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Thou livest! and makest this world so full of joy-
But I depart!

Mel. (approaching her.) Moraima! hence! Is this A place for thee?

Mor. Away! away! There is no place but this for me on earth! Where should I go? There is no place but this! My soul is bound to it! Mel. (to the Guards.) Back, slaves, and look not on her!

[They retreat to the background.

'Twas for this She droop'd to the earth.

Aym. Moraima, fare thee well!
Think on me! I have loved thee! I take hence
That deep love with my soul! for well I know
It must be deathless!

Mor. Oh! thou hast not known
What woman's love is! Aymer, Aymer, stay!
If I could die for thee! My heart is grown
So strong in its despair !

Rai. (turning from them.) And all the past
Forgotten !-our young days! His last thoughts hers!
The Infidel's !
Aym. (with a violent effort turning his head round.)
Thou art no murderer. Peace
Between us—peace, my brother! In our deaths
We shall be join'd once more !

Rai. (holding the cross of the sword before him.) Look yet on this !

Aym. If thou hadst only told me that she lived ! -But our hearts meet at last!

[Presses the cross to his lips.

Moraima! save my brother! Look on me !
Joy—there is joy in death!

[He dies on RAINIER’s arm.
Mor. Speak--speak once more!
Aymer! how is it that I call on thee,
And that thou answer'st not? Have we not loved ?
Death ! death !-and this is-death!

Rai. So thou art gone,
Aymer! I never thought to weep again-
But now

- farewell ! Thou wert the bravest knight That e'er laid lance in rest—and thou didst wear The noblest form that ever woman's eye Dwelt on with love; and till that fatal dream Came o'er thee ! Aymer! Aymer! thou wert

still The most true-hearted brother! There thou art Whose breast was once my shield !-I never thought That foes should see me weep! but there thou art, Aymer, my brother ! Mor. (suddenly rising.) With his last, last breath He bade me save his brother!

(Falling at MELECH’s feet.) Father, spare The Christian--spare him! Mel. For thy sake spare

him That slew thy father's son!-Shame to thy race !

(To the soldiers in the background.) Soldiers! come nearer with your levell’d spears! Yet nearer !-gird him in!—my boy's young blood Is on his sword. Christian, abjure thy faith, Or die—thine hour is come!

Rai. (turning and throwing himself on the wea

pons of the soldiers.) Thou hast mine answer,
[Calling aloud to the knights as he falls back.

Knights of France ! Herman! De Foix! Du Mornay! be ye strong! Your hour will come !

Must the old war-cry cease ? [Half raising himself, and waving the Cross

triumphantly. For the Cross-De Chatillon !

[He dies (The Curtain falls.)




“ TAE merits of the Siege of Valencia are more of a descriptive than of a strictly dramatic kind ; and abounding as it does with fine passages of narrative beauty, and with striking scenes and situations, it is not only not adapted for representation, but, on the contrary, the characters are developed by painting much more than by incident. Withal, it wants unity and entireness, and in several places is not only rhetorical but diffuse.

“ From the previous writings of the same author, and until the appearance of the Vespers of Palermo, it seemed to be the prevalent opinion of critics, that the genius of Mrs Hemans was not of a dramatic cast—that it expatiated too much in the development of sentiment, too much in the luxuriancy of description, to be ever brought under the trammels essentially necessary for the success of scenic dialogue.

“The merits of the Vespers are great, and bave been acknowledged to be so, not only by the highest of contemporary literary authorities, but by the still more unequivocal testimony of theatrical applause. What' has been, has been,' and we wish not to detract one iota from praise so fairly earned ; but we must candidly confess, that before the perusal of De Chatillon (although that poem is probably not quite in the state in which it would have been submitted to the world by its writer), we were somewhat infected with the prevailing opinion, that the most successful path of Mrs Hemans did not lead her towards the drama. Our opinion on this subject is,

however, now much altered ; and we hesitate not to say, after minutely considering the characters of Rainier-so skilfully acted on, now by fraternal love, and now by public duty-and of Aymer and Moraima, placed in situations where inclination is opposed to principle—that, by the cultivation of this species of composition, had health and prolonged years been the fate of the author of De Chatillon, that tragedy, noble as it is, which must now be placed at the head of her dramatic efforts, would in all probability have been even surpassed in excellence by ulterior efforts.

“ Mrs Hemans had at length struck the proper keys. It is quite evident that she had succeeded in imbibing new and more severe ideas of this class of compositions. She had passed from the narrative into what has been conventionally termed the dramatic poem-from the Historic Scenes, to Sebastian and the Siege of Valencia; but the Vespers of Palermo and De Chatillon can alone be said to be her legitimate dramas.

“ The last, however, must be ranked first by many degrees of comparison. Without stripping her language of that richness and poetic beauty so characteristic of her genius, or condescending in a single passage to the mean baldness, so commonly mistaken by many modern writers for the stage as essentially necessary to the truth of dialogue, she has, in this attempt, preserved adherence to reality amid scenes allied with romance — brevity, and effect in situations strongly alluring to amplification; and in her delineation of some of the strongest, as well as the finest emotions of the heart, there is exhibited a knowledge of nature's workings, at once minute, faithful, and affecting.”—MS. Critique by A.

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