University of Virginia Library

OTHO:

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS,

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Otho, the Bastard,
• Lord Ola, a Stranger,
• Prince Irman,
• Duke Alva, Father of Irman,
• The Soldier,
• Achmet, a follower of Otho,
• Selim, a Page,
• Friar, Judge, Lords, Attendants, &c. &c.
• Princess Ala,
• Ida, child of Duke Alva,
• Laie, favourite attendant of the Princess.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A thick wood—distant view of a fortress—groupes of armed men, as after a battle;—sound of distant tumult—martial music. Prince Irman insensible, supported on a back by a man in armour, while others are attempting to free him from his harness.
1st Guard.
(Advancing)
Stand to your ground!
(To others who approach.)
Away!—and man the pass.

2d Guard.
Silence!—look there!—the wood is full of men.

1st Gua.
(Looking anxiously)
But they are all white plumes—
(Advancing to his companion, who is supporting the Prince.)
It was a heavy blow—

3d Gua.
(Reaching the cleft Helmet of the Prince to his comrade.)
It was indeed.

Both.
No blood!—not wounded!

3d Gua.
—No!—he's only stunned—
(throwing down the Helmet)
And we are gloriously revenged for that!
(To others, who approach—as a distant shout is heard)
Back to your posts!—

2d Gua.
Away! and scour the woods—

3d Gua.
—Soft—soft—he breathes—

(Prince Irman faintly attempts to rise—staggers—and sinks down again.)
3d Gua.
My Prince!—

(The Prince looks around disturbed, as struggling to recollect himself, in silence.)
(Enter Friar.)
Friar.
(Stopping suddenly as he sees the Prince's armour lying about.)
Merciful Powers!—it was a dreadful shock!

1st Gua.
Aye Father— (reaching the cloven Helmet)

What a blade!—

Friar.
(In amasement)
And yet he has escaped!

(laying his hand upon the Prince's brow.)
1st Gua.
Unharmed,—and only stunned—but—

3d Gua.
Shall we not bear him to the Castle, Father?

2d Gua.
Aye, father, 'twould be best,—he's not safe here—
The woods are all alive with Otho's men—

1st Gua.
(Angrily)
With Otho's devils—Jesu! how they fought!

3d Gua.
To the Castle then!

(approaching the Prince, eagerly.)
Friar.
Stay—Stay—
Let him but breathe the pure, fresh air,
And he'll not want our aid to reach his halls;
And there he'll meet his Princess, as he's wont,
When he has been in blood—
(Martial flourish heard, passing, in the wood.)
Silence that horn!—

(Trumpet—the Prince starts suddenly from the bank, utters some incoherent sounds, and attempts to unsheath his sword—Friar and guard struggle with him.)
Prince.
(Vehemently)
To horse!—Away!—Away!

Fr.
Nay—nay my Lord—

1st Gua.
(Again preventing the Prince from unsheathing his sword.)
My Prince!

Pri.
(Starting, and looking earnestly at him)
—Selim!

1st Gua.
Not Selim—no, my Prince—

Fr.
—Speed to the hall;
Tell Selim to return.—

(Several start at once with great eagerness.)
Pri.
(Bursting from their arms and unsheating his Sword)
Charge, charge!—they fly!—there, cleave him to the earth!
Away! Away!

(Rushes furiously out, followed by all his guards, the Friar last.)
Fr.
The sword! the sword!
(following, with violent gestures)
Aye, wrench it from his grasp—

(Exit Friar.)
(Enter Achmet, cautiously, from the wood.)
Achmet.
They're gone at last!— (listening)

Curse on the straggling cowards! we are foiled—
(Two other Figures seen, stealing upon him from the wood.)
Have lost our chief:—would I had fallen there!
Who of us all will dare to lift an eye,
Hereafter,—to that dark encountering look?
(The ruffians approach with their daggers drawn)
How shall I quail before that mute reproach!
So terrible!—so still—
(sees them)
—Who are ye?—Stand!
Come ye as friends, or foes?—
(they approach)
—Another step!—
And I shall hold ye foes—
(Looks earnestly—approaches—drops the point of his sword, and turns away in scorn)
Cowards!—I know ye both—
Away!—I hold no fellowship with you—
(going—pauses)
Ye sold your chief—abandoned him in death—

1st Ruf.
'Tis false—he sold himself—

2d Ruf.
—Aye, so he did!
Think ye they'd ever taken him alive,
But with his own consent?—

1st Ruf.
I saw him break his blade—and bow his head—
And yield himself a prisoner to the foe.—

Ach.
True—True, you did. His mighty heart gave up
When ye abandoned him,—or he had fought,
Till not a man survived to tell the tale.
But we!—no, you—I did my duty there:
And yet, I shall not dare to meet his eye—
For I have marched with cowards to the war.
How then will ye encounter his reproach?
That withering look!—that eyes—when ye shall see
Your chief to-morrow, going to his death.

Both Ruf.
His death!—his death!

Ach.
Aye, all alone, his head upon a block—
(The ruffians appear disturbed—hesitate—then suddenly brandish their daggers, as if unconsciously)
Aye stretched upon the wheel—

(keeping his eye upon them)
1st Ruf.
(to his fellow)
By Heaven, I will!—

(The other seizes his hand—as understanding his exclamation)
Ach.
(Going)
Gods! ye had better die ten thousand deaths,
In strife for him, than once deserve that glance;—
That lightning!—'twill reward ye for your faith—
O! may ye see him die!—

Both.
Die!—He die!

1st Ruf.
No, no, we'll save him yet,—

2d Ruf.
—or die ourselves.

Ach.
Ye save him, cowards!—he would rather die.
No, never!—never—ye that broke his heart!
Ye never can restore him to himself.—
Ye were the men that he had nursed in blood
His chosen ones!—his strength!
(pause—emotion)
—And ye deserted him!
No, he will die.—And ye shall are see your chief
Hooted and pelted by a peasant rabble—

1st Ruf.
By Heaven! they dare not.

2d Ruf.
We will all be there—

Ach.
Ye! O cowards! cowards!
Think ye that he would trust to you again!
Go seek your caverns, hide yourselves—and live.
For me—I will attend him to the block;
(emotion)
He yet shall look on me as he was wont,
When I had been a man,—and then—I'll die.
But ye!—O, may ye meet his eye once more!

1st Ruf.
Achmet, lead on—

2d Ruf.
—Aye, lead us where thou wilt!
We'll follow thee to death.

Ach.
Ye follow me to death! O, were ye men,
We had been masters of the citadel;
The Prince had been our prisoner!—and his guards
Had fed the vulture and the wolf this night.
Aye,—even now—had ye been men indeed,
We might have taken such a hostage here—
(Ruffians appear violently agitated)
But now, the Prince was here!
(stamping)
—Upon this spot!

1st Ruf.
We saw him too.

2d Ruf.
His guards were all about—the wood was full,
And what could we have done!

Ach.
What could we have done!
Why, borne him off, amid a thousand guards!
Had we been Otho's men.

1st Ruf.
Then we may do it now!

2d Ruf.
Aye, let us! let us!—Achmet, lead us forth.

Ach.
(Triumphantly)
Would ye redeem your souls?
Away! and I will trust ye yet.

(Rushes out as after the Prince,—followed by the Ruffians.)

SCENE II.

—A Gothick hall. View of Battlements from an open window. Banners and armour hung around. The Prince is discovered on a couch. Friar.
Fr.
Yes my Lord—and broke his sword—and

(The recollection of the Prince alternately comes and goes through this scene, until its conclusion, when he is entirely restored.)
Pri.
(Impatiently)
And then was taken: Yes, I know it all.

(relapses into inattention)
Fr.
(Eagerly)
The Princess comes—

Pri.
(Disturbed)
Ah!—

Fr.
I hear her voice, my lord—

Pri.
The Princess—?—Ha!

Fr.
The Lady Ala—

Pri.
Ala! (passionately)
—is that her voice?

Fr.
Yes, yes, my Prince.

Pri.
— (struggling)
—Then let me be composed!
Ala,—my lovely one—bear up my heart—
That angel smile—
(wandering)
Father, that Otho—
(laying his hand on his brow)
I am much disturbed.

(Enter Ala, followed by her ladies.)
Ala.
Welcome my Prince!
(Stops in alarm at the expression of his countenance.)
Father, what tale have ye amused me with?
(Bends over the Prince and takes his hand in great agitation.)
My Prince look up!
(he lifts his eyes wildly)
—In mercy!—look not thus.
(Reproachfully.)
Father!—Father—

(weeps)
Fr.
Sweet lady, these are dangerous tears:
The Prince but wants repose—

(Ala wares to her attendants to withdraw—seats herself by the Prince, and supports his head.)
Ala.
Father, (in a low voice)
I pray the Duke may not arrive.
This is a mournful presage, and my heart
Bows sadly to its touch.
(The Prince with a sudden and faint cry of terror draws her nearer to him.)
My Prince! (startled.)
Indeed, his eye looks wild—

Pri.
(Straining her to his heart convulsively)
Ala—O, Ala!—
(Pause—appears to recollect her.)
My Ala!—here!
And art thou here, my love?—Is this thy hand?
Why even thou art pale—
(relapsing)
Yes, yes it was a fearful dream indeed.
(Ala averts her head and weeps)
Nay, do not leave me Ala. I would feel.
Thy hand in mine. My heart still knows the touch
Of one it loves—
(Trembles—struggles—and suddenly extends his hands, as to prevent something from approaching her— then drops them faintly as she covers her face.)
—O, would'st thou leave me then!
Well,—go!—I've nothing left to cling to here.
(Ala is overcome by her feelings. Irman rises proudly, advances with a firm step to the middle of the hall —attempts to address Ala—and suddenly stops—as conscious of his situation.)
Forgive me! I am weak.— (pause)
that flash!—
(Catches her hand and appears completely restored)
Ala,—why, how is this? So sad upon this night;
Our wedding night—
(His eye falls on his armour: as he sees his cleft helmet, he, involuntarily, passes his hand to his brow)
My plumes are soiled—their lights are dimmed— (pause.)

Ah, now I feel it all!
— (passionately)
And art thou safe!
Well, thanks to Heaven!—but indeed my love,
I never heard the trumpet pealing yet;
Or saw my banners blazing for the strife,
And felt my pulse so feeble, as this day.
That desperate man! He is a gallant foe,
And tho' I stooped to his encountering arm,
My heart does not reproach me for the fail.
He wields a dreadful blade.
(Pause—lays his hand on the Friar's arm, as striving to recall his thoughts, while Ala expresses her delight at his recovery, in silence.)
But Father—surely, we were victors there;
I saw them fly before I fell—

Fr.
'Tis true my lord. The dreadful man is here;
A prisoner—with his bloody band.

Irman.
A prisoner! Otho!—and alive!

Fr.
And alive—'tis true my Prince.

Pri.
(To Ala)
That Otho here!
He would have torn thee from the altar, love—

Ala.
Ah!

(terrour)
Pri.
Yes! from my arms—or from the bridal couch!

Ala.
Merciful Heaven!
(shuddering—then advancing, seizes his hand.)
Art thou indeed restored!

Fr.
Now, lady, did I tell thee true?

Ala.
Father, forgive me, 'twas my fear that spoke:
Know you, my Prince, how, wildly you have talked?

Fr.
Indeed, your lovely guardian was alarmed.

Pri.
I raved?

Ala.
O, yes! and held my hand, as if you strove
To save me from pollution—

Pri.
(With tenderness)
Did I indeed!
(pause)
(Solemnity)
Yes—yes—I know I did—
The chill of superstition is upon me:
Nay, do not smile—my brain is quite restored,
But this delirium is in my heart.
The blow that fell had not unmanned me thus,
Had not my heart and scul been wandering first—
But now—this evening—something threatens me,
I yet shall realize my dreadful dream:
My fall—the trumpet—and the foe—

Ala.
A dream!

Pri.
Indeed! I have not told thee? well, 'twas this.
I dreamt that thou wast gone, (horrour—gradually increasing to vehemence.)
And that I clasped
Before the multitude, assembled there
To see us plight our faith for earth and heaven,—
Instead of thee, my love, with sunny eye,—
A man in armour! whose relentless grasp
Was locked in desperation round my frame.
So unexpected too! (pause)
and what is strange,
I dreamt that thou did'st leave me willingly—

Ala.
(Tenderly)
Willingly!

Fr.
It was a dream, my Prince.

Pri.
(Disturbed)
But mark the strange concurrence of this day.
The very man I've heard so often cursed,
(to Ala)
When I have told thee of his bloody deeds;
This very Otho! was the ruffian shape,
That—mailed from head to foot—in sable plumes—
Stepped forth, amid a troop of gallant Lords,
And clasped me while I slept!
To night he comes—and blows a sudden trump!
And sabres flash! and martial hands are met—
In battle—that had come for dance!

Ala.
And didst thou see him in thy dream? (smiling)


Pri.
Yes—smile my love—
He frightens others in their soundest sleep.
And idle as the fear might seem, to one,
Less near the object of idolatry;
Yet still—on me—I wonder while I speak—
And then—
(Enter Selim, who falls at his feet with a look of the greatest reverence and affection.)
(To Selim)
Has my father come?

Selim.
Not yet, my Prince. He will be here to-night,
A courier has arrived—

Pri.
(continuing with earnestness)
The unexpected bursting of that trump!
Within the very temple of our hopes!
The boldness of the band—thy strange escape—
For, had we been embracing to receive
Thy benediction, father—and my knights
Had been unarmed, as knights should be, who meet
For nuptial revelry, and dance,—Oh, then,
Most surely had I lost thee, love!

Ala.
(In deep thought)
Indeed—but this as strange, night after night
Have I had visions too. (to the Prince.)
And much like this.
Thrice have I dreamt that I was snatched from death.
That, from the Altar, I was borne away,
(faltering)
By that dark fearful being—
(Shuddering and looking round in terrour—Selim is seen to participate—and, involuntarily, raises his hands, as he stands listening intensely)
—That my heart
Once met in solitude—arrayed in blood!
A bloody mantle! And a bloody plume!
(increasing horrour)
And suddenly he came—as from the grave!
But—
(recovering, and struggling to assume a cheerful tone)
—This is idle—

Pri.
Yes, my love—
And I can well account for dreams like mine.
This savage Otho is so full of wiles;
And strikes such sudden blows in day and night—
And I, so near the object of my prayers:
(more cheerfully)
These fearful visions of my troubled sleep,
But make me feel thy value when I wake.
Our Heaven is never certain, 'till possessed;
Our dreams are tinctured by our waking fears,
Till—what was but uncertain bliss in day,
Becomes consuming agony at night.
But Ala—to thy maidens, love—such hours
Should not be spent in fears—and doubts—and dreams.

Ala.
Nay, nay, My Prince.
(faintly)
The Duke has not arrived.
And thou art not recovered from the strife;
We should be more composed—

Pri.
(Passionately)
Ala, I cannot suffer thus;
I cannot thus be frozen with delays—
Nay, Ala, look not thus! I've stood too long
Upon this dizzying height—and must descend.
Ala! I've loved thee long—
How I have loved thee, thou canst never know!
I should go mad if I were baffled now!
Away with all these doubts! Away with tears!
Be worthy of thyself! My Ala, let us wed!
And then the trumpet will not peal in vain;
Yea, should it startle me from sleep, this night,
Upon my bridal couch, my heart will beat
Ten thousand times more worthy of its prize,
Than now, while I am shaken thus. To-night!
Farewell, my love—to-night!
(Exit Ala)
(To Selim)
Are the prisoners safe?

Selim.
All safe—
(acclamations heard—bugle, Selim runs to the window)
There they go!

Pri.
The prisoners, there! Why are those clamorous shouts?
Can that be insult to the conquered men?
Begone, and silence them—unmanly triumph!

Selim.
(Eagerly—without looking round)
'Tis done! 'tis done! my Prince. The Soldier's there.
How mute they are!

Pri.
The Soldier! my preserver? bring him here.
Yes, I must see that man—
(Suddenly)
But Selim, look—is Otho with his men
To hear these vile rejoicings?

Selim.
(Springing from the window.)
O, no! we'd hear no shouts if he were there.

Pri.
Ah!
(pause—looking at Selim.)
—He is no common man.
And had they shouted o'er his fallen strength,
He might forgive it, but I never would,
(Indignantly)
I never would have pardoned them on earth!
How bears the murderer his approaching fate!

Selim.
Murderer!

Pri.
Aye! Didst thou not know it boy?

Selim.
No, no, my Prince; he has a warriour's eye;
But not a murderer's—

Pri.
Boy, boy! How bears he this reverse?

Selim.
In bitter resignation—silent—stern—

Pri.
(Enthusiasm)
What stormy greatness is abandoned there!
O, that I might be merciful, and just!
He's so magnificent!
(Pause—working of passion—Selim falls at his feet in supplication—the Prince subdues his feelings—and adds in a determined tone)
No, no—that man must die.

Selim.
O, spare his life! he might have taken thine?

Pri.
Selim! he must die.
Where went my barb? Has he gone wild again?

Selim.
I fear he has—

(Friar advances from the window—eagerly)
Fr.
My Prince, they say he galloped towards the hills!
(Enthusiasm)
And shook his bloody mane—
And plunged along,
Yet reeking with his wound—as if he heard,
A trumpet in the skies! as if he felt
His native mountain air brace all his limbs again!

Pri.
(Looking at him with astonishment)
Father! thou hast been a warriour once.

Fr.
Aye that I have! and in the blessed sun
Have seen a steed, caparisoned for war!
Aye, that I have! and in the stillest night,
Have heard—a battle in the Heavens!
For I was young. (faltering)
In other days my son—
I've seen the flashing mane and rolling eye;
But now (raising the Cross)
I shake at blood.

Pri.
(Bowing reverently to the symbol of peace)
He is a gallant steed—
(Exit Friar)
I never strode a barb that moved so proud:
How he leapt forth to meet the glittering spears!
Did'st see him, Selim? plunging to the blast:
I felt the trumpet in his shaking chest:
But I forget my gratitude—away!
Summon the soldier.
(Selim is going)
Dost thou know his name?

Selim.
That is his only name: he lives unknown.
The Soldier, he is called, by all the troops;
And he is poor—and brave—

Pri.
Aye that he is—but this is his reward.
The Soldier!
It is a glorious name! O, give me but a band
Of such old men as that, I'd shake the world.

Selim.
(To a guard)
Summon the Soldier!

(The word is heard passing along the battlements from Sentry to Sentry.)
Pri.
Stay—lead me to his tent. I'll meet him there;
Such men are always proud—
And he will thank me if I spare that pride.

(Exit, followed by Selim)

SCENE III.

—Foot of the Battlements—Moonlight—Sentries Marching—Line of Barracks stretching to a distance. Platform in front.
(Enter Prince, followed by Selim.)
Pri.
Which are his quarters, Selim?

Selim.
(Looking about)
Indeed, I do not know—but—

Pri.
Inquire—

Selim.
(Observing one apartment not lighted)
Ah yes! 'tis there (pointing)
'tis there the Soldier sleeps.

Pri.
Art thou sure?

Selim.
O, yes, he never burns a light.

Pri.
Knock!

(Selim taps gently)
Soldier.
(within, in a sullen voice)
Who goes there?

Selim.
A Friend!

Sol.
Who e'er ye are, away! Disturb me not!

Pri.
Open the door, Selim.

(Selim crowds against it)
Sol.
(Furiously)
Who dares disturb my solitude,
When he has heard my voice? Begone!
(Rushes out, and pursues Selim with a drawn sword)
I told you I was not to be disturbed.
(pauses, as Selim retreats to a light)
A boy! ah well, go home.
(Sees the Prince, who has advanced to protect Selim)
—So! ye are two.
Well then, I'll teach ye to assault me thus!

(Strikes at the Prince, Selim throws himself before him)
Selim.
Madman! 'tis the Prince!

(The Soldier throws down his sword, folds his arms and stands in an attitude of martial dignity)
Pri.
(To Selim)
Command the guards to leave the gate awhile.

Sol.
Stay boy! thou wilt not be obeyed.

(Wares his hand, guard approaches with an expression of awe: the Soldier nods in silence, and the platform is instantly cleared.)
Pri.
(Contemplating the whole with earnest attention)
Soldier! thy hand fell heavily to-day;
But unexpected battle finds thee, still,
With heaven closed, bright harness, and a lance
Forever couch'd to guard thy Prince's life;
There is a purse of gold—
(The soldier turns slowly towards him with a look of disturbed majesty)
—'Twas bravely won;
And many a gallant drop hath paid its price:
I could have checked my barb in his career,
And left my helm unshielded from the foe—
Why say I that I could? I did do this—
To see thee wrench the banner from his hand.
Dread Otho feared thy might; he shunn'd thine eye
Here, take this purse!

(Hands it to Selim. Selim reaches it to the Soldier, who puts it back calmly and haughtily.)
Sol.
(Firmly)
No!

Selim.
(Repeating the offer)
Nay, take it, take it, Soldier,

Sol.
(Fiercely)
No! boy, I say.

(Selim retreats in terrour)
Pri.
So then (suppressing his indignation)
my boon is scorned.

Sol.
My Prince, I do not sell my blood for gold.

Pri.
But thou did'st save my life—

Sol.
(Snatching the purse; then, after a struggle, bowing with an air of bitter sarcasm.)
—I saved his life!
Its value then, is this—one purse of gold!
One purse of gold! The man, whose life I've saved,
Would not play fair if this reward were less.
But he's a Prince! Princes have generous hearts;
They never pay the market price of blood,
And—therefore—

Pri.
(In amazement)
Soldier!

Sol.
(Tossing it up and catching it, with an air of supreme contempt.)
And therefore—but enough! I've saved his life.
This, this! is my reward. A Soldier's blood
Shed for a Prince's life, was shed—for gold!
(Prince agitated)
Boy! (Selim advances fearfully)

—Here, take this purse;
(Selim refuses)
—Nay, take it, it is thine.
Thou'st never saved my life, yet there is gold!
Thou'st never torn the banner from the hand
Of conquering murderers, in their sudden fight!
Grappled with murderers! to protect a prince!
(The Prince unsheaths his sword and advances furiously. The Soldier stands unmoved.)
To shield his bride! (The Prince falters and returns his sword to the sheath)
Yet there is gold!

Pri.
(Violent emotion)
Soldier! thou art too bold;—too bold! but brave!
And I am pressed to earth with gratitude;
And may not lift my hand—Oh!
(pause)
Why, what has waked this sudden spirit in thee?
For thou art old—and poor,—hast often fought
My father's battles, and his son's—and yet
Hast ever, to this hour—been paid with gold.

Sol.
Not paid my Prince—but fed.

Pri.
Well! fed. But these are dangerous looks and tones;
Yet, thou art old and brave, hast saved my life.
And I must bless thee for the heavy load!
(Emotion)
The mighty debt!
(pause, trembling)
Nay, nay, I'm wrong—I bless thee, from my soul!
It gave me Ala—
But else,—I do assure thee, for thy words,
Thus spoken with that martial irony,
I would forget my rank—and draw my blade,
And meet thee—foot to foot!—for my reply.
And this, thou knowest, Soldier. But, enough,
I would not touch thy heart, brave man, indeed,
With aught of insult or indignity:
(Soldier appears moved)
For thou art old and poor;—and thy white hairs;
And arm still sinewed with the strength of youth,
Assure me thou art guarded by high Heaven!
Old man! I do assure thee, from my soul,
I feel a filial reverence for those hairs!

Sol.
(Faltering)
My Prince! Forgive me—
—I have served thee long,
(voice becomes more firm)
Have served thy father in his bloodiest march;
Will serve thee, too—forever! 'till my death.
For thou art young—impetuous—and as fierce
As that young Lion that I nursed for war!
O, were he living, what a matchless pair!
But no! No, no:—and I must cleave to thee—
(suffocating emotion)
My Prince—I ask no pay. But let me see
Thy sabre flash! and tall plumes blaze in battle!
As I have seen that boy's! and then—I'll die.
(Hesitating—a sudden thought illuminates his face— approaches the Prince—speaks in a hurried voice, increasing to passionate vehemence.)
Yes! I will be repaid! O, give me rank!
Enable me to meet dark Ola once,
And smite him in his pride!

Pri.
Ola! Lord Ola? that mysterious man!

Sol.
Yes, yes my Prince! to meet the Savage once!
To rend the mystery that enwraps his heart—
On equal terms! When gallant Lords and Knights
May judge our strife like men! Oh, give me this!
My smother'd prayer! for days—and nights—and years!
That till this hour I've breathed but to my God!

Pri.
(Catching his enthusiasm)
Soldier!

Sol.
(Falling at his feet.)
O, give me this! my Prince;
For one short hour—then lay me in my grave!
(Rising in an agony of supplication)
Or, let me still be trampled in the dust—
By all that nerves the Soldier's arm for war!
His self respect—and confidence in Heaven—
Abandoned!—and forever!
—O, give me this!
Then let the neigh of steeds be heard again!
Place thy young bride where I may see her eye!
Then let the murderers come! And they shall see
The resurrection of a Warriour's soul!
Bursting, in tempest, from its self contempt!
O, give me this, my Prince! And I will worship thee.

Pri.
(Shaking with emotion. Soldier has fallen at his feet)
—Old man!
Thy prayer is heard.
(Unsheathes his sword—stretches it over the prostrate soldier—waves it—flourish of trumpets heard.)
—Henceforth, be thou a Knight!
Knight Aufred rise! (Soldier rises fiercely; unsheathes his sword, and stands gazing at it.)

The lightnings of thine aged eye
Would shame the fiercest of our youthful Knights.
(Unbuckles his Scymetar and reaches it to the Soldier.)
Accept this Sword—

Sol.
(Compares their edges and weight—and then returns the Prince's.)
No, no, my Prince. This is my oldest friend.
I've worn it long. It is a trusty blade.
(The eye of the Prince rests on the hill)
A humble hilt—but strong: a keen-edged blade
That shall go with me to my bloody grave.
It is the first I buckled on my thigh;
Has served me well in many a trying hour;
And, had I worn it when dishonour smote me,
It would have burst its scabbard! Ola! Ola!
This shall redeem me if we meet on earth,
And then—we'll go together to our tomb!

Pri.
(Awe-struck)
Why, what a deadly hate is this of thine!
So many years of peace, and battles fought
Together—side by side—: so many deeds
Achieved in soldier rivalry—in blood!
So many years of smothered flame in thee!
For sure, I know the waking of thy wrath,
And yet, thou seekest his life.
—That hand, was raised
In other days to stretch him on the earth;
And yet, he pardoned thee!

Sol.
He pardoned me! Why, what had he to pardon?
I would have dealt him but a Soldier's blow:
Would but have stabbed him with a Soldier's blade?
Nor this, 'till he had scorned my suppliant prayer;
Nor this, 'till I had fallen on my face
Upon the naked earth—and begged for death.
'Till he refused me vengeance—and was safe.
O, Ola! Ola! withered be thy heart,
To smite a warriour thus!
One who had moved in blood, and used his sword—
Curse on his heart! it chokes me—with a lash!
O, we were both unarmed or I had died!
I could have shouted, and unwrapped my heart
To meet the midnight dagger—but, a scourge!
No, no, I never will forgive him, never!
So help me Heaven, in my utmost need!
The brand of everlasting slavery,
The badge of infamy is on my brain!
O, he shall feel what 'tis, to touch a man
With other than the weapon of a man.

(Enter Messenger.)
Messenger.
The Duke's arrived.

Pri.
We'll meet him in the hall.

(Soldier waves his sword. Music. An escort suddenly appears and attend the Prince in silence.)

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Night. Prison—A clouded moon; Otho seen gazing upon it in an attitude of profound contemplation. Clank of fetters heard as he unfolds his arms and stretches his hands towards the skies. No light in the prison.
(Enter Keeper and Selim unobserved.)
Otho.
Farewell! farewell!

Selim.
(Faintly)
Stranger!

Otho.
Who speaks?

Selim.
Selim, my Lord. (To the keeper)
Guard the door—
I've seen the prince.

Otho.
The prince!

Selim.
No mercy—

Otho.
Mercy!— (Advancing)
—Who talks to me of mercy—here!—
See you these chains?— (shakes them)
—hear you their iron clank?
Who bade thee cry to Irman? Who has dared
To ask that boy for mercy?—and for me!
Did I restore thee to thy home for that?
Who sent thee, boy?

Selim.
My heart—

Otho.
Thy heart!—no, no—thou art mistaken, boy;
It was a wish to burden mine— (going to the window)


Selim.
O, no!—'twas gratitude—

Otho.
(Turning suddenly)
Aye—so it was!—'twas boyish gratitude;
This augurs well—thou hast a noble heart;
It could not beat in freedom while in debt.

Selim.
(Faintly)
I do not merit this rebuke, my Lord.

Otho.
Boy!—boy! I love thee for it. 'Twas no sneer.—
There never heaved a noble bosom yet,
But felt itself in slavery—and the worst!
When gratitude oppressed it. He who gives,
Gives chains;—and he who takes, receives those chains,
They ne'er again are equals here on earth.
But leave me—I forgive thee, for thy prayers.
Farewell, for aye!—
May'st thou be happy, boy,
And live in slavery!—'tis a boisterous world—
And greatness, like the tempest—must be pinioned:
Or it will bear destruction in its path,
And shake the thrones of earth!

(Turns to the window.)
Selim.
(Attempting to touch his hand)
Farewell! farewell!

Otho.
(Extending his hand in emotion, which Selim catches to his lips)
Yes, boy,—farewell!—I would not now rebuke
One heart on earth, that loved me, tho', like thine
It crushed my own with kindness.

(Selim retires slowly in tears.)
Selim.
(Without turning)
Farewell!

Otho.
Selim!

Selim.
My Lord!

Otho.
Would'st thou atone for this?

Selim.
(Eagerly)
How my lord!

Otho.
Bear that signet to the princess Ala—

Selim.
The princess Ala!

Otho.
Aye,—if thou hast courage—to the princess!
To her alone—and that, this very night,
Though thou should'st seek her in her bridal chamber.

Selim.
But—my Lord—

Otho.
Selim—give me the ring—

Selim.
No, no—it shall be done—this night—

Otho.
This is her nuptial night!—

Selim.
It is, my Lord—

Otho.
Begone!
(Exit Selim.)
(Otho, solus.)
Can it be possible!
Am I the boy
That gave such glorious promise in his summer?
The hope of princes and of multitudes!
Fearless and generous as the lion's whelp:
Abandoned to my fate!—By men I've trained—
By earth, and heaven!
A savage outlaw—here!
Ye, who have made me thus—my father! mother!
My destiny on you—on you, abide!
My deeds are yours—and ye must answer them!
For I was made for honourable war;
And overflowed with gratitude to heaven
My heart was full of princely dreams and hopes;
The tilting ground, my course,—the mountain chase
My pastime;—and the trumpet's rending voice;
All the consuming minstrelsy of war!
Were mine!—and all my heart and soul were theirs!
Young knights were my companions; and I rode
As proud a barb;—a plume that blazed as high—
As bright a harness—and a blade as red—
As any of my youthful comrades—but—
[OMITTED]
—Oh, God!—I was a bastard
[OMITTED]
My father!—mother!—Ye, who have produced me!
I would not curse ye—but—my bursting heart—
Ye, in your wantonness have damned your child!
[OMITTED]
My father!—mother!—I arraign ye both!
Would I could wake ye from your dreadful sleep!
Would I might join ye at the Eternal's bar!—
I will!—Oh, come!—appear! appear!—
Oh, no, no, no!
I must be humble first—must be resigned;
Must bless the foot that tramples me in earth—
Away! away!—I know ye all—away!
I'll to my couch and dream.

(Exit to an inner apartment.)

SCENE II.

—Garden. View of a distant temple. Attendant busy in the illumination.
(Enter Selim, looking about, earnestly.)
Selim.
(To an attendant.)
The princess! has she passed?

Attendant.
Aye, but a moment since—to that alcove,
(Selim runs eagerly towards it.)
The prince is there—

(Selim retreats.)
Selim.
(Voices approach.)
—Hush! hush!—

(Enter Duke, Prince, Ala, and Friar.)
Duke.
What a glorious night!

Prince.
Well, well, my love; thine eye is brighter now;
Thy lip is fresh again;—I'll leave thee here.

Duke.
Trust her to me, my son; and to thy halls.
I'll cheer her for this trying hour—that seems
To press so heavily upon her heart.
(Raillery)
'Tis only coquetry—

Ala.
(Smiling faintly.)
O, no, my Lord!
(In a melancholy voice)
—'tis something here! (heart)


Duke.
(Throwing his arm around her waist and attempting to press her cheek. Ala repulses him gently.)
Sweet lady, pardon me!

Ala.
(Recovering, and in a sprightly tone, as the Duke still struggles—respectfully.)
No, no, my prince—it is the son I wed!

Duke.
(Releasing her.)
—So coy! and yet so young!
Well, heaven help my boy!

(Selim repeatedly advances and retires—with impatience.)
Ala.
But is it true, my Lord;—is this dark man—
Whose troops have hunted us so long in blood—
Who never seems to sleep—Can it be true,
That he is, now, a willing prisoner here?

Duke.
'Tis true—he's here, not willingly I think;
And yet, 'tis true he broke his blade himself,
When he had cloven the helm of my proud boy—
And sprang to earth—and stalked away unarmed!

Ala.
(Burst of admiration.)
And then was taken!
(Pause.)
And Irman—Oh, had he been taken in arms
Had he but conquered him!
[OMITTED]
Strange man!—It could not be from fear—and yet
He fled the soldier's eye—

Duke.
The Soldier! which of them?

Ala.
The Soldier—he has served thee long—

Duke.
Not that old man!—Dread Otho fly from him!
O, no—he would not shun that aged eye;
And yet, that eye is terrible in fight—
But terrible as 'tis—it would have quailed
Before that withering glance! that beam of blood
I've seen his falling like the thunderer's flash—
But Otho would not shun the thunderer's flash,
Nor raise his arm, lest it should look like prayer:
Like supplication! even to stay the bolt!
For he has trained it but for strife and blood.
But lady, (Nodding to the Friar and Selim to withdraw —they obey.)

We are all alone; and now,
I'll strive to tell thee that my gallant boy,
Young, generous, brave, and noble as he is,
Has yet one fault.

Ala.
(Startled)
My Lord!

Duke.
Art thou astonished that he has one fault!

Ala.
Not so, indeed—I know of one—he's rash.

Duke.
And passionate—
But these are faults that time,
And strife and love will every hour reform;
Not so with this:—time will but feed its root—
And love! that is its sunshine! air and heaven!
'Tis only such as mighty hearts can feel—
And only those, when loving and beloved!

Ala.
(Alarmed.)
Pray what is this?—Such preparation—

Duke.
Madness!—jealousy!

Ala.
Jealousy!—of me!

Duke.
O, no—your female fancies are so swift!
Not jealous yet—and may he never be,
Of thee, sweet girl!—But 'tis his mightiest fault:
And when it touches him, 'tis madness—death.

Ala.
(Passionately.)
Oh no!—It is the vice of little minds—
It cannot dwell in his!
He is so full of noble confidence,
That dark suspicion in his manly heart
Could find no mansion—and no resting place.

Duke.
A woman's reasoning!—from the heart—not head—
And, therefore wrong.
A noble nature, child,
Not jealous of its prize, must be secure
In vanity!—that brazen panoply!
Must bear that potent ægis to the sun,
Whose polished surface but reflects himself!
The vain man never trembles when he loves;
Is never jealous,
He never doubts that he is all the world
To that most happy being, he's embraced!
He is a cost of mail—

Ala.
And noble hearts, then, must be vain—or jealous'

Duke.
Or else,—indifferent—then they're safe indeed.

Ala.
'Tis said that jealousy is proof of love—
But, no; it cannot be—

Duke.
And yet it is!—The cold are never jealous;
Can never be—for what have they to fear?
But he who loves is oft consumed by thoughts
That never thawed the ice of their cold hearts.

Ala.
(Ferrour)
If this be true—may I be never loved!
O, I should die to meet a loved one's doubt.
O, he should be—
So full of confidence and generous faith,
That he should joy to prove my loyalty
By fiery, trials!—Oh, if this be love,
May I be never loved!

Duke.
Nay, Lady, thou hast known what 'tis to love:
Hast never trembled with a hateful thought?
Started at shadows?— (Ala appears moved)

Been oppressed by dreams?
(She throws around a glance of terror to the garden.)
And pressed thy pillow, prayed and wish'd for morn!
Woke unrefreshed? And prayed again for night?
Asked confirmation of thy thronging doubts?
But yes—I see thou hast! 'twas jealousy!
There is no proof of madd'ning love like that:
So unequivocal; so past all doubt—
As this consuming jealousy!

Ala.
But how degrading to the doubted one!

Duke.
(Solemnity, and emotion)
O, think not lady, that I mean the pang,
That shoots athwart the brain in living fire,
When was suspect the faith of our young wife!
O, no! I mean the chilling, dreadful fear,
That we are not beloved. I do not mean
That watchful spirit racked by looks and words—
That broods alone, and preys on insect food,
And hunts for guilt—nor that which bursts the heart
And lightens through the brain!
But this, that finds itself deceived—is mute—
Utters no sound—no words—complaints or tears—
But, with his last look on his loved one—dies!
'Tis the exalted earnestness of men
Whose love ennobles all they breathe upon—
But once assailed, they die—

Ala.
Indeed, I cannot think so; for I feel
That I could trust my chosen one away—
Where—when—with whom it would—all free!

Duke.
And so would he!—Such is the doubt mean.
Alike sublime in confidence and fear.
He would not wed an angel till he strove
With others for her choice—and gained a prize
Irman would be preferred—and not received
Could never love till he had learnt to fear,
And both would bloom—and both decay together.
—He loves with all his soul,
Would never doubt till thunderstruck with proof.
He would not guard his jewel like the man
That fears its loss; but, like a blazing crown
Would place it on his brow, and bid the world
Assay to dim its splendour if they could!

Ala.
(Enthusiasm)
Noble indeed! Such is the heart I love!
But this is confidence—not jealousy.

Duke.
Well, lady, be it so; it is the power
That sways his soul.

Ala.
O, I could worship him for that!

Duke.
(Great solemnity)
And I would warn thee, should he ever smile
A melancholy smile at meeting thee;—
Be seeking thee, forever, with his eyes—
Yet turning from thee, when he meets with thine,
In tenderness and tears;—if he appear
More soothing, hurried, absent in his speech—
Or leave thy couch to seek the morning chase
In suddenness and silence—then, beware!
O, probe his heaving bosom to the quick!
He will be dying with some fearful doubt
With which his spirit wrestles night and day!
And thou can'st save him—
(Music approaching)
It is a fearful passion, unsubdued—
But we have talked too long—that strain
Comes blithely on the night wind,—I'll away—

(Exit Duke.)
(The Princess is slowly following him in deep thought, when Selim suddenly appears before her.)
Selim.
Princess—

Ala.
(Starting in terror)
Ah!—Selim!—

Selim.
Forgive me, lady—here's a ring—

Ala.
A ring! (Examines it, faintly)
Who gave it thee?—

Selim.
The captive—Otho—

Ala.
Otho!—the rebel chief!
(Great agitation.)
Who broke his sword
And—He!—Who would have torn me from my prince?
—Where is he, Selim?
(A rustling heard)
(Grasping Selim's arm and looking round fearfully)
Hush, hush!—is he here—

Selim.
Oh, no—he's in the dungeon—

Ala.
Lead me there! (Hesitation)


Selim.
I lead thee there!—

Ala.
(Dignity)
Yes—I must see that man.
Nay wait—and tell the prince—should he appear,
That I am at the chapel: wait me here;
And thou shalt guard me to the rebel chief. (Exit Ala)


Selim.
That dreadful man!—indeed, I fear I'm wrong;
But no, I must not speak. (Voice calling, approaches)


Attendant.
Selim! Selim! (entering)
Fly to the prince!

Selim.
(Trembling)
To the prince!—

Att.
Yes—yes, away. (Exit servant)


Selim.
(Going reluctantly)
What can be want?
Yes, yes—he knows it all,—and yet—perhaps—
No, no—I'll not betray that man!

(Exit)

SCENE III.

—The prison. Otho seen walking about in great agitation. Feeble light.
Otho.
No, no, I cannot sleep!
Would that ruine hour
Of pulseless sleep had come!—that I might die,
And pour my blood out, like a brooding curse,
Upon the land that nourished me for death.
[OMITTED]
Oh, Ala, Ala! thou shalt know me yet—
For even thou didst leave me!—Thou shalt see
That man upon his bloody scaffold yet,
Who should have sat, with thee, upon a throne!
Would that my father lived!—mother!—all!
That I have loved in youth! Oh, they should see
And feel the vengeance of the bastard here,
When he went forth to death—
O, Ala! Ala.

(A female, cloaked and veiled—approaches slowly.)
Ala.
(Hesitating)
It is indeed!
Art thou that wretched man!—
So full of contradiction—greatness—crime—
(Pause)
To save—and spare a woman in thy power;
Then rend her shrieking from her husband's arms!
O, man!—man!

Otho.
Hast thou a husband, lady?

Ala.
Yes—in the sight of heaven—

Otho.
(With great feeling)
Yes! yes! thou hast indeed.

Ala.
And yet, thou would'st have torn me from his arms?

Otho.
I!—by heaven— (Stops abruptly)


Ala.
Aye—shrieking—from the altar!—slay her lord,
And sprinkle his young widow with his blood!

Otho.
(Agony)
Woman! (instantly recovers: bitter and sarcastick.)

Why, lady; art thou dreaming?

Ala.
No, no; not now (thoughtfully)
—but I did dream.

Otho.
And so! the sudden trumpet that ye heard,
The planted foot, the war of men, and flash
Of whistling blades, encountering, not in sport,
When blood was spilt, and gallant hearts were rent,
And banners flew!
Could but have been for woman! but for thee!
True, we were foes—Otho and Irman:—true
We've sought each other long in deadly hate—
Yet—when we meet!—I come to steal his bride!

Ala.
(Kindling at the sneer)
And yet, dark man!—thou would'st have stolen his bride!
Tho' thou repell'st the charge in scorn—thou would'st!
Thine eye assures me so. I know thee well—
And Irman knows thee, too!

Otho.
And so—
Nothing on earth could move me to the deed:—
Nothing of hate for rivalry in arms—
Nothing but woman!—I must draw my blade.
Not to subdue the prince—but win his bride!
And this thou can'st behove—Oh vanity!

Ala.
(Passionately)
—Yes, from my soul, I do!

Otho.
(Significantly)
—Lady, this is a solitary spot—
[OMITTED]
For one so bright to meet an outlaw in!—
Away from succour—on her wedding night—
A desperate man, whose final hour is near,—
Who would have torn thee, shrieking—from the arms
Of thy young husband!—
—Woman!—woman!
Who would have sprinkled o'er thy bridal bed
With thy young husband's blood!

(Ala retreats in terror—he steps before her way.)
Ala.
Nay stranger—

Otho.
Lady—it is a lonely spot—perhaps
Thou know'st thy husband is my deadliest foe—
My conqueror!—will condemn me to a death
Of slow—intolerable agony—
And know'st thou not—I see thou dost, indeed;
The fading of thy cheek betrays thy fear—

Ala.
(Struggling with her terror—yet keeping her eye on the door.)
Stranger—'tis false!—I know all this, 'tis true—
But fear it not!—Wert thou unchained and free,
I should not fear thee, then—

Otho.
(Gathering up his chains and moving about unencumbered.)
I am free lady!—

Ala.
Ha treachery!

Otho.
None, lady—none! nought but the bursting strength
Of desperation I have wrenched the links!

Ala.
Impossible!

Otho.
I have, I tell thee—Would'st thou see the proof?

(Gathers up the chains—extends his arms—makes a convulsive effort and they fall from his limbs.)
Ala.
Merciful heaven! (Reels—Otho support her —She repulses him—haughtily.)


Otho.
Now, lady, we can hold communion here—
And hold it—as we please—
Lady, I am no common man—and this (Taking her hand)

No common vengeance, now within my power—
The youthful—spotless bride—upon the wedding night!
Of him—my deadliest foe!—

Ala.
(Snatching away her hand)
Stranger—I am deceived—farewell!

(Otho prevails her from reaching the gate.)
Otho.
Nay, lady, nay—we do not part so soon—
Thou should'st know more of him who gave himself
“To snatch thee from the altar”—and thy lord—
Thou art ungrateful!—think the price he paid!
And not one smile!
[OMITTED]
(Changing his whole manner.)
Vengeance is mine!—one word—thou tremblest now!

(A sudden blaze of light illuminates the whole prison— Cheerful music heard from a distance. Ala gazes at his countenance—appears bewildered by some sudden recollection—and then utters a passionate acclamation.)
Ala.
No, no!—for I am not deceived!

Otho.
You knew the ring?

Ala.
Yes, Selim told me—or I should have wept,
To see thee thus, dark men—in prison—chained—

Otho.
(Pointing to the links)
Not chained!

Ala.
(Forgetting her terror in a burst of enthusiasm)
Thy mighty spirit checked in its career
Of stormy liberty!—I've hated thee,
And cursed thee for thy deeds—and yet, should weep
To see thy stern magnificence in chains—

(Otho points to the broken links in silence. Light increases —revelry approaching.)
Otho.
Thy nuptials, lady?

Ala.
O yes!—that music that we hear!—that light—
Streaming from yonder halls!—the horns
That spring so freshly on the dancing winds!
(Recollects herself—stops abruptly—in confusion)
Yes—all this revelry is made for me.

Otho.
(Aside)
Ambition!

Ala.
My ladies wait—thy purpose by the ring?
Stranger, that pledge shall be redeemed!
Think of me in thy prayers— (Going)


Otho.
My prayers!

Ala.
To-morrow,—thou art free—

Otho.
(Absent)
Yes, yes—to-morrow I am free—and she—
To-morrow she's another's—

Ala.
Another's!

Otho.
(Still musing)
Yes—another's—Irman's— (Abruptly)

Be sure you love him!—'tis a fearful pledge—
A youthful soldier's hand when given for ever!
'Tis not the holiday of tournaments—
Of cavalcades, and gorgeous pageantry—
A summer dance—when youthful lovers meet
In jewelry and plumes!
(Ala listens with breathless attention.)
It is the pledge
Of everlasting union!—life and death!
For earth and heaven!—in poverty and wo!
(Faltering)
Disgrace and infamy!
The wedded heart
Should be the sanctuary of the soul!
Its refuge from the storm!—its home!—its heaven!
But less than that—'tis hell!—the wintry chill
Of everlasting ice—

Ala.
(Involuntary exclamation)
'Tis true indeed!

Otho.
(With a look of struggling triumph)
The prince is young and proud—and thou should'st think
What 'tis to meet the throbbings of a heart
That's prest to thine in faith and truth—for life—
And answer, with the echoes of thine own,
Like sepulchres to songs!

Ala.
(Unconsciously dropping her hand upon his in the intensity of her feeling)
O, horrible!

Otho.
Yet that were heaven!—to the endless pang
That thou would'st feel unwakened by its throb;
For souls like thine, must ever love or hate—
They're plants that bear no blossoms—bend with fruit
Or shrink in ghastly barrenness—and die!
Thou Ala!
(At the sound of this voice, Ala utters a faint cry—looks around as if experting some other person to appear—gradually become composed.)
Thou can'st love!—and thou would'st hate
The man, whose love and faith reproached thy soul,
And feel like one awaken'd in her tomb!
To find her struggling limbs forever bound!
For sepulture in life!—And kept from heaven!
O, thou would'st curse him, Ala, and forever!

Ala.
Oh God!—no more! no more!

Otho.
Hast thou a doubt?—then never wed the prince!
That doubt is death—nay, worse than death to thee

Ala.
Stranger! (with great dignity)


Otho.
(Forgetting himself in tenderness)
Oh, Ala, Ala! canst thou love the prince!

Ala.
(In amazement)
Who art thou! (Pause—as endeavouring to recall some long forgotten image.)

Strange man!—I ever thee much—and yet
Such word—'tis wonderful!
But, to thine adjuration, stranger—Yes!
I do love Irman from my heart and soul!
Now answer me—O, tell me, who art thou?
For thrice have I encounter'd thee;
Thrice have I shaken while I heard thy voice
As if I heard one calling from the tomb!
And felt while thrilling in thy sullen gaze,
As if I breathed in pestilence and death!
And yet—cannot avoid thee! (Agitation)
And I feel
Thou art my evil genius—
And yet, I cannot fly—There seems to me
A dreadful fascination in thine eye—
That eye!—that voice! (increasing emotion and terror)

Oh yes, I know full well,
Thou art familiar with the darkest deeds—
With a strange feeling of dislike, I've met thee—
Shudder'd and fled—and yet again—we meet!
That voice!—that eye!
O yes! thou bear'st some dreadful spell!
Yet spare me!—Spare me!

Otho.
(Losing his self-possession, and falling at her feet.)
Lady!—I adjure thee!
—Ala! hear my voice!
Thou'rt on a dreadful precipice—Oh, fly!
(Ala retreats in amazement—Otho rises haughtily)
Nay, this is declamation—idle rant
O, woman, cans't thou feel? I cannot talk.

Ala.
O yes—but thou'rt deceived. 'Tis true I've wept;
And wondered at thy desperate fortitude:
But I have wonder'd more to see such might
Exhausted on such deeds—Nay, more,
While I have wondered at thy fierce career,
Thy midnight stragglers—and thy rebel hordes—
So terrible in glory!—I have dreamt
Of thee—dark man—until I pray'd and wept!
Yes wept!— (Retreating from his extended arms)

—And yet thou art deceived:
For 'twas all done in horrour—as we would,
To deprecate the wrath of evil ones.—
Do I love Irman!—love him—One so young
So full of chivalry!—whose soul bows down
In mute idolatry to me—
Oh heaven! may I be worthy of his love!
'Tis all my prayer—'tis all I wish on earth!

Otho.
(Starting from a profound reverie)
Princess—'tis said thou'rt proud—and cold,

Ala.
'Tis true.

Otho.
And yet—to me—a stranger—and alone,
The secrets of thy soul are all laid here:

Ala.
Well—so I am!—and had'st thou prostrate knelt
And sued for life—as others have for love;
Or yielded up my signet with a doubt—
Or shook when conquered and condemned to death—
I should have spurned thee—
—But thou art a man;
And therefore have I opened all my heart.
I feel thee as a being, whose command
May not be slighted or evaded here;
And I have come to meet thee—thus—alone
Far less in courtesy than in obedience.

Otho.
This is frank.

Ala.
But I am frank against my will.

Otho.
Thou surely lov'st him then?

Ala.
Yes—surely!

Otho.
Princess—Lady! (forgets himself again)
Ala!

Ala.
That voice again! in mercy speak!

Otho.
(Leading her to the light)
Now, Lady, let me read thy heart—thy soul—
Now, Lady, mark my words—I know thee well!
Thou dost not love Irman.

Ala.
'Tis false!

Otho.
(Vehemently)
No, no!—I say thou dost not love him—no!
A boy with glossy eye!—a stripling knight!
With unbruis'd armour, and unsullied crest.—
With maiden helm—and sword—and shield—and lance,
The blooming champion of the tilting ground,
(Ala appears disturbed—wandering)
To tread the lists for Ala! God of heaven!
A hand so weak, it cannot rein his steed;
Who sinks before the lightning of the strife.
Like summer blossoms blasted in their youth:
He couch the lance for thee! (Her eyes kindle)

Woman! thou wast not fashioned for such fate!
Thy spirit is of flame!—should meet with flame!
O—never!—never!—thou wert made for man,
And thou should'st mate with man! a warriour's bride:
Who can walk upright in the battle's storm!

Ala.
(Seeing his purpose—instantly awakening to her danger—and replying with mingled scorn and detestation)
And sheathe his dagger in the sleeping heart!
A pirate!—murderer!—Ha!

Otho.
O, think not, lady, that a soul like mine,
Could leave the sway of men to crouch to thee!
Thou art a lioness! but even thou
Art far too tame for me!
The woman who would share my rifted heart,
Should stand unshaken on the thunder cliff,
And laugh upon the tumults pealing round!
Should bare her naked bosom to the bolt,
And feel in safety there! if I were by!
Such she should be—an Angel of the storm!

Ala.
(Struggling with many feelings)
I must be gone—farewell!

Otho.
One moment, lady, thou hast loved before!

Ala.
Never!

Otho.
Never!—reflect—hath never yet some heart
Of kindred flame, blazed forth, encountering thine?
Hast never felt a sudden, fiery thrill
Along thine arteries?—then, a bolt of ice!
Then felt as if thy struggling heart were grasped
By some convulsive hand? thy dizzy brain
(increasing vehemence.)
Before some flashing eye and nodding plume—

Ala.
(Passionately.)
Oh!

Otho.
Hast never seen a form, and shun'd it, too,
When,—could'st then be unseen—thy soul would hang
Forever on its path—

Ala.
(Sadly.)
But once—

Otho.
Some melancholy—wild enthusiast?

Ala.
(Recovering.)
Never!

Otho.
(Suddenly changing to a tone of thrilling energy.)
Some youthful spirit, when its airy lightning,
Like the young war-horse,—at the trumpet's blast
Went flashing!—wild!—and—

Ala.
(Passionate vehemence.)
Yes! yes! Oh yes!

Otho.
And felt thy pulses quicken, and thy voice
Drop fainting from thy lip—when he approached
And—

Ala.
Stranger! (Otho struggles to conceal his triumph.)

And would'st thou know for whom I felt all this?

Otho.
(Eagerly.)
—Aye, lady, aye—

Ala.
Well then— (he advances.)
—for gallant—glorious Irman!

Otho.
Never—never—not for him!
But tell me, woman—hast thou never felt
(emphasis—deliberate.)
Thy freedom shrinking—fettered as it heard
The deep enchantment of some master spirit,
And felt its potent workings in thy brain?

(Fastening her eye upon him.)
Ala.
But that was terrour, stranger—'twas not love.—

Otho.
'Twas love—almighty love!

Ala.
Nay, Stranger,—for I have that feeling now;
Have felt it, too, for many a weary day—
Felt it—nay, smile not—felt it all for thee!
(with great calmness)
But thou!—no no, I never loved thee yet!

Otho.
(Aside.)
By heaven, I'll probe that bosom to the quick!
Lady!—Ala! (she turns.)
—thou art, indeed, deceived.
Give me thy hand. (places it upon his heart.)

—There! Ala, there!
Dost thou not feel thy pulse keep time with mine?
And answer?—throb for throb!—nay, lady, speak—

Ala.
I dare not—

Otho.
(Triumphantly.)
Thou dost, indeed read thy downcast eye;
Thy swelling lip—and struggling step of pride;
Thou art a woman yet—but can't conceal
That thou dost love me!
Nay, Ala—stay that glance—'tis true by heaven.
Thou art incredulous? Well!—I'll convince thee.
Now listen.—
—Once I saved thee in the storm,
When we were wrapped in foam. I then was young:
And other glories lightened from mine eye.
You trembled when I placed your sinking head
(Ala appears much moved.)
Upon my breast—and when you woke at last—
Unconsciously embraced me!—Why that blush?
'Twas innocent, as is the first caress
When angels meet in heaven!
Yet, even then, when I had told thee all,
That same bright blush enkindled on thy cheek.
In that delirium, girl, thy heart spoke out!
Ye are all hypocrites but when ye're mad!
(Observing her agitation.)
From that bright hour, until we met again,
Thy dreams were of the pirate and the storm—
Thy prayers and tears—
And then—when next we met—it was in blood!
You knew me not 'till I revealed myself—
And then you shuddered—and your sinking heart
Shrunk from the red pollution of my touch.

(As awakening from an oppressive dream.)
Ala.
Yes, then I hated thee in truth!

Otho.
Well, so you did—and yet, we met again!
And not by accident—

Ala.
(indignantly.)
Who has told you this?

Otho.
Told me lady!—Who could tell me this!
And now, again, we meet—and all, alone.
You come to see the hated Otho here!
Who would have torn thee shrieking from the arms
Of thy young husband!

Ala.
What mockery is this!

Otho.
The signet, too, you gave me, proved your hate:
Now, tell me lady,—was it not your prayer,
When you bestowed that ring—that I might live?
That you might prove your gratitude?—and
Once more, on earth—the hated man!

Ala.
Stranger! stranger!—how am I deceived!
I deemed thee one so sternly desolate:—
Unshaken—when thy retribution came:—
On whom Calamity could take no hold—
The monarch wanderer of the foaming deep—
Companion to the spirits of the storm!
And then!—I could have fallen before thy path,
In prostrate adoration to thy might—
So inaccessible!—and so sublime!
Yet thou art but a man—farewell!

(going)
Otho.
(Seizing her hand.)
Proud dame!—
Thou didst adore me?—Yes, I know thou didst,
And dost, and wilt—until thy dying day!
Thy hate and fear!—they're woman's steadiest love.
'Tis woman's nature—when she talks of hate,
And thinks herself sincere—to feel but love!
Her fears outlast ten thousand lives of love!
And woman's everlasting fear, is but
The pledge of everlasting love!
What ye should love—once gained—is thrown wide:
Thus hate me, Ala!—I would not be loved,
Caress'd—and then forgotten!

Ala.
Madman!—

Otho.
(Dropping her hand, and leaving the passage clear.)
Farewell!—but mark my words,
Thy heart and soul are mine.—The first warm kiss
That Irman gives thy lips, will wake thee, girl,
'Twill be the seal of agony!
Give me the ring—then, woman, let us part—
I'll wear it for thee, Ala!—to my grave.

Ala.
(Drawing it reluctantly from her hand.)
Well, take it for to-night—
To-morrow thou art free.—

Otho.
(With calm contempt)
Leave me, woman—leave me—
Go to thy nuptial couch and dream of me.
I'll to my grave.

Ala.
(Struggling with emotion.)
—Farewell?

(Exit Ala.)
(Otho,
Solus.)
Yes—she remembers me!—my voice of youth
Hath waked an echo in her faithless heart,
That ne'er shall sleep again.—
[OMITTED]
Yes!—All my nights of agony and toil.—
The days I've watched in seeing her unfold—
My resignation to contempt are all repaid!
All—all!
The infamy of birth—that dreadful curse,
My lengthening life—the immortality
Of woe, that weigh'd me down—are all forgot!
No lists on earth, were open for my lance!
No battle roll'd its anthems to my name!
No trumpet sang my deeds!—no noble hand
Grasped mine in confidence—on cannon's voice
Was e'er to peal a requiem o'er my grave!
—But that is all forgot!
My life a scene of one perpetual night—
With no relief on earth—
With none to watch my corse—to drop the tear
Upon my nameless tomb—with no fair sky
To greet the Bastard's spirit after death.
And wipe away the stain, in mercy, there;
Yet that is all forgot!
[OMITTED]
No tear shall drop for me but tears of blood,—
Or such as fall from heaven upon the tombs
Of men of might—that die unknown—and sleep
Upon the hills!
Oh—heaven!—if I may lift my voice to thee,
And not blaspheme—now, let thy lightnings forth!
And in the stillness of the coming night,
Let thine Archangel speak!
(Wildness—Solemnity.)
O, I would bear—once more—once more!—on earth
That anthem of the skies!—O, I would hear
The thunders roll their everlasting base
And harps and trumpets ring.—
O—mercy!—mercy!—
(Sudden terrour fixing his eye on the dark part of the prison.)
O! can I be mad? (Recovering with impressive solemnity.)

What art thou!
Lead on!—I'll follow thee—lead on I say.

(goes out as pursuing something with a stately step.)

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A Chapel fancifully ornamented with garlands—faintly lighted—large window opening as a terrace— view of the garden —low music—Ala rises from the steps of the altar and stands listening to the Symphony.
Ala.
Support me, heaven!—whence has come this doubt?
He's conjured up a fear that chills my soul.
Irman! dear Irman! would I could feel for thee,
As I have felt! when sunshine—rapture—heaven!
Came streaming from thine eye.
(The strain heard nearer—faint but cheerful.)
How sad the song they choose!
(Bursting into tears)
Oh, that's no bridal hymn!
Kind heaven—in mercy!—Can I be deceived?
(deep silence for some moments)
I feel oppressed—enthralled—my bridal hour
Comes heavily in its approach—
(recovering)
That stranger! did he dare to charge me thus?
With meeting him—And not by accident.
Am I betrayed?
(Touches one of the ornaments on the altar and a low symphony is heard as in a distant apartment.)
How dark the lowering of his serpent eye!
How coolly confident he spoke!
That girl—no, no—I must not doubt that girl.
(Enter Lais.)
Come hither child—how is thy heart to night?
Beats it in cheerfulness to these sweet songs?
These tender—plaintive roundelays—
Yes, Lais, thou art sad—I pity thee.

Lais.
(Eagerly)
Oh, no, not sad!

Ala.
Is the Prince impatient?

Lais.
(Running to the terrace and pointing)
Impatient!—Let him answer for himself.
He walks as if he thought you long at prayers!
See him! how he treads!

Ala.
Return—he may observe thee, child—

Lais.
(Significantly)
And then may think—perhaps—

Ala.
Lead Ida hither—
(Lais gains the door)
Ah—Lais!—Stay one moment—

(Lais returns)
Lais.
My Lady.

Ala.
I am—I've known thee long—

Lais.
(Affectionately)
—Ah yes—

Ala.
Thou wast my favourite in my earliest youth.
Hast known my heart and soul—their secret springs,
(Hurriedly)
—Now tell me, Lais, hast thou ever breathed
Nay—be not thus alarmed—I do not doubt thee,
But, whence I know not—it comes o'er my heart,
That thou art less discreet of late—

Lais.
(Bursting into tears)
O lady, lady!—tell me what I've done,
O, I have lost my hold!

Ala.
(Soothingly)
Lais! Lais!

Lais.
O, no, my princess, since that dreadful night
When we went all alone— (Ala lays her hand on her arm)
—Through yonder wood—

Ala.
Hush! (terrour)


Lais.
That phantom—

Ala.
(great terrour—looking round)
—Hush, in mercy!
We must not speak of that!
(trembling)
Hast thou been mute?
Thou hast not breathed of that—

Lais.
No.—Never! never!

Ala.
Enough—and bear it with thee to thy grave,
Be still as true, and we will never part,
There—leave me now—and tell my gallant Lord
That I would be alone—must pay my vows.—

Lais.
My Lady! (pointing to the door—Ala waves to her—she withdraws)


(Enter Prince Irman.)
Pri.
My love! my bride!

Ala.
My destined husband!

Pri.
(Transport)
Thy husband Ala!

(Offers to embrace her; she repulses him, firmly, but gently.)
Ala.
Nay—nay, my Prince—

Pri.
(Evidently pleased.)
Nay, Ala, we have loved each other long;
But never yet hath my full heart once dared
To meet the throb of thine—
—For I have felt
That kisses are the seals of heaven.

Ala.
O, Heaven!—

Pri.
And never, never should be given on earth
But in the nuptial rites of purity,
In undissembled and surrendering love—
And then—

Ala.
(Disturbed.)
Yes—yes—

Pri.
(Surprised.)
Ala!

Ala.
(Wandering.)
His very tones—and words!
Yes—yes, I do love him!

Pri.
Love him!

Ala.
Yes—him!
(Recovering—nodding cheerfully at Irman.)
—With all my heart and soul.

Pri.
And who would doubt thy love?

Ala.
Yes who would doubt—O who could doubt my love
(Tenderly)
And you are quite restored?

Pri.
Entirely—thanks to heaven! for my full heart
Stooped to that dark dream—and sudden fight.
O let me live, this night! if I must fall,
And I shall blush to-morrow, at my fears;
But come—let's to the banquet, love—
(Ala appears reluctant.)
The guests are all assembled—come, my love.

Ala.
Nay, my Prince.

Pri.
(With chilling stateliness.)
Ala! am I deceived?

Ala.
(with reproachful tenderness)
My Lord—this is no summer dance of ours;
And I should be at prayer. It is a fearful pledge;
(With increasing earnestness and solemnity)
A youthful soldier's hand, when given forever!
It is the pledge of everlasting faith— (trembling)

For life and death! oh yes, for earth and heaven!
(Shuddering)
—Yes, yes, his very words—

Pri.
(In amazement—regarding her with a look of inquiry)
Whose words?

Ala.
His—Otho's— (He drops her hand)


Pri.
His!—Otho's!— (troubled)
Why, what is this!
(A pause—Ala recovers her recollection.)
O yes!—our dreams! But, be not thus disturbed.
These phantoms of an anxious heart, my love,
Are only dreadful in the clouds of night.
They vanish in the light. They're sullen wings,
That dash the glittering foam from rapture's cup,
Amid the revelry of death—not life.
They only shake the sleeping brain and hand;
In sunshine we can raise the cup and laugh,
And drink to spectres that disturbed our sleep!

Ala.
(Suppressed emotion)
My prince—I must to prayers—I do believe,
That such an hour as this demands the thought
Of sober contemplation, more than death.
In death—but one is wretched—or is blest,
But here are two—thyself and me—forever!
Let us prepare for this—alone—apart.

Pri.
How sad! This merry wedding call of thine,
Would seem the summons for the sheeted pomp,
The funeral wail;—and not the song and swell
Of thrilling minstrelsy and bounding dance,
When youthful hearts keep time in extacy!
Thy look is more the melancholy smile
Of some sad herald of calamity,
Than the bright messenger of sunshine—flowers.
It threatens sepulture—not marriage, love!
Farewell—thou to thy prayers—and I to meet
The courtly train—my Ala—all alone,
Remember me and speed thy vesper hymn!
(Exit Prince.)
(Ala, Solus.)
His very tones!—the kiss! so he would say.
O, had his infamy but been concealed;
I could have gloried in that boy!
His very tones!—so he would say—the kiss,
Is rapture's pledge—the holy seal of faith,
Reserved for hours of mystery and love—
In hours of such endearment, as the soul
Can never know but once!
—So he would say!
The Virgin who would yield her budding lip
In idle complaisance, would yield herself
If she were not restrained—And so she would!
The careless prostitution of the lip
Pollutes the soul! and all without excuse!
All passionless—and cold! in sport! O shame!
Fool—Madmen! he would say—to rifle heaven—
To see unmeaning gallantry succeed,
Where love had prostrate died in tears and awe!
And he was right! The heart that truly loves,
Has little left to sigh for from the lip
That ripens to the touch of ruffian mirth.
And Irman feels the same!—and ye are right!
That bastard! Heaven, can this be just in thee,
That such a towering form and princely port,
Should walk abroad in everlasting shame.
(Pause—great agitation.)
What can have conjured up his spirit now!
(Starting as from a trance.)
Do I love Irman?—Yes! and I hate thee!
Thou boaster too—as I adore the Prince—
Yes, Irman, I do love thee—
(Enter Ida running eagerly into her arms.)
Ida, my love!

Ida.
O, come, come!

(Exeunt.)

SCENE II

—Magnificent Temple, at a distance—Fountain—Company in groupes. Thick wood on one side.
(Enter Irman, passing thoughtfully towards the wood.)
Irman.
The evening wears apace—yet I must wait—
Well, well, 'twill soon be over.

(Enters the wood.)
(Enter Selim—seeking the Prince.)
Selim.
Yes—yes, I must—
(Re-enter Prince Irman, unobserved by Selim.)
Ah, no, no, no!—I dare not—must not—

Pri.
Selim—

Selim.
(Starting)
My Lord!

Pri.
Hast seen the rebel since?

Selim.
(Faltering in alarm.)
I? my Lord! Yes, my Lord—

Pri.
And told him of his doom?

Selim.
Yes, my Lord.

Pri.
And did he bear it well—did'st mark his eye?
His port?—did he not falter in his tread?
(melancholy tone)
—No, no, my Prince.
I saw his eye—'twas calm, and fixed—and terrible—
(In terrour.)
It was a serpent's eye!

Pri.
(Observing Selim's countenance.)
Why boy! that serpent-eye is on thee yet—
Thou wast his prisoner once?

Selim.
Yes, my Prince—

Pri.
And yet he spared thy life—

Selim.
Ah, yes!
I told him I'd a mother and he wept.

Pri.
He wept!

Selim.
(Earnestly.)
He did indeed! 'twas dark, and he was stern.
But I could feel his tears—and they were hot!
And he embraced me too—and I could feel
His heart beat mightily—and yet he spoke
With deep composure. Then I chanced to call
Upon my father, in my fears—and then!
He started up, and bade me go in peace!
And cheer that father's heart—

Pri.
No, no, that man could never weep!
He is a savage in his soul.
(voice heard calling Selim.)
Go Selim, thou art called.

(Exit Selim running—Prince enters the wood.)
(Sound of tumultuous cries approaching. Enter guards and attendants shouting the Prince! the Prince! come pass through and others divide as in search.)
(Enter Duke from the Temple.)
1st Soldier.
Not here! not here! Away!

(Enter a second Soldier.)
2d Soldier.
'Twas he! 'twas he!

Duke.
(Alarmed)
Who! What is this!

All.
The Prince! the Prince!

(part go out—others crowd around the Duke.)
Duke.
(Passionately.)
Silence! Where is the Prince?

(Enter a Lord, from the garden.)
Lord.
Gone to the palace.

(points to the wood.)
Sol.
That way!

(rushes into the wood.)
(Trumpet heard—roll of drums.)
Duke.
Why this alarm?

(Enter a Soldier, followed by the company in great consternation.)
Sol.
To arms! to arms.
(Rushes through—Duke draws his sword, pursues him and forces him back.)
Stop! or by heaven, I'll cleave ye to the earth!

All.
O, fly my Lord.

(endeavouring to lead him off.)
Duke.
(Breaking from them.)
Silence, this uproar! Are ye mad?
(To the Soldier.)
Speak!

Sol.
(Still looking about, regardless of the menacing attitude of the Duke.)
They've carried off the Prince!

(Breaks away and rushes out.)
Duke.
(Passionate vehemence.)
Who? When? Come back! I say.
(pursues him—stops.)
And he has gone!—

(Company crowd around him—enter Servants and Soldiers from their search. The Duke suddenly catches one by the throat.)
Duke.
Speak, rascal! Where's the Prince?

All.
He's gone!—he's gone!—the Prince! the Prince!

Duke.
Silence—silence! (to the soldier)
What is this!

Sol.
(Struggling)
He's gone my Lord.

Duke.
(Loosing his hold in an agony of terrour.)
My son!
(Recovers, and raises his trembling hands to the soldier.)
In mercy, speak! O tell me where he is!
Men! ye will drive me mad—

Sol.
I heard his cries—

(Re-enter Guard, as in despair.)
Guard.
'Twas be—indeed, I thought I knew his voice—

Duke.
O, speak—or ye will break my heart—

Sol.
Two mounted ruffians galloped past the wood.
Dragging a struggling man along—

1st Gua.
I heard his cries—

2d Gua.
And I—I knew his voice—

(Duke staggers—recovers—speaks in a tone of stifled agony.)
Duke.
Speed to the palace!—man the Castle walls!
And guard the prisoners. (Trumpet)
Meet me in the court!

(Ala rushes in with dishevelled hair, and throws herself at the feet of the Duke.)
Ala.
O, save him! save him!

Duke.
By heaven I will! Away! away.
(Soldiers exit.)
(Attempting to support her.)
Let's to the hall, my love.
Be not alarmed—they cannot bear him far.

Ala.
Oh, no! but—mercy! mercy!

(faints)
Duke.
No, no they dare not
(Observing her to be insensible.)
—Heaven! and I'm alone.
They'll spare his life—look up—they'll spare his life!
And hold him as a hostage for their chief.

(Enter several Ruffians who surround the Duke in silence as he is endeavouring to support the Princess.)
Achmet.
Lead us to the Prince!

Duke.
(With great majesty—looking calmly around on their number, resting Ala on a bank and stretching forth his sword to protect her—as she opens her eyes.)
Hear that!—hear that my love—the Prince is safe!

(She rises and leans against the tree—one of the ruffians makes a cut at the Duke.)
Ach.
For shame! can ye be men? Look there!
Leave that old man—

(Trumpet—shouts—enter Irman followed by his guards.)
Pri.
(Rushing forward with his sword drawn.)
Forward! forward! cut the ruffians down.

(Fights with Achmet.)
Ala.
My Prince! Oh, God!

(Ala sinks to the earth—Duke rushes to support his son.)
Ach.
The Prince! the Prince! (turning upon him)


Ruffians.
Aye! Aye!

(All attack the Prince—lights extinguished—shrill whistle heard—others arrive—the Prince is borne off.)
Pri.
(As they bear him off)
Father! guard my Ala!

(Ala falls at the feet of Achmet.)
Ala.
Mercy! Mercy!

Ach.
Away! we want no women here—away—

(Ruffians exeunt.)
Duke.
Look up, my love, look up!
(Reels and sinks by her side. Enter other attendants. Duke suddenly recovering at their approach.)
Bear her to the hall! I'll lead ye forth—

(Exeunt omnes.)

SCENE III.

—Prison—Otho asleep—Thunder—approaching tumult —clashing of swords is the passages—Otho wakes—walks forth into the middle of the apartment, and drops his hand suddenly upon his thigh, as for his scimetar.
Otho.
God of heaven! (returning slowly to his pallet)

Unarmed! unarmed! alive, and yet unarmed!
Must I be butchered by a furious mob!
Well then, I'll die as I have lived.
(Fires himself in an attitude of stern composure—shouts heard—heavy blows at the door.)
By heaven, 'tis Achmet's voice! and I am free!

(Door burst open—Achmet seen contending with numbers. Otho leaps to his assistance, wrenches a sword from one and drives them before him. Selim rushes in and falls at his feet.)
Selim.
Save me! save me!

Otho.
(Stretching his sword over him.)
Touch not that boy!

(Achmet is overpowered and disarmed, bursts from his guards and throws himself at Otho's feet.)
Ach.
My chief!

Otho.
(Half extends his hand—stops, and then calmly motions him away.)
Nay, art thou not a coward!

Ach.
I—a coward!
(Looking proudly around upon the guards.)
—No, my chief.

Otho.
I saw thee fly.

Ach.
(Furiously)
'Tis false!

Otho.
(Uplifting his sword as to stretch him at his feet—then pauses with an expression of undisturbed grandeur.)
False!— (Throws down his blade)
leave me boy—

Ach.
(Falling at his feet in an agony of supplication)
O, no! my chief!—not false!—not false!—and yet
I did not fly—I sought to stay their flight—
Have come to die with thee!—
Left living men,—and come to die with thee.

Otho.
Fool!—madman!

Ach.
(Haughtily)
Yes, so I am!— (His eye falls on the sword.)

But here thy power is done.
I will die with thee! (Catching up the sword.)


Otho.
Put up that sword!— (Achmet reluctantly obeys.)

Hast thou a soldier's heart

Ach.
(Sullenly.)
—Aye, once I had.

Otho.
(Relenting.)
And did'st thou come to force me from my chains?

Ach.
I did, my chief—

Otho.
Achmet!—how durst thou!—what were my commands?

Ach.
(Bewildered.)
Indeed I had forgotten—No—my chief (Pause.)

No, no! I came to die with thee—to die!
And not to break thy chains.—

Otho.
Leave me—leave me— (All obey—Achmet dejected—Selim last.)


Selim.
(Returning—trembles)
My Lord!

Otho.
Whence art thou?

Selim.
I was coming here—when that young warrior, there,
Stood suddenly before me!—then I fled—
He would have slain me.

Otho.
Be calm! (Takes Selim by the hand—he observes the ring given by Ala to Otho on his finger, —and falls on his knees.)


Selim.
And thou art free!—Thank heaven!—thank heaven!

Otho.
Free!—Art thou mad, boy? What is this?

Selim.
(Painting at the ring.)
The ring!—Prince Irman's ring!

(Otho examines it by the light.)
Otho.
Prince Irman's ring:— (Aside.)
'Tis not the ring I sent.

Selim.
Yes, yes—it is my Lord's—
He gave it to the Princess as his pledge.
Oh, had you seen him!—How his heart ran o'er!
Surely—why— (Looking up in alarm—changing to sudden confidence.)

O, no—the Prince cannot be thus betrayed!
It is a passport through the realm!—
(Pause.)
O, do not wrong the Princess, mighty man!
(Faintly)
She loves thee, too—

Otho.
Boy!—

Selim.
Indeed she does—but do not—on my knees—

Otho.
Thou lovest her?

Selim.
(Ferrently)
Love bet! (Clasping his hands, and looking earnestly at Otho.)

O, no, thou wilt not—I am safe!
Oh, I had near betrayed thee!

Otho.
Ha!

Selim.
Yes—in my fears—for thou art but a man,
And might play falsely with a woman's heart—
And then—the Prince (in horrour)—Oh—God!

Otho.
He loves her too—

Selim.
O, madly! madly!—

(Thunder.)
Otho.
Ah!—

Selim.
O, yes; and he would love thee, too, wert thou
Less terrible. I've seen him lock his hands,
When travellers told him of thy dreadful deeds,
And mariners who'd seen thy gallant barque
Go bounding o'er the wave—

Otho.
Silence!—

Selim.
No, no, I cannot—he has wept for thee!
And so has she!—O, thou wilt spare her now,
I know thou wilt!— (Catching his hand.)

—She has a father too!

Otho.
(Shaking him off, and retreating—then furiously advancing.)
Boy!—boy!—And dost thou know me then!
(Selim fails down in extreme terrour.)
Or— (Pause.)
—
Who taught thee that?

Selim.
Heaven taught me that—it touched thy bosom once!
(Otho averts his head and retreats from the light)
It does again!—O spare the princess, then!
She has a father and a mother too—

Otho.
(Waving his hand)
Begone!
(Exit Selim slowly)
This Ring—the Prince's Ring—is this designed!
No, No—She thinks 'tis her's, to be redeemed.
Stay! by Heaven! (pause, emotion)
No, I'll not be free

(heavy thunder)
(Re-enter Selim in terrour)
Selim.
The storm—'tis fierce and terrible—
O, let me stay with thee!
(Burst of thunder and a vivid flash of lightning; Selim sinks on his knees—Otho remains undisturbed.)
(Faintly)
What a night!

Otho.
Bad omens for a nuptial night.

(A flash illuminates the prison and shows a figure stealing along the dark part of the apartment.)
Selim.
Mercy!

(covers his face)
(Otho rushes to that part of the prison; and returns thoughtfully.)
Otho.
Again!—vanished!—vanished—

Selim.
(In extreme terrour)
What was it!

Otho.
(Calmly)
Nothing—a shadow passing on the wall—
This lightning blinds me—

Selim.
(Whispering)
There is something—there: there!

Otho.
(Solemnity)
Who goes there!
(To Selim.)
Leave me—I must be alone.
(Suddenly changing his attitude and extending his arm as if it were grouped by something invisible—and addressing himself in a low voice as to some person at his elbow.)
Release my arm! (wrenching it away)
that chill!
Thy touch is cold to-night. (low voice)
No, no,—not yet—

Selim.
Merciful powers!

Otho.
Nay, leave that child.
(suddenly recovering; thunder.)
Sad omens, child!

Selim.
(Gathering confidence from Otho's manner.)
The Prince expected them.

Otho.
Indeed!

Selim.
He had a dream—

Otho.
He had a dream!—Well, well, what then?

Selim.
Aye, and the Princess too—a fearful one.
O how she trembled!

(thunder.)
Otho.
(Laying his hand on Selim's heart.)
And so dost thou—Is it the dream or storm?

Selim.
The storm—and yet I felt a deadlier fear
When lady Ala told her dream—

Otho.
What was that dreadful dream?

Selim.
I hardly know, indeed—she spoke so low—
So hurriedly and faint—
(Otho musing.)
About some fearful being in a wood—
With bloody plumes—

Otho.
(Turning suddenly.)
What!

Selim.
Some one that's dead. He wore a bloody plume—
And bloody mantle. One that she had feared.

Otho.
(intense earnestness)
Well!

Selim.
She dreamt—

(Observing Otho's fixed eye, he stops.)
Otho.
Proceed.

Selim.
She dreamt—that—from the altar she was borne away—
By that red phantom—he arose at once!
As from the grave.

Otho.
(Disturbed.)
Now leave me, boy—Or I shall have such dreams.
By Heaven, 'tis done!
(Exit Selim.)
—She dreams of crimson plumes!
And crimson robes!

(Re-enter Selim followed by Ala who falls prostrate at the feet of Otho. Selim staggers to the wall and hides his face.)
Ala.
O save him!—save him!

Selim.
The Princess!
(Joins in the supplication as involuntarily.)
O, save him! save him!

Otho.
Ala! in mercy! rise.

Ala.
No, no I'll never rise! O, save my Lord!

Otho.
Thy Lord!

Ala.
Irman! dread man—O, save him! for thou can'st,
(Seizing his hand—he struggles.)
And wilt—I know thou wilt! for thou art great!

Otho.
(Disturbed.)
Rise, lady—rise—thy Lord? pray, who is he?

Ala.
Irman—'tis Irman—O, thy bloody band—

(Selim rushes out.)
Otho.
(Starting back and locking his hands wildly.)
'Tis done! 'tis done! I knew the bolt would fall.
Some of my band were men—his hour had come!
And has he fallen, indeed!

Ala.
O, save him! save him!

Otho.
What! has he not fallen?

Ala.
O, man, we cannot tell! they've borne him off!

Otho.
(pause)
Then is he safe! O, Ala he is safe!
To thee, he owes his life—

Ala.
O, blessings on thy head! thy band is free!
Thou and thy band this hour!

Otho.
(With a melancholy smile.)
No, Ala—but to-morrow I am free.
My troops may be to-night.
Yes—I will save thy Lord—
—Thou know'st me, Ala,
Wilt thou trust my word?

Ala.
Trust thee!—thy word!—I'd trust my soul so thee!
(To the keeper and guard.)
Release the prisoners. Guard them thro' the wood.
(To Otho.)
—It is done—

(Guards wheel to march out—Otho waves them back.)
Otho.
Nay, soldiers—that is not my purpose now.
I want but few—my chosen ones—but few.
Bring that young stripling here.

Keeper.
Lead the madman here!— (to guards who obey)


Otho.
Who did this deed?

Ala.
'Twas a young warrior—with a naked arm—
(Enter Achmet in chains—followed by guards.)
(Starting)
—A prisoner too! (looking at Achmet)


Otho.
Why, how is this? in chains!
Cans't thou exist in chains?
Burst them! and come forth—Come forth!

(Achmet makes a convulsive but ineffectual effort.)
Ala.
Strike off his fetters!

Otho.
To fetter him!—O, I could bear it will—
For I am old—but were I young like him
I should have died!—
And left my body in the tyrant's links
It could not burst—My spirit should be free,
In spite of chains— (Reading the menacles while the Keeper strikes off the fetters)

Achmet! come forth!—
Who bore away the Prince?

Ala.
Himself!—I saw him head the band.

Otho.
(Sternly)
Is he safe?

Ach.
Unharmed.

Otho.
But why not tell me of the deed before—

Ach.
Indeed—I know not—'twas forgotten—I—
I was called a coward!

Otho.
(Convulsively grasping his hand)
Thou'rt a gallant boy!—I've wronged thee—there!
Go—thou art free.

Ach.
And is my chief.

Otho.
He never will be free.

Ach.
(fiercely)
Nor I!—by heaven!

Otho.
Boy—I command thee—go—

Ach.
(Passionately—interrupting him)
—No, no, my chief!
I will not—cannot go—

Otho.
Boy, boy—thou'st heard me twice—begone!

Ach.
(Dropping on his knee)
—My chief!

Otho.
Leave me, forever—Achmet—
Must I be baited here—and mocked by thee!
Achmet—by thee!—by thee, my chosen one!
O God! Oh, God!—how have I fallen!

Ach.
(Rising and staggering)
'Tis over! I had hoped—my chief—my chief!
I will obey—Oh, God!

Ala.
Amazement!—Ah, are these thy men!

Otho.
Go choose thy men—pursue thyself the band,
That bear the Prince. And bring him back this night.
And, mark me—bring him safe—Spare not their blood,
If they resist—Away!
(Achmet going)
Send back thy men to prison—thou art free.

Achmet.
What have! I done my prince!—Let them be free!

Otho.
(Sternly)
Again!—Send them back to prison.

(Exit Achmet)
Keep.
(Sneeringly)
—Aye, send them back to prison!

Otho.
(fiercely)
Begone— (Exit Keeper)


Ala.
Will they return?

Otho.
Yes—every man of them.
Thy husband lady will be safe—to night—
A few short hours—will give him to thy arms.

Ala.
Bless thee! bless thee!

Otho.
(Sternly)
Woman!— (tenderly)
—Ala—leave me.
I must prepare for death—farewell!

Ala.
No, not for death—farewell, thou wondrous man—
Whom we may love, while we are chilled with awe.

Otho.
Leave me, woman—thou'rt not in safety here.

Ala.
I, not in safety here!—with thee!—O, yes!
(Exit Ala)

Otho.
(Reckoning to the Keeper who advances)
Yes, yes—she does!—Let me not be disturbed (To Keeper)

'Till Achmet comes.
(Keeper Exit)
But one more trial!—I am satisfied!
(Otho Exit)

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Magnificent hall—bustle—Soldiers—Attendants rushing in, in disorder. Duke walking.
Attendants.
Huzza! huzza!

(Enter Prince Irman.)
All.
The Prince! the Prince!—huzza! huzza!

Duke.
My son!—My son!

Ala.
(Throwing herself into his arms)
I knew thou would'st be saved!

Selim.
Yes, yes—I knew he would.

Irman.
(To Ala)
—No, no—thou could'st not know it, love.

Ala.
(Enthusiasm)
—Yes, yes—I did!
He rules the tempest!—death is on his word!

Pri.
He!—who?

Ala.
Otho! Otho!— (He shakes her off in silence)


Pri.
(Significantly)
—Lady! Lady!

Ala.
(with reproachful tenderness)
—My Lord!

Duke.
My son—who rescued thee—

(Enter a figure in complete armour—folds his arms and leans against one of the distant pillars in silence.)
Ir.
A man—

Ala.
(Forgetting herself)
—Young! with a naked arm?

Ir.
No, no—not Otho lady—

Ala.
(Hurt—but unsuspicious)
—A band?—

Ir.
No, no—a man—a single man—alone!
But his blade!—'twas like the bolt of heaven!
(Observes the man in armour and points to him)
Behold him there!— (all turn)


Selim.
Heavens! 'tis Ola come again!

All.
Ola! Lord Ola!

Duke.
(In a low voice)
—Is that the man?

Ala.
(Disappointed tone)
—Is that the man?
Not saved by Otho then—

Pri.
Again!—Ala—Ala!—
That spectre is within thy heart, I fear.—

Duke.
Such mighty villains tread upon our necks,
And force us to admire them— (Significantly to Ala.)


Ala.
(Hurriedly)
—Prince Irman!—No, my Lord—
(Emotion—struggling with her feelings.)
No, no, I cannot stoop— (Walks aside disturbed—Irman observing her.)


Duke.
(Looking at Ola)
—His presence throws a chill on all around;
My son—I'd shun such men.—Whence comes he now?

Ir.
Father, we know not—from some distant war—
Some bloody field perhaps—he lives in strife.—

Duke.
(Still keeping his eye on Ola.)
But—to-night!—

Ir.
—Well, father—I was borne along
By Otho's ruffians at their fiercest speed—
When lo!—a harness rung!—And from his barb
Lord Ola bounded, with his sword of light!
I heard his hollow laugh—and I was free!

Duke.
(Musing.)
'Tis wonderful—indeed—and gone for years—

Ir.
No—not for years—a solitary man.—

Duke.
But does his countenance speak fair, my son—
See how his dark plumes nod! His martial frame
Is shaken by a fearful spirit—tell me,
Is his speech dreadful as his laugh?—

Ir.
That face was never seen!

Duke.
Not seen!—You've heard his voice?
Only in battle—'tis a fearful cry!

(Ola stalks away.)
Duke.
(Observing him go out.)
My son! how know ye that he be a knight?
Some ruffian—or a madman—or perhaps—
A leader of some neighbouring horde!—
(A hollow laugh—turns and sees Ola at his elbow.)
Heavens! what a voice— (half unsheathing his sword)


Ala.
(Shuddering)
'Tis scarcely human—

Ir.
(Smiling, and courteously saluting Ola—who nods haughtily.)
Be not alarmed—
—He knows not what we say
He has been tempted oft. To make him hear,
We wake the trumpet—and the neigh of steeds—
The roll of drums—the cannon's bursting peal—
No, no, my father—he's a gallant man
And bears a passport from our king—

(Lord Ola remains in a motionless attitude at his side.)
Duke.
(Faintly—turning a look of doubt towards Ola)
And never saw his eye?—

Pri.
Never!—never!—he is never seen
Except in battle—tournaments—and days
When gallant knights are tilting seriously.
(Ola walks away.)
He comes to this,—my wedding—it would seem—
To make our hearts beat lighter when he's gone;
Like clouds that hide the sunshine, and go by.

Duke.
But why indulge him in such pageantry?

Pri.
In truth I hardly know—his rank—his fame—
The favour of our king—his wretchedness—

Duke.
Ah!— (Looking after him)
—He has a princely step—

Ir.
Yes, he is wratched—for he seeks for death—
And even death avoids him!
(Ola seen again leaning on the pillar.)
But Ala— (Observing him—taking Ala's hand, and leading her to Ola.)

Love,—here thy thanks are due—he rescued me!

Ala.
Lord Ola!— (bowing with great dignity.)

(Ola averts his head—nods—and waves them off.)
Strange man!— (Ala joins the Duke and they walk to the rear of the apartment—he as expostulating with her—An attendant enters—beckons the Prince— whispers something which throws him into great agitation.)


Pri.
Enough!—enough— (attendant going—returns)

Delay the priest awhile—be on thy guard—
And let me know—Observe—
(Exit attendant.)
Just what I feared!—
(looking after Ala.)
—Such hearts are caught
By such stupendous crimes. The blood that stains
Such arms as his, is hidden from the eye
In terrible effulgence.
(Duke and Ala approach.)
Well, well—let her be happy—And for me!
I care not for myself—

Ala.
My prince,—I have a suit before we wed—

Pri.
There's time enough— (carelessly)
—We shall not wed to-night.

Ala.
(In proud astonishment.)
Prince!

Ir.
(Bitterly)
—No, no, my love—
Thou'lt have another night for prayers and dreams—
And holy meditation—

Duke.
Ala!—Lady—O, my son!—my son!

Ir.
(Coldly)
—Father, this boding night is almost spent:
And we (looking at Ala)
want more reflection ere we wed;
For we may be deceived; (earnestly)
—we may not love.
(Observing Ala to tremble.)
Be not alarmed—A brighter day will come—
We'll wed in sunshine, love, and laugh at dreams—

Duke.
(Pointing to Ala—who supports herself with difficulty.)
My son! my son!

Ir.
(Faltering and approaching her)
—Thy suit—
(She averts her head—almost in tears—turns to go— and sinks into the arms of the Duke.)
Father!—Ala!— (catching her from his father's arms)

This is thy pillow, love!—
No other arms shall clasp thy form, alive—
Not even a father's!—O, look up, my love!

Duke.
Leave her to me, my son—

Ir.
(Mournfully)
No, father, no!—for she may die—
I smote her cruelly—unlike a man—
(Ala opens her eyes—and faintly struggles.)
Ala, awake! (bows upon her hands and weeps)

Ala, forgive me! (She rises—faintly repulses him, and attempts is pass out unsupported—he gazes for a moment on her face—snatches her hand and places it, with a look of intolerable agony, upon his brow.)

No, no.—I cannot be deceived! (drops her hand— Pause—Ala recovers—he fastens his eyes upon her again, and, in his earnestness, drops his hand upon her shoulder.)

That angel eye!—those tears!—O, speak to me!
In mercy speak to me!—O tell me true!
Have I not borne upon thee in my haste?
And urged thee to the altar unprepared?
Consult thy heart—Go to thy chamber, love,
And see if I am dear to thee, indeed—
We must not part—I cannot lose thee now—

Duke.
(In amazement)
My son!

Ir.
Speak to her, father, is she not deceived?
Ala!—I adjure thee—by thy hopes of heaven!
Consult thy heart again in solitude,
And tell me if I'm dear to thee—

Ala.
(Mournfully)
—I need no solitude to answer that.
But—

Ir.
But what!

Ala.
Prince Irman, thou hast wrong my heart—farewell!
It ne'er was wrung before—

(Going.)
Ir.
(Catching her hands and looking at her wildly)
Father—look here!—O, can we be deceived?
Look at that eye!—No, no—it cannot be—
(Transport)
Ala, forgive me, I have wrong'd thee, love—
(Kneeling)
—Forgive me, Ala!—I am mad with fears—

Ala.
(Melancholy wildness.)—
Yes—I forgive thee, Prince—but we must part—

Ir.
(Wildly)
Part. Ala—part!

Ala.
Yes—Irman—I have loved thee much—too much;
For thou hast broken my heart—farewell!—

Pri.
Never!—by heaven!—O, Ala—thou'rt my bride
And shalt be yet the partner of my couch
In life—and death!—

Ala.
(Faintly)
—Here and hereafter!—

Ir.
Aye, Ala, yes!—for sepulture or sleep.
Ala, forgive me—I am mad to-night—
Let not the hasty words of fear outweigh
A life, consumed in offices of love!
I trembled for myself—for thee—I feared
I'd hurried thee too much on such a night.
Ala, forgive me!
(She extends her hand to him)
And now—thy suit, my love?— (Ola re-appears.)


Ala.
Nay, not to-night—

Ir.
Yes, yes—now—this very night—

Ala.
Well then, 'twas this—thou dost not know me yet—
And shall not—till some brighter hour—
I ask of thee to spare the rebel chief;
He is a gallant man!

Ir.
(Catching the Duke's hand)
—Father!—father!

Ala.
(Not regarding his emotion)
To spare stern Otho's life—I owe him much—

Ir.
(Struggles—vehemently)—
I will—'tis done!—Otho is free!—

Ala.
(Taking his hand)
I knew thou would'st—

Ir.
(Disengaging it)
—Enough! enough!—

(Enter the Soldier equipped as a Knight.)
Sol.
My Prince, I owe thee much—A soldier's thanks—
'Tis said—but so!—I dare not hope such things—
'Tis said that Ola has appeared—
(Discovers Ola—unsheathes his sword—and throws himself into an attitude of defiance.)
My Prince!—the spectre has returned—thank heaven!
Aye, there he is!—My arm is strong again—
I rise from earth—Dark Ola—we shall meet,
And meet like men—
(Ola walks away)
Ho!—Lord Ola!

Pri.
Madman!—peace.

Sol.
Lord Ola!— (Striding fiercely after him—is reaching his hand out to touch him—when Ola turns suddenly and stands motionless before him.)


Pri.
Sir Knight—Ho, guards!
(Voices heard passing the word “Guards! Guards!”)
This unexpected courtesy would seem,
An ill return, for thy new blazing arms.
Sir Knight—

(Enter Guards.)
(Ola turns toward the Prince and Duke with great majesty, and waves them to depart—the Prince is obeying.)
Duke.
My son!—leave not that aged man alone
To Ola's mercy—

Sol.
(Without taking his eye from Ola)
Oh, leave us!—leave us!

Pri.
I cannot leave him to such certain fate—
Thy arm is terrible in age—but his!
'Tis terrible in youth—

Sol.
Fear not for me!—fear not for me! my Prince—
My withered arm is strung with immortality!

Pri.
He saved my life—

(Ola repeats his motion to be left alone.)
Sol.
And so have I!—I've saved thy life, my Prince—
He wronged me once—is welcome to my life.
Fall one,—or both!—it matters not, to me—
For I shall be at rest—

(Ola repeats the signal impatiently.)
Duke.
Must we leave him then?—Gray headed man!

Sol.
No more!—no more—we've met to fight—

(Ola waves his arm again and advances.)
Pri.
He must be obeyed!—Old man, I'll pray for thee!
Ola—be merciful—

(Exeunt Prince and Duke.)
Sol.
(Loudly)
—Well, Lord Ola, we have met—for blood—
(Ola nods.)
And we are equals now!— (Ola raises his hand and shakes his head.)

(Bitterly)
No, no!—thou'rt right, mysterious man!—
I wear a face exposed to heaven and earth.—
But thou—enough! (Throwing aside the scabbard.)

—Now Ola, let us meet—
Yet ere we strike, let me once hear thy voice.
But hear it once!
I've never heard it since thy ruffian laugh
Proclaimed thy triumph o'er a bursting heart.
(Pause.)
Dost know me, Lord?—We never part alive—
(Ola calmly unsheaths his sword.)
What,—no reply!—Perhaps thy ruffian blow
Hath humbled me too much—
Well, be it so—we now have met for death—
And— (Stamping)
here!—I am thy equal, Lord, at least.

(They fight. Ola stands on the defence—The Soldier attacks warily at first, and maddens to vehemence as he finds himself constantly foiled—and exposes himself.)
Sol.
(Pausing and striking the earth.)
Curse on my arm!—Art thou impalpable!

(Renews the fight furiously—Ola makes his guards with perfect composure.)
Sol.
Art thou so confident!—What deadly skill!
Thou dost not fear my sword—Lord Ola!—Lord!
O, do not scorn to strike me!—I'm a man!
A soldier too!—I've striven with death—
In battle by thy side!—
I'm not afraid to die— (great emotion.)
—I'm not so old!
My arm is vigorous yet—in mercy, strike!
(Attempts to provoke him in his desperation by exposing his heart.)
O, strike!—in mercy—treat me like a man!
Dread Ola—What a spirit must be thine—
To trample calmly on a soldier's heart—
Before a gallant troop of helms and spears!
And there!—O meet me, man!—in mercy meet me!
(Ola turns to leave him.)
Here is my bosom—Strike!—I'll worship thee!
O, give me any vengeance—be it death.

(Ola is walking away—the Soldier rushes upon him, with his uplifted sword—Ola turns abruptly and disarms him with a blow—He grasps at Ola's sword—Struggle—He is thrown to the earth—Ola then throws away his sword, which the Soldier snatches up, and raises, as to cut him down— Pauses with his arm uplifted before the unshaken grandeur of his foe, who never lifts a finger in defence.)
Sol.
(Throwing away his sword.)
—I cannot strike!
(Dropping on his knee, and bowing down his head in awe.)
Whoe'er thou art!—dread being, I'm thy slave—
Thy slave for ever!—Soul and body thine!
Whole years have passed, and I have dreamt of thee;
I would have stabbed thee once before; but thou
Didst calmly wrench the dagger from my hand!
And give it back in silence!
I've lived whole years in panting for this hour;
Whole years I've asked of heaven to let us meet;
And then!—for I have seen thy skill in battle—
I felt that I was sure of death, at least—
And that were peace!
We've met!—Oh God,—we've met—and yet I live!
(Increasing agony—rising.)
On thee, dread being!—lie this soldier's curse;
May'st thou be bowed with infamy!
(Ola suddenly puts forth his hands as to avert the prayer.)
With infamy!—O, I have touched thee, man!
(Ola uplifts his sword.)
O strike!—in mercy, strike!—'tis all I ask.
O strike!—And I'll forgive thee all—

(Ola returns it to its sheath.)
Sol.
(Unbuckling his harness.)
Lie there, dishonoured furniture!
Lie there, my baffled weapon!
(Throwing down his sword.)
—I had hoped
To bear thee with me to my home—to-night—
But we must part!—farewell!—I'm now a slave—
And thou would'st never hang on such a thigh.
(Ola remains immoveable.)
O, canst thou be a man?—canst thou enjoy
The agony of such a scene as this?
The parting of a vet'ran from his blade!
O, God!—that I might pour mine aged blood
In expiation here!—with mine own hand—
But no—I dare not—I'm but a slave.
(Pause.)
—Thou art the first that foiled me—I am low—
Trod to the earth—have sought thy life in vain.—
I have walked proudly in the battle's van;—
Have heard my banners floating loud above;—
Have heard!—O heaven!—but that is done;—all done!
I am thy slave forever!

(Falls prostrate—enter Duke and Prince—Ola goes out on the opposite side with a martial step.)
Duke.
Lord Ola!

Pri.
Nay father—he will not reply to thee—
His silence is the grave's—
(To the soldier.)
—Art thou avenged?

Sol.
(gloomily.)
—We've fought—and I'm his slave—

Duke.
His slave!

Sol.
Yes, yes,—his slave!
Never again to wield a gallant blade
In honourable strife—no, never!
Here have I met him—here!—and after years
Of preparation, in the ranks of war,
I prayed to meet him, once!—my prayer was heard.
We met—and here, on this dark spot—for death—
And I have striven with him in my might—
And he!—he scarcely deign'd to stretch his arm!
And I—whose fauchion leaves a path of light,
Amid the night of battle!—I, whose blade
Hath pass'd thro' ranks of thick opposing helms,
When now, I strove with him for life and death,
Was calmly foil'd in play!
While I put forth my whole collected strength,
In desperation—to achieve my wish—
And laid my bosom naked to his blade—
And sought for death—he never deign'd to strike!
I would have given my soul to touch his heart—
To touch it once!—but no—
It might not be—And now I am his slave.
There is my badge of knighthood!
(Throwing it down.)
I abjure it all.—The trumpet and the steed!
The morning summons to the bursting strife!
The roll of battle!—honour!—glory!—same!
And now my aged locks shall bow and nod,
Whene'er he shakes his plumes, as if the Thunderer spoke.

(Exit.)
Duke.
(shuddering)
What a dreadful man!

Pri.
His sword is lightning:—father,—go with me,
I'm troubled.

(Exeunt.)

SCENE II.

Front of the prison—Prince walking before it.
Pri.
I would not doubt that woman for my soul;
And yet—no, no.—She has a mighty heart—
She will not wrong me—no, I must not doubt;
Yet such tremendous proofs come thick upon me—

(Enter Princess veiled—raps at the prison-gate.)
Pri
(Advancing.)
'Tis true, by heaven!— (retreating— and faintly pronouncing her name)

—Ala!

Princess.
Mercy!—whence was that.—

(Door is opened—she enters in terrour)
Pri.
(Wildly.)
—Well!—'tis over—we have loved for years.—
Alone!—at night!—to meet the man of blood—
Alone!—O, woman!—
(Enter Selim.)
—Ha!—thou'lt go with me,
(Struggling—as Selim sinks before his eye.)
No, no, I cannot do it—he's so young—

Selim.
(Tremblingly.)
My noble Prince.—

Pri.
Boy—tell me all.—

Selim.
I will—She loves that man.—

Pri.
She does?—The proof—and I'll forgive her all.
O—I can pardon love!—

Selim.
She told him that she pray'd for him,
And hated him—and—

Pri.
Enough! enough.—

Selim.
She gave that ring to him.—

Pri.
The amethyst!

Selim.
The amethyst.

Pri.
(Suffocating emotion.)
That ring!—
O, I could pardon all but that!
I do not ask her love—but I'm a man—
Am I forgot so soon!— (Furiously.)
—by heaven!

Selim.
O, spare her life!—my Prince!—She loves thee too—
I heard her tell him so.—

Pri.
Thou didst!
Her life!—O, that is safe—unless, like me
She can die broken-hearted, when she sees
Some loved-one act unworthily—that ring!
To him!—but yesterday, I saw her weep,
And swear that ring should deck her for the grave.
But—if he has a heart.—
—Leave me, Selim.—
(Exit Selim.)
I'd rather die than find my fears confirmed—

(Strikes the gate.)
(Enter Keeper.)
Pri.
Lead me to Otho's call;

Keeper.
I dare not—he's asleep.—

Pri.
(Struggling with emotion.)
Asleep!—or has he company to-night?

Keep.
None, my Prince.—

Pri
Death!—must I be mocked like this!

(Striking him)
Keep.
My Prince!

Pri.
Speak then—is Otho now alone?

Keep.
As I hope for mercy—yes.—

Pri.
I saw a woman enter here—

Keep.
But she awaits his waking.—

Pri.
Who is she?

Keep.
One of lady Ala's women.—

Pri.
Wretch!— (Flinging him off.)


(going.)
Keep.
O, stay my Prince!—I never saw him thus.

Pri.
(Turning.)
—Lead me to his cell.—

(Exit, following Keeper.)

SCENE III.

Otho's Cell. Otho asleep. Achmet watching by his pallet—Otho awakes suddenly.
Otho.
(Sternly.)
—Who art thou?

Achmet.
Achmet, my Lord.

Otho.
Ah yes—I had forgotten thee.
Go to thy rest—thy last above the grave.—
To-morrow we will die—together! boy.—

Ach.
(Bowing on his hands.)
—Ah, yes!

Otho.
Thou hast a soul that should not stay on earth.
Hast thou a father boy?

Ach.
Only a mother.—

Otho.
No father!—what, no father.

(rising.)
Ach.
He is gone.—

Otho.
Thou hadst a father then?

Ach.
(Astonished)
—My chief!

Otho
(Not regarding him.)
—And hast a mother yet—thou'rt happy, boy—
For she will weep for thee—
(Taking his hand.)
Bear up—be proud—we'll die together boy—
And die like warriors too!—now to thy cell.
(Exit Achmet)
A woman veil'd—
Alone, at midnight—veil'd.—She seeks me out.
And why?—Young Ala!—let her answer that!
—If she should come,
I'll shake her memory with my youthful voice,
Until she sees the spectre of my youth.
I have a fiery trial—If she's firm
When I put forth my strength—and touch her brain,
I'll spare her!—worship her!—but if she yield,
O, God, then let me die!
(Enter Princess.)
Woman,—art thou come again.—Keeper, ho!
(Enter Keeper.)
Where were my commands!

Keeper.
That madman—

Otho.
Achmet!— (Fiercely.)


Keep.
(Sullenly.)
—Well, Achmet, then—he told me you had waked.

Otho.
Begone!—

(Exit Keeper.)
(Prince enters—observes Ala—stops—and passes into the shade unobserved.)
Ala.
Dark man—I cannot rest—I've gained thy life.
We meet no more on earth—
Otho—I've come to thank thee for the life
Of him I loved.—

Otho.
Loved!

Ala.
And do love yet—I've come to thank thee once;
And burst the charm that binds me—and depart—
'Tis true thy band did not restore the Prince;
But yet—the deed was wonderful!
And thy mysterious agency was there.
I—
(Pause.—Emotion.)
I am wretched now,—and thou hast made me so.
For now, I have a doubt—where doubt is death.
Where once my fate was strong—
I come to tell thee thou hast smitten me
With death—a lingering death—and now, farewell!

(going.)
Otho.
(Great feeling.)
Lady—a moment—those are my last hours—
We never meet again.—Let us part friends.
Thou to thy nuptial couch—and I to that!
Let us part friends—in peace—and charity:
For—Ala—thou'lt remember me for years,—
And this last hour will comfort thee, for aye,
Amid thy desolation—
(Ala much affected.)
When thou shalt wake and wonder at thyself,—
An awful mystery is o'er thee, Ala!
When thou art happy—Ala—and when I—
No, no—I dare not think of that—
I'll visit thee—and guard thee in the night.
Be ever round thee!—wilt thou think of me?
Of him who died for thee?—Who gave his soul,
That he might see thee smile—and hear thy voice.—
Lady, I tell thee, as a dying man—
That I have loved thee!—thou hast made me thus!

(Prince much agitated.)
Ala.
(Looking round fearfully.)
Stranger!—
I must not listen to thee—
There is enchantment in thy voice.—

Otho.
Woman!—

Ala.
Otho!

Otho.
Ala, I've thought too high, perhaps, but yet—
Ala!—I think, had I been near thee long,
Where we might meet and hear each other's hearts;
That I had now been free!
A valiant name!—on honour's blazing roll:
—And Ala,—thou
Hadst been the partner of a mighty heart,
That beat for glorious deeds!
O, Ala, had I seen an eye like thine
To brighten or to weep when I went forth
To combat for its smile,—a voice like thine,
To cheer me on my way,—a heart like thine,
To bid me welcome, though we were alone
In wretchedness—tho' all the world should frown
What might I not have been!
Ala!—I could have trodden on that world,
And died in silent martyrdom for thee!
Then, I had been what woman well might love;
But now—we've met too late.—
—I've loved thee much.
Shall love thee, yet—nay, lady—do not weep.—
I have one prayer—but one—I'm a man
Unus'd to supplication—cannot beg—
But I demand it.—
(The Prince emerges from his concealment in great agitation.)
To-morrow I shall die—I am resolved—
I've nothing left to wish for here on earth—
To-night thou art another's.—
(Extending his arms.)
—One last embrace!

Ala.
Art thou a man!—One last embrace, from me!
Young Irman's bride.—

Otho.
Thou'lt never be his bride!—I ask of thee
But one embrace—one kiss—

Ala.
(Exullingly.)
Farewell, farewell forever!—I am free!
O, thou hast stooped indeed.—

Otho.
(Seizing her hands.)
Not yet—one kiss—one innocent embrace,
Such as thou gav'st me once.—

Ala.
Oh, never—never! (Prince raises his hands.)


Otho.
(Dropping at her feet.)
—Lady.—Look here!
I never knelt before.—
I've done with magnanimity on earth;
O, do not scorn me!—thou art in my power—
And I would leave thee hallow'd when I die.—
I love thee, Ala;
One innocent embrace—and then I'll go—
And leave thee spotless to my rival's arms;—
Thou should'st have been my bride—not his.—
Thou lov'st me like a husband, even now,
And yet, I'll leave thee.—

Ala.
(Struggling violently.)
'Tis false!—
I do not love thee, wretch.—

Otho.
(Rising)
Lady—thou dost—I swear it by my soul!
About to meet its Judge—thou dost!
But one embrace—in innocence—I ask.
'Twill cheet me in my death— (She struggles violently.)

—Nay, Ala! nay,
I'd have it freely—but, by heaven, I will!

Ala.
(Faintly.)
—Never!

Otho.
(Releasing her.)
Lady—then go—and go in purity!
I love thee yet too much for violence:
I've battled for thee, once—have sav'd thy life
Amid a fearful storm—and in those arms
And on this bosom bore thy sinking head,
All this I've done—farewell—
—Thou wilt not shed one tear
In charity upon my grave. Not one!
Upon unhallowed ground my bones will lie—
And know no solitude. The busy tread
Of living feet will still disturb my sleep.
And this—for thee!—
Remember thou—that all he asked of thee
To cheer him in the bitterness of death,
And pay thy mighty debt—
Was but one innocent embrace—one kiss,
Which he had taken had he loved thee less.—
And that thou didst refuse him—and he died
Deserted even by thee!—

Ala.
(Faintly.)
Otho!

(The Prince raises his hands to heaven.)
Otho.
(Half retreating.)
—Ala!—

Ala.
Otho, farewell—a vow withholds me.—

Otho.
(Passionately—aside.)
O, I could clasp her to my heart
(Prince moves—Otho observes him.)
—The Prince!
(aside.)
Nay then, I'll be revenged!—
Ala—thou knowest me!

Ala.
Yes—Otho—I do know thee—thy great heart
Is full of energy—and since that hour
When thou didst bear me through the billows safe,
My heart hath clung to thee, I know not why—
I shudder when I hear thy thrilling voice,
And yet I love to listen!—for it seems
Like voices that have call'd me in my sleep.
And then, that dark imperial eye of thine!
I felt familiar with its glance.—
Sure I have known thee in some other life!

Otho.
(Triumphantly.)
Thou hast indeed!

Ala.
(Looking at him a moment—and continuing in a melancholy tone.)
I know not why—but I'm constrained to speak—
Forgive me heaven!—I'll tell thee from my soul
That I would rather share thy stormy fate
In peril, wretchedness and solitude,—
If I were free—than his—now wilt thou live?

Otho.
O yes, with that embrace—without it, no!
So help me heaven!

Ala.
O make me not thy murderer!
(Prince, increasing emotion.)
My vow is registered above—

Otho.
What vow?—when made? to whom?

Ala.
In childhood!—to a boy!—

Otho.
In childhood!—to a boy!
Woman!—art thou withheld by this?

Ala.
(Passionate enthusiasm.)
Withheld by this!
Would he were here!—that boy!—before our eyes—
Thou would'st not wonder that I made the vow—
He was a god!—and he was virtuous too—
O, thou would'st tremble in his youthful gaze,
As I now do in thine.—O, Osmyn! Osmyn!

Otho
(Reeling and clasping his hands in agony.)
Ala!— (Faintly.)
—Ala!

Ala.
(Catching his hand wildly.)
Who called me then.
Didst thou not hear a voice!
(Pause—listening.)
My guardian angel fled!—

(Bewildered.)
Otho.
Merciful heaven!—what is woman's love?—
(Seems her hand—she retreats to the shade—Prince unsheathes his sword, advances, and then returns to the gloom.)
O, thou wilt grant my prayer!

Ala.
(Faintly repulsing him.)
No, never! never!

(Otho sees the Prince with his sword drown.)
Otho.
Nay then—in desperation!

(Ala struggles—Prince uplifts his sword—Otho presses her to his heart—imprinie a kiss upon her lips— releases his hold as horrour-struck, she sinks to the floor, and the Prince rushes out.)
Otho.
(Standing before her as she recovers.)
Ala!— (Starting cry.)
Farewell, forever!

Ala.
(Wildly.)
Oh, mercy! mercy, Osmyn!—Where art thou! (Rises—staggers,and falls at his feet.)

Oh, who art thou!

Otho.
(Retreating franticly)
Away!—away!
My heart is broke.—
Oh, woman! woman! ye would yield your souls
To those your souls should hate.
(Advancing towards her.)
O, woman! woman! why not call on heaven!
Thy guards were here— (low voice)
—the Prince himself was here!
I would have spared thee!

(retreating.)
Ala.
(Calmly)
The deed is done!—my heart is broken forever—
My innocence is gone—my pride—my strength.—
I feel my Osmyn's curse!—O, this is guilt!
O, Osmyn! Osmyn!— (reels.)

No arm to save me!—none!—I fall! I fall!
My husband!—Irman! save me! save me!

(faints.)
(Otho rushes to her support—gates are thrown open— guards and Prince enter and form a group around her. Curtain drops.)

ACT V.

SCENE I.

(The Prince alone—resting upon his naked sword—terrace —clouded moon—challenging of the sentries heard in echoes along the ramparts.
Pri.
No—no—I dare not—'twere a dastard's act.—
This blade was given me to guard my life.
But I'll away!—and in the ranks of war
Provoke some mighty arm to still my soul.
(Stands contemplating his sword.)
O, Ala!—Ala!—thou hast fallen at last!
And fallen to one like him!—whose hand is red
With blood of innocents.—
Ev'n thou hast yielded to a ruffian lip!
O—Ala—I could bear thy loss—but not
Thy ignominy.—I have loved too much
To seek for consolation there.—
(rehemence.)
O, I had stretched him bleeding at thy feet!
If I had heard one murmur from thy heart.
But no, no, no!
—She whispered never!
And then—she yielded!

(Enter Duke—Prince sheathes his sword hurriedly.)
Duke.
My son!
—O what disturbs thee thus?—
Is all this pageantry to pass away—
The ending of a day that woke for love—
And be remembered but as princely sport?

Pri.
(Folding his arms—calm—and immoveable.)
Father—I am deceived.—

Duke.
Deceived!

Pri.
The princess loves me not.—

Duke.
Not love thee, boy!—indeed thou art deceived!
But Irman—mark me!—thou'st a dreadful fiend
Within thy bosom that consumes thy heart!

Pri.
(Desperate calmness.)
Father—I have seen that girl—this night—
Who has refused my prayers for days and months—
Whose holy lip I never dar'd to touch—
This night—my father— (wildly)
—I have seen that girl
Within a ruffian's arms!

Duke.
(Catching his hand—and passing his own over the Prince's brow.)
Merciful heaven!—

Pri.
Aye, and I saw him press her yielding lip!

Duke.
Saw him!

Pri.
Saw it, father.—

Duke.
(Pointing to his record.)
And hadst thou that?

Pri.
(Agony.)
Yes, yes! I had—and rais'd to heaven!
And would have slain them both—
—But something held my arm
And bowed my blade.

Duke.
Thou could'st not smite him!

Pro.
Father, I should—had she but shrieked for help,
Or even, struggled long—

Duke.
(After a deep silence.)
This is some dreadful game—we are deceived—
That woman loves thee with her heart and soul.
(Suddenly catching his arm.)
Speak, Irman!—would'st thou prove her faith?

Pri.
(Passionately.)
Yes!

Duke.
Then do thou this—at once—let her come forth.
Light up the temple—go in solitude,
Within that sacred place, and ask her hand.
If she consents!—my son, she's true to thee.
If she's unworthy—there, she will refuse.

Pri.
And if she does refuse my offer'd hand,
By heaven; I'll worship her!—
(going.)
It shall be done!

Duke.
Nay—stay thou here—here let your meeting be.—
And go in silence to that holy place.
(Exit Duke.)

Pri.
(Great emotion.)
O, what a weary night is this!—The sun
Rose lovely on this day—and my full heart
Heav'd high with exultation and with hope—
Then came a cloud—a dream—a battle then,
And then a doubt—and then—the certainty
That I was miserable!
(Enter Ale with a feeble step—melancholy countenante and disordered dress. She stops and trembles.)
Ala!—my love!—to-morrow I'm away.
At the first dawn. (Agitation)
—And we must wed tonight.

Ala.
(In dismay)
—To-night!—

Pri.
Aye—aye—alone—in solitude—this night.

Ala.
(Terrour)
—In solitude!—to-night!—No, never! never!

Pri.
(Wildly)
—O, Ala!—Ala!
I conjure thee! on thy soul!—do not refuse—
This is a fearful night—

Ala.
(Overcome with terrour.)
O, Irman,—must we go alone—alone—at night!
To ask the nuptial benediction of our God!

Pri.
Nay, tremble not— (solemnity)
Young Ala,—it must be.

Ala.
(Rising with great majesty)
—Prince,—I will go!—I'll go with thee alone (Energy—wildly, but calmly.)

We'll cross our hands athwart an opening tomb—
And pledge our faith in cemet'ries—to-night!

Pri.
(Impatiently—anguish)
Ala!—Ala!—Mercy—

Ala.
Yes—let us go!— (deliriously)
Aye, to our nuptial couch! (Bell strikes one, heavily.)

The tolling bell shall cheer us on our way!
Let's go my Prince—the flapping banners wave!
Come, come my Prince,—There'll be a sheeted troop
To do our bridal honours—Come!

Pri.
O God!—O God!—What have I done!
(Clasps her hands—she gases upon him with a wondering look, and bursts into tears.)
In tears!—Oh, ye are welcome to my heart!

(Clasps her to his heart—she recovers.)
Pri.
(Putting back her hair)
—Do'st thou love me, Ala?

Ala.
(Faintly)
—Love thee, Irman!— (recovering)

Would thou could'st see my heart!

Pri.
Then let us wed!

Ala.
(Inclining her head)
Yet ere that hour, I have a tale to tell—

Pri.
(Impetuously)
—No, no—I cannot listen to that tale—

Ala.
My Prince!

Pri.
No, no—We'll to the altar, love; and there
One word will tell it all!—One single word
Will be the vindication of thy life!
Come Ala, let us go.—

Ala.
(With solemnity)
—With all my heart—

Pri.
One word—one word will put my heart at rest.

(Exit, conducting Ala.)

SCENE II.

—Midnight—A temple dimly lighted. Friar in his robes—Ala and the Prince approach the altar.
Friar.
(With impressive solemnity.)
My children!—at this melancholy hour,
When all but spirits are asleep—and all
That chills the heart, are wandering in the air,
I would avoid this ceremony—

Pri.
(Bowing low—but impatiently)
Nay Father!
(To Ala.)
—We have met for life and death.

Ala.
(Fervently)
For everlasting union— (faintly)
—life and death.

Pri.
And we have none to watch our eyes and lips,
But guardian spirits—and the eye of Him
Who reads the heart.—
—Ala, I've loved thee much—
Have worshipped thee, in truth.—I love thee yet—

Ala.
(Trembling)
—And why this preparation, Prince!

Pri.
(Increasing solemnity)
Indeed, I cannot tell—a secret awe
Comes o'er my spirit like the hand of death—
The place—the hour—

(Ala is sinking)
Fri.
Rest on me, sweet lady—

Pri.
No, no—on me!—here in her husband's heart,
(Energy)
—This is her pillow!—let her slumber here!

Ala.
My Prince!— (Hesitates and covers her face)


Pri.
(Passionately)
Speak! Ala speak!

Ala.
No, no—I cannot now—

Pri.
(Falling at her feet)
—Ala! Ala!
I adjure thee—By our earliest love!
I call upon thee, with a broken heart!
By all we love on earth!—or hope in heaven!
Now to redeem thyself—O speak!
(Pauses abruptly—Appears disturbed—shuddering—rises.)
Ala, I have doubted thee—I've seen such things—

Ala.
(Proudly)
—And durst thou take my hand—
And trust me yet?
And leave thy doubts to perish as they will?
Can'st thou do this?

Pri.
Ala—I can!—for (feltering)
—if I fail, I die—
I've seen a withering vision—with these eyes,
And I would swear 'twas life!—and risk my soul,
In battles with my sword, to prove it true.
But—there's my hand!—And if thou'lt clasp it now,
I'll risk my soul to prove it all a dream!
The severish workings of a phrenzied brain—

Ala.
(With tears of transport and admiration)
O Prince!—
Thou hast a noble heart!—O, I must speak!

Pri.
Nay, Ala, nay,—we'll to that altar, love,
And there—if thou wilt take this hand—O, God!
I'll live and die as speechless as the dead!

Ala.
O, Prince!—thou hast redeemed thyself and me!
I reverence thy great heart—My spirit wakes!
And I must tell thee all!—I've wronged thee, Prince!

Pri.
(Passionate vehemence)
Thou'rt innocent, by heaven!—here! feel my heart!
And see if I distrust thee now!—Come—come!
There!—take my hand—

Ala.
No,—not till I have opened all my heart—

Pri.
By heaven,—I will not listen to thee!—
I have that confidence in thee and thine—
Dear Ala!— (hesitation)
Yet—tho' I have seen, this night,—

Ala.
What, my Prince? (Alarm)


Pri.
I dreamt—I saw thee in a ruffian's arms.
His lip was pressed to thine!

Ala.
(Sinking to the earth)
—Oh, God!

Pri.
Look up, my love!

Ala.
(Clasping his hands and pressing her lips to them)
Irman—farewell!

Pri.
No, no, my love!

Ala.
O, thou would'st never trust me now!

Pri.
Ala—I will!—There, take my hand, my love—
Redeem thyself—I know thou'lt not deceive me—
No!—thou would'st never clasp this hand, unless
Thy soul were spotless—worthy of its grasp.

Ala.
(With great majesty and composure.)
Prince,—'tis a noble confidence—I yield!

(Reaches her hand—he clasps it eagerly—is raising it to his lips—Stops abruptly, and gazes upon her face.)
Pri.
Ala!—that ring!— (Faintly)
my pledge of love to thee.

Ala.
(Calmly)
—I dare not trust it here— (raising her hand)
but it is safe—

Pri.
Thou hast it then?

Ala.
I have!—and never will I yield it but with life!

(He drops her hand—Covers his face, and sinks upon the steps of the altar.)
Ala.
(Listening)
Mysterious heaven!—that strain!
(Approaching the Prince in awe.)
I heard it in my dream!
(A martial figure in a crimson mantle and plumes, stands unobserved behind the altar.)
O, Prince, I dare not lift my eyes!

Pri.
(Rising with strong emotion.)
Be not alarmed—I have forgotten mine.

Ala.
(Trembling and reaching her hand to the prince, who takes it coldly.)
Father—there!—let me be worthy of his heart—
That I may meet that spectre but in dreams!—
(Turning—sees the figure.)
O, God! 'tis there!—

(Sinks to the earth.)
Pri.
What art thou!
(Unsheathes his sword, lifts it, and stands as if struck with sudden death.)
(Fri. Covering his face in his mantle.)
O thou, who art the tenant of the tomb!

(The figure advances slowly towards the prince, who remains immoveable—deliberately bears off the princess before the prince recovers.)
Pri.
(Starting as from a trance.)
O, God!—my dream.—To arms! to arms!

(Rushes out—tumult heard—trumpet—guards and attendants pass—drum rolled—clashing of swords— shrieks.—Re-enter, Ala pursued by the phantom with a reeking sword—fighting as he enters with the Soldier and others.
Attend.
The Prince! the Prince is slain!

(passing through.)
Sol.
(Assaulting the spectre violently.)
What art thou?—murderer!—

Spec.
Away—I shall spill more blood.

Sol.
(Staggering)
That voice!—it rises from the grave!
(Death-like silence—Soldier gazes about in terrour—recovers— rushes on the phantom—They fight—Soldier is foiled—throws down his sword in desperation.)
Lie there; lie there!—my strength has gone, forever!
There's nought that walks but may defy my arm!

Spec.
Ye seek my life.
(Throws away his sword—they advance in terrour.— throws aside his mantle, and reveals a mailed breast.)
Now, strike!

All.
Ola!—Ola!

(retreating.)
Sol.
Ola, that dæmon here!

(Enter Duke with a drawn sword—rushes upon Ola, followed by several soldiers with uplifted swords— Ola turns to the Soldier, and exposes his face— Soldier utters a cry of terrour and sinks at his feet.)
Ola.
(To the Duke, who aims a blow at his head.)
Aye, strike, old man!—I slew thy son!
And here I am unarmed.

(Soldier rushes between them.)
Sol.
Away! Away!—what! slay a man unarmed!

Duke.
Bear him to death! O Irman! O, my son!

(Tumultuous voices.—Duke goes out.)
Ola.
(Bursting suddenly from the crowd, and speaking with the most determined majesty.)
Silence! silence!—Lead me to my death!
(Louder—advancing—they retreat in terrour, keeping their eyes upon him.)
Hear ye my voice! (marches slowly out, followed by the guards.)

SCENE III.

Cemetry; Otho and the Soldier entering it. Banners and trophies hung around. Lamp suspended from the roof.
Sol.
(Stopping and laying his hand upon the step of tomb.)
Kneel there, my lord!—kneel there!
That in thy mother's tomb?

(Otho obeys in silence
Otho.
(Calmness.)
Where is my father's?

Sol.
Art thou not disturbed?

Otho.
Where is my father's tomb?

Sol.
I dare not tell thee, man—do there thy prayers.
And then—
(Bending and shaking with terrour.)
Prepare thy soul!

(Laying his hand on the Soldier's arm with a melancholy gaze.)
Otho.
But first to thee, old man! my prayers be done:
Give me thy hand— (rising)

Forgive me—I was mad—

Sol.
(clasping Otho's hands with fervour)
I do forgive thee, from my soul!
I lov'd thee once—and I must love thee still—
But kneel thee there!—for there thy mother sleeps—

Otho.
My mother here!— (Kneeling and bowing his head upon his hands)

Yes!—yes!—and now old man,
Thou'lt tell me all—

Sol.
(with uncontrollable emotion)
Aye all, all— (laying his hand on Otho's bosom)

All!—but thy great heart will burst.

Otho.
Soldier, this is a holy place—a chill—

(Shuddering and covering his face)
Sol.
Otho!

Otho.
Thou did'st never see me weep!

Sol.
(stooping)
—No, never! never!—since thou wast a boy
But thou wilt yet weep blood—

Otho.
Blood!—blood!—ha! thou art right— (sternly)
I shall weep blood—

Sol.
Thou wilt indeed.

Otho.
(calmly)
—I have wept blood— (vehemently)
Soldier!
I am a bastard!—Others have wept blood!
The bastard smote them sleeping!—this red arm
Hath ministered to orphans!—
Made others fatherless!

Sol.
Madman!— (terrour)
—Thy mother slumber there!
Thy voice will startle her from sleep!
Such a sounds may call her from her sepulchre!

Otho.
(Franticly)
—Let her come forth!
O, mother! mother! come, and see me die!
O leave thy tenement for once! Come forth!
O, I shall meet thee yet!
Come forth and see what thou hast done!

(Staggers and falls into the Soldier's arms, who stands horrour-struck, as a female figure slowly emerges from the gloom of a neighbouring recess.)
Sol.
The lady Ala!

Otho.
(Recovering)
—Woman, begone!

Ala.
(madly brandishing a dagger)
Otho! (strikes at him—he catches her arm—she wrenches it from him—repeats the blow, which Otho avoids)

Here's to my love for thee!— (pursuing him)

Who slew my Lord!

Otho.
Woman!— (she stops with her hand in the air)

Dost thou know my voice!

Ala.
(Dropping the dagger)
—That voice!
(Sinking on her knees)
O, let me hear that voice, once more! (breathless silence)

Hush!—'tis coming now—that melancholy voice!
I've heard it call me twice—

(Soldiers seen passing in the shade.)
Otho.
(Tenderly)
—Ala!

Ala.
(Deliriously)—
Thrice!—thrice!—'tis done.
(Throws herself into Otho's arms.)
—And I am thine!—
Aye, Ormyn, we have met— (Shaking back her hair wildly and gazing upon him)

(Placing her hand upon his brow)
We've met at last!
What! art thou freshly from thy couch? thou'rt cold—
Terribly cold and chilly. (Shuddering)
—Where are we?
In this our bed?— Laying her hand on the marble)

—All cold—

Sol.
Lady! Lady— (She falls upon Otho's bosom insensible.)


Otho.
In mercy! (Yielding her to the Soldier.)

Bear her off.

(Soldier bearing her away—she partially recovers.)
Ala.
O save me!—save me!—Osmyn, I am lost!
They tear me from thee!—Otho, where art thou!
O, Irman—bloody!—bloody! (Exit Soldier bearing her.)


Otho.
Gone—gone!—all gone—and I am left alone— (Looking upwards.)
—Ha!—what art thou!
(Pause of suffocating emotion.)
I have called thee, mother!—
I have no voice that now may wake thy sleep—
Thou may'st not come, perhaps—we cannot meet!
Well then—I'll listen to thy hollow voice.
(Bending low.)
—Who was my father?
(Listens.)
Hush! hush!—she stirs.

(Soldier Re-appears.)
Sol.
Osmyn—kneel there!—Forgive thy mother all!
She sleeps in blood—

Otho.
(Shuddering.
Never! never!

Sol.
Osmyn—thou shalt!—bow down stern man;
For her who died for thee.
Bow down—forgive thy mother—pray for her—
(Faltering.)
And thou shalt know thy father.

Otho.
(In a terrible voice, catching him by the throat.)
Art thou—art thou my father!—Ha!

Sol.
(Struggling, and averting his head.)
O, no, my lord.

(Otho releases him—Soldier leans on the tomb, and countemplates the working of his countenance in silence.)
Otho.
O mother!—mother!—Let me hear thy voice!
(Pause—emotion.)
Thy child should not disturb thy sleep—Oh, no!
Forgive me, mother! (Shuddering.)
She sleeps in blood!
(Overcome.)
She died for me!—
(Suddenly prostrates himself on the earth.)
Mother! mother!—I forgive thee all.
(Wildly and hurriedly.)
Come, come—let's go—I cannot meet her now—
I feel a palsy in my limbs—my heart grows cold.

Sol.
Lord Osmyn—hither!—now give me thy hand.

Otho.
Whither wouldst thou lead me?

Sol.
Osmyn!
Where thou may'st nerve thine iron heart in vain;
Where penitence shall touch it yet.

Otho.
(Calmly.)
Lead me where thou wilt.

(Soldier leads him to a recess where a body lies covered with a pall.)
Sol.
There lies the man that thou hast slain.

Otho.
(Disturbed.)
I wish I had not done it—be was brave—
But he encountered me and fell.

Sol.
(Shaking.)
Place thy hand here! (Raising the pall from the breast.)

—Here, Osmyn, if thou darest.

Otho.
If I dare!—well—there! (Laying his hand on the corse.)


Sol.
That man was thine own brother!

Otho.
(With desperate calmness—in a low still tone.)
Repeat that sound.

Sol.
That murdered man was thine own brother!

Otho.
Enough— (folding his arms.)
Well!—well!—my brother!
(abruptly.)
Was he a bastard too?

Sol.
(Terrified at his calmness.)
This is terrible!
O, Osmyn—O, my Prince!
O, thou art touched indeed.—I've wrecked thy brain.

Otho.
(Some dreadful calmness.)
Old man—I say, was he a bastard too—
Was he a bastard?

Sol.
O, no—

Otho.
My father, then— (bewildered.)
—Am I right?—

(eagerly catching his hand.)
Sol.
The Duke—

Otho.
He is my father—leave me—I must see the Duke—
I would meet my father here!

Sol.
I will not leave thee!—would'st thou spill more blood?

Otho.
(Shuddering)
—O, no—

Sol.
Then kneel thee by thy mother's tomb again;—
And there forgive thy father—

Otho.
(Kneeling.)
Never! never! never!—he was a man—

(Rising to go.)
Sol.
Slay not thy father too—

Otho.
(Pouring and shaking.)
Slay him!—my father—O, fear not for him.—
I would not strike him for my mother's sake—
Who sleeps in blood! (agony.)
—who died for me! no! no!
(Throwing himself upon his brother's body.)
My brother!—pardon me—I loved thee much
Tho' we were foes—thou had'st a gallant heart.
Would I had died, my brother!—by thy hand.
Farewell!—farewell!—thou shalt forgive me yet—
(Shuddering.)
—If e'er we meet again!

(Enter Guards searching.)
1st Guard.
Seize him!—seize him—there he stands!

2d Guard.
Seize them both—

(advancing.)
Sol.
(throwing himself before Otho.)
Fly, Osmyn, fly!

(An aged Guard rushes forward.)
3d Guard.
Osmyn!—lord Osmyn!— (Falling at Otho's feet.)
—It is! It is!

Sol.
Fly—fly, my lord!

3d Guard.
I'll to the Duke—

Otho.
(Air of authority.)
Stay—I command thee, stay!—Put up thy sword.
Old men—ye knew me in my pride—my youth—
Ye've seen me in the war! (Throwing away his sword.)

—There is my sword!—

(The Guards advance—the two aged Soldiers throw themselves before Otho.)
Sol.
By heaven, I'll cleave ye to the earth—ye boys!

3d Guard.
Know ye that man?—It is your prince!
Lord Osmyn—

Otho.
The Bastard!

All.
The bastard!—the bastard!—the bastard!

(Crowding around him with tumultuous enthusiasm.)
Otho.
The Bastard—aye—put up your swords—old men.
Hear ye my last commands—and then, away—
I am lord Osmyn—out would meet my death
Unknown and unlamented—hear me, men!
The Duke is old— (Significantly—to the Soldier)
—has lost a son—
To you alone, young men—and thee—and thee
I am the bastard Osmyn. To the world
I'm Otho—Ola—who, or what they please—
Breathe not a word—and let me die unknown.

All.
We will obey.—

Otho.
Reach me my sword. (Stretching it forth.)

—Now swear ye all—
(All approach—he waves back the two aged men and advances to the younger ones.)
Swear!

All.
We swear—

(Otho seizes the hands of the two old men.)
Otho.
(Turning calmly.)
—Now then for death.

(Exit omnes.)

SCENE last.

Hall of Justice. Guards. Officers in their robes. Judges.
(Enter Duke Alva, lauding a little child—both in deep mourning.)
Judge.
Rising and inviting the Duke to a seat on a bench.)
My Lord Duke—

Duke.
(Waring his hand with great majesty.)
No, no my lord—I'm a petitioner here:
I come for justice. Let the man be tried,
That slew my son—and tried in mercy too!
I charge him here!— (Pausing.)
—Let me see his face.

Judge.
Bring forth the prisoner—

Duke.
Yes, bring him forth!—and let him meet mine eye.
(Death-like silence—Enter Otho—marches firmly to a position fronting the Duke.)
I charge him here, with murder—piracy—
Rebellion to his King.—
(The Judge again invites him to the seat.)
No, no my lords—Ye are but men—
I am a father that has lost his son.
By you—his country will pronounce his doom
And he will feel it just. But if I speak,
'Twould be a father's vengeance. He would hear
Nought but a father's curse.
(Embracing his daughter, who stands gazing at Otho.)
My child!—my child!—

Otho.
(To a guard.)
—That child!—is that his child!

Guard.
(Looking upon him a moment in silence.)
It is—I do not fear to tell thee that—
Thou wilt not harm that child—

Otho.
Bless her! bless her!

(One of the company, disguised, approaches, and offers a dagger to Otho unobserved by all but the Judge.)
Judge.
Ho! treachery—guards!

(The stranger throws off his cloak, and discovers himself to be Selim—Several others at the same moment form a rampart before Otho—tumult—strangers draw their swords.)
Otho.
(Calmly.)
Stand back! stand back!

Duke.
(Snatching a sword.)
—Strike, soldiers, strike!

(All prepare for battle.)
Otho.
Silence! (To the Judge.)
Withdraw your men—
Blood will be spilt, else—
(Judge beckons them off.)
Selim!—put up thy sword!— (Selim obeys.)
—and (Catches his hand.)
farewell!—Lead off thy men—
(Selim is marching off—his band filing after him, when the guards more to intercept them.)
Selim,—if they stay thee—strike them home!—
(Selim turns upon them.)
There is thy prey!—

(Pointing to the Judges.)
(Selim advances towards the judgment seat—Guards retreat.)
Judge.
Let them begone!
(Selim leads them off unmolested.)
(Pause—rises and addresses Otho with great solemnity.)
The bolt of heaven hath fallen!—mysterious man—
(Otho turns calmly upon him—he appears disconcerted)
Who art thou?—We summon thee as Ola!

(Pause—Another of the judges whispers him.)
Otho.
Proceed.

Judge.
Speak, if thou bearest a passport from our king,
We have no power against his will.

Otho.
(Taking a paper from his bosom—tearing— and scultering it about—deliberately)
There lies Lord Ola's passport from his king.
Do ye your duty. Let me go to death.
Come, lead me forth!—What mockery is this?
(Surveying the hall—the judges guards—and resting has eye on the Duke.)
That aged man has lost a son—
Ye know your duty, Lords—he is your Prince.
(Turning to depart)
—Come, lead me forth!

(The guards shrink from him.)
Judge.
Let him not leave the hall!
(The guards approach hurriedly—he stops and contemplates them sternly, till they gradually retreat from his eye.)
Before we spill thy blood—

Otho.
(Nodding)
—There are certain forms—I know it all, my Lord—
To sanctify the deed—

Judge.
We will array thy crimes against thee, man;
And thou may'st answer them.
(Otho bows assent.)
Thou art a murderer!

Otho.
'Tis false!

Duke.
(Clasping his hands and lifting them to heaven in agony.)
—O yes, thou art!

Otho.
Well, be it so, old man. He was thy son,
And I can pardon thee.

Duke.
Yes, dreadful man!—he was my son.

Otho.
Well, let me be a murderer then—What next?

Judge.
A pirate—robber—

Otho.
And that is false!—I warred against the world.
Can ye be men!—And would ye spill my blood,
For fighting millions!
I am an outlaw too—Well, be it so.
But heroes—warriours!—they are outlaws too;
Am I a pirate!—They are pirates, too—
When they descend upon the foaming deep,
And battle for their crowns. I strove for death;
That was the diadem I sought in blood!
But ye are men—now hear my plea.
(Ida leans towards him with the most earnest attention, still clinging to her father, whose eyes are rivetted upon Otho.)
Once, I was young—I panted to be great—
Then man and I were friends—I did no crime,
Moved high as ever, with as brave a heart;
When, lo! the battle raged!—The thunders came!
And heaven arrayed itself against my head!
Man hunted me to solitude—to night!
From sunshine to a tomb—the silent place.
There I had done no crime, I loved him yet—
And would have died in secrecy.—But there,
He baited me!—He dragged me forth to light!
And then my vengeance fell!—He slept, in blood!
[OMITTED]
And then I stood and heard the thunders roll
And saw the lightnings blaze all wart the skies!
I saw the mountain reel! and oaks bow down,
In terrible submission—
—Yet I stood!
Unshaken in the uproar—undisturbed!
That was my birth!—my spirit was revealed!
I felt alone amid a universe!
For man and woman were my foes.—And HE!
HE had forsaken me!—I had no God!
(Gathering his whole soul in depth and solemnity.)
For I was born a bastard!

Duke.
(Covering his face)
A bastard! mercy! Oh!
(Kneeling)
Merciful heaven!

(Otho steps into the very centre of the assembly.)
Otho.
But, for my crimes—Let my accusers come.
Aye wake them from the tomb! I'll meet them all!
If I have slain them they shall hear my plea.
I was a bastard—and I had no rights
From man—society or states—and I
Owed no allegiance on the earth.
No laws were made for me. The bastard's rights
Are guarded by his sword!—He owns no laws—
Enough!
Here, in the face of heaven and earth, I call
On my accusers to produce their proofs.
Who have I slain, but in my own defence?
Where are my deeds of blood?
As Ola, I was brave—and slew in war—
Licensed by man to slay!
Who have I murdered?—I have spilt my blood,
For women and for children!

(During this speech Ida has been approaching nearer and nearer in her intense earnestness and now almost touches him. The Duke observes her.)
Duke.
O, fly, my child!
(Snatching her up.)
—He slew thy brother!

Ida.
(Still looking upon Otho and shaking her head.)
Oh, no—no, no—

Judge.
Thou art a rebel to thy Prince and King.

Otho.
And that is false. I reverence my King—
And— (solemnity)
have no prince.—

2d Judge.
But thou didst crush a soldier's heart.

Otho.
Did I! and whose?

All.
The Soldier's! the Soldiers!

Otho.
Let him appear.

(The word passes along. “The Soldier! the Soldier”— Otho calmly fronting the door.)
(Enter the Soldier, appearing as a middle aged man, in a magnificent dress.)
Duke.
O, God!—O, God!
(falling on his face.)
(General amazement and dismay—Soldier attempts to support the Duke—who shrinks from him in horrour.)
—Away!—away!—Begone—
(Duke slowly recovers his self-command—Stands and— but in terrour.)
Thou art a fearful apparition—Whence,
Art thou to-night?— (Stranger points downwards—Duke appears disturbed—wildly.)

And thy young wife?—O, heaven!— (faints)


(Duke borne off.)
Otho.
Come, Soldier, come—give me thine aged hand!

(Soldier grasps it and drops at his feet, with an expression of reverence and affection.)
All.
At his feet!—the Soldier there!

Judge.
Merciful powers!

Otho.
(Looking around triumphantly)
—Did I crush his heart?

Judge.
But thou didst break a woman's heart.

(Re-enter Duke—looking about with a troubled air, without seeing the Soldier—who is hidden by a pillar.)
Otho.
Did I? And whose?

Duke.
Man, canst thou ask?—the wife of him thou'st slain!

Otho.
Well, bring her forth—Go marshal, bring her forth!
And she shall tell ye, if I broke her heart;
And slew her husband.—

(Exit Marshal.)
Duke.
But thou didst slay my son—

Otho.
(Losing his stateliness)
—Thy son!—O God!
(Dreadful calmness)
His son—Yes, so I did!
(Ida, who had again advanced—retreats now.)
I was a bastard—that's my only plea.
Do ye not feel it!—Are ye men?—Ye must!
Think what it is to go abroad in day—
Day after day—year after year—and live
In hopeless solitude!—Night after night
Consumed in panting for the unknown bliss
Of friendship—sympathy—and love—
Nothing to turn to here—or hope in heaven—
(Ida approaches involuntarily—gradually relinquishing her hold of the Duke's mantle.)
For there—we are alone!—and dare not meet
A face we knew on earth—
(Ida still approaching—unobserved—All have their eyes on Otho's countenance—Duke affected.)
This is the curse of bastardy!—this it is
To feel a living desolation in your heart!
To have no curses like a mother's smile:
To have no father that may hear your prayers
But for his death—
No gallant brother that may share your toils—
Your perils or your fame—but infamy—
No wife—No sister—
(Ida timidly reaches up her hand at his side.)
—And no child!
(Observes her)
—Oh, God!
(Kneels and embraces her in agony.)
O, bless thee—bless thee, little one!

Duke.
My child!—my child!— (Attempts to pluck her from him in terrour as he is searching his bosom for a dagger unobserved by all but Otho.)


Otho.
Old man—I slew thy son— (In a smothered voice)

—And bold thy child!—
We never part alive!—

(Folds his arms around her.)
1st Judge.
(Rising)
—Release the child! (Officers crowd around)


(Enter Ala, leaning on the Soldier. Ida utters a faint shriek—and the Duke stabs Otho to the heart.)
Duke.
There, murderer, die!

Otho.
(With a faint laugh)
Enough! enough! (Staggers to the feel of the Duke and raises his arms.)

—My father!—bless me!—once—

Ala.
(Throwing herself by his side)
I am revenged!
O, Osmyn! Osmyn!

(Otho dies.)
All.
Osmyn! Osmyn!— (Curtain begins to descend.)


Soldiers.
The bastard!—the bastard!

Soldier.
(To the Duke who appears stupified)
That is thy son!— (distant shouts—roll of drum.)


(Duke extends his hand—Catches the Soldier's arm— trumpet—recovers—recognizes him—Utters a cry of horrour—reels.)—
(Curtain falls.)