Had I a knife even; but it matters not-
Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,
Even at the altar foot, whence I look down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dash'd,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man!
Arn. I wish to merit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.
Olimp. No! thou hast only sack'd my native
land,-

No injury!-and made my father's house
A den of thieves! No injury !-this temple-
Slippery with Roman and with holy gore.
No injury! And now thou would'st preserve me,
To be-but that shall never be!

[She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe
round her, and prepares to dash herself down
on the side of the Altar opposite to that where
ARNOLD stands.

Arn.

1 swear.

Hold! hold!

Olimp. Spare thine already forfeit soul

A perjury for which even hell would lathe thee.

I know thee.

Arn.

I love but thee!
Cæs.
Even so Achilles loved
Penthesilea: with his form it seems

You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one.
Arn. She breathes! But no, 'twas nothing, or the
last

Faint flutter life disputes with death.
Cæs.
She breathes.
Arn. Thou say'st it? Then 'tis truth.
Cæs.
You do me right-
The devil speaks truth much oftener than he's
deem'd:

He hath an ignorant audience.

Arn. (without attending to him.) Yes! her heart beats.

Alas! that the first beat of the only heart

I ever wish'd to beat with mine should vibrate
To an assassin's pulse.

Cæs.

A sage reflection, But somewhat late i' the day. Where shall we bear her? I say she lives.

Then she is dead!

Arn. Cæs.

Olimp.

I judge thee by thy mates; It is for God to judge thee as thou art. I see thee purple with the blood of Rome; Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shalt have of me! And here, upon the marble of this temple, Where the baptismal font baptized me God's,

Cæs. Come, then! raise her up Arn. Softly!

We will

But, if you rue it after, blame not me.
Arn. Let her but live!
Cas

The spirit of her life
Is yet within her breast, and may revive.
Count! Count! I am your servant in all things,
And this is a new office :-'tis not oft
I am employ'd in such; but you perceive
How stanch a friend is what you call a fiend.
On earth you have often only fiends for friends;
Now I desert not mine. Scft: bear her hence,
The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit!

I am almost enamor'd of her, as

Of old the angels of her earliest sex.

3.

And when the spring comes with her host Of flowers, that flower beloved the most Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse Her heavenly odor and virgin hues.

4.

Pluck the others, but still remember
Their herald out of dim December-
The morning star of all the flowers,
The pledge of daylight's lengthen'd hours;
Nor, mid the roses, e'er forget
The virgin, virgin violet.

Enter CESAR.

Cas. (singing.) The wars are all over,
Our swords are all idle,
The steed bites the bridle,
The casque's on the wall.
There's rest for the rover,

But his armor is rusty,

And the veteran grows crusty,

As he yawns in the hall;

He drinks-but what's drinking?

A mere pause from thinking!

No bugle awakes him with life-and-death call

CHORUS.

But the hound bayeth loudly,

The boar's in the wood, And the falcon longs proudly

To spring from her hood: On the wrist of the noble She sits like a crest, And the air is in trouble With birds from their nest

Cas. Oh! shadow of glory!
Dim image of war!

But the chase hath no story.

Her hero no star,

Since Nimrod the founder

Of empire and chase,

Who made the woods wonder
And quake for their race.

When the lion was young,

In the pride of his might,

Then 'twas sport for the strong

To embrace him in fight;

To go forth, with a pine

For a spear 'gainst the mammoth,
Or strike through the ravine

At the foaming behemoth;
While man was in stature

As towers in our time,
The first-born of nature,
And, like her, sublime!

CHORUS.

But the wars are over,
The spring is come;
The bride and her lover

Have sought their home:

They are happy, and we rejoice;

Let their hearts have an echo from every voice

[Exeunt the Peasantry, singing

Albeit thou watchest with "the seven

Though through space infinite and hoary
Before thy bright wings worlds be driven,
Yet hear!

Oh! think of her who holds thee dear!
And though she nothing is to thee,
Yet think that thou art all to her.

Thou canst not tell,-and never be
Such pangs decreed to aught save me,—
The bitterness of tears.
Eternity is in thy years,
Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes;
With me thou canst not sympathize,

Except in love, and there thou must Acknowledge that more loving dust Ne'er wept beneath the skies.

Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou see'st The face of him who made thee great,

As he hath made me of the least

Of those cast out from Eden's gate:
Yet, Seraph dear!

Oh hear !

For thou hast loved me, and I would not die
Until I know what I must die in knowing,

That thou foget'st in thine eternity

Her whose heart death could not keep from o'erflowing

For thee, immortal essence as thou art!
Great is their love who love in sin and fear;
And such, I feel, are waging in my heart
A war unworthy: to an Adamite
Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear,
For sorrow is our element;
Delight

An Eden kept afar from sight,

Though sometimes with our visions blent.
The hour is near

Which tells me we are not abandon'd quite.-
Appear! Appear!
Seraph!

My own Azaziel! be but here,

And leave the stars to their own light.
Aho.

Samiasa!

Whereso'er

Who made all empires, empire; or recalling
Some wandering star, which shoots through the
abyss

Whose tenants dying, while their world is falling,
Share the dim destiny of clay in this;
Or joining with the inferior cherubim,
Thou deignest to partake their hymn-
Samiasa!

I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee.

Many may worship thee, that will I not.

If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee,
Descend and share my lot!

Though I be form'd of clay,
And thou of beams

More bright than those of day
On Eden's streams,

Thine immortality can not repay
With love more warm than mine

My love. There is a ray

• The archangels said to be seven in number.

In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine, I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine. It may be hidden long: death and decay Our mother Eve bequeath'd us-but my heart Defies it: though this life must pass away, Is that a cause for thee and me to part? Thou art immortal-so am I: I feel

I feel my immortality o'ersweep

All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal,
Like the eternal thunders of the deep,
Into my ears this truth-"thou liv'st for ever!"
But if it be in joy

I know not, nor would know;

That secret rests with the Almighty giver

Who folds in clouds the fonts of bliss and wo But thee and me he never can destroy; Change as he may, but not o'erwhelm; we are Of as eternal essence and must war

With him if he will war with us: with thee

I can share all things, even immortal sorrow: For thou hast ventured to share life with me, And shall I shrink from thine eternity?

No! though the serpent's sting should pierce me through,

And thou thyself wert like the serpent coil
Around me still! and I will smile

And curse thee not; but hold
Thee in as warm a fold
As-but descend; and prove

A mortal's love