Of yonder trees methought a figure passed—

A spectral figure, solemn and slow and noiseless-
Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noise-

less.

[Walks across and returns.

I was mistaken; 'twas but a giant bough

Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian!

Pol. My Lalage-my love, why art thou moved? Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience' self, Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,

Should shake the firm spirit thus.

wind

Is chilly, and these melancholy boughs
Throw over all things a gloom.

Lal.

Thou speakest to me of love.

Politian,

But the night

Knowest thou the land

With which all tongues are busy—a land new found— Miraculously found by one of Genoa

A thousand leagues within the golden west?

A fairy-land of flowers and fruit and sunshine,

And crystal lakes and over-arching forests,

And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds

Of heaven untrammelled flow,-which air to breathe Is happiness now, and will be freedom hereafter

In days that are to come?

Pol.

O, wilt thou-wilt thou

Fly to that paradise, my Lalage,—wilt thou

Fly thither with me? There care shall be forgotten,

And sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all,
And life shall then be mine, for I will live
For thee and in thine eyes; and thou shalt be
No more a mourner, but the radiant joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee,
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all! O, wilt thou, wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me?

Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?

Where am I? What was it he said?-Politian,
Thou art not gone-thou art not gone, Politian;
I feel thou art not gone-yet dare not look,
Lest I behold thee not; thou couldst not go
With those words upon thy lips. O, speak to me,
And let me hear thy voice; one word—one word,
To say thou art not gone,—one little sentence,
Το say how thou dost scorn-how thou dost hate
My womanly weakness.

gone.

Ha, ha! thou art not

O, speak to me! I knew thou wouldst not go;
I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durst not go.

Villain, thou art not gone-thou mockest me!

And thus I clutch thee-thus!-He is gone, he is

gone

Gone-gone!

well:

Where am I?-'Tis well-'tis very

So that the blade be keen-the blow be sure,

"Tis well, 'tis very well.

Alas, alas!

V.

The suburbs. POLITIAN alone.

Pol. This weakness grows upon me. I am faint, And much I fear me, ill. It will not do

To die ere I have lived.-Stay, stay thy hand,

O Azrael, yet awhile. Prince of the powers
Of darkness and the tomb, O, pity me!
O, pity me! let me not perish now,
In the budding of my paradisal hope!
Give me to live yet-yet a little while:
'Tis I who pray for life-I who so late
Demanded but to die!—What sayeth the count?

Enter BALDAZZAR.

Bal. That, knowing no cause of quarrel or of

feud

Between the Earl Politian and himself,

He doth decline your cartel.

Pol.

What didst thou say?

What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar ?
With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes
Laden from yonder bowers !—a fairer day,
Or one more worthy Italy, methinks

No mortal eyes have seen.—What said the count?
Bal. That he, Castiglione, not being aware

Of any feud existing, or any cause

Of quarrel, between your lordship and himself,
Cannot accept the challenge.

Pol.

All this is very true.

It is most true

When saw you, sir,—

When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid
Ungenial Britain, which we left so lately,
A heaven so calm as this-so utterly free
From the evil taint of clouds?—And he did say?—
Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:
The Count Castiglione will not fight,

Having no cause for quarrel.

Pol.

Now this is true

All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar,
And I have not forgotten it: thou❜lt do me
A piece of service. Wilt thou go back and say
Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester,
Hold him a villain ?-thus much, I prithee, say
Unto the count: it is exceeding just

He should have cause for quarrel.

Bal.

My lord!-my friend!

Pol. (aside) 'Tis he !-he comes himself! (Aloud)

Thou reasonest well.

I know what thou wouldst say-not send the message.
Well, I will think of it.—I will not send it.

Now, prithee, leave me: hither doth come a person
With whom affairs of a most private nature

Cas. The Earl of Leicester here!

Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seestDost thou not?-that I am here.

Cas.

My lord, some strange,

Some singular mistake-misunderstanding

Hath, without doubt, arisen: thou hast been urged

Thereby, in heat of anger, to address

Some words most unaccountable, in writing,

To me, Castiglione; the bearer being

Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware

Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, Having given thee no offence. Ha am I right? "Twas a mistake?-undoubtedly-we all

Do err at times.