SCENES FROM (6 POLITIAN."

JACINTA [aside]. 'Tis time.

LALAGE.

[JACINTA seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. LALAGE continues to read. "It in another climate, so he said,

Bore a bright golden flower, but not i' this soil!"

[Pauses-turns over some leaves, and resumes.

"No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower—

But Ocean ever to refresh mankind

Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind.”

O beautiful!-most beautiful!-how like

To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!

O happy land! [Pauses.] She died!--the maiden died!

O still more happy maiden who couldst die!

Jacinta! [JACINTA returns no answer, and LALAGE presently resumes. Again!-a similar tale

Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!

Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play

"She died full young”—one Bossola answers him—

"I think not so-her infelicity

Seemed to have years too many"— Ah luckless lady!
Jacinta!

Here's a far sterner story,

But like-oh, very like in its despair

Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily

A thousand hearts-losing at length her own.

She died. Thus ended the history-and her maids
Lean over her and weep-two gentle maids

With gentle names---Eiros and Charmion !

Rainbow and Dove-Jacinta!

[Still no answer.

JACINTA [pettishly].

Madam, what is it?

LALAGE. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind

As go down in the library and bring me

The Holy Evangelists?

JACINTA.

LALAGE.

Pshaw!

[Exit.

If there be balm

For the wounded spirit in Gilead, it is there!

Dew in the night-time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found-" dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill."

[Re-enter JACINTA, and throws a volume on the table. JACINTA. There, Ma'am, 's the book. Indeed she is very troublesome.

[Aside.

LALAGE [astonished]. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done

aught

To grieve thee or to vex thee?—I am sorry.
For thou hast served me long, and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful.

JACINTA.

I can't believe

[Resumes her reading.

[Aside.

She has any more jewels-no-no-she gave me all.

LALAGE. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me

Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.

How fares good Ugo?-and when is it to be?

Can I do aught ?-is there no farther aid.

Thou needest, Jacinta?

JACINTA.

That's meant for me.

Is there no farther aid!

[Aside.] I'm sure, Madam, you need not

Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.

LALAGE. Jewels! Jacinta,-now indeed, Jacinta,

I thought not of the jewels.

But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,

For he's sure the Count Castiglione never

Would have given a real diamond to such as you;

And at the best I'm certain, Madam, you cannot

Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it.

LALAGE.

[Exit.

[LALAGE bursts into tears, and leans her head upon the

table—after a short pause raises it.

Poor Lalage!-and is it come to this?

Thy servant maid!—but courage !-'tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!

Ha! here at least's a friend-too much a friend

[Taking up the mirror.

In earlier days-a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale a pretty tale-and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased-remembers me
Of Joy departed-Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed !-now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,

Whispers of early grave untimely yawning

For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true !-thou liest not!

Thou hast no end to gain-no heart to break—

Castiglione lied who said he loved

Thou true-he false !-false-false!

[While she speaks, a MONK enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved.

MONK.

Refuge thou hast,

Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things;

Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!

LALAGE [arising hurriedly]. I cannot pray!-My soul is at war

with God!

The frightful sounds of merriment below

Disturb my senses-go! I cannot pray

SCENES FROM "POLITIAN."

The sweet airs from the garden worry me!

Thy presence grieves me-go!-thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread-thy ebony crucifix

With horror and awe!

MONK.

Think of thy precious soul!

LALAGE. Think of my early days!-think of my father

And mother in heaven! think of our quiet home,

And the rivulet that ran before the door!

Think of my little sisters!-think of them!

And think of me!-think of my trusting love

And confidence-his vows-my ruin-think-think
Of my unspeakable misery!--begone!

Yet stay!—yet stay!--what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith

And vows before the Throne ?

MONK.

LALAGE.

I did.

"Tis well.

There is a vow were fitting should be made

A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,

A solemn vow!

MONK.

Daughter, this zeal is well!

LALAGE. Father, this zeal is anything but well!

Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?

A crucifix whereon to register

This sacred vow!

Not that-Oh!-no!-no!--no!

Not that! Not that!-I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,-

I have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting

[He hands her his own.

[Shuddering.