New monarchs of an hour's growth as despotic As sovereigns swathed in purple, and cnthroned From birth to manhood! Herald. My life waits your breath. Leave that, save fraught with fire unquenchable, To the new comers. Frame the whole as if 'Twere to enkindle the strong tower of our Yours (I speak humbly) — but it may be-Inveterate enemies. Now it bears an aspect! Most gorgeous gift, which renders it more precious. But must I bear no answer? Sard. Yes, I ask An hour's truce to consider. Herald. But an hour's? Sard. An hour's: if at the expiration of That time your masters hear no further from me, They are to deem that I reject their terms, And act befittingly. Herald. I shall not fail To be a faithful legate of your pleasure. Sard. Commend me to Beleses; How say you, Pania, will this pile suffice For a king's obsequies? Pania. Ay, for a kingdom's. Sard. And blame me? Let me but fire the pile and share it with you. Myrrha. Tis the soldier's Pania. Tis most strange! Myrrha. But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it. In the mean time, live thou.-Farewell! the pile Is ready. Pania. I should shame to leave my sovereign With but a single female to partake Sard. Too many far have heralded Me to the dust already. Get thee hence; Enrich thee. Pania. And live wretched! Thy vow ;-'tis sacred and irrevocable. Sard. Search well my chamber, Who slew me: and when you have borne with me Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace. In which they would have revell'd, I bear And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach The land of Paphlagonia, where the queen Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court. Say what you saw at parting, and request That she remember what I said at one Parting more mournful still. Pania. That royal hand! Let me then once more press it to my lips; And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and Would fain die with you! [The Soldiers and Pania throng round him, kissing his hand and the hem of his robe. Sard. My best! my last friends! Let's not unman each other- part at once: All farewells should be sudden, when for [Exeunt Pania and the Soldiers. Myrrha. These men were honest: it is comfort still That our last looks shall be on loving faces. Sard. And lovely ones, my beautiful! but hear me! If at this moment, for we now are on The brink, thou feelst an inward shrinking from This leap through flame into the future, say it: I shall not love thee less; nay, perhaps more, For yielding to thy nature; and there's time Yet for thee to escape hence. Myrrha. Shall I light One of the torches which lie heap'd beneath Of arms, and records, monuments, and spoils, To you in that absorbing element, A people's records, and a hero's acts; A problem few dare imitate, and none MYRRHA returns with a lighted Torch in one I've lit the lamp which lights us to the stars. Sard. And the cup? Myrrha. Tis my country's custom to Make a libation to the gods. Sard. And mine Purged from the dross of earth, and earthly | And loveliest spot of earth! farewell Ionia! Rather let them be borne abroad upon And its enormous walls of reeking ruin, Or kine, for none know whether those Be for their monarch, or their ox-god Apis: Myrrha. Then farewell, thou earth! Be thou still free and beautiful, and far Sard. And that? [The trumpet of Pania sounds without. Sard. Hark! Myrrha. Now! Sard. Adieu, Assyria! I loved thee well, my own, my fathers' land, [Myrrha fires the pile. Myrrha. 'Tis fired! I come. WERNER, A TRAGEDY. TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GÖTHE BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIRERS THIS PREFACE. merely refer the reader to the original story, that he may see to what extent I have borrowed from it; and am not unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure in perusing it than the drama which is founded upon its contents. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been more developed with greater advantage. Amongst those whose opinions agreed with mine upon this story, I could mention some THE following drama is taken entirely very high names; but it is not necessary, from the "German's Tale, Kruitzner, nor indeed of any use; for every one must published many years ago in "Lee's Can-judge according to their own feelings. I terbury Tales;" written (I believe) by two sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and another, both of which are considered superior to the remainder of the collection. I have adopted the characters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself: but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young (about fourteen, I think) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or at any rate its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as 1815 (the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called "Ulric and Ilvina," which I had sense enough to burn), and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere amongst my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have re-written the first, and added the subsequent acts. The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage. February, 1822. Werner. 'Tis chill; the tapestry lets through The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen. Josephine. Ah, no! | Thou knowst by sufferings more than mine, Josephine. To see thee well is much— Werner. Where hast thou seen such? How many in this hour of tempest shiver Which hath no chamber for them save Her surface. Werner. And that's not the worst: who cares For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom Thou namest-ay, the wind howls round them, and The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones Werner (smiling). Why! wouldst thou The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier, have it so? Josephine. I would Have it a healthful current. Werner. Let it flow Until 'tis spilt or check'd-how soon, I care not. Josephine. And am I nothing in thy heart? A hunter, and a traveller, and am A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of. Josephine. And art thou not now shelter'd Werner. Yes. And from these alone. Josephine. Should the nobly born Josephine. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine? Werner (approaching her slowly). But for thee I had been—no matter what,Of early delicacy render more But much of good and evil; what I am, Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb Thou knowest; what I might or should Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life? have been, Werner. It is not that, thou knowst it Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, nor [Werner walks on abruptly, and then The storm of the night, is not; we Have borne all this, I'll not say patiently, | Except in thee-but we have borne it. Josephine. Well? Werner. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though These were enough to gnaw into our souls) Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now, | May have return'd back to his grandsire, and When, but for this untoward sickness, which | Even now uphold thy rights for thee? Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and Werner, 'Tis hopeless. Hath wasted not alone my strength, but Since his strange disappearance from my means, And leaves us,—no! this is beyond me! but For this I had been happy-thou been happy The splendour of my rank sustain'd-my name My father's name-been still upheld; and, more Than those Josephine (abruptly). My son—our sonour Ulric, Been clasp'd again in these long empty arms, He was, and beautiful he must be now. Werner. I have been full oft The chase of fortune; now she hath o'ertaken My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,— Sick, poor, and lonely. Josephine. Lonely! my dear husband? Werner. Or worse-involving all I love, in this Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died, And all been over in a nameless grave. Josephine. And I had not outlived thee; but pray take Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive With fortune win or weary her at last, Werner. We were in sight of him, of every thing Which could bring compensation for past father's, Entailing, as it were, my sins upon Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. W'erner. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness, More fatal than a mortal malady, Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. Our unexpected journey, and this change Of name, leaves all discovery far behind: None hold us here for aught save what we W'erner. Who would read in this form The high soul of the son of a long line? Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands? Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride Of rank and ancestry? in this worn cheek, And famine-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls, Which daily feast a thousand vassals? Josephine. You Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things, My Werner! when you deign'd to choose for bride The foreign daughter of a wandering exile. Werner. An exile's daughter with an |