Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished

hope

But go! my word was pledged to thee.

Ord.

Away!

Brave not my father's rage! I thank thee! Thou[Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR!

She hath avenged the blood of Isidore!

I stood in silence like a slave before her
That I might taste the wormwood and the gall,
And satiate this self-accusing heart

With bitterer agonies than death can give.
Forgive me, Alvar!

Oh !—couldst thou forget me! [Dies. [ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO. Alh. [to the Moors.] I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordained it wisely,

That still extremes bring their own cure. That

point

In misery, which makes the oppressed man
Regardless of his own life, makes him too
Lord of the oppressor's-Knew I a hundred men
Despairing, but not palsied by despair,

This arm should shake the kingdoms of the world;
The deep foundations of iniquity

Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath

them ;

The strongholds of the cruel men should fall,

Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall;

Till desolation seemed a beautiful thing,

And all that were and had the spirit of life,
Sang a new song to her who had gone forth,
Conquering and still to conquer !

[ALHADRA hurries off with the Moors; the stage fills with armed Peasants and Servants, ZULIMEZ and Valdez at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR's arms.

Alv. Turn not thy face that way, my father!

hide,

Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy

Flow in unmingled stream through thy first bless

ing.

[Both kneel to Valdez.

Val. My son! My Alvar! bless, oh bless him,

Heaven!

Ter. Me too, my Father?

Val.

Bless, oh, bless my children!

[Both rise.

Alv. Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE form of the following dramatic poem is in humble imitation of the Winter's Tale of Shakspeare, except that I have called the first part a Prelude instead of a first Act, as a somewhat nearer resemblance to the plan of the ancients, of which one specimen is left us in the Eschylean Trilogy of the Agamemnon, the Orestes, and the Eumenides. Though a matter of form merely, yet two plays, on different periods of the same tale, might seem less bold, than an interval of twenty years between a first and second act. This is, however, in mere obedience to custom. The effect does not, in reality, at all depend on the time of the interval; but on a very different principle. There are cases in which an interval of twenty hours between the acts would have a worse effect (i. e. render the imagination less disposed to take the position required) than twenty years in other cases. For the rest, I shall be well content if my readers will take it up, read and judge it as a Christmas tale.

CHARACTERS.

EMERICK, Usurping King of Illyria.
Raab Kiuprili, an Illyrian Chieftain.
CASIMIR, Son of Kiuprili.

CHEF RAGOZZI, a Military Commander.
ZAPOLYA, Queen of Illyria.