 | The Czar |  |
SCENE I.
The Prison.Ottokesa. Olaria.
OTTOKESA.
That noise again!—look out, Olaria, straight;
At length perhaps my son in triumph comes,—
Or is he lost for ever?—yes—he is lost,
And every hope is buried in his grave.—
All righteous Power, who view'st my deep distress,
Cut short the remnant of my wretched days,
Or grant me some redress,—not ever thus
Let anxious cares distract me!
OLARIA.
No plea alleg'd,
No answer to your suit;—oh! may the Prince
Gain all the scatter'd troops,—raise high the storm,
And rush in terror on this guilty land.
OTTOKESA.
Yes, let him plead in arms!—till then I find
In vain I sue to vindicate my fame.
Grant me but that, kind Heaven!—I ask no more.
41
Had I the power to seize the Russian throne,
To make the Czar submissive to my will,
Here, here I swear, no other claim to make,
Than to approve my wrongs, restore my son,
The rightful heir of this unbounded empire.
OLARIA.
Hark!—sure the gates unbar!—a light appears,
Some stranger from the field is now arriv'd,
See—through the aisle he shoots, and lo! he comes,
Your brother comes, to sooth your every care!
Enter Fedrowitz.
FEDROWITZ.
All now is lost;—fortune, a foe to justice,
Yields up her palm to infamy and fraud;
The Guards, the pitying Guards, who brought the Prince
To take a kind embrace—were all surpris'd,—
The spies of Artamon had watch'd their way,
And now they claim their lives.
OTTOKESA.
Ah!—where's my son?
FEDROWITZ.
Ill fated youth!—and do I live to speak it:
E'en now he drags the chain,—unconquer'd yet,
If minds can hold their freedom,—he, alas!
This hour must take his trial.
OTTOKESA.
Then he must die.
Do not say trial!
For trial sure is condemnation here;
42
When lo! his father, his stern rigid judge,
Deaf to his plaints, regardless of his suit,
Will urge the cruel deed?
FEDROWITZ.
Yet will I plead,
Tho' earth and Heaven oppose,—
The Czar as potent as embattled Jove
Shall not deter me;—thou, Artamon, be there!
And if destruction can await thy wiles,
If shame can rifle colour from thy cheeks,
And plant detection there,—there, with bold truth,
And conscious scorn I'll meet thee;
Thy hour shall soon approach, thy sun shall set;
Superior fate shall cast thee to the earth,
And ring thy parting knell.
OTTOKESA.
Delay not then,
Each moment's precious;—I'll to the tower's top,
And catch from babbling winds each passing gale
That breathes or death or freedom.
[Exeunt.
| The Czar | |