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Enter Count Roland, followed by Two
Count. Come, brother Falconers, break, up our rural camp,-give the hawks wing, and let another day of pure exhilarating pastime crown, those we have enjoyed.
When the morning shines forth, and the zephyr's calm gale
Your quarry pursue;
Count. To-day concludes our sylvan holiday, (Going). Why, who comes here? As I live, my merry Falconer, Christopher! And I'm impatient to be told the issue of his curious enterprize. Ha, ha, ha! to know if he's related to the House of Roland—
Well, Christopher, am I to call you Cousin \
Chris. You are, my Lord ; and with your leave I sha'n't copy our Aunt the Countess's example, and not notice those beneath us. No. How d'ye do, my fine fellows—how d'ye do? [Bowing foppishly lo the Falconers.
Count. Aunt!—ridiculous! My Uncle had no wife. I've heard, indeed, he had a consequential housekeeper, whose niece, Ulrica, I once saw.
Chris. What, you've seen Ulrica? So have I, my Lord: and though its bold work, life's so
short, and love's so hdgetty, mayn't I mayn't
I see her again, my Lord?
Count. What, you'd return? (Christopher nods assent). Then go—go, and announce to Marquis Alberti, that I shall visit him to-night. Mind, to-night! I will hear more of this new Aunt of mine.
Chris. (With great glee). To-night, my Lord? And you, and you \To t/ie Falconers.
Count. And all. And therefore, till we meet at Corbey Abbey, adieu, most noble cousin Christopher!
1st and 2d. Falc. (Bowing with ironical respect)* Adieu, most noble Nephew of the Countess Roland!
Chris. Noble indeed! and give me money, and a wife, see if I don't support Nobility—I'll give such splendid entertainments
Count. What, and like town-bred, ostentatious nobles; only to splendid company?
Chris. Certainly not, my Lord; for your splendid company seldom invite again; and therefore I'll stick more to the trading line, where 'tis not giving dinners, but lending them, to be repaid at high bill of fare interest; and so, till we meet at Corbey, adieu, most noble Cousin! [Exit; Count. Now for ©ur sport, which ends not irt
When Phœbus' rays no more appear,
And Falc'ners further sport dei line;
When loud the chilling tempest blows,
Tlie Garden os Carboy Abbey, with practicable Gates, over which is a projecting Tablet, with
■ an Inscription nearly effaced, In the Back, an ascending Avenue through Pine Trees: in the centre a Statue oj Charlemagne; on the Base of which is written, "Charlemagne grants the power of Sanctuary and of V ar don to the Abbots of Corbey for ever."
sinter Beknardo and St. Clair from the Abbey t
St. Clair. Nay, brother, you're to blame. The church, the court, all Germany, applaud the
proud election of tlie monk Bellarmin; for Corbey Abbey was too long disgraced by our late worldly Abbot's vices.
Bern. And our new Abbot will retrieve its fame. The monk Bellarmin has no worldly vice. Speak, for I know him not.
St. Ciair, Not know Bellarmin!
Bern. I know some fourteen years are past. since, in the dead of night, a stranger, faint with terror and distress, implor'd assistance at our abbey-gate, and, in return for our protecting care, since join'd our Order. I know, beside, that stranger is Bellarmin. But for the rest, what means that pallid cheek, the hollow eye, and tho^e stern gloomy looks, repelling sympathy, creating strong disgust
St. Ciair. Peace, peace, Bernardo!—he may have suffered wrongs, but never has committed them; and firm in conscious dignity and honour, Bellarmin may have spirit to revive what former Abbots, truckling to authority; what servile priesthood, dreading lordly power, so long has suffer'd to lie dormant—the Edict of our nvghty Founder, the Edict of Immortal Charlemagne!
[Pointing to the Tablet.
Bern. He, our new Abbot! he restore our Abbey's ancient and peculiar charter! (Pointing to the Tablet). St. Ciair, he dare not, for guilt and courage ne'er had joint abode.
■St. Ciair. Guilt i
Bern Aye; why, ever, else, on naming the return of our brave Warriors from the Holy Land, does he betray such latent anger? And, when, last night, 'twas thought their presence would increase the glory of his Installation, why such avowed -and' rancorous opposition? He bearsabout him hidden discontent, and I will fathom to the lowest depth this most mysterious Being I Mark! He comes! Observe! Observe!
[They retire up the Stage.
Enter Abbot, through the Avenue.
Abbot. Oh thou! who know'st my undivulgecl thoughts! who know'st how long and fervently I've prayed to root from memory all suffering past, and dwell with gratitude on present blessings, let me but practise what I daily preach, thy brightest attribute forgiveness, and wrong'd Bellarmin shall convince the world, that though their censure stung him to the heart, he feels their kindness with redoubled warmth! He does! the gnawing viper is, at last, extinct! and this auspicious day is herald of his future calm repose I
St. Clair. Now, now, Bernardo, where's the discontent? (Advancing towards the Abbot). My Lord, well met! and whilst all bless the houc the Emperor ratified our choice, we much rejoice your honours cease not with your late election — To day installs you in your envied seat; to-morrow shall behold you still more grac'd; for the Free Knights shall then elect you to the highest rank in their exalted Council!
Bern. Aye; in that sacred Council which our holy brotherhood so reverence, and so dread.
Abbot. 'Tis well —'tis well—thus chosen Abbot of your own free will, not by my seeking, as ye all can witness; for this, and greater favours past, I'm bound for ever to obey, and serve ye I To-day, I'll welcome these, our sacred rites; tomorrow, far more awful ceremony! 1 will descend to the mysterious Knights, and prove to those,