Fills me with dread, thy ebony crucifix

With horror and awe.

Monk.

Think of thy precious soul.

Lal. 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.

Lal.

I did.

'Tis well.

There is a vow where fitting should be made-
A sacred vow, imperative and urgent,-

A solemn vow!

Monk.

Daughter, this zeal is well.

Lal. 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! O, no! no! no!-

Not that

[He hands her his own.

[Shuddering.

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
The deed, the vow, the symbol of the deed
And the deed's register, should tally, father.

[Draws a cross-handled dagger, and raises it on high. Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine Is written in heaven.

Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter, And speak a purpose unholy; thy lips are livid— Thine eyes are wild; tempt not the wrath divine. Pause, ere too late. O, be not—be not rash; Swear not the oath-O, swear it not!

Lal.

'Tis sworn.

III.

An apartment in a palace. POLITIAN and BALDAZZAR.

Bal. Arouse thee now, Politian;

Thou must not-nay, indeed, indeed, thou shalt not Give way unto these humours. Be thyself;

Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee,

And live, for now thou diest.

To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend.
Command me, sir. What wouldst thou have me do?

At thy behest I will shake off that nature
Which from my forefathers I did inherit,
Which with my mother's milk I did imbibe,
And be no more Politian, but some other
Command me, sir.

Bal.

To the field, then-to the field;

To the senate or the field.

Pol.

Alas, alas!

There is an imp would follow me even there;
There is an imp hath followed me even there!
There is what voice was that?

Bal.

I heard it not.

I heard not any voice except thine own,

And the echo of thine own.

Pol.

Then I but dreamed.

Bal. Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp--the

court

Befit thee; fame awaits thee-glory calls;

And her, the trumpet-tongued, thou wilt not hear

In hearkening to imaginary sounds

And phantom voices.

Pol.

It is a phantom voice:

I heard it not.

Didst thou not hear it then?

Bal.

Pol. Thou heardst it not! Baldazzar, speak no

more

To me, Politian, of thy camps and courts.
O, I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death,
Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities

Of the populous earth. Bear with me yet awhile.
We have been boys together-school-fellows,
And now are friends, yet shall not be so long;
For in the Eternal City thou shalt do me
A kind and gentle office, and a power—
A power august, benignant, and supreme-
Shall then absolve thee of all further duties
Unto thy friend.

Bal.

Thou speakest a fearful riddle

I will not understand.

Pol.

Yet now, as fate

Approaches, and the hours are breathing low,
The sands of time are changed to golden grains,
And dazzle me, Baldazzar. Alas, alas,

I cannot die, having within my heart

So keen a relish for the beautiful
As hath been kindled within it!

Methinks the air

Is balmier now than it was wont to be;
Rich melodies are floating in the winds;
A rarer loveliness bedecks the earth,
And with a holier lustre the quiet moon

Sitteth in heaven.-Hist, hist; thou canst not say
Thou hearest not now, Baldazzar.

Bal.

Indeed, I hear not.

Pol. Not hear it! listen now-listen: the faintest

And yet the sweetest, that ear ever heard:
A lady's voice—and sorrow in the tone,
Baldazzar, it oppresses me like a spell.
Again, again; how solemnly it falls

Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice
Surely I never heard: yet it were well

Had I but heard it with its thrilling tones
In earlier days.

Be still. The voice, if I mistake not greatly,
Proceeds from yonder lattice, which you may see
Very plainly through the window. It belongs-
Does it not?-unto this palace of the duke:
The singer is undoubtedly beneath

The roof of his excellency, and perhaps

Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke
As the betrothed of Castiglione,

His son and heir.

Pol.

Be still:-it comes again.

Voice (very faintly).

And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus,
Who hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?

Say nay-say nay!