Medon, there is no office I can add To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard Thy too delightful home-befriend the stranger As thou didst me;-there sometimes waste a thought Me. Ion. Pr'ythee no more. Argives! I have a boon In death, the father from whose heart, in life, The means of sovereign rule :-our narrow space, Needs not the magic of a single name, Which wider regions may require, to draw Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords In times of quiet, with one bloom, and fill Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me Me. Wherefore ask this now? In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, As at this solemn time I feel there is, Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes In earth and heaven; to ye I offer up This conscious being, fuli of life and love, For my dear country's welfare. Let this blow End all her sorrows! [Stabs himself and falls. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. H. TAYLOR. MR. HENRY TAYLOR has published three Dramas- Philip van Artevelde,' in two Parts; Edwin the Fair;' and 'Isaac Comnenus.' The first, with the two parts condensed into one play, has been acted recently. In these two plays, which, taken together, Mr. Taylor calls a dramatic romance, there are passages of great force and beauty;-but still the rapid and self-evolving dramatic movement is wanting-they are intended for the quiet of the study, and are unsuited for the glare of the "foot lights." The following scene is at the time when Ghent, revolted against the Earl of Flanders, was besieged; and the starving citizens, who had chosen the second Van Artevelde as their leader, were disposed to make terms with the imperious lord who threatened the direst vengeance if their resistance was prolonged.] (The platform at the top of the steeple of St. Nicholas' Church, Ghent. daybreak.) Time; Artevelde (alone). There lies a sleeping city. God of dreams, What an unreal and fantastic world Is going on below! Within the sweep of yon encircling wall, How many a large creation of the night, Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea, Peopled with busy transitory groups, Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd! They should float upward visibly to mine, Out of the night that I have squandered, yet And lie where I shall front them ;-here, I think. [He lies down. [Falls asleep, but starts up almost instantly. I heard a hoof, a horse's hoof I'll swear, What ho! Van Artevelde! Van den Bosch (entering). 'Tis I. Van den Bosch. Nay, what can they be? So many to the dead-house carried out. The same dull, dismal, damnable old story. Artevelde. Be quiet; listen to the westerly wind, And tell me if it bring thee nothing new. Van den Bosch. Nought to my ear, save howl of hungry dog, That hears the house is stirring-nothing else. Artevelde. No,-now-I hear it not myself-no-nothing. The city's hum is up-but ere you came 'Twas audible enough. Van den Bosch. In God's name, what? Artevelde. A horseman's tramp upon the road from Bruges. If once he reach the city, we are lost, Nay, if he be but seen, our danger's great. What terms so bad they would not swallow now? Let's send some trusty varlets forth at once To cross his way. Artevelde. And send him back to Bruges? Van den Bosch. Send him to hell-and that's a better place. But let us keep its ordinances. Van den Bosch. Tush! I say, but let them see him from afar, And in an hour shall we, bound hand and foot, Be on our way to Bruges. Artevelde. Not so, not so. My rule of governance has not been such As o'er to issue in so foul a close. Van den Bosch. What matter by what rule thou mayst have governed? Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens Shall stay the fury of their empty maws That such a hope is mine. Van den Bosch. Then thou art mad, And I must take this matter on myself. [Is going. Artevelde. Hold, Van den Bosch! I say this shall not be. I must be madder than I think I am Ere I shall yield up my authority, Which I abuse not, to be used by thee. Van den Bosch. This comes of lifting dreamers into power. I tell thee, in this strait and stress of famine, Artevelde. Why, know I not it does! Did I not by mine own advised choice Place it in jeopardy for certain ends? And what were these? To prop thy tottering state? To float thee o'er a reef, and, that performed, No, verily; not such my high ambition. Artevelde. I will. Van den Bosch. Oh, lord! to hear him speak, What a most mighty emperor of puppets Is this that I have brought upon the board! But how if he that made it should unmake? Artevelde. Unto His sovereignty who truly made me With infinite humility I bow! Both, both of us are puppets, Van den Bosch; Part of the curious clock-work of this world, We scold, and squeak, and crack each other's crowns; I were to toss thee from this steeple's top, I should be but the instrument-no more- Thou passest in the world for worldly-wise: More precious than the ordering of a shipwreck. Van den Bosch. Tush, tush, Van Artevelde, thou talk'st and talk'st, And honest burghers think it wondrous fine. But thou mightst casilier with that tongue of thine Persuade yon smoke to fly i' the face o' the wind, I say yon herald shall not enter here. Artevelde. I know, sir, no man better, where my talk To be by acts enforced. I say, beware, And brave not mine authority too far. Van den Bosch. Hast thou authority to take my life? To bargain for our blood? Artevelde. Thy life again! Why, what a very slave of life art thou! Look round about on this once populous town; Some peevish, pining child and moaning mother, With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these, Van den Bosch. Beshrew me ; Thou shalt not have the start of me in this. [Exit. |