University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Hall in the Abbey—Jerome enters, with a letter in his hand, followed by a Lay Brother.
JEROME.
These few wild words have swept away all hope:
His doom is seal'd—he dies upon the scaffold!
Dread Power! thy will be done!—My poor Amantha!
How wilt thou bear this blow!
[To the Lay Brother.
“Return with speed,
“And say, I will not fail her. But, alas!
[Exit Lay Brother.
“What balm has Jerome for a wound like this,
“That kills the heart, and leaves the outward frame
“But as the husk of life?”

Enter a Lay Brother.
LAY BROTHER.
A stranger asks
Admission to the Prior.

JEROME.
Give him entrance.

[Exit Lay Brother.
[Enter Conrad, disguised, but immediately discovers himself.
JEROME.
Conrad!

CONRAD.
The same.

JEROME.
How hast thou 'scaped, my son,
Amid the general wreck?

CONRAD.
By flight—a means
I had not used to save a worthless life,
But for Alasco's service. You are his friend—
How fares it with him?

JEROME.
As with one, whose fate
Will soon release him from all earthly cares.
[Giving the letter.
Read here his sentence.

CONRAD.
Ha! already doom'd!
Eternal Providence is this thy justice!

JEROME.
“Rash man! forbear to question Heaven's decree.
“Our duty is submission.

CONRAD.
“Spare thy preaching;
“We soldiers brook but ill, a churchman's discipline.
“If thou wouldst have me hear thee, talk of blood,
“Of death and ruin—rescue and revenge!
“Or try the force of thy vocation, priest,
“And interpose some miracle of prayer,
“To succour suffering virtue.

JEROME.
“On our heads
“The chastening hand indeed falls heavily;
“Nor can I wonder thy rough nature chafes,
“Beneath the sore infliction.”—Yet, my son,
Have patience.

CONRAD.
Patience! 'tis a woman's virtue—
The cold, tame tenant of enfeebled souls—
Offspring of fear and apathy.—No, no!
This stroke at once decides me. Brave Alasco!
Thou shalt not die alone.
We've had one cradle—we shall have one grave!
I'll instant to the castle, and demand
To share his fate.

JEROME.
O! rush not on destruction—
There's yet a gleam of hope. A sudden thought,
By Heaven suggested, sure, has flash'd upon me.
Since thou canst thus brave death, thou wilt not shrink
From danger, to achieve thy friend's deliverance.

CONRAD.
Shew me a chance of safety for Alasco—
By Heaven! I'll snatch it from the tiger's mouth,
Or tug for it with the devil.

JEROME.
Then hear, and mark me!
From the close dungeon where Alasco lies,
A secret passage leads, winding beneath
The castle's deep foundations, and beyond
Its outer walls.

CONRAD.
My soul hangs on thy words.

JEROME.
There ending in a cavern of the rock,
Whose dark recesses, peopled by all shapes
Of spectral horror—fiends and fairy tribes—
The progeny of fear and ignorance,
Have from its dreary precincts long deterr'd
All human footsteps.—Thou must surely know
The goblin's cave?

CONRAD.
I do; “and well remember,
“What terrors shook me, when a child, to hear
“Of its wild wonders.

JEROME.
“Oft, in times long past,
“An aged follower of our house—a man
“Most strange and wayward—one who loved me well,
“Would lead me trembling through the dread abyss,
“Would point where blood had been, and shuddering start,
“As our uncertain footsteps stumbled o'er
“Some mouldering bone, that rattled in our path:
“Then, muttering to himself, would darkly hint
“Of dire misdeeds, and mysteries unrevealed,
“That from the grave of memory rising, seem'd
“To scare him into madness; then would he groan,
“And fiercely cry, “Boy, down upon thy knees!
“And let the prayers of innocence beseech
“Heaven's mercy on thy race!”

CONRAD.
Brief—brief, good father.

JEROME.
Darest thou explore this labyrinth, and attempt
To free thy noble friend?

CONRAD.
I tell thee, Friar,
A soldier is not privileged, like a priest,
To start at shadows,—“quake, and cry ‘God save us!’
“When the wind sings through key-holes.” Thou canst name
No task of desperate peril, where my life
May be laid down with honor for Alasco,
That I can fear, or flinch from.

JEROME.
Then his fate
May be by Heaven averted, through thy means.
If thou canst reach his dungeon, and return
In safety with Alasco, thou shalt find,
Close by the cavern's mouth, beneath the cliff,
A boat prepar'd to waft you o'er the flood,
And baffle all pursuit.

CONRAD.
I will succeed,
Or perish.

JEROME.
Angels guide thee! Let us retire:
I must instruct thee farther, and provide
What may be needful for thy enterprize.
Shouldst thou (which Heaven forbid!) mistake thy course,
Through this wild catacomb, thou'rt lost for ever.

CONRAD.
Then shall I rest in a capacious tomb,
And make the rock my monument.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in the Castle—Amantha seen on her knees at prayer, at an altar in an inner chamber.
Enter Walsingham and Bertha.
BERTHA.
“No more delirious, now her anguish seems
“To wear a character of settled woe.”
Since your assurance she should see Alasco,
She has been calm, and constant in devotion.

WALSINGHAM.
You may retire.

[Exit Bertha.
[Amantha, seeing her father, rushes forward to embrace him.
AMANTHA.
My father! Oh! my father!

WALSINGHAM.
My child!

AMANTHA.
Thy tears fall on my cheek!—thou hast
No comfort for me!

WALSINGHAM.
Alas! there is no hope!

AMANTHA.
No hope! O God! sayest thou there is no hope?

WALSINGHAM.
What shall I say, my child!

AMANTHA.
No hope!—no hope!
Art thou my father, and can'st tell me so?
No hope for him!—hast thou so soon forgot,
That but for him, there were no hope for thee?—
And but for thee—Oh Heaven! the maddening thought!
That but for thee—there were no hope for those
Who now reject thy prayer, but in his mercy
Whom they doom so sternly. I rave—it cannot be!
They have not refused his life to thy entreaty?

WALSINGHAM.
They have, my child!

AMANTHA.
Then thou didst feebly plead for him!—
Thy heart spoke not in his behalf—thy words—
Thy nerveless words fell frozen from thy lips.

WALSINGHAM.
“Hear me, Amantha!

AMANTHA.
“Where are these cruel men?
“Let me re-urge his cause;—my woes shall wake
“Some pity in their breasts;—shall touch them—pierce them
“With a tongue of fire!—if they've hearts, they'll hear me.
“They'll hear a wretched wife pour forth her griefs,
“And plead, in frantic accents, for her husband.

WALSINGHAM.
“Alas! those transports shake thy feeble frame!”

AMANTHA.
Why did I trust to thy cold advocacy!
Thy soul was shut against him.—Was he not
A rebel!—in thy eyes, the worst of culprits!—
Yes! in thy heart, thine idol, loyalty,
Rules absolute, and spurns the outcast claims
Of kin, and kind, and country—earth—and heaven!

WALSINGHAM.
Amantha, thou hast wronged me—wrung my heart,
And cast unkind suspicions from thy lips,
Upon my truth and honor.—But, my child!
I feel for all thy sorrows, and forgive
What thy distraction prompts. As Heaven shall judge me!
I urged his cause with zeal and fervency;—
Besought them, as the only boon I asked,
For my long years of peril, and late service:—
Turned supplicant, and washed my suit with tears,
For his sake, and for thine.

AMANTHA.
Didst thou, my father?
Heav'n bless thee for't!—can'st thou forgive the doubt
That misery wrung from madness?

WALSINGHAM.
O! thou'rt all
Of hope or joy that's left me;—dearer, far,
Than light or life.

AMANTHA.
Thou said'st thy prayers were vain,—
And they unmoved could hear thee!

WALSINGHAM.
They refused me;—
In terms of harsh rejection shook me off,
When I grew warm and urgent—nay, my child!
Forgot so far, all reverence of my age,
My name, and service, as with coarse insolence,
(My indignation struggles in my throat)
To taunt me as the apologist of traitors!—

AMANTHA.
A cold requital of thy zeal, my father!
“For thy devotion, sure, had stood all trials—
“Unquestioning in faith, and sacrifice.”
But thou hast offered at a Moloch shrine,—
That spares no victim—that remits no rite
Of blood and vengeance—well then! be it so!
“The sacrifice they seek shall be complete!”—
This world has withered on my soul for ever.—
I feel that now to live, were death indeed;—
A living burial in a black abyss,
Where such wild phantoms of despair appal me,
As make the thick blank darkness of the tomb,
A cheerful tenement.

WALSINGHAM.
What purpose lurks
Beneath thy phrenzied words? what means my child?

AMANTHA.
To die!—

WALSINGHAM.
To die, Amantha!

AMANTHA.
Yes!—to die!—
To die with my Alasco.—I am his wife;
And not e'en death shall now divorce me from him.
“Tyrants may tear him from my circling arms,—
“By violence may rend asunder hearts,
“That heaven and man united;—but their power
“Extends no farther.—No! the wretch they've made,
“They cannot curse with life, to lengthen out
“Their tortures.”

WALSINGHAM.
“Amantha! this is passion,—wild as weak—
“Thou wilt not in thy rashness shame thy race?
“Or quite forget thy duty to thy father?

AMANTHA.
“A dying husband claims me—once thy pride!
“Hast thou forgotten all—all—all, my father?
“My bursting heart wants words—o'erwhelmed beneath
“The rushing recollection of those days.—
“Thou wert the first to bid me love Alasco,
“And I obeyed too well.—'Twas in thy glass,
“Held up, with studied purpose, to my view,
“That my young heart beheld him—glowing—bright—
“Arrayed in every virtue.—The shaft sunk deep—
“Deep in the very core of my existence;
“Then marvel not, if thus drawn rudely forth—
“The life-blood follow it.”

WALSINGHAM.
Thou breakest my heart!—
By Heaven! I loved Alasco as my son;
And now, to save him, would resign with joy,
Life's dearest objects;—give up life itself—
Yield all things but my honor.

AMANTHA.
Heaven preserve it!
It has cost thee dear!—but I reproach thee not—
Though from thy hand, my father, fell the blow
That crushed us to the earth;—“though at the shrine
“Where thou hast worshipped with so warm a zeal,
“Thou hast offered up thy child, with all her hopes;—
“Her love—her life—her heart—her soul—her husband!”

WALSINGHAM.
If thou hast mercy, speak not to me thus!
Thy words sink deep into my soul, and seem
To shed a curse upon my age.—My child!
Thou wilt not curse thy father?—

AMANTHA.
Curse thee, my father!
Hear, all ye sacred hosts of heaven! my prayer!
Bless—bless my father!—on his reverend head,
Pour this world's blessings—honor—health and joy!
Ye ministering angels, wait upon his age!—
Chase from his couch the fiends of pain and care;
And let no thought of his unhappy child,
Disturb his spirit, or molest his peace.

WALSINGHAM.
My heart's sole bliss!—unmixed with thought of thee,
There is nor hope, nor joy, nor peace for Walsingham!
“Wilt thou not live to be a comfort to him?

AMANTHA.
“Heaven knows I wished to be a comfort to thee!
“But now all's desolation here—I feel
“The hand of Fate—the torpor of Despair—
“My heart is seared to Nature's thrilling touch,
“And shut to all appeal of earth, or heaven.”

WALSINGHAM.
Think on thy pious mother! think, my child!
Her gentle spirit warns thee, from the tomb,
Weeps o'er thy words, and shudders at their import.

AMANTHA
(clasping her hands with emotion.)
Mother! oh! my mother! how my heart melts
Within me at that name!—Blest saint above!
Dost thou behold thy poor—loved—lost Amantha!
Borne down and blasted in a storm of sorrows,
Writhing in misery—maddening in despair!—
My husband—my Alasco, they would tear,
Relentless, from my heart—but I will hold him
In the firm grasp of death—they shall not part us!
Heaven will have mercy on a suffering wretch,
That shrinks appalled before the frowns of life,
And rushes to the refuge of the grave.

[Exit Amantha.
WALSINGHAM.
Her desperate purpose speaks in every look,
To my distracted soul—
How my brain throbs with anguish!—one resource
I yet may try, to save him—Yes!—the King
Is looked for in the camp—perchance arrived—
My Sov'reign will not slight a veteran's prayer,
Whose blood has flowed to serve him—he will hear me.
Heaven stores his mercy in the hearts of Kings,
That Power may wrest the sword from Passion's hand,
And wipe all stain of cruelty from justice.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Another Apartment in the Castle.
Enter Swartsburg, Malinski, and an Officer.
SWARTSBURG,
(to the officer.)
To-morrow, at first dawn, call forth the guard!
And let the Castle bell proclaim around
Alasco's execution.

MALINSKI.
Why not now?
By Heav'n, there's danger in an hour's delay!

SWARTSBURG.
“A quicker process would provoke remark,
“And look to much like vengeance.”

MALINSKI.
Vengeance!—well!—
“The Baron's death demands it—what do you fear?
“You're now the Governor—you have the power,
“And cannot want the will to avenge your friend.”

SWARTSBURG.
“Rather than he should 'scape the death that waits him,
“By Hell! I'd seize him in the sanctuary,
“And stab him on the altar.”—

MALINSKI.
“Send him, then,
“To instant execution.”—

SWARTSBURG.
'Twere too precipitate.

MALINSKI.
Are you secure, their idol as he is,
That his mad followers may not rally still,
And rescue him?—there's yet a nearer danger;—
'Tis said the King has reached the neighb'ring camp;
And should old Walsingham once gain his ear,
Trust me, his favor will stand good for more,
Than Count Alasco's pardon.

SWARTSBURG.
That resolves me,
He dies to-day—We'll put him past reprieve
And should our haste be questioned, call it zeal,
And loyal promptitude.

[Exit Swartsburg.
MALINSKI,
(solus.)
I will not trust
This wavering fool—'twere well to make all sure,
Myself—beside my views upon his wife,
Alasco knows too much of me, to live,
If I can shove him from the brink he stands on:
His pardon were my sentence.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Dungeon.—Alasco is discovered sleeping on a bench, but roused by a piece of stone falling from the wall at the back of the prison—he starts up and comes forward.
ALASCO.
O! what a sweet delusion of the soul,
Has that harsh sound dispelled! My country free,
And my Amantha happy!—again all silent.—
I've heard, that culprits cast for death, will sleep,
As sound as healthful Industry—as calm
As Innocence, unruffled by a sigh.
'Tis nature's kindness to calamity;
Her cordial, to sustain the sinking wretch,
About to undergo this world's worst agony,—
A death of shame!—To me, the stroke of death,
Beyond the natural shock the spirit feels,
“Expelled thus rudely, from its mortal mansion,
“And sent to wander, where, what tongue shall tell!
“Where thought is lost, and gasping Time himself,
“Shall sink, with all the bubbles of his world;—
“To me, this last infliction of our fate,
“Altho' the scaffold and the axe conspire,
“To aggravate its pangs,”—would have no terrors,
Since it has no shame—but O! Amantha!
Thy much loved image haunts me—in this sad hour,
The heart resumes its sway—the husband feels—
The patriot's firmness shakes within his breast,
And his own sorrows supersede his country's.
Still hangs this heaviness upon my brow!
Let me indulge it.—Thou perhaps, kind sleep!
May'st bless me with that vision once again:
And thus, death's image yield one shadowy joy,
Ere death himself shall close the scene for ever.

[Lies down.
[A large stone in the back wall of the dungeon appears to slide from its place, and discovers an opening, through which Conrad, with a dark lantern in his hand, is seen cautiously ascending. Malinski , at the same moment, enters from the door of the prison, with a dagger in his hand, and silently advances.— Conrad has just time to conceal himself behind one of the projecting supports of the dungeon— Malinski observes Alasco to be asleep.
MALINSKI,
He sleeps—my task is easier than I thought—
And safer too.—I now can, at a stroke,
Dispatch him without struggle. Walsingham,
Is gone to urge his interest with the King—
And may be looked for soon—this—this must baffle him.
[Holding up the dagger.
“Perhaps 'twere well to leave at it at his side,
“'Twill seem as he himself had done the deed,
“To avoid the scaffold.

[ Malinski advances to stab Alasco , and as he raises his arm for the blow, Conrad rushes upon him from behind—wrests the dagger from him, and dashes it on the ground.
CONRAD.
Murderous villain! hold!

MALINSKI.
Lightnings blast thee! Conrad!

CONRAD.
Monster! draw thy sword,
Nor die the abject coward thou hast lived.

[ Conrad and Malinski fight—the latter is killed, and falls behind one of the projecting supports of the dungeon.— Alasco , who has started from his sleep at the noise, now rushes on Conrad , who has hitherto stood with his back to him.
ALASCO.
What desperate wretch art thou? athirst for blood!
Ev'n in the den of Death? ha! am I awake!
What! Conrad! thee!—blessed Heaven! do I once more
Behold my friend!

CONRAD.
My ever honored master!

ALASCO.
My friend! my faithful friend! well hast thou earned
That title! but say how—or wherefore here?
And why this deadly conflict with Malinski?

CONRAD.
The ruffian would have stabbed thee in thy sleep!—
But now the hour's too precious to explain;—
“Thanks to my lucky stars, and Jerome's aid!
“The dagger has been foiled.—We now must baulk
“The scaffold;—haste then, my friend! and follow me.
This opening, thro' a secret passage, leads
To life and liberty.

ALASCO.
Conrad! the die is cast!—
“For thy advent'rous zeal, my friend! in this
“Sad crisis of my fortunes, as for all
“The kindness thou hast lavished on my life,
“Take all I've now to give—my thanks—my tears
“That start in fond remembrance of thy friendship.

CONRAD.
“Then, by our early friendship, I conjure thee!
“Trust to my guidance now”—a moment's pause
May baffle all our hopes.

ALASCO.
My hopes, alas
Are buried with my country's—I have turned me round,
To look on every aspect of this world,
And all is darkness. I would leave a scene,
Where virtue hoodwinked cannot see her way;—
Where she mistakes her ends, and instruments;—
By her own scruples mars her best intents,
And on the web of Fortune, works out ruin.

CONRAD.
Wilt thou not fly from death?—a death like this!
A public show!—exposed upon a scaffold!

ALASCO.
There was a time, when I had shrunk like thee,
From such an end;—to shun it, would, I fear,
Have rushed on self-destruction—that false pride
Reflection puffed away with other follies.
When heroes fall—when sages feel the axe,—
And martyrs die, for faith, or liberty,
“The scaffold is a rostrum raised on high,
“Whence public virtue speaks to tyrants' hearts,
“And her last looks appal them.”—Then, my friend!
The blood stained board becomes a glorious stage,
Whereon to act the noblest part of man,
An honest patriot suffering for his country!
I owe this great example to my age;—
My death may serve the cause my life has failed in.

CONRAD.
By Heaven!—thy life is now our only hope;
And 'tis a sacred duty to preserve it.
In other realms we may remain secure,
Till better days recall us.

ALASCO.
No, no, Conrad!
I will not live an outcast from my country;
To wander like a vagabond on earth,
Bearing the stamp of treason on my brow,
By failure fixed—a brand more fatal than
The bloody mark on the first murderer Cain!—
O! give me death in his worst shape of horror,
Or buried deep in dungeons, let me share
The felon's fate! rather than I should live
To be that helpless—homeless—hopeless wretch,
An exiled patriot.—See him pining still;
Heartsick and sore,—the shadow of himself!
“His eye turned inward o'er that waste of soul,
“That moody desolation of all joy,
“Where reverie feeds on thoughts of bitterness.”
A supplicant to every tool of power,
For what the beggar boasts of!—leave to roam
In reckless vagrancy;—where'er he moves,
The common hunt for the whole pack of knaves!
Suspicion's football! kicked from clime to clime!
Abroad, an alien, and at home, an outlaw.

CONRAD.
By Heaven! I would not damn to such a fate
The bitterest foe that e'er betrayed a soldier!
But thou hast fame abroad—thy worth is known;—
We shall find friends and succour.

ALASCO.
Succour! yes!
Some wily tyrant, plotting his own ends,
May proffer aid, and use us as the tools
Of his ambition;—play us like puppets
In the vile farce of state; till having worked
Our weakness to his purpose, he unmasks,
Rifles, himself, the rights he came to guard,
Or basely panders for some other spoiler.
Never, O never! shall this hand direct
A foreign sword against my country's breast.
No! if a people will not free themselves,
It proves that they're unworthy to be free.

CONRAD.
What shall I urge to shake thy fatal firmness?
“If nor thy friends can sway thee, nor thy country,”
Think of thy beauteous wife—thy loved Amantha!
Live—live for her.

ALASCO.
Oh! thou hast touched a chord,
That wakes my soul to agony!—did I need
A motive now to die—thou hast supplied it.
Yes! loved Amantha! 'tis our lot to part—
I will relieve thee from a chain that now
Would drag thee down to want and wretchedness,
And make thee sharer of an outcast's fortunes!

CONRAD.
Save her the misery of the scene that waits thee—
The horror of thy death.

ALASCO.
My life were now
Her worst calamity—shall I, ye powers!
Shall I degrade her from her caste and station,
To grovel it with an exile! “Shall my hand,
“With cruel kindness, snatch her from her nest
“In fortune's lap, to spread her tender wing,
“'Midst frozen skies, and seasons shelterless;—
“To breast the world's keen tempest—droop and die!”—
By Heaven! the thought is madness!—
Urge me no more—seek thy own safety, Conrad;
I am resolved.

CONRAD.
Then so am I!—'twas not
To seek my safety I came here.

ALASCO.
My friend!
My generous friend!—forgive a petulance
My heart disowns.

CONRAD.
I've never flinched from death,
When all life's joys were fluttering in my grasp;
Nor will I now cry quarter—I should indeed,
Have better liked to meet him in the field;—
The block's an awkward pillow for a soldier!
But we shall sleep together—that will smooth it.

ALASCO.
Conrad, what mean thy words?—waste not on me,
Thy moments, but away!

CONRAD.
Thou wert—thou wert
The brother of my cradle!—that my life
Has not been yoked to abject want and toil,
I owe to thee,—with every good and grace
That flows from princely favour:—and though thoughtless,
Rash, and too oft ungrateful to thy bounty,
This heart has known no pride but in thy fortunes.

ALASCO.
My first—best friend!—the brother of my choice!—
Torture me not with such a strain as this.

CONRAD.
“'Twas still the flattering vision of my soul—
“My sanguine hope—to see my country free,
“And thee the foremost man of all her sons,
“Her pride and boast.”—But if the dream must end,
E'en let the hangman wake me!

ALASCO.
Would'st thou prove
Thy frienship, Conrad, in an hour like this,
I charge thee, fly, and leave me to my fate.

CONRAD.
Then, as I hope Heaven's mercy on my soul!
We fly, or fall, together—live or die!
All words are vain,—no power of prayer shall move me,
Not e'en thy imprecations on my head,
Shall force me from my dying friend and master.

ALASCO.
O! cruel conflict!—shall he perish thus?
A victim for my sake!—by Heaven! I hear
The sound of footsteps—a moment, and he dies!—
Conrad! thou hast conquered—lead me where thou wilt—
“I almost rival thy devoted love,
“In suffering life to save thee.

CONRAD.
Saving thee,
There's yet a hope for liberty and Poland!

[Conrad enters the secret passage—Alasco prepares to follow him, when half within it, he starts on hearing Amantha's voice at the prison door.
ALASCO.
Hark!

[Conrad endeavours to draw him into the passage.
AMANTHA
(without.)
Sir, I claim to see the Count Alasco.

ALASCO.
It is her voice—by Heaven! it is her voice!—
Hold off!—away!—to save a thousand lives,
I would not lose this moment with Amantha.

[Breaks from Conrad, who closes the entrance, excluding himself from the dungeon.
Amantha enters, attended by an Officer.
AMANTHA.
Sir, I am his wife—our sorrows need no witness.

OFFICER.
Madam, I dare not leave you with the prisoner;
But I will so recede as not to offend you.

[He retires behind one of the projections of the dungeon.
ALASCO.
My wife!—my angel wife!

[They rush into each other's arms.
AMANTHA.
Alas! my husband!

ALASCO.
Still let me clasp thee to this throbbing heart,
And breathe my soul in sighs and blessings on thee!

AMANTHA.
O! misery! mixed of transport and despair!
“E'en here, where death and ruin close thee round—
“E'en here—I cannot see thee, loved Alasco!
“Without a flash of joy—but 'tis a flash
“That glares upon our fate, and shews me all
“Its horrors. God of mercy! what a heart
“Is mine, to bear the sight unblasted!

ALASCO.
“That heart was Heaven's best gift to thy Alasco—
“The treasure he had hoarded up for life;
“And miser-like, he knows no pang in death,
“Save what he feels in leaving it for ever.”

AMANTHA.
And must we part?—for ever—ever part?
Is this the end of such a life as thine!—
Of such a love as ours? But I shall soon
Rejoin thee—in the grave!

ALASCO.
At what a price, my country! have I sought
To serve thy cause! “It is not life I value—
“Life is a toy that every coxcomb sports with—
“Staked on a card—a word—a jest—a frolic!
“But Oh! Amantha, in our morn of joy,
“To forfeit all we know, on earth, of heaven—
“To lose Elysium, opening in thy arms,
“And wreck thy peace and safety! Canst thou forgive
“The ruin I have brought on thee?

AMANTHA.
“Oh! my husband!

ALASCO.
“Canst thou forgive, if listening to her wrongs,
“I let my country in, to share my heart,
“And at her shrine have offer'd up a life,
“To thee devoted on a different altar?”

AMANTHA.
Forgive thee! God of truth! I were most base—
Unworthy of thy love—could I complain
That thou hast loved thy country. No; though lost—
In thy disaster wreck'd, with all our hopes,
I blame thee not; for sure the cause was good
That claim'd Alasco's sword.

ALASCO.
The best that man
Can live or die to serve. “Yes, my Amantha!
“Had I beheld unmoved, my country's woes,
“I could not have a heart to feel thy worth,
“Or love as I have loved thee.

AMANTHA.
“We were happy,
“Until this storm arose; but I can bear it—
“Brave it, with Alasco.

ALASCO.
“Hurl all its wrath
“On me, ye avenging Powers! Uprooted, bare,
“And blasted let me lie, the atoning sacrifice,
“If I have err'd! but let the tempest spare
“Her innocence.

AMANTHA.
“The bolt that fells the oak,
“Brings too the entwining tendril to the earth:
“Struck down with thee, so shall Amantha fall.

ALASCO.
“No, thou shalt live, a model to thy sex,
“Of every grace and virtue; thou shalt prove
“That Heaven, in pity to the woes of man,
“Will sooth his spirit with celestial aid,
“And cast an angel in the mould of woman.”

AMANTHA.
O! had our lot been fix'd in calmer times,
Or placed in scenes where no rude broils invade
Life's tranquil course—where hearts might love at peace,
And homes be happy! “Wilt thou not, just Heaven!
“Wilt thou not frustrate, in their impious ends,
“Those evil spirits that molest thy world!
“Who vex our days with war, and make this earth—
“This paradise of Nature's hand, endow'd
“With all things for our good, a howling waste
“Of woe and wickedness!”

ALASCO.
This world's a scene
Where man's the sport of Chance, and Fortune plays
Cross-purposes with Virtue. Blindly judged,
Our noblest actions hang on their events,
In doubtful equipoise 'twixt fame and infamy
E'en in thy eyes, if I am not now a traitor,
It is thy love acquits me, my Amantha!

AMANTHA.
O! thou art all my soul conceives of virtue.
I judged not questions foreign to my sex;
“'Twas all I sought, to win a wife's best praise,
“In noiseless privacy.” But still my heart
Took part with my Alasco; when he spoke,
Not e'en a father's influence could prevail,
Though oft in wrath he warn'd me of thy ruin.

ALASCO.
He has himself fulfill'd his own prediction.

AMANTHA.
O! cruel truth! But curse him not, Alasco.
“Although 'tis he has stretch'd us on the rack,
“Yet do not curse him,”—he is still my father.

ALASCO.
Curse him! Amantha! Heaven so deal with me,
As I forgive, and hold him in all reverence.
What he thought duty, he has bravely done.
“His errors from the spring of honor rise,
“And take the course of virtue.”

AMANTHA.
Generous spirit!
He trusted to his credit for thy safety;
E'en now, he sues his sovereign in thy cause,
And my heart tells me, there is yet a hope.
[The Castle bell tolls.
Oh! God! what means that bell?—that dreadful bell?

ALASCO.
Why trembles my Amantha? 'Tis but the clock
That strikes thy feverish ear, and seems more solemn,
Only as more mark'd.

AMANTHA.
I—hope so—
[Bell again.
Ha! again!
It is the tongue of death, that strikes upon
My heart, announcing murder—misery—madness!
[Bell tolls again.
Oh! dismal—dismal sound!—I gasp with fear
And horror.

SWARTSBURG
(speaking without.)
Guard, bring forth the prisoner.

AMANTHA.
Oh!

ALASCO.
Now, now, be firm, twin spirit of my soul!

[Enter two of the Guard—the first, on seeing Amantha, hesitates, and addresses Alasco.
GUARD.
My Lord—

ALASCO
(waving his hand.)
I understand—'tis somewhat sudden—

AMANTHA.
Oh! my poor husband!

ALASCO.
But I'm ready.

AMANTHA.
Ready!
What! for the slaughter! Merciless monsters! No!
Thou shalt not go, Alasco—while I have life,
Thou shalt not! Sir!—some dire mistake—my father—
'Tis not—'tis not yet time—burst—burst my heart,
Or give my anguish utterance!
[The Guards advance to seize Alasco.
Barbarians, hold!
Hold off your cruel hands! Oh! drag him not
To death, with such inhuman haste, nor dash
The cup of mercy from him!

SWARTSBURG
(entering.)
Who is it dares,
Presumptuous, to obstruct the course of justice?
Madam, give way!

[Swartsburg attempts to remove Amantha —Alasco breaks from the Guards, and throws him off, with violence.
ALASCO.
Ruffian! know your distance.
Plant here your fangs; but dare not to profane
The angel form of innocence in sorrow!

SWARTSBURG.
Insolent traitor!—But my sword shall not
Anticipate the scaffold—Drag him hence!

AMANTHA.
O! as you hope for mercy in that hour,
When all who are merciless shall plead in vain,
Grant some small respite—on my knees I beg—
But one short hour of grace!—We yet have hopes—
Oh! blast them not—but think the fatal stroke
Is murder, when it intercepts a pardon.

SWARTSBURG.
Pardon! by Heaven! the word has spurr'd my vengeance—
Off with him instantly!

AMANTHA.
Inhuman wretch!
On me too glut thy rage.—You shall not part us!
Tear limb from limb—I will not quit my husband.—
Alasco!—my Alasco!—hold me—hold me fast!—
Oh! God of mercy!—Murder! oh! my husband!

[They drag him off, Amantha clinging to him till he is forced from her, and she sinks senseless to the ground.
[Exeunt Swartsburg and Guards, with Alasco.
[Conrad cautiously draws back the stone which conceals the secret passage, and looking round anxiously, enters the dungeon.
CONRAD.
Again all still.—Alasco! Count Alasco!
Ha! he answers not; (advancing)
my heart misgives me.
Oh! Heaven! Amantha stretched upon the earth,
And her Alasco gone! Then all is over!
The sounds I heard, were faithful to their purport.
Poor child of sorrow, that dost look in death,
As one that sleeps!—I envy thee.—She stirs—
She breathes again!

[Amantha, reviving, raises herself a little from the ground.
AMANTHA.
I have had another dream,
More dreadful than before. Ha! where am I?
Awake? Oh! God! there is no delusion here—
This is substantial horror!

CONRAD.
Better far,
Thou hadst not waked, sweet lady, in this world!

AMANTHA
(starts, on seeing CONRAD.)
Art thou a murderer? fix thy dagger here!
'Twill be a stroke of mercy, and atone
For darker deeds. For pity's sake, one blow!
One blow dealt here, on this hot, throbbing brow,
To free the pent up agony within,
And let it flame to frenzy!

CONRAD.
She unmans me!
Alas! alas! then, dost thou not know Conrad?

AMANTHA.
Ha! Conrad!—know thee! yes—he loved thee well—
Canst thou too, live, like me, altho' we've lost him?
Ye heavens!—sure hearts grow hard.—Oh, Conrad, Conrad!
They've torn him from my arms—thy friend—thy master!—
Gone—gone for ever!

CONRAD.
'Tis vain to tug with fate,
A moment more had saved him.—

AMANTHA.
Saved him!

CONRAD.
Yes!
By Jerome's means, I traced yon secret passage
To the prison—found here my unhappy friend—
And from his noble spirit, wrung at last,
His slow consent to fly—when—O! sad chance!
E'en on the verge of freedom—half within
Th' asylum of his safety—he heard thy voice—
Rushed back resistless from my eager grasp,
And—

AMANTHA.
Perished for his love to his Amantha!
I've murdered him!—'tis I—'tis I have murdered him!
Oh! misery, misery!—was there need of this!—
Of this last blow to crush me!—“Merciless Powers!
“How have I angered you!—what have I done!—
“That on this hapless head ye shower down woes,
“Till pity shrinks, and madness will not shelter me!”
Crawls there a wretch upon this suffering earth,
So lost—so cursed as I am!
[A shout is heard from without.
Hark!—that shout!—
The fatal blow is struck!—Oh, God! Oh, God!
I see the ghastly visage held aloft!
It smiles on poor Amantha—tho' she killed him!
A moment's breath!—
[Looking eargerly round.
Are there no means!
[Seeing Malinski's dagger.
Kind chance!
The best!—
[Snatching up the dagger.
Thus, thus, Alasco! I avenge
And follow thee!

[Stabs herself, and falls into the arms of Conrad.
CONRAD.
O! fatal—fatal rashness!

[A shout is heard, and rush of footsteps.
Enter Walsingham, Alasco, Jerome, Officers, and Guards.
WALSINGHAM.
Where is my child?—rejoice for thy Alasco!
Pardon for him, and amnesty to all!

[Amantha starts from Conrad's arms, drops on her knee, clasps her hands, and exclaims—
AMANTHA.
Thanks!—thanks!—kind heaven! thou'st left me life to hear it!

ALASCO.
Oh! my loved Amantha!—ha! pale—quite pale—
And blood upon thy breast—Oh! deed of horror!

WALSINGHAM.
O! my foreboding fears!—my child, my child!

ALASCO.
Speak, Conrad!—speak—although you blast me.

AMANTHA.
Alas!
I've been too hasty—take me, loved Alasco!
In thy dear arms—I yet have strength to bear
One last embrace—my husband!—how I have loved thee,
Let this sad moment prove!—

ALASCO.
My hapless wife!—

AMANTHA.
Now lay me gently down:—to see thee dragged
To slaughter, was too much for poor Amantha.—
Almighty Being! O! pardon, that I rush
Unbidden thus before thee!—Cruel fate!
A cruel fate has followed us, and marked
At last its victim.—Where is my poor father?

WALSINGHAM.
Sweet sufferer! here.—

AMANTHA.
Thy hand—thy hand, my father!
[She joins his hand to Alasco's.
Thine too, my husband—for my sake, live friends!
Forget these horrid broils—that make sad hearts!
And, oh! Alasco! let thy love sustain
The good old man—thro' this hard trial—Oh!
I sink—I sink—how all things fade!—what light!—
Ha!—my mother!—thou art come for thy poor child—
Quick, quick, Alasco!—she waits—we must away—
Oh! oh! my husband!—

[Dies.
WALSINGHAM.
My child—my child!—
Oh! wretched father! desolate old man!—
Yield—yield thee, Walsingham!—
Thy honour's all that's left thee!

[Falls into the arms of the attendants.
JEROME.
This sad scene
O'erwhelms him—haste and bear him to the air.

[Walsingham is borne off.
ALASCO,
(who had remained gazing on the body of Amantha.
And art thou dead, Amantha!—dead—quite dead!
Oh! gentle spirit!—sweet victim of thy love!—
Hast thou then bled for me!—for me!—I'm now
Absolved all duties—loosed from every tie—
As free, as misery and despair can make me!
This is the bloody point, that searched thy heart—
[Taking up the dagger.
The truest—tenderest heart!—no words—no words!—
There are no words!—no tears,—for woes like mine.
Let me then weep in blood!—

[Attempts to stab himself—Jerome and Conrad prevent him—Conrad seizing his arm.
CONRAD.
O! noble friend!
Forbear, or first strike here—

JEROME.
Heaven shield my son!

Alasco
(breaking from Conrad, and holding up the dagger.
As you regard your lives, molest me not!—
For I'm a desperate man, that frenzy grapples with.
Think you, the dagger and the bowl removed,
With every mortal means the wretch resorts to,
That you can prison life in this frail mansion!
Oh! no—no, no!—“the soul eludes all jailers!
“Tyrants may frown—the bullying world look big—
“And scowl down feebler spirits;—who dares to die,
“Scoffs at the vain grimace, and sets him free!”—
There is a point, at which the heart will break,—
And I have reached it!—yes—this friendly steel
But saves some useless pangs.—Had she—there cold—
Had she remained to bless me—for her sake,
I might have lived—and writhed through some sad years,
A pardoned slave!—in shackles, with my country.
But now!—
Life's load were insupportable to sense.—
Thus then, I shake the loathsome burthen off,
And fly to my Amantha!—

[Stabs himself, and falls on the body of Amantha.
CURTAIN FALLS.