Who gave to thee that life he might have taken?
That life which thou so rashly didst expose
To aim at his? Oh, this is horrible!

De Mon. Ha! thou hast heard it, then !
world,

But most of all from thee, I thought it hid.

From all the

Jane. I heard a secret whisper, and resolved Upon the instant to return to thee.

Didst thou receive my letter?

De Mon. I did! I did! 'Twas that which drove me hither.

I could not bear to meet thine eye again.

Jane. Alas! that, tempted by a sister's tears,
I ever left thy house! These few past months,
These absent months, have brought us all this woe.
Had I remained with thee, it had not been.
And yet, methinks, it should not move you thus.
You dared him to the field; both bravely fought;
He, more adroit, disarmed you; courteously
Returned the forfeit sword, which, so returned,
You did refuse to use against him more;

And then, as says report, you parted friends.

De Mon. When he disarmed this cursed, this worthless

hand

Of its most worthless weapon, he but spared

From devilish pride, which now derives a bliss
In seeing me thus fettered, shamed, subjected
With the vile favour of his poor forbearance;
Whilst he securely sits with gibing brow,
And basely baits me like a muzzled cur,
Who cannot turn again.

Until that day, till that accursed aay,

I knew not half the torment of this hell

Which burns within my breast. Heaven's lightnings blast

him!

Jane. Oh, this is horrible! Forbear, forbear!
Lest Heaven's vengeance light upon thy head
For this most impious wish.

De Mon. Then let it light.

Torments more fell than I have known already

It cannot send. To be annihilated,

What all men shrink from; to be dust, be nothing,

Were bliss to me, compared to what I am!

Jane. Oh! wouldst thou kill me with these dreadful

words?

De Mon. Let me but once upon his ruin look,

Then close mine eyes forever!

Ha! how is this? Thou'rt ill; thou'rt very pale;
What have I done to thee?

Alas! alas!

I meant not to distress thee-O my sister!

Jane. I cannot now speak to thee.

De Mon. I have killed thee.

Turn, turn thee not away! Look on me still!
Oh! droop not thus, my life, my pride, my sister!
Look on me yet again.

Jane. Thou, too, De Montfort,

In better days wast wont to be my pride.

De Mon. I am a wretch, most wretched in myself, And still more wretched in the pain I give.

O curse that villain, that detested villain!

He has spread misery o'er my fated life;
He will undo us all.

Jane. I've held my warfare through a troubled world, And borne with steady mind my share of ill;

For then the helpmate of my toil wast thou.
But now the wane of life comes darkly on,

And hideous passion tears thee from my heart,
Blasting thy worth. I cannot strive with this.
De Mon. What shall I do?

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

REMORSE.

The

OR

ISIDORE

DON ALVAR and DON ORDONIO, Sons of the MARQUIS VALDEZ, equally love DONNA TERESA, an orphan Heiress, brought up by VALDEZ. Lady returns the love of DON ALVAR, and they are betrothed. DONIO, instigated by jealousy, conspires against his Brother's life. He employs ISIDORE, a Morisco Chieftain, professing Christianity, to assassinate DON ALVAR, on his return from the Belgic Wars. and his Companions attack DoN ALVAR, but are overpowered by the bravery of their intended Victim, who learns from ISIDORE that DONNA TERESA has proved false to him, and is about to marry ORDONIO. "Wearied with life," he returns to the Wars, is wounded in battle, and taken Prisoner. After an absence of six years, he returns to his own Country, and in the disguise of a Moorish Necromancer is found by ORDONIO, who engages him to use his necromantic art to raise the Spirit of ALVAR before TERESA, who, true to her vows to her supposed dead Lover, refuses the proffered hand of ORDONIO. ALVAR consents, his only desire being that—

"Remorse might fasten on his brother's breast,"

the punishment that cleanses hearts."

SCENE-A Hall of Armory, with an Altar at the back of the Stage. Soft Music from an instrument of glass or steel. VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered.

Ord. This was too melancholy, father.
Vald. Nay,

My Alvar loved sad music from a child.
Once he was lost, and after weary search
We found him in an open place in the wood,
To which spot he had followed a blind boy,
Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore

Some strangely moving notes; and these, he said,
Were taught him in a dream.

Him we first saw

Stretched on the broad top of a sunny

heath-bank:

And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep,
His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleased me
To mark how he had fastened round the pipe
A silver toy his grandam had late given him.
Methinks I see him now as he then looked-
Even so! He had outgrown his infant dress,
Yet still he wore it.

Alv. My tears must not flow!

I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!

Enter TERESA and Attendants.

Ter. Lord Valdez, you have asked my presence here,
And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me)
My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery.

Ord. Believe you, then, no preternatural influence ?
Believe you not that spirits throng around us?
Ter. Say rather that I have imagined it
A possible thing: and it has soothed my soul
As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me
To traffic with the black and frenzied hope

That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.

[TO ALVAR.] Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you here On such employment! With far other thoughts

I left you.

Ord. [Aside.] Ha! he has been tampering with her! Alv. O high-souled maiden! and more dear to me Than suits the stranger's name!

swear to thee

I will uncover all concealèd guilt.

Doubt, but decide not! Stand ye from the altar.

[Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scene. Alv. With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm

I call up the departed!

Soul of Alvar!

Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell:
So may the gates of Paradise, unbarred,

Cease thy swift toils! Since haply thou art one
Of that innumerable
company

Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow,
Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion,
With noise too vast and constant to be heard:
Fitliest unheard! For oh, ye numberless
And rapid travellers! what ear unstunned,
What sense unmaddened, might bear up against
The rushing of your congregated wings?
Even now your living wheel turns o'er

my head!

[Music.]

[Music expressive of the movements and images
that follow.]

Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desert sands,
That roar and whiten like a burst of waters,
A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion
To the parched caravan that roams by night!
And ye build up on the becalmèd waves
That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven
Stands vast, and moves in blackness! Ye, too, split
The ice-mount! and with fragments many and huge