With all its pangs and horrors I have seen,
But never aught like this! Retire, my friends;
The death-bell will its awful signal give,
When he has breathed his last.

I would move hence, but I am weak and faint:
Let me a moment on thy shoulder lean.
O, weak and mortal man!

(Leans on second Monk: a pause.)

Enter BERNARD from the chamber.

2d Monk. (to Bern.) How is your penitent?
Bern. He is with Him who made him; HIM, who
knows

The soul of man: before whose awful presence
Th' unsceptred tyrant, simple, helpless, stands
Like an unclothed babe.

(Bell tolls.) The dismal sound!

Retire and pray for the blood-stain'd soul:

Enter MANUEL and JEROME.

Man. (pointing.) Here, my good Jerome, here's a piteous sight.

Jer. A piteous sight! yet I will look upon him: I'll see his face in death. Alas, alas! I've seen him move a noble gentleman; And when with vexing passion undisturb'd, He look'd most graciously.

(Lifts up in mistake the cloth from the body of Rezenvelt, and starts back with horror.) Oh! this was the bloody work! Oh, oh oh, oh ! That human hands could do it!

(Drops the cloth again.) Man. That is the murder'd corpse; here lies De Monfort.

(Going to uncover the other body.) Jer. (turning away his head.) No, no! I cannot look upon him now.

Man. Didst thou not come to see him?
Jer. Fy

cover him-inter him in the darkLet no one look upon him.

Bern. (To Jer.) Well dost thou show the ab

horrence nature feels

For deeds of blood, and I commend thee well. In the most ruthless heart compassion wakes

[EXEUNT.

SCENE VI.-A HALL OR LARGE ROOM IN THE CONVENT. THE BODIES OF DE MONFORT AND REZENVELT ARE DISCOVERED LAID OUT UPON A LOW TABLE OR PLATFORM, COVERED WITH BLACK. FREBERG, BERNARD, ABBESS, MONKS, AND NUNS ATTENDING.

Hath felt such cruelty.

until we know

Respecting this the order of the law.

Freb. And you have wisely done, my reverend

mother.

without uncovering them.)

Unhappy men! ye, both in nature rich,
With talents and with virtues were endued.

Ye should have loved, yet deadly rancour came,
And in the prime and manhood of your days
Ye sleep in horrid death. O direful hate!
What shame and wretchedness his portion is,
Who, for a secret inmate, harbours thee!
And who shall call him blameless, who excites,
Ungenerously excites, with careless scorn,
Such baleful passion in a brother's breast,

Think'st thou, less painful than the murderer's knife

Was such a death as this

Ay, and how changed too those matted locks!

Jer. Merciful heaven! his hair is grisly grown, Changed to white age, that was, but too days since, Black as the raven's plume. How may this be? Bern. Such change, from violent conflict of the mind, Will sometimes come. Jer.

Alas, alas! most wretched!

laid:

And so it kill'd thee. Thou hast suffer'd for it. God rest thy soul! I needs must touch thy hand, And bid thee long farewell.

(Laying his hand on De Monfort.) Bern. Draw back, draw back; see where the lady comes.

Enter JANE DE MONFORT.

(Freberg, who has been for some time retired by himself to the bottom of the stage, now steps forward to lead her in, but checks himself on seeing the fixed sorrow of her countenance, and draws back respectfully. Jane advances to the table, and looks attentively at the covered bodies. Manuel points out the body of De

Monfort, and she gives a gentle inclination of the head, to signify that she understands him. She then bends tenderly over it, without speaking.

Man. (to Jane, as she raises her head.) O, madam!

my good lord.

Jane. Well says thy love, my good and faithful Manuel;

But we must mourn in silence.

Man. Alas! the times that I have follow'd him! Jane. Forbear, my faithful Manuel. For this love Thou hast my grateful thanks; and here's my hand:

Thou hast loved him, and I'll remember thee.
Where'er I am; in whate'er spot of earth
I linger out the remnant of my days,
I will remember thee.

Man. Nay, by the living God! where'er you are,
There will I be. I'll prove a trusty servant:
I'll follow you, even to the world's end.
My master's gone; and I indeed am mean,
Yet will I show the strength of nobler men,
Should any dare upon your honour'd worth
To put the slightest wrong. Leave you, dear lady!
Kill me,
but say not this!

(Throwing himself at her feet.) Jane. (raising him.) Well, then! be thou my servant, and my friend.

Art thou, good Jerome, too, in kindness come?
I see thou art. How goes it with thine age?

Jer. Ah, madam! wo and weakness dwell with age:

Man. (to Off.) Hold thy unrighteous tongue, or hie thee hence,

Nor, in the presence of this honour'd dame,
Utter the slightest meaning of reproach.

1st Off. I am an officer on duty call'd, And have authority to say, "How died he?" (Here Jane shakes off the weakness of grief, and repressing Manuel, who is about to reply to the Officer, steps forward with dignity.) Jane. Tell them, by whose authority you come, He died that death which best becomes a man Who is with keenest sense of conscious ill And deep remorse assail'd, a wounded spirit: A death that kills the noble and the brave, And only them. He had no other wound. 1st Off. And shall I trust to this? Jane.

Do as thou wilt: To one who can suspect my simple word I have no more reply. Fulfil thine office. 1st Off. No, lady, I believe your honoured word, And will no further search.

Jane. I thank your courtesy: thanks, thanks to

all.

strength!

I'd spend my life for you.

Jane.
Thanks, worthy Jerome.
O who hath said the wretched have no friends?

Freb. In every sensible and generous breast
Affliction finds a friend; but unto thee,
Thou most exalted and most honourable,
The heart in warmest adoration bows,

And even a worship pays.

Jane. Nay, Freberg, Freberg! grieve me not, my friend.

He to whose ear my praise most welcome was,
Hears it no more; and, O our piteous lot!
What tongue will talk of him? Alas, alas!
This more than all will bow me to the earth;
I feel my misery here.

The voice of praise was wont to name us both;
I had no greater pride.

(Covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. Here they all hang about her: Freberg supporting her tenderly. Manual embracing her knees, and old Jerome catching hold of her robe affectionately. Bernard, Abbess, Monks, and Nuns, likewise, gather round her, with looks of sympathy.)

Into our hands he straight must be consign'd. Bern. He is not subject now to human laws;

The prison that awaits him is the grave.

Enter SULPICIUS and ORCERES by opposite sides. Sul. So soon return'd!--I read not in thy face

this.

How is it, noble friend?

Orc. E'en as it was e'er I received my mission. Cordenius Maro is on public duty;

I have not seen him.-When he knows your offer His heart will bound with joy, like eaglet plumed Whose out-stretch'd pinions wheeling round and round,

Shape their first circles in the sunny air.

Sul. And with good cause.

Orc. Methinks I see him now!

A face with blushes mantling to the brow,
Eyes with bright tears surcharged, and parted lips
Quivering to utter joy which hath no words.

Sul. His face, indeed, as I have heard thee say,
Is like a wave which sun and shadow cross;
Each thought makes there its momentary mark.
Orc. And then his towering form, and vaulting

step,

As tenderness gives way to exultation! O it had been a feast to look upon him; And still shall be.

Sul.

Art thou so well convinced

He loves my little damsel? she is fair,
But seems to me too simple, gay, and thoughtless,
For noble Maro. Heiress as she is

To all my wealth, had I suspected sooner,
That he had smother'd wishes in his breast
As too presumptuous, or that she in secret
Preferr'd his silent homage to the praise
Of any other man, I had most frankly
Removed all hinderance to so fair a suit.
For, in these changeling and degenerate days,
I scarcely know a man of nobler worth.

Orc. Thou scarcely know'st! Say certainly thou
dost not.

He is, to honest right, as simply true
As shepherd child on desert pasture bred,
Where falsehood and deceit have never been;
And to maintain them, ardent, skilful, potent,
As the shrewd leader of unruly tribes.
A simple heart and subtle spirit join'd,
Make such an union as in Nero's court
May pass for curious and unnatural.

Sul. But is the public duty very urgent,
That so untowardly delays our happiness?

Orc. The punishment of those poor Nazarenes, Who, in defiance of imperial power,

To their forbidden faith and rites adhere
With obstinacy most astonishing.

Sul. A stubborn contumacy unaccountable!
Ore. There's sorcery in it, or some stronger
power.

But be it what it may, or good or ill,
They look on death in its most dreadful form,
As martial heroes on a wreath of triumph.
The fires are kindled in the place of death,
And bells toll dismally. The life of Rome
In one vast clustering mass hangs round the spot,
And no one to his neighbour utters word,
But in an alter'd voice; with breath restrain❜d,
Like those who speak at midnight near the dead.
Cordenius heads the band that guards the pile;
So station'd, who could speak to him of pleasure?
For it would seem as an ill-omen'd thing.

Sul. Cease; here comes Portia, with a careless
face:

She knows not yet the happiness that waits her.

I knew not you were here; but yet I guess
The song which this sly creature sings so well,
Will please you also.

Orc. How can it fail, fair Portia, so commended?
Sul. What is this boasted lay?

Por. That tune, my father,

Which you so oft have tried to recollect;
But link'd with other words, of new device,
That please my fancy well.-Come, sing it, boy!
Sul. Nay, sing it, Syphax, be not so abash'd,
If thou art really so.-Begin, begin!
But speak thy words distinctly as thou sing'st,
That I may have their meaning perfectly.

SONG.

The storm is gathering far and wide,

Yon mortal hero must abide.

Power on earth, and power in air,
Falchion's gleam and lightning's glare;
Arrows hurtling through the blast;
Stenes from flaming meteor cast:
Floods from burden'd skies are pouring,
O'er mingled strife of battle roaring;
Nature's rage and Demon's ire,
Belt him round with turmoil dire:
Noble hero! earthly wight!
Brace thee bravely for the fight.

And so, indeed, thou takest thy stand,
Shield on arm and glaive in hand;
Breast encased in burnish'd steel,
Helm on head, and pike on heel;
And, more than meets the outward eye
The soul's high-temper'd panoply,
Which every limb for action lightens,
The form dilates, the visage brightens:
Thus art thou, lofty, mortal wight

Full nobly harness'd for the fight.

Orc. The picture of some very noble hero These lines portray.

Sul. So it should seem; one of the days of old. Por. And why of olden days? There liveth now The very man-a man-I mean to say, There may be found amongst our Roman youth, One, who in form and feelings may compare With him whose lofty virtues these few lines So well describe.

Orc. Thou mean'st the lofty Gorbus.

Por. Out on the noisy braggart! Arms without He hath, indeed, well burnish'd and well plumed, But the poor soul, within, is pluck'd and bare, Like any homely thing.

Orr. Sertorius Galba then?
Por. O, stranger still!

For if he hath no lack of courage, certes,
He hath much lack of grace. Sertorius Galba!

Orc. Perhaps thou mean'st Cordenius Maro, lady. Thy cheeks grow scarlet at the very name, Indignant that I still should err so strangely. Por. No, not indignant, for thou errest not; Nor do I blush, albeit thou think'st I do, To say, there is not of our Romans one, Whose martial form a truer image gives Of firm, heroic courage.

Sul.

Cease, sweet Portia ; He only laughs at thy simplicity.

Orc. Simplicity seen through a harmless wile, Like to the infant urchin, half conceal'd Behind his smiling dam's transparent veil. The song is not a stranger to mine ear, Methinks I've heard it, passing through those wilds, Whose groves and caves, if rumour speak the truth, Are by the Nazarenes or Christians haunted.

Sul. Let it no more be sung within my walls: A chant of theirs to bring on pestilence! Sing it no more. What sounds are those I hear? Orc. The dismal death-drum and the

without.

crowd

Look on them as they pass?

Por. No; go not, child: "Twill frighten thee; it is a horrid sight. Page. Yet, and it please you, lady, let me go. Por. I say it is a horrid, piteous sight, Thou wilt be frighten'd at it.

Page. Nay, be it e'er so piteous or so horrid, I have a longing, strong desire to see it.

Officers and Soldiers still remaining; the Officers on the front, and Cordenius apart from them in a thoughtful posture.)

First Offi. Brave Varus marches boldly at the head

Of that deluded band.

Second Offi. Are these the men, who hateful orgies hold

In dens and deserts, courting, with enchantments, The intercourse of demons?

Third Offi.

Ay, with rites
Cruel and wild. To crucify a babe ;
And while it yet hangs shrieking on the rood
Fall down and worship it! device abominable
First Offi. Dost thou believe it?

Third Offi. I can believe all this or any thing
Of the possess'd and mad.

First Offi. What demonry, thinkest thou, possesses Varus ?

Second Offi. That is well urged. (To the other.)
Is he a maniac?

Alas, that I should see so brave a soldier
Thus, as a malefactor, led to death!

First Offi. Viewing his keen, enliven'd coun

He is a man, who makes a show of valour
To which his deeds have borne slight testimony.
Cor. (advancing indignantly.) Thou liest a
better and a braver soldier

Ne'er fronted foe, or closed in bloody strife.

(Turning away angrily to the back ground.) First Offi. Our chief, methinks, is in a fretful mood,

Which is not usual with him.

Second Offi. He did not seem to listen to our words.

But see he gives the signal to proceed;
We must advance, and with our closing ranks
The fatal pile encircle.

SONG.

A long farewell to sin and sorrow,

To beam of day and evening shade!
High in glory breaks our morrow,
With light that cannot fade.

While mortal flesh in flame is bleeding,
For humble penitence and love,
Our brother and our Lord is pleading
At mercy's throne above.

We leave the hated and the hating.
Existence sad in toil and strife;

The great, the good, the brave are waiting
To hail our opening life.

Earth's fated sounds our ears forsaking,
A moment's silence death shall be;
Then, to heaven's jubilee awaking,
Faith ends in victory.

[EXEUNT Martyrs, &c. &c. Cordenius with his

[EXEUNT in order, whilst a chorus of Martyrs is heard at a distance.)

-AN APARTMENT IN A PRIVATE HOUSE.

Enter two CHRISTIAN WOMEN, by opposite sides. First Wom. Hast thou heard any thing? Second Wom. Naught, save the murmur of the

multitude,

Sinking at times to deep and awful silence,
From which again a sudden burst will rise
Like mingled exclamations, as of horror
Or admiration. In these neighbouring streets
I have not met a single citizen,

The town appearing uninhabited.

But wherefore art thou here? Thou should'st have

stay'd

With the unhappy mother of poor Cælus.

First Wom. She sent me hither in her agony Of fear and fearful hope.

Second Wom. Ha! does she hope deliverance from death?