Ros. Some women do, but they are rarely found. Bas. Nay, put me not to death upon the instant; There is not one in all your paltry court I'll see her once again, and then depart.

Ros. See her but once again, and thou art ruin'd! 'Faith! of you all, not one, but brave Albini,

Alb. My days of frolic should ere this be o'er,
But thou, my charge, hast kept me youthful still.
I should most gladly go; but since the dawn,
A heavy sickness hangs upon my heart;

I cannot hunt to-day.

Vain, fanciful, and fond of worthless praise;
Courteous and gentle, proud and magnificent:
And yet these adverse qualities in thee,
No dissonance, nor striking contrast make ;
For still thy good and amiable gifts

Vict. I'll stay at home and nurse thee, dear Al- The sober dignity of virtue wear not,

bini.

Alb. No, no, thou shalt not stay.
Vict.

I cannot follow to the cheerful horn
Whilst thou art sick at home.

And such a 'witching mien thy follies show,
They make a very idiot of reproof,

Nay, but I will. And smile it to disgrace.—

Not very sick.

Alb.
Rather than thou shouldst stay, my gentle child,
I'll mount my horse, and go e'en as I am.

Vict. Nay, then I'll go, and soon return again.
Meanwhile, do thou be careful of thyself.

What shall I do with thee?—It grieves me much,
To hear Count Basil is not yet departed.
When from the chase he comes, I'll watch his steps,
And speak to him myself.-

O! I could hate her for that poor ambition
Which silly adoration only claims,
But that I well remember, in my youth

Isab. Hark, hark! the shrill horns call us to the I felt the like-I did not feel it long:

I hear it, and methinks e'en at the sound
I vault already on my leathern seat,
And feel the fiery steed beneath me shake
His mantled sides, and paw the fretted earth
Whilst I aloft, with gay equestrian grace,
The low salute of gallant lords return,
Who waiting round with eager watchful eye,
And reined steeds, the happy moments seize.
O! didst thou never hear, my Isabel,
How nobly Basil in the field becomes
His fiery courser's back?

Isab.
They say most gracefully.
Alb. What, is the valiant count not yet departed?
Vict. You would not have our gallant Basil go
When I have bid him stay? not so, Albini.

I tore it soon, indignant from my breast,
As that which did degrade a noble mind.

[EXIT.

SCENE V.-A VERY BEAUTIFUL GROVE IN THE
FOREST.

Music and horns heard afar off, whilst huntsmen and
dogs appear passing over the stage, at a great distance.
Enter VICTORIA and BASIL, as if just alighted from
their horses.

Vict. (speaking to attendants without.) Lead on our horses to the further grove,

And wait us there.

(To Bas.) This spot so pleasing, and so fragrant is,
"Twere sacrilege with horses' hoofs to wear
Its velvet turf, where little elfins dance,
And fairies sport beneath the summer's moon;
I love to tread upon it.

Bas. O! I would quit the chariot of a god

Alb. Fy! reigns that spirit still so strongly in For such delightful footing!

thee,

Which vainly covets all men's admiration,

And is to others cause of cruel pain?

O! would thou couldst subdue it!

Vict.
I love this spot.
Bas. It is a spot where one would live and die
Vict. See, through the twisted boughs of those
high elms,

Vict. My gentle friend, thou shouldst not be The sunbeams on the bright'ning foliage play,

severe :

For now in truth I love not admiration

As I was wont to do; in truth I do not.

But yet, this once my woman's heart excuse,

For there is something strange in this man's love,

I never met before, and I must prove it.

Alb. Well, prove it then, be stricken too thyself,

And bid sweet peace of mind a sad farewell.

And tinge the scaled bark with ruddy brown.
Is it not beautiful?

Bas. As though an angel, in his upward flight,
Had left his mantle floating in mid air.

Vict. Still most unlike a garment; small and sever'd :

(Turning round, and perceiving that he is gazing at her.)

Vict. O no! that will not be! 'twill peace re- But thou regard'st them not.

store :

For after this, all folly of the kind

Will quite insipid and disgusting seem;
And so I shall become a prudent maid,
And passing wise at last.

(Music heard without.)
Hark, hark! again!

All good be with you! I'll return ere long.
[EXEUNT Victoria and Isabella.
Alb. (sola.) Ay, go, and every blessing with thee
go,

My most tormenting, and most pleasing charge!
Like vapour, from the mountain stream art thou,
Which lightly rises on the morning air,
And shifts its fleeting form with every breeze,
For ever varying, and for ever graceful.
Endearing, generous, bountiful and kind;

Bas. Ah! what should I regard, where should I

gaze?

For in that far shot glance, so keenly waked,
That sweetly rising smile of admiration,

| Far better do I learn how fair heaven is,
Than if I gazed upon the blue serene.

Vict. Remember you have promised, gentle
count,

No more to vex me with such foolish words.

Bas. Ah! wherefore should my tongue alone be
mute?

When every look and every motion tell,
So plainly tell, and will not be forbid,
That I adore thee, love thee, worship thee!

(Victoria looks haughty and displeased.) Ah! pardon me, I know not what I say.

Ah! frown not thus! I cannot see thee frown.
I'll do whate'er thou wilt, I will be silent:
But O! a reined tongue, and bursting heart,
Are hard at once to bear.-Wilt thou forgive me ?
Vict. We'll think no more of it; we'll quit this
spot;

I do repent me that I led thee here.

But 'twas the favourite path of a dear friend:
Here many a time we wander'd, arm in arm :
We loved this grove, and now that he is absent,
I love to haunt it still.

(Basil starts.) Bas. His favourite path-a friend-here arm in

arm

Bas. (looking after her for some time.) See with what graceful steps she moves along,

(Clasping his hands, and raising them to his Her lovely form, in every action lovely! head.)

Then there is such a one!

If but the wind her ruffled garment raise,
It twists it into some light pretty fold,

(Drooping his head, and looking distractedly Which adds new grace. Or should some small upon the ground.)

Vict. I have, my lord, been wont to think it cheerful.

mishap,

Some tangled branch, her fair attire derange,
What would in others strange, or awkward seem,
But lends to her some wild bewitching charm.
See, yonder does she raise her lovely arm
To pluck the dangling hedge-flower as she goes;
And now she turns her head as though she
view'd

The distant landscape; now methinks she walks Bas. I thought your highness meant to leave this With doubtful lingering steps-will she look spot?

Vict. I do, and by this lane we'll take our way; For here he often walk'd with sauntering pace, And listen'd to the woodlark's evening song.

Bas. What, must I on his very footsteps go:
Accursed be the ground on which he trod!

Vict. And is Count Basil so uncourtly grown,
That he would curse my brother to my face?
Bas. Your brother! gracious God, is it your
brother?

That dear, that loving friend of whom you spoke,
Is he indeed your brother?
Vict.
He is indeed, my lord.
Bas. Then heaven bless him! all good angels
bless him!

I could weep o'er him now, shed blood for him!
I could-O what a foolish heart have I!

(Walks up and down with a hurried step, tossing
about his arms in transport; then stops short
and runs up to Victoria.)

Is it indeed your brother?

back?

Ah no! yon thicket hides her from my sight.
Bless'd are the eyes that may behold her still,
Nor dread that every look shall be the last!
And yet she said she would remember me.
I will believe it: Ah! I must believe it,
Or be the saddest soul that sees the light!
But lo, a messenger, and from the army!
He brings me tidings; grant they may be good!
Till now I never fear'd what man might utter;
I dread his tale, God grant it may be good!
Enter MESSENGER,

From the army?

Yes, my lord.

Mess.
Bas.
What tidings bring'st thou !
Mess. Th' imperial army, under brave Piscaro,
Have beat the enemy near Pavia's walls.
Bas. Ha! have they fought? and is the battle
o'er?

Mess. Yes, conquer'd; taken the French king
prisoner,

Vict. It is indeed: what thoughts disturb'd thee Who, like a noble, gallant gentleman, so?

Fought to the last, nor yielded up his sword

Bas. I will not tell thee; foolish thoughts they Till, being one amidst surrounding foes,

Were I thy brother

And yet methinks, I would I had a sister.
Vict. And wherefore would ye so?
Bas.

His arm could do no more.

Bas. What dost thou say? who is made pri-
soner?
What king did fight so well?

Mess.
The King of France.
Bas. Thou saidst-thy words do ring so in mine

ears,

I cannot catch their sense-the battle's o'er?
Mess. It is, my lord. Piscaro stayed your coming,
But could no longer stay. His troops were bold,
To place her near thee, Occasion press'd him, and they bravely fought-
They bravely fought, my lord!

The soft companion of thy hours to prove,
And, when far distant, sometimes talk of me.
Thou couldst not chide a gentle sister's cares.
Perhaps, when rumour from the distant war,

Bas.
I hear, I hear thee.
Accursed am I, that it should wring my heart
To hear they bravely fought !—

They bravely fought, whilst we lay lingering
here.

O! what a fated blow to strike me thus !
Perdition! shame! disgrace! a damned blow!
Mess. Ten thousand of the enemy are slain;
We too have lost full many a gallant soul.
I view'd the closing armies from afar;
Their close-piked ranks in goodly order spread,
Which seem'd, alas! when that the fight was o'er,
Like the wild marshes' crop of stately reeds,
Laid with the passing storm. But wo is me!
When to the field I came, what dismal sights!
What waste of life! What heaps of bleeding
slain !

Bas. Would I were laid a red, disfigured corse, Amid those heaps! they fought, and we were absent !

ACT V.

SCENE I-A DARK NIGHT; NO MOON, BUT A FEW
STARS GLIMMERING; THE STAGE REPRESENTS (AS
MUCH AS CAN BE DISCOVERED FOR THE DARKNESS)
A CHURCHYARD WITH PART OF A CHAPEL, AND
A WING OF THE DUCAL PALACE ADJOINING TO IT.
Enter BASIL with his hat off, his hair and his dress in
disorder, stepping slowly, and stopping several times to
listen, as if he was afraid of meeting any one.

Bas. No sound is here: man is at rest, and I
May near his habitations venture forth,
Like some unblessed creature of the night,
Who dares not meet his face.-Her window's
dark;

No streaming light doth from her chamber beam,
That I once more may on her dwelling gaze,

(Walks about distractedly, then stops short.) And bless her still. All now is dark for me! Who sent thee here?

Mess. Piscaro sent me to inform Count Basil,
He needs not now his aid, and gives him leave
To march his tardy troops to distant quarters.
Bas. He says so, does he? well, it shall be so.
(Tossing his arms distractedly.)

I will to quarters, narrow quarters go,
Where voice of war shall rouse me forth no more.

[EXIT.

Mess. I'll follow after him; he is distracted: And yet he looks so wild I dare not do it.

Enter VICTORIA as if frightened, followed by ISABELLA. Vict. (to Isab.) Didst thou not mark him as he pass'd thee too?

(Pauses for some time and looks upon the graves.)
How happy are the dead, who quietly rest
Beneath these stones! each by his kindred laid,
Still in a hallow'd neighbourship with those,
Who when alive his social converse shared :
And now perhaps some dear surviving friend
Doth here at times the grateful visit pay,
Read with sad eyes his short memorial o'er,
And bless his memory still!-

But I, like a vile outcast of my kind,

In some lone spot must lay my unburied corse,
To rot above the earth; where, if perchance
The steps of human wanderer e'er approach,
He'll stand aghast, and flee the horrid place,
With dark imaginations frightful made

Isab. I saw him pass, but with such hasty steps I The haunt of damned sprites. O cursed wretch!

had no time.

Vict. I met him with a wild disorder'd air,

In furious haste; he stopp'd distractedly,

And gazed upon me with a mournful look,

In the fair and honour'd field shouldst thou have

died,

Where brave friends, proudly smiling through their tears,

But pass'd away, and spoke not. Who art thou? Had pointed out the spot where Basil lay!

(To the Messenger.)

I fear thou art a bearer of bad tidings.

(A light seen in Victoria's window.) But ha! the wonted, welcome light appears.

Mess. No, rather good as I should deem it, How bright within I see her chamber wall!

madam,

Although unwelcome tidings to Count Basil.

Our army hath a glorious battle won;

Athwart it too, a darkening shadow moves,
A slender woman's form: it is herself!
What means that motion of its clasped hands?

Ten thousand French are slain, their monarch cap- That drooping head? alas! is she in sorrow?
Alas! thou sweet enchantress of the mind,

tive.

Vict. (to Mess.) Ah, there it is! he was not in Whose voice was gladness, and whose presence

Mess. Nay, lady, by your leave, you seem not In some dark den from human sight conceal'd,

'Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by? (Pauses again, and gazes at the window, till the SCENE II.-A WOOD, WILD AND SAVAGE; AN ENTRY light disappears.)