University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Fredolfo; Waldo and a Minstrel seated at a table, with wine. The Minstrel touching a chord on his harp, as the curtain draws up, as if he had just concluded an air. Night: storm heard without. Waldo starts up.
Wal.
Hush!—hark!—
The warder on the tower hath blown his blast.—
It is my lord—where are those loitering knaves?
Enter Page, with a torch.
How now, Sir boy, ye keep brave order here!—
Did ye not hear the summoning blast that sent
Its deep low tremblings on the hollow wind?

Page.
I stood upon the warder's tower, and listen'd;—
There was no voice, nor lip of man to breathe it.

Minstrel.
“It was the wind, or else the hooting owl,
“Or some wild sound of the many voiced mountain,
“Such as men oft in mountain regions hear.
“Sit down, that I may touch my harp again.

Wal.
“Peace, peace, I pray thee; peace—how looks the night?”

Page.
It is a fearful and a stormy night;
Woe to the traveller, who in such an hour
Must scale St. Gothard's height!

Wal.
Away, thou loiterer!
Where is the beacon that should burn so bright?
Where is the taper in the latticed casement,
Shedding its star-like ray, to guide the traveller?
Away! and from the vale should trampling hoof
Or horn be heard, or torch-led litter gleam,
Let all his battlements ring with the blast
That gives Fredolfo welcome!
[Exit Page.
(Pausing as the storm increases.)
Hush! the storm—
It gives a thrilling answer to my speech.—
Oh, I do fear some evil from this night!

Min.
Why doth he leave at such unwonted hour
His shelter'd home in Altdorf's pleasant walls,
Giving his hoary age to the wind's rudeness,—
Which the cloak'd churl would shrink from at such hour—
And bearing to these wilds his lovely daughter?

Wal.
What boots it thee to know? he hath his reasons.—
On with thy tale, or song, to speed the moments!

Min.
What, shall I tell thee of a stern old carle,
Who chid the curious wishes of a minstrel,
All-while he burn'd to tell the tale himself?

Wal.
Go to! thou art insolent and curious too.—
I have no tale—'tis all but doubt and wonder!
“'Tis weary watching for the traveller
“Who journeys in the night, and wearier still
“Watching for those who with the tempest meet
“The dark and wrestling angel of the night;
“But, oh! 'tis sad to watch the lamp for him
“Who seeks his home as men explore a charnel—
“A place of foul and festering recollections;—
“Whose walls a viewless hand hath traced with writing,—
“Whose floors have daggers for the foot that treads them.

Min.
“What dost thou mean by these mysterious words?”

Wal.
Ten years have pass'd, since Lord Fredolfo journey'd
To meet the Syndics in the halls of Altdorf.—
He was the country's idol—Switzerland,
Through all her rescued cantons, bless'd her champion;
For, when he sat in council, from his head
Sprang Liberty, a living goddess arm'd!
Nor lack'd his hand the thunder to defend her.—
So he went forth—the people blessing him;—
His wife and infant daughter here remain'd,—
He kiss'd them on the morn of his departure,
But not on his return:—Hark!—Hark!—what noise

[Minstrel rises.—Through the casement is seen a display of the effects of a storm, in a mountainous country.
Min.
“The storm in his dark might hath gone abroad
“Among the mountains;—all their echoes answer
“The giant anthem of a thousand caverns
“That day hath never look'd on:—
“There is a blackness in the hurtling air,
“As light had never been:—
“Woe to the traveller in a night like this!”

Wal.
It was a night like this, of woe and fear,
(The stormy twilight of a winter's eve,)
Fredolfo to these towers return'd in hope.—
His child, alone, to meet her father ran—
No mother led her there:—he flung her off,
He called her mother's name, and echo mock'd him;—
The silence of the menials answer'd him,—
They knew not her dark fate, nor aught could tell him.

Min.
Where was his wife?

Wal.
Who knew? who knows even now?
She was no more, yet no one mark'd her end:—
Her veil and zone, flung on a fearful rock,
Through whose worn arch the mountain-torrent struggled,
Were all her fate's memorial.

Min.
Merciful heaven!
Was there no trace, no answering event?

Wal.
Yes, there was one; on that same fearful night
The Austrian governor, stern Wallenberg,
Lay on yon rocks a stark and weltering corse.—
It was a horrid sight to see him borne
Within these walls, stretch'd out upon this pavement;
His unclosed eyes, clench'd hands, and bared teeth,
Fix'd in the strength of the last horrible agony,
Show'd he had struggled felly with the hands
That dealt with him.
“—Why dost thou gaze upon me?

Min.
“I know not why I gaze—on with thy tale.

Wal.
“There is a dizzy trembling in my brain,
“Whene'er I see that vision—that lost wife—
“And then that Austrian tyrant”—Through the cantons
Still sounds the cry, “Who will reveal the murderer?”
His tyrant son still urges the reward—
In vain; the grave its secret darkly kept,
And from that hour these walls a master knew not.
Why now he seeks them, ask me not to tell.

Enter Page, hastily.
Page.
There is a voice of terror from the vale,
Neighing of startled steeds, and shouts of horsemen;
And feebly mingling with the deep-toned blast,
I heard a female's cries.

Wal.
It is the daughter of Fredolfo! Haste,
Away! bear torches, throw the portal wide:—
[Exit Page.
Full strait and perilous is the path by day,
Which that lorn lady must in darkness tread.
[A confused noise without.
Enter Berthold.
Ha! Berthold—her attendant!—Where's thy lady?

Bert.
Curse on the tremblings of this pithless arm,
That vainly struggled with her frighted steed,
While to the flood he bore his screaming burden!

Wal.
His screaming burden? Heavens! she perishes!—
Coward! thou saw'st her danger, and thou fled'st!
Thou thing of weakness and deformity,
'Twas thy ill-omen'd visage scared her palfrey!
Would I could tarry longer here to curse thee!

[Rushes out with the rest.
Bert.
Coward, deform'd, and spurn'd!—Can I not stab him?—
Why, when my fingers would enwring his throat,
Does my bedew'd and quivering flesh recoil?—
All loathsome things are things of danger too—
Even the small spider hath his drop of poison,
As deadly as the vast and volumed serpent's.—
I—I, alone, must writhe in impotence,
Gasp with unutter'd curses, and crush darkly
The abortive births of mischief in their throes.

[Confused sound of voices without—Vassals enter with torches, and Waldo, bearing Urilda in his arms, in a swoon.
Vassals.
She lives! she's saved!—A stranger's arm hath saved her!

Bert.
(snatching her from Waldo)
Stand back!—'twas to my care her father gave her.
Fellow, stand back! no arm but mine shall clasp her.
(Pausing over her.)
Oh! it renews the heart to gaze on thee!
Thou thing of power, that hast not life, but givest it:—
Thou beauteous even in death—making death beauteous!
Those softly closed lids, in whose rich veil
The unseen light dwells lovely,—the wan cheek,
Amid whose pallid bower death weds with beauty;
The faintly-falling arms, the woe-bent head—
Oh! still be thus! Oh, yes, be ever thus!—
While thus I see thee calm, I deem thee kind.
Those eyes will ope—to turn their light from me;
Those arms will wave, to chide me with their softness;
And, oh! that lip,—that rubied cup of bliss,
That flows with joy for all, pour hate on me!

Wal.
(incensed)
Audacious!—to the daughter of thy lord!—

[Urilda recovering, and starting from the arms of Berthold, whom she views with horror.
Uril.
Ha! saved by thee!—impossible!—where was I?
There was an arm—it was not thine, that saved me.

Wal.
No, lady, no; he fled—the coward fled!
Thy scatter'd train, storm-struck, aghast, and trembling,
Consign'd thee to his care, who cared for nought
But the vile freight of his most worthless carcase,
Whose fragments even the rending rocks had scorn'd.

Uril.
(starting at the sound)
Amid the rocks!—Ay! there, 'twas there he found me!
The horrid avalanche came thundering down—
Angel of wrath—most horrible in whiteness;
Pale desolation's ghastly smile,—that smile
More fearful than its frown—I saw, and fled,—
And when o'er the wild chasm my courser paused,
Where the rent pine had flung a fearful arch,
I knew that I was there, but knew not how!—
A dizzy whirl of nothingness and horror—
My brain is giddy!—mine own shrieks are there!
The chasm yawns black beneath me—that black chasm!
And then, a mist of fire—and then an arm—
Cries were my breath!—I shriek'd, even though it saved me.

Wal.
Shame on yon craven's flight! It was a stranger,
A youth unknown, nor mingled with your train;
When even the boldest rein'd their steeds in horror,
With desperate steps he scaled that bridge of death,
With desperate arm he snatch'd thee from its verge;
Nor paused his foot, nor fail'd his nervous grasp,
Till safe he placed thee in thy vassals' arms.

Uril.
Speak,—my deliverer! wherefore comes he not?
Will he not hear me bless him? Doth he scorn
Thanks from the lip, whose life his gift hath been?
Why are ye silent? (gazing round her.)


Wal.
Strange was his demeanor;
His cheek glow'd freshly; and, as on he bore you,
We well could mark his high heroic form;
But, when his eye upon the sculptured walls
That fence your towers, had caught Fredolfo's name,
From his lax arms their senseless burthen dropp'd,
And stern he parted, shunning further question.

Uril.
Is this a dream? I am Fredolfo's daughter—
And does a son of Switzerland think scorn
To save the child of him who saved his country?
Does not the heart that hears his name expand
Like palace-gates to greet some glorious guest?—
Away, and seek him!
[Exeunt Waldo and vassals.
(Turning, and starting at seeing herself alone with Berthold.)
Ha! thou lingering there!
Art thou there still, and I alone with thee?
Oh! seek him too!

Bert.
Seek him? the happy youth,
Who press'd that form to his high-heaving side,—
Who saw thy smile of death in silence bless him!
Seek him!—No;—bid me wrestle with the storm,
When on the ice-rock the quench'd lightning hisses;—
Bid me with forceless grasp seize thy steed's rein—
Feel thee rent from me—feel another save thee—
While o'er my trampled form thy pages trod,
And, passing, laugh'd at the loath'd lump they spurn'd;
Scorn'd, strengthless, beautyless—all, all but loveless!—
Bid me do aught but leave thee in thy scorn—
Bid me do aught but seek that happy youth!

Uril.
(with horror)
Ah, wretch! thou didst not save me—hence! begone!
My quivering flesh recoils when thou art near.
Why do I shudder at thee? what art thou,
Slave of my father, to Fredolfo's daughter?
Darest thou to breathe thy mad and horrid passion?—
What, though my sire, in all but that most wise,
Makes pastime of thy doating loathsomeness,
What, though he chides me when I shrink from thee—

Bert.
Shrink from me—Ha! ha! ha!

Uril.
Forbear! forbear!
Thy laugh is even more hideous than thy form!
Ah! curse me rather! from those leprous lips
Curses would sound like blessings!

Bert.
(with bitter irony)
Bless thee, then.
Now wilt thou hear me, lady?

Uril.
Bless thy foes,
Not me, not me—thou thing of hideous form!
I loathe—I tremble at—I pity thee!

Bert.
(approaching her, while she shrinks)
Loathe me, and tremble too—but, dare not pity.
Wouldst thou a subject meet for pity know,—
A theme to melt thy gleaming eye of beauty
Like evening's quench'd star, shining through its dews—
Pity—thy father!
[Exit Berthold.

Uril.
Ha! what meant the slave?
There was a glare from his abhorred eye,—
A livid light, like that the thunder-cloud
Sheds o'er the pale and stilled earth beneath,
Before it bursts and blasts it!
Faintness and terror are upon me—O,
For the brave arm that saved me, to sustain me!
[She totters, through weakness.
(Adelmar enters, attended by Waldo, whom he waves off, and advances slowly alone.)
(Gazing with doubt and amazement)
He comes! oh, God! it cannot, cannot be!—
And does he dare amid these walls to seek me?
For me he trembled—for himself he fears not.
(Rushing up to him.)
Away! away! thou must not enter here!
There is a voice from out these walls forbids thee!—
My father hates thee, tracks thy hunted steps—
(Relaxing from fear into tenderness, and falling into his arms.)
Adelmar, art thou here?—and was it thou?

Adel.
Yes; Adelmar, the unowned, the wanderer,
The stranger—almost to himself unknown;
He, o'er whom midnight murder darkly watches,
He, who on unseen daggers plants his steps,
And tramples them to clasp thee:—Yes, I follow'd thee
O'er the dark mountains—through the night I follow'd;—
The spirits of the tempest raised their arms
To snatch thee, and I grappled with their might,—
Wrestled with them in darkness, and o'ercame them.
Bright star, emerging sole on my fate's blackness,
Shed thy last light on me! (kneeling)
'twill be the last!

Uril.
(after a pause of agony)
It will—it must!—Why does my father hate thee?
Away!—amid these hostile walls there is not
Safety for thee—though thou hast saved their daughter.

Adel.
Hate me!—I could to my forgiving breast
Clasp—yea, weep o'er the man that hated me!
But, oh! thy father spurn'd me; when my glaive
Had smote the proudest helm that Altdorf boasts,
When this young arm from practised chiefs in tourney
Had rent its pledge, to lay it at thy feet—
Thou, thou Urilda, on my glowing brow
Would'st then have placed the wreath my toils had won.—
I saw thine eye's young gleam, and felt the lance
Was easier baffled than its wound of light;
I saw thy cheek of rose, and felt the frown
Of death-arm'd brows less awful than thy blush!
I saw the trembling of thy hand of snow,
And felt the grappling of an armed gauntlet
Was pastime to that touch which made me tremble!
Then, then—thy father—

Uril.
(rushing to him, and placing her hand on his lips.)
Hush! he is my father!

Adel.
(throwing her off)
He spurn'd me, tore thee from me, bade thy hand
Bind round thy meanest groom the blushing wreath,
Sooner than on that conqueror's brow—He spurn'd me!

Uril.
(weeping)
Had he spurn'd me, I must have loved him still—
But thou, to whom his daughter's tears are triumphs,
If that her agony no pity moves,—
Though thou dost outrage nature, honour, virtue;—
Revere the name his country's sons revere,—
Fredolfo's name! (in a tone of command.)


Adel.
(solemnly.)
I am the child of woe,
Of persecution, and of mystery;
Fredolfo's name—the name his country worships—
Rung in my infant dreams.—I was a boy,
Wild and imaginative, full of thoughts
That mountain-spirits to their children whisper,
I might have been a hero!

Uril.
Might have been! Thou art!

Adel.
I should have been, but for thy father!
A peasant child, amid the mountain steeps,
St. Gothard's heights I wander'd—the storm's shrieks
I heard, and echoed in wild fearless mirth,
Like children, who in awful ignorance sport;—
There came another shriek,—a shriek of murder!

[Urilda shudders.
Uril.
(Starting and agitated.)
Murder! but, then, my father was not there,—
Or was there—but to save?

Adel.
I will not speak—
Dark thoughts came thronging with that night's remembrance.
Twice, twice, with horrible strength the voice shrieked murder!
I flew in madness there.—Amid the night
Darkly I grappled with two shadowy forms,
Beneath whose gripe a struggling warrior heaved,
Then lay a corse.—I had no arms.—

Uril.
No arms?
Could'st thou not kneel to them, and weep, and pray?
I would, had I been there; I would have clasp'd
That dying man in my young pleading arms,
And held them up for weapons of defence!
Oh! that I had been there—he had not perish'd!

Adel.
They stabb'd me—On my breast the scar remains!
I knelt in blood beside the corse all night,
My living blood with the pale corse's mingling.—

Uril.
Oh! that my father had beheld thee then!
So young, so brave, so piteous,—as a child
He must have loved thee.

Adel.
Hath he loved me since?
Time pass'd as in a dream, and oft I thought
That the dead warrior in his mountain grave
Slept unremember'd—then, by ruffian hands
Dragg'd from my hut, all tremblingly, I follow'd—
Far in a sea-toss'd bark the ruffians bore me;—
A voice was in the wind, that swell'd the sails,—
That charm'd them ne'er to let their freight return!

Uril.
A voice!—what voice?

Adel.
I know not;—but I cried,
Who tears a freeman from his mountain-home?
Who rends the child his country cannot spare
From her spread arms? The answer was,—Fredolfo!

Uril.
(Shrieking with amazement.)
Impossible!

Adel.
I cried, ‘impossible.’
Years, mournful years, in a strange land were wasted,—
Wasted to me—the land was beautiful—
Fair rose the spires, and gay the buildings were,
And rich the plains, like dreams of blessed isles;
But, when I heard my country's music breathe,
I sigh'd to be among her wilds again!
I climb'd a bark's tall side—an arm grasp'd mine—
Struggling, I turn'd, and ask'd who dared withhold me?
A dark-eyed ruffian answer'd,—'twas Fredolfo!

Uril.
(Bursting into vehemence.)
It was a villain, liar, fiend, that mock'd thee!—
My father rend a child of Switzerland
From the dear mountains mountain-children love?
My father snatch thee from the bark, that bore
Thy steps to seek the bosom of thy home!
Away!—in absence, I may try to hate thee.

Adel.
(Kneeling.)
Oh! spurn me, curse me, but thou shalt not hate me!
“O'er my wild life of mystery and woe,
“A darkly gather'd cloud, one fair beam broke!
“O, close not up its light,—it is thine image!
“Still let it tremble o'er my stormy fate,
“Calming the wave it lights with short bright lustre.”
A wanderer,—banish'd, outlaw'd by thy father,
Let me upon the desert shores of life
Pause, to unlock the casket of my soul,
And gaze upon thy bright and treasured smile,
The only gem this lonely heart can boast of:—
Smile on my parting steps, and I am blest,
Though they to ruin tread!

Uril.
[softened]
O! not to ruin!
In other lands thy valour shall be known;
In other lands some happier beauty bless thee.
Wilt thou, when brighter roses bloom around thee,
Think of the bud that wither'd in its wilds?
Wilt thou, where balmier lips their nectar shed,
Think still of parting passion's last cold kiss?
[Sinks into his arms.
(Confused noise within, and servants rush across the stage with torches.)
Starting from the arms of Adelmar, and addressing the servants who hurry past her.
Where dost thou rush in this wild speed of fear?

1st Serv.
Our lord!—our lord! the storm! he perishes!—
He meets the might of the dark hour alone!—
His frighted train have left him in the vale.

[Exeunt Servants.
Urilda grasps Waldo, who is rushing out with the rest, and detains him.
Uril.
Speak! tell, where art thou rushing?

Wal.
Askest thou where,
Hearing the wrath of this most awful night?
To save my lord, thy father! Know'st thou not,
St. Gothard's monks, upon their ice-crown'd towers,
Prepare to sound that sole and terrible bell,
That tells the traveller's danger?

Uril.
‘Traveller's danger!’
It is my father's—speak'st thou so of him?
And stand I here, and with a daughter's heart,
To list the bell that tolls my father's fate?
[To Adelmar]
Away, and save him, or I am not saved!

Adel.
[Clasping her to his heart]
Yes, thou art saved.

Uril.
[Starting from him.]
Saved, while my father perishes?

The bells of St. Gothard's Monastery peal out— The storm increases, and lightning flashes through the casements.
Uril.
Hark! hark! it strikes upon my brain!
[Adelmar kneels to her.
Away! thou mock'st me with false homage! hence!
I spurn the life thou gavest—my father perishes!
[Bell tolls again.]
Answer not me—
Thine arm is strong—Oh! save him!

[kneeling.
Adel.
[Pausing.]
One word—one look, Urilda!

Uril.
Yes, this word,—
This look—an agonizing daughter's look,—
Whose eye hath speech, though her voice faileth—thus—

[Falls at his feet.
Adel.
I fly to save the life, that lives to blast me!
[Exit Adelmar.

(The storm increases.)
Uril.
(Clinging to Waldo.)
“Oh, hold me! let me grasp thee in my terrors!
“For fearfulness is on me—'tis a night
“Of perils, horrors, and of many deaths!
“I fix mine eye on the dark floor, but there
“The lightnings flash in many a horrid curve;
“I close mine eyes—the lightning glares through them!
“My father! Heaven have mercy on my father!

[Sinking from Waldo's arms to the ground.
Wal.
“Peace, peace, sad lady, peace!

Uril.
“What tell'st thou me of peace, when Heaven is warring?
“ (Kneeling.)
Ye wing'd and viewless couriers of his march,
“Whose chariot is the whirlwind,—whose dark forms
“Unseen, we hear the rushing of your pinions,
“I kneel not to you in my heart's strong terrors—
“I kneel to Him, whose arm hath power o'er yours—
“Hear me! I bend in agony—Oh, hear,
“Great God of nature! List to nature's voice!
“A daughter's voice! hold back thy hand, nor dart
“Thy swift and perilous lightnings on that head—
“Spare him!—A world of crime and woe demands thee!
(The storm increases.)
“ (Rises in terror.)
The deep and swelling thunders answer me—
“Th'unnatural glare of the lightnings, horrid noon,
“Making a sunless day—He perishes!
“And I—I linger here—his daughter lingers!

[Rushing out.
Wal.
(detaining her.)
“Where wouldst thou rush?

Uril.
(wildly.)
“Where the tempest raves,
“To bare my bosom to the forked lightnings!
“To shriek in tones that will appal the thunder!
“To yell in nature's ears a daughter's prayer!

Wal.
(Holding her.)
“Thou, thou, who trembled at the lightnings' flash?

Uril.
(Bursting from him.)
“I was a woman. Now I am a daughter!
“Why should I fear this battle of the clouds?
“I could thy bosom pierce to save my father.

[She rushes out—Waldo following.

SCENE II.

The Mountains of St. Gothard, in the neighbourhood of the Castle—A tremendous storm—The scene partially illuminated by flashes of lightning —Fredolfo's attendants are seen hurrying among the wild passes of the Mountains—A distant view of the Monastery of St. Gothard —The bell pealing at intervals—Two attendants of Fredolfo are seen indistinctly among the Cliffs.
1st Atten.
Where is thy lord?

2d Atten.
Nay, ask that fearful bell!
Why didst thou leave him? Hush! nor answer me—
I hear a horn, 'tis breathing from the vale—
In the deep pausings of the storm I hear it—
Hark! Hark!

1st Atten.
It is a stranger's horn that sounds—
That stranger-youth, who cross'd us in our journey!
See! see! he totters o'er that gulf of death—
He plunges in—lost youth, he perishes!

[Exeunt.
A tremendous chasm among the rocks.—Adelmar is seen extricating Fredolfo, who leans on him exhausted—Adelmar leads him forward slowly —The stage very dark.
Fred.
(without looking up.)
What hand hath snatch'd me from my cavern-tomb?
Is it a mortal arm on which I lean,
Whose power hath burst my bond of adamant?
“The grave had closed upon me—o'er my head
“The meeting rocks form'd an eternal barrier—
“Nature's stupendous keep—whose shackles are
“The ribbed rocks—whose vault the hollowed mountain;”—
[shudders.
Within a lightless dungeon pent to perish,
Which mortal hand nor framed nor penetrates,—
Below the human ear, the human tread—
The baffled eagle scream'd as far he flew—
The tempest's voice,—a fearful whisper there,
It had been bliss to hear it roar in freedom!—
There was a viewless stream beside my foot,
Whose waves no light, whose lapse no echo knew:—
[recovering the sense of his situation.
Speak to me, stranger,—thy brave hand feels cold!
Tell me whose name I am to bless?

Adel.
Bless heaven!
I am a wretched mortal! fare thee well!
Thy train approach, I leave thee to their care.

(Torches at a distance.)
Fred.
(holding him.)
Thou shalt not leave me!
Bear torches here, I must behold the man
Who trembles less at peril than at praise.

Adel.
(struggling with him.)
Hold! know'st thou not with whom thou darkly strugglest?
Release me, let me hide from thee for ever!
(Fredolfo detains him.)
Swear then, whatever form the light disclose,
Thou wilt not.—Ha! the torches glare! behold me!

[The servants enter with torches—Adelmar flings back his mantle, and gazes on Fredolfo; after a moment's pause of recognition, Fredolfo's countenance assumes the wildest expression of rage and horror.
Fred.
Ha! Thou,—thou here! the dæmon sworn to blast me!
I rush to hide me 'mid the peopled city,—
He haunts me in the streets!—I fly to the mountains,—
His hand hath power to reach me in their darkness!
Come, bear me in thy talon'd gripe to torture,
Let us lie down on beds of fire together,
And wallow in fierce ease,—that I may feel
I have no more to fear!

[Sinks down.
Wal.
What means my lord?

Fred.
(starting up.)
Slaves! seize him! drag him to your darkest dungeons!
Heap mountains on him, bury him i'the centre,
Where light can never pierce.

Adel.
(struggling with the attendants.)
Men! hear me plead,
Murder not him, whose arm hath saved your master!

[They grapple with him, and get him on his knees—Fredolfo draws his dagger, and rushes towards him, when Urilda entering, flings herself between them.
Uril.
Spare him! Oh spare! it is your daughter kneels.

Fred.
Off, frantic wretch!—Know'st thou for whom thou plead'st?

Uril.
(in agony.)
He saved your life!

Fred.
Saved it,—to curse, to blight it!
Off,—or I curse thee too!

Uril.
(Flinging her arms round Adelmar, and protecting him.)
Curse me,—but spare him!

Fred.
(Writhing on seeing her in his arms.)
Lock'd in his arms before my withering sight!
Then, hear me—Thou hast drawn the thunder down,
And may it fall and crush thee! Ye dark spirits,
“Who quit your homes to range with horrid joy
“The deeper hell of man's changed soul within him,”
Who prompt the parent's trembling tongue with curses,
Who goad the female heart with brandish'd scorpions,
Steep mine in your black venom,—from its core
Pluck nature's up-torn roots to the last fibre,
Though its strings sever too—while o'er the head
Of her, who was my child—

[Urilda, who has been listening with horror, releases Adelmar, and falls on the earth at his feet.
Uril.
Oh, mercy! mercy!

[The curtain falls.