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Worthy a brave man's liking. Were ye No such,

Ye would have honoured her. But get ye To hence,

And thank your meanness, other God you

have none,

For your existence. Had you touched a hair Of those dishevelled locks, I would have thinned

Your ranks more than the enemy. Away! Ye Jackalls! gnaw the bones the lion leaves, But not even these till he permits.

A Soldier (murmuring). The Lion Might conquer for himself then.

Arnold (cuts him down). Mutineer! Rebel in Hell-you shall obey on earth! [The Soldiers assault Arnold. Come on! I'm glad on't! I will show you, slaves,

How you should be commanded, and who led you

First o'er the wall you were as shy to scale, Until I waved my banners from its height, As you are bold within it.

[Arnold mows down the foremost; the
rest throw down their arms.

Soldiers. Mercy! mercy!
Arnold. Then learn to grant it. Have
I taught you who

Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements? Soldiers. We saw it, and we know it; yet forgive

A moment's error in the heat of conquestThe conquest which you led to.

Arnold. Get you hence!

Hence to your quarters! you will find their fixed

In the Colonna-palace.

Olimpia (aside). In my father's house! Arnold (to the Soldiers). Leave your arms; ye have no further need Of such the City's rendered. And mark well You keep your hands clean, or I'll find out a stream,

As red as Tiber now runs, for your baptism. Soldiers (deposing their arms and departing). We obey!

Arnold (to Olimpia). Lady! you are safe.
Olimpia. I should be so,

Had I a knife even; but it matters notDeath hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,

Even at the altar-foot, whence I look down

Upon destruction, shall my head be dash'd, Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man! Arnold. I wish to merit his forgiveness, and

Thine own, although I have not injured thee.

Olimpia. No! Thou hast only sacked my native land,

No injury!—and made my father's house A den of thieves-No injury!--this templeSlippery with Roman and holy gore.

injury! And now thou wouldst preserve me,

be--but that shall never bel

[She raises her eyes to Heaven, folds her robe round her, and prepares to dash herself down on the side of the Altar opposite to that where Arnold stands.

Arnold. Hold! hold! I swear

Olimpia. Spare thine already forfeit soul A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.

I know thee.

Arnold. No,thou know'st me not; I am not Of these men, though—

Olimpia. I judge thee by thy mates; It is for God to judge thee as thou art. I see thee purple with the blood of Rome; Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shalt have of me! And here, upon the marble of this temple, Where the baptismal font baptised me God's, I offer him a blood less holy But not less pure (pure as it left me then, A redeemed infant) than the holy water The Saints have sanctified!


[Olimpia waves her hand to Arnold with disdain, and dashes herself on the pavement from the Altar. Arnold. Eternal God!

feel thee now! Help! Help! She's gone. Cæsar (approaches). I am here.

Arnold. Thou! but oh, save her!
Cæsar (assisting him to raise Olimpia).
She hath done it well;

The leap was serious.

Arnold. Oh! she is lifeless!
Cæsar. If

She be so, I have nonght to do with that:
The resurrection is beyond me.


Cæsar. Aye, slave or master, 'tis all

one: methinks

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Alive or dead, thou essence of all beauty, I love but thee!

Cæsar. Even so Achilles loved
Penthesilea; with his form it seems
You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one.
Arnold. She breathes! But no, 'twas
nothing, or the last

Faint flutter life disputes with death.
Cæsar. She breathes.
Arnold. Thou sayst it? Then 'tis truth.
Cæsar. You do me right-
The Devil speaks truth much oftener than
he's deemed:

He hath an ignorant audience.

Arnold (without attending to him). Yes! her heart beats.

Alas! that the first beat of the only heart I ever wish'd to beat with mine, should


To an assassin's pulse.

Cæsar. A sage reflexion,

Arnold. Now onward, onward! Gently! [Exeunt, bearing Olimpia.-The Scene closes .


But somewhat late i' the day. Where shall SCENE 1.—A Castle in the Apennines, sur

we bear her!

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Caesar. Bah! bah! You are so,

And do not know it. She will come to life-
Such as you think so, such as you now arc;
But we must work by human means.
Arnold. We will

Convey her unto the Colonna-palaco,
Where I have pitched my banner.

Cæsar. Come then! raise her up.
Arnold. Softly!

Casar. As softly as they bear the dead, Perhaps because they cannot feel the jolting. Arnold. But doth she live indeed? Cæsar. Nay, never fear!

But if you rue it after, blame not me.
Arnold. Let her but live!

Cæsar. The spirit of her life

Is yet within her breast, and may revive. Count! Count! I am your servant in all things,

And this is a new office:-'tis not oft
I am employed in such; but you perceive
How stanch a friend is what you call a fiend.
On earth you have often only fiends for

Now I desert not mine. Soft! bear her hence,
The beautiful half-clay, and nearly spirit!
I am almost enamoured of her, as

Of old the Angels of her earliest sex.



Cæsar. I. But fear not. I'll not be your rival.

Arnold. Rival!

Cæsar. I could be one right formidable; But since I slew the seven husbands of Tobia's future bride (and after all 'Twas sucked out by some incense) I have laid

rounded by a wild but smiling country. Chorus of Peasants singing before the Gates.

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The spring is come; the violet's gone,
The first-born child of the early sun;
With us she is but a winter's flower,
The snow on the hills cannot blast her

And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue
To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.

And when the spring comes with her host
Of flowers, that flower beloved the most
Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse
Her heavenly odour and virgin hues.

Pluck the others, but still remember
Their Herald out of dim December-
The morning-star of all the flowers,
The pledge of day-light's lengthen'd hours;
Nor, 'midst the roses, e'er forget
The virgin, virgin Violet.

Enter CESAR.

Cæsar (singing). The wars are all over, Our swords are all idle, The steed bites the bridle, The casque's on the wall.

There's rest for the rover;

But his armour is rusty,
And the veteran grows crusty,

As he yawns in the hall.

Aside intrigue: 'tis rarely worth the trouble
He drinks-but what's drinking?
Of gaining, or-what is more difficult-A mere pause from thinking!
Getting rid of your prize again; for there's No bugle awakes him with life-and-death-

The rub! at least to mortals.
Arnold. Prithee, peace!

Softly! methinks her lips move, her eyes open!

Casar. Like stars, no doubt; for that's a metaphor

For Lucifer and Venus.

Arnold. To the palace Colonna, as I told you! Cæsar. Oh! I know My way through Rome.



But the hound bayeth loudly,

The boar's in the wood, And the falcon longs proudly To spring from her hood: On the wrist of the noble She sits like a crest, And the air is in trouble

With birds from their nest.

Cæsar. Oh! Shadow of glory!

Dim image of war!

But the chase hath no story,
Her hero no star,
Since Nimrod, the founder
Of empire and chase,
Who made the woods wonder,
And quake for their race.
When the Lion was young,
In the pride of his might,
Then 'twas sport for the strong
To embrace him in fight;

To go forth, with a pine

For a spear, 'gainst the Mammoth,

Or strike through the ravine

At the foaming Behemoth,
While Man was in stature
As towers in our time,
The first-born of Nature,
And, like her, sublime!

But the wars are over,
The spring is come;
The bride and her lover

Have sought their home;

They are happy, and we rejoice;

Let their hearts have an echo from every voice!

[Exeunt the Peasantry, singing.


LONG years! It tries the thrilling frame

to bear

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But must be borne. I stoop not to despair;
For I have battled with mine agony,
And made me wings wherewith to overfly
The narrow circus of my dungeon-wall,
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;
And revell'd among men and things divine,
And pour'd my spirit over Palestine,
In honour of the sacred war for him,
The God who was on earth and is in heaven,
For he hath strengthen'd me in heart and

That through this sufferance I might be forgiven,

I have employ'd my penance to record How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.

But this is o'er my pleasant task is done. My long-sustaining friend of many years! If I do blot thy final page with tears, Know that my sorrows have wrung from

me none.

But thou,my young creation! my soul's child! Which ever playing round me came and smiled,

And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet
Thou too art gone-and so is my delight:
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
Thou too art ended-what is left me now?
For I have anguish yet to bear-and how?
I know not that-but in the innate force
Of my own spirit shall be found resource.
I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,
Nor cause for such: they call'd me mad —
and why?

Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?
I was indeed delirious in my heart
To lift my love so lofty as thou art;
But still my frenzy was not of the mind;
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment
Not less because I suffer it unbent.
That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,
Hath been the sin which shuts me from

But let them go, or torture as they will,
My heart can multiply thine image still;
Successful love may sate itself away,
The wretched are the faithful; 'tis their fate
To have all feeling save the one decay,
And every passion into one dilate,
As rapid rivers into ocean pour;
But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry Of minds and bodies in captivity.

And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, | Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart And the half-inarticulate blasphemy! As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, There be some here with worse than frenzy Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shroud,


Some who do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind,

And dim the little light that's left behind
With needless torture, as their tyrant-will
Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:
With these and with their victims am I

'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have pass'd;

'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: I shall repose.

So let it be for then

I have been patient, let me be so yet; I had forgotten half I would forget, But it revives-oh! would it were my lot To be forgetful as I am forgot!— Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell

In this vast lazar-house of many woes? Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,

Nor words a language, nor even men mankind;


Where cries reply to curses, shrieks blows, And each is tortured in his separate hell For we are crowded in our solitudesMany, but each divided by the wall, Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods;

While all can hear, none heeds his neighbour's callNone! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, Who was not made to be the mate of these, Nor bound between Distraction and Disease. Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here?

Who have debased me in the minds of men, Debarring me the usage of my own, Blighting my life in best of its career, Branding my thoughts as things to shun

and fear.

Would I not pay them back these pangs again,

And teach them inward sorrow's stifled groan?

The struggle to be calm, and cold distress, Which undermines our Stoical success? No!-still too proud to be vindictive-I Have pardon'd princes' insults,and would die. Yes, Sister of my Sovereign! for thy sake I weed all bitterness from out my breast, It hath no business where thou art a guest; Thy brother hates-but I can not detest, Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake.

Look on a love which knows not to despair, But all unquench'd is still my better part,

Till struck,-forth flies the all-etherial dart!

And thus at the collision of thy name
The vivid thought still flashes through my

And for a moment all things as they were
Flit by me-they are gone-I am the same.
And yet my love without ambition grew;
I knew thy state, my station, and I knew
A princess was no love-mate for a bard;
I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas!
Were punish'd by the silentness of thine,
And yet I did not venture to repine.
Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine,
Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around
Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly

Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love
Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'd-
Oh! not dismay'd-but awed, like One

And in that sweet severity there was
A something which all softness did surpass —
I know not how-thy genius master'd mine-
My star stood still before thee:-if it were
Presumptuous thus to love without design,
That sad fatality hath cost me dear;
But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but
for thee.

The very love which lock'd me to my chain Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest,

Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, And look to thee with undivided breast, And foil the ingenuity of Pain.

It is no marvel-from my very birth My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade

And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ;'
Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted

Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise

Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said

Of such materials wretched men were nuade,
And such a truant boy would end in woe,
And that the only lesson was a blow;
And then they smote me, and I did not weep,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my

Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again The visions which arise without a sleep. And with my years my soul began to pant With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain;

And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, But undefined and wandering, till the day I found the thing I sought-and that was thee;

And then I lost my being all to be Absorb'd in thine the world was past awayThou didst annihilate the earth to me!

I loved all solitude-but little thought To spend I know not what of life, remote From all communion with existence, save The maniac and his tyrant; had I been Their fellow, many years ere this had seen My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave; But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave?

Perchance in such a cell we suffer more Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore; The world is all before him—mine is here, Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.

I once was quick in feeling – that is o'er;— My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd

My brain against these bars as the sun flash'd

In mockery through them;-if I bear and bore

The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words,'tis that I would not die
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand
of shame
Stamp madness deep into my memory,
And woo compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No it shall be immortal!—and I make
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearth-
less halls,

A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled

And thou, Leonora! thou who wert ashamed

What though he perish, he may lift his eye
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky-That such as I could love—who blush'd to
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon-roof.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay:-I see Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below

The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to One, who long hath suffer'd so Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but men, But spirits may be leagued with them-all Earth

Abandons - Heaven forgets me;


in the

dearth Of such defence the Powers of Evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved? Because I loved what not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.


To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,

Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed By grief, years, weariness-and it may be A taint of that he would impute to meFrom long infection of a den like this, Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,

Adores thee still;-and add-that when
the towers
And battlements which guard his joyous

Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull repose,
This-this shall be a consecrated spot!
But Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty
Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my

No power in death can tear our names apart, As none in life could rend thee from my heart.

Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever-but too late!

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