I. 'T will rest You conceal'd me

With me at last to be so.
In secret passages known to yourself,
You said, and to none else.

At dead of night,
Weary with watching in the dark, and dubious
Of tracing back my way, I saw a glimmer,
Through distant crannies, of a twinkling light;
I follow'd it, and reach'd a door-a secret
Portal-which open'd to the chamber, where,
With cautious hand and slow, having first undone
As much as made a crevice of the fastening,
I look'd through and beheld a purple bed,
And on it Stralenheim !-

He, whom you dare not name, nor even I
Scarce dare to recollect, was not then in
The chamber.

[less still
Sieg. (to ULRIC). Then, my boy! thou art guilt-
Thou bad'st me say I was so once-Oh! now
Do thou as much!

Gab.
Be patient! I can not
Recede now, though it shake the very walls
Which frown above us. You remember,--or
If not, your son does,-that the locks were changed
Beneath his chief inspection on the morn
Which led to this same night: how he had enter'd
He best knows-but within an antechamber,
The door of which was half ajar, I saw

A man who wash'd his bloody hands, and oft
With stern and anxious glance gazed back upon.
The bleeding body-but it moved no more.
Sieg. Oh God of fathers!
Gab.
I beheld his features
As I see yours-but yours they were not, though
Resembling them-behold them in Count Ulric's!
Distinct as I beheld them, though the expression
Is not now what it then was !-but it was so
When I first charged him with the crime-so lately.
Sieg. This is so-
[end!

Gab. (interrupting him). Nay-but hear me to the
Now you must do so.-I conceived myself
Betray'd by you and him (for now I saw
There was some tie between you) into this

Pretended den of refuge, to become

The victim of your guilt; and my first thought

Was vengeance: but, though arm'd with a short poniard

(Having left my sword without), I was no match For him at any time, as had been proved That morning-either in address or force.

I turn'd and fled-i' the dark: chance rather than
Skill made me gain the secret door of the hall,
And thence the chamber where you slept: if I
Had found you waking, Heaven alone can tell (ed;
What vengeance and suspicion might have prompt-
But ne'er slept guilt as Werner slept that night.
Sieg. And yet I had horrid dreams! and such
brief sleep,

The stars had not gone down when I awoke.
Why didst thou spare me? I dreamt of my father-
And now my dream is out!
Gab.
"T is not my fault,
If I have read it.-Well! I fled and hid me-
Chance led me here after so many moons-
And show'd me Werner in Count Siegendorf!
Werner, whom I had sought in huts in vain,
Inhabited the palace of a sovereign!
You sought me and have found me-now you know
My secret, and may weigh its worth.
Sieg. (after a pause).
Indeed!
Gab. Is it revenge or justice which inspires
Your meditation?

Gab. Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce 'T is no less true, however, that my fortunes (true Have made me both at present. You shall aid me: I would have aided you-and also have Been somewhat damaged in my name to save [said. Yours and your son's. Weigh well what I have Sieg. Dare you await the event of a few minutes' Deliberation?

Gab. (casts his eyes on ULRIC, who is leaning against a pillar). If I should do so?

Sieg. I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into This tower. [Opens a turret door. Gab. (hesitatingly). This is the second safe asylum You have offer'd me. Sieg. And was not the first so? Gab. I know not that even now-but will approve The second. I have still a further shield.I did not enter Prague alone; and should I Be put to rest with Stralenheim, there are Some tongues without will wag in my behalf. Be brief in your decision! Sieg. I will be so.My word is sacred and irrevocable Within these walls, but it extends no further.

Gab. I'll take it for so much.

Sieg. (points to ULRIC'S sabre, still upon the ground”,
Take also that-

I saw you eye it eagerly, and him
Distrustfully.

I have said

For trifling or dissembling.

His story's true; and he too must be silenced.
Sieg. How so?
Ulr.

As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull
As never to have hit on this before?
When we met in the garden, what except
Discovery in the act could make me know
His death? Or had the prince's household been
Then summon'd, would the cry for the police
Been left to such a stranger? Or should I
Have loiter'd on the way? Or could you, Werner,
The object of the baron's hate and fears,
Have fled, unless by many an hour before
Suspicion woke? I sought and fathom'd you,
Doubting if you were false or feeble: I
Perceived you were the latter and yet so
Confiding have I found you, that I doubted
At times your weakness.

The devil you cannot lay between us. This
Is time for union and for action, not

For family disputes. While you were tortured,
Could I be calm? Think you that I have heard
This fellow's tale without some feeling?-You
Have taught me feeling for you and myself;
For whom or what else did you ever teach it? [now.
Sieg. Oh my dead father's curse! 't is working
Ulr. Let it work on! the grave will keep it down!
Ashes are feeble foes: it is more easy
To baffle such, than countermine a mole,
Which winds its blind but living path beneath you.
Yet hear me still!-If you condemn me, yet
Remember who hath taught me once too often
To listen to him! Who proclaim'd to me
That there were crimes made venial by the occasion?
That passion was our nature? that the goods
Of Heaven waited on the goods of fortune?
Who show'd me his humanity secured
By his nerves only? Who deprived me of
All power to vindicate myself and race

In open day? By his disgrace which stamp'd

(It might be) bastardy on me, and on
Himself a felon's brand! The man who is
At once both warm and weak invites to deeds

He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange [done
That I should act what you could think? We have
With right and wrong: and now must only ponder
Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim,
Whose life I saved from impulse, as, unknown,
I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew
Known as our foe-but not from vengeance. He
Was a rock in our way which I cut through,
As doth the bolt, because it stood between us
And our true destination-but not idly.
As stranger I preserved him, and he owed me
His life when due, I but resumed the debt.
He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf wherein

I have plunged our enemy. You kindled first
The torch-you show'd the path: now trace me that
Of safety-or let me !
Sieg.

I have done with life!

Ulr. Let us have done with that which cankers Familiar feuds and vain recriminations [life

Of things which cannot be undone. We have
No more to learn or hide: I know no fear,
And have within these very walls men who [things.
(Although you know them not) dare venture all
You stand high with the state; what passes here
Will not excite her too great curiosity:
Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye,
Stir not, and speak not ;-leave the rest to me:
We must have no third babblers thrust between us.
[Exit ULRIC.

Sieg. (solus). Am I awake? are these my fathers' halls?

And yon-my son? My son mine! who have ever
Abhorr'd both mystery and blood, and yet
Am plunged into the deepest hell of both!

I must be speedy, or more will be shed-
The Hungarian's!-Ulric-he hath partisans,

It seems: I might have guess'd as much. Oh fool!
Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key
(As I too) of the opposite door which leads
Into the turret. Now then! or once more
To be the father of fresh crimes, no less
Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor!
[Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.

Enter ULRIC, with others armed, and with weapons drawn.

Ulr. Despatch !-he's there! Lud. The count, my lord! Ulr. (recognising SIEGENDORF). You here, sir! Sieg. Yes; if you want another victim, strike! Ulr. (seeing him stript of his jewels). Where is the ruffian who hath plunder'd you? Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see "I was as I said-the wretch hath stript my father Of jewels which might form a prince's heir-loom! Away! I'll follow you forthwith.

[Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC.

THIS production is founded partly on the story of a novel called "The Three Brothers," published many years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's " Wood Demon" was also taken; and partly on the

"Faust" of the great Goethe. The present publication contains the two first Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The rest may perhaps appear hereafter.

Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons, The sole abortion!

Arn.

Would that I had been so, And never seen the light!

Bet. I would so too! But as thou hast-hence, hence-and do thy best! That back of thine may bear its burthen; 't is More high, if not so broad as that of others.

Arn. It bears its burthen;-but, my heart! Will it Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother? I love, or, at the least, I loved you: nothing Save you, in nature, can love aught like me. You nursed me-do not kill me!

Bert. Yes I nursed thee, Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not If there would be another unlike thee, That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence, And gather wood!

Arn.

I will but when I bring it, Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are So beautiful and lusty, and as free

As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me;
Our milk has been the same.

Bert.
As is the hedgehog's,
Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam
Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds
The nipple next day sore and udder dry.
Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not
Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was
As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by
Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out!
[Exit BERTHA.

Arn. (solus). Oh, mother!--She is gone, and I

must do

Her bidding-wearily but willingly

I would fulfil it, could I only hope

A kind word in return. What shall I do?
[ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he
wounds one of his hands.

My labour for the day is over now.
Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;
For double curses will be my meed now

At home-What home? I have no home, no kin,
No kind-not made like other creatures, or

[me!

To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed, too,
Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to earth
Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung
Or that the devil, to whom they liken me,
Would aid his likeness! If I must partake
His form, why not his power? Is it because
I have not his will too? For one kind word
From her who bore me would still reconcile me
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash
The wound.

[ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his
hand: he starts back.

They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me
What she hath made me. I will not look on it
Again, and scarce dare think on 't. Hideous wretch
That I am! The very waters mock me with
My horrid shadow-like a demon placed
Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle
From drinking therein.

[He pauses.

And shall I live on,

A burden to the earth, myself, and shame
Unto what brought me into life! Thou blood,
Which flow'st so freely from a scratch, let me
Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Resolve back to her elements, and take
The shape of any reptile save myself,
And make a world for myriads of new worms!
This knife! now let me prove if it will sever
This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade-my

Vile form-from the creation, as it hath
The green bough from the forest.

[ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with the
point upwards.

Now 't is set,

And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance
On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like
Myself, and the sweet sun which warm'd me, but
In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing!
So let them, for I would not be lamented:
But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell;
The fallen leaves my monument; the murmur
Of the near fountain my sole elegy.
Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!

[As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his
eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, which
seems in motion.

The fountain moves without a wind: but shall
The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
Not as with air, but by some subterrane
And rocking power of the internal world.
What 's here? A mist! No more?-

[A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands
gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black
man comes towards him.

PART I.

I'll show thee The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give Thy choice. [thee Arn. Stran.

On what condition?

There's a question!

An hour ago you would have given your soul
To look like other men, and now you pause
To wear the form of heroes.
Arn.

No; I will not.

I must not compromise my soul. Stran.

What soul,

Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass? Arn. "T is an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement In which it is mislodged. But name your compact: Must it be sign'd in blood?

Stran.

Arn. Whose blood then? Stran.

Not in your own.

We will talk of that hereafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see Great things within you. You shall have no bond But your own will, no contract save your deeds. Are you content?

Arn.

I take thee at thy word. Stran. Now then!

[The Stranger approaches the fountain, and turns to ARNOLD.

A little of your blood.

Arn. For what? Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters, And make the charm effective.

Arn. (holding out his wounded arm). Take it all. Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. [The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD'S blood in his hand, and casts it into the fountain.

Shadows of beauty!

Shadows of power!

Rise to your duty-
This is the hour!

Walk lovely and pliant

From the depth of this fountain, As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz Mountain. Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold The model in air

Of the form I will mould, Bright as the Iris

When ether is spann'd ;

Such his desire is, [Pointing to ARNOLD
Such my command!
Demons heroic-

Demons who wore

The form of the stoic

Or sophist of yore

Or the shape of each victor,
From Macedon's boy,

To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of beauty!

Shadows of power!

Up to your duty

This is the hour!

[Various phantoms arise from the waters, and