University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The exterior of the Fort, on the margin of the Neva, Behind, the Castle and Towers of Schlusselburgh.
Mirovitz enters.
Miro.
'Tis now the morning-watch—from tow'r to tow'r
Hark! round yon fort's wide circuit, loudly rings
The voice of challeng'd sentinels. The time,
Th'appointed hour is past. Methinks, I hear
Advancing steps.—'Twas but the Neva's flood
That round this isle, the abode of woe and horror,
Whirls its swift eddies.

Feodor
enters.
Feodor—my brother.
Speak—Feodor?

Feo.
The same.

Miro.
Why this delay?

Feo.
'Tis ever thus—thy fervent spirit outruns
Th'appointed time.

Miro.
Speed! speed, ye hours of vengeance!
Oh that night's thickest clouds were gather'd round me!
Till then where hide my deep disgrace?

Feo.
Be patient.

Miro.
Say, was it slight th'offence, that here, so long,
In these drear haunts, doom'd for my sire's misdeeds,
I still have serv'd inglorious? wrong on wrong—
Insult on insult! nay—'tis known to all,
That when the ruthless minion, proud Rimuni,
Had of his honour'd charge depriv'd Naritzin,
On me by right and ordinance of service,
Devolved the care of Ivan. Vain my claims.
Galinovitz, it seems, has won their favour;
A stripling, in his boy-hood, o'er my brow
Rais'd as in mockery. Be swift vengeance mine!
Deep, deadly as their outrage.

Feo.
Mirovitz,
'Tis in thy power. The guard who serve the night-watch,
Now, at my word assembled, wait thy bidding,
In secret, in the cavern, delv'd beneath
The western bastion, whose huge bulk drives back
The wint'ry floods. But not on them alone
Our hope is fix'd: all whom this isle contains,
At thy first summons will arise in arms
To free Naritzin. Such his kindly rule,
That when the herald's voice aloud proclaim'd
That here the Empress and Rimuni meet
This day to seal his doom, the cry of wrath,
Of vengeance, and revolt, rang round the isle.
Go forth—and head the tumult.

Miro.
Feodor,
The rage and uproar of the populace
Burst like the tide, whose refluent waves, ere long,
Die off unheard: not such my course of vengeance.
Its progress like the Neva's ceaseless stream,
That gathering up its strength from thousand rills
Sweeps onward, without ebb, and undermines
The tower whose shadow slumbers on its bosom
In proud security. My art shall gain
To serve my deep revenge, all who this night
Hold watch and ward o'er Ivan.

Feo.
Speed, and prosper.

[Exeunt.