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Enter Brother THOMAS from the chamber.

How now, good brother?

Thom. Retire, my friends. O many a bed of death

With all its pangs and horrors I have seen,
But never aught like this! Retire, my friends 3
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 Rezervelt, 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 dark-
Let no one look upon him.

Bern. (To Jer.) Well dost thou show the abhorrence nature feels

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

May heaven have mercy on him! (Bell tolls again.) For one, who, from the hand of fellow man,

[EXEUNT.

SCENE VI.-A HALL OR LARGE ROOM IN THE CON

Hath felt such cruelty.

(Uncovering the body of Rezenvelt.) VENT. THE BODIES OF DE MONFORT AND REZEN- This is the murder'd corse :

VELT ARE DISCOVERED LAID OUT UPON A LOW TABLE OR PLATFORM, COVERED WITH BLACK. FREBERG, BERNARD, ABBESS, MONKS, AND NUNS ATTENDING.

(Uncovering the body of De Monfort)
But see, I pray!

Here lies the murderer. What think'st thou here?
Look on those features, thou hast seen them oft,

Abb. (to Freb.) Here must they lie, my lord, With the last dreadful conflict of despair,

until we know

Respecting this the order of the law.

Freb. And you have wisely done, my reverend

mother.

(Goes to the table, and looks at the bodies, but 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,

So fix'd in horrid strength.

See those knit brows; those hollow sunken eyes; The sharpen'd nose, with nostrils all distent; That writhed mouth, where yet the teeth appear, In agony, to gnash the nether lip.

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!

Whom heaven commands to love? Low are ye Thou wert too good to do a cruel deed,

laid:

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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.) 0, 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.

My reverend mother, and ye honour'd maids;
Ye holy men, and you, my faithful friends;
The blessing of the afflicted rest with you!
And He, who to the wretched is most piteous,
Will recompense you.-Freberg, thou art good;
Remove the body of the friend you loved :
"Tis Rezen velt I mean. Take thou this charge:
'Tis meet, that with his noble ancestors
He lie entomb'd in honourable state.

Would I could serve you with a young man's And now I have a sad request to make,

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.)

1st Off.

Enter two OFFICERS of law.

Where is the prisoner?

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.

Nor will these holy sisters scorn my boon:
That I, within these sacred cloister walls,
May raise a humble, nameless tomb to him,
Who, but for one dark passion, one dire deed,
Had claim'd a record of as noble worth
As e'er enrich'd the sculptured pedestal. [EXEUNT.

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

1st Off. Ha! say'st thou so? there is foul play in Aught to encourage or depress my wishes.

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 !
Orc. 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.

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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 bath, indeed, well burnish'd and well plumed, But the poor soul, within, is pluck'd and bare, Like any homely thing.

Orc. 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 crowd

without.

They are this instant leading past your door
Those wretched Christians to their dreadful doom.
Sul. We'll go and see them pass.

[EXEUNT hastily Sulpicius, Orceres. Por. (Stopping her ears.) I cannot look on them, nor hear the sound.

I'll to my chamber.

Page.

May not I, I pray,
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 c'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, pos-
sesses 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

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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 fretfui 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.

Por. Go, then; there is in this no affectation: There's all the harden'd cruelty of man Lodged in that tiny form, child as thou art. [EXEUNT, severally. SCENE II.-AN OPEN SQUARE WITH BUILDINGS. Enter CORDENIUS MARO, at the head of his SOLDIERS, who draw up on either side: then enters along procession of public Functionaries, &c. conducting MARTYRS to the place of execution, who, as they pass on, sing together in unison: one more noble than the others, SCENE III.-AN APARTMENT IN A PRIVATE HOUSE. walking first.

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.)

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?

First Wom. O no! thou wrong'st her, friend; it is not that:

Deliverance is her fear, and death her hope.
A second time she bears a mother's throes
For her young stripling, whose exalted birth
To endless life is at this fearful crisis,

Or earn'd or lost. May heaven forefend the last!
He is a timid youth, and soft of nature:
God grant him strength to bear that fearful proof!
Second Wom. Here comes our reverend father.

Enter a CHRISTIAN FATHER.

What tidings dost thou bring? are they in bliss?
Fath. Yes, daughter, as I trust, they are ere this
In high immortal bliss. Cælus alone-
First Wom. He hath apostatized ! O wo is me!
O wo is me for his most wretched mother!

Fath. Apostatized! No; stripling as he is,
His fortitude, where all were braced and brave,
Shone paramount.

For his soft downy cheek and slender form

Made them conceive they might subdue his firm

ness,

Therefore he was reserved till noble Varus
And his compeers had in the flames expired.

Then did they court and tempt him with fair promise

Of all that earthly pleasure or ambition
Can offer, to deny his holy faith.

But he, who seem'd before so meek and timid,
Now suddenly imbued with holy grace,
Like the transition of some watery cloud
In passing o'er the moon's refulgent disc,

disperse and leave him alone. He walks a few paces slowly, then stops and continues for a short time in a thoughtful posture.

Cor. There is some power in this, or good or ill,
Surpassing nature. When the soul is roused
To desperate sacrifice, 'tis ardent passion,
Or high exalted virtue that excites it.
Can loathsome demonry in dauntless bearing,
Outdo the motives of the lofty brave?
It cannot be ! There is some power in this
Mocking all thought-incomprehensible.
(Remains for a moment silent and thoughtful,
Delusion! ay, 'tis said the cheated sight
while Sylvius enters behind him unperceived.

List to sweet sounds that are not; even the reason
Will see unreal things; the cheated ear
Maintain conclusions wild and inconsistent.
We hear of this :-the weak may be deluded;
But is the learn'd, th' enlighten'd, noble Varus
The victim of delusion ?-Can it be?
I'll not believe it.

Syl. (advancing to him.) No, believe it not.
Cor. (starting.) Ha! one so near me !

I have seen thy face before; but where ?-who art thou?

Syl. E'en that centurion of the seventh legion Who, with Cordenius Maro, at the siege Of Fort Volundum, mounted first the breach; And kept the clustering enemy in check, Till our encouraged Romans follow'd us.

Cor. My old companion then, the valiant Sylvius.

Thou'st done hard service since I saw thee last:

Glow'd with new life; and from his fervid tongue Thy countenance is mark'd with graver lines

Words of most firm, indignant constancy
Pour'd eloquently forth; then to the pile
Sprung lightly up, like an undaunted warrior
Scaling the breach of honour; or, alas!
As I have seen him midst his boyish mates,
Vaulting aloft for every love of motion.

Than in those greener days: I knew thee not. Where goest thou now? I'll bear thee company. Syl. I thank thee: yet thou may'st not go with

me.

The way that I am wending suits not thee, Though suiting well the noble and the brave.

First Wom. High heaven be praised for this! It were not well, in fiery times like these,

Thine eyes beheld it?

Fath. I saw it not: the friend who witness'd it,

Left him yet living midst devouring flame;
Therefore I spoke of Cælus doubtfully,
If he as yet belong'd to earth or heaven.

To tempt thy generous mind.

Cor. What dost thou mean?

Syl. (after looking cautiously round to see that nobody is near.) Did I not hear thee commune with thyself

(They cover their faces, and remain silent.) Of that most blessed martyr gone to rest,

Enter a CHRIStian Brother.

Broth. Lift up your heads, my sisters! let your

voices

In grateful thanks be raised! Those ye lament,
Have earthly pangs for heavenly joy exchanged.
The manly Varus and the youthful Cælus,
The lion and the dove, yoke-fellows link'd,
Have equal bliss and equal honour gain'd.

Varus Dobella ?

Cor. How blessed? My unsettled thoughts were
busy

With things mysterious; with those magic powers
That work the mind to darkness and destruction;
With the sad end of the deluded Varus.

Syl. Not so, not so! The wisest prince on earth,
With treasured wealth and armies at command,

First Wom. And praised be God, who makes the Ne'er earn'd withal such lofty exaltation

weakest strong!

I'll to his mother with the blessed tidings. [EXIT. Fath. Let us retire and pray. How soon our lives

May have like ending, God alone doth know!
O! may like grace support us in our need!

[EXEUNT. SCENE IV. AN OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF A TEMPLE. Enter CORDENIUS, as returning from the execution with his SOLDIERS, who, upon a signal from him,

As Varus now enjoys.

Cor. Thy words amaze me, friend; what is their meaning?

Syl. They cannot be explain'd with hasty speech In such a place. If thou would'st really know— And may such light

Cor. Why dost thou check thy words, And look so much disturb'd, like one in doubt? Syl. What am I doing! Zeal, perhaps, betrays

me.

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