SAROLTA.

Thou hast hit my thought!
All the long day, from yester-morn to evening,
The restless hope flutter'd about my heart.
Oh, we are querulous creatures! Little less
Than all things can suffice to make us happy;
And little more than nothing is enough

To discontent us.-Were he come, then should I
Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier
To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place.

GLYCINE.

But our best sports belike, and gay processions Would to my Lord have seem'd but work-day sights Compared with those the royal court affords.

SAROLTA.

I have small wish to see them. A spring morning,
With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds,
And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops
Each orbed drop an orb of glory in it),
Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement
Lord Casimir's wish alone would have made sacred:
But in good truth, his loving jealousy

Did but command, what I had else entreated.
GLYCINE.

And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta,
Been wedded to the noblest of the realm,
So beautiful besides, and yet so stately—

SAROLTA.

Hush! innocent flatterer!

GLYCINE.

Nay! to my poor fancy The royal court would seem an earthly heaven, Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious.

SAROLTA.

So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!
Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,
In its mere self, a cold, drear, colorless void,
Seen from below and in the large, becomes
The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods!
Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?
And was not Laska there: he, your betroth'd?

GLYCINE.

SAROLTA.

Ah, Glycine! why, Why did you then betroth yourself?

GLYCINE.

Because

My own dear lady wish'd it! 'twas you ask'd me!

SAROLTA.

Yes, at my Lord's request, but never wish'd, My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched. Thou know'st not yet the duties of a wife.

GLYCINE.

Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam,
To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him;
And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska
But I shall tremble.

SAROLTA.

Not with fear, I think,

For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage. [Exit GLYCINE into the cottage, SAROLTA continues her speech, looking after her.

Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,

LASKA.

And moreover
Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.
And furthermore, said witnesses make oath,
Led on the assault upon his lordship's servants;
Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman,
His badge of livery of your noble house,
And trampled it in scorn.

SAROLTA (to the Servants who offer to speak).
You have had your spokesman.
Where is the young man thus accused?

OLD BATHORY.

I know not: But if no ill betide him on the mountains, He will not long be absent!

SAROLTA.

Thou art his father?

OLD BATHORY.

None ever with more reason prized a son:
Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.
But more than one, now in my lady's presence,
Witness'd the affray, besides these men of malice;
And if I swerve from truth-

My tale is brief. During our festive dance,
Your servants, the accusers of my son,

Offer'd gross insults, in unmanly sort,

To our village maidens. He (could he do less?)
Rose in defence of outraged modesty,
And so persuasive did his cudgel prove
(Your hectoring sparks so over brave to women
Are always cowards), that they soon took flight,
And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters,
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words
Which their own threats provoked.

SAROLTA.

Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect To the livery of our house?

LASKA (aside).

Yes, now 'tis coming.

SAROLTA.

Brutal aggressors first, then baffled dastards,
That they have sought to piece out their revenge
With a tale of words lured from the lips of ange.
Stamps them most dangerous; and till I want
Fit means for wicked ends, we shall not need
Their services. Discharge them! You, Bathory!
Are henceforth of my household! I shall place you
Near my own person. When your son returns,
Present him to us.

OLD BATHORY.

Ha! what, strangers* here!
What business have they in an old man's eye?
Your goodness, lady-and it came so sudden-
I cannot-must not-let you be deceived.

I have yet another tale, but- [Then to SAROLTA aside.
Not for all ears!

SAROLTA.

OLD BATHORY.

Even such respect

As the sheep's skin should gain for the hot wolf That hath begun to worry the lambs!

Old insolent ruffian!

LASKA.

GLYCINE.

poor

Pardon pardon, madam! I saw the whole affray. The good old man Means no offence, sweet lady!-You, yourself, Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians! Shame on you!

SAROLTA (speaks with affected anger).

What! Glycine! Go, retire!

[Exit GLYCINE, mournfully. Be it then that these men faulted. Yet yourself, Or better still belike the maidens' parents, Might have complain'd to us. Was ever access Denied you? Or free audience? Or are we Weak and unfit to punish our own servants?

OLD BATHORY.

[BATHORY bowing, shows her into his cottage LASKA (alone).

Vexation! baffled! school'd!
Ho! Laska! wake! why? what can all this mean?
She sent away that cockatrice in anger!

Oh the false witch! It is too plain, she loves him
And now, the old man near my lady's person,
She'll see this Bethlen hourly!

[LASKA flings himself into the seat. GLYCINE
peeps in timidly.

GLYCINE.

Laska! Laska!

Is my lady gone?

LASKA (surlily). Gone.

GLYCINE.

Have you yet seen him?

[LASKA starts up from his seat Has the seat stung you, Laska?

LASKA.

LASKA.

Ho! Take the rude clown from your lady's presence! I will report her further will!

SAROLTA.

Wait, then,

Till thou hast learnt it! Feryent, good old man!
Forgive me that, to try thee, I put on
A face of sternness, alien to my meaning!
[Then speaks to the Servants.

Hence! leave my presence! and you, Laska! mark me!

Those rioters are no longer of my household!
If we but shake a dew-drop from a rose,
In vain would we replace it, and as vainly
Restore the tear of wounded modesty
To a maiden's eye familiarized to license.-
But these men, Laska-

What! you would cling to him again!

GLYCINE. Whom?

LASKA.

Bethlen! Bethlen!

Yes; gaze as if your very eyes embraced him!
Ha! you forget the scene of yesterday!
Mute ere he came, but then-Out on your screams,
And your pretended fears!

GLYCINE.

Your fears, at least, Were real, Laska! or your trembling limbs And white cheeks play'd the hypocrites most vilely!

Refers to the tear, which he fees starting in his eye. The following line was borrowed unconsciously from Mr. Wor worth's Excursion.

I fear! whom? What?

LASKA.

GLYCINE.

Were I in Laska's place.

LASKA.

LASKA.

What?

GLYCINE.

Ha! Bethlen coming this way!

[GLYCINE then cries out as if afraid of being beaten Oh, save me! save me! Pray don't kill me, Laska! Enter BETHLEN in a Hunting Dress.

What, beat a woman!

BETHLEN.

LASKA (to GLYCINE).

O you cockatrice!

BETHLEN.

Stop! stop! one question only

GLYCINE.

Ay, as the old song says,

Calm as a tiger, valiant as a dove.

LASKA (pompously).

Do you chance to know Who-I-am, Sir?-(S'death how black he looks')

BETHLEN.

I have started many strange beasts in my time, But none less like a man, than this before me

Oh! that's a different thing. To be sure he's brave, and handsome, and so pious To his good old father. But for loving himNay, there, indeed you are mistaken, Laska! Poor youth! I rather think I grieve for him; For I sigh so deeply when I think of him! And if I see him, the tears come in my eyes, And my heart beats; and all because I dreamt That the war-wolf* had gored him as he hunted In the haunted forest!

Not for me, Glycine!
What have I done? or whom have I offended?
GLYCINE.

Rash words, 'tis said, and treasonous, of the king.
[BETHLEN mutters to himself indignantly
GLYCINE (aside).
So looks the statue, in our hall, o' the god,
The shaft just flown that killed the serpent!

Enter from the Cottage SAROLTA and BATHORY.

SAROLTA.

Go, seek your son! I need not add, be speedyYou here, Glycine? [Exit BATHORY.

GLYCINE.

Pardon, pardon, Madam! If you but saw the old man's son, you would not, You could not have him harm'd.

rushes out).

SAROLTA.

Be calin, Glycine!

GLYCINE.

[Sobbing.

GLYCINE.

Rise, Bethlen! Rise!

No, I shall break my heart.

SAROLTA (taking her hand).

Ha! is it so?

O strange and hidden power of sympathy,
That of like fates, though all unknown to each,
Dost make blind instincts, orphan's heart to orphan's
Drawing by dim disquiet!

GLYCINE.

Old Bathory

SAROLTA.

Seeks his brave son. Come, wipe away thy tears. Yes, in good truth, Glycine, this same Bethlen Seems a most noble and deserving youth.

GLYCINE.

My lady does not mock me?

SAROLTA.

Where is Laska?

Has he not told thee?

GLYCINE.

Nothing. In his fearAnger, I mean-stole off-I am so flutter'd

Left me abruptly

SAROLTA,

His shame excuses him!

He is somewhat hardly task'd; and in discharging
His own tools, cons a lesson for himself.
Bathory and the youth henceforward live
Safe in my Lord's protection.

GLYCINE.

The saints bless you! Shame on my graceless heart! How dared I fear Lady Sarolta could be cruel'

To roam there in my childhood oft alone,
And mutter to myself the name of father.
For still Bathory (why, till now I guess'd not)
Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing
Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror-

GLYCINE.

Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves, Vampires, and monstrous

SAROLTA (with a smile).

Moon-calves, credulous girl
Haply some o'ergrown savage of the forest
Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.
[Then speaking again to Bethlen.
After that last great battle (O young man!
Thou wakest anew my life's sole anguish), that
Which fix'd Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory
Led by a cry, far inward from the track,

In the hollow of an old oak, as in a nest,
Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe:

The robe, that wrapt thee, was a widow's mantle.

BETHLEN.

An infant's weakness doth relax my frame. O say-I fear to ask

Painfully from her own weight disengaging,

She pointed first to Heaven, then from her bosom Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated

Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,

Or else she were my mother!

SAROLTA.

Noble youth!

fort

Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man's troth,
That at my life's risk I will save thy child!

Her countenance work'd, as one that seem'd preparing

A loud voice, but it died upon her lips

In a faint whisper, "Fly! Save him! Hide-hide all!"

BETHLEN.

And did he leave her? What! Had I a mother?
And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life
With the desertion of a dying mother?
Oh agony !

GLYCINE.

Alas! thou art bewilder'd,

And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!

BETHLEN.

What else can I remember, but a mother Mangled and left to perish?

SAROLTA.

Hush, Glycine! It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine, And it will find a mirror in the waters, It now makes boil above it. Check him not!

BETHLEN.

O that I were diffused among the waters
That pierce into the secret depths of earth,
And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!

Long pass'd that weigh me down, though innocent!
Thy foster-father hid the secret from thee,
For he perceived thy thoughts as they expanded,
Proud, restless, and ill-sorting with thy state!
Vain was his care! Thou 'st made thyself suspected
E'en where Suspicion reigns, and asks no proof
But its own fears! Great Nature hath endow'd thee
With her best gifts! From me thou shalt receive
All honorable aidance! But haste hence!
Travel will ripen thee, and enterprise

Beseems thy years! Be thou henceforth my soldier!
And whatsoe'er betide thee, still believe

That in each noble deed, achieved or suffer'd,
Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth!

And may the light that streams from thine own honor

Guide thee to that thou seekest!