. He supposes likewise, that it is rarer in the pores of bodies than in open spaces, and even rarer in small pores and dense bodies, than in large pores and rare bodies; and also that its density increases in receding from gross matter; so for instance as to be greater at the 1/100 of an inch from the surface of any body, than at its surface; and so on. To the action of this aether he ascribes the attractions of gravitation and cohoesion, the attraction and repulsion of electrical bodies, the mutual influences of bodies and light upon each other, the effects and communication of heat, and the performance of animal sensation and motion. David Hartley, from whom this account of aether is chiefly borrowed, makes it the instrument of propagating those vibrations or configurative motions which are ideas. It appears to me, no hypothesis ever involved so many contradictions; for how can the same fluid be both dense and rare in the same body at one time? Yet in the Earth as gravitating to the Moon, it must be very rare; and in the Earth as gravitating to the Sun, it must be very dense. For as Andrew Baxter well observes, it doth not appear sufficient to account how the fluid may act with a force proportional to the body to which another is impelled, to assert that it is rarer in great bodies than in small ones; it must be further asserted that this fluid is rarer or denser in the same body, whether small or great, according as the body to which that is impelled is itself small or great. But whatever may be the solidity of this objection, the following seems unanswerable: If every particle thro' the whole solidity of a heavy body receive its impulse from the particles of this fluid, it should seem that the fluid itself must be as dense as the very densest heavy body, gold for instance; there being as many impinging particles in the one, as there are gravitating particles in the other which receive their gravitation by being impinged upon: so that, throwing gold or any heavy body upward, against the impulse of this fluid, would be like throwing gold _thro'_ gold; and as this aether must be equally diffused over the whole sphere of its activity, it must be as dense when it impels cork as when it impels gold, so that to throw a piece of cork upward, would be as if we endeavoured to make cork penetrate a medium as dense as gold; and tho' we were to adopt the extravagant opinions which have been advanced concerning the progression of pores, yet however porous we suppose a body, if it be not all pore, the argument holds equally, the fluid must be as dense as the body in order to give every particle its impulse. It has been asserted that Sir Isaac Newton's philosophy leads in its consequences to Atheism: perhaps not without reason. For if matter, by any powers or properties _given_ to it, can produce the order of the visible world and even generate thought; why may it not have possessed such properties by _inherent_ right? and where is the necessity of a God? matter is according to the mechanic philosophy capable of acting most wisely and most beneficently without Wisdom or Benevolence; and what more does the Atheist assert? if matter possess those properties, why might it not have possessed them from all eternity? Sir Isaac Newton's Deity seems to be alternately operose and indolent; to have delegated so much power as to make it inconceivable what he can have reserved. He is dethroned by Vice-regent second causes. We seem placed here to acquire a knowledge of _effects_. Whenever we would pierce into the _Adyta_ of Causation, we bewilder ourselves; and all that laborious Conjecture can do, is to fill up the gaps of imagination. We are restless, because _invisible_ things are not the objects of vision--and philosophical systems, for the most part, are received not for their Truth, but in proportion as they attribute to Causes a susceptibility of being _seen_, whenever our visual organs shall have become sufficiently powerful. E DEDICATION[1113:1] Ode on the Departing Year, 1796, pp. [3]-4. [Vide _ante_, p. 160.] TO THOMAS POOLE, OF STOWEY. MY DEAR FRIEND-- Soon after the commencement of this month, the Editor of the Cambridge Intelligencer (a newspaper conducted with so much ability, and such unmixed and fearless zeal for the interests of Piety and Freedom, that I cannot but think my poetry honoured by being permitted to appear in it) requested me, by Letter, to furnish him with some Lines for the last day of this Year. I promised him that I would make the attempt; but almost immediately after, a rheumatic complaint seized on my head, and continued to prevent the possibility of poetic composition till within the last three days. So in the course of the last three days the following Ode was produced. In general, when an Author informs the Public that his production was struck off in a great hurry, he offers an insult, not an excuse. But I trust that the present case is an exception, and that the peculiar circumstances which obliged me to write with such unusual rapidity give a propriety to my professions of it: _nec nunc eam apud te jacto, sed et ceteris indico; ne quis asperiore limâ carmen examinet, et a confuso scriptum et quod frigidum erat ni statim traderem_.[1113:2] (I avail myself of the words of Statius, and hope that I shall likewise be able to say of any weightier publication, what _he_ has declared of his Thebaid, that it had been tortured[1113:3] with a laborious Polish.) For me to discuss the _literary_ merits of this hasty composition were idle and presumptuous. If it be found to possess that impetuosity of Transition, and that Precipitation of Fancy and Feeling, which are the _essential_ excellencies of the sublimer Ode, its deficiency in less important respects will be easily pardoned by those from whom alone praise could give me pleasure: and whose minuter criticisms will be disarmed by the reflection, that these Lines were conceived 'not in the soft obscurities of Retirement, or under the Shelter of Academic Groves, but amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness and in sorrow'.[1114:1] I am more anxious lest the _moral_ spirit of the Ode should be mistaken. You, I am sure, will not fail to recollect that among the Ancients, the Bard and the Prophet were one and the same character; and you _know_, that although I prophesy curses, I pray fervently for blessings. Farewell, Brother of my Soul! ----O ever found the same, And trusted and belov'd![1114:2] Never without an emotion of honest pride do I subscribe myself Your grateful and affectionate friend, S. T. COLERIDGE. BRISTOL, _December 26, 1796_. FOOTNOTES: [1113:1] Published 4to, 1796: reprinted in _P. and D. W._, 1877, i. 165-8. [1113:2] The quotation is from an apology addressed 'Meliori suo', prefixed to the Second Book of the _Silvae_:--'nec nunc eam (_sc._ celeritatem) apud te jacto qui nosti: sed et caeteris indico, ne quis asperiore limâ carmen examinet et a confuso scriptum, et dolenti datum cum paene sint supervacua sint tarda solatia.' Coleridge has 'adapted' the words of Statius to point his own moral. [1113:3] _Multâ cruciata limâ_ [S. T. C.] [SILV. lib. iv. 7, 26.] [1114:1] From Dr. Johnson's Preface to the _Dictionary of the English Language_. _Works_, 1806, ii. 59. [1114:2] Akenside's _Pleasures of the Imagination_ (Second Version), Bk. I. F Preface to the MS. of _Osorio_. [Vide _ante_, p. 519.] In this sketch of a tragedy, all is imperfect, and much obscure. Among other equally great defects (millstones round the slender neck of its merits) it presupposes a long story; and this long story, which yet is necessary to the complete understanding of the play, is not half told. Albert had sent a letter informing his family that he should arrive about such a time by ship; he was shipwrecked; and wrote a private letter to Osorio, informing him alone of this accident, that he might not shock Maria. Osorio destroyed the letter, and sent assassins to meet Albert. . . Worse than all, the growth of Osorio's character is nowhere explained--and yet I had most clear and psychologically accurate ideas of the whole of it. . . A man, who from constitutional calmness of appetites, is seduced into pride and the love of power, by these into misanthropism, or rather a contempt of mankind, and from thence, by the co-operation of envy, and a curiously modified love for a beautiful female (which is nowhere developed in the play), into a most atrocious guilt. A man who is in truth a weak man, yet always duping himself into the belief that he has a soul of iron. Such were some of my leading ideas. In short the thing is but an embryo, and whilst it remains in manuscript, which it is destined to do, the critic would judge unjustly who should call it a miscarriage. It furnished me with a most important lesson, namely, that to have conceived strongly, does not always imply the power of successful execution. S. T. C. [From _Early Years and Late Reflections_, by Clement Carlyon, M.D., 1856, i. 143-4.] APPENDIX V ADAPTATIONS For a critical study of Coleridge's alterations in the text of the quotations from seventeenth-century poets, which were inserted in the _Biographia Literaria_ (2 vols., 1817), or were prefixed as mottoes to Chapters in the rifacimento of _The Friend_ (3 vols., 1818), see an article by J. D Campbell entitled 'Coleridge's Quotations,' which was published in the _Athenæum_, August 20, 1892, and 'Adaptations', _P. W._, 1893, pp. 471-4. Most of these textual alterations or garblings were noted by H. N. Coleridge in an edition of _The Friend_ published in 1837; Mr. Campbell was the first to collect and include the mottoes and quotations in a sub-section of Coleridge's Poetical Works. Three poems, (1) 'An Elegy Imitated from Akenside', (2) 'Farewell to Love ', (3) 'Mutual Passion altered and modernized from an Old Poet', may be reckoned as 'Adaptations'. The first and third of these composite productions lay no claim to originality, whilst the second, 'Farewell to Love', which he published anonymously in _The Courier_, September 27, 1806, was not included by Coleridge in _Sibylline Leaves_, or in 1828, 1829, 1834. For (1) vide _ante_, p. 69, and _post_, _Read_:--p. 1123; for (2) _ante_, p. 402; and for (3) vide _post_, p. 1118. 1 FULKE GREVILLE. LORD BROOKE God and the World they worship still together, Draw not their lawes to him, but his to theirs, Untrue to both, so prosperous in neither, Amid their owne desires still raising feares; 'Unwise, as all distracted powers be; 5 Strangers to God, fooles in humanitie.' Too good for great things, and too great for good; Their Princes serve their Priest, &c. _A Treatie of Warres_, st. lxvi-vii. MOTTO TO 'A LAY SERMON', 1817 God and the World _we_ worship still together, Draw not _our_ Laws to Him, but _His_ to ours; Untrue to both, so prosperous in neither, _The imperfect Will brings forth but barren Flowers_! Unwise as all distracted _Interests_ be, 5 Strangers to God, fools in Humanity: Too good for great things and too great for good, _While still_ 'I dare not' waits upon 'I wou'd'! S. T. C. The same quotation from Lord Brooke is used to illustrate Aphorism xvii, 'Inconsistency,' _Aids to Reflection_, 1825, p. 93 (with the word 'both', substituted for 'still' in line 1). Line 8 is from _Macbeth_, Act I, Sc. VII, 'Letting I dare not,' &c. The reference to Lord Brooke was first given in _N. and Q._, Series VIII, Vol. ii, p. 18. 2 [Vide _ante_, p. 403] SONNET XCIV [Coelica] The _Augurs_ we of all the world admir'd Flatter'd by Consulls, honour'd by the State, Because the event of all that was desir'd They seem'd to know, and keepe the books of Fate: Yet though abroad they thus did boast their wit, 5 Alone among themselves they scornèd it. Mankind that with his wit doth gild his heart Strong in his Passions, but in Goodnesse weake, Making great vices o're the lesse an Art, Breeds wonder, and mouves Ignorance to speake, 10 Yet when his fame is to the highest borne, We know enough to laugh his praise to scorne. Lines on a King and Emperor-Making-King altered from the 93rd Sonnet of Fulke Greville, the friend of Sir Philip Sydney. ll. 1-4 The augurs, &c. l. 5 _Abroad they thus did boast each other's_ wit. l. 7 _Behold yon Corsican with dropsied heart_ l. 9 _He wonder breeds, makes_ ignorance to speak l. 12 TALLEYRAND WILL _laugh his Creature's_ praise to scorn. First published in the _Courier_, Sept. 12, 1806. See Editor's note, _Athenæum_, April 25, 1903, p. 531. 3 OF HUMANE LEARNING STANZA CLX For onely that man understands indeed, And well remembers, which he well can doe, The Laws live, onely where the Law doth breed Obedience to the workes it bindes us to: And as the life of Wisedome hath exprest, If this ye know, then doe it, and be blest. LORD BROOKE. Motto to _Notes on a Barrister's Hints on Evangelical Preaching, 1810_, in _Lit. Rem._, 1839, iv. 320. ll. 2, 3 _Who_ well remembers _what_ he well can do; The _Faith_ lives only where the _faith_ doth breed. 4 SIR JOHN DAVIES ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL (Sect. iv. Stanzas 12-14.) Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; As fire converts to fire the things it burns; As we our meats into our nature change. From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, 5 And draws a kind of quintessence from things; Which to her proper nature she transforms, To bear them light, on her celestial wings. This doth she, when, from things particular, She doth abstract the universal kinds, 10 Which bodiless and immaterial are, And can be only lodg'd within our minds. Stanza 12 Doubtless, &c. l. 2 Bodies to _spirit_, &c. l. 4. As we our _food_, &c. Stanza 13, l. 1 From their gross matter she abstracts _their_ forms. Stanza 14 _Thus doth she, when from individual states_ She doth abstract the universal kinds; _Which then re-clothed in divers names and_ fates _Steal access through our senses to our_ minds. _Biog. Lit._, Cap. xiv, 1817, II, 12; 1847, II, Cap. i, pp. 14-15. The alteration was first noted in 1847. 5 DONNE ECLOGUE. 'ON UNWORTHY WISDOM' So reclused Hermits oftentimes do know More of Heaven's glory than a worldly can: As Man is of the World, the Heart of Man Is an Epitome of God's great Book Of Creatures, and Men need no further look. These lines are quoted by Coleridge in _The Friend_, 1818, i. 192; 1850, i. 147. The first two lines run thus: _The_ recluse _Hermit oft'_ times _more doth_ know _Of the world's inmost wheels_, than worldlings can, &c. The alteration was first pointed out in an edition of _The Friend_ issued by H. N. Coleridge in 1837. 6 LETTER TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE Stanzas II, III, IV, and a few words from Stanza V, are prefixed as the motto to Essay XV of _The Friend_, 1818, i. 179; 1850, i. 136. For Stanza II, line 3-- But he which dwells there is not so; for he _With him_ who dwells there 'tis not so; for he For Stanza III-- So had your body her morning, hath her noon, And shall not better, her next change is night: But her fair larger guest, t'whom sun and moon Are sparks, and short liv'd, claims another right.-- The motto reads: _Our bodies had their_ morning, have their noon, And shall not better--the next change is night, But _their_ fair larger guest, t'whom sun and moon Are sparks and short liv'd, claims another right. The alteration was first noted in 1837. In 1850 line 3 of Stanza III 'fair' is misprinted 'far'. 7 BEN JONSON A NYMPH'S PASSION I love, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who; For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too; Yet if it be not known, 5 The pleasure is as good as none, For that's a narrow joy is but our own. I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They yet may envy me; But then if I grow jealous mad, 10 And of them pitied be, It were a plague 'bove scorn, And yet it cannot be forborne, Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn. He is, if they can find him, fair, 15 And fresh and fragrant too, As summer's sky or purged air, And looks as lilies do That are this morning blown; Yet, yet I doubt he is not known, 20 And fear much more, that more of him be shown. But he hath eyes so round and bright, As make away my doubt, Where Love may all his torches light Though hate had put them out; 25 But then, t'increase my fears, What nymph soe'er his voice but hears, Will be my rival, though she have but ears. I'll tell no more, and yet I love, And he loves me; yet no 30 One unbecoming thought doth move From either heart, I know; But so exempt from blame, As it would be to each a fame, If love or fear would let me tell his name. 35 _Underwoods_ No. V. MUTUAL PASSION ALTERED AND MODERNIZED FROM AN OLD POET I love, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who: For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too. _Yet while my joy's unknown, 5 Its rosy buds are but half-blown: What no one with me shares, seems scarce my own._ I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They yet may envy me: But then if I grow jealous mad, 10 And of them pitied be, _'Twould vex me worse than_ scorn! And yet it cannot be forborn, Unless my heart would _like_ my _thoughts_ be torn. He is, if they can find him, fair 15 And fresh, and fragrant too; _As after rain the summer air_, And looks as lilies do, That are this morning blown! Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, 20 _Yet, yet I fear to have him fully shewn_. But he hath eyes so _large_, and bright. _Which none can see, and_ doubt _That_ Love _might thence_ his torches light Tho' Hate had put them out! 25 But then to _raise_ my fears, _His voice--what maid so ever_ hears Will be my rival, tho' she have but ears. I'll tell no more! _yet I love him_, And ho loves me; _yet so, 30 That never one low wish did dim Our love's pure light, I know-- In each so free from_ blame, _That both of us would gain new_ fame, If love's _strong fears_ would let me tell his name! 35 First published in _The Courier_, September 21, 1811; included in the supplementary sheet to _Sibylline Leaves_; reprinted in _Essays on His Own Times_, iii. 995, 996, and in the Appendix to _P. W._, 1863. It was first pointed out by W. E. Henley that 'Mutual Passion' is an adaptation of 'A Nymph's Passion', No. V of Ben Jonson's _Underwoods_. 8 UNDERWOODS No. VI. THE HOUR-GLASS. Consider this small dust, here in the glass By atoms moved: Could you believe that this the body was Of one that loved; And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly, 5 Was turned to cinders by her eye: Yes; and in death, as life unblest, To have 't exprest, Even ashes of lovers find no rest. THE HOUR-GLASS O think, fair maid! these sands that pass In slender threads adown this glass, Were once the body of some swain, Who lov'd too well and lov'd in vain, And let one soft sigh heave thy breast, 5 That not in life alone unblest E'en lovers' ashes find no rest. First published in _The Courier_, August 30, 1811; included in _Essays on His Own Times_, iii. 994. Now collected for the first time. The original is a translation of a Latin Epigram, 'Horologium Pulvereum, Tumulus Alcippi,' by Girolamo Amaltei. 9 THE POETASTER. Act I, Scene 1. O my Tibullus, Let us not blame him; for against such chances The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof. We may read constancy and fortitude To other souls; but had ourselves been struck 5 With the like planet, had our loves, like his, Been ravished from us by injurious death, And in the height and heat of our best days, It would have cracked our sinews, shrunk our veins, And made our very heart-strings jar like his. 10 * * * * * Let us not blame him: for against such chances The heartiest strife of _manhood_ is _scarce_ proof. We may read constancy and fortitude To other souls--but had ourselves been struck _Even_ in the height and heat of our _keen wishing_, _It might have made_ our heart-strings jar, like his. First published as a quotation in the _Historie and Gestes of Maxilian_ contributed to _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, January, 1822. Reprinted as Fragment No. 59, _P. W._, 1893, p. 460. 10 SAMUEL DANIEL EPISTLE TO SIR THOMAS EGERTON, KNIGHT Stanza 5 Must there be still some discord mix'd among, The harmony of men; whose mood accords Best with contention, tun'd t' a note of wrong? That when war fails, peace must make war with words, And b' armed unto destruction ev'n as strong 5 As were in ages past our civil swords: Making as deep, although unbleeding wounds; That when as fury fails, wisdom confounds. Stanza 14 Seeing ev'n injustice may be regular; And no proportion can there be betwixt 10 Our actions, which in endless motion are, And th' ordinances, which are always fix'd: Ten thousand laws more cannot reach so far But malice goes beyond, or lives immix'd So close with goodness, as it ever will 15 Corrupt, disguise, or counterfeit it still. Stanza 15 And therefore did those glorious monarchs (who Divide with God the style of majesty, &c. Stanza 5 Must there be still some discord mix'd among The harmony of men; whose mood accords Best with contention tun'd _to notes_ of wrong? That when War fails, Peace must make war with words, _With words_ unto destruction _arm'd more_ strong 5 _Than ever were our foreign Foeman's swords_; Making as deep, _tho' not yet bleeding_ wounds? _What War left scarless, Calumny_ confounds. Stanza 14 _Truth lies entrapp'd where Cunning finds no bar_: _Since_ no proportion can there be betwixt 10 Our actions, which in endless motion are, And ordinances, which are always fixt. Ten thousand Laws more cannot reach so far But Malice goes beyond, or lives _commixt_ So close with Goodness, _that_, it ever will 15 Corrupt, disguise, or counterfeit it still. Stanza 15 And therefore _would our glorious Alfred, who Join'd with the King's the good man's Majesty, Not leave Law's labyrinth without a clue-- Gave to deep skill its just authority_,-- 20 * * * * * _But the last Judgement (this his Jury's plan)-- Left to the natural sense of Work-day Man_ _Adapted from an elder Poet._ Motto to _The Friend_, Essay xiii, 1818, i. 149; 1850, i. 113. Coleridge's alteration of, and addition to the text of Daniel's poem were first pointed out in an edition of _The Friend_, issued by H. N. Coleridge in 1837. 11 MUSOPHILUS STANZA CXLVII. Who will not grant, and therefore this observe, No state stands sure, but on the grounds of right, Of virtue, knowledge, judgment to preserve, And all the powers of learning requisite? Though other shifts a present turn may serve, Yet in the trial they will weigh too light. * * * * * _Blind is that soul which from this truth can swerve_ No state stands sure, &c. Motto to Essay xvi of _The Friend_, 1818, i. 190; 1850, i. 145. The alteration was first noted in 1837. 12 STANZAS XXVII, XXIX, XXX. Although the stronger constitution shall Wear out th' infection of distemper'd days, And come with glory to out-live this fall, Recov'ring of another spring of praise, &c. For these lines are the veins and arteries And undecaying life-strings of those hearts, That still shall pant, and still shall exercise The motion, spir't and nature both imparts, And shall with those alive so sympathize, As nourish'd with stern powers, enjoy their parts. O blessed letters! that combine in one All ages past, and make one live with all: By you we do confer with who are gone, And the dead-living unto council call: By you the unborn shall have communion Of what we feel, and what does us befall. * * * * * O blessed letters, &c. Since Writings are the Veins, the Arteries, And undecaying Life-strings of those Hearts, They still shall pant and still shall exercise Their mightiest powers when Nature none imparts: And the strong constitution of their Praise Wear out the infection of distemper'd days _Motto_ to 'The Landing-Place', Essay i, _The Friend_, 1818, i. 215; 1850, 165. The piecing together of the lines in the second stanza of the motto was first noted by J. D. Campbell, in _The Athenæum_, art. 'Coleridge's Quotations,' Aug. 20, 1892. 13 CHRISTOPHER HARVEY THE SYNAGOGUE THE NATIVITY OR CHRISTMAS DAY. Unfold thy face, unmask thy ray, Shine forth, bright sun, double the day; Let no malignant misty fume Nor foggy vapour, once presume To interpose thy perfect sights, 5 This day which makes us use thy lights For ever better that we could That blessed object once behold, Which is both the circumference And centre of all excellence, &c. 10 Substitute the following for the fifth to the eighth line. To sheath or blunt one happy ray, That wins new splendour from the day,-- This day that gives thee power to rise, And shine on hearts as well as eyes: This birth-day of all souls, when first On eyes of flesh and blood did burst That primal great lucific light, That rays to thee, to us gave sight. [S. T. C.] First published in 'Notes on Harvey's Synagogue', _Notes and Lectures_, &c., 1849, ii. 263. Now first collected. Coleridge's notes to _The Synagogue_, including these original lines, were reprinted in the notes to _The Complete Poems_ of Christopher Harvey, 1874, p. 47. 14 MARK AKENSIDE BLANK VERSE INSCRIPTIONS No. III. [For Elegy Imitated from one of Akenside's 'Blank Verse Inscriptions', vide _ante_, p. 69.] Whoe'er thou art whose path in Summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the Grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Embosoms--there dwells Albert, generous lord Of all the harvest round. And onward thence 5 A low plain chapel fronts the morning light Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk, O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground; And on that verdant Hillock, which thou seest Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand 10 Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew Sweet-smelling flowers--for there doth Edmund rest, The learned shepherd; for each rural art Famed, and for songs harmonious, and the woes Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride 15 Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Heaven With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold And nuptial pomp, which lured her plighted faith 20 From Edmund to a loftier husband's home, Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside The strokes of death. Go, traveller, relate The mournful story. Haply some fair maid May hold it in remembrance, and be taught 25 That riches cannot pay for truth or love. 15 W. L. BOWLES ----I yet remain To mourn the hours of youth (yet mourn in vain) That fled neglected: wisely thou hast trod The better path--and that high meed which God Assign'd to virtue, tow'ring from the dust, 5 Shall wait thy rising, Spirit pure and just! O God! how sweet it were to think, that all Who silent mourn around this gloomy ball Might hear the voice of joy;--but 'tis the will Of man's great Author, that thro' good and ill 10 Calm he should hold his course, and so sustain His varied lot of pleasure, toil and pain! 1793 ['These lines,' which 'were found in Mr. Coleridge's handwriting in one of the Prayer Books in the Chapel of Jesus College, Cambridge,' were first published in _Lit. Rem._, 1836, i. 34. They were first collected in _P. W._, 1885, i. 127. The first six lines are (see _P. W._, 1893, p. 474) taken from Bowles's elegy 'On the Death of Henry Headley'. J. D. Campbell surmised that the last six lines 'practically belonged to the same poem', but of this there is no evidence. The note of the elegy is a lament for the 'untimely sorrow' which had befallen an innocent sufferer, and the additional lines, which Coleridge composed or quoted, moralized the theme. _Note._ Bowles wrote, I, alas, remain (l. 1), and 'Ordain'd for virtue' (l. 5).] 16 NAPOLEON Then we may thank ourselves, Who spell-bound by the magic name of Peace Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Britain, go, For the grey olive-branch change thy green laurels: Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the bee 5 May have a hive, or spider find a loom! Instead of doubling drum and thrilling fife Be lull'd in lady's lap with amorous flutes: But for Napoleon, know, he'll scorn this calm: The ruddy planet at _his_ birth bore sway, 10 Sanguine adust his humour, and wild fire His ruling element. Rage, revenge, and cunning Make up the temper of this Captain's valour. _Adapted from an old Play._ First published in _The Friend_, 1818, ii. 115. In later editions the word 'Adapted' was omitted. First collected in 1893. J. D. Campbell (_P. W._, 1893, p. 473) suggests that the 'calm' was, probably, the 'Peace of Amiens'. APPENDIX VI ORIGINALS OF TRANSLATIONS A [Vide _ante_, p. 307] MILESISCHES MÄHRCHEN Ein milesisches Mährchen, Adonide: Unter heiligen Lorbeerwipfeln glänzte Hoch auf rauschendem Vorgebirg ein Tempel. Aus den Fluthen erhub, von Pan gesegnet, In Gedüfte der Ferne sich ein Eiland. 5 Oft, in mondlicher Dämmrung, schwebt' ein Nachen Vom Gestade des heerdenreichen Eilands, Zur umwaldeten Bucht, wo sich ein Steinpfad Zwischen Mirten zum Tempelhain emporwand. Dort im Rosengebüsch, der Huldgöttinnen 10 Marmorgruppe geheiligt, fleht' oft einsam Eine Priesterin, reizend wie Apelles Seine Grazien malt, zum Sohn Cytherens, Ihren Kallias freundlich zu umschweben Und durch Wogen und Dunkel ihn zu leiten, 15 Bis der nächtliche Schiffer, wonneschauernd, An den Busen ihr sank. The German original of the translation was published in _Poems_, 1852, Notes, pp. 387-9. B [Vide _ante_, p. 307] SCHILLER DER EPISCHE HEXAMETER Schwindelnd trägt er dich fort auf rastlos strömenden Wogen; Hinter dir siehst du, du siehst vor dir nur Himmel und Meer. DAS DISTICHON Im Hexameter steigt des Springquells flüssige Säule; Im Pentameter drauf fällt sie melodisch herab. See _Poems_, 1844, p. 372. C [Vide _ante_, p. 308] STOLBERG ON A CATARACT Unsterblicher Jüngling! Du strömest hervor Aus der Felsenkluft. Kein Sterblicher sah Die Wiege des Starken; 5 Es hörte kein Ohr Das Lallen des Edlen im sprudelnden Quell. Dich kleidet die Sonne In Strahlen des Ruhmes! Sie malet mit Farben des himmlischen Bogens 10 Die schwebenden Wolken der stäubenden Fluth. See _Poems_, 1844, pp. 371-2. D [Vide _ante_, p. 309] STOLBERG BEI WILHELM TELLS GEBURTSSTÄTTE IM KANTON URI Seht diese heilige Kapell! Hier ward geboren Wilhelm Tell, Hier wo der Altar Gottes steht Stand seiner Eltern Ehebett! Mit Mutterfreuden freute sich 5 Die liebe Mutter inniglich, Die gedachte nicht an ihren Schmerz Und hielt das Knäblein an ihr Herz. Sie flehte Gott: er sei dein Knecht, Sei stark und muthig und gerecht. 10 Gott aber dachte: ich thu' mehr Durch ihn als durch ein ganzes Heer. Er gab dem Knaben warmes Blut, Des Rosses Kraft, des Adlers Muth, Im Felsennacken freien Sinn, 15 Des Falken Aug' und Feuer drin! Dem Worte sein' und der Natur Vertraute Gott das Knäblein nur; Wo sich der Felsenstrom ergeusst Erhub sich früh des Helden Geist. 20 Das Ruder und die Gemsenjagd Hatt' seine Glieder stark gemacht; Er scherzte früh mit der Gefahr Und wusste nicht wie gross er war. Er wusste nicht dass seine Hand, 25 Durch Gott gestärkt, sein Vaterland Erretten würde von der Schmach Der Knechtschaft, deren Joch er brach. FRIEDRICH LEOPOLD GRAF ZU STOLBERG, 1775 The German original is supplied in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, pp. 618, 619. E [Vide _ante_, p. 310] SCHILLER DITHYRAMBE Nimmer, das glaubt mir, Erscheinen die Götter, Nimmer allein. Kaum dass ich Bacchus, den Lustigen, habe, Kommt auch schon Amor, der lächelnde Knabe, 5 Phöbus, der Herrliche, findet sich ein! Sie nahen, sie kommen-- Die Himmlischen alle, Mit Göttern erfüllt sich Die irdische Halle. 10 Sagt, wie bewirth' ich, Der Erdegeborne, Himmlischen Chor? Schenket mir euer unsterbliches Leben, Götter! Was kann euch der Sterbliche geben? 15 Hebet zu eurem Olymp mich empor. Die Freude, sie wohnt nur In Jupiters Saale; O füllet mit Nektar, O reicht mir die Schale! 20 Reich' ihm die Schale! Schenke dem Dichter, Hebe, nur ein! Netz' ihm die Augen mit himmlischem Thaue, Dass er den Styx, den verhassten, nicht schaue, 25 Einer der Unsern sich dünke zu seyn. Sie rauschet, sie perlet, Die himmlische Quelle: Der Busen wird ruhig, Das Auge wird helle. 30 The German original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, p. 619. F [Vide _ante_, p. 311] GOETHE _Wilhelm Meister_, Bk. III, Cap. 1.--_Sämmtliche Werke_, 1860, iii, p. 194. Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühn, Im dunkeln Laub die Goldorangen glühn, Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht, Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht Dahin! Dahin 5 Möcht' ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn. G [Vide _ante_, p. 311] FRANÇOIS-ANTOINE-EUGÈNE DE PLANARD 'BATELIER, DIT LISETTE' _Marie, opéra-comique en trois actes_, 1826, p. 9. SUSETTE, _assise dans la barque_. Batelier, dit Lisette, Je voudrais passer l'eau, Mais je suis bien pauvrette Pour payer le bateau: --Venez, venez, toujours . . . 5 Et vogue la nacelle Qui porte mes amours! (_Ils abordent. Lubin reste sur la rive à attacher sa barque._) SUSETTE, _s'avancant en scène_. Je m'en vais chez mon père, Dit Lisette à Colin. --Eh bien! Crois-tu, ma chère, 10 Qu'il m'accorde ta main? --Ah! répondit la belle, Osez, osez toujours. --Et vogue la nacelle Qui porte mes amours! 15 LUBIN et SUSETTE Après le mariage, Toujours dans son bateau Colin fut le plus sage Des maris du hameau. A sa chanson fidèle, 20 Il répète toujours: Et vogue la nacelle Qui porte mes amours! H [Vide _ante_, p. 313] DES KNABEN WUNDERHORN Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär Und auch zwei Flüglein hätt', Flög' ich zu dir; Weil's aber nicht kann sein, Weil's aber nicht kann sein, 5 Bleib' ich allhier. Bin ich gleich weit von dir, Bin ich doch im Schlaf bei dir Und red' mit dir; Wenn ich erwachen thu', 10 Wenn ich erwachen thu', Bin ich allein. Es vergeht keine Stund' in der Nacht Da mein Herz nicht erwacht Und an dich gedenkt. 15 Wie du mir viel tausendmal, Wie du mir viel tausendmal, Dein Herz geschenkt. I STOLBERG Lied eines deutschen Knaben.--_Gesammelte Werke_, Hamburg, 1827, i. 42. Mein Arm wird stark und gross mein Muth, Gieb, Vater, mir ein Schwert! Verachte nicht mein junges Blut; Ich bin der Väter werth! Ich finde fürder keine Ruh 5 Im weichen Knabenstand! Ich stürb', O Vater, stolz, wie du, Den Tod für's Vaterland! Schon früh in meiner Kindheit war Mein täglich Spiel der Krieg! 10 Im Bette träumt' ich nur Gefahr Und Wunden nur und Sieg. Mein Feldgeschrei erweckte mich Aus mancher Türkenschlacht; Noch jüngst ein Faustschlag, welchen ich 15 Dem Bassa zugedacht! Da neulich unsrer Krieger Schaar Auf dieser Strasse zog, Und, wie ein Vogel, der Husar Das Haus vorüberflog, 20 Da gaffte starr und freute sich Der Knaben froher Schwarm: Ich aber, Vater, härmte mich, Und prüfte meinen Arm! Mein Arm ist stark und gross mein Muth, 25 Gieb, Vater, mir ein Schwert! Verachte nicht mein junges Blut; Ich bin der Väter werth! The German original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, pp. 617, 618. J [Vide _ante_, p. 318] LESSING _Sämmtliche Schriften_, vol. i, p. 50, ed. Lachmann-Maltzahn, Leipzig, 1853. DIE NAMEN. Ich fragte meine Schöne: Wie soll mein Lied dich nennen? Soll dich als Dorimana, Als Galathee, als Chloris, Als Lesbia, als Doris, 5 Die Welt der Enkel kennen? Ach! Namen sind nur Töne; Sprach meine holde Schöne, Wähl' selbst. Du kannst mich Doris, Und Galathee und Chloris 10 Und ---- wie du willst mich nennen: Nur nenne mich die deine. The German original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, pp. 619, 620. K [Vide _ante_, p. 327] STOLBERG HYMNE AN DIE ERDE. Erde, du Mutter zahlloser Kinder, Mutter und Amme! Sei mir gegrüsst! Sei mir gesegnet im Feiergesange! Sieh, O Mutter, hier lieg' ich an deinen schwellenden Brüsten! Lieg', O Grüngelockte, von deinem wallenden Haupthaar Sanft umsäuselt und sanft geküsst von thauenden Lüften! 5 Ach, du säuselst Wonne mir zu, und thauest mir Wehmuth In das Herz, dass Wehmuth und Wonn' aus schmelzender Seele Sich in Thränen und Dank und heiligen Liedern ergiessen! Erde, du Mutter zahlloser Kinder, Mutter und Amme! Schwester der allesfreuenden Sonne, des freundlichen Mondes 10 Und der strahlenden Stern', und flammenbeschweiften Kometen, Eine der jüngsten Töchter der allgebärenden Schöpfung, Immer blühendes Weib des segenträufelnden Himmels! Sprich, O Erde, wie war dir als du am ersten der Tage Deinen heiligen Schooss dem buhlenden Himmel enthülltest? 15 Dein Erröthen war die erste der Morgenröthen, Als er im blendenden Bette von weichen schwellenden Wolken Deine gürtende Binde mit siegender Stärke dir löste! Schauer durchbebten die stille Natur und tausend und tausend Leben keimten empor aus der mächtigen Liebesumarmung. 20 Freudig begrüssten die Fluthen des Meeres neuer Bewohner Mannigfaltige Schaaren; es staunte der werdende Wallfisch Ueber die steigenden Ströme die seiner Nasen entbrausten; Junges Leben durchbrüllte die Auen, die Wälder, die Berge, Irrte blökend im Thal, und sang in blühenden Stauden. 25 The German original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, p. 615. L [Vide _ante_, p. 376] FRIEDERIKE BRUN CHAMOUNY BEYM SONNENAUFGANGE (Nach Klopstock.) 'Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden Tannenhains Erblick' ich bebend dich, Scheitel der Ewigkeit, Blendenden Gipfel, von dessen Höhe Ahndend mein Geist ins Unendliche schwebet! 'Wer senkte den Pfeiler tief in der Erde Schooss, 5 Der, seit Jahrtausenden, fest deine Masse stützt? Wer thürmte hoch in des Aethers Wölbung Mächtig und kühn dein umstrahltes Antlitz? 'Wer goss Euch hoch aus des ewigen Winters Reich, O Zackenströme, mit Donnergetös' herab? 10 Und wer gebietet laut mit der Allmacht Stimme: "Hier sollen ruhen die starrenden Wogen"? 'Wer zeichnet dort dem Morgensterne die Bahn? Wen kränzt mit Blüthen des ewigen Frostes Saum? Wem tönt in schrecklichen Harmonieen, 15 Wilder Arveiron, dein Wogengetümmel? 'Jehovah! Jehovah! Kracht's im berstenden Eis: Lawinendonner rollen's die Kluft hinab: Jehovah Rauscht's in den hellen Wipfeln, Flüstert's an rieselnden Silberbächen.' 20 See _Poems_, 1844, p. 572. M [Vide _ante_, p. 392] _Opere del Cavalier Giambattista Marino_, with introduction by Giuseppe Zirardini. Napoli, 1861, p. 550. ALLA SUA AMICA _Sonetto._ Donna, siam rei di morte. Errasti, errai; Di perdon non son degni i nostri errori, Tu che avventasti in me sì fieri ardori Io che le fiamme a sì bel sol furai. Io che una fiera rigida adorai, 5 Tu che fosti sord' aspra a' miei dolori; Tu nell' ire ostinata, io negli amori: Tu pur troppo sdegnasti, io troppo amai. Or la pena laggiù nel cieco Averno Pari al fallo n'aspetta. Arderà poi, 10 Chi visse in foco, in vivo foco eterno. Quivi: se Amor fia giusto, amboduo noi, All' incendio dannati, avrem l' inferno, Tu nel mio core, ed io negli occhi tuoi. The Italian original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, p. 632. N [Vide _ante_, p. 409] In diesem Wald, in diesen Gründen Herrscht nichts, als Freyheit, Lust und Ruh. Hier sagen wir der Liebe zu, Im dichtsten Schatten uns zu finden: Da find' ich dich, mich findest du. 5 The German original is translated from an MS. Notebook of ? 1801. O [Vide _ante_, p. 414] THE MADMAN AND THE LETHARGIST +Koinê par klisiê lêthargikos êde phrenoplêx keimenoi, allêlôn nouson apeskedasan. exethore klinês gar ho tolmêeis hypo lyssês, kai ton anaisthêton pantos etypte melous. plêgai d' amphoterois egenont' akos, hais ho men autôn 5 egreto, ton d' hypnô poulys eripse kopos.+ _Anthologia Græca_, Lib. 1, Cap. 45. See Lessing's 'Zerstreute Anmerkungen über das Epigramm', _Sämmtliche Werke_, 1824, ii. 22. P [Vide _ante_, p. 427] MADRIGALI DEL SIGNOR CAVALIER GUARINI DIALOGO FEDE, SPERANZA, CARITÀ. FEDE. Canti terreni amori Chi terreno hà il pensier, terreno il zelo; Noi Celesti Virtù cantiam del Cielo. CARITÀ. Mà chi fia, che vi ascolti Fuggirà i nostri accenti orecchia piena 5 De le lusinghe di mortal Sirena? SPERANZA. Cantiam pur, che raccolti Saran ben in virtù di chi li move; E suoneran nel Ciel, se non altrove. FE. SP. CA. Spirane dunque, eterno Padre, il canto, 10 Che già festi al gran Cantor Ebreo, Che poi tant' alto feo Suonar la gloria del tuo nomine santo. CA. FE. Noi siam al Ciel rapite E pur lo star in terra è nostra cura, 15 A ricondur à Dio l' alme smarrite. FE. SP. Così facciamo, e 'n questa valle oscura L' una sia scorta al sol d' l' intelletto, L' altra sostegno al vacillante affetto. CA. E com' è senz' amor l' anima viva? 20 SP. FE. Come stemprata cetra, Che suona sì, mà di concento priva. CA. SP. Amor' è quel, ch' ogni gran dono impetra. FE. Mà tempo è, che le genti Odan l' alta virtù de' nostri accenti. 25 FE. SP. CA. O mondo--eco la via; Chi vuol salir' al Ciel, creda, ami, e spetti. O félici pensieri Di chi, per far in Dio santa armonia E per ogn' altro suon l'anima hà sorda, 30 FEDE, SPERANZA, e CARITATE accenda. Il Pastor Fido Con le Rime del Signor Cavalier Battista Guarini In Amstelodami Madrigali 138, 139. 1663 or 9. Q [Vide _ante_, p. 435] STOLBERG '_An das Meer._' Der blinde Sänger stand am Meer, Die Wogen rauschten um ihn her, Und Riesenthaten goldner Zeit Umrauschten ihn im Feierkleid. Es kam zu ihm auf Schwanenschwung 5 Melodisch die Begeisterung, Und Iliad und Odyssee Entsteigen mit Gesang der See. The German original is printed in the Notes to _P. W._, 1893, p. 639. See, too, Prefatory Memoir to the Tauchnitz edition of Coleridge's _Poems_, by P. Freiligrath (1852). BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 1794-1834 I The / FALL / of / ROBESPIERRE. / An / HISTORIC DRAMA. / By S. T. COLERIDGE, / Of Jesus College, Cambridge. / [=Cambridge=]: / Printed by Benjamin Flower, / For W. H. Lunn, and J. and J. Merrill; and Sold / By J. March, Norwich. / 1794. / [Price One Shilling.] [8{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, p. [i], [Dedication] To H. Martin, _Esq._, Of Jesus College, Cambridge (dated, September 22. 1794), p. [3]; Text, pp. [5]-37. II POEMS / on / VARIOUS SUBJECTS, /By S. T. COLERIDGE, / Late of Jesus College, Cambridge. / Felix curarum, cui non Heliconia cordi / Serta, nec imbelles Parnassi e vertice laurus! / Sed viget ingenium, et magnos accinctus in usus / Fert animus quascunque vices.--Nos tristia vitae / Solamur cantu. / STAT. _Silv._ Lib. iv. 4.[1135:1] / LONDON: / Printed for G. G. and J. Robinsons, and / J. Cottle, Bookseller, Bristol. / 1796. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, Poems / on Various Subjects, / By / S. T. Coleridge, / Late / Of Jesus College, Cambridge. /, one leaf, p. [i]; Title, one leaf, p. [iii]; Preface, pp. [v]-xi; Contents, pp. [xiii]-xvi; Text, pp. [1]-168; Notes on _Religious Musings_, pp. [169]-175; Notes, pp. [177]-188; Errata, p. [189].[1135:2] _Contents._-- PREFACE Poems on various subjects written at different times and prompted by very different feelings; but which will be read at one time and under the influence of one set of feelings--this is an heavy disadvantage: for we love or admire a poet in proportion as he developes our own sentiments and emotions, or reminds us of our own knowledge. Compositions resembling those of the present volume are not unfrequently condemned for their querulous egotism. But egotism is to be condemned then only when it offends against time and place, as in an History or an Epic Poem. To censure it in a Monody or Sonnet is almost as absurd as to dislike a circle for being round. Why then write Sonnets or Monodies? Because they give me pleasure when perhaps nothing else could. After the more violent emotions of Sorrow, the mind demands solace and can find it in employment alone; but full of its late sufferings it can endure no employment not connected with those sufferings. Forcibly to turn away our attention to other subjects is a painful and in general an unavailing effort. "But O how grateful to a wounded heart The tale of misery to impart; From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow And raise esteem upon the base of woe!"[1136:1] The communicativeness of our nature leads us to describe our own sorrows; in the endeavor to describe them intellectual activity is exerted; and by a benevolent law of our nature from intellectual activity a pleasure results which is gradually associated and mingles as a corrective with the painful subject of the description. True! it may be answered, but how are the PUBLIC interested in your sorrows or your description? We are for ever attributing a personal unity to imaginary aggregates. What is the PUBLIC but a term for a number of scattered individuals of whom as many will be interested in these sorrows as have experienced the same or similar? "Holy be the Lay, Which mourning soothes the mourner on his way!" There is one species of egotism which is truly disgusting; not that which leads us to communicate our feelings to others, but that which would reduce the feelings of others to an identity with our own. The Atheist, who exclaims "pshaw!" when he glances his eye on the praises of Deity, is an Egotist; an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of love-verses, is an Egotist; and your sleek favourites of Fortune are Egotists, when they condemn all "melancholy discontented" verses. Surely it would be candid not merely to ask whether the Poem pleases ourselves, but to consider whether or no there may not be others to whom it is well-calculated to give an innocent pleasure. With what anxiety every fashionable author avoids the word _I_!--now he transforms himself into a third person,--"the present writer"--now multiplies himself and swells into "_we_"--and all this is the watchfulness of guilt. Conscious that this said _I_ is perpetually intruding on his mind and that it monopolizes his heart, he is prudishly solicitous that it may not escape from his lips. This disinterestedness of phrase is in general commensurate with selfishness of feeling: men old and hackneyed in the ways of the world are scrupulous avoiders of Egotism. Of the following Poems a considerable number are styled "Effusions," in defiance of Churchill's line "Effusion on Effusion _pour_ away."[1136:2] I could recollect no title more descriptive of the manner and matter of the Poems--I might indeed have called the majority of them Sonnets--but they do not possess that _oneness_ of thought which I deem indispensible (sic) in a Sonnet--and (not a very honorable motive perhaps) I was fearful that the title "Sonnet" might have reminded my reader of the Poems of the Rev. W. L. Bowles--a comparison with whom would have sunk me below that mediocrity, on the surface of which I am at present enabled to float. Some of the verses allude to an intended emigration to America on the scheme of an abandonment of individual property. The Effusions signed C. L. were written by Mr. CHARLES LAMB, of the India House--independently of the signature their superior merit would have sufficiently distinguished them. For the rough sketch of Effusion XVI, I am indebted to Mr. FAVELL. And the first half of Effusion XV was written by the Author of "Joan of Arc", an Epic Poem. NOTES ATTACHED TO A FIRST DRAFT OF THE PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION [_MS. R_] (i) I cannot conclude the Preface without expressing my grateful acknowledgments to Mr. Cottle, Bristol, for the liberality with which (with little probability I know of remuneration from the sale) he purchased the poems, and the typographical elegance by which he endeavoured to recommend them, (or)--the liberal assistance which he afforded me, by the purchase of the copyright with little probability of remuneration from the sale of the Poems. [This acknowledgement, which was omitted from the Preface to the First Edition, was rewritten and included in the 'Advertisement' to the 'Supplement' to the Second Edition.] (ii) To EARL STANHOPE A man beloved of Science and of Freedom, these Poems are respectfully inscribed by The Author. [In a letter to Miss Cruikshank (? 1807) (_Early Recollections_, 1837, i. 201), Coleridge maintains that the 'Sonnet to Earl Stanhope', which was published in _Poems_, 1796 (vide _ante_, pp. 89, 90), 'was inserted by the fool of a publisher [Cottle prints 'inserted by Biggs, the fool of a printer'] in order, forsooth, that he might send the book and a letter to Earl Stanhope; who (to prove that he is not _mad_ in all things) treated both book and letter with silent contempt.' In a note Cottle denies this statement, and maintains that the 'book (handsomely bound) and the letter were sent to Lord S. by Mr. C. himself'. It is possible that before the book was published Coleridge had repented of Sonnet, Dedication, and Letter, and that the 'handsomely bound' volume was sent by Cottle and not by Coleridge, but the 'Dedication' is in his own handwriting and proves that he was, in the first instance at least, _particeps criminis_. See Note by J. D. Campbell, _P. W._, 1893, pp. 575, 576.] CONTENTS PAGE Monody to Chatterton 1 To the Rev. W. J. H. 12 Songs of the Pixies 15 Lines on the Man of Ross 26 Lines to a beautiful Spring 28 Epitaph on an Infant 31 Lines on a Friend 32 To a Young Lady with a Poem 36 Absence, a Farewell Ode 40 Effusion 1, to Bowles 45 Effusion 2, to Burke 46 Effusion 3, to Mercy 47 Effusion 4, to Priestley 48 Effusion 5, to Erskine 49 Effusion 6, to Sheridan 50 Effusion 7, to Siddons [signed 'C. L.'] 51 Effusion 8, to Kosciusco 52 Effusion 9, to Fayette 53 Effusion 10, to Earl Stanhope 54 Effusion 11 ['Was it some sweet device'--'C. L.'] 55 Effusion 12 ['Methinks how dainty sweet'--'C. L.'] 56 Effusion 13, written at Midnight ['C. L.'] 57 Effusion 14 59 Effusion 15 60 Effusion 16, to an Old Man 61 Effusion 17, to Genevieve 62 Effusion 18, to the Autumnal Moon 63 Effusion 19, to my own heart 64 Effusion 20, to Schiller 65 Effusion 21, on Brockley Coomb 66 [Effusion 22,] To a Friend with an unfinished Poem 68 Effusion 23, to the Nightingale 71 Effusion 24, in the manner of Spencer 73 Effusion 25, to Domestic Peace 77 Effusion 26, on a Kiss 78 Effusion 27 80 Effusion 28 82 Effusion 29, Imitated from Ossian 84 Effusion 30, Complaint of Ninathoma 86 Effusion 31, from the Welsh 88 Effusion 32, The Sigh 89 Effusion 33, to a Young Ass 91 Effusion 34, to an Infant 94 Effusion 35, written at Clevedon 96 Effusion 36, written in Early Youth 101 Epistle 1, written at Shurton Bars 111 Epistle 2, to a Friend in answer to a Melancholy Letter 119 Epistle 3, written after a Walk 122 Epistle 4, to the Author of Poems published in Bristol 125 Epistle 5, from a Young Lady 129 Religious Musings 139 III [A SHEET OF SONNETS.] _Collation._--No title; Introduction, pp. [1]-2; Text (of Sonnets Nos. i-xxviii), pp. 3-16. Signatures A. B. B{2}. [1796.] [8{o}. [There is no imprint. In a letter to John Thelwall, dated December 17, 1796 (_Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i, 206), Coleridge writes, 'I have sent you . . . Item, a sheet of sonnets collected by me, for the use of a few friends, who payed the printing.' The 'sheet' is bound up with a copy of 'Sonnets and Other poems, by The Rev. W. L. Bowles A. M. Bath, printed by R. Cruttwell: and sold by C. Dilly, Poultry, London, MDCCXCVI. _Fourth Edition_,' which was presented to Mrs. Thelwall, Dec. 18, 1796. At the end of the 'Sonnets' a printed slip (probably a cutting from a newspaper) is inserted, which contains the lines 'To a FRIEND who had declared his intention of Writing no more Poetry' (vide _ante_, pp. 158, 159). This volume is now in the Dyce Collection, which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum. See _P. and D. W._, 1877, ii, pp. 375-9, and _P. W._, 1893, p. 544.] _Contents._-- [INTRODUCTION] The composition of the Sonnet has been regulated by Boileau in his Art / of Poetry, and since Boileau, by William Preston, in the elegant preface / to his Amatory Poems: the rules, which they would establish, are founded / on the practice of Petrarch. I have never yet been able to discover either / sense, nature, or poetic fancy in Petrarch's poems; they appear to me all / one cold glitter of heavy conceits and metaphysical abstractions. How/ever, Petrarch, although not the inventor of the Sonnet, was the first / who made it popular; and _his_ countrymen have taken his poems as the / model. Charlotte Smith and Bowles are they who first made the Sonnet / popular among the present English: I am justified therefore by analogy / in deducing its laws from _their_ compositions. The Sonnet then is a small poem, in which some lonely feeling is de/veloped. It is limited to a _particular_ number of lines, in order that the / reader's mind having expected the close at the place in which he finds it, / may rest satisfied; and that so the poem may acquire, as it were, a _Totality_,/--in 15 plainer phrase, may become a _Whole_. It is confined to fourteen lines, / because as some particular number is necessary, and that particular / number must be a small one, it may as well be fourteen as any other / number. When no reason can be adduced against a thing, Custom is a / sufficient reason for it. Perhaps, if the Sonnet were comprized in less / than fourteen lines, it would become a serious Epigram; if it extended to / more, it would encroach on the province of the Elegy. Poems, in which / no lonely feeling is developed, are not Sonnets because the Author has / chosen to write them in fourteen lines; they should rather be entitled / Odes, or Songs, or Inscriptions. The greater part of Warton's Sonnets are / severe and masterly likenesses of the style of the Greek +epigrammata+. In a Sonnet then we require a developement of some lonely feeling, by / whatever cause it may have been excited; but those Sonnets appear to me / the most exquisite, in which moral Sentiments, Affections, or Feelings, / are deduced from, and associated with, the scenery of Nature. Such / compositions generate a habit of thought highly favourable to delicacy of / character. They create a sweet and indissoluble union between the / intellectual and the material world. Easily remembered from their briefness, / and interesting alike to the eye and the affections, these are the poems / which we can "lay up in our heart, and our soul," and repeat them "when / we walk by the way, and when we lie down, and when we rise up". / Hence the Sonnets of _Bowles_ derive their marked superiority over all / other Sonnets; hence they domesticate with the heart, and become, as it / were, a part of our identity. Respecting the metre of a Sonnet, the Writer should consult his own / convenience.--Rhymes, many or few, or no rhymes at all--whatever the / chastity of his ear may prefer, whatever the rapid expression of his / feelings will permit;--all these things are left at his own disposal. A same/ness in the final sound of its words is the great and grievous defect of the / Italian language. That rule, therefore, which the Italians have estab/lished, of exactly _four_ different sounds in the Sonnet, seems to have arisen / from their wish to have _as many_, not from any dread of finding _more_. But / surely it is ridiculous to make the _defect_ of a foreign language a reason for / our not availing ourselves of one of the marked excellencies of our own. / "The Sonnet (says Preston,) will ever be cultivated by those who write on / tender, pathetic subjects. It is peculiarly adapted to the state of a man / violently agitated by a real passion, and wanting composure and vigor of / mind to methodize his thought. It is fitted to express a momentary burst / of Passion" etc. Now, if there be one species of composition more difficult / and artificial than another, it is an English Sonnet on the Italian Model. / Adapted to the agitations of a real passion! Express momentary bursts / of feeling in it! I should sooner expect to write pathetic _Axes_ or _pour / forth Extempore Eggs_ and _Altars_![1140:1] But the best confutation of such idle rules / is to be found in the Sonnets of those who have observed them, in their / inverted sentences, their quaint phrases, and incongruous mixture of / obsolete and Spenserian words: and when, at last, the thing is toiled and / hammered into fit shape, it is in general racked and tortured Prose rather / than any thing resembling Poetry. Miss Seward, who has perhaps / succeeded the best in these laborious trifles and who most dogmatically / insists on what she calls "the sonnet-claim," has written a very in/genious although unintentional burlesque on her own system, in the / following lines prefixed to the Poems of a Mr. Carey. "Prais'd be the Poet, who the sonnet-claim, Severest of the orders that belong Distinct and separate to the Delphic song 70 Shall reverence, nor its appropriate name Lawless assume: peculiar is its frame-- From him derived, who spurn'd the city throng, And warbled sweet the rocks and woods among, Lonely Valclusa! and that heir of Fame, 75 Our greater Milton, hath in many a lay Woven on this arduous model, clearly shewn That English verse may happily display Those strict energic measures which alone Deserve the name of Sonnet, and convey 80 A spirit, force, and grandeur, all their own! "ANNE SEWARD." "_A spirit, force, and grandeur, all their own!!_"--EDITOR.[1140:2] [SONNETS] SONNET I. TO A FRIEND 'Bereave me not of these delightful Dreams.'--W. L. BOWLES.[1141:1] II. 'With many a weary step at length I gain.'--R. SOUTHEY. III. TO SCOTLAND 'Scotland! when thinking on each heathy hill.'--C. LLOYD. IV. TO CRAIG-MILLAR CASTLE IN WHICH MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS WAS CONFINED. 'This hoary labyrinth, the wreck of Time.'--C. LLOYD. V. TO THE RIVER OTTER 'Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West.'--S. T. COLERIDGE. VI. 'O Harmony! thou tenderest Nurse of Pain.'--W. L. BOWLES. VII. TO EVENING 'What numerous tribes beneath thy shadowy wing.'--BAMFIELD. VIII. ON BATHING 'When late the trees were stript by winter pale'.--T. WARTON. IX. 'When eddying Leaves begun in whirls to fly.'--HENRY BROOKS, (_the Author of the Fool of Quality_.) X. 'We were two pretty Babes, the younger she'.--CHARLES LAMB. [_Note_]. Innocence which while we possess it is playful as a babe, becomes AWFUL, when it departs from us. That is the sentiment of the line, a fine sentiment, and nobly expressed.--THE EDITOR. XI. 'I knew a gentle maid I ne'er shall view.'--W. SOTHEBY. XII. 'Was it some sweet device of faery land.'--CHARLES LAMB. XIII. 'When last I rov'd these winding wood-walks green.'--CHARLES LAMB. XIV. ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO LATE. 'Thou bleedest, my poor HEART! and thy distress.'--S. T. COLERIDGE. XV. 'Hard by the road, where on that little mound.'--ROBERT SOUTHEY. XVI. THE NEGRO SLAVE 'Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run.'--ROBERT SOUTHEY. XVII. 'Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled.'--S. T. COLERIDGE. XVIII. 'Could then the babes from yon unshelter'd cot.'--THOMAS RUSSEL. XIX. 'Mild arch of promise on the evening sky.'--ROBERT SOUTHEY. XX. 'Oh! She was almost speechless nor could hold.'--CHARLES LLOYD. XXI. 'When from my dreary Home I first mov'd on'--CHARLES LLOYD. XXII. 'In this tumultuous sphere for thee unfit.'--CHARLOTTE SMITH. XXIII. 'I love the mournful sober-suited NIGHT.'--CHARLOTTE SMITH. XXIV. 'Lonely I sit upon the silent shore.'--THOMAS DERMODY. XXV. 'Oh! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind.'--CHARLES LAMB. XXVI. 'Thou whose stern spirit loves the awful storm.'--W. L. BOWLES. XXVII. 'INGRATITUDE, how deadly is thy smart.'--ANNA SEWARD. XXVIII. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE "ROBBERS" 'That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cry.'--S. T. COLERIDGE. [At the foot of l. 14. S. T. C. writes-- 'I affirm, John Thelwall! that the six last lines of this Sonnet to Schiller are strong and fiery; and you are the only one who thinks otherwise.--There's! a _spurt_ of Author-like Vanity for you!'] IV ODE / ON THE / DEPARTING YEAR. / BY S. T. COLERIDGE. / +Iou, iou, ô ô kaka, Yp' au me deinos orthomanteias ponos+ / +Strobei, tarassôn phroimiois ephêmiois+, / . . . . . / +to mellon êxei; kai sy mên tachei parôn / +Agan g' alêthomantin m' ereis+. / ÆSCHYL. AGAMEM. 1225. / BRISTOL; Printed by N. Biggs, / and sold by J. Parsons, Paternoster Row, London. / 1796. / [4{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, p. [1]; Dedication, To Thomas Poole of Stowey, pp. [3]-4; Text, pp. [5]-15; LINES Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune who abandoned himself to an indolent and causeless Melancholy (signed) [=S. T. Coleridge=], p. 16. [Signatures--B (p. 5)--D (p. 13).] V POEMS, / By / S. T. COLERIDGE, / Second Edition. / To which are now added / POEMS / _By_ CHARLES LAMB, / And / CHARLES LLOYD. / Duplex nobis vinculum, et amicitiae et similium / junctarumque Camoenarum; quod utinam neque mors / solvat, neque temporis longinquitas! / _Groscoll. Epist. ad Car. Utenhov. et Ptol. Lux. Tast._ / Printed by N. Biggs, / For J. Cottle, BRISTOL, and Messrs. / Robinsons, London. / 1797. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Title-page, one leaf, p. [i]; Half-title, one leaf, [=Poems=] / by / [=S. T. Coleridge=] / [followed by Motto as in No. II], pp. [iii]-[iv]; Contents, pp. [v]-vi; DEDICATION, _To the Reverend_ GEORGE COLERIDGE of OTTERY St. MARY, / DEVON. Notus in frates animi paterni. _Hor. Carm. Lib._ II. 2. /, pp. [vii]-xii; Preface to the First Edition, pp. [xiii]-xvi; Preface to the Second Edition, pp. [xvii]-xx; Half-title, [=Ode=] / _on the_ / [=Departing Year=] [with motto (5 lines) from Aeschy. Agamem. 1225], one leaf, pp. [1]-[2]; Argument, pp. [3]-[4]; Text, pp. [5]-278; Errata (four lines) at the foot of p. 278. [Carolus Utenhovius (Utenhove, or Uyttenhove) and Ptolomoeus Luxius Tasteus were scholar friends of the Scottish poet and historian George Buchanan (1506-1582), who prefixes some Iambics 'Carolo Utenhovio F. S.' to his Hexameters 'Franciscanus et Fratres'. In some Elegiacs addressed to Tasteus and Tevius, in which he complains of his sufferings from gout and kindred maladies, he tells them that Groscollius (Professor of Medicine at the University of Paris) was doctoring him with herbs and by suggestion:--'Et spe languentem consilioque juvat'. Hence the three names. In another set of Iambics entitled 'Mutuus Amor' in which he celebrates the alliance between Scotland and England he writes:-- Non mortis hoc propinquitas Non temporis longinquitas Solvet, fides quod nexuit Intaminata vinculum. Hence the wording of the motto. Groscollius is, of course, a _mot à double entente_. It is a name and a nickname. The interpretation of the names and the reference to Buchanan's Hexameters were first pointed out by Mr. T. Hutchinson in the _Athenaeum_, Dec. 10, 1898.] CONTENTS [Titles of poems not in 1796 are printed in italics.] POEMS by S. T. COLERIDGE. PAGE _Dedication_ vii Preface to the First Edition xiii Preface to the Second Edition xvii _Ode to the New Year_ 1 Monody on Chatterton 17 Songs of the Pixies 29 The Rose 41 The Kiss 43 To a young Ass 45 Domestic Peace 48 The Sigh 49 Epitaph on an Infant 51 Lines on the Man of Ross 52 ---- to a beautiful Spring 54 ---- on the Death of a Friend 57 To a Young Lady 61 To a Friend, with an unfinished Poem 65 SONNETS. [_Introduction to the Sonnets_ 71-74] To W. L. Bowles 75 On a Discovery made too late 76 On Hope 77 _To the River Otter_ 78 On Brockly Comb 79 To an old Man 81 Sonnet 82 To Schiller 83 _On the Birth of a Son_ 85 _On first seeing my Infant_ 87 Ode to Sara 88 Composed at Clevedon 96 _On leaving a Place of Residence_ 100 _On an unfortunate Woman_ 105 _On observing a Blossom_ 107 _The Hour when we shall meet again_ 109 _Lines to C. Lloyd_ 110 Religious Musings 117 [=Poems=] by CHARLES LLOYD. pp. [151]-189. Second Edition. [=Poems=] _on The Death_ of PRISCILLA FARMER, By her GRANDSON CHARLES LLOYD, pp. [191]-213. Sonnet ['The piteous sobs that choak the Virgin's breath', signed S. T. Coleridge], p. 193. [=Poems=] by CHARLES LAMB _of the India-House_. pp. [215]-240. SUPPLEMENT. _Advertisement_ 243 Lines to Joseph Cottle, by S. T. Coleridge 246 On an Autumnal Evening, by ditto, 249 In the manner of Spencer (_sic_), by ditto, 256 The Composition of a Kiss, by ditto, 260 To an Infant, by Ditto 264 _On the Christening of a Friend's Child_, by ditto, 264 To the Genius of Shakespeare, by Charles Lloyd, 267 Written after a Journey into North Wales, by ditto, 270 A Vision of Repentance, by Charles Lamb, 273 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION [Pp. [xiii]-xvi.] Compositions resembling those of the present volume are not unfre/quently condemned for their querulous Egotism. But Egotism is to be / condemned then only when it offends against Time and Place, as in an / History or an Epic Poem. To censure it in a Monody or Sonnet is almost / as absurd as to dislike a circle for being round. Why then write Sonnets / or Monodies? Because they give me pleasure when perhaps nothing else / could. After the more violent emotions of Sorrow, the mind demands / amusement, and can find it in employment alone; but full of its late / sufferings, it can endure no employment not in some measure connected / with them. Forcibly to turn away our attention to general subjects is / a painful and most often an unavailing effort: But O! how grateful to a wounded heart The tale of Misery to impart-- From others' eyes bid artless sorrows flow, And raise esteem upon the base of woe! 15 SHAW. The communicativeness of our Nature leads us to describe our own / sorrows; in the endeavour to describe them, intellectual activity is exerted; / and from intellectual activity there results a pleasure, which is gradually / associated, and mingles as a corrective, with the painful subject of the / description. "True!" (it may be answered) "but how are the PUBLIC / interested in your Sorrows or your Description?" We are for ever / attributing personal Unities to imaginary Aggregates.--What is the PUBLIC, / but a term for a number of scattered Individuals? Of whom as many / will be interested in these sorrows, as have experienced the same or / similar. "Holy be the lay, Which mourning soothes the mourner on his way." If I could judge of others by myself, I should not hesitate to affirm, that / the most interesting passages in our most interesting Poems are those, in / which the Author developes his own feelings. The sweet voice of Cona[1144:1] / never sounds so sweetly as when it speaks of itself; and I should almost / suspect that man of an unkindly heart, who could read the opening of the / third book of the Paradise Lost without peculiar emotion. By a law of / our Nature, he, who labours under a strong feeling, is impelled to seek for / sympathy; but a Poet's feelings are all strong. Quicquid amet valde amat. / Akenside therefore speaks with philosophical accuracy, when he classes / Love and Poetry, as producing the same effects: "Love and the wish of Poets when their tongue Would teach to others' bosoms, what so charms 40 Their own."--PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. There is one species of Egotism which is truly disgusting; not that / which leads us to communicate our feelings to others, but that which / would reduce the feelings of others to an identity with our own. The / Atheist, who exclaims, "pshaw!" when he glances his eye on the praises / of Deity, is an Egotist: an old man, when he speaks contemptuously of / Love-verses is an Egotist: and the sleek Favorites of Fortune are / Egotists, when they condemn all "melancholy, discontented" verses. / Surely, it would be candid not merely to ask whether the poem pleases / ourselves but to consider whether or no there may not be others to whom / it is well-calculated to give an innocent pleasure. I shall only add that each of my readers will, I hope, remember that / these Poems on various subjects, which he reads at one time and under / the influence of one set of feelings, were written at different times and / prompted by very different feelings; and therefore that the supposed / inferiority of one Poem to another may sometimes be owing to the temper / of mind, in which he happens to peruse it. [Pp. [xvii]-xx.] PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION I return my acknowledgments to the different Reviewers for the / assistance, which they have afforded me, in detecting my poetic deficien/cies. I have endeavoured to avail myself of their remarks: one third of / the former Volume I have omitted, and the imperfections of the republished / part must be considered as errors of taste, not faults of carelessness. My / poems have been rightly charged with a profusion of double-epithets, and / a general turgidness. I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing / hand; and used my best efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of / thought and diction. This latter fault however had insinuated itself / into my Religious Musings with such intricacy of union, that sometimes / I have omitted to disentangle the weed from the fear of snapping the / flower. A third and heavier accusation has been brought against me, that / of obscurity; but not, I think, with equal justice. An Author is obscure / when his conceptions are dim and imperfect, and his language incorrect, / or unappropriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in allusions, / like the Bard of Gray, or one that impersonates high and abstract / truths, like Collins's Ode on the poetical character, claims not to be / popular--but should be acquitted of obscurity. The deficiency is in the / Reader. But this is a charge which every poet, whose imagination is / warm and rapid, must expect from his _contemporaries_. Milton did not / escape it; and it was adduced with virulence against Gray and Collins. / We now hear no more of it; not that their poems are better understood / at present, than they were at their first publication; but their fame is / established; and a critic would accuse himself of frigidity or inattention, / who should profess not to understand them. But a living writer is yet / sub judice; and if we cannot follow his conceptions or enter into his / feelings, it is more consoling to our pride to consider him as lost beneath, / than as soaring above, us. If any man expect from my poems the same / easiness of style which he admires in a drinking-song, for him I have not / written. Intelligibilia, non intellectum adfero. I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writings; and I consider / myself as having been amply repayed without either. Poetry has been to / me its own[1146:1] "exceeding great reward": it has soothed my afflictions: it / has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude; / and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and the / Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. There were inserted in my former Edition, a few Sonnets of my Friend / and old School-fellow, CHARLES LAMB. He has now communicated to me / a complete Collection of all his Poems; quae qui non prorsus amet, illum / omnes et Virtutes et Veneres odere. My friend CHARLES LLOYD has / likewise joined me; and has contributed every poem of his, which he / deemed worthy of preservation. With respect to my own share of the / Volume, I have omitted a third of the former Edition, and added almost / an equal number. The Poems thus added are marked in the Contents by / Italics. S. T. C. STOWEY, _May_, 1797. MS. Notes attached to proof sheets of the second Edition. (_a_) As neither of us three were present to correct the Press, and as my handwriting is not eminently distinguished for neatness or legibility, the Printer has made a few mistakes. The Reader will consult equally his own convenience, and our credit if before he peruses the volume he will scan the Table of Errata and make the desired alterations. S. T. Coleridge. Stowey, May 1797. (_b_) Table of Contents. (N.B. of my Poems)--and let it be printed in the same manner as Southey's Table of Contents--take care to mark _the new poems_ of the Edition by Italics. _Dedication._ Preface to the first Edition. _Refer to the_ Second Edition. _Ode on the departing Year._ Monody on the death of Chatterton, etc., etc.-- [_MS. R._] P. [69]. [Half-title] [=Sonnets=], / _Attempted in the Manner_ / Of The / Rev. W. L. Bowles. / Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem / Quod te IMITARI aveo. / LUCRET. [Pp. 71-74.] INTRODUCTION TO THE SONNETS For lines 1-63 vide _ante_, No. III, The Introduction to the 'Sheet of Sonnets'. Lines 64 to the end are omitted, and the last paragraph runs thus: The Sonnet has been ever a favourite species of composition with me; but I am conscious that I have not succeeded in it. From a large number I have retained ten only, as seemed not beneath mediocrity. Whatever more is said of them, ponamus lucro. S. T. COLERIDGE. [_Note._ In a copy of the Edition of 1797, now in the Rowfant Library, S. T. C. comments in a marginal note on the words 'I have never yet been able to discover sense, nature, or poetic fancy in Petrarch's poems,' &c.--'A piece of petulant presumption, of which I should be more ashamed if I did not flatter myself that it stands alone in my writings. The best of the joke is that at the time I wrote it, I did not understand a word of Italian, and could therefore judge of this divine Poet only by bald translations of some half-dozen of his Sonnets.'] [Pp. 243-245.] ADVERTISEMENT I have excepted the following Poems from those, which I had determined to omit. Some intelligent friends particularly requested it, observing, that what most delighted me when I was "young in _writing_ poetry, would probably best please those who are young in _reading_ poetry: and a man must learn to be _pleased_ with a subject, before he can yield that attention to it, which is requisite in order to acquire a just taste." I however was fully convinced, that he, who gives to the press what he does not thoroughly approve in his own closet, commits an act of disrespect, both against himself and his fellow-citizens. The request and the reasoning would not, therefore, have influenced me, had they not been assisted by other motives. The first in order of these verses, which I have thus endeavoured to _reprieve_ from immediate oblivion, was originally addressed "To the Author of Poems published anonymously, at Bristol." A second edition of these poems has lately appeared with the Author's name prefixed; and I could not refuse myself the gratification of seeing the name of that man among my poems, without whose kindness they would probably have remained unpublished; and to whom I know myself greatly and variously obliged, as a Poet, a Man and a Christian. The second is entitled "An Effusion on an Autumnal Evening; written in early youth." In a note to this poem I had asserted that the tale of Florio in Mr. Rogers' "Pleasures of Memory" was to be found in the Lochleven of Bruce. I did (and still do) perceive a certain likeness between the two stories; but certainly not a sufficient one to justify my assertion. I feel it my duty, therefore, to apologize to the Author and the Public, for this rashness; and my sense of honesty would not have been satisfied by the bare omission of the note. No one can see more clearly the _littleness_ and futility of imagining plagiarisms in the works of men of Genius; but _nemo omnibus horis sapit_; and my mind, at the time of writing that note, was sick and sore with anxiety, and weakened through much suffering. I have not the most distant knowledge of Mr. Rogers, except as a correct and elegant Poet. If any of my readers should know him personally, they would oblige me by informing him that I have expiated a sentence of unfounded detraction, by an unsolicited and self-originating apology. Having from these motives re-admitted two, and those the longest of the poems I had omitted, I yielded a passport to the three others, [pp. 256, 262, 264] which were recommended by the greatest number of votes. There are some lines too of Lloyd's and Lamb's in this Appendix. They had been omitted in the former part of the volume, partly by accident; but I have reason to believe that the Authors regard them, as of inferior merit; and they are therefore rightly placed, where they will receive some beauty from their vicinity to others much worse. VI FEARS IN SOLITUDE, / Written in 1798, during the Alarm of an Invasion. / To which are added, / France, an Ode; / And / Frost at Midnight. / By S. T. COLERIDGE. / London: / Printed for J. Johnson, in St. Paul's Churchyard. / 1798. / [4{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, Fears in Solitude, . . . Frost at Midnight, (six lines) [Price ONE SHILLING and SIXPENCE.], one leaf, unpaged; Title, one leaf, unpaged; Text, pp. [1]-23; Advertisement of 'Poems, by W. Cowper', p. [24]. VII The / PICCOLOMINI, / or the / First Part of WALLENSTEIN, / A Drama / In Five Acts. / Translated From The German Of / Frederick Schiller / By / S. T. COLERIDGE. / LONDON: / Printed for T. N. Longman and O. Rees, Paternoster Row. / 1800. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, Translation from a Manuscript Copy attested by the Author / THE PICCOLOMINI, or the First Part of WALLENSTEIN. / Printed by G. Woodfall, Pater-noster Row /, one leaf, unpaged; Title, one leaf, unpaged; Preface of the Translator, pp. [i]-ii; two pages of Advertisements commencing with: Plays just published, etc.; one leaf unpaged; on the reverse Dramatis Personae; Text, pp. [1]-214; _In the Press, and speedily will be published_, From the German of Schiller, THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN; Also WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP, a Prelude of One Act to the former Dramas; with an Essay on the GENIUS OF SCHILLER. By S. T. COLERIDGE. N.B. The Drama will be embellished with an elegant Portrait of WALLENSTEIN, engraved by CHAPMAN, pp. [215]-[216]. VIII The / DEATH / of / WALLENSTEIN. A Tragedy / In Five Acts. / Translated from the German of / FREDERICK SCHILLER, / By / S. T. COLERIDGE. / LONDON: / Printed for T. N. Longman and O. Rees, Paternoster Row, / _By G. Woodfall, No. 22, Paternoster-Row_. / 1800. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, unpaged; General Title, Wallenstein. / A Drama / In Two Parts. / Translated, &c., _ut supra_, one leaf, unpaged; Preface of the Translator, two leaves, unpaged; on reverse of second leaf Dramatis Personae; Text, pp. [1]-157; The Imprint, _Printed by G. Woodfall, No. 22, Paternoster-Row, London_, is at the foot of p. 157; Advertisement of 'Books printed by T. N. Longman', &c., p. [158]. [The Frontispiece (sometimes attached to No. VII) is an engraving in stipple of Wallenstein, by J. Chapman.] IX [=Poems=], / By / S. T. COLERIDGE. / Felix curarum, &c. (six lines as on title of No. II). Third edition. / LONDON: / Printed by N. Biggs, Crane-Court, Fleet-street, / For T. N. Longman and O. Rees, Pater- / Noster-Row. / 1803. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, p. [i]; Contents, pp. [iii]-[iv]; Preface, pp. [v]-xi; Text, pp. [1]-202; The Imprint, Biggs, Printer, Crane-Court, Fleet-street, is at the foot of p. 202. [The Preface consists of the Preface to the First and Second Editions as reprinted in No. IV, with the following omissions from that to the Second Edition, viz. Lines 1-5, and Lines 37-45. The Preface to the First Edition (pp. [v]-viii) is signed S. T. C. The Preface to the Second Edition (pp. ix-xi) has no heading, but is marked off by a line from the Preface to the First Edition. The Third Edition contains all the poems published in the First and Second Editions except (1) To the Rev. W. J. H. (1796); (2) Sonnet to Kosciusko (1796); (8) Written after a Walk (1796); (4) From a Young Lady (1796); (5) On the Christening of a Friend's Child (1797); (6) Introductory Sonnet to C. Lloyd's 'Poems on the Death of Priscilla Farmer' (1797). The half-title to the Sonnets, p. [79], omits the words 'Attempted in the Manner, &c. (see No. V). The Introduction to the Sonnets is reprinted on pp. 81-4, verbatim from the Second Edition.] X POEMS, / By / S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title (as above), one leaf, p. [1]; The Imprint, Law and Gilbert, Printers, St. John's Square, London, is at the foot of p. [2]; Text, pp. [3]-16; The Imprint, Printed by Law and Gilbert, St. John's Square, London, is at the foot of p. 16 [n. d. ? 1812]. _Contents._-- Fears in Solitude, pp. [3]-9: France, an Ode, pp. 10-13: Frost at Midnight, pp. 14-16. [The three poems which form the contents of the Pamphlet were included in the _Poetical Register_ for 1808-1809 which was reissued in 1812. The publishers were F. G. and S. Rivington, the printers Law and Gilbert, St. John's Square, Clerkenwell. The type of the pamphlet is the type of the _Poetical Register_, but the poems were set up and reprinted as a distinct issue. There is no record of the transaction, or evidence that the pamphlet was placed on the market. It was probably the outcome of a private arrangement between the author and the publisher of the _Poetical Register_.] XI REMORSE. / A Tragedy, / In Five Acts. / _By_ S. T. COLERIDGE. / Remorse is as the heart, in which it grows: / If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews / Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy, / It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost / Weeps only tears of poison! / Act I. Scene I. / LONDON: / Printed for W. Pople, 67, Chancery Lane. / 1813. / _Price Three Shillings._ / [8{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, pp. [i]-[ii]; The Imprint, _W. Pople, Printer, 67, Chancery Lane_, is at the foot of the Reverse; Preface, pp. [iii]-viii; Prologue, pp. [ix]-[x]; Dramatis Personae, p. [xi]; Text, pp. [1]-72; The Imprint, W. Pople, Printer, 67, Chancery Lane, London, is at the foot of p. 72. XII REMORSE, &c. (as in No. XI); [=Second Edition.=] / LONDON: / Printed for W. Pople, 67, Chancery Lane. / 1813. / _Price Three Shillings._ / [8{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, pp. [i]-[ii]; The Imprint, _W. Pople, Printer, 67, Chancery Lane_, is at the foot of p. [ii]; Preface, pp. [iii]-vi; Prologue, pp. [vii]-[viii]; Dramatis Personae, p. [ix]; Text, pp. [1]-73; Appendix, pp. [75]-78; The Imprint, W. Pople, Printer, 67, Chancery Lane, London, is at the foot of p. 78. XIII _Remorse_, &c. (as in No. XI); [=Third Edition.=] / London: Printed for W. Pople, 67, Chancery Lane. / 1813. / [8{o}. For collation vide _supra_, No. XII. XIV SIBYLLINE LEAVES: / A / [=Collection of Poems.=] / By / S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq. / LONDON: / Rest Fenner, 23, Paternoster Row. / 1817. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, one leaf, [=Sibylline Leaves.=] / By / S. T. Coleridge Esq. /, unpaged; Title, one leaf, unpaged; The Imprint, _S. Curtis, Printer, Camberwell_, is at the foot of the Reverse of the Title; Preface, pp. [i]-iii; 'Time, Real and Imaginary,' 'The Raven,' 'Mutual Passion,' pp. v-x; Errata, pp. [xi]-[xii]; Half-title, THE RIME / Of The / ANCIENT MARINER / In Seven Parts, p. [1]; Motto from T. Burnet, _Archæol. Phil._, p. 68, p. [2]; Text, pp. 3-303; The Imprint, Printed by John Evans & Co. St. John-Street, Bristol, is at the foot of p. [304]. [Signatures B-U are marked Vol. ii, i. e. Vol. ii of the _Biographia Literaria_. The printer's bills, which are in my possession, show that in the first instance the Poems were reckoned as Volume ii, and that, in 1816, when the prose work had grown into a second volume, as Volume iii. The entire text of the second volume, afterwards entitled _Sibylline Leaves_, with the exception of the preliminary matter, pp. [i]-[xii], was printed by John Evans & Co. of Bristol--signatures B-G in November-December 1814, and signatures H-U between January and July 1815. The unbound sheets, which were held as a security for the cost of printing &c., and for money advanced, by W. Hood of Bristol, John Matthew Gutch, and others, were redeemed in May 1817 by a London publisher, Rest Fenner, and his partner the Rev. Samuel Curtis of Camberwell. The _Biographia Literaria_ was published in July and _Sibylline Leaves_ in August, 1817. See note by J. D. Campbell in _P. W._, 1893, pp. 551, 552.] PREFACE The following collection has been entitled SIBYLLINE LEAVES, in allusion to the fragmentary and widely scattered state in which they have been long suffered to remain. It contains the whole of the author's poetical compositions, from 1793 to the present date, with the exception of a few works not yet finished, and those published in the first edition of his juvenile poems, over which he has no controul.[1150:1] They may be divided into three classes: First, A selection from the Poems added to the second and third editions, together with those originally published in the LYRICAL BALLADS,[1150:2] which after having remained many years out of print, have been omitted by Mr. Wordsworth in the recent collection of all his minor poems, and of course revert to the author. Second, Poems published at very different periods, in various obscure or perishable journals, etc., some with, some without the writer's consent; many imperfect, all incorrect. The third and last class is formed of Poems which have hitherto remained in manuscript. The whole is now presented to the reader collectively, with considerable additions and alterations, and as perfect as the author's judgment and powers could render them. In my Literary _Life_, it has been mentioned that, with the exception of this preface, the SIBYLLINE LEAVES have been printed almost two years; and the necessity of troubling the reader with the list of errata[1151:1] [forty-seven in number] which follows this preface, alone induces me to refer again to the circumstances, at the risk of ungenial feelings, from the recollection of its worthless causes.[1151:2] A few corrections of later date have been added.--Henceforward the author must be occupied by studies of a very different kind. Ite hinc, CAMOENÆ! Vos quoque ite, suaves, Dulces CAMOENÆ! Nam (fatebimur verum) Dulces fuistis!--Et tamen meas chartas Revisitote: sed pudenter et raro! VIRGIL, _Catalect._ vii.[1151:3] At the request of the friends of my youth, who still remain my friends, and who were pleased with the wildness of the compositions, I have added two school-boy poems--with a song modernized with some additions from one of our elder poets.[1151:4] Surely, malice itself will scarcely attribute their insertion to any other motive, than the wish to keep alive the recollections from early life.--I scarcely knew what title I should prefix to the first. By imaginary Time,[1151:5] I meant the state of a school-boy's mind when, on his return to school, he projects his being in his day dreams, and lives in his next holidays, six months hence: and this I contrasted with real Time. CONTENTS [Poems first published in 1796 and in 1797 are marked with an asterisk. Poems first published in 1817 are italicized. N.B. The volume was issued without any Table of Contents or Index of First Lines.] PAGE _Time, Real and Imaginary: an Allegory_ v The Raven vi Mutual Passion ix The Rime of the Ancient Mariner [with the marginal glosses] 3 The Foster-Mother's Tale 41 Half-title POEMS / OCCASIONED BY POLITICAL EVENTS / OR / FEELINGS CONNECTED WITH THEM [47] Wordsworth's sonnet beginning 'When I have borne in memory what has tamed' is printed on [48] *Ode to the Departing Year [Half-Title] [49] France: _An Ode_ 59 Fears in Solitude 64 Recantation. _Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox_ 75 Parliamentary Oscillators 83 Half-title [=Fire, Famine, and Slaughter.=] / A War Eclogue. / With / An Apologetic Preface / [87] Mottoes from _Claudian_ and _Ecclesiasticus_ [88] [_AN APOLOGETIC PREFACE_] 89 Fire, Famine and Slaughter 111 Half-title LOVE-POEMS [117] Motto (eleven lines) from 'Petrarch' [118] Love 119 Lewti, or the Circassian Love-chant 124 The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution 128 _The Night-Scene: A Dramatic Fragment_ 136 *To an Unfortunate Woman, _Whom the Author had known in the days of her Innocence_ 141 To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre 142 Lines composed in a Concert-room 144 The Keep-sake 146 _To a Lady, with Falconer's 'Shipwreck'_ 148 To a Young Lady, _On her Recovery from a Fever_ 150 Something Childish, but very Natural. _Written in Germany_ 152 Home-sick. _Written in Germany_ 153 Answer to a Child's Question 154 _The Visionary Hope_ 155 _The Happy Husband. A Fragment_ 157 _Recollections of Love_ 159 On Re-visiting the Sea-Shore, After Long Absence, _Under strong medical recommendation not to bathe_ 161 Half-title 'MEDITATIVE POEMS / IN / BLANK VERSE' [163] Motto (eight lines) from _Schiller_ [164] Hymn _Before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouny_ 165 Lines _Written in the Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest_ 170 *On observing a Blossom _On the 1st February, 1796_ 173 *The Eolian Harp, _Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire_ 175 *Reflections _On having left a Place of Retirement_ 178 *To the Rev. George Coleridge, _Of Ottery St. Mary, Devon_. With some Poems 182 Inscription _For a Fountain on a Heath_ 186 A Tombless Epitaph 187 This Lime-tree Bower my Prison 189 To a Friend _Who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry_ 194 _TO A GENTLEMAN. Composed on the night after his recitation of a Poem on the Growth of an Individual Mind_ 197 The Nightingale; a Conversation Poem 204 Frost at Midnight 210 Half-title [=The=] / [=Three Graves=] / [215] The Three Graves. A Fragment of a Sexton's Tale 217 Half-title ODES / AND / MISCELLANEOUS POEMS [235] Dejection: _An Ode_ 237 Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, _On the 24th stanza in her 'Passage over Mount Gothard'_ 244 Ode to Tranquillity 249 *To a Young Friend, _On his proposing to Domesticate with the Author_ Composed in 1796 251 Lines _To W. L., Esq., while he sang a song to Purcell's Music_ 255 Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune _Who abandoned himself to an indolent and causeless Melancholy_ 256 *Sonnet to the River Otter 257 *Sonnet. _Composed on a journey homeward; the Author having received intelligence of the birth of a Son, September 20, 1796_ 258 *Sonnet, _To a Friend who asked, how I felt when the Nurse first presented my Infant to me_ 259 The Virgin's Cradle-Hymn. Copied from a Print of the Virgin, in a Catholic village in Germany 260 Epitaph, on an Infant. ['Its balmy lips the Infant blest.'] 261 Melancholy. A Fragment 262 _Tell's Birth-place. Imitated from Stolberg_ 263 A Christmas Carol 265 _Human Life. On the Denial of Immortality. A Fragment_ 268 An Ode to the Rain. _Composed before daylight_ [etc.] 270 _The Visit of the Gods. Imitated from Schiller_ 274 America to Great Britain. _Written in America, in the year 1810._ [By Washington Allston, the Painter.] 276 Elegy, Imitated from one of Akenside's Blank-verse Inscriptions 279 The Destiny of Nations. A Vision 281 XV #Kinat Yeshurun# A Hebrew Dirge, / Chaunted in the Great Synagogue, / St. James's Place, Aldgate, / On the / Day of the Funeral of her Royal Highness / The / Princess Charlotte. / By Hyman Hurwitz, / Master of the Royal Academy, / Highgate: / With a Translation in / English Verse, By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. / London: / _Printed by H. Barnett_, 2, _St. James's Place, Aldgate_; / And Sold by T. Boosey, 4, Old Broad Street; / Lackington, Allen, and Co. Finsbury Square; / Briggs and Burton, 156, Leadenhall Street; and / H. Barnett, Hebrew Bookseller, 2, St. James's / Place, Aldgate. / 1817. [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, #Kinat Yeshurun# / A Hebrew Dirge. /, pp. [1]-[2]; Title, p. [3]; Text, pp. [4]-13. The text of the translation is printed on pp. 5, 7, 9, 11, and 13. XVI CHRISTABEL: / Kubla Khan, / A Vision; / The Pains of Sleep. / By / S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq. / LONDON: Printed For John Murray, Albemarle-Street, / By William Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row, / St. James's. / 1816. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, one leaf, [=Christabel=], &c., pp. i-ii; Title, one leaf, pp. iii-iv; Preface, pp. [v]-vii; Second half-title, Christabel. / Part 1, pp. [1]-[2]; Text, pp. [3]-48; '[=Kubla Khan=] / or / A Vision in a Dream': Half-title, one leaf, pp. [49]-[50]; 'Of the / Fragment of Kubla Khan', pp. [51]-54; Text, pp. [55]-58; '[=The Pains of Sleep=]': Half-title, pp. [59]-[60]; Text, pp. 61-61; The Imprint, LONDON: Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. / Cleveland-row, St. James's /, is at the foot of p. 64. [The pamphlet (1816) was issued 'price 4_s._ 6_d._ _sewed_'. The cover was of brown paper.] XVII CHRISTABEL, &c. / By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. / Second Edition. / LONDON: / Printed For John Murray, Albemarle-Street, / By William Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row, / St. James's. / 1816. / [8{o}. _Collation._--_Vide_ No. XVI. [The half-title, CHRISTABEL, is in Gothic Character.] XVIII CHRISTABEL, &c. / By / S. T. Coleridge, Esq. / Third Edition. / LONDON: / Printed For John Murray, Albemarle-Street, / By William Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row, / St. James's. / 1816. / [8{o}. _Collation._--_Vide_ No. XVI. [The half-title, CHRISTABEL, is in Gothic Character.] XIX ZAPOLYA: A / Christmas tale, / In Two Parts: / [=The Prelude=] / Entitled / "THE USURPERS' FORTUNE;" And / [=The Sequel=] / Entitled / "THE USURPER'S FATE." / By / S. T. Coleridge, Esq. / _LONDON_: Printed for Rest Fenner, Paternoster Row. / 1817. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Half-title, ZAPOLYA, one leaf; Title, one leaf; Advertisement, one leaf; Characters, one leaf; Four leaves unpaged; Text, Prelude, pp. [1]-31; Additional Characters, p. [34]; ZAPOLYA (headed, [=Usurpation Ended=]; / or / SHE COMES AGAIN. /), pp. [85]-128. The imprint, S. Curtis, Camberwell Press, is at the foot of p. 128. Eight pages of advertisements dated September, 1817, are bound up with the volume as issued in a brown paper cover. XX The / Poetical Works / Of / S. T. Coleridge, / Including the Dramas of / Wallenstein, Remorse, and Zapolya. / In three Volumes. / Vol. I. / [Vol. II, &c.] London: / William Pickering. / MDCCCXXVIII. / [8{o}. _Collation._--Vol. I. Half-title, one leaf, The / Poetical Works / of / S. T. Coleridge. / Vol. I. /, p. [i]; Title, one leaf, p. [iii]; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of p. [iv]; Contents, Volume I, Volume II, Volume III, pp. [v]-x; Preface, To the First and Second Editions, pp. [1]-6; Half-title, one leaf, Juvenile Poems, p. [7]; Text, pp. [9]-363; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Crane Court. /, below the figure of a girl watering flowers surmounted by the motto TE FAVENTE VIREBO, is in the centre of p. [554]. [A vignette and double wreath of oak and bay leaves is in the centre of the title-page of Vols. I, II, III.] Vol. II. Half-title, one leaf; Title, one leaf, with Imprint at the foot of the Reverse, unpaged; Half-title, The Rime / Of / The Ancient Mariner. / In Seven Parts. /, p. [1]; Motto from T. Burnet, in centre of p. [2]; Text, pp. [3]-370; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of p. 370. Vol. III. Half-title, one leaf; Title, one leaf; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of the Reverse, unpaged; Half-title, The / Piccolomini, / Or / The First Part of Wallenstein. / A Drama. / Translated from the German of Schiller /, p. [1]; Preface of the Translator, p. [3]; Text, pp. [5]-428; The Imprint Thomas White, Printer / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of p. 428. [Pp. [1]-6] PREFACE [The Preface is the same as that of 1803.] CONTENTS VOLUME I PAGE JUVENILE POEMS Genevieve [9] Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon 10 Time, Real and Imaginary. An Allegory 11 Monody on the Death of Chatterton 12 Songs of the Pixies 19 The Raven 25 Absence. A Farewell Ode 28 Lines on an Autumnal Evening 30 The Rose 35 The Kiss 37 To a Young Ass 39 Domestic Peace 41 The Sigh 42 Epitaph on an Infant ['Ere Sin could blight'] 43 Lines written at the King's-Arms, Ross 44 Lines to a beautiful Spring in a Village 46 On a Friend who died of a Frenzy-fever induced by calumnious reports 48 To a Young Lady with a Poem on the French Revolution 51 Sonnet I. My heart has thanked thee, Bowles 54 " II. As late I lay in Slumber's Shadowy Vale 55 " III. Though roused by that dark Vizir Riot rude 56 " IV. When British Freedom for an happier land 57 " V. It was some Spirit, Sheridan! 58 " VI. O what a loud and fearful Shriek 59 " VII. As when far off 60 " VIII. Thou gentle Look 61 " IX. Pale Roamer through the Night 62 " X. Sweet Mercy! 63 " XI. Thou bleedest, my Poor Heart 64 " XII. To the Author of The Robbers 65 Lines, composed while climbing Brockley Coomb 66 Lines in the Manner of Spenser 67 Imitated from Ossian 70 The Complaint of Ninathoma 72 Imitated from the Welsh 73 To an Infant 74 Lines in answer to a Letter from Bristol 76 To a Friend in Answer to a melancholy Letter 82 Religious Musings 84 The Destiny of Nations. A Vision 104 SIBYLLINE LEAVES Half-title I. POEMS OCCASIONED BY POLITICAL EVENTS OR / FEELINGS CONNECTED WITH THEM [127] Motto--fourteen lines--'When I have borne in memory what has tamed', Wordsworth [128] Ode to the Departing Year 131 France, an Ode 139 Fears in Solitude 144 Fire, Famine, and Slaughter 155 Half-title II. Love Poems [159] Motto--eleven lines of a Latin Poem by Petrarch [160] Love 161 Lewti, or the Circassian Love-chaunt 167 The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution 171 The Night Scene, a Dramatic Fragment 179 To an Unfortunate Woman 184 To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre 186 Lines composed in a Concert Room 188 The Keepsake 191 To a Lady, with Falconer's Shipwreck 194 To a Young Lady on her recovery from a Fever 196 Something Childish, but very Natural 198 Home-sick: written in Germany 200 Answer to a Child's Question 202 The Visionary Hope 203 The Happy Husband 205 Recollections of Love 207 On revisiting the Sea-shore 209 Half-title III. MEDITATIVE POEMS. / IN BLANK VERSE [211] Motto--eight lines (translated) from Schiller [212] Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouny 213 Lines written in an Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest 218 On Observing a Blossom on the First of February 221 The Eolian Harp 223 Reflections on having left a place of Retirement 227 To the Rev. George Coleridge 231 Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath 235 A Tombless Epitaph 237 This Lime-tree Bower my Prison 239 To a Friend who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry 244 To a Gentleman [Wordsworth] composed on the night after his recitation of a Poem on the growth of an individual mind 247 [The Nightingale; a Conversation Poem 253] Frost at Midnight 261 Half-title [265] THE THREE GRAVES [267] Half-title ODES / AND / MISCELLANEOUS POEMS [287] Dejection, An Ode 289 Ode to Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire 296 Ode to Tranquillity 300 To a Young Friend, on his proposing to domesticate with the Author 302 Lines to W. L., Esq., while he sang a song to Purcell's Music 306 Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune 307 Sonnet To the River Otter 309 ---- Composed on a journey homeward after hearing of the birth of a Son 310 ---- To a Friend 311 The Virgin's Cradle Hymn 312 Epitaph on an Infant. ['Its balmy lips the Infant blest'] 313 Melancholy, A Fragment 314 Tell's Birth-place 315 A Christmas Carol 317 Human Life 320 The Visit of the Gods 321 Elegy, imitated from Akenside 324 Half-title Kubla Khan: / Or, / A Vision In A Dream [327] Of The Fragment Of Kubla Khan [329] Kubla Khan [332] [The Pains of Sleep 334] Apologetic Preface to "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter" 337 END OF VOL. I VOLUME II Half-title The Rime / of / The Ancient Mariner. / In Seven Parts. / [1] Motto (From T. Burnet, _Archæol. Phil._, p. 68) [2] THE ANCIENT MARINER. Part I 3 Part II 8 Part III 12 Part IV 17 Part V 21 Part VI 27 Part VII 33 Half-title CHRISTABEL [39] Preface [41] CHRISTABEL. Part I 43 Conclusion to Part I 56 Part II 59 Conclusion to Part II 73 Half-title Prose in Rhyme: Or, / Epigrams, Moralities, and Things / Without a Name [75] Mottoes:-- +Erôs aei lalêthros hetairos.+ In many ways does the full heart reveal The presence of the love it would conceal; But in far more th' estranged heart lets know, The absence of the love, which yet it fain would shew. Duty surviving Self-love [77] Song. ['Tho' veiled in spires,' &c.] 78 Phantom or Fact? A Dialogue in Verse 79 Work without Hope 81 Youth and Age 82 A Day-dream. ['My eyes make pictures,' &c.] 84 To a Lady, offended by a sportive observation 86 Reason for Love's Blindness 86 Lines suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius 87 The Devil's Thoughts 89 The Alienated Mistress 93 Constancy to an Ideal Object 94 The Suicide's Argument 96 The Blossoming of the Solitary Date-tree 97 Fancy in Nubibus 102 The Two Founts 103 Prefatory Note to the Wanderings of Cain 105 The Wanderings of Cain 109 Half-title Remorse. / A Tragedy. / In Five Acts. / [119] Remorse. A TRAGEDY 121 Appendix [232] Half-title Zapolya: / A Christmas Tale. / In Two Parts. [237] +Par pyri chrê toiauta legein cheimônos en hôra+ _Apud Athenæum._ Advertisement [238] Part I. The Prelude / Entitled / "The Usurper's Fortune." / [241] Part II. The Sequel / Entitled / "The Usurper's Fate" 274 VOLUME III The Piccolomini, / Or / The First Part of Wallenstein. / A Drama. / Translated from the German of Schiller / 1 The / Death of Wallenstein. / A Tragedy, / In Five Acts 249 XXI THE / POETICAL WORKS / Of / S. T. COLERIDGE, / Including the Dramas of / Wallenstein, Remorse, and Zapolya. / In Three Volumes. / Vol. I, Vol. II, &c. / LONDON: William Pickering. / MDCCCXXIX. [8{o}. _Collation._--Vol. I. Title, one leaf, p. [iii]; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of p. [iv]; Contents, pp. [v]-x; Preface, pp. [1]-7; Half-title, JUVENILE POEMS, p. [9]; Text, pp. [11]-353; The Imprint, Thomas White, &c., below a figure of a girl as in No. XX, is in the centre of p. 354. [The Half-title and Mottoes are the same as in Vol. I of 1828, No. XX.] Vol. II. Title, one leaf; The Imprint, Thomas White, Printer, / Johnson's Court. /, is at the foot of the Reverse, unpaged; Half-title, The Rime / of / THE ANCIENT MARINER. / In Seven Parts. /, p. [1]; Motto from T. Burnet, _Archæol. Phil._, p. 68, p. [2]; Text, pp. [3]-394; The Imprint, Thomas White, &c., is at the foot of p. 394. [The Half-titles and Mottoes are the same as in Vol. II of 1828, No. XX.] Vol. III. For Collation see Vol. III of 1828, No. XX. [The Title-page of this edition (Vols. I, II, III) is ornamented with the Aldine Device, and the Motto, Aldi / Discip. / Anglvs./] PREFACE The Preface is the same as that of 1808 and 1828, with the addition of the following passage (quoted as a foot-note to the sentence:--'I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing hand; and used my best efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of thought and diction.')--'Without any feeling of anger, I may yet be allowed to express some degree of surprize, that after having run the critical gauntlet for a certain class of faults, which I had, viz. a too ornate, and elaborately poetic diction, and nothing having come before the judgement-seat of the Reviewers during the long interval, I should for at least seventeen years, quarter after quarter, have been placed by them in the foremost rank of the _proscribed_, and made to abide the brunt of abuse and ridicule for faults directly opposite, viz. bald and prosaic language, and an affected simplicity both of matter and manner--faults which assuredly did not enter into the character of my compositions.--LITERARY LIFE, i. 51. Published 1817.' In the _Biog. Lit._ (loc. cit.) the last seven lines of the quotation read as follows--'judgement-seat in the interim, I should, year after year, quarter after quarter, month after month (not to mention sundry petty periodicals of still quicker revolution, 'or weekly or diurnal') have been for at least seventeen years consecutively dragged forth by these into the foremost rank of the _proscribed_, and forced to abide the brunt of abuse, for faults directly opposite, and which I certainly had not. How shall I explain this?' _Contents._--The Contents of Vols. I and III are identical with the Contents of Vols. I and III of 1828 (No. XX): A 'Song' (Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle wreath), p. 78, and 'The Alienated Mistress: A Madrigal' (If Love be dead, &c.), p. 93 of Vol. II, 1828, are omitted in Vol. II of 1829; and 'The Allegoric Vision,' 'The Improvisatore, or John Anderson, My Jo, John' [New Thoughts on old Subjects], and 'The Garden of Boccaccio' are inserted in Vol. II of 1829; between 'The Wanderings of Cain' and 'Remorse', pp. 116-42. The text of 1829, which J. D. Campbell followed in _P. W._, 1893, differs from that of 1828. XXII The / Poetical Works / Of / Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. / Complete in One Volume. / Paris / Published by A. and W. Galignani / No. 18, Rue Vivienne / 1829. / [8{o}. _Collation._--General half-title, one leaf; The imprint, Printed by Jules Didot Senior, / Printer to His Majesty, Rue du Pont-de-Lodi, No. 6, is on the reverse of the half-title; Title, one leaf, unpaged; Notice of the Publishers, one leaf, unpaged; half-title, The / Poetical Works / of / Samuel Taylor Coleridge. / pp. [i-ii]; Contents, pp. [iii]-iv; Memoir of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, pp. [v]-xi; Text, pp. [1]-225. [_Note._--A lithographed vignette of a Harp, &c., is in the centre of the title-page. The frontispiece consists of three portraits of Coleridge (Northcote), Shelley, and Keats, engraved by J. T. Wedgwood. The contents are identical with those of 1829, with the following additions: (1) 'Recantation--illustrated in the story of the Mad Ox'; (2) 'The Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie' (as published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799); (3) 'The Composition of a Kiss'; (4) 'To a Friend together with an unpublished Poem'; (5) 'The Hour when we shall meet again'; (6) 'Lines to Joseph Cottle'; (7) 'On the Christening of a Friend's Child'; (8) 'The Fall of Robespierre'; (9) 'What is Life?'; (10) 'The Exchange'; (11) Seven Epigrams, viz. (1) 'Names'; (2) Job's Luck'; (3) 'Hoarse Maevius', &c.; (4) 'There comes from old Avaro's', &c.; (5) 'Last Monday', &c.; (6) 'Your Poem ', &c. (7) 'Swans sing', &c. ('Job's Luck' had been republished in _The Crypt_, 1827, and the other six in _The Keepsake_, 1829.) 'Fancy in Nubibus, or the Poet in the Clouds' (vide _ante_, p. 435), p. 216, was repeated on p. 217, under the title 'Sonnet, composed by the Seaside, October 1817', with two variants, 'yield' for 'let' in line 4, and 'To' for 'Own' in line 5. 'Love's Burial-Place', and Song, 'Tho' veiled', &c., which had appeared in 1828, were not included in _Galignani_, 1829.] XXIII The Devil's Walk; / A Poem. / By / Professor Porson. / Edited with a Biographical Memoir and Notes, By / H. W. Montagu, / Author of Montmorency, Poems, etc. etc. etc. / Illustrated with Beautiful Engravings on wood by Bonner and / Sladen, After the Designs of R. Cruikshank. / +Gnôthi seauton+ / London: / Marsh and Miller, Oxford Street. / And Constable and Co. Edinburgh. [1830.] [12{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, p. [iii]; The Imprint, London: / Printed by Samuel Bentley, / Dorset-Street, Fleet-Street, is in the centre of p. [iv]; Preface, pp. [v]-viii; Text, pp. [9]-32; 'Variations', p. 33; Advertisement of New Works Published by Marsh and Miller, p. [34]-[36]. [_Note._--The motto +Gnôthi k.t.l+ may have suggested Coleridge's lines entitled 'Self-knowledge' (_ante_, p. 487). The Pamphlet is enclosed in a paper cover, The Devil's Walk; / By / Professor Porson. / With Illustrations by R. Cruikshank. / London: / Marsh and Miller. / 1830. / _Price One Shilling._ / The Illustrations consist of a Frontispiece and five others to face pp. 10, 14, 19, 24, and 31.] XXIV The Devil's Walk; / a Poem. / By / S. T. Coleridge, Esq. / And / Robert Southey, Esq. L.L. D. etc. / Edited with a Biographical Memoir, &c. (five lines as in No. XXIII). +Gnôthi seauton+ / Second Edition. / London: Alfred Miller, 137, Oxford Street; / And Constable, Edinburgh; / Griffin, Glasgow; and Milliken, Dublin. / [1830]. [12{o}. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, p. [iii]; The Imprint, as in No. XXIII, is in the centre of p. [iv]; Advertisement, pp. [v]-vi; Preface, pp. [vii]-x; Text, pp. 11-32; Variations, p. 33; Advertisement (as in No. XXIII), p. [34]. [_Note._--The Advertisement, which is dated _October, 1830_, states that the 'Devil's Walk' 'has now put forth its fifteen thousandth copy', and apologizes for 'an error respecting its authorship'. The Second edition forms part of a volume entitled Facetiae, Being a General Collection of the Jeux d' Esprit which have been illustrated by Robert Cruikshank. London: William Kidd, 6, Old Bond Street. MDCCCXXXI. It is followed by the 'Devil's Visit', and 'The Real Devil's Walk.'] XXV Ten Etchings, / Illustrations of the / Devil's Walk. / By / Thomas Landseer. / London: / Published by R. G. Standing, / 24, Cornhill. / 1831. / [Folio. _Collation._--Title, one leaf, unpaged; The imprint, London: / Henry Baylis, Johnson's Court, Fleet-Street. /, is at the foot of the Reverse. The Devil's Walk. A Word at Starting, pp. 1-14, is followed by the illustrations, unpaged, with a single stanza at the foot of each illustration. XXVI THE POETICAL WORKS Of / S. T. COLERIDGE / Vol. I, Vol. II, &c. / LONDON / William Pickering / 1834 / [8{o}. _Collation._--Vol. I. Half-title, The Poetical Works Of / S. T. Coleridge / In Three Volumes / Vol. I, one leaf, p. [i]; Title, one leaf, pp. [iii]-[iv]; The Imprint, Charles Whittingham / London /, is at the foot of p. [iv]; Preface, pp. [v]-x; Contents, pp. [xi]-xiv; Text, pp. [1]-288; The Imprint, London: / Printed by C. Whittingham, Tooks Court. /, is at the foot of p. 288. Vol. II. Half-title (as in Vol. I), Vol. II, one leaf, pp. [i]-[ii]; Title, one leaf, pp. [iii]-[iv]; The Imprint (as in Vol. I) is at the foot of p. iv: Contents, pp. [v]-vi; Text, pp. [1]-338; The Imprint (as in Vol. I) is at the foot of p. 338. Vol. III. Half-title (as in Vol. I), pp. [i]-[ii]; Title, one leaf, pp. [iii]-[iv]; The Imprint (as in Vol. I) is at the foot of p. [iv]; Half-title, The Piccolomini, &c., p. [1]; Preface to the First Edition, p. [3]; Text, pp. [5]-330; 'Love, Hope, and Patience in Education', p. 331; Erratum, p. [332]; The Imprint (as in Vol. I) is at the foot of p. [332]. [_Note._--This edition, the last printed in the lifetime of the author, was reprinted in 1835, 1840, 1844, 1847, &c. The Title-page is ornamented with the Aldine device and motto as in No. XXI.] CONTENTS [Preface, same as 1829, No. XXI, pp. [v]-x; the titles of Poems not published or collected before 1834 are italicized.] Page Page of the Half-title 1834 present edition JUVENILE POEMS [1] Genevieve 3 19 Sonnet. To the Autumnal Moon 3 5 _Anthem for the Children of Christ's Hospital_ 4 5 Time, real and imaginary 5 419 Monody on the Death of Chatterton 6 13 Songs of the Pixies 13 40 The Raven 18 169 _Music_ 20 28 _Devonshire Roads_ 21 27 _Inside the Coach_ 22 26 _Mathematical Problem_ 23 21 _The Nose_ 27 8 _Monody on a Tea-Kettle_ 29 18 _Absence, a Farewell Ode_ 30 29 _Sonnet. On Leaving School_ 31 29 _To the Muse_ 32 9 _With Fielding's Amelia_ 33 37 _Sonnet. On hearing that his Sister's Death was inevitable_ 33 20 _On Seeing a Youth affectionately welcomed by a Sister_ 34 21 _The same_ 35 78 _Pain_ 35 17 _Life_ 36 11 Lines on an Autumnal Evening 36 51 The Rose 40 45 The Kiss 41 63 To a Young Ass 43 74 _Happiness_ 44 30 Domestic Peace 48 71 The Sigh 48 62 Epitaph on an Infant 49 68 _On Imitation_ 50 26 _Honor_ 50 24 _Progress of Vice_ 53 12 Lines written at the King's Arms, Ross 54 57 _Destruction of the Bastile_ 55 10 Lines to a beautiful Spring in a Village 57 58 On a Friend who died of a Frenzy Fever induced by calumnious reports 58 76 To a Young Lady, with a Poem on the French Revolution 60 64 Sonnet I. "My Heart has thanked thee, Bowles" 62 84 ---- II. "As late I lay in Slumber's Shadowy Vale." 63 80 ---- III. "Though roused by that dark vizir Riot rude" 64 81 ---- IV. "When British Freedom for a happier land" 64 79 ---- V. "It was some Spirit, Sheridan!" 65 87 ---- VI. "O what a loud and fearful shriek" 66 82 ---- VII. "As when far off" 66 82 ---- VIII. "Thou gentle look" 67 47 ---- IX. "Pale Roamer through the Night!" 68 71 ---- X. "Sweet Mercy!" 68 93 ---- XI. "Thou Bleedest, my Poor Heart!". 69 72 ---- XII. To the Author of the Robbers. 70 72 Lines composed while climbing Brockley Coomb 70 94 Lines in the Manner of Spenser 71 94 Imitated from Ossian 73 38 The Complaint of Ninathoma 74 39 Imitated from the Welsh 75 58 To an Infant 75 91 Lines in Answer to a Letter from Bristol 76 96 To a Friend in Answer to a melancholy Letter 80 90 Religious Musings 82 108 The Destiny of Nations, a Vision 98 131 Half-title Sibylline Leaves. / I. Poems occasioned by Political Events / Or Feelings Connected / With them. / [119] Motto--When I have borne in memory, &c. (fourteen lines), Wordsworth [120] Ode to the Departing Year [121] 160 France, an Ode 128 243 Fears in Solitude 132 256 Fire, Famine, and Slaughter 141 237 II. LOVE POEMS [145] Motto--eleven lines from a Latin poem of Petrarch [145] Love [145] 330 _The Ballad of the Dark Ladie. A Fragment_ 150 293 Lewti, or the Circassian Love Chaunt 152 253 The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution 155 369 The Night Scene, a Dramatic Fragment 162 421 To an Unfortunate Woman 166 172 To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre 167 171 Lines Composed in a Concert Room 168 324 The Keepsake 170 345 To a Lady, with Falconer's Shipwreck 172 424 To a Young Lady on her recovery from a Fever 173 252 Something Childish, but very Natural 174 313 Home-sick: written in Germany 175 314 Answer to a Child's Question 176 386 A Child's Evening Prayer 176 401 The Visionary Hope 177 416 The Happy Husband 178 388 Recollections of Love 179 409 On revisiting the Sea-Shore 181 359 III. MEDITATIVE POEMS. / In Blank Verse [183] Motto--eight lines translated from Schiller [183] Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni 183 376 Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode in the Hartz Forest 187 315 On observing a Blossom on the First of February 189 148 The Æolian Harp 190 100 Reflections on having left a place of Retirement 393 106 To the Rev. George Coleridge 196 173 Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath 199 381 A Tombless Epitaph 200 413 This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison 201 178 To a Friend, who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry 205 158 To William Wordsworth, composed on the night after his recitation of a Poem on the growth of an individual mind 206 403 The Nightingale 211 264 Frost at Midnight 216 240 The Three Graves 219 267 ODES AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 235 Dejection, an Ode 235 362 Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire 241 335 Ode to Tranquillity 244 360 To a Young Friend, on his proposing to domesticate with the Author 246 Lines to W. L. while he sang a song to Purcell's Music 249 286 Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune 249 157 Sonnet. To the River Otter 250 48 ---- Composed on a journey homeward after hearing of the birth of a son 251 153 ---- To a Friend 252 154 The Virgin's Cradle Hymn 252 417 Epitaph on an Infant 253 417 Melancholy, a Fragment 253 73 Tell's Birth Place 254 309 A Christmas Carol 256 338 Human Life 258 425 _Moles_ 259 430 The Visit of the Gods 259 310 Elegy, imitated from Akenside 261 69 _Separation_ 262 397 _On Taking Leave of ----_ 263 410 The Pang more sharp than all 263 457 Kubla Khan 266 295 The Pains of Sleep 270 389 _Limbo_ 272 429 _Ne plus ultra_ 273 431 Apologetic Preface to Fire, Famine, and Slaughter 274 END OF VOL. I VOLUME II THE ANCIENT MARINER. Part I. 1 187 " II. 5 189 " III. 7 192 " IV. 10 196 " V. 13 198 " VI. 18 202 " VII. 23 206 CHRISTABEL, Part I 28 213 Conclusion to Part I 39 225 Part II 41 227 Conclusion to Part II 53 235 Half-title MISCELLANEOUS POEMS [55] Motto +Erôs aei+, &c. In many ways, &c. (four lines) _Alice du Clos; or, the Forked Tongue. A Ballad_ 57 469 _The Knight's Tomb_ 64 432 _Hymn to the Earth_ 65 327 _Written during a temporary blindness, 1799_ 67 305 _Mahomet_ 68 329 _Catullian Hendecasyllables_ 69 307 Duty surviving Self-Love 69 459 Phantom or Fact? a dialogue in Verse 70 484 _Phantom_ 71 393 Work without Hope 71 447 Youth and Age 72 439 A Day Dream 74 385 First Advent of Love 76 443 _Names_ 76 318 _Desire_ 77 485 _Love and Friendship opposite_ 77 484 _Not at home_ 77 484 To a Lady offended by a sportive observation 78 418 Lines suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius 79 460 _Sancti Dominici Pallium_ 80 448 The Devil's Thoughts 83 319 _The two round Spaces on the Tombstone_ 87 353 _Lines to a Comic Author_ 89 476 Constancy to an Ideal Object 90 455 The Suicide's Argument 91 419 The Blossoming of the Solitary Date Tree 92 395 _From the German_ 95 311 Fancy in Nubibus 96 435 The Two Founts 96 454 The Wanderings of Cain 99 288 Allegoric Vision 109 1091 New Thoughts on Old Subjects 117 462 The Garden of Boccaccio 127 478 _On a Cataract_ 131 308 _Love's Apparition and Evanishment_ 132 488 _Morning Invitation to a Child_ 133 _Consolation of a Maniac_ 135 _A Character_ 137 451 _The Reproof and Reply_ 140 441 _Cholera Cured beforehand_ 142 _Cologne_ 144 477 _On my joyful departure from the same City_ 144 477 _Written in an Album_ 145 _To the Author of the Ancient Mariner_ 145 _Metrical Feet. Lesson for a Boy_ 145 401 _The Homeric Hexameter described and exemplified_ 146 307 _The Ovidian Hexameter described and exemplified_ 146 308 _To the Young Artist, Kayser of Kayserworth_ 147 490 _Job's Luck_ 147 _On a Volunteer Singer_ 148 _On an Insignificant_ 148 _Profuse Kindness_ 148 _Charity in Thought_ 148 486 _Humility the Mother of Charity_ 149 486 _On an Infant which died before Baptism_ 149 312 _On Berkeley and Florence Coleridge_ 149 "+Gnôthi seauton+, _&c._ 150 487 "_Gently I took_," _&c._ 151 488 _My Baptismal Birthday_ 151 490 _Epitaph_ 152 491 Half-title Remorse! / A Tragedy. / In Five Acts. / [153] Dramatis Personae. [154] 819 Remorse. 155 820 Appendix. [237] 881 Half-title, Motto, &c. Zapolya: / A Christmas Tale / In Two Parts / [241] Advertisement. [242] 883 Zapolya. [243] 884 END OF VOL. II VOLUME III Half-title The Piccolomini; / Or, the First Part of Wallenstein. / A Drama. /Translated from the German of Schiller. / [1] Preface to the First edition [3] 598 The Piccolomini [5] 600 Half-title The / Death of Wallenstein. / A Tragedy. / In Five Acts: / [193] Preface of The Translator / To the First Edition. / [195] 724 Dramatis Personae [198] 726 The Death of Wallenstein [199] 726 Love, Hope, and Patience in Education 331 481 Erratum [332] XXVII THE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge; With a Life of the Author. London: John Thomas Cox, 84 High Holborn. MDCCCXXXVI. [8{o}, pp. lxxviii + 403. The Life of the Author is followed by an Appendix containing 'Coleridge's Will', and 'Contemporary Notices of the Writings and Character of Coleridge'. The Contents consist of the Poems published in 1797, together with 'The Nightingale'; 'Love'; 'The Ancient Mariner'; 'The Foster Mother's Tale'; four poems and seven sonnets reprinted from 1796; 'On a late Connubial Rupture'; and the 'Three Sonnets . . . in the manner of Contemporary Writers' reprinted from the _Poetical Register_. The Poems conclude with 'A Couplet, written in a volume of Poems presented by Mr. Coleridge to Dr. A.'--a highly respected friend, the loss of whose society he deeply regretted-- To meet, to know, to love--and then to part, Is the sad tale of many a human heart. For the 'Couplet', vide _ante_, p. 410, 'To Two Sisters', ll. 1, 2. Dr. A. was probably John Anster, LL.D., the translator of Goethe's _Faust_. The Dramatic Works consist of 'The Piccolomini' and 'The Death of Wallenstein'. XXVIII THE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, with a Life of the Author. London: Tho{s}. Allman 42 Holborn Hill 1837. [16{mo}, pp. viii + 392. _Note._--The 'Life of the Author' does not form part of this edition. The Contents are identical with those of No. XXVII. The frontispiece depicts the 'Ancient Mariner' and the 'Wedding Guest'. The title-page, 'Drawn and Engraved by J. Romney,' is embellished with a curious vignette depicting a man in a night-cap lying in bed. A wife, or daughter, is in attendance. The vignette was probably designed to illustrate some other work. XXIX THE POETICAL WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge with Life of the Author. London: Charles Daly, 14, Leicester Street, Leicester Square, _n. d._ [16{mo}, pp. xxxii + [35]-384. The Contents consist of 'The Ancient Mariner' (with the marginal glosses printed at the end of the poem); the Poems of 1796, 1797, with a few exceptions: 'The Piccolomini'; 'The Death of Wallenstein'; 'The Dark Ladié'; 'The Raven'; 'A Christmas Carol'; and 'Fire, Famine, and Slaughter'--i. e. of poems then out of copyright, or reprinted from the _Morning Post_. XXX The Ancient Mariner, and other Poems. By S. T. Coleridge. Price Sixpence. London: Sherwood, Gilbert, and Piper, Paternoster-Row. MDCCCXLIII. J. Scott, Printer, 50, Hatfield Street. [16{mo}, pp. iv + 148. _Note._--This edition formed one of the 'Pocket English Classics'. An illustrated title-page depicts the 'skiff-boat' with its crew of the Ancient Mariner, the Holy Hermit, the Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, who is jumping overboard. The flag bears the legend 'The Antient Mariner and Minor Poems By S. T. Coleridge'. The Contents include 'The Ancient Mariner', with the marginal glosses printed at the end of the poem; and a selection of poems published in 1796, 1797. XXXI THE POEMS of S. T. Coleridge [Aldine device and motto] London William Pickering 1844. [8{o}, pp. xvi + 372. _Note._--The Contents of this volume, issued by Mrs. H. N. Coleridge as sole editress, consist of the Poems (not the Dramatic Works) included in 1834, with the following omissions, (1) Music, (2) Devonshire Roads, (3) Inside the Coach, (4) Mathematical Problem, (5) The Nose, (6) Monody on a Tea-kettle, (7) 'The Same,' 'I too a sister had', &c., (8) On Imitation, (9) Honor, (10) Progress of Vice, (11) The Two round spaces on the Tombstone; and the following additions, already republished in _Lit. Remains_, 1836, Vol. I, (1) Epigram, 'Hoarse Mævius', &c., (2) Casimir ad Lyram, (3) On the Christening of a Friend's Child, (4) Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie, (5) An Ode to the Rain, (6) The Exchange, (7) Complaint, 'How seldom, Friend', &c., (8) 'What is Life', (9) Inscription for a Time-Piece, (10) +Epitaphion autograpton.+ Four songs from the dramas were also included. The German originals of (1) Schiller's 'Lines on a Cataract', (2) Friederike Brun's 'Chamouny at Sunrise', and (3) Schiller's distiches on the 'Homeric Hexameter' and the 'Ovidian Elegiac Metre' are printed on pp. 371, 372. XXXII THE POEMS of S. T. Coleridge [Aldine device and motto] London William Pickering 1848. [8{o}, pp. xvi + 372. The Contents are identical with those of No. XXXI, with the exception of two additional 'Notes' (pp. 371, 372) containing the German original of Matthisson's _Milesisches Märchen_, and two stanzas of Cotton's _Chlorinda_, of which 'Separation' (_ante_, p. 397) is an adaptation. XXXIII THE RAVEN, A Christmas Tale, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Esq. Illustrated with Eight Plates, By an Old Traveller. [_n. d._] _Collation._--Oblong folio, pp. i-vi + eight scenes unpaged, faced by eight lithographs. XXXIV THE POEMS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by Derwent and Sara Coleridge. A New Edition. London: Edward Moxon, Dover Street. 1852. [8{o}, pp. xxvii ('Advertisement', and 'Editors' Preface to the Present Edition', pp. [v]-xiv) + 378 + 'Notes', pp. [379]-388. _ADVERTISEMENT_ This volume was prepared for the press by my lamented sister, Mrs. H. N. Coleridge, and will have an additional interest to many readers as the last monument of her highly-gifted mind. At her earnest request, my name appears with hers on the title-page, but the assistance rendered by me has been, in fact, little more than mechanical. The preface, and the greater part of the notes, are her composition:--the selection and arrangement have been determined almost exclusively by her critical judgment, or from records in her possession. A few slight corrections and unimportant additions are all that have been found necessary, the first and last sheets not having had the benefit of her own revision. DERWENT COLERIDGE. ST. MARK'S COLLEGE, CHELSEA, _May_ 1852. PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION [1852] As a chronological arrangement of Poetry in completed collections is now beginning to find general favour, pains have been taken to follow this method in the present Edition of S. T. Coleridge's Poetical and Dramatic Works, as far as circumstances permitted--that is to say, as far as the date of composition of each poem was ascertainable, and as far as the plan could be carried out without effacing the classes into which the Author had himself distributed his most important poetical publication, the 'Sibylline Leaves,' namely, POEMS OCCASIONED BY POLITICAL EVENTS, OR FEELINGS CONNECTED WITH THEM; LOVE POEMS; MEDITATIVE POEMS IN BLANK VERSE; ODES AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On account of these impediments, together with the fact, that many a poem, such as it appears in its ultimate form, is the growth of different periods, the agreement with chronology in this Edition is approximative rather than perfect: yet in the majority of instances the date of each piece has been made out, and its place fixed accordingly. In another point of view also, the Poems have been distributed with relation to time: they are thrown into three broad groups, representing, first the Youth,--secondly, the Early Manhood and Middle Life,--thirdly, the Declining Age of the Poet; and it will be readily perceived that each division has its own distinct tone and colour, corresponding to the period of life in which it was composed. It has been suggested, indeed, that Coleridge had four poetical epochs, more or less diversely characterised,--that there is a discernible difference betwixt the productions of his Early Manhood and of his Middle Age, the latter being distinguished from those of his Stowey life, which may be considered as his poetic prime, by a less buoyant spirit. Fire they have; but it is not the clear, bright, mounting fire of his earlier poetry, conceived and executed when 'he and youth were house-mates still.' In the course of a very few years after three-and-twenty all his very finest poems were produced; his twenty-fifth year has been called his _annus mirabilis_. To be a 'Prodigal's favourite--[1169:1]then, worse truth! a Miser's pensioner,' is the lot of Man. In respect of poetry, Coleridge was a 'Prodigal's favourite,' more, perhaps, than ever Poet was before. * * * * * [The poems] produced before the Author's twenty-fourth year [1796], devoted as he was to the 'soft strains' of Bowles, have more in common with the passionate lyrics of Collins and the picturesque wildness of the pretended Ossian, than with the well-tuned sentimentality of that Muse which the overgrateful poet has represented as his earliest inspirer. For the young they will ever retain a peculiar charm, because so fraught with the joyous spirit of youth; and in the minds of all readers that feeling which disposes men 'to set the bud above the rose full-blown' would secure them an interest, even if their intrinsic beauty and sweetness were less adequate to obtain it. * * * * * The present Editors have been guided in the general arrangement of this edition by those of 1817 and 1828, which may be held to represent the author's matured judgment upon the larger and more important part of his poetical productions. They have reason, indeed, to believe, that the edition of 1828 was the last upon which he was able to bestow personal care and attention. That of 1834, the last year of his earthly sojourning, a period when his thoughts were wholly engrossed, so far as the decays of his frail outward part left them free for intellectual pursuits and speculations, by a grand scheme of Christian Philosophy, to the enunciation of which in a long projected work his chief thoughts and aspirations had for many years been directed, was arranged mainly, if not entirely, at the discretion of his earliest Editor, H. N. Coleridge. . . Such alterations only have been made in this final arrangement of the Poetical and Dramatic Works of S. T. Coleridge, by those into whose charge they have devolved, as they feel assured, both the Author himself and his earliest Editor would at this time find to be either necessary or desirable. The observations and experience of eighteen years, a period long enough to bring about many changes in literary opinion, have satisfied them that the immature essays of boyhood and adolescence, not marked with any such prophetic note of genius as certainly does belong to the four school-boy poems they have retained, tend to injure the general effect of a body of poetry. That a writer, especially a writer of verse, should keep out of sight his third-rate performances, is now become a maxim with critics; for they are not, at the worst, effectless: they have an effect, that of diluting and weakening, to the reader's feelings, the general power of the collection. Mr. Coleridge himself constantly, after 1796, rejected a certain portion of his earliest published _Juvenilia_: never printed any attempts of his boyhood, except those four with which the present publication commences, and there can be no doubt that the Editor of 1834 would ere now have come to the conclusion, that only such of the Author's early performances as were sealed by his own approval ought to form a permanent part of the body of his poetical works. * * * * * It must be added, that time has robbed of their charm certain sportive effusions of Mr. Coleridge's later years, which were given to the public in the first gloss and glow of novelty in 1834, and has proved that, though not devoid of the quality of genius, they possess upon the whole, not more than an ephemeral interest. These the Editors have not scrupled to omit on the same grounds and in the same confidence that has been already explained. * * * * * S. C. CHESTER PLACE, REGENT'S PARK. _March_, 1852. The Contents of 1852 correspond with those of 1844, 1848, with the following omissions: (1) Anthem for the Children of Christ's Hospital; (2) Sonnet, 'Farewell, parental scenes', &c.; (3) To the Muse; (4) With Fielding's Amelia; (5) Sonnet, 'On receiving an account', &c.; (6) Sonnet, 'On seeing a Youth', &c.; (7) Pain; (8) Epigram, 'Hoarse Mævius', &c.; (9) Casimir ad Lyram; (10) 'On the Christening', &c.; (11) Elegy imitated from Akenside; (12) Phantom; (13) Allegoric Vision; (14) Reproof and Reply; (15) Written in an Album, 'Parry', &c.; (16) To the Author of the Ancient Mariner; (17) Job's Luck; (18) On a Volunteer Singer; together with four songs from the dramas. The additions were (1) Sonnet to Pitt, 'Not always', &c.; (2) Sonnet, 'Not Stanhope', &c.; (3) To the Author of Poems published anonymously at Bristol; (4) The Day-Dream, 'If thou wert here', &c.; (5) The Foster-Mother's Tale; (6) A Hymn; (7) The Alienated Mistress. A Madrigal; (8) To a Lady, 'Tis not the lily brow', &c.; (9) Song, 'Tho' veiled', &c.; (10) L'envoy. 'In vain we supplicate', &c. The Notes, pp. 379-88, contain, _inter alia_, the Latin original of 'Kisses' (vide _ante_, p. 46), and the Sonnet, 'No more my visionary Soul shall dwell', attributed by Southey to Favell (vide _ante_, p. 68). XXXV THE DRAMATIC WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by Derwent Coleridge. A New Edition. London: Edward Moxon, Dover Street. 1852. [8{o}, pp. xvi + 427. CONTENTS Remorse. A Tragedy in Five Acts. Zapolya. A Christmas Tale. In two Parts. Part I. The Prelude, &c. Zapolya. Part II. The Sequel, entitled 'The Usurper's Fate.' The Piccolomini; or the first part of 'Wallenstein.' A Drama. Translated from Schiller. The Death of Wallenstein. A Tragedy. In Five Acts. Notes. _Note._--The Preface contains a critical estimate of _Remorse_ and _Zapolya_, and of the translation of Schiller's _Wallenstein_. At the close of the Preface [pp. xii-xiv] the Editor comments on the strictures of a writer in the _Westminster Review_, Art. 3 July 1850 (vide _ante_, p. 811), and upholds the merits of the Translation as a whole. The Preface is dated 'St. Mark's College, Chelsea, _July_, 1852'. XXXVI THE COMPLETE WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. With an Introductory Essay upon his Philosophical and Theological opinions. Edited by Professor Shedd. In Seven Volumes. Vol. vii. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Nos. 329 and 331 Pearl Street, Franklin Square. 1853. Second Title.--The Poetical and Dramatic Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1853. [8{o}, pp. xiv + 15-702. The Contents are identical with those of 1834, with ten additions first collected in 1844. The Fall of Robespierre is included in the Dramatic Works. 'Lines in Answer to a Letter from Bristol', pp. 67-70, are reprinted as 'Lines Written at Shurton Bars near Bridgewater', pp. 103-5 (vide _ante_, p. 96). Vol. vii was republished with an Index to the preceding six volumes in 1854. XXXVII THE POEMS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by Derwent and Sara Coleridge. With a Biographical Memoir By Ferdinand Freiligrath. Copyright Edition. Leipzig Bernhard Tauchnitz 1860. _Collation._--General Half-title, one leaf, Collection of British Authors. Vol. 512. The Poems, &c. (4 lines). In One Volume, p. [i]; Title, p. [iii]; Half-title, Biographical Memoir of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. By Ferdinand Freiligrath, p. [iv]; Advertisements, p. [v]; Biographical Memoir, pp. [vi]-xxviii; Advertisement (to ed. of 1852), p. xxix; Preface, pp. [xxxi]-xl; Contents, pp. [xli]-xlv. Text, pp. [1]-336; Notes, pp. [337]-344. XXXVIII THE POEMS of S. T. Coleridge. London: Bell and Daldy. 1862. [16{mo}, pp. xiii + 299. XXXIX THE POEMS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by Derwent and Sara Coleridge. With an Appendix. A New Edition. London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street. 1863. [8{o}, pp. xxvii + [1]-378 + Notes, pp. [379]-388 + Appendix, pp. [391]-404. The text of the Poems is identical with that of 1852, but a fresh 'Advertisement', pp. [iii]-iv, is prefixed to the 'Advertisement' dated May, 1852. _ADVERTISEMENT_ The last authorised edition of S. T. Coleridge's Poems, published by Mr. Moxon in 1852, bears the names of Derwent and Sara Coleridge, as joint editors. In writing my name with my sister's, I yielded to her particular desire and request, but the work was performed almost entirely by herself. My opinion was consulted as to the general arrangement, and more especially as to the choice or rejection of particular pieces. Even here I had no occasion to do more than confirm the conclusions to which she had herself arrived, and sanction the course which she had herself adopted. I shared in the responsibility, but cannot claim any share in the credit of the undertaking. This edition I propose to leave intact as it came from her own hands. I wish it to remain as one among other monuments of her fine taste, her solid judgment, and her scrupulous conscientiousness. A few pieces of some interest appear, however, to have been overlooked. Two characteristic sonnets, not included in any former edition of the Poems, have been preserved in an anonymous work, entitled 'Letters, Recollections, and Conversations of S. T. Coleridge.' These with a further selection from the omitted pieces, principally from the Juvenile Poems, have been added in an Appendix. So placed, they will not at any rate interfere with the general effect of the collection, while they add to its completeness. All these buds of promise were once withdrawn, and, afterwards reproduced by the Author. It is not easy now to draw a line of separation, which shall not be deemed either too indulgent, or too severe. [The concluding lines of the 'Advertisement' dealt with questions of copyright]. DERWENT COLERIDGE. APPENDIX [First printed in 1863.] 1. To Nature. [_Letters, Conversations_, &c., 1836, i. 144.] 2. Farewell to Love. [Ibid., i. 143.] 3. 'I yet remain', &c. [First six lines by W. L. Bowles.] 4. Count Rumford's Essays. [By W. L. Bowles.] 5. 'The early Year's', &c. [Ver perpetuum, _ante_, p. 148.] 6. To the Rev. W. J. H. [1796.] 7. To a Primrose. [_The Watchman_.] 8. On the Christening of a Friend's Child. [1797.] 9. Mutual Passion. [_Sibylline Leaves._] 10. From a Young Lady. [The Silver Thimble, _ante_, p. 104.] 11. Translation of a Paraphrase of the Gospels. [_Biog. Lit._, 1807, i. 203, 204.] 12. Israel's Lament. [_Ante_, pp. 433, 434.] _Notes._--(1) No. 4 forms part of a Poem 'On Mr. Howard's Account of Lazarettos,' _Sonnets, with other Poems_, 1794, pp. 52, 53. See Mr. T. Hutchinson's note in the _Athenæum_, May 3, 1902. (2) An MS. of No. 10, 'From a Young Lady', is preserved in the library of Rugby School. The poem is dated August, 1795, and is partly in the 'Young Lady's' handwriting. It is signed 'Sara[*h*] Fricker', a proof that her future husband meant from the first to alter the spelling of her name. (3) The frontispiece of this edition is a lithograph by W. Hall of a portrait of Coleridge, aet. 26, formerly in the possession of Thomas Poole. XL THE POEMS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by Derwent and Sara Coleridge. With an Appendix. A new and enlarged edition, with a brief Life of the author. London: E. Moxon and Co., 44 Dover Street. [1870.] [8{o}, pp. lxvii + 429. _Note._--The Contents of 1870 are identical with those of 1863, with the addition of an Introductory Essay (i. e. a Critical Memoir) by Derwent Coleridge, pp. xxiii-lix. 'The Rime of the Ancyent Mariner,' in Seven Parts, was reprinted verbatim from the original as it appeared in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798. The Introductory Memoir (an 'Essay in a Brief Model') has never been reprinted. XLI THE RAVEN. A Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Illustrated by Ella Hallward With an Introduction by the Hon. Stephen Coleridge. H. S. Nichols L{td}, 39 Charing Cross Road London W.C. MDCCCXCVIII. [4{o}. _Note._--The text is printed on 14 sheets, unpaged. There are thirteen illustrations and other embellishments. XLII OSORIO A Tragedy _As originally written in_ 1797 By Samuel Taylor Coleridge Now first printed from a Copy recently discovered by the Publisher with the Variorum Readings of 'Remorse' and a Monograph on The History of the Play in its earlier and later form by the Author of 'Tennysoniana' London John Pearson York Street Covent Garden 1873. [8{o}, pp. xxii + 204. XLIII THE POETICAL WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Edited with an Introductory Memoir and Illustrations by William B. Scott. London. George Routledge and Sons. [1874.] [8{o}, pp. xxviii + 420. XLIV THE POETICAL WORKS OF COLERIDGE AND KEATS With a Memoir of Each Four Volumes in Two. New York Published by Hurd and Houghton Boston: H. O. Houghton and Company The Riverside Press, Cambridge. 1878. [8{o}. Vol. I, pp. cxl + 372. Vol. II, pp. vi + 331 + pp. xxxvi + 438 (Life and Poetical Works of Keats). _Note._--This edition was a reprint of the 'Poetical and Dramatic Works' of 1852. XLV THE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. FOUNDED ON THE AUTHOR'S LATEST EDITION OF 1834 WITH MANY ADDITIONAL PIECES NOW FIRST INCLUDED, AND A COLLECTION OF VARIOUS READINGS Volume the First [Volume the Second, &c.] [The Aldine device and motto.] London Basil Montagu Pickering 196 Piccadilly 1877. [Reissued, with additions and with the imprint of London Macmillan and Co. 1880.] _Contents._--Vol. I. Contents, &c., pp. viii; Memoir of S. T. Coleridge, pp. [ix]-cxviii; Poems, pp. [1]-217; Appendix (including Southey's Translation of a 'Greek Ode on Astronomy', &c.), pp. 219-224. Vol. II. Contents, &c., pp. xii; Poems, pp. [1]-352; Supplement, pp. 355*-364*; Appendix, pp. 353-381. Vol. III. Remorse, and Zapolya, pp. 290. Vol. IV. Fall of Robespierre, and _Translation of Schiller's 'Wallenstein'_, pp. 413. _Note._--The Editor, Richard Herne Shepherd, included in the first two volumes the poems published by Coleridge in 1796, 1797, _An. Anth._, 1800, 1803, _Sibylline Leaves_ (1817), 1828, 1829, 1834, together with those published by H. N. Coleridge in _Literary Remains_, 1836, by Sara and Derwent Coleridge in 1844, 1852 (with the exception of the Hymn, 1814), and by Derwent Coleridge in the Appendix of 1863. The following poems collected from various sources were reprinted for the first time:-- Vol. I. (1) Julia; (2) First version of the Sonnet to the Rev. W. L. Bowles; (3) On a late Connubial Rupture; (4) Sonnets signed Nehemiah Higginbottom. Vol. II. (1) Talleyrand to Lord Granville; (2) A Stranger Minstrel; (3) To Two Sisters, &c.; (4) Water Ballad; (5) Modern Critics; (6) 'The Poet in his lone', &c. [Apologia, &c., _ante_, p. 345]; (7) Song, ex improviso, &c.; (8) The Old Man of the Alps; (9) Three Epigrams from _The Watchman_; (10) Sonnet on the birth of a son; (11) On Deputy ----; (12) To a Musical Critic; (13) +Egôenkaipan+; (14) The Bridge-street Committee; (15) 'What boots to tell', &c.; (16) Mr. Baker's Courtship; (17) Lines in a German Student's Album; (18) On Kepler; (19) Distich from the Greek. The Supplement published in 1880 (Vol. II, pp. 355*-364*) contains (1) Monody on Chatterton [First Version]; (2) To the Evening Star; (3) Anna and Harland; (4) Translation of Wrangham's _Hendecasyllabi_, &c.; (5) To Miss Brunton; (6) The Mad Monk. Bibliographical matter of interest and importance is contained in the Memoir, and in the Notes to Vol. II, pp. 375-381. Variants of the text, derived from the _Morning Post_, and from earlier editions, are printed as footnotes to the text. In Vol. III. the Editor supplies a collation of the text of _Remorse_ as published in 1852 with that of _Osorio_ [London: John Pearson, 1873] and with that of the First and Second Editions of _Remorse_ published in 1813. XLVI The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. With Life. Engravings on Steel. Gale and Inglis. Edinburgh: Bernard Terrace. London: 26 Paternoster Square. [1881.] [8{o}, pp. xxviii + 420. _Note._--This edition includes the _Fall of Robespierre_, and _Christobell_. _A Gothic Tale_ as published in the _European Magazine_, April, 1815. XLVII THE POETICAL WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Edited with Introduction and Notes by T. Ashe, B.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge In Two Volumes. London George Bell and Sons, York Street Covent Garden 1885. [The Frontispiece of Vol. I is a portrait of S. T. Coleridge, aet. 23, from a crayon drawing by Robert Hancock: of Vol. II, a view of Greta Hall, Keswick.] [8{o}. Vol. I. Title, &c., pp. [iii]-xiv; Introduction, &c., pp. [xv]-clxxxvi; Poems, pp. 1-212. Vol. II. Contents, &c., pp. [v]-xiii; Poems, pp. 1-409. _Note._--Section 3 of the Introduction, pp. cxxxviii-clxxxvi, supplies a Bibliography of the Poems. The Dramas are not included in the _Poetical Works_. In the 'Table of Contents' poems not included in 1834 are marked by an asterisk, but of these only three, (1) 'The Tears of a Grateful People'; (2) 'The Humour of Pallas' ['My Godmother's Beard'], and (3) 'Lines written in the Common Place Book of Miss Barbour', were collected for the first time. The 'Introduction', the work of a genuine poet, contains much that is valuable and interesting, but the edition as a whole is by no means an advancement on _P. and D. W._, 1877-1880. XLVIII THE POETICAL WORKS of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Edited with a Biographical Introduction by James Dykes Campbell [=London=] Macmillan and Co. And New York 1893 _All rights reserved._ [8{o}, pp. cxxiv + 667. _Contents._--Authorities cited in the Introduction--Corrigenda, p. vi; Preface, pp. [vii]-x; Introduction, pp. [xi]-cxxiv; Poems, pp. [1]-210; Dramatic Works, pp. [211]-442; Addenda, (i) Epigrams, pp. [443]-453, (ii) Fragments from a Common Place Book, pp. 453-458, (iii) Fragments from various sources, pp. [459]-470; (iv) Adaptations, pp. [471]-474; Appendix A. The Raven, pp. [475]-476; Appendix B. Greek Prize Ode, &c. [from MS.], pp. 476-477; Appendix C. To a Young Ass [from MS.], pp. 477-478; Appendix D. Osorio [from MSS.], pp. 479-512; Appendix E. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner [1798], pp. 512-520; Appendix F. Mont Blanc. The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, an Hour before Sunrise--An Hymn (_Coleorton Letters_, 1887, i. 26-29), pp. 521-522; Appendix G. Dejection: An Ode (_M. P._, Oct. 4, 1802), pp. 522-524; Appendix H. To a Gentleman [W. Wordsworth] (_Coleorton Letters_, i. 213-218), pp. 525-526; Appendix I. Apologetic Preface to 'Fire, Famine and Slaughter', pp. 527-533; Appendix J. Allegoric Verses, pp. 534-537; Appendix K. Titles, Prefaces, and Contents, &c., pp. 537-559; Notes, pp. [561]-654; Index to the Poems, &c., pp. [655]-659; Index to First Lines, pp. [661]-667. The Poems include all those published in 1877-1880 with the addition of the _Hymn_, first published in 1852, and the omission of 'The Old Man of the Alps' (_M. P._, Apr. 13, 1798) together with the following pieces collected for the first time (*), or printed for the first time from MSS. (MS.):--(1) Dura Navis (MS.); (2) Nil pejus, &c. (MS.); (3) Quae nocent, &c. (MS.); (4) Invocation (MS.); (5) On a Lady Weeping (MS.); (6) A Wish written, &c. (MS.); (7) An Ode in the Manner of Anacreon (MS.); (8) A Lover's Complaint, &c.; (9) To Fortune (*); (10) The Faded Flower (*); (11) On Bala Hill [by R. Southey] (MS.); (12) Count Rumford [by W. L. Bowles] (*); (13) Verses to J. Horne Tooke (*); (14) Ad Vilmum Axiologum (MS.); (15) The Snowdrop (MS.); (16) To Matilda Betham, &c. (*); (17) Homeless (*); (18) Sonnet. Translated from Marini (MS.) (19) A Sunset (MS.); (20) Tears of a Grateful People (*); (21) To Mary Pridham (MS.). Of the Epigrams, pp. 443-455, the following were first printed from MS., (1) 'You're careful', &c.; (2) 'Say what you will', &c.; (3) On an Insignificant 'No doleful', &c.; (4) On a Slanderer 'From yonder tomb', &c.; (5) 'Money I've heard', &c. Of fifty-four Fragments from a Common Place Book eighteen were first printed in _Literary Remains_, i. 277-281, and the rest were published or collected for the first time: of sixty-six Fragments from Various Sources thirty-three were first published from MSS., and others were collected for the first time. Much had been accomplished by the Editor of _P. and D. W._, 1877-1880, but the excellence of the critical apparatus, the style and substance of the critical and explanatory notes, and the amount and quality of fresh material have made and must continue to make the Edition of 1893 the standard edition of Coleridge's _Poetical Works_. The 'Introductory Memoir' was republished as 'A Narrative of the Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge', Macmillan, 1894. XLIX COLERIDGE'S POEMS _A Facsimile Reproduction Of The Proofs And MSS. Of Some_ OF THE POEMS EDITED BY THE LATE JAMES DYKES CAMPBELL _Author of "Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Narrative of the Events of his Life"; and Editor of "The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge."_ With Preface and Notes By W. Hale White Westminster Archibald Constable and Co. 1899. _Note._--This volume contains a reprint of a volume of proofs endorsed 'Coleridge's MSS. Corrected Copy of a Work'--'Mr. Cottle's', and a facsimile reproduction of three MSS., with the original erasures and alternative readings. The volume of proofs formerly in the possession of J. Dykes Campbell was reproduced by him, and he added the facsimile of the MSS. in the British Museum which he had deciphered and prepared for publication. Four years after his death the sheets were bound up and published with an elucidatory preface by Mr. W. Hale White. A copy of this literary curiosity as it was left by Mr. Campbell, without the Preface, is in the possession of the Editor. L CHRISTABEL By Samuel Taylor Coleridge Illustrated by a Facsimile of the Manuscript And by Textual and other Notes By Ernest Hartley Coleridge Hon. F.R.S.L. London: Henry Frowde MCMVII. [8{o}, pp. ix + 113. _Note._--The Frontispiece is a photogravure (by Emery Walker) of a pastel drawing of S. T. Coleridge aet. 26. The Collotype Facsimile (thirty-eight leaves unpaged) is inserted between pp. 53 and 54. The text, as collated with three MSS., two transcriptions, and the First Edition, &c., is on pp. 61-96; a Bibliographical Index [Appendix IV] on pp. 111-113. This Edition (dedicated to the Poet's grand-daughters Edith and Christabel Rose Coleridge) was issued by Henry Frowde at the expense of the Royal Society of Literature. LI THE POEMS OF COLERIDGE With An Introduction By Ernest Hartley Coleridge And Illustrations By Gerald Metcalfe John Lane The Bodley Head London, W. John Lane Company New York. [8{o}, pp. xxxi + 460 + Index to the Poems [461]-466 + Index to First Lines [469]-477.] _Note._--The Illustrations consist of twenty-three full-page illustrations, together with numerous headings, tailpieces, and vignettes. The Contents include all poems previously published which were not subject to the law of copyright:--'The Walk Before Supper', 'The Reproof and Reply', and 'Sancti Dominici Pallium' were printed for the first time from the original MSS. LII THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Illustrated by Twenty-Five Poetic and Dramatic Scenes, Designed and Etched By David Scott, Member of the Scottish Academy of Painting. Edinburgh: Alexander Hill, 50, Princes Street; Ackermann & Co. London. M. DCCC. XXXVII. [Folio. _Note._--Text with marginal glosses in Gothic letters, pp. [5]-25 + twenty-four full-page etchings unpaged, preceded by an illustrated title-page. Scenes from Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner, By David Scott, S.A. [Etching of the Ancient Mariner on a storm-tost coast ringing a bell, with a motto (_from Kubla Khan_) "All who saw would cry Beware", COLERIDGE.] Edinburgh Published By Alex{r}. Hill, 50 Princes Street 1837. The cloth binding is embellished with a vignette--a lyre encircled by a winged serpent. LIII COLERIDGE'S RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER Illustrated by J. Noel Paton, R.S.A. Art Union of London 1863 [W. H. M{c}Farlane Lithog{r} Edinburgh] [Oblong Folio. _Note._--The text, pp. [1]-12, is followed by twenty full-page illustrations. The title-page and cloth binding are embellished with a symbolic vignette--a cross-bow, with twisted snake, resting on a cross encircled with stars. LIV THE POETICAL WORKS of Samuel T. Coleridge Edited, with a Critical Memoir, By William Michael Rossetti. Illustrated By Thomas Seccombe. London: E. Moxon, Son, & Co., Dover Street. [8{o}, pp. xxxii + 424. _Note._--In a Note affixed to the 'Prefatory Notice' the Editor states that this edition includes all Coleridge's 'Dramas . . . with the exception of _Zapolya_. In lieu of this _The Fall of Robespierre_, which has never as yet been reprinted in England, is introduced.' FOOTNOTES: [1135:1] Felix curarum &c. . . . . . . . . . . . . Nos otia vitae Solamur cantu, ventosaque gaudia famae Quaerimus. STATIUS, _Silvarum_ lib. iv, iv, ll. 46-51. [1135:2] The following Advertisement was issued on a separate sheet:-- London, April 16. / _This day was Published._ / Printed on Wove Paper, and Hot-Pressed, / Price 5_s._ in Boards,--Fools-cap 8 vo. / POEMS / ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, by / S. T. COLERIDGE, / Late of Jesus College, Cambridge. / [=London=]: Printed for G. G. and J. Robinsons, Pater-Noster Row, and / J. Cottle, Bookseller, Bristol; and to be had of the / PUBLISHERS of the WATCHMAN / 1796. / [1136:1] From 'An Evening Address to a Nightingale', by Cuthbert Shaw--Anderson's _British Poets_, xi. 564. [1136:2] 'Why may not LANGHORNE, simple in his lay, _Effusion_ on _Effusion_, pour away?' _The Candidate_, ll. 41-2. [1140:1] The ancient little Wits wrote many poems in the shape of Eggs, Altars, and Axes. (_MS. Note by S. T. C._) [1140:2] The title of the volume is 'Sonnets and Odes, by Henry Francis Cary. Author of an Irregular Ode to General Elliot. London 1787.' Lines 6-9 of the Sonnet read thus:-- From him deriv'd who shun'd and spurn'd the throng And warbled sweet, thy Brooks and streams among, Lonely Valclusa! and that heir of Fame Our English Milton-- Line 14 reads:-- A grandeur, grace and spirit all their own. The Poems were the first publication of 'Dante' Cary, then a boy of fifteen, whom Coleridge first met at Muddiford in October, 1816, and whose translation of the _Divina Commedia_ he helped to make famous. [1141:1] The three Sonnets of Bowles are not in any Edition since the last quarto pamphlet of his Sonnets. (_MS. Note by S. T. C._) [1144:1] Ossian. [1146:1] Compare _The Pursuits of Literature_, Dialogue 1, lines 50, 55, 56. The self-supported melancholy Gray * * * * * With his high spirit strove the master bard, And was his own _exceeding great_ reward. The first Dialogue was published in May 1794. The lines on Gray may have suggested Coleridge's quotation from Genesis, chap. xv, ver. 1, which is supplied in a footnote to line 56. [1150:1] The 'Eolian Harp', with the title 'Effusion xxxv. Composed August 20, 1795, at Clevedon, Somersetshire', was first published in 1796, and included as 'Composed at Clevedon' in 1797 and 1803. It is possible that it may have been originally printed in a newspaper. [1150:2] The fourth and last edition of the _Lyrical Ballads_ was issued in 1805. [1151:1] The List numbers thirty, and of these not more than twenty are strictly speaking _Errata_. Of the remainder the greater number are textual corrections, emendations, and afterthoughts. [1151:2] The allusion is to the prolonged and embittered controversy between Coleridge and his friends at Bristol, who had printed his works and advanced him various sums of money on the security of the sheets as printed and the future sale of the works when published. They were angry with him for postponing completion of these works, and keeping them out of their money, and he was naturally and reasonably indignant at the excessive sum charged for paper and printing. The fact was that they had done and intended to do him a kindness, but that in so far as it was a business transaction he suffered at their hands. [1151:3] The title of these Iambic lines is 'Relictis Aliis Studiis Philosophiam Epicuream amplectitur'. [1151:4] Ben Jonson, vide _ante_, p. 1118. [1151:5] Vide _ante_, pp. 419, 420. [1169:1] See Wordsworth's _P. W._ 1896, in. 21: _The Small Celandine_, ll. 21, 22. BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX No. I POEMS FIRST PUBLISHED IN NEWSPAPERS OR PERIODICALS _The Cambridge Intelligencer._ Lines written at the King's Arms, Ross, formerly the House of the Man of Ross Sept. 27, 1794 Absence Oct. 11, 1794 Sonnet [Anna and Harland] Oct. 25, 1794 Sonnet [Genevieve] Nov. 1, 1794 To a Young Man of Fortune, &c. Dec. 17, 1796 Ode for the Last Day of the Year, 1796 Dec. 31, 1796 Parliamentary Oscillators Jan. 6, 1798 _The Morning Chronicle._ To Fortune Nov. 7, 1793 Elegy [Elegy imitated from Akenside] Sept. 23, 1794 Epitaph on an Infant. 'Ere sin could blight', &c. Sept. 23, 1794 _Sonnets on Eminent Characters._ I. To the Honourable Mr. Erskine Dec. 1, 1794 II. Burke Dec. 9, 1794 III. Priestley Dec. 11, 1794 IV. La Fayette Dec. 15, 1794 V. Kosciusko Dec. 16, 1794 VI. Pitt Dec. 23, 1794 VII. To the Rev. W. L. Bowles Dec. 26, 1794 VIII. Mrs. Siddons Dec. 29, 1794 IX. To William Godwin Jan. 10, 1795 X. To Robert Southey Jan. 14, 1795 XI. To Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Esq. Jan. 29, 1795 To Lord Stanhope Jan. 31, 1795 Address to a Young Jack Ass and its tethered Mother, In Familiar Verse Dec. 30, 1794 _The Watchman._ No. 1. To a Young Lady with a Poem on the French Revolution Mar. 1, 1796 No. 2. Casimir. Ad Lyram. Imitation. 'The solemn-breathing air', &c. Mar. 9, 1796 No. 3. Elegy. 'Near the lone Pile', &c. Mar. 17, 1796 The Hour when we shall meet again. 'Dim hour', &c. Mar. 17, 1796 No. 4. 'The early Year's fast-flying Vapours stray' Mar. 25, 1796 A Morning Effusion. 'Ye Gales', &c. Mar. 25, 1796 No. 5. To Mercy. 'Not always should the Tears', &c. Apr. 2, 1796 Recollection. 'As the tir'd savage', &c. Apr. 2, 1796 No. 6. Lines on Observing a Blossom on the First of February, 1796. 'Sweet Flower that peeping', &c. Apr. 11, 1796 No. 8. To a Primrose. 'Thy smiles I note', &c. Apr. 27, 1796 No. 9. Epitaph on an Infant. [Reprinted from the _Morning Chronicle_, Sept. 23, 1794.] 'Ere Sin could blight', &c. May 5, 1796 _The Monthly Magazine._ On a Late Connubial Rupture, (ii, p. 647) Sept. 1796 Reflections on Entering into Active Life, (ii, p. 732.) 'Low was our pretty Cot', &c. Oct. 1796 Sonnets attempted in the Manner of Contemporary Writers, (iv, p. 374) Nov. 1797 _The Annual Register._ Lines to a Beautiful Spring in a Village, (xxxviii, pp. 494-5) 1796 Tranquillity, An Ode. (xliii, pp. 525-6) 1801 Stanzas Addressed to a Lady on Her Recovery from a severe attack of Pain. (The Two Founts.) (lxix, pp. 537-8) 1827 _The Morning Post._ To an Unfortunate Woman in the Back Seats of the Boxes at the Theatre. 'Maiden that with sullen brow' Dec. 7, 1797 Melancholy: A Fragment Dec. 12, 1797 Fire, Famine, and Slaughter: A War Eclogue Jan. 8, 1798 The Old Man of the Alps. Mar. 8, 1798 The Raven Mar. 10, 1798 Lines Imitated from Catullus. 'My Lesbia', &c. Apr. 11, 1798 Lewti, or the Circassian Love Chaunt Apr. 13, 1798 The Recantation: An Ode Apr. 16, 1798 Moriens Superstiti. 'The hour-bell sounds', &c. May 10, 1798 A Tale. [Recantation. Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox] July 30, 1798 The British Stripling's War-Song Aug. 24, 1799 The Devil's Thoughts Sept. 6, 1799 Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode Sept. 17, 1799 Lines Composed in a Concert Room Sept. 24, 1799 To a Young Lady. 'Why need I say', &c. Dec. 9, 1799 Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladié Dec. 21, 1799 Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire Dec. 24, 1799 A Christmas Carol Dec. 25, 1799 Talleyrand to Lord Granville Jan. 10, 1800 The Mad Monk Oct. 13, 1800 Inscription for a Seat by the Road-side, &c. Oct. 21, 1800 Alcaeus to Sappho Nov. 24, 1800 The Two Round Spaces: A Skeltoniad Dec. 4, 1800 On Revisiting the Sea Shore Sept. 15, 1801 Tranquillity, An Ode Dec. 4, 1801 The Picture, or The Lover's Resolution Sept. 6, 1802 Chamouni. The Hour before Sunrise. A Hymn Sept. 11, 1802 The Keepsake Sept. 17, 1802 How seldom Friend, &c. [The Good Great Man] Sept. 23, 1802 Inscription on a Jutting Stone over a Spring Sept. 24, 1802 Dejection: An Ode Oct. 4, 1802 Ode to the Rain Oct. 7, 1802 France: An Ode Oct. 14, 1802 The Language of Birds. 'Do you ask, what the Birds say?' &c. Oct. 16, 1802 The Day-dream. From an Emigrant to his Absent Wife Oct. 19, 1802 _The Courier._ The Exchange of Hearts Apr. 16, 1804 Lines on a King-and-Emperor-making Emperor and King (Adaptation) Sept. 12, 1806 Farewell to Love. [_Morning Herald_, Oct. 11, 1806] Sept. 27, 1806 To Two Sisters Dec. 10, 1807 Epitaph on an Infant. 'Its milky lips', &c. Mar. 20, 1811 The Hour Glass (Adaptation) Aug. 30, 1811 The Virgin's Cradle Hymn Aug. 30, 1811 Mutual Passion (Adaptation) Sept. 21, 1811 _The Friend._ [Ode to Tranquillity] No. 1, June 1, 1809 The Three Graves, A Sexton's Tale No. 6, Sept. 21, 1809 Hymn. _Before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouny_ No. 11, Oct. 26, 1809 Tis True, IDOLOCLASTES SATYRANE No. 14, Nov. 23, 1809 _The Gentleman's Magazine._ Farewell to Love. (lxxxv, p. 448) 1815 Overlooked Poem by Coleridge. The Volunteer Stripling. (xxix, p. 160, N. S.) 1848 _Felix Farley's Bristol Journal._ Fancy in Nubibus, or The Poet in the Clouds Feb. 7, 1818 Written on a Blank Leaf of Faulkner's Shipwreck, presented by a friend to Miss K Feb. 21, 1818 _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine._ Fancy in Nubibus. (Vol. vi, p. 196) Nov. 1819 The poet in his lone, &c. [Apologia, &c.] (Vol. xi, p. 12) Jan. 1822 The Old Man's Sigh: A Sonnet. (Vol. xxxi, p. 956) June, 1832 _Co-operative Magazine and Monthly Herald._ On the Prospect of Establishing a Pantisocracy in America Apr. 6, 1826 _Literary Magnet._ An Impromptu on Christmas Day, &c. N. S., Vol. iii, 1827, p. 71 _The Evening Standard._ Sancti Dominici Pallium May 21, 1827 _The Crypt, a Receptacle for Things Past._ Job's Luck 1827, pp. 30, 31 _The Literary Souvenir._ The Exchange 1826, p. 408 Lines Suggested by the Last Words of Berengarius 1827, p. 17 [Epitaphium Testamentarium] 1827, p. 17 Youth and Age 1828, p. 1 What is Life? 1829, p. 346 _The Bijou, 1828._ The Wanderings of Cain. A Fragment p. 17 Work without Hope 28 Youth and Age 144 A Day Dream. 'My eyes make pictures' 146 The Two Founts 202 _The Amulet._ New Thoughts on Old Subjects. The Improvisatore 1828, pp. 37-47 Three Scraps 1833, pp. 31, 32 (i) Love's Burial Place. (ii) The Butterfly. (iii) A Thought suggested by a View of Saddleback in Cumberland. _New York Mirror._ Lines written in Miss Barbour's Common Place Book Dec. 19, 1829 _The Keepsake._ The Garden of Boccaccio 1829, p. 282 Song, Ex Improviso, &c. 1830, p. 264 The Poet's Answer to a Lady's Question, &c. 'O'er wayward Childhood', &c. 1830, p. 279 _The Athenæum._ Water Ballad Oct. 29, 1831 _Friendship's Offering, 1834._ PAGE My Baptismal Birthday 163 Fragments from the Wreck of Memory, &c.-- I. Hymn to the Earth 165 II. English Hexameters, written during a temporary Blindness, in the Year 1799 167 III. The Homeric Hexameter, &c. 168 IV. The Ovidian Elegiac Metre, &c. 168 V. A Versified Reflection. 'On stern BLENCARTHUR'S', &c. 168 Love's Apparition and Evanishment 355 Lightheartednesses in Rhyme-- I. The Reproof and Reply 356 II. In Answer to a Friend's Question. 'Her attachment may differ', &c. 359 III. Lines to a Comic Author, on an abusive Review 359 IV. An Expectoration, &c. 'As I am (_sic_) Rhymer', &c. 360 Expectoration the Second. 'In COLN, a town of monks and bones' 360 _The New Monthly Magazine._ The Faded Flower Aug. 1836 _Dublin University Magazine._ A Stranger Minstrel 1845, xxvi, 112-13 No. II EPIGRAMS AND JEUX D'ESPRIT FIRST PUBLISHED IN NEWSPAPERS AND PERIODICALS 1. An Apology for Spencers. _Watchman_, No. 4, Mar. 25, 1796. 2. On a Late Marriage between an Old Maid, &c. Ibid., No. 5, April 2, 1796. 3. On an Amorous Doctor. Ibid., ibid. 4. 'Of smart pretty Fellows', &c. Ibid., p. 159. 5. On Deputy ----. _M. P._, Jan. 2, 1798. 6. To a Well-known Musical Critic, &c. _M. P._, Jan. 4, 1798. 7. Hippona. _M. P._, Aug. 29, 1799. 8. On a Reader of His Own Verses. _M. P._, Sept. 7, 1799. 9. On a Report of a Minister's Death. 'Last Monday', &c. _M. P._, Sept. 18, 1799. 10. 'Jem writes his Verses', &c. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1799. 11. On Sir Rubicund Naso. _M. P._, Dec. 7, 1799. 12. Job's Luck, 1799. _M. P._, Sept. 26, 1801. 13. On the Sickness of a Great Minister. _M. P._, Oct. 1, 1799. 14. To a Virtuous Oeconomist. _M. P._, Oct. 28, 1799. 15. 'Jack drinks fine wines', &c. _M. P._, Nov. 16, 1799. 16. To Mr. Pye. _M. P._, Jan. 24, 1800. 17. 'If the guilt of all lying', &c. _An. Anth._, 1800. 18. 'O would the Baptist', &c. _An. Anth._, 1800. 19. Occasioned by the Former. 'I hold of all', &c. _An. Anth._, 1800. 20. 'As Dick and I at Charing Cross', &c. _An. Anth._, 1800. 21. To a Proud Parent. _An. Anth._, 1800. 22. Rufa. _An. Anth._, 1800. 23. On a Volunteer Singer. _An. Anth._, 1800. 24. Occasioned by the Last. 'A joke (cries Jack)', &c. _An. Anth._, 1800. 25. Song to be Sung by the Lovers of all the Noble Liquors, &c. _M. P._, Sept. 18, 1801. 26. Epitaph on a Bad Man. _M. P._, Sept. 22, 1801. 27. Drinking _versus_ Thinking. _M. P._, Sept. 25, 1801. 28. The Wills of the Wisp. _M. P._, Dec. 1, 1801. 29. To a Certain Modern Narcissus. _M. P._, Dec. 16, 1801. 30. To a Critic. _M. P._, Dec. 16, 1801. 31. Always Audible. _M. P._, Dec. 19, 1801. 32. Pondere non Numero. _M. P._, Dec. 26, 1801. 33. 'To Wed a fool'. _M. P._, Dec. 26, 1801. 34. What is an Epigram? _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 35. 'Charles, grave or merry', &c. Sept. 23, 1802. 36. 'An Evil Spirit's on thee, friend '. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 37. 'Here lies the Devil', &c. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 38. To One who Published in Print. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 39. 'Scarce any scandal', &c. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 40. 'Old Harpy jeers', &c. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 41. To a Vain Young Lady. _M. P._, Sept. 23, 1802. 42. A Hint to Premiers and First Consuls. _M. P._, Sept. 27, 1802. 43. 'From me, Aurelia', &c. _M. P._, Oct. 2, 1802. 44. For a House-dog's Collar. _M. P._, Oct. 2, 1802. 45. 'In vain I praise thee', &c. _M. P._, Oct. 2, 1802. 46. Epitaph on a Mercenary Miser. _M. P._, Oct. 9, 1802. 47. A Dialogue between an Author and his Friend. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 48. +Môrosophia+ or Wisdom in Folly. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 49. 'Each Bond-street buck', &c. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 50. From an old German Poet. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 51. On the Curious Circumstance, that in the German, &c. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 52. Spots in the Sun. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 53. 'When Surface talks', &c. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 54. To my Candle. The Farewell Epigram. _M. P._, Oct. 11, 1802. 55. The Taste of the Times. _Athenæum_, Jan. 9, 1904. 56. 'An Excellent Adage', &c. _The Friend_, No. 12, Nov. 9, 1809. 57. Epigram on the Secrecy of a Certain Lady. _The Courier_, Jan. 3, 1814. 58. To a Lady who requested me to write a Poem on Nothing. _Gazette of Fashion_, Feb. 2, 1822. 59. Authors and Publishers. _News of Literature_, Dec. 10, 1825. 60. Association of Ideas. _Fraser's Magazine_, Jan. 1835. 61. To a Child. 'Little Miss Fanny'. _Athenæum_, Jan. 28, 1888. No. III POEMS INCLUDED IN ANTHOLOGIES AND OTHER WORKS PAGE 1. _Poems, supposed to have been written..._ By Thomas Rowley,... 1794. Monody on the Death of Chatterton xxv 2. _Poems by Francis Wrangham, M.A._, 1795. Translation of Hendecasyllabi ad Bruntonam, &c. 79 To Miss Brunton with the Preceding Translation. 3. _Poems on the Death of Priscilla Farmer._ By her grandson Charles Lloyd, 1796. Sonnet. 'The Piteous sobs', &c. 4. _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798. The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere 1 The Foster Mother's Tale 53 The Nightingale 63 The Dungeon 139 5. _Lyrical Ballads_ (in two volumes), 1800. Vol. I. Love [with the four poems published in 1798] 138 6. _Annual Anthology_, 1800. *Lewti, or The Circassian Love-Chant 23 *To a Young Lady, on her first Appearance after a Dangerous Illness. 32 *Recantation, Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox 59 *Lines Written in the Album at Elbingerode, in the Hartz Forest 74 *A Christmas Carol 79 To a Friend, who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry 103 This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison. A Poem, addressed to CHARLES LAMB, of the India House, London 140 To W. L. Esq. while he sung a Song to Purcell's Music. 156 *The British Stripling's War-Song 173 Something childish, but very natural. Written in Germany 192 Home-Sick. Written in Germany 193 *Ode to GEORGIANA, Dutchess of Devonshire 212 *Fire, Famine, and Slaughter. A War Eclogue 231 *The Raven 240 *To an unfortunate Woman. 'Sufferer, that with sullen brow' 291 [_Note._ Poems marked with an asterisk were reprinted from the _Morning Post_.] 7. _Memoirs of the late Mrs. Robinson_, &c. Four volumes, 1801. A Stranger Minstrel Vol. iv, p. 141 8. _Melmoth's Beauties of British Poets_, 1801. To a Young Ass 21 To a Spring in a beautiful Village 119 The Sigh 167 The Kiss 201 9. _The Wild Wreath._ Edited by M. E. Robinson, 1804. The Mad Monk 142 10. _The Poetical Register and Repository of the Fine Arts._ Vol. II. For 1802 (1803). *Chamouny. The Hour before Sunrise. A Hymn 308 *Inscription on a Jutting Stone over a Spring 338 *The Picture; or, The Lover's Resolution 354 Vol. III. For 1803 (1805). From the German of Leasing. 'I ask'd my fair', &c. [Signed 'Harley Philadelphia'.] 274 Sonnets, Attempted in the Manner of 'Contemporary Writers' 346 Vol. IV. For 1804 (1805). The Exchange. Vol. VI. For 1806, 1807 (1811). On a Late Connubial Rupture in High Life 365 Vol. VII. For 1808, 1809 (1812). Fears in Solitude. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. 227 France, An Ode. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq. 332 Frost at Midnight. By S. T. Coleridge Esq. 530 [_Note._ Sonnets Attempted, &c., in Vol. III, and On a Late, &c., in Vol. VI, were reprinted from the _Monthly Magazine_: the three poems in Vol. VII were reprinted from the quarto pamphlet of 1798, and were again set up as a small octavo pamphlet by Law & Gilbert, the printers of the _Poetical Register_. Vide Bibliography, No. X.] 11. _Selection of Poems for Young Persons_, by J. Cottle. Third edition, n. d. Epitaph on an Infant 129 Sonnet to the River Otter 155 Domestic Peace 157 12. _English Minstrelsy_; being a Selection of Fugitive Poetry from the Best English Authors. Two volumes, 1810. Vol. II. Fragment. S. T. Coleridge ['Introduction to the Tale of the dark Ladie' as published in the Morning Post] 131 13. _Poetical Class-Book._ Edited by W. F. Mylius, 1810. This Lime Tree Bower my Prison. 14. _Nugæ Canoræ_. Poems by Charles Lloyd, 1819. Sonnet. 'The piteous sobs ', &c. 145 15. _The British Minstrel._ Glasgow, 1821. The Three Graves 16. _Castle Dangerous._ By Sir W. Scott, 1832. Notes by J. G. Lockhart. Galignani, 1834. The Knight's Tomb. 'Where is the grave', &c. 10 17. _A History of . . . Christ's Hospital._ By the Rev. W. Trollope, 1834. Julia 192 18. _Letters, Conversations_, &c., of S. T. Coleridge. In two volumes, 1836. Vol. I. Farewell to Love 143 To Nature. 144 Sonnet. To Lord Stanhope 217 Vol II. 'What boots to tell how o'er his grave' 75 19. _Early Recollections_, &c. By Joseph Cottle, 1837. Vol. I. Monody on . . . Chatterton, ll. 137-54 32 To W. J. H. While playing on his flute 33 The Fox and Statesman, &c. 172 Sonnet. To Lord Stanhope 203 Written After a Walk Before Supper 209 To an unfortunate Young Woman, Whom I had known in the days of her Innocence. 'Maiden! that with sullen brow'. 213 Allegorical Lines on the same subject. 'Myrtle Leaf, that ill besped' 214 On an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre 216 On an Unfortunate, &c. 217 EXAMPLES. 'O what a life', &c. 226 Another Specimen, describing Hexameters, &c. 226 Another Specimen. 'In the Hexameter', &c. 227 The English Duodecasyllable. 'Hear my beloved', &c. 227 Foster-Mother's Tale 235 To a Friend, [Charles Lloyd (_sic_)] who had declared his intention, &c., ll. 17-35 245 Lines Addressed to Joseph Cottle 283 'As oft mine eye', &c. [The Silver Thimble] 236 Sonnets, Attempted in the Manner of Contemporary Writers 290 To the Author of the Ancient Mariner 293 Vol. II. Five 'Epigrams, translated . . . from the German' 65-6 My Love. 'I ask'd my love', &c. 67 _Joan of Arc_, Book the Second. 4{o}, 1796 (including the lines claimed by S. T. C.) 241-52 20. _The Book of Gems._ Edited by S. C. Hall, 1838. The Garden of Boccaccio 51 Love 52 The Nightingale 53 Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode, &c. 58 Recollections of Love 59 21. _Memoirs of William Wordsworth._ In two volumes, 1851. Vol. I. English Hexameters. 'William, my teacher', &c. 139 22. _An Old Man's Diary._ By J. Payne Collier, 1871, 2. My Godmother's Beard Part I, pp. 34, 35. Epigram. 'A very old proverb commands', &c. Epitaph on Sir James Mackintosh. [The Two Round Spaces on the Tombstone] Part I, pp. 61, 62. A Character. 'A Bird who for his other sins' (15 lines) Part IV, p. 57. 23. _Unpublished letters from Samuel Taylor Coleridge to the Rev. John Prior Estlin_: Communicated to the Philobiblon Society. To An Unfortunate Princess. [On a Late Connubial, &c.] 20 Lines Addressed to J. Horne Tooke. 'Britons! when last', &c. 22 24. _Letters from the Lake Poets. . . To Daniel Stuart_, 1889. Alcaeus to Sappho 16 25. _Memorials of Coleorton._ Edited by W. Knight. Two vols., 1887. Vol. I. Mont Blanc, The Summit of the Vale of Chamouny, An Hour before Sunrise--A Hymn. [As sent to Sir George Beaumont.] 26 To WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Composed for the greater part on the same night after the finishing of his recitation of the Poem in thirteen Books, on the Growth of his own Mind. [As sent to Sir G. Beaumont, Jan. 1807.] 26. _Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics._ Edited by F. T. Palgrave 1896. Love 199 Kubla Khan 308 Youth and Age 323 No. IV POEMS FIRST PRINTED OR REPRINTED IN _Literary Remains_, 1836. Vol. I. The Fall or Robespierre 1 Julia 33 '--I yet remain' (By W. L. Bowles) 34 To the Rev W. J. Hort 35 To Charles Lamb ('Thus far my scanty brain', &c.) 36 To the Nightingale 38 To Sara ('The stream', &c.) 39 To Joseph Cottle 40 Casimir ('The solemn-breathing air', &c.) 41 Darwiniana ('Dim Hour', &c.) 43 'The Early Year's fast-flying', &c. [Ver perpetuum]. 44 To a Primrose 47 On the Christening of a Friend's Child 48 Inscription by the Rev. W. L. Bowles, &c. 50 Translation 50 Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie 50 Epilogue to the Rash Conjuror 52 Psyche 53 Complaint ('How seldom Friend', &c.) 53 An Ode to the Rain 54 Translation of a Passage in Ottfried's . . . Paraphrase of the Gospels 56 Israel's Lament, &c. 57 Sentimental 59 The Alternative 59 The Exchange 59 What is Life! 60 Inscription for a Time-Piece 60 +Epitaphion autograpton+ 60 POEMS AND POETICAL FRAGMENTS. 'My Lesbia', &c. 274 'Pity, mourn in plaintive tones' 274 Moriens superstiti 275 Morienti superstes 275 The Stripling's War Song. Imitated from Stolberg 276 Eighteen Fragments from Note book (1795-8) 277-81 'I mix in life, and labour to seem free.' [To ----] 280 Farewell to Love 280 'Within these circling hollies', &c. [An Angel Visitant] 280 Grant me a Patron 281 POEMS FIRST PRINTED OR REPRINTED IN _Essays on His Own Times_, 1850. Vol. III. Recantation. Illustrated in the story of the Mad Ox 963 Parliamentary Oscillators 969 The Devil's Thoughts 972 The British Stripling's War Song 988 Tranquillity. An Ode 991 The Day Dream. _From an Emigrant to his absent Wife_ 993 Mutual Passion 995 The Alienated Mistress ('If love be dead', &c.) 997 To a lady (''Tis not the lily', &c.) 997 A Thought suggested by the View of Saddleback, &c. 997 L'Envoy to 'Like a Lone Arab' ('In vain we', &c.) 998 INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGE A bird, who for his other sins 451 A blesséd lot hath he, who having passed 173 A green and silent spot, amid the hills 256 'A heavy wit shall hang at every lord' 973 A joke (cries Jack) without a sting 961 A little further, O my father 288 A long deep lane 992 A lovely form there sate beside my bed 484 A low dead Thunder mutter'd thro' the night 1005 A Lutheran stout, I hold for Goose-and-Gaundry 975 A maniac in the woods 993 A mount, not wearisome and bare and steep 155 A poor benighted Pedlar knock'd 967 A sumptuous and magnificent Revenge 1000 A sunny shaft did I behold 426, 919 A sworded man whose trade is blood 397 A wind that with Aurora hath abiding 1011 Ah! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life 91 Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams 424 All are not born to soar--and ah! how few 26 All look and likeness caught from earth 393 All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair 447, 1111 All thoughts, all passions, all delights 330 Almost awake? Why, what is this, and whence 211 An evil spirit's on thee, friend! of late! 964 An excellent adage commands that we should 971 An Ox, long fed with musty hay 299 And arrows steeled with wrath 994 And cauldrons the scoop'd earth, a boiling sea 989 And in Life's noisiest hour 1002 And my heart mantles in its own delight 1002 And Pity's sigh shall answer thy tale of Anguish 990 And re-implace God's Image of the Soul 994 And this place our forefathers made for man 185 And this reft house is that the which he built 211 And with my whole heart sing the stately song 994 And write Impromptus 989 Are there two things, of all which men possess 361 As Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking 960 As I am a Rhymer 477 As late each flower that sweetest blows 45 As late I journey'd o'er the extensive plain 11 As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale 80 As late, in wreaths, gay flowers I bound 33 As late on Skiddaw's mount I lay supine 350 As long as ere the life-blood's running 961 As oft mine eye with careless glance 104 As some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood 1001 As the shy hind, the soft-eyed gentle Brute 1013 As the tir'd savage, who his drowsy frame 1023 As when a child on some long Winter's night 85 As when far off the warbled strains are heard 82 As when the new or full Moon urges 1005 At midnight by the stream I roved 253 Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song 131, 1024 Away, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh 90 Be proud as Spaniards! Leap for pride ye Fleas! 980 'Be, rather than be called, a child of God' 312 Behind the thin Grey cloud 992 Behold yon row of pines, that shorn and bow'd 1006 Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun 396 Beneath this stone does William Hazlitt lie 962 Beneath this thorn when I was young 269 Beneath yon birch with silver bark 293 Benign shooting stars, ecstatic delight 1015 Bob now resolves on marriage schemes to trample 953 Bright cloud of reverence, sufferably bright 998 Britannia's boast, her glory and her pride 970 Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak 150 Broad-breasted Pollards, with broad-branching heads 992 Broad-breasted rook-hanging cliff that glasses 988 By many a booby's vengeance bit 953 Charles, grave or merry, at no lie would stick 964 Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first 154 Child of my muse! in Barbour's gentle hand 483 Come, come thou bleak December wind 1001 Come hither, gently rowing 311 Come; your opinion of my manuscript 967 Cupid, if storying Legends tell aright 46 Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween 158 Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West 48 Dear tho' unseen! tho' I have left behind 468 Deep in the gulph of Vice and Woe 12 Depart in joy from this world's noise and strife 177 Didst thou think less of thy dear self 965 Dim Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar 96 Discontent mild as an infant 991 Do call, dear Jess, whene'er my way you come 962 Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove 386 Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet 417 Due to the Staggerers, that made drunk by Power 989 Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf 968 Each crime that once estranges from the virtues 1011 Earth! thou mother of numberless children, the nurse and the mother 327 Edmund! thy grave with aching eye I scan 76 Encinctured with a twine of leaves 287 Ere on my bed my limbs I lay (1803) 389 Ere on my bed my limbs I lay (1806) 401 Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade 68 Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no 419 Eu! Dei vices gerens, ipse Divus 981 Farewell, parental scenes! a sad farewell 29 Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth 402 Fear no more, thou timid Flower 356 'Fie, Mr. Coleridge!--and can this be you? 441 Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like 1085, 1086 Fond, peevish, wedded pair! why all this rant? 984 For ever in the world of Fame 1013 Frail creatures are we all! To be the best 486 Friend, Lover, Husband, Sister, Brother 392 Friend of the wise! and Teacher of the Good 403 Friend pure of heart and fervent! we have learnt 1008 Friends should be _weigh'd_, not _told_; who boasts to have won 963 From his brimstone bed at break of day 319 From me, Aurelia! you desired 966 From Rufa's eye sly Cupid shot his dart 952 From yonder tomb of recent date 955 Gently I took that which ungently came 488 +Gnôthi seauton!+--and is this the prime 487 Go little Pipe! for ever I must leave thee 1016 God be with thee, gladsome Ocean 359 G[=o]d [)i]s o[)u]r Str[=e]ngth [)a]nd o[)u]r R[=e]f[)u]ge 326 God no distance knows 989 God's child in Christ adopted,--Christ my all 490 God's Image, Sister of the Cherubim 994 Good Candle, thou that with thy brother, Fire 969 Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better 96 Grant me a Patron, gracious Heaven! whene'er 995 Great goddesses are they to lazy folks 1008 Hail! festal Easter that dost bring 1 Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 376, 1074 He too has flitted from his secret nest 457 Hear, my belovéd, an old Milesian story 307 Hear, sweet Spirit, hear the spell 420, 552, 849 Heard'st thou yon universal cry 10 Hence, soul-dissolving Harmony 28 Hence that fantastic wantonness of woe 157 Hence! thou fiend of gloomy sway 34 Her attachment may differ from yours in degree 484 Here's Jem's first copy of nonsense verses 983 Here lies a Poet; or what once was he 1089 Here lies the Devil--ask no other name 964 Here sleeps at length, poor Col., and without screaming 970 High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd 1050, 1051 High o'er the silver rocks I rov'd 1049 Hippona lets no silly flush 955 His native accents to her stranger's ear 1011 His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead 1005 Hoarse Maevius reads his hobbling verse 955 How long will ye round me be swelling 39 How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits 381 'How sweet, when crimson colours dart 353 How warm this woodland wild Recess 409 Hush! ye clamorous Cares! be mute 92 I ask'd my fair one happy day 318 I fancy whenever I spy Nosy 953 I from the influence of thy Looks receive 999 I have experienced the worst the world can wreak on me 1004 I have heard of reasons manifold 418 I heard a voice from Etna's side 347 I heard a voice pealing loud triumph to-day 1014 I hold of all our viperous race 959 I know it is dark; and though I have lain 382 I know 'tis but a dream, yet feel more anguish 998 I love, and he loves me again 1118 I mix in life, and labour to seem free 292 I never saw the man whom you describe 182 I note the moods and feelings men betray 448 I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate 152 I stand alone, nor tho' my heart should break 1010 I stood on Brocken's sovran height, and saw 315 I too a sister had! too cruel Death 21 I touch this scar upon my skull behind 984 I wish on earth to sing 1017 I yet remain To mourn 1124 If dead, we cease to be; if total gloom 425 If fair by Nature 1012 If I had but two little wings 313 If Love be dead 475 If Pegasus will let _thee_ only ride him 21 If the guilt of all lying consists in deceit 954 If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light 386 If while my passion I impart 58 Imagination, honourable aims 396 Imagination, Mistress of my Love 49 In a cave in the mountains of Cashmeer 993 In darkness I remain'd--the neighbour's clock 990 In Köhln, a town of monks and bones 477 In many ways does the full heart reveal 462 In Spain, that land of Monks and Apes 974 In the corner _one_ 1012 In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column 308 In this world we dwell among the tombs 991 In vain I praise thee, Zoilus 966 In vain I supplicate the Powers above 1087 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 297 It is an ancient Mariner 187 It is an ancyent Marinere 1030 It may indeed be phantasy, when I 429 It was some Spirit, Sheridan! that breath'd 87 Its balmy lips the infant blest 417 Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing 958 Jack finding gold left a rope on the ground 971 Jack Snipe 982 Jem writes his verses with more speed 956 Julia was blest with beauty, wit, and grace 6 Kayser! to whom, as to a second self 490 Know thou who walk'st by, Man! that wrapp'd up in lead, man 961 Know'st thou the land where the pale citrons grow 311 Lady, to Death we're doom'd, our crime the same 392 Last Monday all the Papers said 956 Leanness, disquietude, and secret Pangs 990 Lest after this life it should prove my sad story 1090 Let clumps of earth, however glorified 1008 Let Eagle bid the Tortoise sunward soar 1001 Let those whose low delights to Earth are given 427 Light cargoes waft of modulated Sound 988 Like a lone Arab, old and blind 488 Like a mighty Giantess 991 Little Miss Fanny 987 Lo! through the dusky silence of the groves 33 Lov'd the same Love, and hated the same hate 994 Lovely gems of radiance meek 17 Low was our pretty Cot! our tallest Rose 106 Lunatic Witch-fires! Ghosts of Light and Motion! 979 Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve 19 Maid of unboastful charms! whom white-robed Truth 66 Maiden, that with sullen brow 171 Mark this holy chapel well 309 Matilda! I have heard a sweet tune played 374 Mild Splendour of the various-vested Night 5 Money, I've heard a wise man say 972 Most candid critic, what if I 962 Mourn, Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn 433 Much on my early youth I love to dwell 64 My dearest Dawtie 984 My eyes make pictures, when they are shut 385 My father confessor is strict and holy 969 My heart has thanked thee, Bowles! for those soft strains 84, 85 My heart seraglios a whole host of Joys 990 My Lesbia, let us love and live 60 My Lord! though your Lordship repel deviation 341 My Maker! of thy power the trace 423 My Merry men all, that drink with glee 979 My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined 100, 1021 Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped 172 Names do not always meet with Love 997 Nature wrote Rascal on his face 991 Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave? 418 Near the lone pile with ivy overspread 69 Never, believe me 310 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 264 No cold shall thee benumb 1015 No doleful faces here, no sighing 954 No more my visionary soul shall dwell 68 No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope 460 No mortal spirit yet had clomb so high 1004 No private grudge they need, no personal spite 972 Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest 824 Nor travels my meandering eye 97 Not always should the Tear's ambrosial dew 83 Not hers To win the sense by words of rhetoric 1007 Not, Stanhope! with the Patriot's doubtful name 89 Nothing speaks our mind so well 975 Now! It is gone--our brief hours travel post 974 Now prompts the Muse poetic lays 13 O ----! O ----! of you we complain 977 O beauty in a beauteous body dight 999 O! Christmas Day, Oh! happy day! 460 O fair is Love's first hope to gentle mind 443 O form'd t'illume a sunless world forlorn 86 O Friend! O Teacher! God's great Gift to me 1081 O! I do love thee, meek _Simplicity_ 210 O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease 435 O leave the Lily on its stem 1053 O man! thou half-dead Angel! 994 O meek attendant of Sol's setting blaze 16 O mercy, O me, miserable man 1005 O Muse who sangest late another's pain 18 O Peace, that on a lilied bank dost love 94 O! Superstition is the giant shadow 1007 O th' Oppressive, irksome weight 1000 O thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more 51 O thron'd in Heav'n! Sole King of kings 438 O what a loud and fearful shriek was there 82 O what a wonder seems the fear of death 125 O would the Baptist come again 959 O'er the raised earth the gales of evening sigh 996 O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule 481 O'erhung with yew, midway the Muses mount 1003 Of him that in this gorgeous tomb doth lie 961 Of late, in one of those most weary hours 478 Of one scrap of science I've evidence ocular 985 Of smart pretty Fellows in Bristol are numbers, some 952 Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll 153 Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee 388 Oh! might my ill-past hours return again 7 Oh! the procrastinating idle rogue 817 Old age, 'the shape and messenger of Death' 989 Old Harpy jeers at castles in the air 965 On nothing, Fanny, shall I write? 973 On stern Blencartha's perilous height 347 On the broad mountain-top 992 On the sky with liquid openings of Blue 1109 On the tenth day of September 1084 On the wide level of a mountain's head 419 On wide or narrow scale shall Man 30 Or Wren or Linnet 1002 Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee 1018 Once could the Morn's first beams, the healthful breeze 17 Once more! sweet Stream! with slow foot wandering near 58 One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd 63 Oppress'd, confused, with grief and pain 436 Our English poets, bad and good, agree 968 Outmalic'd Calumny's imposthum'd Tongue 989 Over the broad, the shallow, rapid stream 998 Pains ventral, subventral 985 Pale Roamer through the night! thou poor Forlorn 71 Parry seeks the Polar ridge 972 Pass under Jack's window at twelve at night 963 Pensive at eve on the _hard_ world I mus'd 209 Perish warmth 989 Phidias changed marble into feet and legs 984 Pity! mourn in plaintive tone 61 Plucking flowers from the Galaxy 978 Pluto commanded death to take away 957 Poor little Foal of an oppressed race 74 Promptress of unnumber'd sighs 55 Quae linquam, aut nihil, aut nihili, aut vix sunt mea. Sordes 462 Quoth Dick to me, as once at College 414 Repeating Such verse as Bowles 977 Resembles life what once was deem'd of light 394 Richer than Miser o'er his countless hoards 57 Rush on my ear, a cataract of sound 990 Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling 416 Said William to Edmund I can't guess the reason 951 Say what you will, Ingenious Youth 954 Scarce any scandal, but has a handle 965 Schiller! that hour I would have wish'd to die 72 Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud 997 Semper Elisa! mihi tu suaveolentia donas 1010 Seraphs! around th' Eternal's seat who throng 5 She gave with joy her virgin breast 306 'She's secret as the grave, allow!' 971 Since all that beat about in Nature's range 455 Sing, impassionate Soul! of Mohammed the complicate story 1016 Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel 93 Sisters! sisters! who sent you here? 237 Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling 417 Sly Beelzebub took all occasions 957 Smooth, shining, and deceitful as thin Ice 990 So great the charms of Mrs. Mundy 976 So Mr. Baker heart did pluck 973 Sole maid, associate sole, to me beyond 1004 Sole Positive of Night 431 Some are home-sick--some two or three 443 Some, Thelwall! to the Patriot's meed aspire 1090 Some whim or fancy pleases every eye 970 Songs of Shepherds and rustical Roundelays 1018 Southey! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear 87 Speak out, Sir! you're safe, for so ruddy your nose 958 Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of Time 160 Splendour's fondly-fostered child 335 Stanhope! I hail, with ardent Hymn, thy name 89 Stop, Christian passer-by!--Stop, child of God 491, 1088 Stranger! whose eyes a look of pity shew 248 Stretch'd on a moulder'd Abbey's broadest wall 73 Strong spirit-bidding sounds 399 Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows 307 Such fierce vivacity as fires the eye 991 Such love as mourning Husbands have 998 Swans sing before they die--'twere no bad thing 960 Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem 148 Sweet Gift! and always doth Elisa send 1009 Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled 93 Sweet Muse! companion of my every hour 16 Tell me, on what holy ground 71, 501 Terrible and loud 991 That darling of the Tragic Muse 67 That France has put us oft to rout 968 That Jealousy may rule a mind 484 The angel's like a flea 1009 The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul 1001 The Brook runs over sea-weeds 992 The builder left one narrow rent 1003 The butterfly the ancient Grecians made 412 The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar 653 The Devil believes that the Lord will come 353 The dubious light sad glimmers o'er the sky 36 The dust flies smothering, as on clatt'ring wheel 56 The early Year's fast-flying vapours stray 148 The fervid Sun had more than halv'd the day 24 The Fox, and Statesman subtile wiles ensure 1089 The Frost performs its secret ministry 240 The grapes upon the Vicar's wall 276 The guilty pomp, consuming while it flares 990 The hour-bell sounds, and I must go 61 The indignant Bard composed this furious ode 27 The mild despairing of a Heart resigned 991 The Moon, how definite its orb 997 The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath 155 The Pleasures sport beneath the thatch 997 The poet in his lone yet genial hour 345 The reed roof'd village still bepatch'd with snow 1002 The rose that blushes like the morn 973 The shepherds went their hasty way 338 The silence of a City, how awful at Midnight 999 The singing Kettle and the purring Cat 1003 The sole true Something--This! In Limbo's Den 429 The solemn-breathing air is ended 59 The spruce and limber yellow-hammer 1002 The stars that wont to start, as on a chace 486 The stream with languid murmur creeps 38 The subtle snow 993 The Sun (for now his orb 'gan slowly sink) 990 'The Sun is not yet risen 469 The Sun with gentle beams his rage disguises 1010 The sunshine lies on the cottage-wall 993 The swallows Interweaving there 992 The tear which mourn'd a brother's fate scarce dry 20 The tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil 345 The tongue can't speak when the mouth is cramm'd with earth 994 Then Jerome did call 1019 There are, I am told, who sharply criticise 816 There are two births, the one when Light 362 There comes from old Avaro's grave 954 There in some darksome shade 1018 Thicker than rain-drops on November thorn 1010 This be the meed, that thy song creates a thousand-fold echo 391 This day among the faithful plac'd 176 This, Hannah Scollock! may have been the case 981 This is now--this was erst 22 This is the time, when most divine to hear 108 This Sycamore, oft musical with bees 381 This way or that, ye Powers above me 974 This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say) 362 Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress 72 Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile 47 Thou who in youthful vigour rich, and light 349 Though friendships differ endless _in degree_ 1012 Tho' Miss ----'s match is a subject of mirth 952 Tho' much averse, dear Jack, to flicker 37 Tho' no bold flights to thee belong 9 Though rous'd by that dark Vizir Riot rude 81 Though veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath 450 Three truths should make thee often think and pause 966 Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood 369 Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme 78 Thus she said, and all around 1015 Thy babes ne'er greet thee with the father's name 960 Thy lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast 960 Thy smiles I note, sweet early Flower 149 Thy stern and sullen eye, and thy dark brow 994 'Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try 26 'Tis mine and it is likewise yours 997 'Tis not the lily-brow I prize 483 'Tis sweet to him who all the week 314 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock 215 'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane 413 To be ruled like a Frenchman the Briton is both 953 To know, to esteem, to love,--and then to part 410 To praise men as good, and to take them for such 486 To tempt the dangerous deep, too venturous youth 2 To wed a fool, I really cannot see 963 Tom Hill, who laughs at Cares and Woes 974 Tom Slothful talks, as slothful Tom beseems 967 Tranquillity! thou better name 360 Tr[=o]ch[)e]e tr[=i]ps fr[)o]m long t[)o] sh[=o]rt 401 Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketch'd the way 1008 'Twas my last waking thought, how it could be 454 'Twas not a mist, nor was it quite a cloud 1000 'Twas sweet to know it only possible 992 Two things hast thou made known to half the nation 964 Two wedded hearts, if ere were such 1003 Unboastful Bard! whose verse concise yet clear 102 Unchanged within, to see all changed without 459 Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree 1048 Under this stone does Walter Harcourt lie 962 Underneath an old oak tree 169 Ungrateful he, who pluck'd thee from thy stalk 70 Unperishing youth 308 Up, up! ye dames, and lasses gay 427 Up, up! ye dames, ye lasses gay 942 Upon the mountain's edge with light touch resting 393 Utter the song, O my soul! the flight and return of Mohammed 329 Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying 439 Verse, pictures, music, thoughts both grave and gay 482 Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying 1085 Virtues and Woes alike too great for man 37 Vivit sed mihi non vivit--nova forte marita 56 Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green 1009 We both attended the same College 955 We pledged our hearts, my love and I 391 Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made 362, 1076 Well, they are gone, and here must I remain 178 We've conquer'd us a Peace, like lads true metalled 972 We've fought for Peace, and conquer'd it at last 972 What a spring-tide of Love to dear friends in a shoal 1010 What boots to tell how o'er his grave 1011 What is an Epigram? a dwarfish whole 963 What never is, but only is to be 999 What now, O Man! thou dost or mean'st to do 414 What pleasures shall he ever find 4 What though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking chorus 476 Whate'er thou giv'st, it still is sweet to me 1010 When British Freedom for an happier land 79 When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt 1004 When Surface talks of other people's worth 969 When the squalls were flitting and fleering 980 When they did greet me father, sudden awe 152 When thieves come, I bark: when gallants, I am still 966 When thou to my true-love com'st 326 When thy Beauty appears 1016 When Youth his faery reign began 62 Whene'er the mist, that stands 'twixt God and thee 487 Where Cam his stealthy flowings most dissembles 988 Where deep in mud Cam rolls his slumbrous stream 35 Where graced with many a classic spoil 29 Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn 432 Where true Love burns Desire is love's pure flame 485 Where'er I find the Good, the True, the Fair 1011 Wherefore art thou come? 989 While my young cheek retains its healthful hues 236 Whilst pale Anxiety, corrosive Care 69 Whom should I choose for my Judge? 1000 Whom the untaught Shepherds call 40 Why is my Love like the Sun? 1109 Why need I say, Louisa dear 252 William, my teacher, my friend 304 Wisdom, Mother of retired Thought 991 With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots 433 With many a pause and oft reverted eye 94 With many a weary step at length I gain 56 With secret hand heal the conjectur'd wound 988 With skill that never Alchemist yet told 995 Within these circling hollies woodbine-clad 409 Within these wilds was Anna wont to rove 16 Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause 243 Ye drinkers of Stingo and Nappy so free 978 Ye fowls of ill presage 1017 Ye Gales, that of the Lark's repose 35 Ye harp-controlling hymns 1006 Ye souls unus'd to lofty verse 8 Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high 317 Yes, yes! that boon, life's richest treat 466 Yet art thou happier far than she 62 Yon row of bleak and visionary pines 1006 You're careful o'er your wealth 'tis true 958 You come from o'er the waters 987 You loved the daughter of Don Manrique? 421 You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within 1002 Your Poem must _eternal_ be 959 Oxford: Horace Hart, Printer to the University TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: Ellipses in the text are represented as in the original. Ellipses in poetry are indicated by a row of asterisks. The quotation marks in THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE are exactly as printed in the original. The following words use an oe ligature in the original: Camoenæ Camoenarum cohoesion Oeolian Phoebus Ptolomoeus Changes have been made to the text to reflect the corrections mentioned in the Errata on page viii. Inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and accents have been left as in the original. The following corrections have been made to the text: page 564: [Between 19 and 31] And marking that the moonlight came from thence,{original has period} page 607 (line 137): The soldier's boldness constitutes{original has constitues} his freedom. page 718: [56] _Octavio (coldly)._ _1800_, _1828_, _1829_.{Note removed as a duplicate of [55].} page 731: [_Before_ 72] _Duchess (anxiously)._ _1800_,{comma is missing in original} _1828_ page 741: [39] _Wallenstein (with eager expectation)._{period is missing in original} Well? page 754: [117{original has 17}] _thou_ page 765: _BUTLER and GORDON._{period is missing in original} page 771: [_After_ 9] [_WALLENSTEIN shudders and turns pale{original has extraneous closing parenthesis}._ page 850 (line 91): What if{original has opening parenthesis followed by the word if} (his stedfast eye still beaming pity page 868: removed superscripted 1 at the end of line 1 as there is no footnote page 879: [255] and suddenly stabs ORDONIO.{period is missing in original} page 879: [Note. In his.... [For MS. version of this variant see note on p. 597.]]{original is missing second closing bracket} page 906 (line 181): added the word "Is" at the beginning of the line--verified in The Poetical and Dramatic Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, published by Harper Brothers, New York, 1854 page 929: [112] _Laska (recovering himself)._{period is missing in original} page 934 (line 292): devotion is akin to love,{original has period after the comma} page 982: First collected _P. and D. W.{period is missing in original}_ page 1146: {original has unmatched opening bracket}For lines 1-63 vide _ante_, No. III page 1158: _Apud Athenæum.{original has a comma}_ Footnote [598:1] (an undramatic superstition ... pleasing associations, as the Sun and Moon) {original has duplicate word Astrology before and after the material in parentheses} To maintain consistency, initials referring to manuscripts are spaced throughout the text. Dates and manuscript references in the linenotes are in italics in the original. Italics markup has been removed to make reading easier. When there is more than one poem on a page, the linenotes in the original repeat the title. This title has been removed. When there is more than one scene on a page, the linenotes in the original repeat the scene number. This number has been removed. In "The Piccolomini," some of the drama is written in prose. The lines are numbered. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. Act I, Scene VI: lines 5-6 orders/--no lines 7-8 counter/manded Act II, Scene VIII: lines 23-24 determina/tion Act II, Scene XII: lines 5-6 splen/did lines 15-16 Tie/fenbach lines 31-32 tale-/bearers lines 34-35 gold.--/And lines 58-59 Rudolph--/a [moved up] lines 99-100 Fron/tignac!--Snapped lines 111-112 con/fidentially Act II, Scene XIII: lines 11-12 me--/talk lines 23-24 pre/cedence lines 25-26 permission--/Good lines 44-45 com/plaint lines 46-47 Chaly/beate lines 59-60 Mara/das lines 65-66 com/pliment!--For lines 66-67 re/maining lines 68-69 Lieutenant-/General Act II, Scene XIV: lines 22-23 brother!--/Hast lines 72-73 over-scrupu/lously lines 76-77 army-/purveyancer In the Preface to "The Death of Wallenstein," the lines are numbered. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. lines 1-2 Wallen/stein lines 10-11 trans/lated lines 12-13 com/parative lines 28-29 His/tory lines 47-48 Piccolo/mini [moved up] lines 61-62 Trans/lator lines 68-69 com/pensation In Act I, Scene I of "The Triumph of Loyalty," the lines are numbered. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. lines 5-6 Cas/tilian lines 60-61 judge/ment--she In Appendix I, part of the poem "Youth and Age" has numbered lines. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. lines 13-14 spark/ling lines 16-17 side/--out In Appendix II, the "Allegoric Vision" has numbered lines. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. lines 26-27 disap/pointments lines 59-60 im/mediately lines 74-75 pin/ing lines 77-78 move/ments lines 91-91 sprink/lings lines 106-107 extre/mity lines 123-124 some/thing lines 127-128 uncer/tainty lines 148-149 over/taken [moved up] lines 161-162 demean/our [moved up] lines 170-171 dim-/eyed [moved up] lines 181-182 mys/teries In Appendix III, the "Apologetic Preface to 'Fire, Famine, and Slaughter'" has numbered lines. Where words are hyphenated in the original, the parts have been rejoined and the first part of the word moved down to the beginning of the following line. In the list below, the slash indicates where the hyphen occurs in the original. lines 2-3 cul/tivated lines 25-26 Anti-/Gallican lines 34-35 com/pensated lines 38-39 illus/trious lines 147-148 appari/tions lines 157-158 imagina/tion [moved up] lines 170-171 con/cluded lines 174-175 epigram/matic [moved up] lines 193-194 occa/sion lines 207-208 re/published lines 251-252 pass/age [moved up] lines 267-268 com/pared lines 278-279 tran/scendant lines 285-286 wil/fully lines 301-302 disposi/tions lines 302-303 punish/ment lines 308-309 hypotheti/cally lines 315-316 calum/niators lines 319-320 anti-/prelatist [moved up] lines 339-340 per/secution lines 353-354 con/tented lines 359-360 tempta/tion lines 361-362 tolera/tion lines 370-371 sup/port lines 378-379 Church-anti/quity [moved up] lines 381-382 church-/communion [moved up] lines 394-395 ex/pressed lines 399-400 inter/misceant lines 408-409 alle/gorical [moved up] lines 437-438 dun/geoning lines 439-440 con/cerning [moved up] lines 454-455 charac/ters lines 464-465 truth,--/when lines 467-468 main/taining lines 472-473 primi/tive lines 478-479 reli/gious In the Bibliography, the following items have line numbers in the original: III. Introduction to "A Sheet of Sonnets", V. "Preface to the First Editon" and "Preface to the Second Edition" The line numbers have been removed from the prose paragraphs. To indicate where the lines end in the original, a / slash mark has been used. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. VOL 2 (OF 2) *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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