Delirious with her beauty. He doth roam
Nightly by hill and valley.-Near the stream
Which wanders round Marpesus' marble caves
Goes he by night, and with the silver waves,
Singing unto the pale lamp of the heaven,
He doth unite his low and mournful song;
And then, upon its bank he lieth down,
List'ning the flowers grow; and they do tell
Their secrets to his ear; for he replies,

And holds sweet converse with them.-He is now
A fair celestial thing, like those which fill
The air when it is clearest-when the gales
Come laden with ambrosial odours, brought
From flowery beds of Paradise upon

The spirits' golden wings.-Disturb him not-
He who can treasure for himself a source
Of happiness, unsought of brother man,
Is surely wise. So, in his wisdom, let
My loved Leontine rest.

Basil.
Not so, old man-
He who doth in the dungeons of his soul
His pains and pleasures thus in bondage hide,
Disdaining help and pity from mankind,
Is of mankind no longer; he hath loosed
The girdle of mortality, and stands
Without its friendly circle.-He who hath

No friends deserves them not.-Thy son hath thrown
Human compassion from him, and hath found

Peace, where man should not seek it.-Were his bliss
Thus innocent, as thou deem'st it, would it be
Veil'd from his tender father, and his friend,
By the huge marble curtains of the caves
Of high Marpesus' mountain? It is said
Thy son hath union made with that wild man
From the far distant East, who hid his crimes
From justice in those caverns. It is said,

That when some few weeks since he closed his eyes,
And yielded to the demons his dark soul,
It was on thy son's bosom, who became
His pupil and his heir, and from his lip
Received the secrets of another world,
To outrage things of this. His wanderings
Are not alone, for he hath still been heard
In invocation loud; but 'tis decreed
This crime shall not endure, since we will spy
Upon his wand'rings; and, if he have done
That which the angels shriek at, he shall die.-
The church, the state, alike demand his life-
The sorcerer shall perish!-Look where comes
Thy Leontine.-Now rend the secret from him,
Or dread the arm of justice.

Enter LEONTINE.

Leontine.
Lingers upon the world!-Methinks it knows
That I would have it gone, and stays to mark
How I will curb my spirit, and resign
My will in silence, and by patience prove
My worthiness of that most precious gift
Which is my nourishment of life-my sire!
Ah, pardon me, and on this thoughtless head
Breathe a fond father's blessing.

VOL. XI.

[Exit.

How the day

G

Andronicus.

Gentle son,

High Heaven's should be more valued.-I did hope
Such was thy holy thought-but there are those
Who say, thou art at war with all of good-
That Heaven's blessings are as things of nought,
And gifts of darker worlds have won thy soul
From its God-vow'd obedience.-Dearest son,
I would not give thee pain, for I rejoice
To see thee thus collected; but there are
Some who, in this most wondrous sudden change,
See much of mystery and secret sin;

And thy lone wanderings are at length become
The sad theme of the island.-Wilt thou not
Tell to thy father's ear thy source of joy?
Think'st thou he could betray thee?

But I am not permitted-should I once
Reveal my secret, all contentment ends,
And I am lost again.-Oh, do not deem
My thoughts unsanctified!-Yon sacred light,
When first from the Eternal's hand it came,
Before its glows had kindled flames on earth,
Or its bright eye gazed on the sins of man,
Was not more pure than is this sinless heart.
In those lone heavenly wanderings-they were given
A blessing to my spirit, and from Heaven
Alone the blessing came. Ah, doubt me not!
It is communion with my God I hold,

And with his cherish'd Spirits-Should I say
My secret, it were silent-Earth nor Heaven
Would have a voice for me-Look on this ring;
It is the source of this dear happiness.
Should I betray its virtues, thou wouldst gain
Nought; but thy son would lose his all-his soul!
It were a sin, my father; it would draw
The hatred of all nature on my head.
Who would not shrink from that ingratitude
To him who gave the gift, and him who deigns
To serve me with its uses! From the Man,
The holiest of thousands, I received

The wondrous gift; and from his lips I learn'd
Its virtues and its powers-he who died
In pale Marpesus' cave. Now, sire beloved,
Urge thy poor son no farther-not thy hand
Should pluck his only rose.

Andronicus.

From Basil's lip,

The rage of frenzy, which we hasten from,

But mourn it as we fly. The wild bull's wrath,
Which spurneth at the earth, defacing her

With wounds, which her young son, the smiling Spring,
Uplifted on the snowy wings of Time,

Heals with his soft'ning breath-Oh! heed it not !
And for the malice of the wondering world-
That cannot harm me, while within my breast
I bear the talisman of peace. Should I
Resign the gift of that same holy man,
Marpesus, some time hermit, I should be
Once more a ruin, for the Fiend Despair
To stride above in triumph. I should be
The lone-the miserable-the living dead-
The spectre of the past. Oh, sire beloved!
When Mother Earth into her arms received
My Zoe's beauteous form, I did not deem
That even for thy peace-that I could live-
Now, I am reconciled; Oh open not

The deep, scarce closed wound! Thou weep'st, ah me,
Melt me not, oh my father, with thy tears!
Thou knowest, to withstand their gentle force
I have no power. I should resign my bliss,
And bow my head, and die.-

Andronicus.

O pardon me!

That I have given the pain. Again no more
Will I hold question with thee. Go in peace-
Preserve thy treasure ;-mayst thou keep it still
The sun of thy sad day.—

SCENE-The stream near the Marble Cave.-Time-night.
Leontine (alone.) Again, again returns the blessed night,
The hour of holiness, and of repose-
To me, of triumph over death and woe:
Let me delay my joy, that I may dwell..
On that which doth await me.

Upon the throne of my felicity,

I am here

Gazing upon the couch where tranquil lies
Mine own, mine only love, awaiting calm
The signal, and the hour, and the charm
That brings her to my side, the immortal maid,
Beside her mortal lover. Can this be

Transgression! No! Would the Eternal Lord
Permit these visits were they for my harm !—
Yet doth he sometimes punish us by grant
Of that which we do pray for; but the Sage,
Who, in compassion to my anguish, gave
This wondrous ring,-and in the sacred stream,
Where the moon kiss'd it, bade me lave the gem
And the encircling gold, had not reveal'd
The secret in the solemn hour of death,
Had it been sinful in the eye of Heaven !—
In that last hour our mortal sense is clear,
And the stern King doth with a steady hand
Unveil the face of Truth, howe'er in life
The form divine was hidden-he had done
With earth and earthly things—and he was then
About to render up a strict account

Of his well-doings; would he then have seal'd
The record with a sin-would he, who was
About to hear the sentence of his fate

From his Almighty Judge, have counsell'd me,

Yea, hurried me to guilt, by raising up
My buried love to my transported eye!
Ah, no!-it is no crime! Ye Elements,
I do attest ye; and Thou, Mightiest Mind,
Soul of those elements, bear witness here,
That I am free of sin! Yea, and their smiles,
The holy stillness of this sacred spot,
And the bright radiance of yon gazing moon,
Do bear my bosom witness-Then once more
To my delightful task,-pardon me, air,
And clouds, and water, and celestial fire,
That I do rob ye of a spirit bright,

The fairest in your realms, and give her back
For some short hours solely to the earth,
Of which she is no longer.-Dearest, come!
I am alone, no human breath shall 'file
The air made pure for thee, for I do watch
With zealous care the secret,-Come, O come!
In all the beauty of this world, but shrined
In the glory of another. See, I dip
The Ring into the Stream, and I will sing
The song of holiness, to charm thee back
To this earth, and to me:

THE INVOCATION.

When we shall meet
In bowers of bliss;
When we shall greet
With a holy kiss;
When we shall look,
With a soften'd eye,
On the closed book

Of the things gone bye,

When we shall think of this short, dark night,
As the rest that prepares for eternal light,
And look on the bed where they laid us last,
As only the grave of the weary past ;
Then shall we smile to think a tear
Should e'er have fallen on a mortal bier!-

But till the beam

Of that holy day
Shall chase the dream

Of hope away:
Till Fate shall burn
With her kindling eye,
This casing urn
Of the spirit high.-

Come from thy couch of holiest dew,

Which the moonbeam shines and sparkles through,

Turning each drop to gems, which might

Circle an angel's brow of light,

To sooth, as heaven hath willed thee,

The anguish of mortality!

[A cloud rises from the water and approaches Leontine, then gradually unfolding, discovers a beautiful female figure reclining in it.]

Leontine. Beautiful spirit of mine only love,

I kiss the spot o'er which thy silver cloud,
Wreathing itself in curls of light, reclines,
And bid thee, Sweetest, welcome: Oh, the joy

To gaze upon thy face, and see thine eye
Beam once again with life! Yet this is death!!
Beautiful death! Oh, why do mortals shrink
From thy embrace !—

The Spirit.

Because encumber'd with
A load of earth, the spirit scarce can look
Beyond the senses-and that beaming hope
Which is, thou knowest, of immortal birth,
O'ermaster'd is by fear, the earth-born, who,
Is stronger in their bosoms-thou art bless'd
Above mankind, for terror will not stand
By thy departing couch-for thee, the cloud
That hid the grave, is like the ponderous stone,
Roll'd from before its portals-thou hast look'd
Into the dark, and see'st how much to hope,
How little is to fear; but since we met
Thy spirit hath been tortured; greater yet
The trial that awaits thee: when 'tis past
Thou hast no more to fear.

Leontine.
So that I lose
Not thee, my sacred love, I am content
To bear all lighter sorrows. I have nought
To tell thee, dear; for in thine absence I
Have only life to bear me silent through
The long and weary day; then I lie down
At eve upon this bank, and watch the sun,
Or wait the rising moon, and mark the stars
Starting from out the heaven, and then I guess
In which of those bright orbs thy beauteous soul
Is wandering; but now I pray thee, love,

Tell me from whence my charm hath summon'd thee?
Where wast thou when the words of power broke
The laws of death's stern empire?

The Spirit.

What to thee,

The son of time, was yesternight, I sat

In a huge cloud, which, to its very edge,

Was charged with winds, and tempests. I did wish
To mark its bursting in full majesty

Over the earth, uncheck'd by mortal fears.
So, gathering up mine essence, I reclined
Upon the lightning's flash, and o'er the world
Shot a wild wond'rous light. At first, I deem'd
The meteor flame was harmless, but I found
It was the red bolt of the wrath of God,
And big with desolation: so I left

My throne of vengeance, for I could not bear
To be the instrument of justice, and
Couch'd from its terrors and its glories, in
The fragrant bosom of a half-blown rose.
There, lull'd by music, which the unseen airs
Do bring from the melodious choirs above,
I slept such sleep as holy spirits do

Who are not yet all heaven. When I woke,
I borrow'd from the rose an ærial robe
Of its young delicate hues, and darted far
Upcn a golden cloud unto the realms
Of snow and frost eternal-the white point
Most northern of your earth-then I forsook
Mine ether couch, and, for a throne of ice,
Exchanged its melting softness, and it fell
In mist down to the earth. I rested long,
Gazing upon that world, and, when I rose,