Pass \ t\b oZ2.. Book, ._ )§e3 JULIAN, A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. BY MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, 4 NEW-YORK: PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM B, GILLEY, No. 92 BROADWAY. 182? /67ff^- // .# ^. wIlLFAM CHARLES MACREADY, Esq. WITH HIGH ESTJiEM FOR THOSE il-VDOWMENTS WHICH HAVE CAST NEW LUSTRE 0> HIS ART ; IVITH WARM ADMIRATION TOR THOSE POWERs WHICH HAVE INSPIRED, A-VD THAT TASTE WHICH HAS FOSTERED, THE TRAGIC DRAMATISTS OF HIS AGE ; ^viTH HEARTFELT GRATITUDE FOR THE ZEAL WITH WHICH HE BEFRIENDED THE PRODUCTION OF A STRANGER, tuR THE JUDICIOUS ALTERATIONS WHICH Bt SUGGESTED, AND FOR , HE ENERGYj THE PATHOS, AND THE SKILL, WITH WHICH HJJ MORE THAN EMBODIED ITS PRINCIPA) CHARACTER ; Eixin EvaQttis tS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE 1>, BY TIIE ALTHOl; 2 A ADVERTISEMENT. The Story and Characters of the lollowing Tra- gedy, are altogether fictitious. Annabel's cautions to silence in the first Scene, and the short dialogue between her and Julian, after he awakens, will be recognised by the classical reader as borrowed from the fine opening of the Orestes of Euripides ; the incident of uncovering the body in the last Act, is uFso taken from the Ejectra of Sophocl*"]. Of any other intentional imitation, the Author is unconscious. She has now the pleasant task of conveying her" acknowledgments to the whole of the Performers, for the zealous co-operation which has so much contributed to the success of the Play. To the talents of Miss Foote, Miss Lacy, Mr. Abbott, and Mr. Bennett, she is more especially indebted — and to Mr. Macready beyond all. That it has been honoured by the particular approbation of such a judge, and has given occasion to one of the most splendid exertions of such an Actor, will ever be the proudest distinction of Julian. \ CHARACTERS. ALPHONSO, King of Sicily, a boy, disguised » ajisyFOOTK as Theodore, The DUKE of MELFI, Uncle to Alphonso»»», nipwMii'TT' and Regent of the Kingdom, - - 1 ^"- BENNETT. JULIAN, Melfi's son, Mr. MACREADY COUNT D'ALBA, a powerful Nobleman, - Mr. ABBOTT. VALORE, > C Mr. BAKER, LEANTI, > Sicilian Nobles, < Mr. EAGERTON. CALVI, S I Mr. CHAPMAN. PAOLO, Julian's servant, - - - - Mr. LEY. BERTONE, Servant to Count D'ALBA, - Mr. COMER. RENZI, an old huntsman, - - - - Mr. MEARS. . An ARCHBISHOP. Nobles, Prelates, Officers, Guards, Murderers, &e. ANNABEL, Julian's Wife, . - - - Miss LACY. The Scene is in and near Messina; the time of action two days FKOLOGUK, WRITTEN BV A FRIENT>- SPOKEN BY MR. CONNOR. They who in Prologues for your favours ask, Find every season more perplex their task ; Though doubts and hopes, and tremblings do not fail, The points fall flatly, and the rhymes grow stale; Why should the Author hint their fitting parts, In all the pomp of verse, to " British hearts ?*' Why to such minds as yours with ardour prajs For more than justice to a first essay ? What need to show how absolute your power ? What stake awaits the issue of the hour- How hangs the scale 'twixt agony and joy. What bliss you nourish, or what hopes de- stroy ? — All these you feel ; — and yet we scarce can bring A Prologue to " the posey of a ring." To what may we allude ? — Our plot untold T .rULIA^c j_ACT J. Ann. TiicKing? No. I'm of Naples. When Prince Julian First brought me here a bride, his royal cousin Was fixed beside his father's dying bed. I never saw him : yet 1 know him well ; For I have sate and listened, hour by hour, To hear my husband talk of the fair Prince, And his excelling virtues. Alf. Did he ?--Ah !~ But 'twas his wont, talking of those he loved, To gild them with the rich and burnish'd glow Of his own brightness, as the evening sun Decks all the clouds in glory. Ann. Very dear Was that young boy to Julian. 'Twas a friend- ship, Fonder than common, blended with a kind Protecting tenderness, such as a brother Might fitly show unto the younger born. Alf. Oh, he hath proved it ! Ann. Thou dost know them both ? Alf. I do. Say on, dear lady. A7in. Three weeks since The Duke of Melfi went to bring his ward Here to Messina Alf. To be crowned. They came not. But wherefore went Prince Julian forth to meet them? Ann. Father nor cousin came ; nor mes- senger, From Regent or from King ; and Julian chafed And fretted at delay. At length a peasant, ,No liveried groom : a slow foot-pacing serf, -SCF:NE 1. j JULIAN. 1 1 Brought tidings that the royal two that morn Left Villa d'Oro. Glowing from the chase Prince Julian stood ; his bridle in his hand, New lighted, soothing now his prancing steed, And prattling now to me ; — for I was still So foolish fond to fly into the porch To meet him, when 1 heard the quick sharp tread Of that bright Arab, whose proud step I knew Even as his master's voice. Reheard the tale And instant sprang again into his seat, Wheeled round, and darted off at such a pace As the fleet greyhound, at her speed, could scarce Have matched. He spake no word ; but as he passed, Just glanced back at me with his dancing eyes, And such a smile of joy, and such a wave Of his plumed bonnet I His return thou know'st. Alf. I was his wretched partner. Ann. He on foot, Thou on the o'er-travelled horse, slow, yet all stained With sweat, and panting as if fresh escaped From hot pursuit ; and how he called for wine For his poor Theodore, his faithful page ; Then sate him down and shook with the cold fit Of aguish fever, till the strong couch rocked Like a child's cradle. There he sate and sigh'd ; \nd then the frenzy came. Theodore ' Alf' Ladv ! B2 U> J I LI AX. [alt 1. Ann. He utters nought but madness; — ye* sometimes, Athwart his ravings, I have thought — have feared — Theodore, thou must know the cause ? Alf. Too well. A7in. Oh tell me — Alf. Hush ! He wakes. (Alfonso retires behind the couch, out of Julianas sight.) Ann. Julian ! Dear Julian ! Jul. Sure I have slept a long, long while I Where am I ? How came 1 hither ? Whose kind hand is this ? My Annabel ! Ann. Oh what a happiness To see thee gently wake from gentle sleep ! Art thou not better ? Shall I raise thee up ? Jul. Ay, dearest. Have 1 then been ill? I'm weak, i trouble thee, my sweet one. Ann. 'Tisajoy To minister unto thee. Jul. Wipe my brow. And part these locks that the fresh air may cool My forehead ; feel ; it burns. Ann. Alas! how wild This long neglect hath made thy glossy curls, H«w tangled '. Jul. 1 am faint. Pray lay me down= Surely the day is stifling. Ann, There. Good bov, SCENE 1.] JULIAX. 1 V Throw wide the casement. Doth not the pott breeze Revive thee ? Jul. Yes. I'm better. I will rise. Raise me again ; — more upright ; — So ! Dear wife, A sick man is as wayward as a child ; Forgive me. Have I been long ill ? Ann. A week. Jul. 1 have no memory of aught. 'Tis just Like waking from a dream ; a horrible Confusion of strange miseries ; crime and blood And all I love — Great Heaven, how clear it seems How like a truth ! I thought that 1 rode forth On my white Barbary horse Say did I ride Alone that day ? Ann. Yes. Jul Did 1 ? Could I ? No. Thou dost mistake. I did not. Yet 'tis strange How plain that horror lives within my brain As what hath been. Ann. Forget it. Jul. Annabel, I thought 1 was upon that gallant steed At his full pace. Like clouds before the wind We flew, as easily as the strong bird That soars nearest the sun ; till in a pass Between the mountains, screams and cries of help Rang in mine ears, and I beheld Oh God ! 20 .J1JL14A. [act 1. It was not— rCould not — No, I have been sick Of a sharp fever, and delirium shows. And to the bodily sense makes palpable. Unreal forms, objects of sight and sound Which have no being save in the burning brain Of the poor sufferer. Why should it shake me ! Ann. Julian, Couldst thou walk to the window and quaff down The fragrant breeze, it would revive thee more Than food or sleep. Forget these evil dreams. Canst thou not walk ? Jul, I'll try. Ann. Lean upon me And Theodore. Approach, dear boyj, sup- port him. Jul. {seeing Alfonso) Ha ! Art thou here ? Thou I I am blinded, dazzled! Is this a vision, this fair shape that seems A living child ? Do 1 dream now ? Ann. He is Young Theodore. The page, who that sad night Returned — Jul. Then all is real. Lay me down That I may die. Ann. Nay, Julian, raise thy head. Speak to me, dearest Julian. Jul. Pray for me That I may die. Alf. Alas ! I feared too surely That when he saw mo — Ann. Julian I This is griel", Not sickness. Julian ! Alf. Rouse him not, dear lady ! ^ee how his hands are clenched. Waken him not To frenzy. Oh that I alone could bear This weight of misery. Anil. He knows the cause, And 1 — It is my right, my privilege To share thy woes, to soothe them. I'll weep with thee, And that will be a comfort. Didst thou think Thou could'st be dearer to me than before When thou wast well and happy ? But thou art Now. Tell me this secret. I'll be faithful. I'll never breathe a word. Oh spare my heart This agony of doubt ! What was the horror That maddened thee ? Jul. Within the rifted rocks Of high Albano, rotting in a glen Dark, dark at very noon, a father lies Murdered by his own son. Ann, And thou didst see The deed ? An awful sight to one so good ! Yet— Jul. Birds obscene, and wolf, and ravening fox. Ere this — only the dark hairs on the ground And the brown crusted blood ! And she can ask Why 1 am mad ! Ann. Oh a thrice awful sight To one so duteous ! Holy priests shall lave With blessed water thai foul spot, and thou i2 JULIAN. [act I, Pious and pitying, thou shalt— Jul. Hear at once, Innocent Torturer, that drop by drop Four'st molten lead into my wounds — that glen- Hang not upon me ! — In that darksome glen My father lies. I am a murderer, A parricide, accurst of God and man. Let go my hand ! purest and whitest saint, Let go ! Ann. This is a madness. Even now The fever shakes him. Jul. Why, the mad are happy I Annabel, this is a soul-slaying truth. There stands a witness. Alf. Julian knew him not. It was to save a life, a worthless life. Oh that I had but died beneath the sword That seemed so terrible ! That I had ne'er Been born to grieve thee, Julian I Pardon me, Dear lady, pardon me ! Ann. Oh, gentle boy, How shall we soothe this grief? Alf. Alas ! alas 1 Why did he rescue me ! I'm a poor orphan ; None would have wept for me ; I had no friend In all the world save one. 1 had been reared In simpleness ; a quiet grave had been A titter home for me than the rude world ; A mossy heap, no stone, no epitaph. Save the brief words of grief and praise (for Griff SCENE I.] JULIAN. 2J Is still a praiser) he perchance had spoke When they first told him the poor boy was dead. Shame on me that I shunned the sword ! Jul. By Heaven, It could not be a crime to save thee ! kneel Before him, Annabel. He is the king ! Ann. Alfonso ? Alf, Ay, so please you, fairest cousin, But still your servant. Do not hate me, lady, Though 1 have caused this misery. We have shared One care, one fear, one hope, have watched and wept Together. Oh how often I have longed. As we sate silent by his restless coucli, To fall upon thy neck and mix our tears. And talk of him. I am his own poor cousin. Thou wilt not hate me ? Ann. Save that lost one, who Could hate such innocence ? Jul. 'Twas not in hate But wild ambition. No ignoble sin Dwelt in his breast. Ambition, mad ambition. That was his idol. To that bloody god He offered up the milk-white sacrifice, The pure unspotted victim. And even then, Even in the crime, without a breathing space For penitence or prayer, my sword — Alfonso Thou would'st have gone to Heaven. Ann. Art thou certain That he is dead ? Jul, 1 saw him fall. The ground W;)s covered with his blood. 24 JULIAN. [act f, Ann. Tell me the tale. Didst thou — I would not wantonly recall That scene of anguish — Didst thou search his wound ? Jul, Annabel, in my eyes that scene will dwell For ever, shutting out all lovely sights, Even thee, my Beautiful ! That torturing thought Will burn a living fire within my breast Perpetually ; words can nothing add. And nothing take away. Fear not my frenzy : I am calm now. Thou know'st how buoyantly I darted from thee, straight o'er vale and hill, Counting the miles by minutes. At the pass Between the Albano mountains, I first breathed A moment my hot steed, expecting still To see the royal escort. Afar off As 1 stood, shading with my hand my eyes, I thought 1 saw them ; when at once I heard From the deep glen, east of the pass, loud cries Of mortal terror. Even in agony I knew the voice, and darting through the trees I saw Alfonso, prostrate on the ground, Cling around the knees of one, who held A dagger over him in act to strike. Yet with averted head, as if he feared To see his innocent victim. His own face Was hidden ; till at one spring I plunged my sword Into his side ; then our eyes met, and he That was the mortal blow '.—screamed and stretched ouf tiUtJ^K I.j JbJLXAA. ZO His hands. Falling and dying as he wa.«, He half rose up, hung speechless in the air. And looked — Oh what had been the bitterest curse To such a look ! It smote me like a sword i Here, here. He died. Jinn. And thou ? Jul. I could have lain In that dark glen for ever ; but there stood The dear-bought, and the dear, kinsman and prince And friend. We heard the far-oflf clang of steeds And armed men, and fearing some new foe, Came homeward Ann. And did he then, the unhappy, Remain upon the ground ? Jul. Alas ! he did, Ann. Oh, it was but a swoon ! Listen, denv Julian, I tell thee I have comfort. Jul. There is none Left in the world. But I will listen to thee. My faithfullest. Ann. Count D'Alba sent to crave An audience. Thou wast sleeping. I refused To see him ; but his messenger revealed To Constance his high tidings, which she poured In my unwilling ears, for I so feared To wake thee, that ere half her tale was told 1 chid her from me ; yet she surely said 'i'hc Duke, thy father— Jvl What? r 'Id JULIAN. [act 1. Ann. Approached the city. Jvl. Alive ? Alive ? Oh no ! no ! no 1 no ! Dead ! Dead ! The corse, the clay-cold corse ! Anil. Alive I think ; But Constance — Alj, He will sink under this shock Of hope. Ann. Constance heard all. Jul, Constance I What ho, Constance I Ann. She hears thee not. Jul. Go seek her ! Fly ! If he's alive — Why art thou not returned, When that one little word will save two souls ! \exit Annabel, Alf. Take patience, dearest cousin! Jul. Do I not stand Here like a man of marble ? Do I stir t She creeps ; she creeps. Thou would'st have gone and back In half the time. Alf. Nay, nay, 'tis scarce a minute. Jul. Thou may'st count hours and ages on my heart. Is she not coming ? Alf. Shall I seek her ? Jul. Hark! They've met. There are two steps ; two silken gowns Rustling ; one whispering voice. Annabel ! Constance ! Is he — one word ! Onlv one word ! ^CENE l.J JtLlAN. i: Enter Annabel. Ann, He lives ! [Julian sinks on his knees before the couch; Alfonso and Annabel go to him, and the scene falls. ACT II. SCENE I. A Splendid hall of audience in the royal palace. D\ilba and Bertone. D^Alba. Again refuse to see me ! Bertone. Nay, my lord. She's still beside her husband's couch, and Paolo Refused to bear the message. D^Alba. Even her lacquey Reads my hot love and her contempt. No matter ! How's Julian ? Bert. Mending fast. D'Alba. He'll live! He'll live ! She watches over him, making an air With her sweet breath ;— he'll be immortal ! Yet If that dark tale be true — or half— Bertone, Haste to the Court of Guard ; seek Juan Castro. A Spanish soldier ; lead him home. I'll join ye. Hence ! I expect the Barons, whom 1 summoned •j;; jiLiA^. [act u< To meet me here. Come back. See if the Princess AVill now admit me. No ! 'twould wake sus- picion. Hence to the Court of Guard. [exit Bertone, 1 think that scorn Dolh fan love more than beauty. Twice to-day Have I paced patiently these royal halls, Like some expecting needy courtier. Swell not. Proud charmer, thy vast debt ! Where lag these Barons ? Methinks this change might rouse — Enter Calvi, followed by other nobles. Ha ! Calvi, welcome. Calvi. A fair good morrow, D'Alba ! D'Alba. Hast thou heard These heavy tidings ? The young King — {^approaching to meet the other lords as they enter. My lords, Good morrow's out of date. Know ye the news ? So men salute to-day. Calvi. Alfonso dead 1 D'Alba. Murdered. Calvi. And Melfi king. D'Alba. Ay. Here's a letter. (^giving a letter to Calvi. From the great Regent — Pshaw ! how my rude tongue Stumbles at these new dignities ! — the King. Therefore 1 summoned you. He will be here. Anon. Enter Valore and other nobles;. Valore. thou art late. •r- Melfi,, I cannot bear 36 JLLlA^. [act 11. Contention. Must 1 needs remind thee, Julian, I also have been ill ? Jul. I'll go to-day. How pale he is ! I had not dared before To look upon his face. I'll go to-day. Melfi. This very hour. Jtd. This very hour. Melfi, My son ! Now call thy — yet a moment. Where's the boy- He shall aboard with thee — thy pretty page ? Jul. The King ? Mean'st thou the King ? Melji. He whom thou call'st- Jul. Wilt thou not say the King ? Melfl. Young Theodore. Hearken, Prince Julian ! I am glad, right glad Of what hath chanced. 'Twas well to bring him hither. And keep him at thy side. He shall away To Spain with thee, that Theodore— Forget All other t'tles. He'll be glad of this. A favourite page, a spoilt ?ind petted boy, To lift in summer gardens, in the shade Of orange groves, whose pearly blossoms fall Amidst his clustering curls, and to his lute Sing tenderest ditties, — such his happy lot ; Whilst 1 Go, bring thy wife. Jul. He is the King. Melfi. Call lady Annabel. Jul. The King, I say. The rightful King, the only King ! I'll shed The last drop in my veins for Kin? Alfonso. scKKt I.] jtLiA^. ;i7 Melji, Once 1 forgave thee» But to beard me thus, And for a weak and peevish youth, a faintling, A boy of a girl's temper ; one who shrinks Trembling or crouching at a look, a word, A lifted finger, hke a beaten hound. Jul, Alas, poor boy ! he hath no other friend Since thou, who should'st defend him — father, father, Three months have scarcely passed since thy dear brother, (Oh surely thou lovedst him !) with the last words lie ever spake, besought thy guardian care Of his fair child. Next upon me he turned His dying eyes, quite speechless then, and thou — I <'.ould not speak, for poor Alfonso threw Himself upon my breast, with such a gush Of natural grief, I had no utterance — But thou didst vow for both protection, faith. Allegiance ; thou didst swear so fervently, So deeply, that the spirit flew to Heaven Smiling. I'll keep that oath. Melfi. Even if again thy sword — Jul. Urge not that on me. 'Tis a lire Here in my heart, my brain. Bethink tbee, father. Soldier or statesman, thine is the first name Of Sicily, the General, Regent, Prince, The unmatch'd in power, the unapproach'd in fame : ;i8 JULIAN. [act II. What could that little word, a King, do more For thee ? Melfi. That little word ! Why that is fame. And power and glory ! That shall fill the world, Lend a whole age its name, and float along The stream of time, with such a buoyancy, Ag shall endure when palaces and tombs Are swept away like dust. That little word ! Beshrew thy womanish heart that cannot feel Tfs spell ! (^guns and shouts are heard without.) Hark ! hark ! the guns ! 1 feel it now. I am proclaimed. Before I entered here ■Twas known throughout the city that I lived. And the boy-king was dead. (gwTis, bells, and shouts again.) Hark, King Rugiero ! Dost hear the bells, the shouts ? Oh 'tis a proud And glorious feeling thus at once to live Within a thousand bounding hearts, to hear The strong out-gushing of that present fame For whose uncertain dim futurity Men toil and slay and die ! Without a crime — I thank thee still for that — Without a crime — For he'll be happier — I am a King. (^shoiits again.) Dost thou not hear Long live the King Ru- giero ? Jul. The shout is weak. Melfi. Augment it by tliv voicp. Would the words choke Prince Julian ? Can- not he Wish long life to his father ? Jul. Live, my father! Long live the Duke of Melfi ! Melfi. Live the King ! Jul. Long live the King Alfonso ! Melfi. Now, by heaven, Thou art still brainsick. There is a contagion In the soft dreamy nature of that child, That thou, a soldier — 1 was overproud Of thee and thy young fame. That lofty brow Seem'd form'd to wear a crown. Chiefly for thee — Where is the page ? Jul. Oh father, once again Take pity on us all ! For me ! For me ! Thou hast always been to me the kindest, fondest — Preventing all my wishes — I'll not reason, I'll not contend with thee. Here at thy feet, Prostrate in spirit as in form, I cry For mercy ! Save me from despair ! from sin ! Melfi. Unmanly, rise! lest in that slavish posture 1 treat thee as a slave. Jul. Strike an thou wilt, Thy words pierce deeper, to the very core ! Strike an thou wilt ; but hear me. Oh my fa- ther ! I do conjure thee, by that name, by all The boundless love it guerdons, spare my soul This bitterness ! -iO .iULlAN. j ACT 11. Melfi. I'll reign. Jul. Ay, reign indeed ; Rule over mightier realms ; be conqueror Ofcrown'd passions; king of thy own mind. I Ve ever loved thee as a son, do this And 1 shall worship thee. I will cling to thee ; Thou shalt not shake me off. Alelfi. Go to ; thou art mad. Jul. Not yet ; but thou may'st make me so, Melfi. I'll make thee The heir of a fair crown. Jul. Not all the powers Of all the earth can force upon my brow That heritage of guilt. Cannot I die ? But that were happiness. I'd rather drag A weary life beneath the silent rule Of the stern Trappist, digging my own grave, Myself a living corse, cut off from the sweet And natural kindness that man shows to man ; I'd rather hang, a hermit, on the steep Of horrid Etna, between snow and tire ; Rather than sit a crown'd and honour'd prince Guarded by children, tributaries, friends. On an usurper's throne. (^guns without.) Melfi. I must away. We'll talk of this anon. Where is the boy ? Jul. Safe. Melfi. Trifle not with my impatience, Julian ; Produce the child. Howe'er thou may deny Allegiance to the king, obey thy father, Jul. I had a father. Melfi. Ha! Jul. But he gave up SCtNt: I.] JULIAN. ^1 Faith, loyalty, and honour, and pure fame. And his own son. Melfi. My son! JuL I loved him once, And dearly. Still too dearly ! But with all That burning, aching, passionate old love Wrestling within my breast ; even face to face ; Those eyes upon me ; and that trembling hand Thrilling my very heart-strings — Take it off! In mercy take it offl — Still I renounce thee. Thou hast no son, I have no father. Go Down to a childless grave. Melfi. Even from the grave A father's curse maj reach thee, clinging to thee Cold as a dead man's shroud, shadowing thy days, Haunting thy dreams, and hanging, a thick cloud, 'Twixt thee and Heaven. Then, when per- chance thine own Small prattling pretty ones shall climb thy knee And bid thee bless them, think of thy dead fa- ther, And groan as thou dost now. {guns again.) Hark ! 'tis the hour! I must away. Back to thy chamber, son. And choose if I shall curse thee. [exit Melfi. Jul. Did he curse me ? Did he ? Am I that withered, blasted wretch ? Is that the fire that burns my brain ? Not vet ! D 2 42 JLLIAN. [act III, :. The boy \ Rushes out. Oh do not curse me vet ! He's gone. The boy 1 The bov f ACT in. SCENE I. A magnificent cathedral. A Gothic monument in the foreground^ with steps round it, and the figure of an old warrior on the top, D^Alba, Leanti, Valore, Calvi, and other JVobles, Calvi. Where stays the King ? Leanti. He's robing to assume The crown. Calvi. What a gloom reigns in the Cathedral ! Where are the people, who should make and grace This pageant ? Valore. 'Tis too sudden. D^Alba. Saw ye not How coldly, as the slow procession moved, Men's eyes were fixed upon him ? Silently We passed amidst dull silence. I could hear The chink of money, which the heralds flung. Reverberate on the pavement. They, who stoop'd To gather up the coin, looked on the impress SCiiNE I.J JULIAN. 43 Of joung Alfonso, sighed and shook their heads As 'twere his funeral. Calvi. Methinks this place, The general tomb of his high line, doth cry Shame on us ! The mute citizens do mourn him Better than we. D'Alba. Therefore the gates are closed, And none but peers of Sicily may pass The guarded doors. Leanti. Where is Prince Julian '! D'Alba. Sick. Here comes the Mighty One, and the great pre- lates That shall anoint his haughty brow ; 'tis bent With a stern joy. Enter Melfiy in royal robeSy preceded by no" bles, officers, <^c. bearing the croztrn, arch- bishop, bishops, ^c. Melfi. No ! To no tapered shrine. Here, reverend fathers, here ! This is my altar : The tomb of my great ancestor, who first Won from the Paynim this Sicilian crown. And wore it gloriously ; whose name 1 bear As I will bear his honour'd sceptre. Here, At this most kingly altar, will 1 plight My vow to Sicily, the nuptial vow That links my fate to her's. Here Til receive Her Barons' answering faith. Hear me, thou shade Of great Rugiero, whilst I swear to guard 44 .ULIAX. [aot III. With heart and hand the reahn thy valour won. The laws thy wisdom framed — brave legacy To prince and people ! To defend their rights. To rule in truth and justice, peacefully, If peace may be ; and with the awful arm Of lawful power to sweep the oppressor off From thy blest Isle ; to be the Peasants' King — Nobles, hear that ! — the Peasants' King and yours ! Look down, Ancestral Spirit, on my oath, And sanctify and bless it ! Now the crown. D'Alba. What noise is at the gate ? Melfi. Crown me, I say. Archb. 'Tis fallen ! Save us from the ill omen ! Melfi. Save us From thy dull hands, old dotard ! Thou a priest. And tremble at the touch of power ! Give me The crown. D'Alba. It fits thee not. Melfi. Give me the crown. And with a steady grasp it shall endure These throbbing brows that burn till they be bound W^ith that bright diadem. Enter Julian and Alfonso. Jul. Stop. Place it here ! This is the King ! the real, the only King! The living King Alfonso ! Melfi. Out, foul traitor ! 'Tis an impostor. Jul. Look on him Count D'Alba Calvi, Valore, look ! Ye know him well. And ye that never saw him, know ye not His father's Hneajnents ? Remove thy hand From that fair forehead. 'Tis the pallid brow Bent into pensiveness, the dropping eyelid, The womanish changing cheek — his very self! Look on him. Do ye know him? Dove own Your King ? Calvi. 'Tis he. D'Alba. The boy himself 1 Jul. Now place The crown upon his head ; and hear me swear. Low at his feet, as subject, kinsman, Prince, Allegiance. Alf. Rise, dear Cousin. Jul. Father, kneel, Kneel here with me, thou his first subject, thou The guardian of the state, kneel first, and vow Thy princely fealty. Melji. Hence, abject slave ! And thou, young minion Jul. to Alf. Fear not. Father, kneel ! Look where thou art. This is no place, my lord, To dally with thy duty : underneath Thy fathers sleep ; above their banners wave Heavily. Death is round about us. Death And Fame. Have they no voice for thee ? Not one, Of one long storied line but lived and died A pure and faithful Knight, and left his son Honour — proud heritage ! I am thine heir, And I demand that bright inheritance Unstained, undimmed. Kneel. 1 implore thee !T, Thv son. 46 .iiLiii.N. [act in. Melfi. Oft", cursed viper ! Off, ere 1 hurl thee on the stones ! Jul. I've done My duty. Was it not n>y duty ? Aff. Julian, Sit hereby me ; here on the steps. D'Alba. Again We must demand of thee, my Lord of Melfi, Yiow chanced this tale of murder ? Here's our Prince, Safe and unhurt. But where' s the assassin ? Where The regicide ? Where he that wounded thee ? Melfi. (pointing to Julian) Demand of him. D'Mha. Where be these murderers ? Art sure thou saw'st them, Duke 1 Cr was't a freak Of the deft Fay Morgana "> Didst thou feel The trenchant blade ? Or was the hurt thou talk'st of A fairy wound, a phantasm ? Once again I warn thee, speak. Melji. Demand Prince Julian, Sir. This work is his. WJilha. He speaks not. Little King, What say 'st thou? Alf. Julian saved me. D'Alba. Saved! From whom? From what ! Alf. A king should have no memory But for good deeds. My lords, an it so please you, We'll to the Palace. I'll not wear to-day SCENE I.j JULIAN 47 This crown. Some fitting season ; but not now. Tm weary. Let us home. D^Alba, Ay, take him hence. Home with him, Count Valore. Stay by him Till I come to ye. Leave him not. Nay, Calvi, Remain. Hence with the boy. Alf. My Cousin Julian, Wilt thou not go with us ? Jul, I've done my duty. Was't not my duty ? But look there ! look there ! I cannot go with thee. I am his now. All his. Alf. Uncle Melfi, Away, bright spotted worm D'Alba. What, ho! the guard ! AIJ, My lord, where Julian is I need no guard. Question no more of this, But follow us. [Exeunt Alfonso^ Valore^ and other nobles, Melji. I do contemn myself That 1 hold silence. Warriors, kinsmen, friends, ^ Barons of Sicily, the valiant prirttes Of this most fertile and thrice famous Isle, Hear me ! W^hat yonder crafty Count hath dared, With subtle question and derisive smile, To slide into a meaning, is as true As he is false. 1 would be King ; I'd reign Over fair Sicily ; I'd call myself Tour Sovereign, Princes ; thine, ^^'^-'^^ nMt'> , 4'6 JULIAN. [act a. Calvi, and old Leanti — we were comrades Many a 3'ear in the rough path of war. And now ye know me all. I'll be a King Fit for this warlike nation, which brooks sway Only of men. Yon slight fair boy is born With a woman's heart. Let him go tell his beads. For us and for our kingdom, I'll be King. I'll lend unto that title such a name. As shall enchase this bauble with one blaze Of honour. I'll lead on to glory, lords, And ye shall shine in the brightness of my fame As planets round the sun. What say ye ? D'Alba. Never! Calvi, ^c. Never ! Melfi. Say thou, Leanti, thou'rt a soldior Worthy of the name, — a brave one ! What say'st thou ? Leanti. If young Alfonso— — ■ D'Alba. Peace. Why this is well. This morning I received a tale — I'm not An over-believer in man's excellence ; 1 know that in this slippery path of life The firmest foot may fail ; that there have been Ere now ambitious generals, grasping heirs. Unnatural kinsmen, foul usurpers, mur- derers ! — 1 know that man is frail, and might have fallen Though Eve had never lived, — Albeit 1 own The smiling mischief's potency. But this, This tale was made up of such several sin:?, AH of them devilish: treason, treachery, And piljl-e:rs cruelty made murder pale aCENEl.] JULIAN. 4H With their red shame, — I doubt not readily When man and guilt are joined — but this the common And general sympathy that links our kind Forbade to believe. Yet now before you all. His peers and mine, before the vacant throne He sought to usurp, before the crown that fell As conscious from his brow, I do arraign Rugiero, Duke of Melfi, General, Peer, Regent, and Prince, of Treason. Meljl. Treason ! D'Alba. We quarrel not for words. Let these bui follow And bold emprise shall bear a happier name. Sicilians, have ye lost your island spirit? Barons, is your ancient bravery tamed down By this vain scoffer ? I'll to the people. They Love their old soldier. D^Alha. Stop. Duke, T arraign thee Of murder ; plann'd, designed, attempted mur- der, Though incomplete, on the thrice sacred person Of young Alfonso, kinsman, ward, and King. Wilt thou defend this too ? Was't a brave deed To draw the assassin's sword on that poor child ? Seize him 1 Melfi. Come near who dares! Where be thy proofs ? Where be thy witnesses ? - WAlha. There's one. Prince Julian, Rouse thee ! He sits erect and motionless As von anrpstral image. Doth ho breathe ^ :>0 ji lian. [act irr. Rouse thee, mul answer, as before thy God, As there is truth in Heaven, didst thou not see Thy father's sword at young Alfonso's breast ? Lay not the boy, already dead with fear, At his false guardian's feet ? Answer! Mcljl. Ay, speak, Prince Julian ! Dost thou falter now ? On, on, And drive the dagger home ! On, on, 1 say. Calvi. We wait your Highness' answer. Jul. Which among ye Dares question me ? What are ye. sirs ? D'Alha, The States Of Sicily. Jul. The States ! V/ithout a head I Without a King ! Without a Regent ! States ! The States ! Are ye the States that 'gainst all form Of justice or of guardian law drive on To bloody trial, him your greatest ? Here, too ? Here ! Will ye bnild up scaffolds in your churches ? And turn grave priests to beadsmen ? I'll not answer. Calvi. The rack may force thee. D^Alba. He but smiles. Convey The Duke to the Hall of Justice. We shall follow. Go summon Juan Castro thither. Hence ! Why loiter ye ? Melfi. A word with thee. Prince Julian. I pray ye listen, 'tis no treason, lords. I would but say, tinish thy work. Play well The part that thou hast chosen. Cast aside 5CLNE l.J JU'LlAiV. 61 All filial yearnijigs. Be a gallant foe. Rush onward through the fight. Trample me down. Tread on my neck. Be perfect in that quality Which thou call'st justice. Quell thy wo- manish weakness. Let me respect the enemy, whom once 1 thought my son. Jul. Once, father ! Melfi. I'm no father 1 Rouse not my soul to curse thee I Tempt me not To curse thy mother — She whom once J deemed A saint in purity. Be resolute, Falter not with them. Lie not. Jul. Did I ever ? Melfi. Finish thy work. On, soldiers I [exit Melfi, guarded. D^Alba. Answer, Prince ! The Duke, as thou hast heard, disclaims thee. Jul. Dare not A man of ye say that. I am his son — Tremble lest my sword should prove me so ; — a part Of his own being. He gave me this life, These senses, these affections. The quick blood That knocks so strongly at my heart is his — Would I might spill it for him I Had ye no fathers, Have ye no sons, that ye would train men up In parricide ? 1 will not answer ye. />:* JULIA.N. [aut hi, D'AVoa, This passion is thy answer. Could'st Ihou say No ; in that simple word were more comprised Than in a world of fiery eloquence. Canst thou not utter No ? 'Tis short and easy, The first sound that a stuttering babe will lisp To his fond nurse, — yet thy tongue stammers at it ! 1 ask him if his father be at once Traitor and murderer, and he cannot say, No! Jul. Subtle, blood-thirsty fiend ! I'll answer To nought that thou canst ask. Murderer ! The king Lives. Seek of him. One truth I'll tell thee, D'Alba, And then the record of that night shall pass Down to the grave in silence. But one sword Was stained with blood in yonder glen — 'twas mine ! 1 am the only guilty. This 1 swear Before the all-seeing God, whose quenchless gaze Pierced through that twilight hour. Now con- demn The Duke of Melfi an ye dare ! I'll speak No more on this foul question. Leanti. Thou the guilty ? Thou ! Jul. I have said it. D^Alba. I had heard a tale — Leanti. This must be sifted. n\^lhr(. In that twilight hour SCENE I.j JDhlAlS. o'o A mortal eye beheld them. An old Spaniard, One of the guard — By heaven, it is a tale So bloody, so unnatural, man may scarce Believe it ! Leanti. And the king stiil lives. D'Alba, Why 'tis A mystery. Let's to the Hall of Justice And hear this soldier. Sir, they are ambitious. Father and son — We can pass judgment there, This is no place ; — Leanti, more ambitious Than thou canst guess. Jul. Ay, by a thousand fold ! I am an eaglet born, and can drink in 7"he sunlight, when the blinking owls go dark- ling, Dazzled and blinded by the day. Ambitious ! I have had day dreams would have shamed the visions Of that great master of the world, who wept For other worlds to conquer. I'd have lived An age of sinless giory, and gone down Storied and epitaphed and chronicled, To the very end of time. Now — But I still May suffer bravely, may die as a Prince, A Man. Ye go to judgment. Lords, remem- ber I am the only guilty. Calvi. We must needs, On such confession, give you into charge A prisoner. Ho ! Captain. Leanti. Goes he with us ? D\^lba, No; for the hall is near, -and Ibev ^re I'P.st F 2 ji JULIAN. [act ill. Questioned apart. Walk by me, good Leanti, And I will show thee why. Leanti. Is't possible That Julian stabb'd his father ? D'Alba. No. Thou saw'st They met as friends ; no ! no ! [exeunt Calvi and other lorfh. Enter Annabel. Ann. Where is he ? Where ? Julian ! D'Alba. Fair Princess. Ann. Stay me not. My Julian 1 D'Alba. Oh, how she sinks her head upon his arm ! How her curls kiss his cheek ! and her white hand Lies upon his I The cold and sluggish husband ! He doth not clasp that loveliest hand, which nature Fashioned to gather roses, or to hold Bunches of bursting grapes. Leanti. Count D'Alba, see, We are alone. Wilt thou not come ? D'Alba. Anon. Now he hath seized her hand, hath dared to grasp,— He shall not hold it long. Leanti. They'll wait us, Count. WAlba. That white hand shall be mine. \exeunt D\(ilba and Leanti, Jul, My Annabel, Why art thou here ^ dCENK I.j JULIAN. 53 Ann. Tbey said — I was a fool That believed them !— Constance said she heard a cry, Down with the Melfi ! and the rumour ran That there had been a fray, that thou wast slain. But thou art safe, my Julian ? Jul. As thou seest. Thou art breathless still. Ann. Ay. I flew through the streets, Piercing the crowds like light. I was a fool : But thou hadst left me on a sudden, bearing The young Alfonso with thee, high resolve Fixed in thine eye. I knew not — Love is fearful ; And 1 have learnt to fear. Jul. Thou tremblest still. Ann. The church is cold and lonely ; and that seat. At the foot of yon grim warrior, all too damp For thee. 1 like not thus to see thee, Julian, Upon a tomb. Thou must submit thee still To thy poor nurse. Home ! By the way thou'lt tell me What hath befallen. Where is Alfonso ? Jul. Say The king I the rightful, the acknowledged king 1 Annabel, this rude stone's the effigy Of the founder of our line ; the gallant chief Who swept away the Saracen, and quelled Fierce civil broils ; and, when the people's choice Crowned him, lived guardian of their right?, nnd diod jfa" jULiAiN. [aut II r. Wept by ttiem as a father. And methinks To-day I do not shame my ancestor ; I dare to sit here at his feet, and feel He would not spurn his son. Thou dost not grieve To lose a crown, my fairest ? Ann. Oh no 1 no ! I'm only proud of thee. Thy fame's my crowii. Jul, Not fame, but conscience is the enduring crown, And wearing that impearled, why, to lose fame Or life were nothing. Ann. Where's thy father, Julian ? ForgivQ me, I have pained thee. Jul. No. The pang Is mastered. Where ? He is a prisoner Before the States. 1 am a prisoner here. These are my guards. Be calmer, sweetest. Rend not This holy place with shrieks. Ann. They seek thv life ! They'll sentence thee'l They'll kill thee 1 No ! they shall not, Unless they kill me first. What crime — O God, To talk of crime and thee! — What falsest charge Dare they to bring ? Jul. Somewhat of yon sad night They know. Ann. Where's Theodore ? the page ? the King ? Doth he accuse thee too ? JuL Poor gentle cousin ! FT*^ i' «o innoofpt p'^ thnn. Ann. I'll fetch him. We'll go together to the States. We'll save thee. We, feeble though we be, woman and boy, We'll save thee. Hold me not ! JuL Where would'st thou go ? Ann. To the States. JuL And there ? Ann. I'll tell the truth, the truth, The irresistible truth ! Let go. A moment May cost thy life, — our lives. Nothing but truth, That's all thy cause can need. Let go. Jul. And he, My father ? An7i. What's a thousand such as he. To thee, my husband ? But he shall be safe. He is thy father. I'll say nought can harm him. He was ever kind to me ! I'll pray for him. Nay, an thou fear'st me, Julian, I'll not speak One word ; I'll only kneel before them all. Lift up my hands, and pray in my inmost heart, As I pray to God. JuL My loving wife, to Him Pray, to Him only. Leave me not, my dearest : There is a peace around us in this pause, This interval of torture. I'm content And strong to suffer. Be thou — Enter D^Alha, Calvi, Leanii, and nobles. Ha! returned Already ! This is quick. But I'm prepared. The sentence '' bH JULIAN. [act hi. Ann. Tell it not 1 Ye are his judges. Ye have the power of life or death. Your words Are fate. Oh speak not yet ! Listen to me. D^Atba. Ay ; a long summer day ! What would'st thou ? Ann. Save him ! Save him! D'Alha. He shall not die. Ann. Now bless thee, D'Alba I Bless thee! He's safe! He's free I Jul. Once more I ask His doom, for that is mine, l^ye^ have dared, In mockery of justice, to arraign And sentenceyour great Ruler, with less pause Than a petty thief taken in the manner, what's Our doom ? D'Alba. Sir, our great ruler (we that love not Law's tedious circumstance may thank him) spared All trial by confession. He avowed Treason and regicide ; and all that thou Hadst said or might say, he avouched unheard For truth ; then cried, as thou hast done, for judgment. For death. Jul. I can die too. Leanti. A milder doom Unites ye. We have spared the royal blood. D''Alba. Only the blood. Estates and ho- nours all Are forfeit to the King ; the assembled states Banish ye : the most holv Church declare? ve x.EXE 1.] JULIAN. 6V Beneatk her ban. This is your sentence, Sir. A Herald waits to read it in the streets Before ye, and from out the city gate To thrust ye, outlawed, excommunicate, Infamous amongst men. Ere noon to-morrow Ye must depart from Sicily ; on pain Of death to ye the outlaws, death to all That harbour ye, death to whoe'er shall give Food, shelter, comfort, speech. So pa?s ve forth In infamy ! Ann. Eternal infamy R.est on your heads, false judges ! Outlawed! Banished ! Bereft of state and title ! Thou art still Best of the good, greatest amongst the great, My Julian ! Must they die that give thee food, And rest, and comfort ? I shall comfort thee, I, thy true wife ! I'll never leave thee. Never' We'll walk together to the gate, my hand In thine, as lovers. Let's set forth. We'll go Together Jul, Ay ; but not to-night. I'll meet thee To-morrow at the harbour. Ann. No ! no ! no ! I will not leave thee. Jul. Cling not thus. She trembles. She cannot walk. Brave Sir, we have been comrades ; There is a pity in thine eye, which well Beseems a soldier. Take this weeping lady To King Alfonso. Tell the royal boy, One who was once his Cousin and his friend. 6U JL-LIAN. j^ACT IV. Commends her to him. Go. To-morrow. dearest, We'll meet again. Now for the sentence. Lords, I question not your power. I submit To all, even to this shame. Be quick ! be quick ! [Exeunt . ACT IV. SCENE 1. J?L apartment in the royal palace. D'Alha, Bertone. D'^Mha. I've parted them at last. The live- long night The little King lay, like a page, before Her chamber door ; and ever as he heard A struggling sigh within, he cried, alas ! And echoed back her moan, and uttered words Of comfort. Happy boy. Bert. But he is gone Towards the gate : be sure to meet Prince Ju- lian. D^Alba, For that I care not, so that I secure The vision which once flitted from my grasp And vanished like a rainbow. Bert. Yet is Julian Still dangerou*!. '.tNL I.J JILIA.N. HI D^Alba. Why after noon to-day — And see the sun's alrcad}^ high ! — he dies If he be found in Sicily. Take thou Two resolute comrades to pursue his steps, Soon as the time be past. Didst thou not hear The proclamation ? Know'st thou where he bides ? And Melfi ? Bert. Good, my lord, 'tis said the Duke Is dead. D'Alba. Dead! Bert. Certain 'tis that yesternight He walked from out the judgment hall like one Dreaming, with eyes that saw not, cars that heard No sound, staggering and tottering like old age Or infancy. And when the kingly robe Was plucked from him, and he forced from the gate, A deep wound in his side burst forth : the blood Welled like a fountain. D'Alba. And he died ? Bert. He fell Fainting ; and Juhan, who had tended him Silently, with a spirit so absorbed, His own shame seemed unfelt, tell on his neck Shrieking like maddening woman. There we left him, And there, 'tis said, he hath outwatched thp night. D\ilba. There on the ground '.' Bert. So please you. D'Mm. Thou hast known F 02 J I LI AX. [act iV. A softer couch, Prince Julian. Js the litter Prepared ? And the old groom ? Bert. My lord, he waits Your pleasure. D''Alba. Call him hither. [exit Bertone. Blood welled out From a deep wound ! Said old Leanti sooth ? No matter ! Either way he's guilty. Re-enter Bertone with Renzi. Ila! A reverend knave. Wast thou Prince Julian's huntsman ? Renzi. An please you. Sir, 1 was. D'Mba. Dost know the Princess ? — Doth she know thee ? Renzi. Full well, my lord. I tended Prince Julian's favourife greyhound. It was strange How Lelia loved my lady, — the poor fool Hath pined for her this week past,— and my lady I.oved Lelia. She would stroke her glossy bead, And note her sparkling eyes, and watch her gambols, And talk of Leiia's beauty, Lelia's speed. Till I was weary. D\ilha. And the angel deemed This slave as faithful as her dog ! The better. Dost thou love ducats, Renzi ? (^tossing him a purse.) Canst thou grace A lie with tongue, and look, and action "! Renzi. Av. iCENE II.] Jl/LIAiV, 63 D^Alba. Go to the Princess ; say thy master sent thee To guide her to him, or the young Alfonso, — Use either name, or both. Spare not for tears. Or curses. Lead her to the litter ; see That Constance follows not. Bertone '11 gain Admittance for thee. Go. \^exit Renzi. Bertone, seek me A supple churchman ; — Know'st thou any ?— - One Not scrupulous ; one who loves gold, and laughs At conscience. Bring him to me. I must has- ten Silently home. Let not the Princess guess That I have left the palace. Bert. No, my lord. [exeunt severally. SCENE II, The country just without the gates of Messina. A hilly back ground. Melfi lying on the stage, Julian. Jul. He wakes 1 He is not dead ! I am not yet A parricide. I dare not look on him ; I dare not speak. Melfi. Water ! My throat is scorched. [exitJuliari, My tongue cleaves to my mouth. Water ■ VYil^. none Go fetch me water ? Am I here alone " 64 JULIA.%. [act IV. Here on the bloody ground, as on that night — Am I there still ? No ! I remember now. Yesterday I was king ; to-day I'm nothing ; Cast down by my own son ; stabbed in my fame; Branded and done to death ; an outlaw where I ruled ! He, whom I loved with such a pride. With such a fondness, hath done this ; and I, I have not strength to drag me to his presence. That I might rain down curses on his head, Might blast him with a look. Enter Julian. Jul. Here's water. Drink ! Melji. What voice is that ? Why dost thou shroud thy face ? Dost shame to show thyself ? Who art thou ? Jul. Drink. I pray thee drink. Melji. Is't poison ? Jul. 'Tis the pure And limpid gushing of a natural spring Close by yon olive ground. A littk child, Who stood beside the fount, watching the bright And many-coloured pebbles, as they seemed To dance in the bubbling water, filled for me Her beechen cup, with her small innocent hand, And bade our Lady bless the draught! Oh drink ! Have faith in such a blessing ! Melji. Thou should'st bring Nothing but poison. Hence, accursed cup I I'll perish in my thirst. I know thee. Sir. SCENE It.] JliLIAA. 65 Jul. Father! Melfi. I have no son. I had one once, A gallant gentleman ; but he — What, Sir, Didst thou never hear of the Sicilian Prince, Who made the fabulous tale of Greece a truth, And slew his father ? The old Laius fell At once, unknowing and unknown ; but this New (Edipus, he stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed, And the poor wretch cannot die. Jul. I think my heart Is iron that it breaks not. Melji. I should curse him — ^ And yet — Dost thou not knov,7 that I'm au out- law, Under the ban ? They stand in danger, Sir, That talk to me. Jul. I am an outlaw too. Thy fate is mine. Our sentence is alike. Melfi. What ! have they banished thee ? Jul. I should have gone, In very truth, I should have gone with thee. Ay, to the end of the world. Melfi. What, banish thee ! Oh, foul ingratitude I Weak changeling boy ! Jul. He knows it not. Father, this banish- ment Came as a comfort to me, set me free From warring duties, and fatiguing care?, And left me wholly thine. We shall be happy ; For she goes with us, who will prop thy steps, \« once the maid of Thebes, Antijrone, F 2 66 JULIAA. [act IV. In that old tale. Choose thou whatever land,— All are alike to us. But pardon me ! Say thou hast pardoned me ! Melfi. My virtuous son ! Jul. Oh thanks to thee and heaven ! He sinks ; he's faint ; His lips wax pale. I'll seek the spring once more : Tis thirst. Melfi. What music's that ? Jul. I hear none. Melfi. Hark! .lul. Thou art weak and dizzy. Melfi. Angels of the air, Cherub and seraph sometimes watch around The dying, and the mortal sense, at pause 'Twixt life and death, doth drink in a faintecho Of heavenly harpings ? Jul. I have heard so. Melfi. Ay ; But they were just men, Julian ! They were holy. They were not traitors. Jul. Strive against these thoughts — Thou wast a brave man, father ! — fight against them, As 'gainst the Paynims thy old foes. He growa Paler and paler. Water from the spring ; Or generous wine ; — I saw a cottage near. Rest thee, dear father, till 1 come. [exit Julian. Melfi. Again. That music I It is mortal ; it dr^ws nearer. SCENE ll.j JULIA.N. 67 No. But if men should pass, must i lie here Like a crushed adder ? Here in the highway Trampled beneath their feet ?— So ! So I I'll crawl To yonder bank. Oh that it were the deck Of some great admiral, and I alone Boarding amidst a hundred swords ! the breach Of some strong citadel, and I the first To mount in the cannon's mouth ! I was brave once. Oh for the common undistinguished death Of battle, pressed by horse's heels, or crushed By falling towers ! Any thing but to lie Here like a leper ! Eiiiei' Alfonso, Falore, and Cahl. Alf. 'Tis the spot where Julian And yet I see him not. I'll pause awhile : ■Tis likely he'll return. I'll wait. Calvi. My liege. You're sad to-day. Alf. I have good cause to be so. Val. Nay, nay, cheer up. Alf. Didst thou not (ell me. Sir. That my poor uncle's banished, outlawed, laid Under the church's ban ? Calvi. He would have slain His sovereign. Alf. I ne'er said it. Yesterday I found you at his feet. Oh, would to heaveu That crown were on his head, and F — —What's that? J'fif. The moanins wind 68 JULIAN. (act IV. Calvi. He was a traitor, Sire, Alf. He was my kinsman still. And Julian ! Julian ! My cousin Julian ! he who saved my life, Whose only crime it was to be too good, Too great, too well beloved, — to banish him! To tear h^m from my arms ! Calvi. Sire, he confessed • Alf. Ye should have questioned me. Sirs, I'm a boy, A powerless, friendless boy, whose name is used To cover foul oppression. If Mive To grasp a sword — but ye will break my heart Before that hour. W hence come those groans 1 {Seeing Melfi. My uncle Stretched on the ground, and none to tend thee ! Rest Thy head upon my arm. Where's Julian ? Sure I thought to find him with thee. Nay, be still ; Strive not to move. Melfi. I fain would kneel to thee. For pardon. Calvi. Listen not, my liege. The States Sentenced the Duke of Melfi ; thou hast not The power to pardon. Leave him to his fate. Vol. 'Twere best your Highness came with us. Alf. Avoid The place ! Leave us, cold, courtly lord* t Avoid .'S^.tiNE ll.j JULIAiN. (j^J My sight ! Leave us, I say. Send instant suc- cour, Food, water, wine, and men with hearts, if courts May breed such. Leave us. [exeunt Calvi and Valor e, MeJfi. Gallant boy ! Jilf. Alas! I have no power. Melji. For all I need thou hast. Give me but six feet of Sicilian earth, And thy sweet pardon. Alf. Talk not thus. Til grow At once into a man, into a king, And they shall tremble, and turn pale with fear. Who now have dared Enter Julian, Julian ! Jul. Here's water! Ha! Alfonso ! I thought Pity had been dead. I craved a little wine, for the dear love Of heaven, for a poor dying man ; and all Turned from my prayer. Drink, father. Alf. I have sent For succour. Jul. Gentle heart ! MelJi, The time is past. Music again. Alf. Ay ; 'tis the shepherd's pipe From yonder craggy mountain. How it swings Upon the wind, now pausing, now renewed, Hesular as a bpll. 7U JULlAiN. [act IV. Melfi. A passing bell. Alf. Cast off these heavy thoughts. Meljl. Turn me. Aff. He bleeds! The blood wells out. Melfi. It eases me. Jul. He sinks! He dies ! Off! he's my father. Rest on me. Melfi. Bless thee. Jul. Oh, no ! no ! no ! I cannot bear Thy blessing. Twice to stab, and twice for- given — Oh curse me rather ! Melfi. Bless ye both. (Dies. Alf. He's dead, And surely he died penitent. That thought Hath in it a deep comfort. The freed spirit Gushed out in a full tide of pardoning love. He blest us both, my Julian ; even me As I had been his son. We'll pray for him Together, and thy Annabel shall join Her purest orisons. I left her stretched In a deep slumber. All night long she watched And wept for him and thee ; but now she sleeps. Shall I go fetch her? She, better than I, Would soothe thee. Dost thou hear? He writhes as though The struggling grief would choke him. Rouse thee, Julian, Calm thee. Thou frighten'stme. Jul. Am I not calm ? There is mv sword. Go -:ene li.j .fULiAN. n Alf. I'll not leave thee. Jul. King! Dost thou not see we've kill'd him ? Thou had'st cause ; But I, that was his son. Home to thy palace 1 Home ! Alf. Let me stay beside thee ; I'll not speak. Nor look, nor move. Let me but sit and drop Tear for tear with thee. Jul. Go. Alf. My Cousin Julian Jul. Madden me not. I'm excommunicate. An exile, and an outlaw, but a man. Grant me the human privilege to weep Alone o'er my dead father. King, I saved Thy life. Repay me now a thousand- fold j Go. Alf Ay ; for a sweet comforter. Enter Paolo. Paolo. My liege. The lady Annabel Jul. What ? is she dead ? Have I killed her ? Alf Speak, Paolo. In thy charge I left her. Jul. Is she dead ? Paolo. No. Heaven forefend ! But she hath left the palace. Jul. 'Tis the curse Of blood that's on my head : on all I love. She's lost. 7.t^ JULIAN. 1 ArJ' fA . Alf. Did she go forth alone ? Paolo. My liege, Prince Julian's aged huntsman, Renzi, came, Sent, as he said, by thee, to bear her where Her Lord was sheltered. Jul. Hoary traitor ! Paolo. She FoUovTed him, nothing fearing ; and I too Had gone, but D'Alba's servants closed the gates, And then my heart misgave me. Jul. Where's my sword ? I'll rescue her 1 I'll save her '? Alf. Hast thou traced Thy lady? Paolo. No, my liege. But much i fe^ Certain a closed and guarded litter took The way to the western suburb. Jul. There, where lies The palace of Count D'Alba ! Stained — de- filed— He hath thee now, my lovely one ! There's still A wa}^ — Let me but reach thee ! One asylum — One bridal bed — One resting place. All griefs Are lost in this. Oh would 1 lie as thou, My father ! Leave him not in the high-way For dogs to mangle. He was once a prince. Farewell ! Mf. Let me go with thee. Jul. No. This deed Is mine. l^exit JvUan. SCENE IIJ.j JLL£A:V. T^'- Alf. Paola, stay by the corse. I'll after, He shall not on this desperate quest alone. Paolo. Rather, my liege, seek D'Alba : — As I deem He still is at thy palace. Watch him well. Stay by him closely. So may the sweet lady Be rescued, and Prince Julian saved, Alf. Thou'rt right. [exeunt SCENE III. An apartment in an old, tower ; a rich Gothic window, closed, but so constructed as that the light may be thrown in, near it a small arched door, beyond which is seen an inner chamber, with an open casement. — Annabel is borne in by D'Alba and guards, through a strons^ iron door in the side scene. D^Alba, Annabel, guards. D^Alba. Leave her with me. Guard well the gate ; and watch That none approach the tower. [exeunt guards-. Fair Annabel I Ann, Who is it calls ? Where am I ? Who art thou ? Why am I here ? Now heaven preserve me, D'Alba I Where's Julian ? Where's Prince Julian ? Where's my husband ? Fvenzi, who lured me from the palace, sworr It was to meet my husband. G '4 JULIAIv. [act IV, D'Alba. Many an oath First sworn in falsehood turns to truth. He's here. Calm thee, sweet lady. Ann. Where ? I see him not. Julian ! D^Alba. Another husband. Ann. Then he's dead I He's dead ! D'Alba. He lives. Ann. Heard ! aright ? Again ! There is a deafening murmur in mine ears, Like the moaning sound that dwells in the sea shell, 80 that I hear nought plainly. Say't again. D'Alba. He lives. Ann. Now thanks to heaven ! Take me to him. Where am I ? D'Alba. In an old and lonely tower At the end of my poor orchard. ' Ann. Take me homo. D^Alba. Thou hast no home. Ann. No home ! His arms! his heart! Take me to him. D'Alba. Sweet Annabel, be still. Conquer this woman's vain impatiency, And listen. Why she trembles as I were Some bravo. Oh that man's free heart should bow To a fair cowardice ! Listen. Thou knowest The pentencp of the Melfi " «tLNE III.] JULiAiN, 75 An7i, Ay, the unjust And wicked doom that ranked the innocent With the guilty. But I murmur not. I love To suffer with him. D'^Alba. He is banished ; outlawed ; Cut off from every human tie ; — Ann. Not all. 1 am his wife. D^Alba. Under the church's ban. I tell thee, Annabel, that learned priest. The sage Anselmo, deems thou art released From thy unhappy vows ; and will to-night — Ann. Stop. I was wedded in the light of day In the great church at Naples. Blessed day I I am his wife ; bound to him evermore In sickness, penury, disgrace. Count D'Alba, Thou dost misprize the world, but thou must know That woman's heart is faithful, and clings closest In misery. D^Alba. If the church proclaim thee free — Ann. Sir, I will not be free ; and if I were I'd give myself to Julian o'er again — Only to Julian ! Trifle thus no longer. Lead me to him. Release me. D^Alha. Now, by heaven, I'll bend this glorious constanc3^ I've known thee Even from a little child, and I have seen That stubborn spirit broken : not by fear. That thou canst quell ; nor interest ; nor am bition : 76 JULIAN, [act. IV. But love ! iove ! love ! I tell thee, Annabel, One whom thou lov'st, stands in my danger. Wed me This very night — I will procure a priest And dispensations, there shall nothing lack Of nuptial form — Wed me., or look to hear Of bloody justice. Ann. My poor father, Melli ! D'Alba. The Regent. He is dead. An7i. God hath been merciful. D'Alba. Is there no other name ? no dearer ? Ann. Ha ! D^Alha. Hadst thou such tender love for this proud father, Who little recked of thee, or thy fair looks ; — Is all beside forgotten ? Ann. Speak ! B'Alba. Why, Julian! Julian, I say ! Ann. He is beyond thy power. Thanks, thanks, great God! He's ruined, ex- iled, stripped Of name, and land, and titles. He's as dead. Thou hast no power to harm him. He can fall No deeper. Earth hath not a lowlier state Than princely Julian fills. D^Alha. Doth not the grave Lie deeper ? Ann. What ? But thou hast not the power ! Hast thou ? Thou canst not. Oh be pitiful ! Speak, I conjure thee, speak ! D'Alba. Didst thou not hear That he was exiled, outlawml, banished fai SCtNE IH.j JULIAN. 77 From the Sicilian isles, on pain oi' death. If, after noon to-day, he e'er were seen In Sicily ? The allotted bark awaits ; The hour is past ; and he is here. Ann. Now heaven Have mercy on us ! D'Alba, at thy feet, Upon my bended knees — Oh pity ! pity I Pity and pardon ! I'll not rise. I cannot. 1 cannot stand more than a creeping worm Whilst Julian's in thy danger. Pardon him 1 Thou wast not cruel once. I've seen thee turn Thy step from off the path to spare an insect ; I've marked thee shudder, when my falcon struck \ panting bird ; — though thou hast tried to sneer At thy own sympathy. D'Alba, thy heart Is kinder than thou knowest. Save him, D'Alba ! Save him ! D'Alba. Be mine, .^nn. Am I not his ? D'Alba. Be mine ; And he shall live to the whole age of man Unharmed. Ann. I'm his — Oh spare him! — Only his. D'Alba. Then it is thou that dost enforce the law On JuHan ; thou, his loving wife, that guid'st The officer to seize him where he lies Upon his father's corse ; thou that dost lead Thy husband to the scaffold ; — thou his wife, His lovinw wife ! Thou yet may'st rescue him JUHAK. [AGl' l\ . Ann, Now, God forgive thee, man ! Thoii torturest me Worse than a thousand racks. But thou art not So devilish, D'Alba. Thou hast talked of love ; Would'st see me die here at thy feet ? Have mercy! D^Alba. Mercy ! Ay, such as thou hast shown to me Through weeks, and months, and years. I was born strong In scorn, the wise man's passion. I had lived Aloof from the juggling world, and with a string Watched the poor puppets ape their several parts ; Fool, knave, or madman ; till thy fatal charms, Beautiful mischief, made me knave, and fool, And madman ; brought revenge, and love, and hate Into my soul. I love and hate thee, lady, And doubly hate myself for loving thee. But, by this teeming earth, this starry heaven, And by thyself, the fairest stubbornest thing The fair stars shine upon, I swear to-night Thou shalt be mine. If willingly, I'll save Prince Julian ; — but still mine. Speak. Shall he live ? Canst thou not speak ? Wilt thou not save him ? An7i. No. D'Alba. Did she die with the word ! Dost hear me, lady ? T asked thee wonldf^t thou save f hv husband " SCENE lir.j JULiA.%. 7y Ann. No. Not so ! Not so ! D'Alba. 'Tis well. [exit D'Alba. Ann. Stay ! Stay ! He's gone. Count D'Alba ! Sa*ve him ! Save him ! D'Alba's gone, And I have sentenced him. (after apause.) He would have chosen so, Would rather have died a thousand deaths than so Have lived ! Oh who will succour me, shut up In this lone tower ! none but those horrid guards, And yonder hoary traitor, know where the poor, Poor Annabel is hidden ; no man cares How she may perish — only one — and he — Preserve my wits ! I'll count my beads ; 'twill calm me : What if I hang my rosary from the casement ? There is a brightness in the gorgeous jewel To catch men's eyes, and haply some may- pass That are not pitiless. This window's closed ; But in yon chamber — Ah» 'tis open ! There rU hang the holy gem, a guiding star, A visible prayer to man and God. Oh save me From sin and shame ! Save him ! Til hang it there. fe^'ft* BO JULIAN. [act \. ACT V. The same as the last; the arched door ncarhj closed. Annabel. Ann. 1 cannot rest. I wander to and fro Within my dreary prison, as to seek For comfort, and find none. Each hour hath killed A hope that seemed the last. The shodows point Upward. The sun is sinking. Guard me, heaven, Through this dread night I (a gun is heard without.) What evil sound— All sounds Are evil here ! Is there some murder doing ? Or wantonly in sport. Enter Julian through the arched door. Jul. Annabel ! Ann. Julian ! Jul. My wife ! Art thou still mine ;' Ann. Thine own. Jul. She smiles ! _ She clings to me ! her eyes are fixed on mine With the old love, the old divinest look Of innoconre ' It is yet time. She*s pure ! bCEiNE I.J JULIA.X. 81 She's undeiiied ! — Speak to me, Annabel. Tremble not so. Ann, 'Tis joy. Oh I have been So wretched ! And to see thee when 1 thought We ne'er should meet again ! How didst thou find me ? Jul. The rosary ! the blessed rosary Shone in the sun-beam, like a beacon fire, A guiding star ! Thrice holy was its light That led me here to save Ann, Oh blessings on thee ! How ? where ? what way ? The iron door is barred ! Where didst thou enter, Julian I Jul. Through the casement Of yonder chamber. Ann. What ? that grim ascent ! That awful depth ! Didst thou dare this for me ? And must I ? — But I fear not. I'll go with thee. I'm safe of foot, and light. I'll go. Jul. Thou canst not Ann. Then go thyself, or he will find thee here, He and his ruffian band. Let us part now. Kiss me again. Fly. fly from Sicily! — That fearful man — but he is all one lie — Told me thy life was forfeited. Jul. He told thee A truth. Ann. Oh fly ! fly ! fly I Jul. My Annabel Tiie bloodhound^ that be laid upon the seen*:. C2 JLLIAN. [act V. Have tracked me hither. Didst thou hear a gun? For once the ball passed harmlesp. Ann. Art thou hurt ? Art sure thou art not ? Jul Yes. But they who aimed That death are on the watch. Their quarry-s lodged. AVe can escape them — one way — only one ! Ann. How ? What way ? JnL Ask not. Ann. Whither? ./w/. 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. Jul. Not yet. .Unn. Now ! now ! Thou know'st not How horribly these walls do picture to me The several agonies wliereof my soul Hath drunk to-day. I have been tempted, Ju- lian, By one — a fiend ! tempted till I almost thought God had forsaken me. Bat thou art here To save me, and my pulse beats high again With love and hope. 1 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 Madnesf*. and sedate Despair, SCENE I.j JLLIAX. 83 And Fear the great unreal ! — Take me hence ! Take me away with thee ! Jul. Not yet, not yet. Thou sweetest wretch ! 1 cannot— Dotard ! Fool ! I must. Not yet! not yet! — Talk to me, An- nabel ; 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. Ann. Ay, all day long, When we are free. Thy voice is choked ; Ihv 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 !—ki?s it not ! Take thy lips from it ! Ann. Canst thou save me, Julian ? Thou always dost speak truth. Canst save thy- self? Shall we go hence together ? Jul. Ay, one fate — One home. Ann. Why that is bliss. We shall be poor- Shall we not, Julian ? I shall have a joy I never looked for ; I shall work for thee, Shall tend thee, be thy page, thy 'squire, thv all,~ Shall I not. Julian? 84 JULIAN. j ACT V . Jul. Annabel, look forth 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 1 Ami. 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 tho Eternal Gales, didst pray to pass SCENE I.] JULIAN. 85 Away in such a glory. Annabel ! Look out upon the burning sky, the sea One lucid ruby — 'tis the very hour ! Thou'lt be a seraph at the Fount of Light Before Ann. What, must I die ? And wilt thou kill me? Canst thou? Thou cam'st to save-= — JuL To save thy honour ! I shall die with thee. Ann. Oh no ! no ! live ! live ! If I must die — Oh it is sweet to live. To breathe, to move, to feel the throbbing blood Beat in the veins, — to look on such an earth And such a heaven, — to look on thee 1 Young life Is very dear. Jul. Would'st live for D'Alba ? Ann. No! I had forgot. I'll die. Quick ! Quick ! Jul. One kiss ! Angel, dost thou forgive me ? Ann. Yes. Jul. My sword ! — I cannot draw it. Ann, Now ! I'm ready. Enter Bertone, and two murderers. Bert. Seize him 1 Yield thee, Prince Julian ! Yield thee 1 Seize the lady. H 86 JULIAN. [act V. Jul. Oh fatal, fond delay ! Dare not come near us ! Stand off! I'll guard thee, sweet. But when I fall Let him not triuraph. Bert. Yield thee ! Strike him down. Jtil. Thou canst die then, my fairest. (^the two murderers have now advanced close to Julian.) Bert. Now ! (One of the fnurderers strikes at Julian with his sword ; Annabel rushes before him^ receives the wound aimed at him, and falls at his feet. Ann. (^before she is wounded.) For thee. [then after) For thee. 'Tis sweet ! [dies.) Jul. Fiend, hast thou slain her ? Die ! die ! die ! i Come on. (fights and kills him.)^ Bert. Call instant help ! Hasten the Count ! [exit the other murderer. (Julian and Bertonefighty and Juliankills him.) Jul. My wife ! My murdered wife ! Doth she not breathe ? I thought — My sight is dim — Oh no 1 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 — de£id ! Why do I shiver at the word, that am Death's factor, peopler of unhallowed graves, SCEl^E i.] JULIAN. 87 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 it.) 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 Laugh — ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll wrap me in this cloak [taking one belonging to the dead bravo.) And in the twilight — So ! — he will not know My voice — it frightens me ! — 1 have not hidden Thee quite, my Annabel ! There is one tress Floating in spring}/ grace — as if— she's dead ! She's dead ! 1 must not gaze, for then my heart Will break before its time. He comes. The stairs Groan at his pressure. S8 JULIAN. (act V. Enter D'Alba. D^Alba, {entering to an attendant) Back and watch the gate ! — All's tranquil. Where's the traitor ? Jul, Dead. D'Alba. Who slew him ? Jul. I. D'Alha. And the lady, — where is she ? Jul. At rest. D^Alha. Fair gentleness ! After this perilous storm She needs must lack repose. I'll wait her here. Friend I thou hast done good service to the state And me ; we're not ungrateful. Julian's sword Fails him not often ; and the slave who fled Proclaimed him victor. Jul. He slew two. D'Alba. And thou Slew'st him ? Ay there he lies in the ermined cloak Of royalty, his haughty shroud ! Six ells Of rude uncostly linen serves to wrap Your common corse ; but this man was born swathed 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 .SCENE 1.] JULIAN. 89 The funeral speedy. Ah ! the slaughtering sword Lies by him, brown with clotted gore. Hence ! hence ! And drag the carrion with thee. Jul. Wilt thou not Look on the corse ? D^Alba. 1 cannot wait her waking. I Kiust go feast my eyes on her fair looks — Divinest Annabel ! My widowed bride ! — Where is she ? Jul, (^uncovering the body.) There ! Now gaze thyself to Hell I Gloat with hot love upon that beauteous dust ! — She's safe ! She's dead ! D\ma. Julian! Jul. But touch her not ! She's mine. D\^lba. Oh perfectest and loveliest thing ! Eternal curses rest upon his head Who murdered thee ! Jul. Off! off! Pollute her not! She's white ! She's pure ! — Curses ! Now curse for curse On the foul murderer ! On him who turned The sweet soul from her home, who slew her father, Hunted her husband as a beast of prey, Pursued, imprisoned, lusted, left no gate Open save that to Heaven ! — Off! gaze not on her! Thv look is profanation ! H 2 yO JULIAN. [act V. Enter Alfonso, Leanti, Valore^ ^c. Jllf. {Entering.) Here, Leanti ! This way ! Oh sight of horror ! Julian ! Julian ! Valore. The Princess dead ! Why D'Alba — Leanti. Seize him, guards. Lead him before the States. This bloody scene Calls for deep vengeance. D^Alba. If I were not weary Of a world that sweats under a load of fools — Old creaking vanes that turn as the wind changes — Lords, I'd defy ye ! I'd live on for ever ! And I defy ye now. For she is gone — The glorious vision ! — and the patriarch's years Were valueless. Do with me as ye will.- — Ye cannot call back her. Lea7iti. Off with him ! [exit D'Alba guarded. Alf. Julian ! Wilt thou not speak ? Jul. I have been thanking heaven That she is dead. Valore. His wits are gone. Alf. My Julian Look on me. Dost thou know me? I'm thy Cousin, Thy comforter. Jul. She was my comforter ! And now — But I do know thee ; thou'rt the king; The pretty boy I loved — She loved thee too ! SCENE I.] JULIAN. 91 I'm glad thou'rt come to close my eyes. Draw nearer That I may see thy face. Where art thou ? Alf. Here! Jul. Poor child he weeps ! Send for the ho- noured 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 ! Valore. Raise up his head. Jilf. My Julian ! Jul. He forgave me, — Thou know'st he did ! — White flowers I No* thing but white ! [Dies. Leanti. He is gone. Alf. And I am left in the wide world Alone. My Julian ! TME F.Nft. EPILOGUE, WRITTEN BY T. A. TALFOURD, ESQ, SPOKEN BY MRS. ClIATTERLET. Is not her lot intolerably hard Who does this pious office for the Bard ? Who comes applauses not her own to win. Or pay the penance for another'ssin? To tack, lest gentle moralizers rail, A drawling comment to a doubtful tale ; To break with hollow mirth the sacred speli Which the poor poet rarely w eaves too well ; Or if his sorrows 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 a\v ay in neatly publish'd lays ; No lender 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 : EPILOGUE. 93 With hints of well-assum'd 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 : To slay an Author's hopes with daintiest sneers-, And change the fates of poets as of peers; Regard not her unwomanly who seeks To draw down sacred tears o'er beauty's cheeks. Who for her sex, by artless scenes, would keep It's dearest right — to weep with thosp that weep ; Who if to-night her humble muse hath brought To some sad heart a train of gentle thought ; On some worn 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. i>^ LI)Mg20 LIBRARY