My way-Aside to ULRIC.]-Where shall I say?
Ulr. [aside to Rodolph To Hamburgh.
Aside to himself.] That
Word will, I think, put a firm padlock on
His further inquisition.
Rod.
Count, to Hamburgh.
Sieg. [agitated]. Hamburgh! No, I have nought
to do there, nor

Am aught connected with that city. Then
God speed you!
Rod.
Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf!
[Exit RODOLPH.
Sieg. Ulric, this man who has just departed, is
One of those strange companions whom I fain
Would reason with you on.
Ulr.
My lord, he is
Noble by birth, of one of the first houses
In Saxony.

I understand you: you refer to-but
My destiny has so involved about me
Her spider web, that I can only flutter
Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed,
Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me :
Twenty long years of misery and famine
Quench'd them not-twenty thousand more per-
chance,

Hereafter (or even here in moments which
Might date for years, did Anguish make the dial),
May not obliterate or expiate

The madness and dishonour of an instant.
Ulric, be warn'd by a father!-I was not
By mine, and you behold me!
Ulr.

I behold
The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf,
Lord of a prince's appanage, and honour'd
By those he rules and those he ranks with.
Sieg.

Ah!

Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear
For thee? Beloved, when thou lovest me not!
All hearts but one may beat in kindness for ine—
But if my son's is cold!-
Who dare say that?
Sieg. None else but I, who see it-feel it-
keener

Ulr.

Than would your adversary, who dared say so, You sabre in his heart! But mine survives The wound.

Ulr.

You err. My nature is not given To outward fondling how should it be so, After twelve years' divorcement from my parents? Sieg. And did not I too pass those twelve torn years

In a like absence? But 'tis vain to urge you—
Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance.
Let's change the theme. I wish you to consider
That these young violent nobles of high name,
But dark deeds (ay, the darkest, if all Rumour
Reports be true), with whom thou consortest,
Will lead thee-

Ulr. [impatiently]. I'll be led by no man.
Sieg.

Be leader of such, I would hope: at once
To wean thee from the perils of thy youth
And haughty spirit, I have thought it well
That thou shouldst wed the lady Ida-more
As thou appear'st to love her.

Nor

I will obey your orders, were they to Unite with Hecate-can a son say more?

Sieg. He says too much in saying this. It is not The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood, Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly, Or act so carelessly, in that which is

The bloom or blight of all men's happiness. (For Glory's pillow is but restless, if

Love lay not down his cheek there): some strong bias,

Some master fiend is in thy service, to
Misrule the mortal who believes him slave,
And makes his every thought subservient; else
Thou'dst say at once-"I love young Ida, and
Will wed her; or, "I love her not, and all
The powers of earth shall never make me."-So
Would I have answer'd.

Uir. Sir, you wed for love. Sieg. I did, and it has been my only refuge In many miseries.

Which miseries

Had never been but for this love-match.

Ulr.

In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida? Ulr. What matters it, if I am ready to Obey you in espousing her?

Sieg.

As far As you feel, nothing, but all life for her. She's young-all-beautiful—adores you-is Endow'd with qualities to give happiness, Such as rounds common life into a dream Of something which your poets cannot paint, And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue) For which Philosophy might barter Wisdom; And giving so much happiness, deserves A little in return. I would not have her Break her heart for a man who has none to break; Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale, According to the Orient tale. She is

Ur. The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your foe:
I'll wed her, ne'ertheless; though, to say truth,
Just now I am not violently transported
In favour of such unions.

Sieg.
But she loves you.
Ulr. And I love her, and therefore would think
twice.

Sieg. Alas! Love never did so.
Ulr.

Then 'tis time

Sieg.

To woo.

But 'tis your office

Ulr. Count, 'tis a marriage of your making,
So be it of your wooing; but to please you,
I will now pay my duty to my mother,
With whom, you know, the lady Ida is.-
What would you have? You have forbid my
stirring

For manly sports beyond the castle-walls,
And I obey; you bid me turn a chamberer,
To pick up gloves, and fans, and knitting-needles,
And list to songs and tunes, and watch for smiles,
And smile at pretty prattle, and look into
The eyes of feminine, as though they were
The stars receding early to our wish
Upon the dawn of a world-winning battle-

What can a son or man do more?

Sieg. [solus].

[Exit ULRIC. Too much!

Too much of duty, and too little love!
He pays me in the coin he owes me not:
For such hath been my wayward fate, I could

not

Fulfil a parent's duties by his side

Till now; but love he owes me, for my thoughts
Ne'er left him, nor my eyes long'd without tears
To see my child again, and now I have found
him!

But how? obedient, but with coldness; duteous
In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious,
Abstracted-distant—much given to long absence,
And where-none know-in league with the most
riotous

Of our young nobles; though, to do him justice,
He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures;
Yet there's some tie between them which I cannot
Unravel. They look up to him-consult him—
Throng round him as a leader but with me
He hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope it
After-what! doth my father's curse descend
Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near
To shed more blood ? or-Oh! if it should be
Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls
To wither him and his-who, though they slew not,
Unlatch'd the door of death for thee ? "Twas not
Our fault, nor is our sin thou wert our foe,
And yet I spared thee when my own destruction
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening!
And only took-Accursed gold! thou liest
Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee,
Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise,
Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands
Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee,
Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master's doom,
Though he died not by me or mine, as much
As if he were my brother! I have ta'en
His orphan Ida-cherish'd her as one
Who will be mine.

So will not I

Prior. Within them!

[Exit Attendant.

Enter the PRIOR ALBERT.

Peace be with these walls, and all

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, decorated with Trophies, Bunners, and Arms of that Family.

Enter ARNHEIM and MEISTER, Attendants
of COUNT SIEGENDORF.

ladies

If he should hear you. Ida.

But he never will.

Already are at the portal. Have you sent
The messengers in search of him he seeks for?
Meis. I have, in all directions, over Prague,
As far as the man's dress and figure could
By your description track him. The devil take
These revels and processions! All the pleasure
(If such there be) must fall to the spectators.
I'm sure none doth to us who make the show.
Arn. Go to my lady countess comes.
Meis.

Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade,
Than follow in the train of a great man,
In these dull pageantries.
Arn.
Within.

I'd rather

Begone! and rail

[Exeunt.

Of aught so beautiful. The flowers, the boughs,
The banners, and the nobles, and the knights,
The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces,
The coursers, and the incense, and the sun
Streaming through the stain'd windows, even the
tombs,

Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns,
Which seem'd as if they rather came from heaven,
Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal
Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder;
The white robes, and the lifted eye; the world
At peace! and all at peace with one another!
Oh, my sweet mother! [Embracing JOSEPHINE.
My beloved child!
For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.

Jos.

Ida.

Oh!
I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!
Jos. It does, my love; and never may it throb
With aught more bitter.
Ida.
Never shall it do so!
How should it? What should make us grieve?
hate

To hear of sorrow: how can we be sad,
Who love each other so entirely? You,
The count, and Ulric, and your daughter Ida.
Jos. Poor child!

Ida.

Jos.

I

goodly. There's, for instance, The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once withdrew

His eyes from yours to-day.
Ida.

I did not see him,
But Ulric. Did you not see at the moment
When all knelt, and I wept? and yet methought,
Through my fast tears, though they were thick and

warm,

I saw him smiling on me. Jos.

I could not See aught save heaven, to which my eyes were rais'd, Together with the people's.

Ida.

I thought too Of heaven, although I look'd on Ulric. Jos.

Come,

Let us retire! they will be here anon
Expectant of the banquet. We will lay
Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains.

Ida. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels,
Which make my head and heart ache, as both throb
Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone.
Dear mother, I am with you.

[Exeunt.

Enter COUNT SIEGENDORF, in full dress, from the solemnity, and LUDWIG.

Sieg.
Is he not found?
Lud. Strict search is making everywhere; and if
The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found.
Sieg. Where's Ulric.
Lud.
He rode round the other way
With some young nobles; but he left them soon;
And, if I err not, not a minute since

I heard his excellency, with his train,
Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.

Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed.

And that in sorrow, not in the world's sense
Of the universal vice, if one vice be
More general than another.

How have I long'd for thee!

My destinies were woven in that name:
It will not be engraved upon my tomb,
But it may lead me there.

Ulr.
To the point-the Hungarian?
Sieg. Listen!-the church was throng'd: the
hymn was raised;

"Te Deum" peal'd from nations rather than
From choirs, in one great cry of "God be praised"
For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years,
Each bloodier than the former: I arose,
With all the nobles, and as I look'd down
Along the lines of lifted faces,-from

Our banner'd and escutcheon'd gallery, I
Saw, like a flash of lightning (for I saw

A moment and no more), what struck me sightless
To all else the Hungarian's face! I grew
Sick and when I recover'd from the mist
Which curl'd about my senses, and again
Look'd down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving
Was over, and we march'd back in procession.
Ulr. Continue.

Sieg. When we reach'd the Muldau's bridge,
The joyous crowd above, the numberless
Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs,
Which shot along the glancing tide below,
The decorated street, the long array,

The clashing music, and the thundering
Of far artillery, which seem'd to bid

A long and loud farewell to its great doings,
The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round,
The roar of rushing thousands,-all-all could not
Chase this man from my mind, although my senses
No longer held him palpable.
Ulr.

No more then?

Sieg.

You saw him

I look'd, as a dying soldier

Looks at a draught of water, for this man;
But still I saw him not; but in his stead-

Ulr. What in his stead?
Sieg.

My eye for ever fell Upon your dancing crest; the loftiest, As on the loftiest and the loveliest head, It rose the highest of the stream of plumes, Which overflow'd the glittering streets of Prague. Ulr. What's this to the Hungarian ? Sieg. Had almost then forgot him in my son; When just as the artillery ceased, and paused The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice, Distinct and keener far upon my ear

Much; for I

Than the late cannon's volume, this word"Werner !"

Gab.

[The Attendant introduces GABOR, and afterwards exit.

Ah! 'Tis then Werner! Sieg. [haughtily]. The same you knew, sir, by that name; and you!

Gab. [looking round]. I recognise you both: father and son,

It seems. Count, I have heard that you, or yours, Have lately been in search of me: I am here.

Sieg. I have sought you, and have found you: you are charged

(Your own heart may inform you why) with such A crime as

Gab.

[He pauses. Give it utterance, and then

I'll meet the consequences.

Sieg.

Unless

Gab. Sieg.

You shall do so

First, who accuses me?

All things,

And how disprove it? By