Manuel. Well, Philip, we

Will hasten now upon this merry errand.

SCENE IV.

Before the House at which Beaumont and Louise meet.

MANUEL. (Disguised.)

This is the house where it would seem they long
Have met in lust; and thus---but who is here?

[The door is opened, and as Manuel is stepping forward Madame Manuel throws herself into his arms.]

Louise. Oh, let me nestle in thy bosom, love, And hide my blushing face from all the world! I have so horrible a tale to tell;

But it must be in secret, and not now.

I meant at this our meeting to have chidden
Thee for two mighty faults, but they are past,
And love may never learn to bear resentment
'Gainst what it loves; and I, alas! have found
That what last night seemed cruelty, was rather
An act of foresight and benevolence!

Yes, it was wisdom, mercy, kindness, love,
That bade thee urge thy poor Louise to fly
Far from her hus---(the word will strangle me!)
Now that he knows, and the world too will know
Of our long cherished passion, I consent
To take thy counsel, and will go with thee
Wherever prudence points and love may guide,
For I am thine---now, Beaumont, thine for ever!
[During this speech, which is uttered by Louise, her
head resting all the time on the bosom of her hus-
band, the latter is agitated by a variety of con-
tending emotions.]

Manuel. Can thy head rest upon this broken heart? Thou dost resolve too late!

Louise, Great God---that voice!

[Gazes at him, shrieks, and falls senseless at his feet.]

Manuel. Lie there, base woman, wretched and defiled!

Lie there, as lowly as thou wert when I,

A passionate foolish lover, raised thee from
The earth, and gave thee power thus to destroy me!
Lie low as thine own honour now; and low
As are my ruined hopes, my name and fame.
Oh, heaven! how sweet she looks even in her sin!
How beauteously symmetric is that form!
How fascinating that pale mindless face!
These I could gaze upon till my soul, lured
By love from thoughts of hatred and revenge,
Would own her gentle sway again. Louise,
Long-loved, but now for ever lost, Louise!
may no longer look on thee, nor dare

Seek to recal a life which unto me

And to thyself must prove an endless curse!
July 2d, 1824.

[Exit.

THE ROSE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KRUMMACHER.

"WHAT a pity it is," said a youth to his father, "that, after the rose has ceased to blossom, it does not bring forth fruit, and thus prove to Nature its gratitude in summer for the sweet season of its blooming in the spring. You call it the flower of Sinnocence and joy; it would then be the image of gratitude."

The father answered, "Does she not then consecrate her whole self to adorn the Spring, Nature's darling? For the dew and sunbeams, which fall on her from above, she offers the fragrance of her delicate perfume; and, created for spring time, she dies with it.

"Dear child, a delicate and unseen thankfulness is the best; and how can innocence be ungrateful?"

F. MA.

I

Page 91.

66

FROM IRISH MELODIES," BY T. MOORE, ESQ.

LOVE AND THE NOVICE.

"HERE we dwell, in holiest bowers,

"Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; "Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers, "To heaven in mingled odour ascend!

"Do not disturb our calm, oh Love! "So like is thy form to the cherubs above, "It well might deceive such hearts às ours." Love stood near the Novice, and listen'd,

And Love is no novice in taking a hint ; His laughing blue eyes now with piety glisten'd; His rosy wing turn'd to heaven's own tint.

"Who would have thought," the urchin cries, "That Love could so well, so gravely disguise "His wandering wings, and wounding eyes?" Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping, Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise; He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. NO. 2. N. S.

L