Count D'Alba! Save him! Save him! D'Alba's gone, | That awful depth! Did'st thou dare this for me?
And I have sentenced him.
(After a pause.
And must I?-But I fear not. I'll go with thee.
He would have chosen so, I'm safe of foot, and light. I'll go.
Would rather have died a thousand deaths than so
Jul.
Thou can'st not.
Have lived! Oh who will succour me, shut up
Ann. Then go thyself, or he will find thee here,
In this lone tower! none but those horrid guards, He and his ruffian band. Let us part now.
And yonder hoary traitor, know where the poor, Kiss me again. Fly, fly from Sicily!—
Poor Annabel is hidden; no man cares
That fearful man-but he is all one lie-
How she may perish-only one-and he-
Told me thy life was forfeited.
Preserve my wits! I'll count my beads; 'twill calm

Jul.
A truth.

Ann. Oh fly! fly! fly!

Jul.

He told thee

My Annabel,

ACT V.
SCENE

The same as the last; the arched Door nearly closed.

Annabel.

Ann.

Jul.

Ask not.

Whither?

To my father.

Ann. Then he's alive-Oh happiness! They told

me

That he was dead. Why do we loiter here?
Let's join him now.

Now! now! Thou know'st not
How horribly these walls do picture to me
The several agonies whereof my soul
Hath drunk to-day. I have been tempted, Julian,
By one-a fiend! tempted till I almost thought
God had forsaken me. But thou art here
To save me, and my pulse beats high again
With love and hope. I am light-hearted now,
And could laugh like a child-only these walls
Do crowd around me with a visible weight,
A palpable pressure; giving back the forms
Of wildest thoughts that wandered through my brain,
Bright chattering Madness, and sedate Despair,
And Fear the Great Unreal!-Take me hence!
Take me away with thee!

Jul.
Not yet, not yet.
Thou sweetest wretch! I cannot-Dotard! Fool!
I must. Not yet! not yet!-Talk to me, Annabel;
This is the hour when thou wast wont to make
Earth Heaven with lovely words; the sun-set hour,
That woke thy spirit into joy. Once more
Talk to me, Annabel.

When we are free. Thy voice is choked; thy looks
Are not on me; thy hand doth catch and twitch
And grasp mine painfully,-that gentle hand!
Jul. O God! O God! that right hand!-kiss it not!
Take thy lips from it!
Ann.

Can'st thou save me, Julian?
Thou always dost speak truth. Can'st save thyself?
Shall we go hence together?
Jul.
One home.

Ay, one fate

Upon this glorious world! Look once again
On our fair Sicily, lit by that sun

Whose level beams do cast a golden shine

On sea, and shore, and city, on the pride

Of bowery groves; on Etna's smouldering top;—
Oh bright and glorious world! and thou of all
Created things most glorious, tricked in light,
As the stars that live in Heaven!
Ann.

Why dost thou gaze

So sadly on me?
Jul.
The bright stars, how oft
They fall, or seem to fall! The Sun-look! look!
He sinks, he sets in glory. Blessed orb,

Like thee-like thee-Dost thou remember once
We sate by the sea-shore when all the Heaven
And all the ocean seemed one glow of fire,
Red, purple, saffron, melted into one

Intense and ardent flame, the doubtful line
Where sea and sky should meet was lost in that
Continuous brightness; there we sate and talked
Of the mysterious union that blessed orb

Wrought between earth and heaven, of life and death,
High mysteries!-and thou didst wish thyself
A spirit sailing in that flood of light

Straight to the Eternal Gates, didst pray to pass
Away in such a glory. Annabel!

Look out upon the burning sky, the sea

One lucid ruby-'t is the very hour!

Thou 'lt be a Seraph at the Fount of Light
Before-

Ann.

Now!
[One of the murderers strikes at Julian with
his sword; Annabel rushes before him, re-
ceives the wound aimed at him, and falls
at his feet.

Ann. (before she is wounded.) For thee!
Then after.

'Tis sweet!

For thee

(dies.

Jul. Fiend, hast thou slain her? Die! die! die!
Come on.
(fights and kills him
Bert. Call instant help! Hasten the Count!

Jul.

[Exit the other murderer.
(Julian and Bertone fight, and Julian kills him.
My wife!
My murdered wife! Doth she not breathe? I
thought-

My sight is dim-Oh no! she's pale! she's cold!
She's still! If she were living she would speak

To comfort me. She's mute! she's stiff! she's dead!
Why do I shiver at the word, that am

Death's factor, peopler of unhallowed graves,
Slayer of all my race! not thee! not thee!
God, in his mercy, guided the keen sword
To thy white bosom,-I could not. Lie there.
I'll shroud thee in my mantle. (covering her with t
The rude earth
Will veil thy beauty next. One kiss!-She died
To save me.-One kiss, Annabel! I slew
The slave that killed thee,-but the fiend, the cause-
Is he not coming?-I will chain in life

Till I've avenged thee; I could slay an army
Now in my strong despair. But that were mercy.

He must wear daggers in his heart. He loved her-
I'll feed his hopes-and then-Ay-ha! ha! ha!
That will be a revenge to make the fiends

What, must I die? And wilt thou kill me? Laugh-ha! ha! ha! I'll wrap me in this cloak

Canst thou? Thou cam'st to save

(taking one belonging to the dead brave.
And in the twilight-So-Ile will not know
My voice-it frightens me!—I have not hidden
Thee quite, my Annabel! There is one tress
Floating in springy grace-as if she's dead!
She's dead! I must not gaze, for then my heart
Will break before its time. He comes. The stairs
Groan at his pressure.

Enter D'Alba,

D'Alba (entering, to an Attendant).

Back, and watch the gate!

All's tranquil. Where's the traitor?

Yes.

Jul.
D'Alba.

My sword!

Jul. I.

Now! I'm ready.

Dead.

Who slew him?

I cannot draw it.

Ann.

Bert.

Enter Bertone, and two Murderers.

Seize him!

Yield thee, Prince Julian! Yield thee! Seize the lady.
Jul. Oh fatal, fond delay! Dare not come near us!
Stand off! I'll guard thee, sweet. But when I fall,
Let him not triumph.

Bert.
Yield thee! Strike him down.
Jul. Thou canst die then, my fairest.

The two murderers have now advanced
close to Julian.

Of rude uncostly linen serves to wrap
Your common corse; but this man was born swathed That I may see thy face. Where art thou?

I'm glad thou'rt come to close my eyes. Draw nearer

In regal purple; lived so; and so died.

So be he buried. Let not mine enemy
Call me ungenerous. Roll him in his ermine
And dig a hole without the city gate

For him and the proud Regent. Quick! I'd have
The funeral speedy. Ah! the slaughtering sword
Lies by him, brown with clotted gore. Hence! hence!
And drag the carrion with thee.

Jul.

Look on the corse?

D'Alba.

Alf.

Here !

Jul. Poor child, he weeps! Send for the honoured dead

Beside the city gate,-he pardoned me!

Bury us in one grave,-all in one grave!

I did not kill her. Strew her with white flowers,
For she was innocent.
Leanti.

Cheer thee! Take hope!

Val. Raise up his head.

Wilt thou not

Alf.

Jul.

I cannot wait her waking: I must go feast my eyes on her fair looksDivinest Annabel! My widowed bride!— Where is she?

Jul. (uncovering the body.) There. Now gaze thyself to Hell!

Gloat with hot love upon that beauteous dust!

My Julian!

He forgave me,

Jul.

Off! off! Pollute her not!

Is not her lot intolerably hard
Who does this pious office for the Bard?

She's white! She's pure!-Curses! Pour curse for Who comes applauses not her own to win,

curse

On the foul murderer! On him who turned

Or pay the penance for another's sin?
To tack, lest gentle moralisers rail,
A drawling comment to a doubtful tale;

The sweet soul from her home, who slew her father, To break with hollow mirth the sacred spell

Which the poor poet rarely weaves too well;
Or if his sorrrows haplessly are laugh'd at,
Look grave for wit to throw his closing shaft at,
Methinks our Author's sex you shrewdly guess-
"It is a Lady's Drama"-frankly "yes."
Yet let no censure on her daring fall,
When all Life's idle business" is-to scrawl;
Our tender bosoms learn in songs to melt,
And send their griefs to press-as soon as felt;
No thought in lone obscurity decays,
But dies away in neatly published lays;
No tender hope can bloom and fade unseen,
It leaves its fragrance-in a magazine;
The bashful heart, whom deep emotions bless,
Hides its soft secrets in the daily press;
With hints of well-assumed despair beguiles,
And execrates mankind to win their smiles;
A woman sure may claim no small compassion,
Who has this plea-she's only in the fashion.
O, if the fair's prerogative it be

To watch supreme o'er calumny and tea;
[Exit D'Alba guarded. To slay an Author's hopes with daintiest sneers,
And change the fates of poets as of peers;
Regard not her unwomanly who seeks

Julian!

I have been thanking heaven

His wits are gone.
My Julian,
Dost thou know me? I'm thy Cousin,

She was my Comforter!

And now-But I do know thee; thou'rt the King;
The pretty boy I loved-She loved thee too;

To draw down sacred tears o'er beauty's cheeks,
Who for her sex, by artless scenes, would keep
Its dearest right-to weep with those that weep;
Who if to-night her humble muse hath brought
To some sad heart a train of gentle thought;
On some warm spirit shed that blest relief,
A generous sympathy with kindred grief,
With joy returns to life's secluded ways,
And asks no recompense of noisier praise.

RIENZI, A TRAGEDY.

Parade the city. (Distant shouts.) Hark! do ye not The type of that to come. Yon creeping slave,

(Goes into the temple. Remember!

[Paolo and Citizens retire to the back-ground An Apartment in Rienzi's House; a Roman chair, in front of the Temple.

Enter Officers, six Halberdiers, and Ursini, Frangipani, and two Lords, in conversation, followed by armed Attendants, and accompanied by a Crowd, who shout, "Live the Ursini," &c.