University of Virginia Library

I. VOL. I.

TRIBUTARY POEMS.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE LATE GENERAL BURGOYNE, Author of the Heiress, a Comedy, &c. &c. &c.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY JAMES BOADEN, Esq. AUTHOR OF Fontainville Forest, The Secret Tribunal, The Fruits of Faction, a Poem, &c.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE LATE ROBERT MERRY, Esq. Member of the Academè della Crusca at Florence.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE REV. WILLIAM TASKER, Translator of the Classics and Author of “Aviragus,” a tragedy.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE HONOURABLE JOHN ST. JOHN, Author of “Mary queen of Scots,” an historical Tragedy, “The Island of St. Marguerite,” an Opera, &c. &c. &c.

Congenial spirits own congenial fires,
Where vivid fancy every thought inspires;
The taste of Reynolds we behold again
In ev'ry beauty of thy mournful strain.
No envy dims the lustre of thy lays,
No mean disguise obscures thy generous praise;
But as the tuneful line mellifluous flows,
Thy genius kindles, and thy fancy glows!
Still, still pursue the lesson truth inspires,
Still tune thy harp, amidst exulting fires.
And when thy gentle form in death is laid,
And all thy wondrous attributes shall fade,
The grateful tributary son of woe,
Transcendent Sappho! sound thy tomb shall flow.
There Middleton's meek shade shall hover near,
There Garrick's sainted spirit shall appear,
There beauteous Linley raise her angel tongue,
And Chatterton shall strike his lyre new strung!
And 'midst the mingling sounds thy name shall rise
The brightest planet in its “native skies.”

IMPROMPTU TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY HIS GRACE THE LATE DUKE OF LEEDS.

SONNET TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE REV. DR. PAUL COLOMBINE, OF NORWICH. On reading her Legitimate Sonnets.

What voice attun'd to the soft Lesbian lute
Breathes in this rugged clime such accents clear?
What British Sappho warbles thro' the year,
When ev'ry grove in Greece is lorn and mute?
The Muse and the Graces held dispute,
Which at her birth the blooming babe should rear
Their blended gifts in her so bright appear.
Who would not strive to press the tender suit,
To win the beauteous prize? where'er she moves,
Whene'er she speaks, she fascinates each eye
And winds around each heart: the tender loves,
With genius, taste, and varied harmony,
So breathe in her soft lay, hoar age approves,
While youth, fond youth, dissolves in ecstasy.

SONNET TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY JOHN TAYLOR, Esq.

Think not thy numbers Sappho's woes declare,
And all her fervid passion's fond excess,
Though thy rapt Muse's glowing strains express
Of Love's sad victims each romantic care,
Warning weak hearts to shun the roseate snare;
Though Phœbus deigns thy tow'ring flights to bless,
And all his Sons thy nobler pow'rs confess
That o'er their highest aims sublimely dare.
No, Laura, thus pre-eminently taught,
Mellifluous warblings of the heav'nly train,
With poesy's delightful magic fraught,
Yet other notes reveal'd the Lesbian's pain;
For, ah! had Sappho's Muse such accents caught,
The faithless youth she had not lov'd in vain.

SONNET TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY JOHN TAYLOR, Esq.

IMPROMPTU. TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE SAME, On receiving her Poems.

BOUQUET FOR MRS. ROBINSON, AN IMPROMPTU,

BY THE LATE RICHARD TICKEL, Esq. Written a few Months only previous to his death.

The Rose is like thy glowing cheek,
When deck'd with tears of pity meek.
The Lily, like thy spotless breast,
By love's delicious pinions prest.
The Blue Bell like thy azure eyes,
Where Cupid's wand'ring arrow lies!
The Violet like the veins that twine,
Along thy oval front, divine!
Then, Laura, quick these emblems take,
And wear them for the giver's sake.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE SAME.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY ROBERT MERRY, Esq. Member of the Academè Della Crusca at Florence.

Sweet is the calmly cheerful hour,
When from mute midnight's ebon tow'r
The moon escapes, and sportive hies
O'er the gay garden of the skies;
Where Nature's noblest flow'rs unfold
Their starry buds of burning gold;
The weary winds pant on the deep,
Or 'mongst the cradling billows sleep;
The streams their lucid lakes display;
The forests shake their sighs away;
Soft lustre ev'ry shade pursues,
That darkly drinks the falling dews;
While odour from her silken wings
An aromatic ether flings.
All is delight! but, ah! in vain
These varying glories bless the plain;
For see, the frenzied lover speeds
From the bright groves and glitt'ring meads,
From gaudy hills, enchanted bow'rs,
And flowing waves and summer show'rs;
And seeks the lovely pensive cave,
Where he may groan, and weep, and rave;
And wrap his thoughts in sablest gloom,
And lure a transport from the tomb;
Where he may hope to rest at last,
When Passion's rending pangs are past.
But e'en if then he chance to hear
The warbling of the bird sincere,
Who loves her secret pangs to throw
In all the melodies of woe,
His heart relents, his trembling lid,
In pity's lucid veil is hid;
Subjected agonies depart,
And soft'ning sorrow soothes his heart.
So I, dear Laura! long supprest
The thorn of anguish in my breast;
Lost to each social solace gay,
And heedless of the blooms of May;
And heedless of the haughty Sun,
When, to his mad meridian run,
He lifts his red refulgent shield,
And fires the Heaven's eternal field.
Yes, I from each allurement fled
To where incumbent darkness spread;
Trod the black torrent's gloomy side,
And held fierce converse with the tide.
Ah! then thy numbers seiz'd my soul,
I found the thrilling sadness roll
In sweet similitude of joy,
That might my direst griefs destroy:
They stole upon my tranced sense,
As the fresh gales of morn dispense
New life to ev'ry shrub that fades
In Solitude's neglected shades.
Transcendent Laura! now receive
The tribute gratitude shall give;
Due to thy verse, whose sainted glow
Bade my lost soul renounce its woe:
Then frown not on my daring lay
That strives to paint the golden day;
To tell the lustre of the rose,
And thy resistless charms disclose;
But think, when in the grave's cold sleep
My wretched eyes shall cease to weep,
And, troubled by the wint'ry breeze,
This sad, this burning heart shall freeze,
Then shall my ling'ring verse declare
How much I priz'd the good and fair!
What tenderness my soul conceiv'd,
How deeply for thy suff'rings griev'd,
While future Poets, future ages join,
To pour in Laura's praise their melodies divine.

TO MRS. ROBINSON.

TO MRS. ROBINSON, ON HER VISITING BATH IN ILL HEALTH.

BY JAMES BOADEN, Esq.

Maria from the busy circle flies,
To breathe the purer bliss of brighter skies,
Forsakes the scenes of her expanding fame,
To renovate the anguish of her frame;
Mentally perfect, her enlighten'd mind,
Superior to disease, springs unconfin'd;
Ranges the regions of the Muse's reign,
Exempt from our inheritance of pain;
And, while keen pangs oppress her lovely face,
Wings the pure Ether of poetic space;
Floats in the fragrance of the rubied rose,
And shuts its bosom up in rich repose!
So may these lines possess the placid pow'r,
To soothe thy suff'rings in some torturing hour.

TO MRS. ROBINSON,

BY THE LATE ROBERT OLIPHANT, Esq. Of Clare Hall, Cambridge.

LINES ADDRESSED TO MRS. ROBINSON.

BY THE LATE JOHN HENDERSON, Esq. On reading a little Welsh Ballad written by Mrs. Robinson entitled “Lewin and Gynniethe.”

A STRANGER MINSTREL.

BY S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq. Written a few weeks before her death.

IMPROMPTU ON MRS. ROBINSON

Being present at the performance of the Merchant of Venice at Covent Garden. BY THE LATE JOHN HENDERSON, Esq.

Whilst Macklin Shakespeare's Shylock holds to view,
See beauteous Robinson out-act the jew;
One pound of flesh his malice could assuage,
Her Christian charms severer bonds engage;
When love-inspiring eyes their darts dispense,
Who meets the glance must expiate th' offence;
In vain applause would pay the debt in part,
She claims the sacrifice of every heart.

TO MRS. ROBINSON.

BY THE REVEREND B. BERESFORD.

Full many a conflict hath my bosom prov'd,
To chase thy image from its dwelling there;
Full many a sorrow, many a tender care,
For thy dear sake I've suffer'd, best belov'd;
For, since thy beauties did my heart invade,
Oft have I strove my liberty to gain;
Oft, in soft solace to my am'rous pain,
For balm, to heal the wounds which love has made,
I court the muses; to assuage my grief
Court sage philosophy; for vain relief,
In quest of joy, I rove from fair to fair;
Vain other charms, and vain philosophy!
My vagrant heart must still return to thee,
And one dear smile is worth an age of care!

LINES ADDRESSED TO MRS. ROBINSON.

Written by the Author of “Hartford Bridge,” &c. &c. in 1780.

The Seaman, from winds and the fury of seas,
Each harbour will bless where he anchors at ease;
Yet with fonder regard will he eye the wish'd strand
Where his vessel is destin'd and cargo must land.
—So I, dear Maria, on life's ocean tost,
When I cannot keep sea, veer about for the coast,
And praise ev'ry harbour where shelter is found;
But thou art the port where my wishes are bound.
Those wishes accept, and abhorr'd may I be,
If I e'er fram'd a wish that meant evil to thee!
While, restless, from region to region I roam,
My heart, still untravell'd, seeks thee for its home.
Oh! yield it abode! and, believe me, my fair,
Of this breast thou art tenant, none else harbours there;
There, sweet star of beauty, thy dear image dwells,
Wings the fond pulse of passion, the sigh ever swells,
Gives a tide to the current that bathes the warm heart,
Till, grown to the soul, it becomes e'en a part!
Then yield it abode. Bow, ye monks, and be blest,
The Heav'n I crave is a place in her breast;
And say, breathes a monk who'd in secret reprove
A devotion so true to the altar of love?
Beshrew the cold being whom, rigid and fell,
Nature forms a recluse and devotes to a cell!
Let him melt o'er his relics, at beauty congeal,
And saints praise his apathy, idiots his zeal:
With love in my heart, and with thee in my eye,
What zeal can divinity equal supply?

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. ROBINSON.

BY DR. WOLCOT.

POEMS, &c.

PETRARCH TO LAURA.

AINSI VA LE MONDE. INSCRIBED TO A FRIEND.

SIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ. OCULIST TO HIS MAJESTY.

SOLITUDE.

THE PROGRESS OF MELANCHOLY,

A FRAGMENT.

THE CAVERN OF WOE.

MONODY

TO THE MEMORY OF MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE, Written immediately after her execution.

ODES.

ODE TO THE MUSE.

ODE TO DELLA CRUSCA.

Enlighten'd Patron of the sacred Lyre!
Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song
Revibrates on the heart
With magic thrilling touch,
Till ev'ry nerve, with quiv'ring throb divine,
In madd'ning tumults, owns thy wondrous pow'r;
For well thy dulcet notes
Can wind the mazy song,
In labyrinth of wild fantastic form;
Or with empassion'd pathos woo the soul
With sounds more sweetly mild
Than Sappho's plaint forlorn,
When bending o'er the waves she sung her woes,
And pitying Echo hover'd o'er the deep,
Till in their coral caves
The tuneful Nereids wept.
Ah! whither art thou flown? where pours thy song?
The model and the pride of British bards!
Sweet Star of Fancy's orb,
“O tell me, tell me, where?”
Say, dost thou waste it on the viewless air
That bears it to the confines of high Heav'n?
Or does it court the meed
Of proud pre-eminence?
Or steals it o'er the glitt'ring Sapphire wave,
Calming the tempest with its silver sounds?
Or does it charm to love
The fond believing maid?
Or does it hover o'er the Alpine steep,
Or, softly breathing under myrtle shades,
With Sympathy divine,
Solace the child of woe?
Where'er thou art, Oh! let thy gentle strain
Again with magic pow'r delight mine ear,
Untutor'd in the spells
And mysteries of song.
Then, on the margin of the deep I'll muse,
And bless the rocking bark ordain'd to bear
My sad heart o'er the wave,
From this ungrateful isle;
When the wan queen of night, with languid eye,
Peeps o'er the mountain's head, or thro' the vale
Illumes the glassy brook,
Or dew-besprinkled heath,
Or with her crystal lamp directs the feet
Of the benighted Trav'ller, cold and sad,
Thro' the long forest drear,
And pathless labyrinth,
To the poor Peasant's hospitable cot,
For ever open to the wretch forlorn;
O then I'll think on Thee,
And iterate thy strain,
And chant thy matchless numbers o'er and o'er;
And I will court the sullen ear of night,
To bear the rapt'rous sound,
On her dark shadowy wing,
To where, encircled by the sacred Nine,
The Lyre awakes the never-dying song!
Now, Bard admir'd, farewell!
The white sail flutters loud,
The gaudy streamers lengthen in the gale,
Far from my native shore I bend my way;
Yet, as my aching eye
Shall view the less'ning cliff,
Till its stupendous head shall scarce appear
Above the surface of the swelling deep,
I'll snatch a ray of hope,
For Hope's the lamp divine
That lights and vivifies the fainting soul,
With ecstacies beyond the pow'rs of song!
That ere I reach those banks
Where the loud Tiber flows,
Or milder Arno slowly steals along,
To the soft music of the summer breeze,
The wafting wing of Time
May bear this last Adieu,
This wild, untutor'd picture of the heart,
To him whose magic verse inspir'd the Strain.

ODE TO GENIUS.

ODE TO REFLECTION.

ODE TO ENVY.

ODE TO HEALTH.

ODE TO VANITY.

ODE TO MELANCHOLY.

ODE TO DESPAIR.

ODE TO THE SNOW-DROP.

ODE TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

SECOND ODE TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

ODE TO ELOQUENCE.

ODE TO THE MOON.

ODE TO MEDITATION.

ODE TO VALOUR.

ODE TO THE MEMORY OF MY LAMENTED FATHER,

Who died in the service of the Empress of Russia, December 5, 1786.

ODE TO NIGHT.

ODE TO HOPE.

ODE TO HUMANITY.

Written during the Massacres at Paris, in September, 1792.

ODE TO THE HARP OF LOUISA.

TO THE MUSE OF POETRY.

TO THE BLUE BELL.

NEGLECT.

ODE TO MY BELOVED DAUGHTER,

On her Birth-Day, October 18, 1794.

ODE TO WINTER.

HORATIAN ODE.

ODE FOR THE 18th OF JANUARY, 1794.

TO PEACE: FROM THE “SHRINE OF BERTHA,”

A NOVEL, BY MISS ROBINSON.

ODE IN IMITATION OF POPE.

TO APATHY.

ODE TO THE SUN-BEAM.

BEAUTY's GRAVE.

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

ODE INSCRIBED TO THE INFANT SON OF S. T. COLERIDGE, Esq.

Born Sept. 14, 1800, at Keswick, in Cumberland.

TO THE POET COLERIDGE.

LINES TO THE REV. J. WHITEHOUSE.

On receiving a copy of his Odes lately published, from the author.

TO THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.

LINES INSCRIBED TO P. DE LOUTHERBOURG, Esq. R. A.

On seeing his Views in Switzerland, &c. &c.

ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK.

MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF CHATTERTON.

ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF WERTER.

THE SICILIAN LOVER,

A DRAMATIC POEM.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Count Alferenzi, a noble Sicilian.
• Marquis Valmont.
• Leonardo, Brother to Valmont.
• The Prince Montalva, an illustrious Milanese.
• Duke Albert, his Son.
• Ricardo, Captain of Banditti.
• Francisco, an old Steward.
• Banditti.

• Belmonti,
• Lorenzi,
• Bellarmo.

• Honoria, Daughter to the Marquis Valmont.
• Constantia, Abbess of a Convent.
• Agnes, the Friend and Attendant of Honoria.
• Nuns.

Scene—Lombardy. Time—Sixteenth Century.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Pavilion at Valmont.
Enter the Marquis Valmont and Prince Montalva.
Valmont.
It shall be so! Think not, my honour'd liege,
That after a long life of busy toil
My reason can be sway'd by a weak girl:
From the first dawn of helpless infancy,
I've taught her mild obedience to my will,
And count upon her duty more than love.

Montalva.
I know her fix'd aversion to my son.

Valmont.
So weak a thought will not disturb my hopes.
Firm to my purpose, tho' the heav'ns should yawn,
And hurl their red bolts on my aged head,
I would not waver! For your son has worth
That makes his high descent his second claim!
This day, in single combat, he shall prove
The bravest youth that Lombardy e'er saw.

Montalva.
The sacred friendship that has link'd our minds,
From the warm sunny hour of lusty youth
To the chill winter of declining age,
First turned my fancy towards the fair Honoria!
Yet, rather than by sorrow's icy touch
To bend so sweet a blossom to the grave,
I would renounce my hopes, and her, for ever.

Enter Duke Albert.
Albert
to Valmont.
I greet you, noble Sir; and in your looks
Behold the herald of my future joy.

Montalva.
Alas! my son, fate frowns upon thy hopes;
The fair Honoria, rich Italia's star ------

Albert.
Say, what of her? Is there from nature's hand
So rare a model of transcendent worth?
The brilliant Hesperus that leads the day
Is not so cheering to the Pilgrim's sight
As she to mine!

Montalva.
Now, Albert, hear me speak:
When last I saw her, on the tender theme,
I mark'd on her pale cheek a trickling drop
The silent herald of approaching woe!

Albert.
O! 'tis the pure and fascinating gem
That nature gives to maiden modesty,
To make her work more lovely! Does not the flow'r
Most court the sense when deck'd with morning's tears?

Montalva.
And wouldst thou blast the sweet, the drooping bud?
Come, like a nipping, an untimely frost,
And wither all its beauties to the dust?
My son, I will not think so basely of thee;
A noble nature cannot taste of joy
That leaves another bankrupt and forlorn.

Albert.
I know that love can take all forms to please;
And think not that I nurse too vain a fancy,
If I dare hope Honoria will be mine!
A blush of meek complacency o'erspread
The snow of her pure bosom, when I told
My tale of tender import! Thus we mark
The lily, blended in a garland sweet,
Flush'd with the soft reflection of the rose!

Valmont.
Enter Honoria.

Honoria.
Indeed! I think this mandate somewhat cruel!
Relentless pow'r may drag me to the altar;
But the free soul shrinks from the tyrant's grasp
And lords it o'er oppression!

Valmont.
Silence, rash girl!
Again I urge, and with a father's right,
A proud alliance with the noble Albert.

Honoria.
Perish his name! for it is hateful to me.
O! I had rather be the poorest wretch
That on the barren mountain stands forlorn,
An exile from his kindred and his home,
Than barter honesty for empty shew!
Those who for paltry gold would part with peace
At best can prove themselves but thrifty fools.

Valmont,
grasping Honoria's hand.
Take heed, ungrateful girl, and mark me well;
The soul of Valmont cannot brook denial.

Honoria.
------ By yon azure dome
That flings its wondrous concave o'er the world,
I will encounter poverty or death
Rather than sell my freedom! This proud heart
Would burst with indignation, could my tongue
Pronounce a vow degrading to its honour!
Does the vain suitor arrogantly hope
To buy me like a slave?

Valmont.
Think on the splendours that await thy will.

Honoria.
Can the gay wreaths that bind a victim's breast
Conceal the agony that throbs within?
Give to the child of folly toys for fools;
My soul disdains them! I am Valmont's daughter;
Nor will I e'er disgrace my noble name
By being less than what that title makes me!

Valmont.
I would augment the lustre of thy days,
Place thee amidst such dazzling rays of glory,
That ev'ry eye should wonder to behold thee!

Honoria.
So the fierce flame of a meridian sun
Gilds the poor insect which it dooms to death!

Valmont.
Perverse destroyer of a father's hopes!
And dar'st thou disobey, when I command?

Honoria.
I dare not sell my soul!

Valmont.
Go, self-will'd fool!
Thy disobedience covers me with shame!
Oh! had thy mother liv'd, her gentle heart
Had throbb'd with anguish at thy wayward scorn;
'Tis for thy honour I this union urge,
What else can prompt me?—

Honoria.
Ambition!—not that emulative zeal
Which wings the tow'ring souls of godlike men!
But bold, oppressive, self-created pow'r,
That, trampling o'er the barrier of the laws,
And scattering wide the tender shoots of pity,
Strikes at the root of reason, and confines
Nature itself in bondage! Oh! 'tis vile!
But, thank the Gods! no spells can curb the mind,
While splendour's proudest claim is less than virtue!

Montalva.
Honoria, spare thy anguish and thy scorn;
And know, that ere the glories of my name
Should dimly gleam beneath a tear of thine
I would behold them perish; curs'd be those
Who, to advance their own ambitious hopes,
Would trample on the rights of truth and nature! [Trumpets without.

My son, that summons chides thy tardy lance!
I will attend thee, boy. Valmont, farewell.

[Exeunt Montalva and Albert.
Honoria.
Who is the cautious hero that accepts
The vaunting challenge of the haughty Albert?

Valmont.
I dare not tell; for 'tis the stranger's wish
That none should seek to know his rank or name.
From Sicily he comes, and nobly born;
Right well he wields the lance, and is most apt
In feats of chivalry and bold exploit!

Honoria.
From Sicily! my soul is chill'd with fear! [Aside.

Sir, I attend your will, and proud shall be
To witness Albert's valour! for believe,
Altho' I cannot love, I can be just;
Nor will the hero's youthful laurels fade
Because they twine not with the myrtle bough.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

[Opens, and discovers a spacious court in the palace of the prince Montalva, splendidly decorated for a tournament. Various spectators seated on rising benches; on one side a canopy, beneath which are seated, Honoria, (attended by Agnes) the prince Montalva (with Albert standing near him) and the Marquis Valmont.
On the opposite side of the stage stand three knights in armour, each wearing a scarf and helmet of the same colour as the standard borne by his page, who waits near him: Alferenzi stands at some distance, nearer the wing than the other knights, with his page also.
1st. Yellow, with a burning mountain. 2nd. Green, with a wreath of flowers and fruits. 3rd. Composed of silver waves, plain.
White, with the motto, Virtue is Nobility. His scarf white with gold fringe. As the curtain rises to soft music, children strew flowers and laurels. Then follow warlike trophies to martial music. When the stage is arranged, Albert descends from the steps of the throne, and approaches the armed knights.]
Albert
(to the first.)
If that my senses do not play me false,
Or my eyes dazzle with your noble bearings,
Methinks I read, beneath these quaint devices,
Illustrious names! This flaming standard,
Emblem of Etna's brow, that scorches Heav'n!
This crest of gold, that like a meteor burns,
Mocking the noon's fierce fires! do give thee out
Messina's Prince, illustrious Belmonti!

The Prince bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(to the second.)
This verdant ensign, this enamell'd wreath
(Tinted with rainbow dyes) which seems to grow,
And, while its perfume scents the unseen air,
Blushes with modest grace! I well devise
Sprang from the 'witching garden of the world,
Luxurious Italy! and therefore greet
Verona's noble Duke, the brave Lorenzi!

[The Duke bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(to the third.)
This silv'ry banner, that doth like the waves
Play in fantastic gambols with the air,
Dancing light-blossom'd in the sunny beam,
Bespeaks the Adriatic! Beauteous sea!
That doth encompass Venice with a zone
Bright as the morning sun! Thou dost declare
The offspring of Bellarmo, Duke of Venice.

[The Duke bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(approaching Alferenzi.)
Now, gallant stranger, let me ask, nor think
I mean uncourteously to mock your fancy,
Why thus conceal'd you enter in the lists?
What are your rights armorial?

[Alferenzi points to his standard.
Albert.
'Tis not enough
That innate lustre beams about your soul!
What are your claims to mingle in the contest?

Alferenzi.
Those claims that place the good above the proud!
The stream that rushes thro' these ardent veins
Flows from a source that never knew pollution!
Though sprung, brave Albert, from a sire whose arm
Has made the enemies of virtue tremble,
I scorn to shield me with another's name,
And only boast the honours I achieve.

Albert.
Most nobly urged! What is your passport here?

Alferenzi.
Nor gold, nor gems, nor purchas'd adulation,
Nor vap'rish vaunting, nor the breath of fools!
Nor flatt'ry's airy fame that bubbles down
The broad stream of the world, and bursts at last
In blank oblivion!

Albert.
High-sounding words
Beguile with magic power the sense they seize,
And cheat it into faith. But ere your name
Shines on the list of valour, of your worth
'Tis fit you give some sample.

Alferenzi.
Take my scorn! [Throwing his gauntlet.

Thus do I hurl my gauntlet at your feet
And mock your scrutiny; the hand it owns
Has neither palm'd with fools, nor let the base
Its blood contaminate! what would you more?

Albert.
If that thy soul be lofty as thy speech,
Thou art indeed right noble! I shall expect
That thou wilt give me proof without delay.

Alferenzi.
I do not fear; my lance will do that for me.

[The onset begins; Alferenzi stands more forward than the rest on the stage. Albert vanquishes Belmonti.]
Alferenzi
(aside.)
So falls the vaunting self-enamour'd fool!
The flame that soars too high evaporates,
And wastes in empty nothing!

[Albert disarms Lorenzi.
Alferenzi
(aside.)
Honours full blown, like summer flow'rs, decay!
I thought thy emblem was too fair to last!

[Albert vanquishes Bellarmo.
Alferenzi
(aside.)
So the swift storm scowls o'er the sunny spheres;
Brave offspring of the proud and silv'ry main,
Thou see'st that fame is fickle as the waves!

[Albert advances and gazes at Alferenzi.
Albert.
Now, haughty stranger, I will prove thy lance;
And either dim it with dishonour's stain,
Or sink beneath thy scorn!

[They fight; after a fierce onset, Alferenzi disarms Albert, and instantly kneeling, presents his scarf to Honoria, while the curtain falls to martial music.]

SCENE III.

—A Pavilion.
Enter Honoria and Agnes.
Honoria.
It is my Alferenzi, gentle Agnes!
He is the conqueror, and he well deserves
The proud affections of my captive heart!
Oh! didst thou mark him, when his glitt'ring lance,
Like the blue lightning arm'd with threat'ning death,
Rush'd on the bosom of his vanquish'd foe?

Agnes.
Each eye with admiration follow'd him
Thro' all the varying conflicts of the scene!
What is his parentage? his name is noble!

Honoria.
His father is a man of loftiest birth,
A brave Sicilian! This, his only son,
Was train'd to arms, and all Calabria's shores
Have rung with plaudits at his bold exploits!
Illustrious in himself, all outward show
Borrows those graces which it cannot lend,
For he derives no dignity from pow'r,
By fortune less distinguish'd than by fame!
Some few months since in Tuscany we met,
And there profess'd such vows of tender faith,
As neither time nor absence e'er can change.
Hither he came disguis'd, in hopes to win
My father's love by deeds of chivalry;
He has unlock'd the treasure of his heart
To my relentless parent, whose stern mind
Is still devoted to Montalva's heir!

Agnes.
Alas! I know not how to give you counsel.

Honoria.
I did not think that Nature's finest art
Could fashion Reason to sustain such woe!
Heav'n knows there's nothing so forlorn as I!
The sea-beat mariner, who on the shrouds
Hangs at the mercy of the warring winds,
Rock'd by the howling spirits of the deep,
May count him in a cradle of repose,
And think the roaring blast a zephyr's breath,
Compar'd with passion's wild and madd'ning storm!
Amidst the mingling labyrinths of thought,
Bewilder'd Patience turns, and turns again,
Till, hopeless and o'erwhelm'd, she faints and dies!

Agnes.
From childhood uncontrol'd, your soften'd mind
But ill can combat life's perplexing thorns.
Sole mistress of this castle's rich domains—

Honoria.
Aye! There again, oh! most disastrous state!
A mother's care in infancy I lost,
But the sad hour or manner of her death
I never yet could learn; my father's frowns,
Whene'er I press'd inquiry of her fate,
Still aw'd me into silence. Oh! if she liv'd,
Tho' poor, deserted, friendless, and oppress'd,
I would, o'er burning plains, or wastes of snow,
A barefoot wand'rer, seek her out, and bless her!

Agnes.
Strange rumours have been buzz'd abroad, and some
Have dar'd accuse—

Enter Albert.
Albert.
Honoria! is my destiny decreed!
Wilt thou not bend thy footsteps to that altar
Where meek-ey'd pity bathes the wounds of love?

Honoria.
Never! yon host of saints that know my thoughts,
Know they are fix'd, and tow'ring o'er my fate,
Like the vast rocks that bound the stormy main!
Let the fierce tempest of a father's rage
Dash my soul's purpose, as the foaming waves
Waste their vain fury on the flinty shore!
I can with patience bear all human ills;
All that gaunt poverty can heap upon me;
The cold disdain of insolence and pride,
Peace-wounding calumny, or death itself!
Rather than break my vows to Alferenzi.

Albert.
Perdition blast his hopes! the daring villain!
But he shall perish!

Honoria.
What—because he loves?
Oh! do not scatter my wild thoughts to frenzy!
'Tis not the province of a noble nature
To plunge a poniard in the vanquish'd heart!
Stain not thy glowing laurels, won by valour,
With the pale lustre of a woman's tears.
Albert, embattled legions have beheld
Thy dauntless crest bound with immortal wreaths!
Then know, the sword that's steep'd in gallant blood
Should at the fount of pity cleanse its stains,
Ere reason aches to see it! Spare thy foe,
Nor let the poison fell of private hate
Disgrace thy kindred or thy country's fame!

Albert.
I will be calm, if thou wilt bid me hope.

Honoria.
There's not a wretch that breathes but dares to hope.
The wither'd tenant of a dungeon's gloom,
Who, shut unpitied from the face of heav'n
Almost forgets the radiance of the sun!
Still in his prison sees effulgent hope,
That dissipates the horrors of still night,
And bids him smile upon his galling chain!
That pow'r instinctive braves the tyrant's nod;
Secure within itself, the conscious soul
Still feeds on hope, and triumphs to the last!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Evening. Before Valmont's Castle. Enter Alferenzi.
Alferenzi.
This is the hour, when on yon lofty terrace
Honoria comes to taste the evening air,
And with the dulcet tinkling of her lute
Bids the lorn nightingale forget his tale,
And pause, in wonder rapt! The crimson west
Gilds the grey battlements with blushing gold,
And viewless myriads o'er the fainting flow'rs
Close their long sultry day with humming song.
As through the valley pensively I wander'd,
At ev'ry cottage door the weary hind
Sat 'midst his infant race, with ditty old,
Cheating the trav'ller Time; while twilight's hand
O'er the still landscape drew a dusky veil:
Ere now, the freckled carle forgets the world,
And in his unbarr'd chamber sweetly sleeps,
Lull'd by the music of the mountain breeze!

Enter Valmont, from the castle.
Valmont.
I thought to find the victor—Alferenzi!

Alferenzi.
Then thou art not deceived, for I am he—

Valmont.
It ill becomes a valiant son of honour
To lurk at this still hour, and seek occasion
To act a scene of darkness. Turn thy thoughts
To the broad field of conquest and renown;
Nor waste in am'rous folly manhood's prime,
While glory and ambition claim your sword.

Alferenzi.
I do not need your counsel, for I know
A soldier's valour is his country's fame!
Yet Heaven forbid ambition's furious tide
Should whelm the milder virtues of the soul:
The proudest triumphs that await the brave
Look not so beauteous in the sight of Heav'n
As mercy's humblest tear!

Valmont.
A weak evasion!
Again I tell thee, that Honoria's heart
Is pledg'd to brave Montalva's only heir!

Alferenzi.
Her hand, thou mean'st; but may the God of battle
Amidst whole legions of the foe forsake me,
May foul dishonour blight my fairest hopes,
If ever I renounce thy peerless child!
Curst be the sordid wretch whose grov'ling soul
Would bind in golden chains a trembling slave;
Or, like a dastard, traffic with the base,
To sell that freedom Heav'n design'd for all!

Valmont.
Thy rage, rash youth, can only move my pity;
Nor will I dim the lustre of my sword
To curb or to chastise—a daring stripling.

Alferenzi
(drawing his sword.)
Defend thyself!—yet, soft, a moment's pause—
Thou art the father of my soul's best darling;
The source of all the light that gilds my days!
And therefore—I forgive thee.

Valmont.
Vaunting slave!
What then, at last thou prov'st thyself a braggart!
An empty, bold, an arrogant presumer!
Boy, the young blood forsakes thy quiv'ring lip—
Is it the touch of fear or secret malice? [Alferenzi raises his sword, then lowers it.

Guilt! conscious guilt unnerves thy trembling arm,
While her pale ensign blanches o'er thy cheek;
Nay, frown again, while I, with smiles repay
The foe I scorn to combat.

Alferenzi
(sheathing his sword.)
Have a care!
I do conjure thee, venerable man,
Urge not my hand to do a deed of horror!
I would not be thy murd'rer—

Valmont.
Nobly said!
Then swear, by faith, by honour, and your sword,
Never again to see her. Dost thou pause?

Alferenzi.
O! bid me rather curse yon glorious orb,
That rolls his burning chariot thro' the sky!
Tell me, with base and sacrilegious hands
To murder smiling infants, or profane
Religion's still and consecrated shrine:
Bid me rush forth, a damned parricide,
And drink the life-stream of a parent's heart!
There is no deed of horror so abhorr'd
As violation of my faith to her.

Valmont.
She will but mock you; for to-morrow's dawn
Will see her Albert's bride; and till that hour
She keeps her chamber: such are my commands;
And she respects a father's right too much
To think of Alferenzi!

Alferenzi.
'Tis false as hell.
She will not so degrade the soul she owns,
Nor will I brook a rival! Tell him so;
Tell the vain boaster that a father's pride
Shall by a lover's vengeance be chastis'd.

[The Castle bell strikes.
Valmont.
The bell now calls me home to ev'ning pray'r.
Mark me, rash boy; if ever you approach
These castle walls again, without my bidding,
That hour shall be your last! Think, and be wise.

[Exit.
Alferenzi.
To-morrow! if thou op'st thy golden eye
To see Honoria wedded to duke Albert,
Thy parting glance shall shine upon my grave!
Now will I to my solitary home,
To taste a lover's only food, sharp sorrow!
To paint on fancy's tablet my soul's joy,
And dream of bliss—tho' I should wake to madness.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE V.

A Gothic Hall, with a Gallery and Staircase.
Enter Honoria and Agnes.
Honoria.
A pris'ner, said'st thou?—in my father's castle!—
Here! where from infancy my growing reason
Has taught me to look forward with delight!
Is this the noontide of so blithe a promise?
Oh! Agnes, happy is the mountain peasant
That wakes exulting with the morning beam,
And, still a stranger to the cares of greatness,
Sinks to soft slumbers with the setting sun!
The seasons are to him but pleasing changes
Of labour and repose; his wife, his infants,
The smiling subjects bound by nature's laws
To decorate his little world of love!

Agnes.
Yet 'tis not always thus; for oft we see
That virtue, to the rugged wild retir'd,
Still finds the thorn affliction in its way.

Honoria.
But the rough child of nature knows no guile;
No honey'd poison meets his healthful lips,
Steep'd in the gilded chalice of deceit:
By poverty, from envy far remov'd,
No fawning sycophant assails his door,
Where holy innocence presides, secure!

Agnes.
Give not your thoughts to melancholy musing;
By pond'ring o'er past woe we oft neglect
The means of future joy.

Honoria.
Now, hear me, Agnes;
This night I promis'd in the forest's gloom
To meet my Alferenzi; there to pour
All my vast store of sorrows in his breast,
And then to seek oblivion!

Agnes.
Yet, Forbear!
Be not so rash; parental rage is transient,
And nature bends the heart to suffering virtue!

Honoria.
Oh! could transcendent virtue's charm subdue
The haughty spirit of my father's soul,
He had not with remorseless rage depriv'd
An only child of a fond mother's care.
But she's in Heav'n!

Agnes.
Yet, see thy Alferenzi—

Honoria.
[Valmont appears in the gallery.
Ah! do not mock my anguish; gods! to see him,
O'er the bleak desert or the craggy mountain,
Bow'd by the yelling blast and beating tempest,
No light save that the livid flash afforded,
Still would I wander, pleas'd and unrepining!

Agnes.
Attend—without the prospect of such danger,
You may hold converse freely; the stern guard
Your father makes the keeper of your prison
I can persuade to pity; if you'll venture,
The western portal shall be open to you,
And in the forest, by the midnight moon,
You may confer in safety, and unseen.

Honoria.
O! blessings on thee!—soft, this ray of hope
Dazzles my aching senses, and I start
As from a dream of horror, where the brain,
Stampt with the semblance of some phantom dire,
Reflects it, waking, to the fearful gaze!
Now, gentle Agnes! seek my Alferenzi!
Tell him, the gloom that hides a maiden's blush
Presents no terror to the spotless soul!
Guilt fears the witching hour of spectred night,
When on the murd'rers front the starting drop
Sits like the dew upon the pois'nous toad!
But virtue, guided by its own pure ray,
Treads the rude path, undaunted and secure.
Now to thy task, and may the pow'rs of pity
Guard thee from every ill! I will away,
And in my prison chamber wait thy signal.

[Exeunt severally.
[Valmont descends from the gallery.
Valmont.
Go, disobedient fiend!
Long shalt thou wait before thy minion comes:
The midnight moon, reflecting what she sees,
Shall veil her placid brow with tints of blood!
No sound shall greet thine ear with signal kind;
But the lone owl, with horror-boding shriek,
Shall pierce thy love-sick, palpitating heart.
How like her mother look'd the froward girl!
On that dread night, when her proud father fell,
So did she lure me to her fatal snare.—
Away, reflection! vengeance calls me hence;
And I obey the summons.

SCENE VI.

Before the Castle. Moonlight.
Enter Albert, wrapped in a Venetian cloak.
Albert.
I cannot be deceived!
I heard the voice of Agnes from the terrace
Call soft on Alferenzi! if he attends
The guilty bidding, ere the twilight gleams,
Or he or I must fall! now sullen night
Flings her star-spangled mantle o'er the globe,
And spirits hostile to the soul of man
Weave the dark web of mischief! bodings strange
Knock at my heart and make my pulses beat
As tho' the life-stream struggled with my fate. [A light appears in the tower.

That is Honoria's chamber; and she wakes
At this unusual hour; 'tis passing strange!
Hah! she approaches!

[Albert draws back.
Agnes comes forth from the castle.
Agnes.
Francisco is our friend;
Thus far kind fortune smiles upon our hopes!
How lovely is this silence! The faint breeze
Sleeps like an infant lull'd by its own song!
Scarcely three hours have wing'd their tardy flight,
Since from the watch-tow'r I distinctly marked
The pensive Alferenzi: on a bank
O'er-canopied by od'rous myrtle boughs,
With folded arms, like one not loving life,
Mournful he stood, inclining o'er the stream,
That seem'd to soothe him with its murm'ring sound. [She hears footsteps.

Now all the spirits of the night protect me!

[Exit.
Albert.
Oh! busy, cunning minister of ill!
Thou draw'st thy victim to that dizzy point
From whence my sword shall hurl him to destruction!
Come, sweet revenge, thou haggard imp of hell,
Come, let me riot in thy iron arms,
And glut my soul with luxury of hate!
Some one approaches—to my hiding place
Till I make sure of vengeance!

[Retires into the wood.
Enter Valmont, from behind the castle.
Valmont.
Ha! does the coward shun me?
Thus have I caught the thief in his own snare:
It must be Alferenzi, like a traitor,
Lurking in ambush, with a villain's hand,
To steal a father's treasure. Day's proud Lord
Soon as he decks his eastern car with fire,
Shall see the wily serpent writhe in death!
Thou God of retribution! Thou whose voice
Bids the pale caitiff dread the thunder's bolt,
Now shield my arm, and let it strike securely.

[Exit.
They fight in the wood.
Valmont re-enters, pale and aghast; one hand holds a drawn sword, the other is bleeding. Honoria opens a small door in the tower, and comes upon the battlements.
Honoria.
Agnes, oh! speak! is Alferenzi there! [A deep groan issues from the wood. Valmont starts.

Hark!
Do my startled senses yet deceive me,
Or did I hear a soul-departing groan
In yon dark tangled wood? Who passes there?
Speak, or the castle bell shall raise the country.
It must be some unwary traveller,
Benighted in this solitary gloom,
Waylaid and murder'd by conceal'd banditti!

Valmont
(fearfully.)
Be still, Honoria, 'tis thy father, child.
Send round a vassal to unbar the gate,
For I am faint with anguish.

Honoria.
Heav'ns! why that piercing tone of trembling fear?
I thought, ere now, that sleep had folded you
On the soft couch of safety and repose.
I will dispatch a vassal instantly
To give you entrance.

[Retires into the Tower.
Valmont.
Oh! thou blushing sword!
Thou instrument accurs'd, that gave away
My foul, sin-spotted soul, where shall I hide thee?

[The gate opens. Valmont enters.

SCENE VII.

—Honoria's Chamber.
A lamp burning near a window. A door open to the battlements, from which Honoria enters. The moon seen half concealed by clouds, opposite the door.
Honoria,
who wears the scarf of Alferenzi.
Agnes not yet return'd! That groan of death
Still vibrates on my brain, and bids me fear
For Alferenzi's safety—Heav'n protect him!

Valmont enters, with his sword drawn and his hand smear'd with blood. He shrinks at the sight of Honoria, who shrieks and runs towards him.
Honoria.
Prophetic pow'rs! Hah! what am I to think?
Why is that hand so gash'd, and stain'd with blood?
Speak, ere the current of my heart congeals,
And all my faculties freeze up with horror!
Thou'rt deadly pale! and the cold dew of fear
Doth glisten on thy brow! Alas! my father!

[Falls on his neck.
Valmont
(wildly.)
Peace! be silent. Heard you not the tempest
That shook our lofty tow'rs from their foundation?
Saw you the black wing of the howling blast
Sweeping our turrets, red with human gore?

Honoria.
I pray thee, help me bind this bleeding hand.
Ah! let me call assistance; thou art faint!

[Honoria binds the scarf round Valmont's bleeding hand.
Valmont.
Call, call the world's vast multitude to curse me!
Let hungry vultures batten on my heart;
Pluck out mine eyes to feed the eagle's brood,
Lest they, by gazing on thee, fear thy beauty!

Honoria.
Whence comes this strange disorder of thy brain?

Valmont.
From that infernal gulph where guilty souls
Howl in despair! Oh! 'twas a stormy hour!
The earth was palsied, and the vaulted spheres
Flash'd forth indignant flames, while all around
Pale spectres yell'd in triumph o'er the deed!

Honoria.
Thy fancy doth beguile thy better reason;
A night more still and calm I ne'er have seen!
'Tis the sweet pause when nature sinks to rest,
To wake again with renovated charms!
No object seems to move, save the thin clouds,
That, slowly floating o'er the grey expanse,
Veil the bright forehead of the silv'ry moon.

Valmont.
Thou art deceiv'd!
There is a fiend abroad with mildew wing,
Blighting creation! Hell yawns forth monsters,
And the blue air is chok'd with poison'd mists,
Thick'ning to hide the gen'ral wreck of nature!
Say, wilt thou aid the ministers of wrath
To curse an aged father?

Honoria.
Heav'n shield me from the thought!
Why dost thou ask such incoherent questions?
Whose were the crimson drops that stain thy sword?

Valmont.
He met me on my way; he cross'd my path;
Revenge, unsated, panted for his blood!
Would I had perish'd ere my sword had reach'd him.

Honoria.
Whom dost thou mean?

Valmont.
Thy lover!—Alferenzi!

Honoria.
Oh! monstrous and inhuman! quit my sight,
Lest I should, darting o'er the bounds of reason,
Tear all the bonds of filial love asunder,
And brand thee with the name of an assassin!
Go, hide thyself for ever, rash old man,
For thy deep-furrow'd cheek is stampt with murder!

Valmont.
Restrain thy frenzy; know, a father's life
Depends upon thy silence: I must hence
Before the broad and blabbing eye of day
Glares on the scene of slaughter! Fare thee well!
I would embrace thee ere we part for ever,
But that these red contaminated hands
Would stain thy white and unpolluted soul!

[Going.
Honoria.
Thou shalt not leave me:
Thou, whom the voice of nature taught me first
To love and honour, art more dear than ever,
Because thou art more wretched. [She goes to embrace her father, sees the bloody sword, and recoils with horror.

Put up that sword! It blasts my shatter'd senses!
Oh! I am lost! my wild ethereal spirit
Springs o'er the confines of this world's despair,
And flies to Alferenzi!

Valmont
(sheathing his sword.)
Already the grey dawn steals o'er the forest,
And tips our battlements with dusky light;
Danger comes trembling on the wings of time,
And time, not daring to record the deed,
Flies swiftly on! Come, let me lead thee, love.

Honoria
(wildly.)
Oh! lead me where all memory shall fade;
Where blank oblivion desolates the scene!
Yet, stay; I have a secret to unfold.
Seest thou yon star, that in the rosy East
Stands, like a lacquey, at the gates of day,
Scatt'ring afar the shadow-vested clouds
That on the glitt'ring threshold ling'ring hung?
All will be well! The sun will warm his breast,
And Heav'n's own tears, unseen by mortal eyes,
Will consecrate his grave! so pure is pity!

Enter Francisco. Honoria endeavours to conceal her father, particularly his hand.
Honoria
to Francisco (wildly.)
Well? Is he dead? What else has brought thee hither?
All guiltless souls devote this hour to sleep;
Then why are we still waking? Who art thou?

Francisco.
Forgive me, lady, for this bold intrusion;
But the deep groans I heard beneath our walls
Urg'd me to seek the Marquis—

Honoria.
Why? what is it to him? He knows not of it;
And if he did, 'tis now, alas! past cure.

Valmont.
This is the wand'ring of her scatter'd thonghts;
Do not disturb her farther; now, good night;
Get thee to bed [sternly], and when the sun peeps forth,
We'll to the forest—but your lady's safety,
Her mind disorder'd by some unknown cause,
Requires that I should watch her for a time:
Nay, no reply. Francisco, fare thee well. [Exit Francisco.

Come, let me lead thee.

Honoria.
Would it were to my grave!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

A Pavilion at Montalva's Castle.
Enter the Prince Montalva meeting Francisco.
Francisco.
Oh! venerable Prince! I've news to tell
Will seize the feeble fibres of thy brain,
And tho' thy nerves could mock the temper'd steel,
Would shiver them with horror!

Montalva.
Where's my son?
All the long night I watch'd for his return.
Heav'n grant no ill betide him.

Francisco.
Well I know,
He that reports ill news ungracious seems,
Howe'er his phrase be fashion'd: therefore hear
A tale that mocks all harmony of speech!
Startled by groans of anguish, I arose
Ere I had pressed my pillow one short hour,
And to the forest, where the tow'rs of Valmont
Rear their dark battlements, pursu'd my way;
There, hold my heart while I reveal a story
Big with all Hell's worst horrors! your brave son
Lay by the thicket side, a piteous corse;
The ruddy stream once mantling o'er his cheek
Had flown to drench a dire assassin's sword!

Montalva.
Nay, then, my weary journey soon will end,
And my long pilgrimage of worldly woe
Fade like a fev'rish dream! The source is still
From whence my spring of rapture rose so bright!
The flow'r that deck'd my silver hairs is dead!
Blasted and scatter'd by the ruthless storm!

Francisco.
Oh! 'twas a cruel deed—

Montalva.
Alas! Francisco!
And shall I never see my child again?
Never, in converse sweet, beguile the hour
That closes life's dull scene? It is most strange,
So near the castle, and at night's still noon,
When ev'ry moaning breeze distinctly steals
O'er meditation's ear, to be so butcher'd!

Francisco.
I know not what to think; yet much I fear
Some secret malice urg'd the murd'rer's sword
More than the hope of plunder.

Montalva.
Even so!
Oh! good Francisco! Heav'n absolve my soul,
If, without proof, I judge a fellow creature;
But shrewd suspicion points at Alferenzi:
A rival's hate alone could prompt an act
So fraught with ruin! Oh! my gallant Albert!

Francisco.
Say, shall I lead you to him? The rude swains
And village girls have strew'd his graceful corse,
And ev'ry fragrant bud was steep'd in tears!

Montalva.
Ah! let me not behold him; for my eyes,
If once they fix'd upon my murdered boy,
Would start with anguish from their humid spheres,
And yield me up to darkness! Here I swear,
Never to cherish hope or seek repose
Till I have dragg'd the curst assassin forth,
And, by the last deep groan that rends his heart,
Appeas'd the spirit of my valiant son!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

—In the castle of Valmont.
Enter Alferenzi and Agnes.
Alferenzi.
Gone! said'st thou Agnes? Both, at break of day,
Their course unknown, sudden, and unattended
What can it mean? Tell me, good gentle damsel,
Left she no word of kind remembrance for me?

Agnes.
I knew not of their flight till they departed;
Before the midnight hour crept half way on
To that which time proclaims the new-born day,
With sighs and tears, and many earnest pray'rs,
She vow'd her love and truth to Alferenzi.

Alferenzi.
Say on, fair Agnes! To the tortur'd wretch,
Stung by the pois'nous spider to the heart,
The sound of minstrelsy is not so sweet!

Agnes.
Wrung to the soul by a stern father's rage,
Last night she form'd the fatal resolution,
In cold monastic gloom to end her days;
And scarce an hour before her sudden flight
Me she dispatch'd to give you timely notice,
That to the forest she would steal at midnight,
And, by the waning lustre of the moon,
Bid her fond hopes and you farewell for ever.

Alferenzi.
Oh! most inhuman thought! most barb'rous wish!
Why did she fail to keep her promise then?

Agnes.
Alas! I know not; after tedious search
To find you wand'ring at th' appointed place,
I hasten'd to the castle, where I found
The outward gate unbarr'd; I pass'd along
The solitary courts, o'erwhelm'd with fear!
No light appear'd around the spacious pile,
Save a small lamp, which at a lattice grate
Shot from the western tow'r a feeble ray.

Alferenzi.
Why from the western tow'r? Who rested there?

Agnes.
It was the prison of my lovely mistress. [Alferenzi starts.

The melancholy stillness of the night
Made my own footsteps echo as I trod
The gothic cloisters that surround the courts:
On the white marble of the banner'd hall
I mark'd fresh drops of blood! and further on—

Alferenzi.
Hold! and be careful, I conjure thee, Agnes;
There is more terror in those little words
Than in the prospect of eternal pangs!
The father of Honoria! Oh! my soul!
This is thy last dread trial: she is dead!
The barbarous fiend has blotted nature's page,
And written murder with his poniard curst
Steep'd in the fountain of his daughter's heart!

Agnes.
Next to the chamber of my darling mistress
I flew, with hurried step and beating heart;
There, strew'd about, I saw her rich apparel,
That deck'd her person when I parted from her;
Her cross of brilliants, and her em'rald zone,
Thrown carelessly aside.

Alferenzi.
O! damned monster!

Agnes.
Then, wild with horror! to the northern tow'r,
Where the stern father erst was wont to pass
The midnight hour in sullen meditation,
I rush'd impatient; 'twas the dawn of day,
And thro' the painted casements purple light
Cast a faint lustre on the fearful gloom.
I gaz'd around me—

Alferenzi.
Was the blood there too?

Agnes.
Yes; on the garment of the haughty marquis:
The vest he wore last night was crimson-spotted
With human gore; scarce cold when I beheld it!

Alferenzi.
Oh! 'tis most sure!

Agnes.
Now hear me, Alferenzi;
Prepare thy soul to meet another proof,
As black as hell itself! I then descended
By a small winding staircase, dark and damp,
To the long gall'ry where, in pictur'd pomp,
The steel-clad ancestors of Valmont hung.
The clock struck three! Beneath the fretted roof
The hollow-sounding echo ling'ring stole!
I started! Horror chain'd me to the spot!
When, gazing on the ground with fear-fix'd eyes,
I mark'd this blood-stain'd scarf, which, when I left
My angel mistress, veil'd her beauteous breast!

Alferenzi,
taking the scarf.
Oh! horrible! beyond what thought can frame! [Puts the scarf into his bosom.

Grow to my anguish'd heart. Oh! wounded nature!
If in my breast one spark of mercy gleams,
Let these red drops extinguish it for ever! [Enter Francisco.

Francisco, where's thy mistress? quickly speak.

Francisco.
I fear, most noble Sir, she's in her grave!
When last I saw her—

Alferenzi.
Was she not living?

Francisco.
Scarcely, my Lord; so sadly wan she look'd,
That my old eyes did make my manhood blush
Thro' many a trickling tear.

Alferenzi.
Poor victim!
And didst thou leave her so, unfeeling slave?

Francisco.
My Lord, I left her to a father's care;
She seem'd most deeply troubled; for her words
Were incoherent, wild, and sorrowful!
I would have call'd assistance, but the marquis
Commanded me to leave them.

Alferenzi.
Alone! Francisco?

Francisco.
Alone, my Lord; I dar'd not disobey;
His looks were terrible, and much I fear
Some direful purpose rankled in his soul.

Alferenzi.
Francisco, get thee hence; and let thy zeal
Give strict observance to thy searching eye.
Explore all secret corners of the castle,
Each darken'd niche, and ev'ry lofty tow'r;
Murder's a lurking fiend, and shuns the gaze
Of broad-ey'd honesty! Now fare thee well. [Exit Francisco.

Agnes, this father is a vile assassin!
A barb'rous monster, sacrilegious slave!
Who to the demon of insatiate wrath
Has sacrificed the life of his dear child!
Oh! thou fell wolf, could not so sweet a lamb,
With all the graceful eloquence of nature,
Arrest thy butcher's hand, and turn the knife
On thy own curs'd and most relentless bosom!
All Erebus, conspiring with thy fate,
Sent forth its blackest fiend to aid the deed,
And drag thy trembling soul to deep perdition!

Agnes.
'Tis likely noble Albert interpos'd
Too late to save Honoria, and was slain
By the rash marquis to impede pursuit.

Alferenzi.
Impossible! none but the famish'd tiger
Would kill the thing it lov'd; if Valmont's soul
Could bend a moment from its churlish mood,
That Albert was the dearest to his heart.
Alas! Honoria was his only victim!
Her bosom was the unpolluted temple
Where innate truth, majestically thron'd,
Fear'd not the subtle glance of malice fell,
Till, like the Basilisk, it seal'd its prey,
And feasted on its idol! All the earth
I'll traverse o'er to seek the monstrous villain;
And may the blue-wing'd bolts of Heav'n destroy me,
If e'er I rest till vengeance is complete!

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE X.

The inside of a cavern. The setting sun seen through a chasm in the rock. Ricardo and other banditti discovered drinking.
Ricardo.
'Tis strange, that thro' this solitary wood
No traveller has pass'd since yester-dawn!
Beshrew me but I'm weary of our trade;
Knaves are so multiplied, that honest men
Live better than ourselves; and more secure,
For each depends upon himself alone.

Second Robber.
Ricardo, dost thou doubt our firm alliance?

Ricardo.
In truth, not I; it is the Time's disease
That palsies honesty; for villains thrive
In such profusion of victorious guilt,
That secresy is useless to our calling.
Why skulk in cavern'd mountains, shrink from light,
And lurk in ambush for the trav'ller's gold,
While in the broad effulgence of full noon,
In cities, throng'd with gaping multitudes,
The bolder caitiff plunders all secure!

Third Robber.
Thou know'st the world, Ricardo.

Ricardo.
Yes; enough
To make me shun one half the race of man,
And pity all the rest! so frail is nature!

First Robber.
Discrimination finds no easy task
In searching the gay paths of busy life,
Where all is outward artificial show,
Put on to varnish falsehood.

Ricardo.
True; but deception wears so thin a mask,
That stern philosophy ne'er fails to note it.
Whatever shape, complexion, or disguise,
Hypocrisy may take, of ermin'd robe,
Or threadbare vestment scant, or witching smile,
Or cynic brow austere, it cannot hide
The base deformity that lurks within;
The bold and ragged knave less dang'rous still
Than he who pranks him in a cloth of gold!

Valmont.
(without.)
Hillo! within there.

Ricardo.
Silence, good fellows:
Let us retire, and shrewd observance make
Of our unwary guest; perchance some poor
And woe-worn pilgrim here would find a nook
To shield his body from the midnight blast:
Do not forget, my comrades, we are men.

[Exeunt to the inner cave.
Enter Valmont, in the habit of a vassal, supporting Honoria, who has a white veil partly thrown off her face: she enters fearfully.
Valmont.
Here nothing can molest thee. Night draws near,
And ere dim shadows shroud the twilight gleam
I'll venture forth; not far from this lone spot
I mark'd a clust'ring vineyard, whose scorch'd bank
Was kindly freshen'd by a limpid spring,
That from the neighb'ring steep meand'ring flow'd.
They shall supply our solitary meal;
And, when the smiling yellow-vested morn
Crowns with a wreath of gold the eastern hill,
We will pursue our journey. Cheerly, love;
Look up, and all our miseries will end.

Honoria.
Think'st thou that murder will not cry aloud,
And rouse the fates to vengeance? Will yon Heav'n,
Whose beamy eye encompasseth the world,
Wink at the deed of horror? Ev'ry thorn
That festers in the deeply-wounded mind
May from Time's lenient pow'r a balsam take
To draw its poison forth; save where the hand,
Blurr'd with the life-stream of a fellow creature,
Contaminates the means ordain'd to heal,
And leaves the wretch past cure!

Valmont
(grasping his sword.)
'Twere best to die!
That cure at least is ready to my grasp;
Thou know'st I am no coward—

Honoria.
Dreadful thought!
Oh! wouldst thou then destroy thy better part,
Turn from the balsam Heav'n in pity leaves
To cleanse thy soul's deep wound and seal its pardon?
Wouldst thou sum up the dark account of horrors,
And, by the sure damnation of thy deed,
Rush from this transitory scene of anguish
To the dread chaos of eternal woe?

Valmont.
The complicated pangs that rend my heart
Would melt the ministers of wrath to mercy.

Honoria.
But will not justice urge her sacred claim?
Will not the tongues of men denounce the act
That bids humanity recoil, aghast?

Valmont.
Why did I quit my home? My lofty state
Had silenc'd busy clamour, and forbad
The breath of calumny to taint my name!

Honoria.
Oh! empty sophistry! delusive hope!
'Tis in thy greatness thy conviction lies.
Unseen, the sweetest low-born buds decay;
But the proud Cedar, tow'ring on the rock,
Stands like a land-mark to attract men's eyes;
And, tho' it shares the bright meridian blaze,
It cannot 'scape the pelting of the storm!

Valmont.
Soon as my footsteps greet Helvetia's land,
I may defy my fate; for there, secure,
What slave shall menace Valmont?

Ricardo
(observing them from the inner cave.)
Valmont!

Valmont.
Hah! heard'st thou not a voice, with hollow sound,
Repeat the name of Valmont?

Honoria.
Such it seem'd;
'Twas but the echo of this vaulted cave.
Now let me rest; and while you venture forth
To seek refreshing fruits, I'll watch and pray!

Valmont.
I will not leave thee long; and Heav'n, I trust,
Will guard thee till my weary steps return.

[Exit.
Honoria.
Now all is still, and terrible as death!
Here meditation fearfully employs
The melancholy hour; yet unappall'd
Hood-wink'd destruction seems to stalk secure!
What, if my father should no more return?
How shall I find my way? where seek repose?
Oh! Alferenzi! [taking a picture from her bosom]
if thy spirit blest
Could visit these dread haunts, thou wouldst appear,
To soothe me with a gleam of consolation!

Ricardo
(still observing her.)
I will protect thee!

Honoria.
Celestial pow'rs! again the airy voice
Of some prophetic spirit strikes my soul
With petrifying sounds! Perhaps this cave,
Fill'd with enchantment, is the dark abode
Of spectres horrible, whose bleeding wounds
Make ghastly show of murder unaveng'd!
An icy languor creeps along my veins,
Forewarning me of danger near at hand!
My father, oh! return.—He hears me not!
Where shall I hide me? all within is death!
And all without, a solitary wild,
Bestrew'd with thorns and perilous to tread!
This inner cavern will be less expos'd
To the night's nipping air— [The robbers rush forth.

O God! defend me! What is your intent?
I do expect some mercy, as you hope
Yourselves to be forgiv'n!

Second Robber.
What are you, lady?

Honoria.
The wretched offspring of a wretched Sire;
A wand'ring exile from my native home;
Too poor for plunder, and too proud to weep;
For I believe that virtue bears a charm
Which bids the boldest villain shrink appall'd.

Third Robber
(siezing Honoria.)
Nay, if you brave us—you shall know our pow'r!

Ricardo.
Ruffian! stand back. Sweet lady, you are safe!
For he that lifts his sacrilegious hand
To strike at helpless woman, shames mankind,
And sinks his coward soul so deep in hell,
That nature scorns to own him! Spare your thanks;
I will defend you; we are desp'rate men;
But cruelty can never urge that sword
Which courage vaunts the bearing.

Honoria.
Generous man!
Now I can weep! But they are thankful tears!
Wrongs urge the soul to vengeance, and call forth
That pride which proves the antidote to grief;
But kindness steals so sweetly o'er the sense,
So melts the throbbing heart with tender joy,
That, as the sun darts forth amidst the storm,
The eye of grateful rapture beams thro' tears!

Ricardo.
Soon must I leave you, for the hour draws near
Which calls us to our watchful occupation.

Honoria
(kneeling to Ricardo.)
O! hear me.
If in your pathway you should chance to meet
A venerable man, for my sake spare him!
His years are nearly number'd; let him live
To make his peace with Heav'n! for much, I fear,
He's not prepar'd for death!

Ricardo.
He shall be safe.
Now, let me counsel you to seek repose.
In yon small cavern lies a rushy couch,
Where innocence may taste of balmy dreams,
For guilt has often slumber'd there secure!
Lady, Heav'n guard you!

[Exeunt banditti.
Honoria.
Thou art not us'd to pray! and yet thy voice
May find swift passport to the realms of grace,
When pious fraud may supplicate in vain;
For thou art merciful! Alas! I fear
Some savage thing hath cross'd my father's way;
The prowling wolf; or, what is far more fell,
Man, without pity for his hapless kind!
Thou solitary den, where guilt retires
To hold fierce converse with the fiends accurs'd,
Undaunted I approach thee! for that pow'r
Which guards the cradled infant while it sleeps,
Sustains the lab'ring bark amidst the storm,
And, while the tempest rends the mountain pine,
Shields the poor shepherd's cot, will not forsake
The child of sorrow in the hour of rest!

[Exit to the inner cave.

SCENE XI.

Night.
On one side, the Apennines, with the entrance of a Cavern half way up; on the other, a thick wood. Enter Valmont.
Valmont.
Oh! what a lost and wretched thing is man!
Who, bold in Hell's worst embassy, will start
At the small rustling of a beetle's wing!
The wind that moans along these cavern'd cliffs
Seems like the murmurs of a thousand tongues
That tell my soul's undoing! The faint stars,
The many-million eyes of prying Heav'n,
Gleam humid, and surcharg'd with nature's tears!
Yet what of that? 'Tis but my mind's disease,
That feeds faint reason with portentous signs,
And makes it sicken at the touch of thought!
What have I not committed that Heav'n loathes?
First, in the ghastly train of hellish crimes,
A noble brother, who in my defence
Slew a proud Milanese, beheld in me
His curs'd accuser; and, to exile driv'n,
Left me the lord of all his vast domains.
Next, a chaste wife I banish'd from her home;
My fickle sense was sated with her charms,
And meaner beauties triumph'd in their turn!
Where shall my fev'rish conscience find repose?
All the long sunny day, when Summer smiles,
And leads old Time in flow'ry garlands on,
A living spectre, hopeless and forlorn,
I journey forth to an oblivious grave?
Nor at that fearful goal will the dread strife
Feel blissful termination; for beyond
The rending pangs that warn the trembling soul
From its clay habitation, reason tells
Of something terrible! and yet so sure,
That nature starts to think on't! Hark! what stirs? [Alferenzi appears in the wood, and the day begins to dawn.

Is it the potent fever of my brain
That takes my coward fancy prisoner,
Or do I hear the sound of mortal tread? [After listening and looking round.

'Twas but the waving of the sun-parch'd boughs,
Whose tawny canopy o'erspreads the wood.

[Valmont advances towards the cavern. Alferenzi rushes forward.
Valmont.
Horrible spectre! wherefore dost thou haunt me?
Why from the shrouded pallet of the grave
Present the form of murder'd Alferenzi?
In pity hence; for know, that spirits pure
Can hold no converse with a damned wretch,
In whose convulsive soul all hell is raging!
Away! away!

Alferenzi.
Valmont! thy hour draws near!
I know thee, and will try what guardian fiend
Will blunt my sword, uplifted to destroy thee!
What wraps thee so in horrible conceit?

Valmont.
Thick mystery! that dims the mental eye,
And makes us, scarce believe us that we are,
Seeing, what cannot be! 'Tis all illusion.

Alferenzi.
Strike at my heart, inexorable parent!
Or guard thy own, for one of us must fall.

[Drawing his sword.
Valmont.
If Alferenzi lives, then all is well!

Alferenzi.
All is not well, prevaricating slave!
Draw, draw thy sword; let Heav'n decide between us

Valmont
(drawing his sword.)
Then be it so! Though thou hast once escap'd,
Thou'rt not invulnerable: now, come on;
I'll teach thy tongue to quell its lofty phrase,
Or perish in the combat.

[They fight; Honoria rushes forth from the cavern, and stands before the entrance.
Honoria.
Oh! spare him! spare him! [Alferenzi drops his sword.

Barbarian, do not kill an aged man!
Or stay thy sword, and let me perish with him!

(Honoria descends; Alferenzi recedes.)
Alferenzi.
Thou sainted spirit! shade of my Honoria!
That, like an angel, com'st to turn my sword,
And save my soul, thirsting for blood of man,
Do not approach me! ev'ry trembling nerve
Obeys thy potent eye, and the cold drops
That bathe my brain will quench the ray of reason.

Honoria
(Valmont leans against a tree.)
He lives! he lives! It is my Alferenzi!
Light of my life! dearer than life itself! [Embracing.

Oh! do these eyes behold thee once more breathing?
My father, here, before the face of Heav'n,
Kneel, and adore the minister of pity,
Who, bending from its sphere, restores him to us!
(Valmont appears pale and faint. Honoria supports him.)
Speak! art thou hurt? Hah! from thy mangled breast
The life-stream gushes! Ye relentless pow'rs!
Turn not the measure of my joy to woe! [Valmont falls; Honoria kneels.

Let me support thee: look upon thy child:
Oh! speak, for I must hear thy voice once more,
To say, that thou forgiv'st me: Save him, Heav'n!

Valmont.
Sweet image of a chaste and injur'd saint!
A dying father's blessing shall be thine.

Honoria.
Thou shalt not die; I cannot live to see
Those darling eyes closed in the sleep of death!

Valmont.
Brave Alferenzi! I believ'd thee murder'd;
In the dark-tangled wood that skirts our castle,
I saw thee fall, thrice wounded by my sword.

Alferenzi.
Thy victim was duke Albert! Hapless Valmont,
Heav'n's sure to hear when murder cries for justice!

Honoria.
Oh! mis'ry supreme! oh! my lost father!

Valmont.
If yet the noble Leonardo lives,
Seek out his lone asylum, and restore
The just possession of his rich domains;
Tell him, that Heav'n at last aveng'd his wrongs,
And humbled his proud brother to the dust!
Now let me press thee to my streaming heart; [To Honoria.

Alas! my parting sigh will soon extinguish
The feeble lamp of life, and my last pang
Pay the dread forfeit which my crimes demand!

[Dies.
Honoria
(to Alferenzi.)
Now, is thy rage appeas'd? If thy fell soul
Still pants for Valmont's blood, strike here! this heart,
This bursting heart, will scorn to sue for pity.

Alferenzi.
Do not distract me with thy fierce reproaches;
A dread coincidence of time and act
Drew me from Reason's empire to Despair!
'Dire and disastrous as the deed may seem,
Twas to avenge thy wrongs that I am guilty;
For I believ'd that Valmont—thy assassin!
Let me entreat thee to be patient, love.

Honoria.
Hence with thy feign'd contrition! my weak brain
Burns with the frenzy thou hast heap'd upon it.

Alferenzi.
This sight will make thee mad! Quit, quit the scene,
Nor feed the gnawing anguish of thy soul.
Soon will I bear thee to my native shores,
Where, 'midst the fond endearments of new friends,
Of noble kindred, and resplendent joys,
The mem'ry of past grief shall fade away.

Honoria.
(rising.)
Oh! 'twill not be! This is my destin'd home!
I'd rather wander like a pilgrim poor!
Toil, like a slave who in the torrid blaze
Curses the sun that mark'd him for despair,
Than journey thither: here will I remain.
Oh! the vast sum of my disastrous life
Seems like an atom to this world of woe! [Honoria returns to the body.

Yet let me kiss that cheek, pale and distorted
Stern was thy aspect, yet my soul would give
Half its dear hopes of an immortal crown
To see those eyes but once more gaze upon me
But they are dark, clos'd in the sleep of death

Alferenzi.
Let me conceal thee in some spot secure,
While to the earth I give this breathless corse.
I do not covet life, depriv'd of thee,
And wilt thou doom me to the tort'ring rack?
Canst thou behold this throbbing, loyal heart,
Mangled and bleeding as a public show?
Wilt thou not shudder when the rabble's shout
Shall drown the agonizing groan of death?

Honoria.
Oh! do not torture me; alas! my soul
Already shrinks beneath its weight of grief,
Wherefore deny a murder'd father's dust
The holy incense of a filial tear?
No other rite will consecrate his grave!

Alferenzi.
Delay brings danger; see, the purple dawn
Is gayly tissu'd o'er with beamy gold!
The merry birds begin their matin songs,
And new-born glory animates the scene!
Let me conceal thee in yon cavern'd cliff.

Honoria.
Ha! now I do bethink me, wretched man!
This is no place for parley! Yon dark cave
Is the dread haunt of robbers: get thee hence;
Danger and death await thee! Oh! begone.

Alferenzi.
What! leave thee to the mercy of banditti?
Forsake thee, helpless, faint, forlorn and sad,
To be the victim of wild rioters!
The sport of ruffians—lawless, cut-throat knaves!
Beside yon mountain a poor clay-built shed
I slightly noted as I pass'd along;
Fly, fly thee thither; I will follow soon.

Honoria.
Oh! dread alternative! oh! cruel task!
Betake thyself to flight, ill-fated man!
For we must meet no more! One little word,
One parting sigh, still struggles at my heart!
Ha! look not so upon me! Is it thus
Our intercourse must end? our radiant morn
Of love, and hope, and youth, and tender joy,
Shadow'd by sorrow, and convuls'd with storms!—
Go to thy splendid home, thy friends await thee;
Death is preparing in the silent tomb
A lonely bed, where I shall sleep at peace.

[Exit.
Alferenzi.
Now in yon cave will I conceal this corse;
And then, O God! teach me to hide myself
From my own knowledge! Busy, busy thought,
Away, and let oblivion be thy grave!

[He advances towards the body; the scene closes.

ACT IV.

SCENE XII.

A Wood, Morning.
Enter the Prince Montalva and Francisco.
Montalva.
'Twas at the entrance of this lonely wood
My mules were to be station'd—are they come?

Francisco.
Not yet my lord; so, please you, wait awhile
In this cool shade; the sun swift journeys high,
And soon will shed intolerable day.

Montalva.
Is there no lowly hut where we may rest?
Affliction preys upon my feeble frame,
And bends me to the earth: I fain would live
A little while, to do an act of justice.
My vassals all are arm'd, and on the watch,
And yet we have no tidings! Let us seek
Some hospitable shed to stay their coming.

Francisco.
Among the craggy hills, not far from hence,
An hermit dwells; a poor, but holy man!
Time that has furrow'd o'er his meagre cheek
Ne'er saw it blush for any act of shame:
His herds, his vineyard, foster'd by his hand,
Repay his labours with that homely fare
Which conscious virtue renders passing sweet!
If in so low a dwelling you can rest,
I think you'll be right welcome.

Montalva.
Well I know,
'Tis not beneath the gilded dome of state,
Nor 'midst the gaudy sycophantic tribe,
That peace delights to dwell; she bends her way
To the poor hermit's hospitable roof,
Where Liberty, the fairest child of heav'n!
Smiles on his board, and with her sacred voice
Bids him look down upon the high-born base,
Tho' great in splendour, if they're less than men!
Now to the mountain hut. Lead on, Francisco.

[Exeunt.

SCENE XIII.

Among the Apennines. Leonardo, as an hermit, comes forth from a small hut, with two baskets and a wicker bottle.
Enter the Prince Montalva and Francisco.
Francisco.
Good father, bless you!

Leonardo.
Thanks for your greeting;
And bless you, gentle son; is it your wish
To stay awhile, and mend your strength with food?

Montalva.
We'll enter, honest heart, with your good leave;
And for your cheer will recompense you nobly.

Leonardo.
Divine benevolence repays itself!
And much it grieves me to deny your suit;
But my good-will is shackled by restraint,
While seeming churlishness, in truth, is pity.

Montalva.
We will not be denied.

Leonardo
(guarding his hut, and setting down his basket, &c. &c.)
Sooth, but you must!
Not for an empire should your footsteps pass
This narrow threshold. I will bring you food.

Francisco.
What dost thou mean? Thy miserable hut
Hath never shelter'd yet a guest so noble.

Leonardo.
Think'st thou I prize the gifts which fortune owns?
If he has true nobility of soul,
He tow'rs above the attributes of wealth,
And wants no other charm to make him great!
But wherefore scoff at this, my poor abode?
It is mine own; these wither'd hands did raise it:
My board is simply strew'd; but what of that?
'Tis with the gifts of Heav'n! and who shall say
The proudest mortal can be better fed?
I flatter no man, and am no man's slave!
My garb is coarse and scant; but let the vain,
Wrapp'd in the vital labours of the worm,
Say if their pulses beat as calm as mine!
No bed of down or canopy of gold
Here pampers fev'rish luxury to rest;
But on my lonely pillow temp'rance waits,
And prompts repose that splendour cannot give!
How many, deck'd in all the pride of state,
With ermine stole, and starry wreath of gems,
Would gladly lay their guilty trappings by,
To taste the tranquil joys that mark the hours
In what thou call'st, my miserable hut!

Montalva
(taking out his purse.)
Then do not act the churl; and drive us hence,
Wanting the lowly lodging we would hire
At ten-fold value; this will buy men's souls,
And tempt the sternest sanctity to sin!
Bid the cold anchoret renounce his vows;
The rosy vestal sell her youthful hopes,
To wed with shrivell'd age; and, with its gloss,
So dazzle mortal eyes, that nature smiles
To see philosophers the slaves of fools,
And her own dross, the bribe of their dishonour!
What cannot gold subdue?

Leonardo.
Philanthropy!—
That sympathetic love of human kind
Which instinct cherishes in souls sublime!
Which bids pale mis'ry raise the languid eye,
While the recording cherub seals the bond
That Heav'n repays with rapture!

Montalva.
Thy words most strangely contradict thy deeds!
Thou talk'st of kindness, yet with churlish mien
Bidst the lorn traveller with hunger faint.
Shame on the wretch who vaunts humanity
But to draw forth the misery he mocks
With curious eye to scrutinize the heart,
And yet refuse the pity that would heal it!
He has no right to pry into my fortunes
Who has no tear to mitigate their woes!

Leonardo.
Nay, now you rate me with reproach so keen,
That my old eyes are drown'd in drops of grief!
Full twenty winters have my weary feet
Trod the white pathway of these frozen hills;
Yet never did I bar my humble cell
Against the trav'ller faint; but I have sworn,
And may I perish if I break my oath,
To shield from ev'ry eye the gorgeous gem
That casket rude contains! Forth I repair'd
To gather fruits and rob the limpid spring
For my sweet fugitive, who seems most sad
And vanquish'd by despair. Are ye not men?
And can ye blame or wonder at the zeal
That snatches beauteous woman from the grave?
Long have I brav'd the bleak and stormy wind;
Forsworn all intercourse with worldly joy;
Liv'd a poor hermit, cheerless and alone!—
When the fann'd snow fell fast upon my roof,
Whole nights I've listen'd to the howling wolves;
Fear never thrill'd my heart nor blanch'd my cheek;—
Yet have I not the courage to behold
A fellow creature fall, whom I could save!

Montalva.
A task so pious must not be delay'd.
Pursue thy way, good heart, and, trust my word,
I will not trespass, or with curious eye
Profane thy dwelling blest! but near the door
Will watch with zeal so pure, that none shall dare
To pass the threshold.

Leonardo.
I will soon return;
My vineyard is hard by; be of good cheer.

[Exit Leonardo.
Francisco.
Oft have I seen this melancholy sage,
When by the side of these snow-mantled cliffs
I chas'd the fire-ey'd wolf. His manners mild
And hospitable cell have spread his fame
Beyond the borders of the rushing Po;
For many an infant, on its grandsire's knee,
With fond attention and inquiring eye,
Prattles of good Anselmo.

Montalva.
Anselmo!
He that is nam'd the hermit of the cliffs?

Francisco.
The same; and much it moves surprise in all,
That so much virtue, and so rich a mind,
Should give to solitude their cheerless days.

Re-enter Leonardo.
Leonardo.
First to my beauteous fugitive, and then
Together we will make our healthful meal.
Here, courteous stranger, spread the frugal treat
On the green bank, and I'll return to bless it.

[Gives one basket to Francisco, and with the other enters the cell, but instantly returns.
Leonardo.
She sleeps! The weary senses charg'd with grief
Are numb'd by their own anguish, stealing health
E'en from the poison that did sicken them!

Montalva.
In truth, good hermit, you excite my wonder!
Nor can ingenious reason find a cause
Why choice should lead you to a spot so drear,
That spurr'd necessity recoils to view it!

Leonardo.
Alas! a story so replete with woe,
So full of horror, will but move your pity!
Sprung from an ancient race, my morn of life
Gave the bright earnest of a lustrous day!
But in those hours when young intemp'rate blood
Seizes the fever of uncurb'd desire,
It is not strange that reason's sober ray
Was quench'd and smother'd by impetuous breath.
A friend!—Oh! how did he blaspheme the name!—
Woo'd a sweet lady: she was Milan's rose;
That shed rich lustre on each humbler flow'r!
Her sire ador'd her, and with tender care
Sought such alliance as might grace her birth.
My friend was but his father's youngest son,
And small his means, compar'd with his descent.
One fatal night, 'twas when the blushing spring
Fann'd my warm bosom with the austral breeze,
Flush'd with the grape, in merry, harmless mood,
Beneath her lofty window we repair'd,
And, with the dulcet tinkling Mandolin,
Beguil'd her of her rest. The father watch'd,
And on my young associate fiercely sprang,
Who, all unarm'd, was sinking to the ground.

Montalva.
So fell my gallant boy! and did he perish?

Leonardo.
Urg'd on to frenzy by this bold assault,
I rush'd between them, sav'd the friend I lov'd,
And smote the barb'rous ruffian on the breast:
He fell, his own stiletto reach'd his heart!
'Twas a rash deed, but could I tamely see
The dear companion of my youthful days
Vanquish'd and murder'd by a villain's hand?

Montalva.
And did he wed the cause of your mishap?

Leonardo.
He did; and, to requite my honest zeal,
Turn'd, like a serpent, on my fost'ring breast,
And stung the heart that lov'd him! With fell rage,
Threaten'd, himself, to be my base accuser,
And spurn'd me from him like a guilty slave!
Disgusted with the treach'ry of his soul,
I fled; and from that fatal hour have been
The solitary tenant of this cell,
The scene of meditation, pray'r, and peace!

Montalva.
Curs'd be the villain, wheresoe'er he dwells!

Leonardo.
Oh! do not curse him; for he was—my brother!

Montalva.
Of noble birth, and yet so vile a soul!

Leonardo.
All outward semblance of attractive grace,
Hereditary splendours, beauty, valour,
Wit, learning, fancy, eloquence divine!
Where godlike virtue dwells not in the soul,
May feed upon the vapour, adulation,
And boast an unsubstantial glitt'ring name,
That dazzles only for a fleeting day.
But innate glory shall outstrip the grave!
And shine when all of pageantry and pride,
Like the false meteors on the wings of night,
Shall waste in empty air!

Enter Honoria from the Hermitage.
Montalva.
Mysterious Heav'n! Honoria still alive!

[Aside.
Honoria.
Hapless Montalva! whither bend thy way?
I counsel thee to seek thy peaceful home,
Nor thus pursue the phantom of revenge.
Remember, he who can forgive his foe,
Is nobler far than he that bids him die!
We all can kill; and, vaunting our own strength,
We crush the thing we hate; but can we give
The spark that bids the meanest reptile breathe!
Oh! did the pow'rful dare with impious rage
To murder the defenceless, who, alas!
Could look with rapture for to-morrow's dawn?

Montalva.
I go to seek the murderer of my son.

Honoria.
Then spare thy feeble age such thriftless toil;
The murderer of thy son sleeps in the grave!
He was as dear to this afflicted heart
As Albert was to thine.

Montalva.
Misguided girl!
Thy caution thinly veils the wretch thou lov'st;
That villain, Alferenzi, was't not he?

Honoria.
Old man, I will not tell thee who it was;
For, if his death will not appease thy wrath,
Thou hast no Christian mercy in thy soul,
And art not worth my pity!

Alferenzi
(speaking without.)
Where is this cell, good fellow?
Thou dost not give thy feet that willing zeal
Which my impatience urges. Enter Alferenzi. Seeing Montalva and Honoria, he stops suddenly and amazed.

Montalva!
Hah! How is this? Am I at last betray'd?
My feet seem rooted to this speck of earth,
And guilty pangs convulse my tortur'd frame!
Shake off thy blood-stain'd garb, my trembling soul,
And let a brighter semblance cheat men's eyes.
It will not be! I dare not meet their glance.

Honoria
(to Alferenzi, aside.)
Thy crime is secret, as the will of Heav'n.

Alferenzi
(Montalva and Leonardo talk aside.)
I cannot spurn this busy fiend away:
Is this what men call conscience? Oh! 'tis hell!
I am a wretch, a coward! Leave me, leave me.

Montalva.
Well may'st thou start, and tremble at my gaze,
Thou homicide abhorr'd! now meet thy fate;
'Tis Albert's sword that strikes thee.

[They fight.
Honoria
(rushing between them.)
He did not kill thy son; the murd'rer was ------

Montalva.
Who?

Honoria.
My father! Marquis Valmont!

Leonardo.
My brother!

Honoria.
Oh! all ye hosts of Heav'n! Do I behold
The venerable, noble Leonardo!

Leonardo.
Let my tears answer thee, before their source
Is petrified with wonder! Oh! my child,
Art thou the offspring of ill-fated Valmont?

[Embracing Honoria.
Montalva.
Most injur'd Leonardo, Heav'n at length
Has paid the recompense thy virtues claim'd.
We will return to Valmont, where thy life
Shall, like the sun that triumphs o'er the storm,
Amidst resplendent glory sink to rest!

Leonardo.
Now let us, in my solitary cell,
Refresh our weary spirits for a time;
Then each shall tell his melancholy tale,
And shed a kindly sympathetic tear,
To wash away the traces of past woe!

[Exeunt Montalva, Leonardo, Francisco, and the Peasant, into the Hermitage.
Alferenzi.
Ah! stay, Honoria! Do not leave me thus;
Look up, my love, nor let affliction's shaft
Bathe in the ruby current of thy heart.
Time will wear out these dark corroding spots,
And wing thy hours with joy!

Honoria.
Oh! Never! Never!
Time, that with ceaseless labour can unfold
The wondrous page of nature! that can lay
The loftiest temples level with their base!
Steal the soft graces of the fairest form,
And, by the shadow of his restless wing,
Eclipse the sun of intellectual light!
Can bring no meliorating balm, to heal
The wounded sense, where memory still lives!
Day after day the cank'ring worm, reflection,
Feeds on the with'ring fibres of the heart,
And poisons all its hopes!

Alferenzi.
Where wouldst thou seek repose, oh! tell me, sweet?

Honoria.
In death! where he whose undelighted days
Have been but tardy scenes of chequer'd woe,
Assail'd by poverty, despair, and pain!
On the same pillow lays his weary head
Where kings must sleep, when earthly pow'r shall fade,
And nature whispers, here thy journey ends!

Alferenzi.
Think not so deeply, love; oh! look upon me;
Thy Alferenzi's fate is link'd with thine.

Honoria.
That I have lov'd thee, Heav'n can bear me witness,
Beyond what truth can paint or fancy form!
With thee I could have liv'd, and been content,
Beneath some mountain hovel's rushy roof;
Have shar'd the busy task of daily toil,
And smil'd and sung the weary hours away!
When gaudy Summer deck'd the glowing scene,
I would have trimm'd our citadel of joy,
Have call'd our humble meal a princely feast,
Our myrtle bow'r a canopy of state!
Or when stern Winter swept the frozen plain,
And tumbling torrents drown'd the valley's pride,
I would have crept, half trembling, to thy arms,
And mock'd the howling of the midnight storm!
But visionary scenes of joy are past;
Horror and guilt assail where'er I turn,
And all is anguish, frenzy, and despair!

Alferenzi.
Dress not thy fancy in such weeds of grief!
Let hope and love enchant thee to repose.

Honoria.
Can love or hope restore a parent lost?
Ah! little dost thou know the tender claims
That bind in feath'ry spells each vagrant thought.
Love should be gentle as the twilight breeze,
And pure as early morn's ambrosial tears,
Spangling the lily on the mountain's side.
I cannot wed the murd'rer of my father!

Alferenzi.
Oh! do not call it murder! He whose life
Pays the due forfeit to offended Heav'n,
Having by outrage blurr'd his country's laws,
Deserves that country's hate; and only falls
To benefit her safety!

Honoria.
Yes; but when rigour, cherish'd by revenge,
Treads on the heels of justice, thrusting back
Humanity itself, the trembling scale
Preponderates at will, and makes the deed
Scarce less than legal murder! Be resign'd,
Appease the wrath of Heav'n, and let me rest!

[Exit into the Hermitage.
Alferenzi.
O Hope! inconstant as the summer gales
That kiss the fragrant bosom of the rose,
Thou shalt no more beguile me: I awake!
Conviction tells me, in this wondrous mass,
All joy is transient, and the fairest scenes
Fraught with deception! Earth, air, seas; e'en man
Deceives, while most he is himself deceiv'd,
Glozing with smiles the hypocrite he hates!
The flow'ry path we tread is sprinkled o'er
With pois'nous weeds, and dews that threaten death.
The skilful pilot ploughs his glitt'ring way,
Nor fears the coming danger, till the deep,
Black'ning and foaming, now a yawning gulph,
And now a liquid mountain, swells with rage,
And the gay gallant bark—is seen no more!
The eagle grandly soars to greet the sun!
Sweeps the bland concave with his lordly wing,
And revels in the plenitude of day!
Soon, on the viewless pinions of the storm,
The rolling clouds obscure the beamy plains,
Th' imprison'd lightnings break their sulphur bonds,
And 'midst the blaze th' exulting tyrant dies!
Oh! blissful termination of all ills!
Ambrosial drop! that lingers in the dregs
Of fate's embitter'd cup! oblivious death!
Would I could taste thee, and forget my woes!
But coward mis'ry clings to airy hope,
Grasping from hour to hour a feeble chain,
Which breaks at last, and hurls him to despair!

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE XIV.

The Front of an old Monastery; with a View of the Appennines at Sun-set.
Enter Honoria.
Honoria.
Here, in this awful, this monastic gloom,
I trust my weary soul will find repose!
As late I stood upon the cavern'd cliff,
List'ning the cat'ract's desolating roar,
I mark'd the spires of this lone habitation
Red with the lustre of the sinking sun!
The solemn silence that surrounds these walls
Well suits the shrine of holy meditation,
And feasts the mind with luxury of thought.
This is the goal where, faint with life's dull toil,
The feeble woe-worn trav'ller stops, and smiles
To know the busy hour of grief is past!
For, after all, what is this fev'rous state?
A transient day, of sun-shine and of storms;
A path, bestrew'd with thorns and roseate wreathes;
We journey on with hope, or lag with fear,
Still, minute after minute, cheating time,
Till, at the close, we stumble on the grave. [Light appears thro' the painted windows of the Chapel.

It is the hour of vespers, which prepares
The mind serene of virgin innocence
For slumbers undisturb'd by ruthless care;
Oh! apathy! thou kindly numbing pow'r!
Thou opiate! rivalling the Theban drug,
Lulling the nimble passions of the soul,
And binding fast in sweet oblivious spells
The wild rebellious fancy, here thou dwell'st!
But I shall know thee not; my weary life
Unfading memory presents before me,
Dark as the clouds that shroud the coming storm!
When will the day-star rise, that shall proclaim
My morn eternal in the realms of bliss.

[The gate opens. Constantia comes forward.
Constantia.
I heard the voice of mis'ry complaining,
While at the holy altar of our saint!
And Heav'n forbid the temple of religion
Should e'er be shut against the child of woe!

Honoria.
Alas! I ask but little, rev'rend mother.

Constantia.
Make your request; I only wait your will.

Honoria.
A lonely speck of consecrated earth!
A narrow pallet in the silent grave!

Constantia.
Have you no kindred to relieve your cares?

Honoria.
I had a father when the sun did rise!

Constantia.
And does he let thee wander thus forlorn?
Where is he, gentle stranger?

Honoria.
He's in Heav'n!
Is he in Heav'n?—Yes, yes; I hope he is!
He was a very stern and rash old man;
But still he was my father! He is gone!
Cold drops of blood freeze on his silver hairs,
Like the small flow'rs that peep thro' Alpine snow!

Constantia.
Holy Saint Peter! Was he murder'd, lady?

Honoria
(confused.)
I fear he was: most sure I am he died!
His cheek was pale, and petrified, and cold!
But I entreat you let us change the matter,
For 'tis a wounding subject; and, alas!
I own I'm strangely wild when I do think on't!

Constantia.
Oh! my heart feels thy sorrows in its own;
Like thee, sweet maid, in youth's exulting bloom,
I found within these solitary walls
A blest asylum from oppressive woe!
My noble kindred long have mourn'd me lost;
For since this awful sanctuary I sought
No tidings have I sent to tell my fate.

Honoria.
Indeed! I pray you, do not count my youth
Too apt and forward, if with curious speech
I question you, How long in this deep gloom
Your beauty has been shrouded from the world?

Constantia.
Just twenty summers, half my days of woe,
Here have I pass'd sequester'd and unknown.
So long has suff'rance borne affliction's thorn,
Deep rankling in the breast of wedded love!

Honoria.
Of wedded love! art thou then married? Speak!

Constantia.
Oh! would I were not But th' omniscient pow'r,
I trust, in pity, will, with tenfold joys,
Requite my child for all her mother's wrongs!
If yet she breathes, Heav'n show'r down blessings on her,
And guide her thro' this wilderness of woe!
Oh! could I once behold her ere I die,
Could I but clasp her in my fond embrace,
I would forgive her father's cruel scorn
And bless the name of Valmont.

Honoria.
Oh! 'tis she!
I am thy child! thy lov'd, thy lost Honoria!
The hapless offspring of the murder'd Valmont.

Constantia.
Support me, Heav'n!

[Faints.
Honoria
(supporting her.)
What has my rashness done?
Oh! do not leave me, angel! mother! Speak!
Honoria calls thee! let not death's fell grasp
Tear the fond parent from her long lost child! [Constantia revives.

She lives! she breathes! Oh! cherish in thy heart
The only comfort of thy widow'd days: [they embrace.

We will, when fainting hope denies to cheer us,
Mingle our tears, and smile at ruthless fate,
In all the proudest luxury of woe!
By day I'll strew thy lonely path with flow'rs,
And all the live-long night thy slumbers watch,
And chant my orisons for blessings on thee!

Constantia.
Alas! my child! such pious hopes are vain;
Here must I stay for ever! Thou art born
For gaudier scenes of splendour and delight!

Honoria.
Not for the globe's vast treasures would I leave thee!
Thou shalt return to Valmont; to thy home;
The noble Leonardo's close of life
Will bloom a second spring of youth and joy,
Blest in the converse of a saint like thee!

Constantia.
That cannot be; nor must thou here be known.
My vows for ever bind me to this goal,
Where, till my last funereal peal shall sound,
My vesper pray'rs, my early matin songs,
Must still confirm my solemn league with Heav'n.
Thou art o'erwhelm'd with persecuting woe;
Come, let me lead thee to the shrine of peace.

Honoria.
Oh! best of angels! Here will I remain;
This venerable pile shall be our tomb,
Where we will rest together!
Moss-grown shrines, Approaching the gate.

Where persecution shrinks from pity's gaze,
And penitence prepares the soul for Heav'n,
Oh! welcome to my dreary fev'rish soul!

[Exeunt into the Monastery

SCENE XV.

A thick Wood. Night.
The Convent's painted windows seen at a distance.
Enter Alferenzi, meeting an old Peasant.
Alferenzi.
Well! hast thou found her? Ev'ry tangled dell,
Each thorny labyrinth, and lonely glade,
In vain I've search'd and travers'd o'er and o'er!
I will not lose her so! What, like a coward,
Yield up my hopes, and be the passive fool
That fortune makes her plaything? All is still!
The moping bat has wheel'd his circling flight,
And hies him weary to his haunted home!
No wand'ring insect winds his little horn
To bid the drowsy traveller beware,
While perilous oblivion grasps the scene!
Oh! if I find her not, the gath'ring mists,
That hasten round us on unwholesome wings,
Will chill her gentle bosom—

Peasant.
Heav'n forefend! Lightning.

'Twill be a stormy hour. Oh! gracious Sir!
In truth my heart is sorely wrung with pity;
For countless are the dangers that beset
The midnight wand'rer in these lonely haunts;
Nor are the famish'd wolves that roam for prey
More to be dreaded than the lawless swords
Of merciless banditti!

Alferenzi.
I fear them not. [Thunder and lightning.

Horrors on horrors crowd so thick upon me,
That pall'd imagination, sick'ning, spurns
The sanity of reason! man can but bear
A certain portion of calamity;
For when the pressure heap'd upon the brain
O'erwhelms the active faculties of thought,
The pang acute subsides, and leaves the mind
A chaos wild of gorgeous desolation!

Peasant.
I hear the feet of passengers; their steps
Give hollow signal on the sun-burnt ground.

Alferenzi.
Here, take this good stiletto, honest carle,
And guard thy breast, if any ill should threaten.

Enter two Robbers.
First Robber.
My poniard is prepared with mortal poison,
And he that feels it dies. Lightning.
[Alferenzi, perceiving the Robbers by the lightning.

Cowards! assassins!

[The Robbers assail Alferenzi and the Peasant. One is disarm'd by Alferenzi; the other, after piercing his side, escapes.
Alferenzi.
Ruffian! thou know'st thy life is in my pow'r;
Now tell me, if in this sequestered gloom
A beauteous lady met thee? quickly speak,
Or thou shalt perish!

Second Robber.
Such a one I met,
And saw her towards the convent bend her way;
Yon light will guide you thither; she is safe.
I could not harm the maid, she look'd so lovely!

Alferenzi.
Oh! Caitiff! if thou hadst, thy barb'rous soul
Should in the lowest hell have howl'd for mercy!
One act of virtue cancels all thy crimes;
So take thy life; repent, for I forgive thee. [Exit Robber.

How much more merciful this villain seems,
Who on the instant gives the mortal wound,
Than he who by oppression wrings the heart,
And makes the wretch spin a long thread of life,
Steep'd in perpetual tears! The storm is past;
Thou know'st this convent! let us hasten thither.

Peasant.
Good noble youth, you faint; your voice doth faulter.

Alferenzi.
'Tis but a trifle; 'twas the coward's sword
That slightly pierc'd my side. Now lead the way;
If I behold her angel face once more,
Not all the demons of Despair shall part us.

[Exeunt.

SCENE XVI.

The Chapel of the Convent.
An altar, &c. The corpse of Honoria on a bier in the middle of the aisle, covered with a white transparent pall, edged with black velvet. As the curtain rises slowly, the nuns, arranged round the chapel, sing a solemn dirge, beginning low, and rising to full chorus. That done, the first nun comes forward, and the other nuns arrange themselves in a semicircle that hides the bier.
First Nun.
Thus have we offer'd up our fervent pray'rs
For the meek spirit of this beauteous maid.
Her mien bespoke her noble; and her breast
Seem'd the rich casket which contain'd a jewel
Glowing with native and resplendent light!
Ere from her fading lip the quiv'ring breath
Fled its fair mansion, to my care she gave
This costly picture: “Take it, pious sister,
“Take it,” she cried, “and keep with holy awe
“The once-lov'd image of my Alferenzi!”
That done, she knelt, and rais'd her eyes to heav'n—
Her piercing eyes—dark as her adverse fortune!
Breath'd a short pray'r, and, like a spotless flow'r,
Bow'd by the pitiless and pelting storm,
Sunk to the earth, and died! [A loud knocking at the convent gate.

Who knocks so loud?

[Alferenzi rushes into the chapel, frantic, pale, and exhausted, followed by the old Peasant.
Alferenzi.
Oh! pious sisters, frown not on my rashness;
I am a man the most accurs'd and wretched!
Driv'n by the deadly storm of rending passions
To this my last asylum! Have ye seen,
Since ev'ning's star peer'd in the golden west,
A drooping angel, agoniz'd with grief?
More sweet than infant innocence, more pure
Than sainted spirits journeying to the sky? [The nun turns from him.

Speak; and, if pity dwells within your breast,
Do not behold me perish!

Nun
(shewing the picture.)
Know'st thou this?

Alferenzi.
Oh! I have found her, for exulting bliss
Springs to my heart, and triumphs o'er despair!
This is the proud meridian of my days,
And my last glowing hour shall set in joy!
Now, call her forth; tell her 'tis Alferenzi;
She will, in pity, answer to the summons.

[The nuns draw back on each side, discovering the bier; one of them throws the pall off the face of Honoria.
Alferenzi
(wildly.)
Hah! Who has done this deed?
Is that her wedding suit? How pale she looks!
Soft; do not wake her; she is sick with sorrow;
The priest is waiting, and the perfum'd bands
Are gaily strew'd about the holy shrine;
I mark'd the spangling drops that hung upon them;
Some said that they were dying lovers' tears;
Were they not right? Soft, soft; where am I?
My senses much deceive me, or that corse,
So beautiful in death, is Valmont's daughter!

Enter Constantia.
Constantia.
Where is the wretch whose bold and impious rage
Has dar'd profane the sacred rites of woe?

Alferenzi.
I came to seek the gem of this world's wonders!
But she, too precious for this hated earth,
Now beams a constellation in that heav'n
Where I shall never see her! Oh! I lov'd her,
Better, far better, than I lov'd my soul,
For in her cause I gave it to perdition!

Constantia.
Ill-fated man! See in this faded form
The wife of haughty Valmont; twenty years
Have pass'd, in silent solitary grief,
Since I beheld my persecuted child.
Oh! my long-lost, my beautiful Honoria!
My earliest comfort, and my last fond hope!
I did not think to close thy eyes in death,
Or bathe thy ashes with a mother's tears!

[Kneels by the corpse of Honoria.
Alferenzi.
Is there on earth a wretch so curs'd as I?
What is my crime, ye ministers of hell,
That persecution, with a scorpion scourge,
Should drive me to the precipice of fate?
E'en there, the fiend will on the margin greet me,
And, as I gaze upon the gulph below,
Where mad revenge stands 'midst the foaming surge,
And smiling feeds upon the hearts of men,
Will snatch me back to linger in despair!
Is there no yawning grave in the green ocean,
No deadly venom in the teeming earth,
No lightning treasur'd in the stagnant air,
To end my weary pilgrimage of pain?

Peasant.
Tempt not the rage of heav'n with impious breath.

Alferenzi
(approaching the bier.)
Yet let me look upon her: 'Twill not be!
A burning torrent rushes thro' each nerve,
And more than frenzy feeds upon my brain!
The villain's sword was steep'd in mortal poison;
Its course, tho' slow, each antidote defies:
Now, now it freezes, and its icy thrill
Checks the faint current of my with'ring heart!
I thank thee, Caitiff; thou indeed wert kind!

First Nun.
Restore him, heav'n!

Alferenzi.
The fiends surround my soul! They are deceiv'd;
My heart-strings will not break, for they have borne
The miseries of love! Away! away! [falls.

Let the same grave conceal our mould'ring ashes;
And if the pilgrim, penitent and poor,
Should drop a tear to consecrate the sod,
I ask no other requiem! Death is kind;
He flings his icy mantle o'er my sense,
And shuts the scene of horror! Oh! farewell!

[dies:
First Nun.
Farewell, sad victims of ambition's pow'r!
Now let us raise to Heav'n our holy song,
For the freed souls of these ill-fated lovers!
While nature shrinks to contemplate the scene,
And stern-eyed justice drops a silent tear,
The angel Pity, bending from the sky,
Shall draw the veil that hides their woes for ever!

[They sing the dirge as the curtain falls, Constantia still kneeling by the bier.