Glass ^rL_.' 
 
 Book J._ 
 
 1^4-/ 
 
XiATS OF XiXaXSUBS. 
 
 THE j^ :•:. u 
 
 A BRUMATIC POEM. 
 
 AND 
 
 FUGITIVE OFFERINGS IN VERSE, 
 
 *^Ne che poco vi dia, da imputar sono; 
 ** Che quanto, vi posso dar, tutto vi dono." 
 
 Orlando FuriOio' 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PBINTJED BY JESPER HARDING- 
 
 1825 
 

 <;Ui>i>4 
 
Where will our oflferings be more kindly re- 
 ceived than by those who have soothed our wan- 
 derings and cherished the early spark, with the 
 sweetest guerdon, the praise of those we love ? 
 
 Let the same generous partiality be extended 
 to the offspring, which hath blessed its young pa- 
 rents, and we may safely dedicate to " Two of 
 a family" the first fruits of the trees which have 
 blossomed in their smiles. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 BY A FRIEND. 
 
 In earlier days it was the muse's task 
 To strip from hated vice its gilded mask ; 
 With coarse broad humour to assail the crowd, 
 With keener strokes of satire sting the proud. 
 Till even Folly shrunk, abashed to see 
 Herself in all her true defonnity. 
 Now times are changed, the muse no more may seek 
 To call a blush on guilty Pleasure's cheek, 
 Poldly he stands, and her rebuke defies. 
 For if she lop one crime, a thousand rise. 
 Her only aim must now be to impart 
 A few short hours of peace, and wean the heart 
 From sights and scenes of real wo, to dwell 
 On fictions that, perhaps, may paint too well 
 The griefs that make this blooming world a hell. 
 To-night she opens not the classic page 
 Of lii story — the Roman's iron age. 
 As erst to our young bard — 'tis a sad tale 
 Of woman proud, yetemng — fair, yet frail , 
 Of wayward man, who even while he kills. 
 Would die himself to spare the blood he spills ; 
 Of Love, that found a bower all gay and bright, 
 And left on it his never-changing blight ; 
 Of Love, that with his desolating power. 
 Blasted the hopes of many a happy hour ; 
 Of Love, deep-dwelling, passionate, that gave 
 His only lasting boon — ah early grave ; 
 Of stern Revenge, whose hopelessness ne'er knew, 
 A joy, save in the pangs of him he slew; 
 Nay, who could dare to smile, and madly trace 
 A5 
 
DRAMATIS PE&SONJB. 
 
 Duke Azo. 
 
 GoNSALVO. 
 
 Gheraldi. 
 
 LUDOVICO. 
 
 COSTANZO. 
 
 ElWRICO. 
 
 Anselmo. 
 
 Ugo. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Romilda. 
 
 Gaetano. 
 
 
 SEiNATORs, Conspirators, Guards and Attendant? 
 
 *ll^ 
 
THE 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 £ room in Gheraldi's House. ("Enter Gheraldt, reading. J 
 
 Gheral. ** The soldiery is won, and only wait 
 Jl leader to their purpose. Thus revenge 
 And great ambition triumph. More to say 
 Were perilous, your wisdom wiU suggest 
 Jl bright result — Anselmo." 
 My hand already grasps the diadem, 
 And my brow swells within its magic wreath ; 
 Who would not be a monarch? Even the thought 
 Can bid these shrivelled veins be full again. 
 And nerve this aged ann once more to deeds 
 That common valour shrinks from — ^they would have 
 A leader! Is Gheraldi then forgot ; 
 "Why be it so — until proud Este bows 
 Before that name ennobled by a crown, 
 And sues unto her monarch. They shall have 
 A leader to their hearts, and that full soon; 
 Yea, to thy heart Lord Azo. Ho! f Enter Ugo.J 
 
 Ugo. My Lord, 
 
 Thy errand is performed; Costanzo heard 
 From me, the story of his wrongs. 
 
 Gheral. Aye! well. 
 
 How brooked he the recital? will he yield 
 An ear to my dispatches ? Said you aught 
 Of vengeance and rebellion^ 
 
i2 Italian Hushand, 
 
 Ugo, Tuat from thee, 
 
 I deemed would bear more weight He only knows 
 Romilda is with Azo. The extent 
 Of all his injury-, I did not speak. 
 
 Gheral. What, feared you siri* 
 
 Ugo. The lig-htning of his eye, 
 
 Even when I said *' his wife," the flame burst forth. 
 And one convulsive throe spoke danger in liim. 
 
 Gheral. By heaven ! our bark rides on a prosperous sea^ 
 And fortune fans her pennons; I will haste 
 To see the Duke and hu'e him to his ruin. 
 The stake we play for is a mig-hty one, 
 And so must be the hazard We shall try 
 How firmly sits our king upon his throne, f Exeunt, J 
 
 A room in the palace of Costanzo, who is discovered uith 
 his children. 
 
 Costanzo. Leave me, my children. I have heard of men 
 Who would not stop at murder for this cause. 
 Which is the cause of honour, yet my soul 
 Shrinks from that last irrevocable act. 
 And starts at regicide. The deed hath been 
 A dark and damning — yet I am not quite 
 The thing I loath to think on. Should it be — 
 Oh! that the thought would blast them; to exchange 
 A thousand years of spotless heraldry. 
 Of fame, so many ages, to become 
 The scorn of slaves, the mark for every knave, 
 Dishonoured as myself, to scrawl his jest 
 Of — faugh — and my unconscious little ones, 
 Alust ye too suffer^ must ye be the last 
 Of our once noble race, and yet the first 
 To bear the scorn of hissing multitudes, 
 
 A nation's jeers, and if there be revenge 
 
 On earth I'll not endure it! 
 
 Children. Father, say. 
 
 Where is our mother? 
 
 Costanzo. Oh! ye have no mother, 
 
 jVIy wife should be your mother, and my wife 
 
Ttalian Husharid. l3 
 
 is nought. Oh! torture, am I then beti'ayed 
 
 To misery so deep — arise, ye fiends! 
 
 I do not bid ye curse the wanton, nor, 
 
 No, nor her paramour ^ I do not ask 
 
 That you should fix your toi-turing* fangs on them. 
 
 And sting them into madness, they have me! 
 
 No, on tliis head be all your power enforced! 
 
 Drive furies from my breast, each thought of mercy ! 
 
 Murder and rapine fill this swelling heart, 
 
 Remorseless, that I may perform such deeds 
 
 As Heaven would weep to look on! Traiterous harlot! 
 
 Here, on this breast that beat so fondly for her, 
 
 That cherished every look so jealously 
 
 'Twas pain that aught should gaze upon those charms, 
 
 Save these fond doting eyes, and yet so proud. 
 
 So confident in her — upon this breast 
 
 To brand, oh, misery ! forevermore. 
 
 The mark, the torturing stamp of Infamv! 
 
 Children. Father! 
 
 Costanzo. Alas, ye little innocents. 
 
 Ye have no father more, the deed is doing, 
 Which makes ye ahen to my blood, your names 
 A blot among our nobles ; yet ye are 
 My children, and 1 — I will try to love ye — 
 Spite of the demon here that calls ye — hold — 
 Cursed be the tongue that utters it, forever. 
 Ye are my offspring, pledges of my love, 
 Blood of Costanzo's blood, and born like him 
 To shame, a heritage of infamy. (^ Enter Gheraldl.J 
 
 Gheral, Costanzo. 
 
 Costan. Tell me is my — speak — at once. 
 No faltering, speak — my wife— my wife — my wife* 
 
 Gheral. The king — 
 
 Costan. My wife — 
 
 Gheral. Is in Duke Azo's palace! 
 
 Costan. Duke Azo's palace — why ^ — what does she 
 there !* 
 But wherefore do I ask: ere now the crowd 
 Of idle striplings, and unmannered slaves, 
 That throng the corners of our sti-eets, to con 
 B 
 
14 Italian Husband, 
 
 Their tales of scandal o'er, their busy mischief. 
 
 Have buzzed the nauseous secret — ^you are come then. 
 
 Sent by the Duke — Duke Azo to his pandar. 
 
 To offer terms, the recompense of shame. 
 
 The composition for a wife's dishonour? 
 
 Well sir, what says your master? speak! 
 
 GheraL I blame not 
 
 Thine anger, he who has been wronged as thou hastj 
 May, to excuse his passion, plead his wrong". 
 Indeed, my lord, I pity thee! 
 
 Costanzo. The time 
 
 Has been, Gheraldi, when for such a word, 
 (And thou dost know it well, nor wouldst have dared 
 To use it thus) — I had — no matter — now 
 'Tis well that thou dost pity me, for men. 
 Men will but scorn me ; yet there is a way. 
 And I will find it ere my memory lose 
 One thought of my dishonour, to efface 
 "With blood, the stain that he has cast on me. 
 I do remember, on a summer's eve. 
 When I had saved at peril of my own — 
 The life of Azo. — Mark, this same Duke Azo — 
 From the devouring jaws, that threatened death. 
 Of a ferocious boar; he folded me 
 Close to his breast, and thanked me. ** Thou hast 
 
 saved," 
 He said, '' thy sovereign's life; the time may come 
 When thou shalt need a recompense — demand it: 
 Or let me but anticipate thy wish; 
 If I deny thee, may that dagger's point. 
 That, driven by thy resolute hand, has saved 
 My hfe, take back the gift." He may have cause 
 To think, ere I have done with him, of this. 
 It was an honest wish, and I may hve 
 E'en to the letter to fulfil it. Come, 
 Time presses, and my injured honour calls 
 Revenge, revenge. Oh, what a word is that 
 To heal the deepest wounds. Now, by yon Heaven 
 But thou art one — his parasite, his slave; 
 Why speak to thee of vengeance? Fly, disclose, 
 
Italian Husband, 15 
 
 Like a most faithful servant, to thy prince, 
 Who will reward, as he has mine, thy service. 
 The settled hate I bear him. 
 
 Ghcral. Nay, you wrong me; 
 
 I have a sense as keen, my Lord, as thine, 
 Of what from man to man is due, nor own I 
 Aught that can bind me to a master's crimes. 
 I will not say I love Duke Azo less 
 Than thee, but I do love his honour more. 
 More than his life, nor own I the distinction 
 Which subtle knaves, to screen themselves, have drawn 
 Between the man who steals his neighbour's purse. 
 Which he nor wants, nor heeds, and him who steals 
 (That wliich can never be restored again,) 
 The husband's spotless honour; 'tis a web 
 Of so nice texture, that but breathe upon it 
 Suspicion only, not the real stain, 
 It cannot find again its pristine whiteness. 
 
 Costanzo. Furies and hell ! I know it, why remind me 
 That I have lost the jewel of my soul, 
 And ne'er must hope — 'tis false — ^the tyrant's blood 
 Will make all clean again. Oh! thou shalt see 
 How deep an injured husband's curse can strike. 
 
 Gherdl. You would not murder him } 
 
 Costanzo. Aye, that's the word! 
 
 Not murder him? Why, I would have his heart! 
 I would but say, my wife ! and that should drown 
 His coward cry for mercy. I would tear. 
 Rip up each arteiy, bare every vein. 
 And show the world the inside of a king. 
 Not murder him! — no! I will sacrifice him 
 Upon the violated shrine of truth. 
 
 GheraL Hold yet. 
 
 Costan. Who steps between me and my vengeance^ 
 
 GheraL He who would aid thy vengeance — he whose 
 wrongs 
 Have fitted him for murder, he whose woes. 
 Caused by the tyrant's unrelenting hand. 
 Have placed him at thy side, a fit companion 
 In all that's bloody: he that having lost 
 
16 Italian Husband. 
 
 His son, the only solace of his days. 
 Relies upon himself alone for veng-eance. 
 Who loses nought in losing- but himself. 
 And hath nougiit else to lose. 
 
 Costan. Aye! I remember ? 
 
 I had forg-otten — many years are past 
 Thy son was slain by order of the Duke, 
 For some hig-h crime. 
 
 Gheral But did I love him less? 
 
 Costan. Why then thy soul is all athirst hke mine, 
 And pants for blood — thine eyes like mine could watch. 
 His dying agonies — thy ears drink in 
 His groans with ecstacy — thy feet could spurn 
 And mock him in his torment — could' st do this, 
 
 Gheral. Yea, on my soul. 
 
 Costan. Then on my soul, Gheraldi^ 
 
 Thou art a fiend, more welcome to my ^rms 
 Than were an arch-angelic form of heaven! 
 Let me embrace thee : are we not a pair 
 Of precious traitors? 
 
 Gheral. Traitors — how my Lord ?* 
 
 ^Tis treason when we owe allegiance. 
 To plot against a king whose confidence 
 Relies upon our faith : but do we owe, 
 Or you, or I, allegiance to this Duke ? 
 
 Costan. I would not have it otherwise; the world 
 Shall say hereafter when it hears of this 
 W^hich we will do, (and it will make a sound 
 To reach posterity's remotest ears) 
 That we were men not callous to all crime. 
 But wrought by wrongs which patience could not brook> 
 Beyond endumnce — it shall be a lesson 
 For kings to learn, the vilest worm will turn 
 If trodden on too roughly — we will break 
 The spell, Gheraldi, which enshrouds the name 
 Of kings — they think, forsooth, they honour us 
 By — but the time is apt, I'll do it now 
 Even in the bed of prostitution! 
 
 Gheral You will but mar vour fortune ! 
 
Italian HushaiuL. Vt 
 
 Costan. Fortune! fortune! 
 
 Mine is a surer aim ! 
 
 Gheral. {giving Ansdmo's letter) Read there a better! 
 
 Costan, (reads) Ere now these men have marched 
 to victory 
 Beneath Costanzo's guidance — 
 
 Gheral, And again, 
 
 Beneath thy banner they^ shall conquer yet. 
 
 Costan. No, never! fame and honour were the spells 
 That maiPd Costanzo — 
 
 Gheral. Oh I had forgotten! 
 
 The monkish virtues of & peaceful year 
 Have stamp'd revenge a crime — we should forgive 
 Our enemies — we hear tkat from our mothers! 
 
 Costan. Hear what? 
 
 Gheral. Forbearance, fifty years are pass'd 
 Since I have heard the precept — treasure it 
 Costanzo — I'm too old to learn it now! 
 But hear the errand I was sent to tell. 
 The Duke hath wronged, and still doth tremble at thce> 
 ** Go" he commanded me, " and bid Costanzo 
 Into my presence, I have rank for liim. 
 And work that he delights in.'' 
 
 Costan. Ravisher, 
 
 And did he tliink! 
 
 Gheral. Nay, hear me — "thou," he said, 
 
 *' Must aid me to subdue the lofty spirit 
 Which well I know he bears, and will break forth 
 When he shall heai' how I have injured liim. 
 Be thine the task to reconcile him — say 
 How many have been glad to mend their fortunes 
 By their wife's beauty, and their prince's favour. 
 Wliat more thy wisdom shall suggest, advise. 
 Be thou my friend," this said he, wrung my hand, 
 And so we parted. 
 
 Costan. Shall I strangle him! 
 
 Gheral. Nay, it were madness to approach liim yet; 
 With any hostile purpose; he expects, 
 And waits thy fur}-^ — Lull his fears to rest, 
 Forget thv injury — accept his offer 
 B2 
 
18 Italian Husband, 
 
 Whate'er it be— receive thou tlie command 
 
 He wills — and lead against the tyrant's self 
 
 His armed host of satellites — think'st thou 
 
 They have forgotten, when the Florentine 
 
 Borne with his thrice ten thousand to the death 
 
 By them and thee was conquer'c? hath the Duke." 
 
 A charm like that to warm them* hath the Duke, 
 
 A word like that to herald them to glory ? 
 
 An arm like thine to lead to victory ? 
 
 Be ruled by me and thou shalt y^t receive 
 
 A great revenge — 
 
 Costan. We will attend his bidding. 
 
 I will not spring on him, and yet, Gheraldi, 
 These hands have done less grateful execution. 
 
 f Exeunt. J 
 
 SCENE lit. 
 
 Jl Hall in the Duke's palace, — The Bulte and Romilda: 
 Duke. I shall become an infidel for thee 
 Thou beauteous tempter; when I gaze upon 
 Those heavenly orbs, where wanton Cupids sport, 
 And laughing loves run frolic, I abjure 
 My foiTner faith, become a very heathen. 
 And worship a plurality of Gods. 
 
 Romilda. My Lord! when I deserted (which forgive,' 
 Merciful Heaven) the paths of innocence. 
 And forfeited the name of wife, I thought 
 Thus to myself; the woman who doth love, 
 (As where is she who hath a heart and doth not) 
 All cold formality, all prudent fears 
 Should lay aside, and even hold her honour 
 Dependant on the will of him she loves! 
 
 IJuke. Now whither does this tend, Romilda"' 
 Romil Oh I 
 
 I know I am become tlie veriest slave 
 That waits your pleasure; yet, my lord, remember 
 What I have done to place me so beneath 
 The lowest of your servants, is a cause 
 Why you should love and cherish me the. more. 
 Duke. Nay, all shall love, all honour thee, thou art 
 
Italian Husband. 19 
 
 Xke mistress of my soul, and who shall dare 
 Deny thee homag'e? 
 
 Romil. Therefore see, my lord, 
 
 That thou, when sated passion yields her empire, 
 Cast me not off the seorn of thy dependants: 
 For let thy favour leave me, and the world 
 "Will soon forg-et the cause, and but remember 
 How guilty I have been — I shall deserve 
 Trom all, save thee, contempt. 
 
 Duke. I swear by Heaven! 
 
 Romil. Nay, swear not, only say that thou wilt love, 
 Love, as thou didst but yesterday, Romilda, 
 And I will ask no other happiness: 
 The world may scorn, so thou but look on me 
 "With eyes of pity. 
 
 Duke. By my crown I promise. 
 
 And by thy dearer love, that thou shalt reign 
 Sole empress of my bosom I am not, 
 I trust, a man in nature's common mould. 
 So formed of each fop's holiday materials, 
 "Whose soul, incapable of love, but knows 
 The gratifying of a sensual wish. 
 Nor feels the true enjoyment, where the heart 
 Clasps the true object of its adoration - 
 Indifferent to all the world beside; 
 No! where I love, I love but once, and there 
 I love forever. 
 
 Romil. Would you have me deem 
 
 Myself that envied one, oh give me then, 
 My lord, one promise more — 
 
 Duke. What canst thou wish 
 
 That I will not accord thee — ask me for 
 My hfe, my throne, and I will give them to thee. 
 
 Romil I will not put thee to so hard a trial; 
 But I conjure thee by thy promised love. 
 When he (whom more I dare not call my husband) 
 Shall call thee to account, (for well I know 
 His generous spirit will disdain the wrong, 
 "Which we — alas! that I might say which you. 
 Have d(me him) should he chance but to forget 
 
20 Italian Husband. 
 
 That reverence which thy great state demands, 
 And his allegiance owes to princeh' rank, 
 Thou wilt remember, deep has been the stab 
 That thou hast made within his manly breast, 
 And may call forth some anger — bear with liim 
 But for my sake, who once was proud to call 
 (And happy then) myself Costanzo's wife. 
 Say, wilt thou promise me ? 
 
 Duke. You do me wrong" 
 
 Romilda, in the entreaty; my own heart 
 Had taught melso much sufferance. 
 
 Romil., Then I'm happy! 
 For I did dread some dark catastrophe 
 To this so blac?| beginning— but my hopea 
 Look forward to a brighter summer now. 
 And but for one thing 
 
 Duke. / If my sceptre's power 
 
 Can purchase it — 
 
 Romil. It is beyond thy pov/er. 
 
 What should a mother want my lord; her childi'cn — 
 And would a father yield them ? 
 
 Duke. Yes, to thee! 
 
 Or I will wrest them — 
 
 Romil. Nay, no violence! 
 
 Add not another crime — the catalogue 
 Is great enough already — we have need 
 Of all good men's good wishes; do not call 
 A father's ciu'se, a husband's is too heavy, 
 On tliis devoted, and too guilty head. 
 Beware, my lord, of miurder. 
 
 Duke . H o w — of murder I 
 
 Romil. If thou dost lift tliy hand, to force from him 
 His cliildren, thou wilt wake Costanzo's wrath. 
 And mui'der, like an ugly fiend, will follow 
 With giant steps where passion leads the way. 
 
 Duke. Thy will in all shall conquer — if for thee 
 I woidd endure the wrath of such a man 
 As I do know Costanzo — if for thee. 
 Front faction and its demagogues, in all 
 Their most terrific aspects, shall I not, 
 
 t? 
 
Italian Husband. '21 
 
 For thee, extend the oHve branch of love 
 And friendship to Costanzo. Would to heaven 
 Thou hadst not been his wife, f Enter a servant. J 
 
 Servant. My Lord, f Whispers the Duke. J 
 ' Duke. Romilda! most important matter 
 
 Demands my presence ; think of me, my love. 
 Till I return, and may the halcyon smile 
 Of peace, be on, and with thee — fare thee well. fExit^ 
 
 Romil. Farewell, and peace be with me — oh my AzO;, 
 Thou only art my peace: the woman who 
 Hath fallen, lives only in the heart of him 
 Who hath undone her — in his arms alone 
 She may be happy, or at least forget 
 Awhile remorse; but leave me not to think! 
 Thought — thought is hoiTor — peace remain with me? 
 Nay, never think that peace can enter there, 
 When innocence has ceased to be an inmate. 
 Ye bright days of my childhood where are ye! 
 Where are ye fled ye hours of happiness. 
 When anxious love grew happy at my smile, 
 And virtue owned the conquest! out alas. 
 Conscience, thou must not drive me there, lest I 
 See what would make me mad; now stead of love. 
 Of honourable love, consuming lust 
 Will sue; nay, will not sue, but rudely snatch 
 Those favours which I dare not to deny, 
 Nor yet dare die according. fExit Romilda, and the cur-^ 
 
 tain drops. J 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 Before the Duke^s Palace. Enter Gheraldi. 
 
 Gheral. Mischief's afoot, and vengeance leads the way ;' 
 Look from thy hollow sepulchre, and see, 
 My son, thy father brings the promised victim: 
 Strike now Cos^nzo, but so deep as I 
 
22 Italian Husband, 
 
 Will give thee means, and thou shalt have no cause 
 
 To weep the triumph of tliine enemy. 
 
 I will not trust thee tho', thy crying" wrongs 
 
 May urge too hastily the blow; my age. 
 
 Tempered by long and sad experience. 
 
 Joined to thy brave impetuosity. 
 
 Will rule it wisely; opportunity 
 
 The mother is of action — hah, he comes. 
 
 fEntn Costanzom 
 
 Costan, Whether 'twere best to spring upon his tliroal^ 
 And strangle him, and so complete at once, 
 By a brave blow, the work : yet then she lives 
 To sting me to remembrance ; she must die. 
 Yes, by my children's sacred blood, I swear. 
 The sole remaining rehc of oui' house. 
 Not spotted by dishonour. 
 
 Gheral. Hold, rash man! 
 
 Is this thy covenanted faith to me ? 
 What — wouldst thou hunt the tiger in his den? 
 
 Costan, Aye ! Lucifer, (for vengeance) in liis halls 
 Of sulphurous fire. 
 
 Ghei^al Thou wilt not — be advised? 
 
 Costan. Not from my steadfast purpose, 1 v/ould have 
 Revenge, and such revenge as never yet 
 The earth has dared to whisper to the stars: 
 Not blood, but carnage, slaughter — and not death. 
 His heart — 
 
 Gheral. And think'st thou in his hrJls of pride» 
 SuiTounded by his satellites, the host 
 Of leeches that but hveupon his life. 
 Feed on his bount}^, and exist alone 
 On his existence, (such are all the friends 
 That princes have) the way will be secure 
 To Azo's heart? 
 
 Costan. What care I if they hew me 
 
 To pieces with theu- swords^ he's lived enough. 
 Aye, and too long', who hath survived his honour. 
 Could I die better, than in mortal fight 
 Closed with mine enemy — away — the thought 
 Hath roused my tardy spirit — off, I say,# 
 
Italian Husband, 23 
 
 By heaven you shall not thwart me. 
 
 GheraL Madman — fool. 
 
 Costan, Madman! Gheraldi, what hath made me mad? 
 That which had made another curse the hour 
 That g'ave him birth to infamy like mine. 
 I would curse too, but man's availeth not 
 To blast eternally; then wherefore ciu*se. 
 Yes, I am mad, and it is well, else I 
 Should shut the g-ates of mercy on myself. 
 Doing" what I shall do — yes, I am mad 
 To bear the wound that festers at my heait. 
 Possessing" what would cure it See, Gheraldi, 
 This little instrument has all the skill, 
 
 f Showing a dagger. J 
 Which Esculapius had; it is a cure 
 Infallible for every ill: this breast 
 May feel its power full soon. 
 
 GheraL And let him live. 
 
 The Duke that hath betrayed your happiness. 
 And robbed you of your honour? 
 
 Costan. Let him live! \ 
 
 Aye! send him where his life shall last forever! 
 Follow, and see how I will crash this tyrant. 
 Despite the g-odlike majesty of kings. 
 That awes rebellion. Follow, I will prove 
 This high prerogative, and if it stand 
 My dagger's point — why, then 'tis tiTie: come, follow. 
 
 GheraL To thee, Costanzo, have I yielded up 
 The noble blow w^hich should be mine alone. 
 Because I honoured, loved, and pitied thee. 
 
 My wrong, too, might be satisfied with blood, 
 4powever shed, so it were Azo's ; thine 
 
 Demands it from thy hands, I acquiesce. 
 
 But by the cherished hope of my revenge, 
 
 "Rather than lose it, thus within my grasp, 
 
 By thy ungoverned passion, I will fly, 
 
 Inform the Duke of thy designs; leave thee 
 
 To perish basely, and fulfil myself 
 
 The noble purpose of my soul hereafter. 
 
 Costan. Thou dar'st as well convey the trembling fox 
 
2^ IlaUan Husband: 
 
 Into the Lion's den> thyself to feed 
 
 The hungry monster: thou would'st be as safe* 
 
 Thou dar'st not. 
 
 Gkeral, Sir. you know not what I dare; 
 
 I dare do any thing but tamely lose 
 A great revenge. 
 
 Costan. Nay, bear with me, Gheraldi! 
 
 I will be ruled by thee, so I but reap 
 The bloody harvest of my hopes. 
 
 Gheral. I swear 
 
 You shall have glorious opportunity 
 Hereafter for the deed. 
 
 Costan. Enough— now come: 
 
 Oh, you shall wonder: I will flatter him. 
 Screw every nerve to play the hypocrite. 
 And feign a most abandoned humbleness — 
 In all things I will be a monument 
 Of great forbearance : I will teach my eye 
 To be an abject sycophant, my tongue 
 To lie 
 
 Gheral. And canst thou hope to govern then. 
 In presence of the Duke, that passion which 
 Bursts from thy lips e'en now. 
 
 Costan. See, I am calm — 
 
 Thus will I go before the Duke, and thus 
 With liigh unfaltering step approach the throne. 
 The fountain of dishonour. I will learn 
 To hear him speak, ere look on him, and that, too^ 
 When custom shall permit me, he shall see 
 I know my duty better than deny him 
 My house'' s freedom — I will cheat liim nobly, f Exeunt, 3 
 
 w 
 
 Scene changes io the Council Hall,- the Duke and Sena- 
 tors discovered. , ' 
 Duke. My Lords! I would not at a tljae like this 
 Be wanting to your uses; ye have heard 
 How that for some, to me unknown event. 
 My people have, against the awful rights 
 Of kings, revolted from me^ I have sought 
 Throrigh all my realilVsg^i^iero skilled in arms. 
 To oppose the factious rebels, and have found 
 
Italian Sushand, 25 
 
 None worthier than Costanzo: all confess 
 His prowess, and his battles bear him witness, 
 Of skill and valour fitted for the task. 
 
 f Enter Gheraldi.J 
 
 f^heral. My Lord! 
 
 Duke. Gheraldi, hath Costanzo heard 
 
 Our pleasure ? 
 
 Gheral. He attends! 
 
 Duke. Then bid him enter. 
 
 f Enter Costanzo. J 
 
 Gheral. Now arm him patience with thy triple shield. 
 Lest he destroy liimself, and me — he comes. 
 
 Duke. Costanzo! 
 
 Costan. Well, I hear thee — now I'll do it! 
 
 Gheral. What wouldst thou do ? 
 
 Costan. Nay, nothing* — I am here; 
 
 What is your sovereign pleasure ? 
 
 Duke. Good Costanzo! 
 
 The heavens determined we should know how vast 
 Was the necessity of having thee, 
 The guardian of our crown, have sent new wars; 
 In which extremity we call on thee. 
 As heretofore, to stand our champion : say. 
 The choice is freely thine, wilt thou accept 
 The office? 
 
 Costan. Oh, my prince, what have I done 
 To claim this mighty honour — fight for thee ! 
 For thee — why I would die for thee, thou knowest, 
 And count it happiness. But answer me, 
 My lord, one question: When a man doth swear 
 By that which hath no being, as, should I 
 Now offer up unto a heathen God 
 A solemn vow, or should I pledge an oath 
 To any labour, by the truth of Judas, 
 Or any thing that is not, were my oath 
 Irrevocable, or my conscience bound 
 To the performance? 
 
 Duke. , No! for that is false 
 
 By \/hich thou didst engage thyself 
 
 Costan. Then here 
 
 C 
 
26 Italian Husband, 
 
 Before thy throne I swear, by that which thou 
 Dost know most dear to me, my house's honour. 
 To serve thee faithfully. I have him now. 
 
 Duke* What need of any oath? I doubt thee not! 
 
 Costan. You act unwisely then — doubt every one- 
 Man is but man, and man was bom to sin. 
 And he will fawn, caress, and slay you after. 
 Trust none, my Lord, they are unworthy all: 
 And who rehes upon them puts a tooth 
 Into his jaws who had been fangless else, 
 To sting" him at liis pleasure. By my soul. 
 Had I some valued son, or cherished brother, 
 As safely would I guard myself from them 
 As I would shun the slippery adder's path. 
 When he doth bask him in the noonday sub, 
 And suck new venom. 
 
 Gheral. Whither does this tend? 
 
 Duke. The breast, Costanzo, that is free from giiilt. 
 Is free from all suspicion; I would open 
 My palace gates at night, and to the world 
 Aloud proclaim the place of my repose. 
 Nor need another guard than that I carry 
 Ever within my bosom. It may be 
 That I have erred; and what of that: all men 
 May do so : passion is an evil master. 
 My heart doth tell me, tho', as should my deeds 
 Assure whom I thro' weakness may have wronged. 
 That still I love the injured, and am ready 
 To do that justice on myself which I — 
 Demanded, would inflict upon another. 
 I may have need of pardon, and I bend 
 For it. I have no cause of fear, 
 And cannot fear without it ! 
 
 Costan. But temptation, 
 
 Temptation's dangerous, 'twere best not trust 
 E'en me, more than you can recall the trust; 
 Altho', my lord, I think you have had proof 
 Costanzo is most honest. 
 
 Duke. When I doubt thee 
 
 I shall deserve thine anger. 
 
Italian Husband. 27 
 
 Codmi, Yet, my lord. 
 
 For I will speak to thee with openness, 
 As I would question with my inmost soul, 
 Holding with it communion — thou shalt sec 
 At least Costanzo is no hidden foe. 
 
 Duke. No foe at all I hope! 
 
 Costan, Why, thou shalt see. 
 
 Whether I am, and whether I have cause. 
 As this world goes, to be so. Men do say. 
 But what of that i* it is a scandalous world, 
 And men will say all things: they give the name 
 Of crime to that which is most virtuous. 
 And turn us mad, that we may tear each other 
 W^hile they unharmed look on, and smile to see, 
 ** What fools our brothers are:" yet men do say 
 That thou, my lord, hast wronged me. I will speak 
 In that sincerity which I do know 
 Thou wilt approve, and use the harshest terms 
 To speak the harshest meaning: Thou hast stolen 
 My wife and honour — ^this is what men say. 
 Thou hast returned for all the benefits 
 That one so poor as I could offer thee, 
 A sovereign prince, disgrace, and infamy. 
 And black ingratitude; hast wound thyself. 
 Like to the worm that crawls into men's flesh 
 Leaving its noxious venom as it goes. 
 Until at last it doth devour the heart. 
 And prey upon the vitals: so hast thou 
 Into the bosom of mine honour crept, 
 (Most like this noisome serpent,) and plucked thence 
 Its very essence — this is what men say. 
 That thou hast made my offspring infamous 
 To after ages; my posterity 
 Branded with lasting ignominy; fixed 
 A blight upon them, wronged them of their name, 
 (Which else had stood the proudest in your court, 
 A mark of exultation) fame, and honour. 
 And all that makes life happy; and on me 
 Planned the cuckold's curse — ^this men do say. 
 
 WicraL Why did I trust this prater ! 
 
^8 Xtalian Husband, 
 
 Duhe. ^ Darest thou use 
 
 To me audacious—^ 
 
 Costan. Heaven forbid, my lord. 
 
 That I should entertain tliis thought! I know 
 There was a noble Roman once, was wont. 
 When that his patron* would amuse an hour 
 In idle dalliance with his wife, to sleep. 
 And Cato was not over scmpulous; 
 Then why should I ! my lord, if it can give 
 Thee pleasure, not alone my wife, but take 
 My little ones and bare their guiltless breasts 
 To the assassin's knife, they are your subjects. 
 What could /do ? — but for what thou hast done 
 3 scorn to feel displeasure, that being gone 
 "Which thou hast taken, there yet remains for me 
 Enough beside, then why should I complain? 
 
 Duke. I know not even now ! 
 
 Costan. I see my lord. 
 
 Thou dost distrust me — have I not an oath 
 Recorded in the heavens to serve thee truly? 
 
 Duke. And wilt thou ? 
 
 Costan. Thou shalt see if yet this arm 
 
 Has lost its wonted vigour! 
 
 Duke. Follow then. 
 
 ('Tis best at all events to send him hence) C Aside, J 
 And we will see all ceremony done 
 That may befit thy station to receive, 
 Jix\d ours to give, f Exeunt Duke and Senators. J 
 
 Costan. He's gone — now thunders strike him! 
 
 Gheral. Thou hast done well! 
 
 Costan. Why so I think myself; 
 
 I did but play a little with his conscience. 
 To see how it would stand the putting on. 
 
 Gheral. And will you then accept of this command)^ 
 See you not through the shallow artifice ? 
 
 Costan. Yes, and despise it — But for thee old man, 
 Where is thy boasted caution — where are now 
 
 ^ Gall}a and Mcecenas. 
 
Italian Husband. 29 
 
 Thy mighty hopes— are all thy plots discovered, 
 The sig-ns of thy rebellion seen, ere yet 
 One blow was struck ? — 
 
 Gheral. And wisely have I taught 
 
 The Duke his danger — Think not 'twas without 
 My wish he was informed — 'twas I that told him. 
 That thou might'st thus be sent to shew the way 
 To victory and vengeance — {enter Romilda — they retire.) 
 
 Romilda. Then there is 
 
 No way but this, and this is horrible. 
 Yet it must end but here at last — I cannot. 
 Nay, must not live dependant on the love 
 Which is at best but passion, of the Duke; 
 To be thi'own by at pleasure, as men throw 
 A worn out garment, for the scornful jeers 
 Of matrons proud in undiscovered sin. 
 And maids to pass as something loathsome. No-^ 
 Hah! 
 
 Costan, God of Heaven ! 
 
 Romil. Oh! my husband, mercy! 
 
 I do not ask you not to hate, to scorn me; 
 For I have fallen e'en below the hope 
 Of thy compassion — trample on me — spurn mc-^ 
 But do not murder me — I have a prayer 
 To breathe for mercy where it is no crime 
 To pardon — thou canst never. 
 
 Costan. Misery ! 
 
 Let me begone— I must not hear thee more — 
 Romilda! 
 
 Eomil Nay — oh utter not that name; 
 
 In hours of happiness when T was free 
 From guilt, thy lips have softly breathed that sound. 
 And waked me from my slumbers to such joys 
 As nought but innocence can ever know; 
 A horrid recollection hovers o'er it. 
 E'en now, it thrills my heart; it tells me that 
 Those happy hours are fled — ah do not say 
 Romilda, lest that I forget myself. 
 My crime that has divided me forever 
 f'rom thy proud Ueart— too proud to pity mine, 
 C2 
 
30 Lallan Husband, 
 
 And in an hour of wild forgetfulness 
 Return thy name Costanzo — 
 
 Costa?! . Oh my wife ! 
 
 What do I — stay— oh this it was I think — 
 Curses — how beautiful she looks — how fair — 
 I'll stab him thro' her heart — look on me well^ 
 May Heaven as I do pardon thee, — thine hour. 
 Thine utmost hour is past. 
 
 Romil 'Tis just-— yet spare me ! 
 
 Ccstan. Methinks there are two demons at my ear. 
 And which to heed I know not but one effort, 
 And it were done, and I were well reveng'ed. 
 Hast prayed? 
 
 Romil. Thou wilt not kill me ! 
 
 Cost an. Yea, by Heaven! 
 
 Romilda, I have seai'ched my soul each way 
 To find what may extenuate thy crime. 
 And g-ave thee back thy life; but there is nought — 
 Now, as there is a God above us, I 
 
 Have sworn that thou shalt die, fhe is about to draw a 
 dagger from his breast — she in a supplicating manner 
 catches hold of his arm J nay do not pull 
 So at my heart — 
 
 Romil. My lord, my loved, my husband! 
 
 Costan. Ah — didst thou say thy husband, that is 
 false — 
 Thy loved too— no— for thou dost love the Duke, 
 And I do hate him worse than I hate hell. 
 Now can I do it — husband- — impudent — 
 Oh shameless — have I not from honour's height 
 Fallen by thee to shame's most loathed abyss; 
 And darest thou call me husband, whom the world 
 Has set its mark of infamy upon? 
 This to thy heart— 
 
 Romil. Oh! not in anger then— 
 
 .Kill me in pity rather — say farewell, 
 But with a voice of kindness, I will bare 
 My bosom to thy dagger, thou shalt strike 
 Where thou wast wont to pillow thee at night— 
 So fondly— look on mc Costauzo — 
 
Italian Husband. 31 
 
 Costan. Hall! 
 
 How thou dost make it thrill my maddening* brain! 
 Costanzo didst thou say — no, say tlie Duke; 
 Say but the Duke, that I may stab thy life— 
 And yet not murder thee — 
 
 Romil. My husband- — 
 
 Costan. Hah! 
 
 That voice hath magic in it which hath charmed 
 The lion in my bosom — Uve Romilda, 
 Live to be happier — I will not chide thee; 
 I will not say how thou hast broke my heart. 
 Farewell! when next we meet it must be there 
 Where I again may hope for peace— the earth 
 1 o me is as a barren wilderness, 
 
 Romil. And worse to me — shame clings to me fot- 
 ever. 
 I see my guilt, my infamy, but know 
 Degraded woman even may repent. 
 Costanzo, never more will I return 
 (Heal- Heaven my resolution,) to the bed 
 Of shame from thine an exile, I will be 
 Thy chaste, and chastericd servant — only say 
 Thou dost forgive me —say that I may think 
 Sometimes, but in my prayers, of thee — and now 
 Farewell, my lord, forever— 
 
 Costan. Fare thee well! 
 
 Romilda, thou may'st think of me sometimes— 
 'i'ho' we must meet no more; and I will bear 
 Thy image in my bosom — now farewell. 
 My wife — my wile. 
 
 Romil. Oh didst thou say thy wife ! 
 
 Now for that one kind word may heaven reward 
 Thy generous spirit, and when thou shalt hear 
 That I am dead, oh still repeat the word. 
 And shed a tear for one that was thy wife. 
 Wife - am I yet thy wife ? 
 
 Costan. I had a name 
 
 That would have better fitted thee but no — 
 I will not crush thy penitence nor say 
 Thou canst not be forgiven — be e'en np>Y 
 The daughter of Alzii'da — 
 
32 Italian Husband. 
 
 Romil. And thy wife ? 
 
 Oh say but so! 
 
 Costan. Why, what are these that roll 
 Like burning tears upon my cheek, and quite 
 Unman my resolution — leave me. 
 
 RomiL Nay, 
 
 Do not reject my penitent tears! 
 
 Costan. Why ! would you 
 
 That I should be the tame thing that men call 
 A wilHng — rise ye spirits of my fathers 
 And shield me ! 
 
 Romil. Shall I once again behold 
 
 My cliildreti? 
 
 Costayi. Never that — 
 
 RomiL Yet once Costanzo — 
 
 But once more to behold their opening beauties, 
 I'o lave them with a mother's tears. » 
 
 Ccstan. Romilda, 
 
 Thou hast o'er come me : be it as it may — 
 Say thou wilt quit pollution, that no more 
 Thou wilt behold the Duke, and thou shalt see 
 Thy children — have them ever with thee : I 
 Will pardon — will do all but be thy husband. 
 
 Romil. Wilt thou do this ? 
 
 Costan, Nay, do not hang on me. 
 
 Thou art to me the basilisk, and while 
 I gaze on thee, each moment is a stab 
 Eternal to my honour — every throb 
 Of wakening love. Romilda, oh, my wife. 
 Thou hast undone me, yet I doat on thee 
 With all the wild exti-avagance of passion. 
 Let me embrace my ruin, thou shalt live. 
 And when the rabble scoff thee, and deride 
 The mistress of the Duke, my breast shall be 
 Thy shield; an age of infamy will follow, 
 
 Yet I will bear it all, and thou shalt be 
 
 No, that thou canst not; well, then thou shalt be 
 My shame, since comfort I must know no more. 
 But may my treasured curses strike his heait 
 Who has undone us both 5 amid the joys 
 
Italian Husband. oo 
 
 And festal pleasures of his court, may he, 
 May he alone be joyless. 
 
 If he have offspring", may their guiltless tongnes 
 Speak daggers to his conscience, and when grown 
 May they prove bastard, and rebel against 
 The blood that did beget them: then, when all 
 The accumulated anguish of despair 
 Hath rendered him unfeeling to his woes. 
 And callous to his misery, then, aye, then, 
 Will I the avenger come. 
 
 (^Exeunt, and the curtain drops. J 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 A hall in the arsenal. Gheraldi solus. 
 Gheral. How it may change his nature, that demands 
 Some thought; when he shall hear, as soon he must. 
 For even the populace throughout the city 
 Proclaim the mighty wonder. What, the Duke, 
 The Duke resign the hard earned prize of years. 
 His maiden spoils in Cupid's wanton lists; 
 How it may work upon his temper, when 
 The news shall reach him that liis prudent dame 
 Returns to her allegiance. By the mass, 
 Had I but thought this possible, the deed 
 Ere now had been accomplished; should it change 
 Costanzo's resolution, small would be 
 My chance of pardon; then there is but this. 
 Anticipate. Yet that were feeble good. 
 And vengeance will not follow; but, by Heaven 
 If he should waver ^ How, if I accuse 
 Romildai* say that with an outside show 
 Of virtue, not substantial — and her abode 
 Which she hath made with me, for an asylum. 
 May colour well the cheat. Yet that is dark. 
 
 f Enter Anselmo, Gonsalvo, Gaetctno, &c.J 
 
34 Italian Husband, 
 
 Welcome my brethren of the war! how fare your 
 How g-oes our enterprise ? Me thinks Costanzo 
 Hath half forgot the business of his boyhood; 
 And for the Duke. 
 
 Ansel Oh, he hath heard ere now 
 
 His champion's faith. 
 
 Gonsal. How stands the throne beneath him? 
 
 An^el. Like the pent lion in liis den, he roars 
 Loud sounds of fuiy and revenge. 
 
 Gaeta. Yes, like 
 
 The angered Hon, he may crush us yet. 
 Hath Este not an host to guard her prince } 
 
 Gheral. Hath Este not a populace } to guard! 
 Breathe but the word rebellion to the mob; 
 Speak but of license, liberty, and plunder; 
 Then have a Titus on the throne, and see 
 How it will shake beneath him! Guard their prince! 
 Looks this then hke protection ? Here are writ 
 Gonsalvo, and a thousand born in Este! 
 Anselmo doubles that, and each of ye. 
 The rest, is equal. Fire the citadel. 
 Throw wide the prisons; ope the palace gates. 
 Then cry protection to your prince. 
 
 Ansel. 'Tis fixed. 
 
 This night within the palace Azo dies. 
 And one of us shall reign, as fortune dictates. 
 
 Gheral. Nay, good Anselmo, 'tis a weighty hazard 
 For fortune to decide. 
 
 Ansel. Thy wishis answered. 
 
 Of vengeance when, the Duke is slain. 
 
 Gheral. And thou 
 
 Art he shall reign! 
 
 Ansel. That rests with my compeers! 
 
 Gheral. Then speak. 
 
 Ccmspirators. Anselmo ! 
 
 Gheral. Never! 
 
 Ansel. Hold! the voice 
 
 Is spoken, of the people! 
 
 Gheral, 'Tisalie! 
 
Italian Hushan^. 55 
 
 Ansel. Wear we our swords for this ? 
 Gheral. A moment yet: 
 
 Why, my good brother, as the people will; 
 Speak to them; question with them; I can bend. 
 If so they will, to thee. Put up thy sword, 
 Put up thy sword, Anselmo : Are ye all 
 Resolved? has age no title to your roices? 
 fThe Conspirators divide, some crying Anselmo^ some 
 
 Gheraldi.J 
 To-morrow let this question come. To-day 
 We have more need of action — where, Anselmo, 
 Is now thy brother Louis i* 
 
 Ansel. Aye — and where 
 
 Thy creature Ugo. 
 
 Gheral. Answer for thy brother 
 
 As I for Ugo, and thy cause may be 
 The better, for his honesty. 
 
 Ansel. Speak thou 
 
 Proud dotard for thy servant. Ha! who comes here? 
 
 f Enter Louis. J 
 Now, Louis, some have branded thee with shame. 
 And called thy name a traitor's. 
 
 Louis. Let the news 
 
 I bring confound them in their falsehood. 
 
 Ansel. Hah! 
 
 What news? what news? 
 
 Louis. Costanzo is at hand, 
 
 The army that the Duke had sent dispersed. 
 He leads his conquering squadrons to our aid. 
 And Este and Duke Azo fall. 
 
 Aiuel. Who now 
 
 Is traitor ? Who shall be your king ? 
 
 Conspir, Anselmo. 
 
 Gheral. Anselmo, king, for that Costanzo conquers! 
 Did he, your idol there, give you Costanzo? 
 Did he, or I, bid Este bow before 
 The arm you conquer with; did he or I 
 Bid the wronged husband lead your forces on 
 To victory ? 
 
 Gaeta. 'Twas thou. 
 
36 Italian Hushand. 
 
 Gheral. Did he, or I, 
 
 When all your host in pallid fear had fled. 
 Bid the retiring Phalanx stand again. 
 And conquer with Costanzo? 
 
 Ansel. What avails 
 
 Thy boasted aid, if Ugo be a traitor? 
 
 Gheral. Thou pale and faltering coward, in thy throat 
 May the foul falsehood choke thee ' 
 
 Ans. f Enter Enrico J Who is this ^ 
 
 Enr. 'Tis rumored that young Cosimo arrived 
 From Pisa, leads his wai'riors to the rescue; 
 And Azo rallying 'neath his brothers' banner. 
 Bids loud defiance to Costanzo's power! 
 
 Gheral. Then on my brothers to the citadel. 
 Each to the post assigned him. 
 
 Ludov. f Entering in hqstej Fly my lords! 
 The traitor Ugo hath betmyed us all. 
 
 Gheral. By heaven! I'll strike the slave that dai'es to 
 say it. 
 
 Ludov. fto the co?ispirafors who interpose. J Why^ let 
 him come — he will but spare the rack. 
 Even now the Duke approaches. 
 
 Gheral f rushing out J Ye shall see 
 
 If yet Gheraldi can destroy his foe. 
 
 Gansal. I never saw him thus disturbed— the fear 
 Of death is powerful within him now. 
 
 Ans. Oh think not 'tis the fear of death— that Ugo 
 Be sure has spared liis master, know ye not 
 Gheraldi has a foe beside the Duke. 
 
 Conspir. He woidd not dare betray us. 
 
 Ansel. Hath he not 
 
 Betrayed his monarch! are ye all prepared 
 To die ^ Your enemies are here — come on — 
 One pledge — no s])irit here will bow before 
 The Duke for pardon. 
 
 Conspir. Never! never! never! 
 
 C without. J Duke. Let none presume to enter till he 
 
 hears 
 (Whatever pass) my order, f enter Duke. J Hail my 
 friends ! 
 
Italian Hu&hand. 37 
 
 Why are ye met together thus, in secret. 
 
 While the deserted council waits your presence ^ 
 
 Why are ye here in idleness, and know 
 
 Your prince would have his counsellors? why here 
 
 While treason braves your monarch ? what, abashed ! 
 
 Your duty calls you! to the senate chamber. 
 
 Arts. And are ye then hke cattle to the slaughter 
 Led by your shepherd^s whistle — fie, my lord. 
 To stoop to falsehood is a slaveys resort. 
 Who is a prince, and lies, degrades his title; 
 Now hear the voice of one who would have been 
 A monarch and a great one; fit to reign 
 And vindicate his right, without the last 
 Mean subterfuge of cowardice — a lie. 
 Hear me, Lord Azo? In thy throat thou art 
 A liar and a coward! and as such 
 Too mean for me- — I give thee to my dogs! 
 Nay, move not for your guards, a thousand swords 
 Shall do their oftice, ere a man can cross 
 This threshold to thy rescue. 
 
 Duhe. Know ye not 
 
 There is a charm to guard the blood of kings? 
 Behold me, traitors! is not this the voice 
 So oft has made ye tremble i* is not this 
 The eye whose lightening hath appall'd you? Come 
 Essay this arm, ye have not felt that yet! 
 Why pause ye? are ye then my subjects still? 
 The power of princes is not in their arm, 
 AVhen subjects bend for mercy; mine is here. 
 Live, to be loyal. 
 
 Ansel. Slaves! we know thee, prince, 
 
 'Tis not Costanzo only hath a wife! 
 Piut I — and he — and each of us is blessed. 
 Perhaps, with a Romilda. 
 
 Duke. Insolent! 
 
 Ansel. Now speaks again the tyrant; this for me ! 
 
 C attacks the Duke, but is struck dawn. J 
 See how your king forgives you. f dies. J 
 f Conspirators about rushing mi the Duke, Costanzo heard 
 
 without.J 
 D 
 
38 Italian Husband, 
 
 Costan. Not to pass! 
 
 By heaven I'll find a passage thro' his heart 
 That dares to bar my way. (enters) How, traitors! hold! 
 Costanzo claims his vengeance. Back, ye slaves! 
 Is there no humbler game for such as ye } 
 Go batten on yon vulgar herd, the blood 
 Of Azo is my tribute. 
 
 Dtike, Better fall 
 
 By such as these. I had no oath from them 
 Of Realty; nor heeded if I had it; 
 But thou; how manhood shrinks before thee, thou, 
 A soldier and a senator, before 
 
 The assembled world, hast stained thy soul with false- 
 hood, 
 An;l 'filed thy name with perjury; then better 
 To die by those who, having nought to lose. 
 Are hut unhonour^d, than, rebellious slave, 
 By one hke thee, dishonoured. 
 
 Costan. I would look 
 
 To see what spell is on thee, that my arm 
 Till now hath, palsied, trembled on my sword. 
 An oath — to thee — an oath — oh, doting fool ! 
 Pledged I an oath to thee of fealty? 
 Yea. on my house's honour. Hadst thou not, 
 Live I to say it, robbed it of that honour, 
 And left my children nameless ? then it was. 
 On the unfounded base that thou hast shaken, 
 I swore to serve thee — on this sword I swore ! 
 False was the pledge I gave thee, and this steel 
 Hath yet no foes but who are friends to thee; 
 Then be this breast a passage to thy throne. 
 Or thou may'st find it wielded firmly yet 
 By one well fit to hold the brand of justice. 
 
 Conspir. frushing forward. J Down with the tyrant; 
 strike him to the earth! 
 
 Costan. Who strikes, save me, against his sovereign's 
 life; 
 I brand a traitor, and I hold a foe. C'^^VfiS^^-J 
 
 Duke. Against thy king — ho, there! within — my 
 g\iards! 
 
Italian Husband, 39 
 
 C Enter Gheraldi and guards. J Seize yon discovered 
 traitor! 
 
 Costanzo, How, Gheraldi? 
 
 Duke, Gheraldi, yes, he only faithful found. 
 Where all were traitors else; f to guards J away with 
 him. C Gheraldi looks significantly at Costanzo.J 
 For these, I would have spared them, but too late 
 They would accept my mercy. 
 
 Louis. Rather say. 
 
 That to the last they do despise thy power. 
 And spit upon thee for thy proffered mercy. 
 
 Costan. Aye, right — tiie spirit of revenge is yet 
 Unquell'd, tho' thus in bondage. If thou hast 
 An arm, save for thy purposes of theft, 
 Thou tyrant meet me. 
 
 Duke, f to guards J Bear him hence- away 5 
 
 Heap fetters on him. 
 
 Costan. Still am I unbound. (Exeunt omnes. ) 
 
 A room in GheraldVs house. Gheraldi^ solus, 
 
 Gheral. All eril works together for my good; 
 And the imperial diadem, that seemed 
 Snatched from my grasp this morn, unfolds again 
 Its glittering circle to my eager gaze, 
 Undazzled by its glories. One hath fallen — 
 So perish all: and the detested corse 
 Of my young coadjutor headless lies 
 A shapeless mass of what was once Anselmo. 
 This makes for my ambition — my revenge 
 Unsated still, demands its royal victim. 
 To give Costanzo back his life, forsooth. 
 Because the traitor stood before the blow 
 Aimed at his prince. To give liim back his life 
 So forfeit by the law, and banish him! 
 Hath the Duke tired of life? — to suffer him 
 An instant near his person— yet he gives 
 Fit time to the prescribed, to bear away 
 His all of precious! What at a mighty debt 
 
40 lialian Husband. 
 
 Is gratitude — the Duke may pay his life for't : 
 For if I know my instrument, Costanzo 
 Hath yet a day in Este, and with him 
 A day sufficeth for an age of veng-eance. 
 But see, my hero comes, revolving still 
 The chances of the morning; it were well 
 To know his mood ere tamper with his humour. 
 (^Retb-es to the back of the stage Enter Costanzo, not per- 
 ceiving Gheraldi. 
 
 Costan. Now Heaven would justify the deed, and man 
 Would say it were well done — why then I'll do it. 
 That parting kiss hath been the kiss of shame, 
 Of guilt, and madness follows: boys will point 
 At the tame cuckold — let them, I can bear it. 
 
 Gheral. Costanzo. 
 
 Costan. Hah, Gheraldi, I am come 
 
 To do the deed you know of. 
 
 Gheral. I, my lord. 
 
 Indeed I thought that you were rather come 
 A welcome husband to a virtuous wife ! 
 
 Costan. What mockery is this? where is my wife^ 
 My wife, no, no — I did not say my wife. 
 Where isRomilda? 
 
 Gheral. All the world, Costanzo, 
 
 Doth envy thee thy wife. 
 
 Costan. 1 have no wife; 
 
 Why would you make me curse the name; yet say. 
 The mother of my children ? 
 
 Gheral. Oh, my lord. 
 
 When you shall hear so many tongues proclaim 
 The penitence, the virtue of thy wife. 
 Thou wilt not cast her from thee — she hath en'cd. 
 But what of that? 
 
 Costan. Infernal fiends — what of it! 
 
 Gheral. And he — what wouldst thou do ? 
 
 Costan. Oh, that I had him^ 
 
 Accursed spoiler, in the battle field. 
 Surrounded by liis satellites, and I 
 But this free arm- — no more. 
 
 Gheral. But for thy wife — 
 
Italian Husband. 41 
 
 Thou wilt not curse her, too? Men say, my lord. 
 And women too, that she is penitent. 
 Who are not most forgiving"; she has left 
 The Duke and Hke 
 
 Costan. God bless and pardon her, 
 As I do — for this last 
 
 Gheral. Indeed, Costanzo, 
 
 Thou hast confided in me : would'st thou rather 
 That I should see thee happy ! but 'tis vain 
 To urge that question. 
 
 Costan. 1 would rather be, 
 
 Gheraldi, of all things the veriest wretch 
 That crawls upon creation, than enjoy 
 A life of unmixed happiness, if man 
 In that could trace the shadow of dishonour. 
 
 Gheral. Indeed, I'm glad of it, I could not bear 
 Thy unsuspecting nature should be wrought, 
 Hovve'er unconsciously, to such a fall. 
 'Tis said that thou shalt take thy wife again 
 (If she desert Duke Azo) to thy bosom. 
 Thy father, did he live, would rather see thee 
 Hugging the venomed scorpion to thy heart. 
 That were not shame to thee. 
 
 Costan. Nor is it shame 
 
 To pardon penitence : I do forgive. 
 But ere I take her back. I must forget. 
 And ere forget 
 
 Gheral. It was an idle tale, then; 
 And yet the world hath said 
 
 Costan. I he world hath lied! 
 
 The world is false, hath been, and will be false — 
 But I am fix4id — I take her to these arms — 
 I take that form that hath in wantonness 
 Of lust been pressed by Azo! I receive 
 The foul corruption of a harlot bed! 
 I bear pollution to the bed of love! 
 By heaven I'd rather breathe the poisoned air 
 Of the sirocco, taint my pure blood's current 
 With something worse than pestilence, inhale 
 The spotted lepr^sv, and live the loathed, 
 D2 
 
42 Italian Husband. 
 
 Abandoned object of the world's disgust, 
 Than I would 
 
 Gheral. Now thou art again Costanzo, 
 
 They are alike — there is no faith in woman; 
 Each breath of idle flattery is the wind 
 That turns tl>is vane, and man the noble bark 
 Whose hopes are shipwrecked. 
 
 Costan. Men are apt to call 
 
 This crime, which I premeditate — they weigh 
 Each act we do, with their own former deeds. 
 Or others they desire, and then denounce 
 Horrible crime, what they have never done, 
 And have no mind to do — it costs them nothing. 
 And reputation is well bought with sighs. 
 And outward show of feeling. He whose path 
 To fame, or happiness thro' beds of roses 
 Lies open, were a fool to seek a way 
 Thro' thorny brakes — my happiness is vengeance ! 
 The man who sees a worm before his feet 
 May brush him gently off; but when the adder 
 Bears his envenomed crest, he must be crushed — 
 And I will crush him — should I wait — not wait. 
 By heaven! the poison is already here; 
 It rankles at my heart. 
 
 Gheral. If after this, 
 
 Costanzo, thou would' st let thy vengeance sleep, 
 I have a charm to wake it into hfe 
 Again, with tenfold fury. 
 
 Costan. Wake — again — 
 
 It hath not slept — it hath not slept, Gheraldi. 
 Eet me but fold him to this breast, and see 
 How close is my embrace; he will not find 
 Romilda's pliant arms, but he will feel 
 The hug of desperation, he will find 
 The true embrace of hate. 
 
 Gheral, But she will plead 
 
 For mercy for the Duke. 
 
 Costan, For mercy! will she! 
 I will be wond*rou9 reerciful 
 
 Gheral But yet 
 
Malian Husband, 43 
 
 Thou could'st not stab him thro* her breast. 
 
 Costan Gheraldi, 
 
 If that my father's mouldering" corse should rise, 
 In all its buried horrors from the grave, 
 And raise its interdicting hand, by Heaven, 
 I'd strike him in despite, tho' through his heart 
 I reached my father's spirit. 
 
 Gheral. What, altho' 
 
 He gave thee back thy forfeit, life. 
 
 Costan. A show — 
 
 A show — a boast — a mockery of virtue ? 
 He owed it me, for I had rescued his; 
 Now fairly shall we meet, and I demand 
 The chance he dare not shiink from. 
 
 Gheral. Thou hast cause 
 
 Yet deeper than thou think'st, 
 
 Costan, There was enough; 
 
 A deeper cause were needless— yet speak on, 
 Speak all thou can'st devise, to chase away 
 Each lingering cherub that may whisper mercy. 
 Or speak of aught but carnag'e — say thy worst; 
 Say that my wSe again 
 
 Gheral. 'Tis that. 
 
 Costan. (stupified) 'Tis what! 
 
 Gheral. Thy wife again is mistress of the Duke J 
 
 Costan. Then truth itself is all a lie : Gheraldi, 
 Beware how you deceive me — righteous God! 
 I'll not believe it — slave 'tis false — 'tis false — 
 False as thy treacherous heart — I say 'tis false, 
 You jest with me. 
 
 Gheral. I'm glad, my lord, you think so. 
 
 Costan. The hypocrite — her mock of penitence 
 Had almost made me love her — love, aye, love! 
 Nay, start not, sir, my heart was in her power. 
 And she is lost — oh, woman, woman, woman, 
 I would have died for thee; nay, worse — have lived 
 The mark of scorn for thee, and thou art false. 
 I would have stood upon Vesuvius' brow JiU|i||^ 
 
 And faced the awful thunders: I had dived 'flHK^K 
 
 Deep in the flames of its volcanic womb 
 
44 Italian Husband. 
 
 To bring for thee thy slightest wish; and yet 
 
 Thou could' st be false to me! Eternal God, 
 
 Why was I bom for this?* yet I'll not curse 
 
 My father, that he did beget his son 
 
 To such a heritage of misery : 
 
 I will not curse my mother, nor blaspheme 
 
 Against thy power, oh God! but strike me here — 
 
 Strike me to ashes, lest I do rebel. 
 
 In frenzy's hour, 'gainst thy omnipotence, 
 
 And curse thee for my being. 
 
 Gheral. Hold, Costanzo. 
 
 Costan. I had forgotten, bear with me, Gheraldi; 
 I know not what I say; yet thou did' st tell me 
 My wife was with the Duke — was't true ^ again — 
 The paramour of Azo. Oh. my heart 
 Revolts against that word; it cannot be. 
 Thou art deceived, or I am — mad — I loved her, 
 God knows I loved her: could tlie Duke do for her 
 What I have done — love, live in, worship her; 
 It was idolatry; but I adored 
 With adoration true — and she is false. 
 
 Gheral. Great as thy love hath been, should be 
 
 Costan. Not love — 
 
 That word is nothing; it was homage pure 
 As Heaven's high host do pay their virgin queen. 
 Love — I did blindly, madly worship her: 
 Heart, soul ■ 
 
 Gheral. Then let thy vengeance be as gi'eat 
 As is her treason — let it reach them both, 
 ('Twere better both should fall than he escape,) 
 And when they call for mercy, answer thou 
 
 Costan. Revenge ! 
 
 Gheral. Aye, right— what mercy and to him — 
 To him who 
 
 Costan. Let him look for it, Gheraldi, 
 
 Among the fiends of hell, for 1 have none; 
 I'he desart tiger may have mercy — I — 
 I will have nought but blood — the Duke's heart's blood. 
 
 Gheral. And I revenge. 
 
 Costan. Come on; blood, blood, Gheraldi. 
 
 {Exeunt, and the curtahi drops,) 
 
Italian Husband. AS 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 Discovers the park and public grounds near the palace of 
 Azo. 
 
 Costan. (^eyjtering,) " Hear not, oh earth, my tread," 
 thou, oh nig-ht. 
 With deeper darkness shade thy sable brow: 
 And thou, pale empress of the eve, withhold 
 Awhile thy rising"; shut your watchful eyes 
 Ye everlasting" lamps that overhang" 
 Our dreary wil^rness, as if to spy 
 Our deeds of darkness, which the king of day 
 Doth scorn to shed his light on: ye who bear 
 The tales of lust and rapine to the ears 
 Of Heaven's almighty monarch, close awhile 
 Your v/akeful eyes, or if our deeds to you 
 Must ever be appai'ent, pierce ye then 
 Into the hearts of men, that ye may see 
 If we do murder- murder is but justice — 
 Pierce to the souls of men, that ye may see 
 The thoughts that breed there, and the ugly heaps 
 Of foul engendering malice: if ye see 
 The blood we shed, behold the veins that pour it. 
 How they do swell with pride and lust. Oh, God I 
 And did'st thou make thy creatures for the sport 
 Of every breath of fortune ^ did'st thou put 
 Within their breasts, (to me the bitterest curse,) 
 The soul of feehng, that they should not feeP 
 The pulse where honour beats, that they should g^vc 
 Its holy name, to glut a master's will. 
 To every vile corruption of a court. 
 Turning its sacred offices to shame 
 And deeds of darkness!* I do know thee better; 
 Since that this heart which thou hast given doth tell me 
 Thy law, which said in thunder ** blood for blood," 
 Both cry aloud "dishonour shall have blood. 
 
46 Italian Husbands 
 
 Whole seas of blood." I would his arteries beat 
 
 With such a stream as to o'erwhelm the crowd 
 
 Who now do descant on my shame, and I 
 
 Held in my hand the charm to set afloat 
 
 The desolating ocean — here the Duke 
 
 Is wont they say, to take his evening walk, 
 
 And it doth seem to me a fitting spot 
 
 For lust and murder — if the Duke will stand 
 
 For one, methinks I well may play the other. 
 
 Murder! come forth thou little instrument 
 
 Thou never yet hast failed me — who goes there? 
 
 f Enter Romilda.J 
 
 Romil. My husband !- 
 
 Costan, Strumpet — senseless, shameless strumpet- 
 Yet I will calm this tumult — is it thou, ^ 
 Romilda? 
 
 Romil. Canst thou call me by that name! 
 
 And yet — it does not strike upon my heart 
 With such unnatural coldness, as when last 
 We met, and I did hear thee in the burst 
 Of passion say, "Romilda.'^ 
 
 Costan. Answer me 
 
 As thou dost hope to see thy children more — 
 Art thou Romilda ? 
 
 Romil. Nay, my Lord! 
 
 Costan. ilow now. 
 
 Dost understand the word— is this thy name? 
 Or dost thou cheat me, showing to mine eyes 
 The form of her that once did bear that name. 
 So dear to me ? 
 
 RomiL Nay, do not question me 
 
 Thus darkly! 
 
 Costan. What! you do not understand. 
 
 Art thou Romilda? For to be Romilda 
 Is not to have the laughing eye, the lip 
 That moist with ruddy ripeness calls the kiss 
 Of dear affection, nor the glowing cheek. 
 Where with the rose the pensive lily vies 
 To form the throne of Love; for it may be 
 I'he eye of smiling passion, and the lip 
 
Italian Husband. A:7 
 
 Inviting wanton dalliance; the bright blush 
 That thus doth mantle on thy cheek may be 
 The flush of hot desire; but 'tis to have 
 A heart as free from thought of guiltiness, 
 As the pure spring of life was free from taint, 
 That gushed from Horeb's mountain answer me, 
 As thou shalt one day face the Eternal God, 
 Who will not be deceived. 
 
 Romil. I will not say ! 
 
 (Yet thou might'st well have spared me that dark 
 
 thought;) 
 I am — I was not guilty, if to pray 
 To wash my pillow with repentant tears. 
 To lave this bosom with repentant sorrow. 
 To the accumulated misery 
 Of shame and thy reproaches, if to suffer 
 Remorseful agonies, without a groan. 
 Save for that moment of delirious guilt, 
 "When all my hope was blasted, be to say 
 **I am again Romilda." Then Costanzo, 
 (I will not say unblushing, yet with hopes 
 Of thy forgiveness, which shall be to me 
 The harbinger of mercy from above,) 
 I am again — 
 
 Costan Beware of perjury — 
 
 For thou shalt swear it by the Eternal Host 
 That to thy oath bear witness 
 
 Romil. I do swear 
 By thy past fondness and thy 
 
 Costan . S wear by H eaven ! 
 
 Romil. Then Heaven is witness 
 
 Costan. Of thy perjury; 
 
 Thou double trait'ress! — get thee to the Duke! 
 Get thee to Azo! 
 
 Romil. I am innocent. 
 
 Costan. Innocent ! Hear this — look at this ye Heavens ! 
 Oh! that thou hadst been innocent, indeed! 
 Then had I not exchanged thee for a world, 
 \ paradise of blessings — Innocent, 
 
 Romil. I will not plead to deprecate thy wrath; 
 
48 Italian Husband, 
 
 13 ut do not think I could betray thee twice. 
 
 I had a heart, Costanzo, wliich could err; 
 
 I thought 'twas love, but no, 'twas madness — then 
 
 I listened to its dictates; God doth know 
 
 How truly T would weep my life away 
 
 But to recall that moment — 'tis in vain! 
 
 'Tis past, and I am lost, beyond the hope 
 
 Of happiness or fame. Yet I had braved 
 
 A thousand times the ang-er of the Duke; 
 
 I would have borne the insults of the w^orld; 
 
 The jeers, the scoffs, the rabble's imprecations; 
 
 I would have suffered countless agonies, 
 
 Ere stoop a second time to wTong thy love. 
 
 Or stain thy honour. 
 
 Costan. Then thou hast not seen 
 
 The Duke! 
 
 Romil. I have! 
 
 Costan, Thou hast, and innocent! 
 
 The Duke, and innocent ! 'tis mockery — 
 What couldst thou plead? Thy virtue? in his cafv 
 'Tis worn a trophy of his victory — 
 Innocent! thou wouldst see thy children then. 
 That was the offer for fidelity, 
 
 And I will pay it 
 
 Why thou art fallen so low, so far beneath 
 The common herd of reptiles that do swarm 
 This den of infamy, the very Duke, 
 Albeit, himself the centre of its filth; 
 Thy paramour would tread without remorse 
 Thy form beneath his feet, as he would spurn 
 The veriest worm — 
 
 Romil. Yet spare me, by these teans 
 
 Of penitence sincere; I will not beg, 
 I will not say how thou hast bid me hope 
 'Twas sin in thee, I could not be forgiven. 
 But, by the memory of what has been. 
 
 By all those hours of dear delight 
 
 Costan. Oh curses ! 
 
 I would forget them, rather lose myself— 
 Drink down whole draughts of that oblivious streari). 
 
Italian Husband. 49 
 
 Exhaust pale Lethe's waters tho' the flood 
 Were formed of flaming' billows, than recall 
 One thought of what has been 
 
 Rmnil 'Tis well, Costanzo, 
 
 Thy honour yet shall be avenged, and my 
 Atonement shall be made. Thou wilt remember 
 Vv hen, that the grave has closed its poi-tal on me, 
 And severed us for ever, thou wilt think 
 There was some virtue left within this breast, 
 Howe'er the wintiy clouds of guilt obscured 
 Its sunny influence — if my child shall grow — 
 \^ it shall bear one feature like to me. 
 Do — do not hate her for it — oh ! my husband 
 I have deserved your vengeance — wreak it here! 
 But do not cast a \\Tetched mother's crimes 
 Upon her guiltless infant. 
 
 Costan, If the girl 
 
 Inherit but one look of thine, I'd tear it, 
 Tho' that her life should follow, from her face, 
 A mark of infamy — yet no, Romilda — 
 I— curses on this weakness — I will keep it, 
 A relic from that ruin, which hath struck 
 Her father's heart and withered — but for thee. 
 There is no pardon 
 
 RomiL Wilt thou only say, 
 
 That thou wilt pray for me — it were no crime 
 Jn death to pardon ; say thou wilt not curse me 
 Ijefore my children — when they have no mother. 
 If they shall ever ask of me, oh! teach 
 Thy heart forbearance; teach thy lips to say 
 Only v/hat I have been, and not alas! 
 
 iiat I am now — 'tis all I ask of thee: 
 
 ->uld not sleep contented in my grave. 
 If that I thought my children's curses, tears. 
 Of shame, instead of fond affection nourished 
 And fed the grass above me — — 
 
 Costan. No, Romilda, 
 
 'Tis true that thou must die, yet memory 
 Shall dwell upon thy former purity 
 Hereafter, when the thought shall pass away 
 E 
 
50 , Italian Husband' 
 
 Of — but 'tis that which mads me — if it g-ive 
 Thee joy to know I will not follow thee 
 Beyond the grave, where all thy faults shall lie 
 Entombed with thy fair body, oh! how fair. 
 With curses, comfort thee. I will but build 
 An altar to thy m.emory, and g-ive thee 
 Fit obsequies; ne'er idol yet hath had 
 So great a sacrifice as I will give thee; 
 Oh, thou shalt have Duke Azo's heart, and there 
 Behold if he have loved himself, or thee ? 
 
 Romil. 'Tis I am g^uilty, do not soil thy hand 
 With regal blood: this heart is open to thee. 
 Strike at the breast that wronged thee! 
 
 Costan. Hold, no more! 
 No more of that; his time will come — for thee. 
 'Tis here already — follow, thou shalt see 
 Thy children: wherefore can not I say mine? 
 But once! and then the debt must instantly 
 Be paid, tht)' my heart pour at sig-ht of thine. 
 Its kindred cuiTent — follow me, and then 
 
 Mo mil. I am content to die 
 
 Costan. But by this hand, 
 
 That would have shrunk from such a deed — but now, 
 'Twere baseness — come and now — oh death! oh Heaven? 
 Why didst thou give this treasure, but to take it 
 AVhen I had learned to love, and cherish it ^ 
 Why didst thou place this garden in my view. 
 Of roseate flowers, this paradise of sweets, 
 To draw my unsuspecting feet among 
 A nest of fanged serpents.^ I shall be. 
 At least, if stung", yet brave enough to crush theifl. 
 Follow, and thou shalt see thy children. {Exit.) 
 
 Romil. 'Ihen 
 
 1 here is no hope of mercy; it is said 
 AVhen man rejects the guiltless, there is yet 
 One place of refuge left them — they at least 
 Within the sheltering bosom of their God, 
 A respite find from sorrow; but for me, , 
 Where shall I turn, the guilty have no God, 
 No hope, no Heaven — oh, then be nacrcifuil 
 
Italian Husband, 51 
 
 And strike me into nothing. I am guilty. 
 But not abandoned quite to guilt and shame: 
 Not wholly infamous. (Enter the Duke.) 
 
 Duke, What voice is that? 
 
 Romilda — look not, love, thus desolate, 
 ^T is Azo calls, nay, do not leave me thus! 
 Speak but one word, Romilda, {taking her hand. ) 
 
 RomiL Hold— forbear. 
 
 Away, my Lord, thy touch is poison to me! 
 
 Duke. Is all thy love then come to this^ away! 
 Deceitful, cruel woman — poison to thee 1 
 I'hese arms that would have sheltered thee against 
 Opposing hosts — Romilda 1 
 
 RomiL Hush! that name 
 
 Duke. Is music to my ears. 
 
 It/jmil. Aye, and to mine ! 
 
 Such music as the ban dog makes at night, 
 Howling around the bed of death — sweet music' 
 Such as the death-watch to the sick man makes, 
 Or screaming owlets in the midnight dark ! 
 Oh, that Romilda never had been born! 
 
 Duk^. 1 hou wilt i>ot curse me so: that wish to me 
 Is bitter cruelty. 
 
 RomiL I curse thee not — 
 
 I liave much need of mercy, humbleness, 
 Fasting and prayer, not curses. 1 hou hast been 
 To life the cause of endless misery — 
 And let tliis be enough, I hate thee not — 
 Farewell! 
 
 Duke. Not yet farewell, Romilda! 
 
 RomiL Hold! 
 
 I must not hear that name from thee again; 
 I am, to thee, Costanzo's wife— to him, 
 Alas! the guilty mistress of the Duke. 
 
 Dule. ^Inconstant, false, deceitful woman— thou 
 Hast never known what 'twas to love— away. 
 And I too; I will banish from my heart 
 This weakness— faithless woman! yet I'll not 
 Upbraid thee with thy perjur}^— go tell 
 Tjiy husbsnd all his triumph: tell him how 
 
52 Italian Husband. 
 
 The Duke hath loved, hath worshipped thee— g'o sTvV 
 
 How I have loved, do love, and tell him too 
 
 How well thou hast avenged his wrongs, go — paint 
 
 This bursting' heart — go, fickle w^onian. Nay, 
 
 I did not bid thee weep. 
 
 RomiL Forbear, my Lord! 
 
 If I deserve reproach, thy heart shall say 
 If thou should' st cast it on me — false! alas, 
 I have been false, indeed, but not to thee. 
 
 Dulip. Not false to me ^ 
 
 RomiL I g a v e th e e every thin g ! 
 
 I gave thee honour, happiness, and love ! 
 I gave thee — what hast thou returned me, Azo ? 
 Contempt, and misery, and scorn! To thee, 
 God knows to thee I have been ever faithful, 
 Tliro' guilt and infamy, 
 
 Dulxe. What! hast thou not 
 
 Deserted me, who would have died for thee? 
 Did'st thou not now, e'en now prepare a blow 
 To kill his heart, who hath but lived in thee? 
 You once did say you loved me ! 
 
 RomiL What I said. 
 
 My lord, thou should'st believe, for I have given 
 Such dreadful proof as none have ever given, 
 (And would to heaven I had not. ) It is true; 
 I said I loved thee, and my guilty heart 
 Even now, is full of thee: it throbs thy name. 
 And echoes back ** I love thee"— never more 
 Will I return, (think not I am so fallen,) 
 A pardoned wanton to Costanzo's bed. 
 Deserting thee for any. Oh, my lord, 
 How well I loved thee let the ruin show 
 That hangs suspended o'er me. That I still love. 
 Let these too guilty tears bear witness for me 
 Against my own repentance. Look, my lord. 
 
 {Showing a dagger.) 
 Ask here thy answer, if I have not loved thee, 
 Too well, too truly! 
 
 Duhc. And for me thou diest! 
 
 Thou dost not leave me. for Costanzo's then! 
 
Italian Husband. 5^ 
 
 I am not second in thy heart? 
 
 Ihmil V/ould I, ^ ♦ 
 
 My lord, have yielded thee the dearest jewel, 
 Tiie only ornament a woman wears 
 That adds a lustre to her native charms, 
 Had 1 esteemed thee second, while there was 
 Whose power was greater in this breast than thine, 
 Thou nothing" could'st have been. 
 
 Duke. And can'st thou then. 
 
 So loving* me as thou would' st have me think. 
 Abandon me to 
 
 Romil. Yes, my lord, to prove 
 
 To all the world, at least, thou art not one 
 Of those unmanly, worthless butterflies. 
 Who, trifling even in their guilt, deceive 
 The maid they niin, but to sliow their prowess. 
 Whose proudest boast is truth and virtue's scorn, 
 Who play with reputation as a toy. 
 Unconscious of its worth. I would redeem 
 Thy name from such a stain, and be myself 
 The victim of affection, not the toast. 
 The wretched plaything of a tavern feast. 
 The wortliless object of a tavern brawl. 
 We both have erred, my lord, we both will make 
 Atonement for the eiTor, mine will be 
 A deep and bitter one, a husband's curse. 
 My cliildren's execration, all the taunts 
 Of prudent dames, the hisses of the world. 
 My ov/n remorse, perhaps Duke Azo's scorn! 
 These, these will be Romilda's offering 
 Of peace — for thee, if thou hast ever loved, 
 (Nor will I wrong myself so much, nor thee, 
 I'o think thou hast not,) then thy sacrifice 
 Shall be the loss of her whom thou hast loved. 
 Of her whom thou hast ruined — fare thee v/ell. 
 
 Bnke. A nd whither goest thou ? 
 
 jRomil. Whence I shall return 
 
 Ko more, the source of discord, to disturb 
 The unison of hearts that else had been 
 Complete in friendship. 
 
 E2 
 
/)4 Italian Husband. 
 
 Duke. Why, thou would' si not sure 
 
 Commit self-murder! 
 
 Romil No— not murder, but 
 
 Atonement, and do that which will but spare 
 Disease her timeless victim, and defraud 
 Remorseful anguish her expected tribute, 
 
 Jjuke. And must we part? 
 
 Romil. Nay, wherefore did we meet, 
 If thus to part be anguish? then it was 
 'J'hou truly should* st have sorrowed, Azo! then * 
 The death angel was o'er us; thence, it v/as 
 7'hat followed what hath maddened both of us. 
 And plunged our souls in mutual guilt — but now 
 The spirit of repentance hovers o'er, 
 And sanctifies our parting; thus {Enter Ghemldi.) 
 
 Gheral. My liege, 
 
 Costanzo hath departed, leaving first 
 Before the council, who implore )^our presence, 
 A strange memorial, which, as is most fit, 
 They would present to thee, {aside.) So this is well^ 
 And gains at least an hour for my revenge. 
 
 Romil. My lord, as fits give thou thy audience — I 
 Have said farewell— my lord you follow not! {Exit.) 
 
 Duke. A nd must I lose h er thus ^ 
 
 Gheral. 'T were better thus. 
 
 Than in a vain attempt, to lose at once 
 Thyself, and her, and all . {Exit Duke.) So now 'tis done ! 
 7'he knell of vengeance dismally doth toil! 
 And if I fail not deeply in my view, 
 The carrion raven hovers o'er his prey 
 Yet living, and expects the livid feast! 
 So, let him glut himself upon it ! I 
 Will minister to him right cheerfully: 
 And then let slip the fiends of carnage — smile, 
 My bo}^ thou shalt have noble funeral rites ! 
 Smile on thy father. Did they think, because 
 This arm was palsied, and these joints were stiff 
 With age and sorrow, that they could not escape mer 
 Let them beware the adder in his coil, 
 Jfthey despise the crushed constrictor's power! 
 
Italian Husband. 5^ 
 
 Oh, they shall find the jaws not fangless yet. 
 
 Where they have spurned the body; they shall find 
 
 The blighting" curses of a father's heai-t, 
 
 Shall stab, when he has not a weapon left 
 
 But bitter imprecations ! (Exit, and the curtain drops. ) 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 A room in Costunzo's house, Costanzo and Gheraldi. 
 
 Costan. No passion now, Gheraldi ! thou hast seen 
 xAy heart was moved; I own it, 'twas enough, 
 Gheraldi, to arouse my all of man — 
 I felt — I felt it keenly : but the calm 
 That follows on the tempest, when its force 
 Subsides, is not unruffled as this breast; 
 And now 
 
 Gheral. Thou dost forgive them ! 
 
 Costan. What! forgive them 5 
 
 When Judas would betray his Lord, he smiled. 
 And I smile now — it is the smile of pardon, 
 The hai'binger of peace, looks it not so^ 
 I will be merciful beyond all hope — 
 So merciful — if I had yesterday 
 Eut met him, I had stabbed him ere he spake 
 The flattering he hatches, and had lost 
 By that one blow, Gheraldi, such a feast 
 Of cool, premeditate revenge, as years, 
 Uninterrupted ages could not pay. 
 Of never ending happiness; but now, 
 Oh, how my soul regales upon the thought! 
 Ry Heaven he hath not wronged me, I will have 
 So just a price for all he robbed me of! 
 I will but take him by the throat, and say 
 How I do hate him: i'll but hug him so. 
 As never maid hath hugged her paramour. 
 
56 Italian Husband. 
 
 Or man his mortal enemy; and yet 
 So coolly I will do it! 
 
 Gheral. And with her ? 
 
 Costan. Gheraldi, she must die ! it is in vain ! 
 Through each most secret corner of my soul 
 I would discover aught to rescue her 
 From the impending blow — it cannot be — 
 The rod of justice is within my hand, 
 And I will wield it firmly ! > 
 
 Gheral. Can you then 
 
 Forg-et tlie many happy hours ^ 
 
 Costan. .. ^Tis that — 
 
 "The memory of which doth sit upon 
 My arm, and presses with an U'on weight 
 Its strength to nothing — those were happy days, 
 Gheraldi, I would fain forget them now! 
 
 Gheral. Renew them rather! 
 Costan. Never — she was one, 
 Alone by Heaven appointed here to rule 
 My destiny, and with her blandishments, 
 (And she was wondrous fair) to guide me on 
 In one uninterrupted course of love. 
 Of happiness, of virtue, thro' the road 
 That leads to lasting peace; or else designed 
 A blight upon my honour, and a curse. 
 For some unknown, some um'epented sin; 
 To plague me with a mockery of bhss, 
 To offer to my tliirsty lips the cup 
 Of pleasure, with destroying poison drugged. 
 Fate chose the latter — cursed me with a wife, 
 The fairest, lovehest, dgarest, and — oh God ! 
 
 Gheral But 
 
 Costan. But I will have such revenge — revenge 
 
 So deep, so bloody — I will feast on it. 
 
 Dream of it, live on it 
 
 Gheral The Duke should faU. 
 
 But when that he is dead, I would, my Lord, 
 Your cliildren do demand it; you should take 
 
 Your wife ■ 
 
 Costan. Gheraldi, I am on the ground 
 
Italian Husband. 57 
 
 Where once the conquering Roman stood: und dwell 
 
 With wonder on his glories ! — in my breast 
 
 I feel ^e^dving all the ancient fire 
 
 Of those free happy ages. Not alone 
 
 In Italy, shall Roman bosoms beat 
 
 With honourable feeling. They did shed, 
 
 And so will I, the blood most dear to them. 
 
 When honour bade the offering. Brutus gave 
 
 His sons, the heritors of all his worth. 
 
 To ignominious death: and did the steel 
 
 Of the Centurion, when he slew his cliild 
 
 So innocently fair, in honour's cause. 
 
 Draw blood less virtuous than Romilda's <* — I 
 
 Have deeper cause for vengeance yet than they. 
 
 The father cannot be dishonoured, as 
 
 The husband, in his wife's incontinence. 
 
 Yes, she must die;* but I'll not stain this hand. 
 
 Nor mar that fair and beautiful Creation 
 
 Of matchless excellence, and loveliness, 
 
 With blood of hers. She shall have time to pray, too, 
 
 That men may say, I am no mui'derer 
 
 Of the immortal soul, when I do strike 
 
 The derogate frail body. I will be 
 
 Avenger, not assassin — she must die; 
 
 But what of that ? all men must do so : I 
 
 Shall follow her full soon; and for the Duke— 
 
 Oh, we shall be a glorious fellowship 
 
 As ever trod the melancholy way 
 
 Of silent death; and when they would condemn 
 
 The murder, T will bid them look upon 
 
 The happy picture of connubial bliss, 
 
 When in the garden (formed by God's own hand) 
 
 The serpent thrust himself, and poisoned all 
 
 The gifts that God had offered; such w^as then. 
 
 So pure, so virtuous the mutual love 
 
 AVe bore each other, when the spoiler came, 
 
 And hke the first arch enemy, entwined 
 
 * I am afraid I have been guilty of an unintentional plagiarism in 
 this passage; but on the discorery, it was too laie to correct it, for the 
 work was gone to press. 
 
58 ItaUan Husbands 
 
 His deleterious folds around the heart, 
 "Where virgin modesty, enshrined had kept 
 Her vestal fire : he robbed me of her love 
 That was so dear to me 
 
 Gheral. But since her fall 
 
 Have you so wholly lost the memory 
 You were her husband? 
 
 Costan. 'Tis the husband's curse. 
 
 Gheraldi, to adore the woman whom 
 He once hath loved, for ever; he doth graft 
 Too oft upon a blasted trunk, his hopes. 
 His heart, his love, his fame, and there they wither. 
 
 Gheral. But yet I would not you should punish botk 
 So deeply. Heaven 'tis true did curse the tempter: 
 So would I you should slay the ravisher. 
 But left the woman to the secret pangs 
 Of bitter conscience; so do thou Costanzo! 
 She is, if not thy wife, the mother yet 
 That bore thee these thy children! 
 
 Costan. Who shall say, 
 
 The children that I rear, to me, are mine? 
 This Duke, or any silver duke perhaps. 
 Or other wanton ambling sycophant 
 That wears a feather in his cap, or plumes 
 His form with borrowed beauties, may have been 
 The father of my children — ask my wife; 
 She knows, not I — my children! that is false — 
 A flattering lie; they are Duke Azo's children! 
 
 f Enter Servant. J 
 
 Servant. My Lady is without, and waits to be 
 (If it so please you) ushered to your presence. 
 
 f Enter Romilda.^ 
 
 Gheral. Thrice welcome Lady to thy home. 
 
 Romil. You mock me, 
 
 Gheraldi, with that word! 
 
 Costan. He does indeed! 
 
 Thy home, Romilda, must be in the gTave; 
 My honour, nay, thy honour doth demand it. 
 And who shall raise his voice 'gainst honour's call, 
 Opposing its demands^ Thou earnest to see 
 
Median Husbarid. 59 
 
 Thy children — thou shalt see them. Good Gheraldi, 
 I pray you lead them hither. fExit Gheraldi. J How is 
 
 this? 
 Why madam do you weep i* I did not call you 
 Here, to upbraid you: sit, and I will speak 
 All that remains for me on earth to say, 
 (For what may follow, I will give account 
 For thee, and me, before the throne of Heaven) 
 In which you must obey me. You remember, 
 'Tis but a few years since, before the altar 
 Of an attesting" God I took your hand. 
 And vowed to honour, love, and cherish you : 
 How I have kept that vow, thy heart shall say 
 For both of us. That I did cherish thee. 
 The hapless offspring of a hapless pair, 
 Not guilty, for I will not say thou art. 
 But fate, the author of our misery; 
 
 Not guilty then, but most unhappy parents 
 
 Let these bear witness, I did cherish thee. 
 
 That I did love thee, let this blighted heart. 
 
 This bursting agony — I love thee still. 
 
 Too well, too fondly, — let this madness show. 
 
 This weakness that unmans, and throws me thus 
 
 Almost forgiving at thy feet — say thou, 
 
 Romilda, did I love thee? Yet a while, 
 
 A word, and I have done — one part remains 
 
 Unfinished of my vow^- but I will pay 
 
 E'en to the uttermost, its smallest v/ord: 
 
 I swore to honour thee; receive then this, 
 
 A token that I do . Thou canst not Hve 
 
 With honour, this C giving her a vial J will teach thee 
 
 how to die. 
 Take it Romilda, from thy husband's hands; 
 A dearer pledge than he hath offered yet, 
 Cff honour, love, and tenderness to thee. 
 
 Weep not, Romilda, we shall meet again 
 
 Yet what of that— thou dost not weep for me! 
 Well, be it so. 
 
 Romil, ' ]My lord ! 
 
 Giostan. ' Oh, misery! 
 
60 Italian Husband, 
 
 She once was mine — what wouldst thou? 
 
 RomiL Wilt thou not 
 
 Extend the hand of mercy ere I go, 
 To one who — pardon me — ^farewell, my lord, 
 AVithout one sign of pity, one to say 
 "Farewell, God bless thee,'^ will I take my way. 
 Without one cheering smile : 
 
 Cosfan, Romilda — I — 
 
 I do forgive thee — -- 
 
 JRomil. Heaven reward thee for it! 
 
 Costan. There, take my hand — ha! what is that— the 
 Duke? 
 
 RomiL Nay ! 
 
 Costan, Hell and furies, dost thou bring it, harlot. 
 To brave me to thy face \ Who gave thee this? 
 I never put it there ! Who gave thee this, 
 Detested strumpet i* f Enter Gheraldiwith the children. J 
 
 Chil. Mother! 
 
 RomiL Oh, my childi'en ! 
 
 ChlL Speak to her, father ! 
 
 Costan. Have ye learned it too. 
 
 To cheat me with that name : your father — who — 
 Who taught you that? ' Tis false — ^your mother there 
 Can best direct you to your father. I 
 Am not—- or if ye be indeed my children. 
 Why raise ye not your little hands to hiss 
 The shameless wanton that ye call your mother?^ 
 Why spit ye not upon her? — get ye hence ! 
 Ye are too like to her-r-a bastard breed, 
 I know ye not— away f Exit. J 
 
 RomiL Eternal God, 
 
 Thou dost not temper to the stricken deer. 
 The tempest of thy veng-eance !— and my children. 
 My children taught to curse me ! 
 
 Costan. f without. J Off, Gheraldi! f Entering. J 
 So madam, you have ready at your beck 
 Your faithful ministers !—The Duke is here 
 To rescue thee. He hath forgot, it seems, 
 A husband and a father^s rights 
 
 RomiL I sweai'. 
 
Italian Husband. 61 
 
 By every sacred attribute ! 
 
 Cosfan, 'Tis false! 
 
 False as thy double heart ! 
 
 RmniL Nay, kill me then. 
 
 Since I am fallen so low;~-yet I of this 
 Am innocent 
 
 Costan. Indeed! then thou shalt die 
 
 A Martyr: look at innocence— His well- 
 How innocent she is ! 
 
 Romil. Nay, spare me this, 
 This double death of torture 
 
 GheraL f Without. J Nay, my lord. 
 You pass not here ! 
 
 Costan. {Shutting and locking the door,) Now let him 
 come : these doors 
 Are sacred to my privacy, and I 
 Will show him to his teeth a husband's power, 
 
 Spite of his boasted privilege. The poison 
 
 The poison that I gave thee come one prayev. 
 
 If thou wouldst offer it; thy time is short. 
 
 Romil. Spare me, my husband, yet a moment, spare 
 me! 
 
 Costan. So then thou wilt not pray — the poison 
 
 come 
 
 Romil. {dropping it.) U^hl 
 
 Costan, What is that — infernal fiends of helP 
 
 W^ouldst thou that that should save thee— ha, the I]|uke ! 
 
 Romih Oh, yet have mercy for our children's sake ! 
 
 Costan. The portal yields, I hear him on the stair! 
 
 Romil, My husband! 
 
 Costan. Hah! that name is mine alone. 
 
 That I may wash away the stain upon it; 
 Vov that I have a dagger yet, receive 
 From me an injured husband's curse — from m<?. 
 Thou flattering miscliief, take a husband's vengeance! 
 i {He rushes wildly out with her in his arms^ and return 9 
 in afev) moments.) 
 She's dead — my wife is dead — her blood is here ' 
 Her blood is on my soul — hah, mercy — who, 
 >^iio will have mercv ! I had none — the firr'^ 
 F 
 
62 Itxilian Husband, 
 
 Of hell, that burn forever, are not red 
 As these assassin hands I yet 'twas but just; 
 She should have died. I will not think of it. 
 Who says 'tis murder — I deny the charge ! 
 'Twas honest, honest, honourable vengeance! 
 But she is dead, and the melodious tones 
 Of that celestial instrument are stopped. 
 That made such heavenly music ; sweeter far 
 Than summer zephyrs o'er the breathing" harp 
 Of soft JEolian numbers— oh, my wife, 
 Romilda — oh, my own Romilda — wife — 
 Answer, and I will bless thee ! Speak to me, 
 Tho' but to curse me! {looking at hands which are cover- 
 ed with blood.) These are bitter curses ! 
 Yet, 'tis not true that I did murder her — 
 Great spirits of my fathers rise, and say 
 That you do justify me. 'Tis for you, 
 For your unsullied honours, I would keep 
 Mine spotless as your own; yet is the sign 
 Of bloody murder printed on these hands 
 In everlasting characters. These stains {a knocking,) 
 Will witness, for me, what I have been doing; 
 (unlocks the door, and conceals his hands under his robe,) 
 So now — come in ! 
 
 Gheral. I did not think to find thee 
 
 Alone, and thus disturbed. 
 
 Cpsian. I am alone, 
 
 Gheraldi, in the world, without one soul 
 To soothe or pity me — behold — say where 
 Is he will take this blood-stained hand, and say 
 ** Be thou my friend," for I'm a murderer — 
 A woman's murderer, a cowardly, 
 A wretched, poor assassin. Look, Gheraldi! 
 'Tis blood! Romilda's blood, which I had sworn 
 To cherish as my own ! 
 
 Gheral. Thou hast not slain 
 
 Thy wife. Costanzo? 
 
 Costan. Hah ! my wife, my wife ! 
 
 No! I have slain the mistress of the Duke ' 
 
 Gheral And left him living^ 
 
Italian Husband. 65 
 
 Costan. Have I then no wife ! 
 
 Gheral. Thou wretched fool 
 
 Costan. Say on. 
 
 Gheral. Is this the man 
 
 Whom conquering millions feared; is this the man 
 To whom a nation should entrust its care? — 
 How dwindled to a midnig-ht murderer 
 Of unresisting", unprotected woman 1 
 Is this the man to whom a? 
 
 Costan. 'Tis the man, 
 
 Gheraldi, whom a thousand wrongs have wroug-ht 
 To frenzy and despair — it is a man 
 On whom the vials of eternal wrath 
 Are emptied with a hand so pitiless. 
 That misery hath not another cup 
 To offer to a wretch so lost as I. 
 Behold unbraced I bare me to the storm- 
 Why strike ye not ye muttering thunderbolts ! 
 Ye blasting lightnings wherefore hold ! 
 
 Gheral. Because, 
 
 Costanzo, they have left thee for a deed 
 Which should ere now have been the first among 
 The terrors of the world— thou should' st have struck 
 His heart, and her's had withered soon enough 
 Without thy aid. 
 
 Costan. I struck it nobly then ! 
 
 I hurled the living flash against the trunk 
 That had ignobly mouldered but for that ! 
 
 Gheral. Thy vengeance then is satisfied, my lord, 
 I had hoped better things; howe'er, this arm 
 Is not so old but it can right itself 
 Farewell ! thy vengeance is complete — but mine 
 Shall have a nobler victim in the Duke — 
 Duke Azo falls by me ! 
 
 Costan. By Heaven 'tis false ! 
 
 Thou might'st as well attempt to snatch the prey, 
 That gluts the famished tiger, from his jaws, 
 As pass between my arm and my revenge ! 
 Complete -complete— the universe shall feel 
 Its desolation ere it be complete! 
 
64 Italian Hushana, 
 
 What these poor drops in sacrifice, fulfil 
 The unsated hate I bear him ! these suffice 
 To pay the debt he owes me ! When the rain 
 Of summer storms shall quench Vesuvius' flames. 
 And hush the fiery furnace in her womb, 
 Then will I be appeased, but not till then ! 
 Death bounds not my reveng-e ! 
 
 Gheral I'm glad of this, 
 
 For now I am assured I have not been 
 (Reposing confidence in thee) deceived. 
 Hast thou forgot the Duke is in thy palace ? 
 Hast thou forgot he followed to thy house 
 Romilda, to protect her? 
 
 Costan. Did he so? 
 
 He has protected her — oh, vast protection! 
 We'll see this mighty champion— go, Gheraldi! 
 Conduct him hither— we shall try his prowess. 
 
 (Exit, Gheraldi, A pause.) 
 
 Why does this silence fright me ? ( The child enters from 
 
 the door through which Costanzo had borne Romilda.) 
 
 Ah, my boy! 
 Why what is this ? Eternal providence ! 
 The son hath bathed him in his mother's blood! 
 Comestthou to blast me with that sight— away. 
 
 Child. My mother, oh, my mother! 
 
 Costan. What's the matter]' 
 
 Silence, ill-omened raven. How my heart 
 Is changed to stone; I could not thus have spoken 
 This morning to him, for the worth of worlds; 
 But now— nay, do not weep— my boy— my son- 
 Son of my murdered wife — 'tis horrible. 
 Too horrible. {enter Gheraldi and the Duke.) 
 
 Duke. Costanzo! 
 
 Costan. Hah! hah! hah ! 
 
 Great God thou hast not vainly put the strength 
 Of all thy thunders here— again, say on, 
 Costanzo ! 
 
 Duke. What is this> where is thy wife ^ 
 Whence is thy arrogance ? 
 
 C§stan. There is enough 
 
Italian Husband. 65 
 
 In but one word of thine to rouse my soul, 
 Tho' it were plunged a thousand fathoms deep 
 In Lethe's waters of forg-etfulness. 
 Say on — another name — that Heaven itself 
 May shut its ears against thee, and the gates 
 Of living mercy, startled at the sound, 
 Reject thy prayer with horror, triple barred 
 Against thy supplications. What, my lord. 
 Thy eloquence is dumb ! but I have that 
 Shall rouse it — if there be a fiend in hell 
 • More horrid to thy sight than all the rest, 
 1 will invoke his aid— behold ! {Showing his bloody hands.) 
 
 Duke. Romilda ! 
 
 Costan. Romilda — yes, she calls thee from the grave ! 
 (Springing on him.) 'Tis vain to struggle, all the 
 
 strength is here 
 Of Hercules — go seek her, ravisher, 
 tn other worlds. (Stabs him.) 
 
 Duke. Romilda ! 
 
 Costan. Hah! hah ! hah ! 
 
 Duke. 'Tis very dark. (Dies.) 
 
 Costan. Then get thee to the realms 
 
 Of burning hell— now thou art satisfied, 
 Shade of Romilda ! I have done my part. 
 
 Gheral. And nobly. 
 
 Costan. Hush— be silent— now I stand 
 
 A spotless victim; strike me when you will 
 Ye loud artillery of heaven: behold, 
 Unconquered I have lived — no arm but thine. 
 Almighty God, hath triumphed o'er Costanzo ! 
 I'm sick at heart — but — but I am revenged ! 
 
 ( Falls in Gheraldi's arms, and the curtain drops. ) 
 
 F 2 
 
t^p 
 
The following Stanzas are suhmiitcd io yottr gmermis 
 consideration ; should they elicit an apprauing smile^ it may 
 sweeten the sleep of the *' Young Dreamer ^^^ and trouble 
 the world with some additional cantos ,- if not, ^'requiescai 
 in pace" 
 
69 
 
 THS VOXTNa DREAMER. 
 
 Why was the world so fab? iTie breath of morn 
 Scarce fann'd the dews of rapture, and the boy 
 
 Rjdsed his green head in pride, as if Hwere bom 
 To reach heaven's blushing canopy, where Joy 
 
 And Hope with quickening power would gaily fling 
 
 O'er its young growth a robe of endless spring. 
 
 Why was the world so kind? His every hour 
 Was robed in smUes, his tender form carest. 
 
 And fortune cast on him the generous power 
 Of blessing others, and of being blest. 
 
 While Friendship strew'd his flowers with tender care, 
 
 And Love breath'd o'er the scene to add new sweetness 
 there. 
 
 Why was the world so dark? The boy awoke 
 As from a fairy dream — and all were gone! 
 
 The forms so lov'd, the kindling lights that broke 
 Upon his soul, had fled — he was alone, 
 
 And memory lingered, when of all bereft, 
 
 A torch to show the desolation left. 
 
70 
 
 And she, he loved, forsook her faith, to bow 
 
 Before a tyrant father^s stern decree. 
 Who grasped at wealth, and, with unblushing brow, 
 
 Pandar'd his child to licensed infamy! 
 Aye, to a wretch whose gold, like Caspian sand. 
 Lost all its lustre in his niggard hand. 
 
 He felt the nameless burning pang that bids 
 
 The mad'ning blood rash to its source, and swell 
 
 The heart to agony. His fever'd lids 
 Found no relief, no gentle tear-drop fell. 
 
 Till sorrow's kindest nurse her influence shed, 
 
 And strew'd her poppies o'er his wearied head. 
 
 Oh, Fancy! how thy strange creative power 
 Dehghts in contradictions; oft prepares 
 
 To startle joy and darken pleasure's bower 
 With hideous forms and visionary cares; 
 
 Yet breathes o'er sleeping sorrow, to impart 
 
 Some kindling spell to soothe the breaking heart. 
 
 That charm was his — he sat in loneliness. 
 Amidst the shadows of a tower whose high 
 
 And frowning mins lookeS o'er captive Greece, 
 A silent legend of the days gone by; 
 
 As in defiance of the power that gave 
 
 The land of glory to the turban'd slave! 
 
n 
 
 And all was still, save when some falling stone 
 Wak'd echo from her half-form'd classic dream. 
 
 And proud Lepanto from her ocean throne. 
 
 Threw o'er the shades of nig*ht a splendid gleam, 
 
 In welcome of the few who could not sleep 
 
 In chains, but strove for freedom on the deep. 
 
 But lo ! the tower has left its vision'd base, 
 And tumbled into ruins! Hous'd to men 
 
 A thousand Grecians, rally in its place, 
 Like hunted tigers battling for their den. 
 
 While shadowy falchions of the mighty dead 
 
 Leap from their sheaths to cleave the Moslem head. 
 
 Thy sound hath rous'd a nation — and see where 
 Like desert wild fire nurs'd by noxious breath, 
 
 The foe expires amidst the purer air 
 
 That breathes of Liberty ! Each cry of death 
 
 Echoed by thousands, whose first virgin kiss 
 
 Piecame pollution for a tyrant's bhss! 
 
 The listening mermaid on the joyful wave 
 
 Has thrown her beauteous hah' — rous'd by the cry. 
 
 The water-nymph deserts her rocky cave. 
 To hear the tale from zephyr passing by: 
 
 It nears the skies I Each shade by rapture driven, 
 
 'Starts up, and half essays to leave his heaven ! 
 
72 
 
 Oh why should fancy woo the dreamer off 
 To fair Italia, whose proud spirit lies 
 
 Buried beneath her soil, and, at each scoff 
 Of Europe's minions, stiniggles to arise. 
 
 Heaves the proud mounUdn with convulsive throe. 
 
 And breathes the fire her children dare not show. 
 
 No more in regions where a Byron toiPd, 
 He seeks the sacred ground a Byron sung. 
 
 The land by foes and treacherous friends despoil'd. 
 Whence man's self-nam'd deliverer's have wrung 
 
 The worshipped rehcs, dear in misery. 
 
 And, having forged their chains, dare, dare to call them 
 free ! 
 
 She sleeps in sorrow! but, of other days, 
 A thriUing voice, will chase the pearly drops. 
 
 Upon her native barriers bid her gaze. 
 And ask no world beyond their snowy tops. 
 
 Italia wake ! your sloth, your shame resign. 
 
 And plunge them with your chains deep in your moun- 
 tain shrine ! 
 
 It was a faded form, on wliich some fiend 
 Had laid his burning fingers — ^for distress 
 
 Had blanch'dthe cheeks of manhood, and he Ican'd 
 Over a couch of infant loveliness; 
 
 It was a simple lay that met the ear, 
 
 But breath'd in tones so sad, 'twere pain to hear. 
 
Sleep on, my boy! nor hear my strain, 
 I would not cloud thy early beam ; 
 
 Ne'er may thy riper years retain 
 Remembrance of thy infant dream. 
 
 Or bring" the last sad scene before thee, 
 A dying father watching o'er thee. 
 
 It were too much, thou couldst not gaze 
 Upon mine image, see still there 
 
 The ling'ring smile of happier days. 
 
 While feeling murmur'd " where, oh, where 
 
 Is he, whose notes so sad and wild 
 
 Thriird o'er his lov'd, liis orphan child?" 
 
 May thy young hopes, secure from harm. 
 Be cloth'd in everlasting green. 
 
 And should thy country claim thy arm. 
 Be all thy father would have been. 
 
 Ere sorrow tore him from the bloom 
 
 Of manhood to a nameless tomb ! 
 
 On! midst the thickest of her foes 
 Hew thee a path of death, and e're 
 
 The yawning breach of fate reclose. 
 
 Plunge, plunge, my Decius, let thy bief 
 
 Be worthy of a patriot's son, 
 
 T%?/ glory, and thy country's one! 
 G 
 
^4 
 
 Start not, my boy ! I would not break 
 Thy infant slumbers; let thy head 
 
 Best on my bosom — thou may'st wake 
 When mine shall find a colder bed ! 
 
 Sleep, sleep, my darling, for my strain 
 
 Of woe shall rouse thee not ag-ain. 
 
 Why ceas'd the mournful lay? the infant form 
 Now hangs delighted o'er those palhd lips, 
 
 j|lnd strives to ope them \vith embraces warm, 
 Unconscious 'tis the dew of death he sips. 
 
 Sweet flower of Eden, vainly would'st thou give 
 
 Thy fragrance to the grave — thou can'st not bid it live 
 
 The scene was changed — ^the dreamer seem'd to wake 
 
 Amidst a new creation, and the blaze 
 Of evening glory glanced upon a lake 
 
 Whose battled shores could tell of fiercer days. 
 Its waters fresh, as when young nature's birth 
 Oped the pure fountains of exulting earth. 
 
 A noble bark, rich freighted with the brave.. 
 Lay with her giant pinions furl'd in sleep, 
 
 Yet still appeared to kiss the wanton wave. 
 And woo her mighty shadow in the deep : 
 
 Her flag half-stolen from the hues of even. 
 
 And studded with the burning lamps of heaven. 
 
75 
 
 Oh, how liis spirit bounded — and the air, 
 The sky, the wave, the very earth he trod, 
 
 Grew purer when he saw that banner there. 
 The stars, the rainbow smile of freedom's god ! 
 
 But hark ' no warUke strains approach the strand-- 
 
 That air — ^I've heard it in my native land. 
 
 Why should the eyes of the sailor boy fill? 
 'Tis not the shanfl*ock that grows on yon hill; 
 Bright is the verdure where liberty reigns, 
 Ireland still dearer expiring in chains. 
 
 Think me not cold and ungrateful to you. 
 Bare but my heart — if its throbbings are true. 
 All will be found there — the gen'rous the kind. 
 My mother and country still deeper enshrin'd. 
 
 There was a moment's pause — as if the sound 
 Were lost in smothered sobs, and once again 
 
 Essayed to rise, but all too feeble found. 
 Until a stronger voice caught up the strain. 
 
 And breath'd its ruder melody, to chase 
 
 The starting tear from budding manhood's face. 
 
 What is the loss you so fondly deplore? 
 Rouse up, and sigh for thy country no more! 
 Look to this land, thy asylum in danger. 
 Thy shelter in sorrow, the home of the stranj^er. 
 
76 
 
 Dream not that Erin alone can be blest. 
 Thy LifFy may flow in the wilds of the west, 
 Where justice shall g-uard thee, and virtue controui. 
 And the iron shall blush ere it enter thy soul. 
 
 Here shall the sons of a Wallace and Tell 
 Fancy the chmes they defended so well; 
 The fig*-tree shall live where no tyrant can spoil, 
 And the vineyards of Italy bloom on our soil. 
 
 Child of the Highlands ! why nourish the flame 
 Where the tartan and bonnet are badges of shame ? 
 Can hope shield thy babes from the pitiless blast. 
 Or mem'ry rebuild the sad wreck of the past? 
 
 Highlander, fly from the desolate spot, 
 
 Tho' dearer in ruins thy own native cot. 
 
 Haste to our hills with the kindred that love thee. 
 
 And think thy Ben Lomond is tow'ring above thee! 
 
 Thou'lt not be alone, there are hearts here as true. 
 Will love thee still dearer for loving her too. 
 And the maid of thy bosom, when safe from all danger, 
 Will sing thee to sleep in the home of the stranger. 
 
 There was a rush of feeling, and a tear 
 
 Too warm for fancy, kissed the sleeper^s cheek. 
 
 And something mingled with his dreams so dear, 
 A voice by nature sweet, by sickness weak. 
 
 That mem'iy wandered to enjoy once more 
 
 The scenes where that dear voice was heard before. 
 
77 
 
 The spell was o'er him; yet it was a dream 
 
 That neai''d reality. It bade depart 
 The gayer visions, which but threw a gleam 
 
 Of distant splendour — this had warm'd his heapt, 
 And hke the smile of spring, that pillows fair 
 Its head on winter snows, chang'd all to verdure there. 
 
 Harp of the sad one I were thy thrilhng chords 
 Breathed on by angels, thou could'st ne'er impart 
 
 One half the sacred glow that mocks at words. 
 But burns within its cemetry the heart; 
 
 The passion which no change could ever move 
 
 The vestal fervour of a sister's love. 
 
 And I have felt it. Sister of my soul, 
 Oh that I could forever have been near 
 
 Thy gentle presence, to remove the bowl 
 Of sorrow from thy lips, and fondly hear 
 
 The words of sweet instruction, while each tone 
 
 Recall'd the golden days when joys was all our own. 
 
 My mom of being ! How the mounting soul 
 Joy'd in the coming glory — every ray 
 
 Seem'd but a pathway to the nameless goal 
 Of young ambition, as the embryo day 
 
 Peep'd o'er the hills oftime in infant play. 
 
 To kiss the dews of night, it could not chase away. 
 G2 
 
78 
 
 Sut thou wert with me then— and every spot. 
 My mormng star, was hallowM by thy smile, 
 
 Thy blue path still is there, but thou art not — 
 My morning' star, where rovest thou the while ? 
 
 Vainly I seek thee o'er the once lov'd hill, 
 
 And bid the morn return that I may see thee still. 
 
 EKD OF CANTO I. 
 
jFttflttitie <!^ffet(nfls* 
 
81 
 
 ELEGY ON J. D. P. 
 
 Qh, thou wast so pure, it was soothing to find ^ 
 In a world cold as ours a spirit so kind; 
 Thou hast wept at the sorrows of others alone, 
 Thou hast smiled at misfortune when solely thy own. 
 
 The lily unspotted above thee should, grow. 
 
 And the innocent violet over thee blow; 
 
 Thy virtues demand not a record of stone. 
 
 They are 'graved on the heart, and with that die alone, 
 
 And this the inscription:— If friendship and love 
 Are dear to that spirit that ruleth above. 
 Thou art gone to enjoy in his bright world the bliss. 
 That sickness and sorrow denied thee in this. 
 
 Oh ! chide not ! if I have no grief. 
 
 In outward show. 
 Of seek in pleasure short relief 
 
 From inward woe. 
 Oh ! chide not ! for the burning tear 
 
 Falls sad alone, 
 The wounded heart hath something dear 
 
 To rest upon, 
 Thetreasur'd mem'ry of the past 
 Time cannot dim, or fortune blast. 
 
«2 
 
 Frown not ! that bowl but mock'd my thirst; 
 
 In fancy's dream 
 Reflected all, too fondly nurst. 
 
 My boyhood's beam: 
 My star of hope ! can I forget 
 
 The light it guve ^ 
 The hour it rose in joy, or set 
 
 "Within the grave ? 
 The hquid hails a stranger di'op, 
 'Tis sorrow's offering at the top. 
 
 Mark not my tongue ! its careless flow 
 
 May pain conceal, 
 Why should I cloud my friends with wee 
 
 They cannot feel? 
 Can 1 receive a father's smile 
 
 With tearful eye ? 
 Or should a brother's care beguile, 
 
 Not check the sigh? 
 Then chide not ! tho' my grief's unknown. 
 Its sacred offering falls alone. 
 
 TOH- 
 
 A little boon, dear lady! lend 
 A moment to my humble lay. 
 
 The heartfelt offering of a. friend 
 Wh© kails with joy thy natal day 
 
83 
 
 Why 'neath December's frosty shroud 
 Appeal's the blooming form of May^ 
 
 Or sky unsulUed with a cloud? 
 Lo ! it is Harriet's natal day. 
 
 The sun assumes a warmer glow. 
 The moon emits a brighter ray. 
 
 E'en rugged winter smoothes his brow, 
 And smiles for Harriet's natal day. 
 
 Oh happy be thy early spring, 
 Let care take wings and fly away. 
 
 And each revolving season bring 
 New lustre to thy natal day. 
 
 When winter shows his dreary face. 
 And time dyes nature's mantle grav , 
 
 Still let the smiles thy features grace 
 Which beam on this thy natal day. 
 
 And when the lamp of life grows pale. 
 The scenes that love you fade away. 
 
 There is a hope which cannot fail. 
 In Heaven shall dawn thy natal day ^ 
 
MY OWN LOVED HOME. 
 
 Air — << Love's Yotmg Dream.'' 
 
 The tree that blooms in conscious pride 
 
 'Neath eastern skies, 
 Remove it to our mountain's side. 
 
 It droops and dies: 
 The stranger soil disown's the guest. 
 
 No genial breezes come, 
 ©h! it vainly seeks the warmth that blest 
 
 Its own loved home ! 
 
 Tho' youthful fancy roam at will. 
 
 Too fond of change, 
 Tho' varied prospects bid it still 
 
 Unwearied range. 
 Should sorrow stain the manly cheek, 
 
 No soothing accents come, 
 dh! the beating heart will vainly seek 
 
 Its own loved home! 
 
 Oh, think not, tho' I gaily smile, 
 
 That peace dwells here ; 
 The careless jest may oft beguile 
 
 The starting tear: 
 But let the angry tempest roar, 
 
 I've still my native dome; 
 It is the rainbow of my soul, 
 
 My own loved home. 
 
85 
 
 How oft I watch with wild delight 
 
 The midnig'ht queen; 
 In fancy trace the beams that light 
 
 The hallowed scene. 
 Each spot that knew the wayward boy 
 
 Shall brighter still become. 
 Still dear in sorrow as in joy. 
 
 My own loved home. 
 
 Farewell ye smiles, as false as bright. 
 
 Now dear no more, 
 Farewell, the exile's gloomy night 
 
 Shall soon be o'er. 
 And, when fatigued with life's alanns. 
 
 The wand'rer cease to roam, 
 Oh, then receive him in tliy arms. 
 
 My own loved home ! 
 
 TO 
 
 With a Musical Work-Box. 
 
 Take this trifle, love, and give it 
 Real worth in being thine; 
 
 Frown not on the toy, receive it, 
 Be its fate a type of mine: 
 H 
 
86 
 
 ^or 'twill sweetly soothe thee, dearest. 
 If thy hand awake the strain, 
 
 Breathe its joy when thou art nearest. 
 In thy absence sleep again. 
 
 When my Mary breaks its slumbers. 
 Think of one who Hves for you; 
 
 The same touch that wakes its numbers. 
 Bids him thrill to rapture too! 
 
 MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 Fast flow the tears from fond affection's eye 
 Where the long grass in sadness seems to wave. 
 
 Hark! 'tis her fading- boy that breathes the sigh, 
 And claims a refuge in his mother's grave. 
 
 Tho' flattering hopes our anxious fears beguiled. 
 Daily we saw her much loved image fade, 
 
 While undisturb'd by fear, she sweetly smiled 
 At the sad havoc dire disease had made. 
 
 Without a sigh she left life's fleeting charms. 
 Its setting sun with holy lustre fired. 
 
 And, clasped witliin her dear Redeemer's arms. 
 Her Heaven began ere yet the lamp expired. 
 
%7 
 
 i'en when her cheeks were blanched by dews of death? 
 
 Whose cold embrace had froze the genial tide, 
 E'en when her wasted form resigned its breath. 
 
 The lovely ruin spoke its former pride. 
 
 The placid brow, the calm, yet joyful face. 
 Bright testimonials of the happy dead. 
 
 The seraph smile, that still retained its place, 
 Spoke where the bright inhabitant had fled. 
 
 Affection strives in vain with waimest praise 
 To Tc^ach the worth affection could not save. 
 
 Here let the aching heart its tribute raise 
 
 In sweet remembrance o'er my mother's grave. 
 
 HARP OF THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 Dark was the night o'er the turbulent billow, 
 ;M ;ci;ing the earth in her mantle of snow. 
 
 When Rdwin arose from his comfortless pillow. 
 And tuned his lone harp to the accents of woe* 
 
 The wild burst of sorrow his manly breast heaving". 
 His palhd cheek wet with the tear of despair. 
 
 No balm of affection his anguish relieving. 
 
 No kind soothing voice of condolence was neail*. 
 
83 
 
 Bread o'er the scene was the tempest fiend gliding". 
 Loud roar'd the blast, but it shook not his form. 
 
 He felt not its keenness, he heard not its chiding". 
 For in his o^vn breast raged a deadlier storm. 
 
 Strahis of my infancy! why should I raise yei^ 
 Fled is the spirit that lived in your lay, 
 
 Hush'd is the voice that delighted to praise ye, 
 Cheer'd all your wand'rings, illumined your way. 
 
 Once I was happy, could boast of possessing 
 All that was lovely, and faithful and fair; 
 
 Bright rose my morning, replete with each blessing. 
 Gaily I laugh'd at the phantom of care. 
 
 What w^as the world, when I liv'd for one only? 
 
 Swift from his throne the dread messenger came, 
 Darken'd the vision, and left me thus lonely. 
 
 Blasted my spirit, and withered my frame. 
 
 Is there a friend that from memory will borrow, 
 Aught that can hallow the wanderer's urn? 
 
 One who will feel for the victim of sorrow. 
 Bid the rude foot from his resting place tuvn? 
 
8^ 
 
 Yes, I must hope, to those kind hearts appealing", 
 Who knew all my errors, yet loved as before. 
 
 Some eyes, as my knell calls the warm tide of feelingj 
 Will weep for the friend who shall greet them no mort. 
 
 What, tho' the priest breathes no requiem o'er me. 
 It dims not my mem'ry, nor blights the green sod ; 
 
 My proud spirit flies *o,the mother that bore me. 
 Appealing from man to the throne of his God. 
 
 Why dost thou cling i* thou shalt not be forsaken, 
 Dear are the friends who shall watch o'er my boy, 
 
 'Till from the dream of existence he waken. 
 And welcome the morning in regions of joy. 
 
 Oft shall the angel whose image thou bearest. 
 Breathe o'et thy slumbers a heavenly charm. 
 
 Oft shall thy father, when dangers are nearest. 
 Hover around to protect thee from harm. 
 
 Harp of the broken heart! cease thy complaining, 
 No one will echo the querelous strain, 
 
 Hush'd be thy voice, scarce a chord is remaining, 
 " I never will waken thy numbers again." 
 
 H 
 
90 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Spirit of joy and bliss ! fly not the shrine 
 
 Where anxious love in adoration kneels. 
 Where passion hallow'd by a glance divine. 
 But breathes in whispers half that passion feels: 
 Return! what lovelier temple can you seek? 
 Restore your smiles to grace my Mary's cheek. 
 
 Airs of my native land ! respect th^ 'flower 
 
 That woos your kind embrace with aspect pale; 
 For me alone reserve your Upas power. 
 But breathe for her the Arab's spicy gale; 
 Oh! let the blush of health and gladness speak 
 Amidst the roses on my Mary's cheek. 
 
 Angel of health ! Oh steal the brightest glow- 
 That conscious beauty wakes in Hebe's face. 
 And, with a magic transfer, bid it know 
 A fairer seat, a lovelier resting place. 
 Angel of health! thy roses need not seek 
 A sweeter home — strew them on Mary's cheek. 
 
 'Twas not a sigh! thy wiUing ear 
 
 But fancied pain ; 
 Passion has ceas'd to struggle here, 
 
 Tho' love remain • 
 
91 
 
 Or, if a sig-h escaped my breast, 
 
 It was the last, 
 And only fled to join the rest, 
 
 Not mourn the past. 
 
 ^Twas not a tear! thy anxious eye 
 
 Hath wTong-'d my cheek; 
 Its burning blush would bid it diy 
 
 Ere shame could speak. 
 But, if one recreant di'op was there 
 
 When fcehng fled, 
 'Twas manhood bade the last sad tear, 
 
 Go, join the dead. 
 
 AT NIGHT. 
 
 When Sol has slept. 
 
 When Heaven has wept. 
 And Cyntliia sheds auspicious lig'ht, 
 
 I bless the hour 
 
 And seek the bower, 
 Where love's elysium blooms at night, 
 
 The thrilhng kiss. 
 
 The look of bhss, 
 The mutual tokens of delight, 
 
 And rapture's tear, 
 
 Proclaim how dear 
 The souls, that meet to love at niglit. 
 
92 
 
 6h never yet, 
 
 Can I forget, 
 ^Midst pleasure's dream or sorrow's blight, 
 
 The ray of joy, 
 
 That blest her boy, 
 "When some one call'd me her's at night. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Wake, lady wake ! the wand'rer's strain 
 rioats wild!)' in the midnight air. 
 
 And echo breathes the notes again 
 That love and friendship yield the fair: 
 
 Oh! ope those melting orbs of light 
 And rob the slumberer of his prize; 
 
 Let watchful love forget 'tis night. 
 Beneath the lusti'e of those eyes; 
 
 Wake, Lady wake! 
 
 Wake, Lady wake ! the trem'ling moon. 
 Looks gently from the vaiied sky. 
 
 And asks from earth the sweetest boon, 
 The magic hght of Mary's eye: 
 
 Oh answer Cynthia's silent plea. 
 And hear the Minstrel's numbers soar, 
 
 Her smiles have longer courted thee. 
 But oh! they could not love thee more. 
 Wake, Lady wake 
 
93 
 
 THE MEETING OF SOULS. 
 
 There's a moment of soitow to memory dear, 
 When friends must be parted, and hearts will remain; 
 
 When hope sweetly mingles a smile with a tear. 
 And whispers, *' why mourn? we shall soon meet again!" 
 
 There's a moment of transport, we never forget. 
 When the Mps that were distant, are joined with a kiss. 
 
 When all that affection would breathe ere they met, 
 Is lost in the eloquent silence of bhss. 
 
 There's a moment that misery claims as her own 
 When the last dreadful stniggle of nature is o'er, 
 
 And the lonely one starts as he echo's the groan. 
 The spirit has pass'd ! shall we ever meet more ? 
 
 Shall we ever meet more? shall the noble and brave 
 Sleep near to the coward ! nor rise from their beds? 
 
 Shall the fire of the spirit be quench'd in the grave? 
 And the proud one be lost in the dust that he treads ? 
 
 Shall we ever meet more? shall the tyrant repose 
 In peace, by the thousands he crushed in his might ? 
 
 Shall the eye of the sufferer never unclose 
 To blast the pale wretch who extinguish'd its light ?. 
 
94 
 
 Shall we ever meet more ? shall the bud of the wild. 
 Agahi be restor'd to its own lovely tree ? 
 
 Shall the parent exult in the arms of his child? 
 The hero be blest, and the captive be free? 
 
 Shall we ever meet more ? shall the pilgrim of woe 
 Find all the dear ties that asunder were riven? 
 
 Shall the charm that illumined liis wand'rings below. 
 Still brighten his pathway of roses in Heaven? 
 
 Will she, who watched over my childhood be there. 
 Who soothed me in sorrow and blessed me in joy. 
 
 And know me? oh, say, will a mother's warm tear. 
 Fall o'er the changed form she had loved as her boy? 
 
 Those tears be my welcome, the tribute of love. 
 The sparkles of happiness, bhss can beguile; 
 
 And her smile, will it have the same sweetness above ^ 
 ^Twould not be my mother, if robbed of tliat smile ! 
 
 On her gentle bosom I'd softly recline, 
 Each kindling endearment of boyhood recall: 
 
 For others the splendours of Heaven might shine, 
 I'd. cling to my mother, still " dearer than all !" 
 
95 
 
 And wilt thou lovely flower of the Island be there? 
 Aind leave our rude clime for a region of bliss. 
 
 To welcome the spirits who found thee too fair. 
 And bind up the hearts thou hast broken in this ? 
 
 Oh, they who have joy'd in thy fragrance before. 
 Will form a sweet circle of love round thy throne; 
 
 The beauteous exotic shall bloom evermore. 
 The queen of some Island as bright as her own. 
 
 Lady, the stranger would please, but 'tis vain. 
 His feehngs and offerings too sadly agree, 
 
 Forgive, that he breathes so imperfect a stmin, 
 While touching the chord that was hallo w'd by thee. 
 
 His spirit was stormy, he laugh'd o'er the foam, 
 His guiding star lost, but he left not the deck. 
 
 For the compass of hope pointed still to his home. 
 Where the hfe-boat should bear him away from the 
 wreck. 
 
 What fired the bright beacon when pleasure was gone ? 
 What rous'd his cold fancy, enlivened his frame ? 
 
 " He knew not, he ask'd not," hke Iran's dear son, 
 He 9ftw but its lustre and worshipp'd the flame. 
 
96 
 
 Turn not from the stranger the light of that smile, 
 It warm'd his sad heart in the moment of pain; 
 
 Not e'en for the wealth of thme own native isle, 
 Would he quench the sweet incense it kindled up there. 
 
 lAdy, farewell ! midst the shadows of night ' 
 Should I image thy form when the solemn bell tolls, 
 
 Oh! fancy shall hail thee, a spii'it of light, 
 A messenger, sent from the meeting of souls! 
 
 ANNIVERSARY ODE FOR THE 8th OF 
 JANUARY. 
 
 When freedom's eagle winged her giant flight 
 
 Across th' Atlantic sea. 
 Her ancient eyi-ie in the night, 
 
 Entomb'd of slavery; 
 Earth saw the star of Europe's day 
 
 That once on all had shone. 
 The splendour of its former ray, 
 On Britain shed alone. 
 
 Where power arose 
 O'er trampled foes 
 With U'on hand to bind 
 
 The tyrant's reins. 
 The bigot's chains. 
 And they to chains resign'd. 
 
9^ 
 
 High ramp*d the I5ritish lion then and proud 
 
 O'er prostrate realms he swayed, 
 I'he nations at his anger bowed, . 
 
 And half the world obeyed: 
 I'he glory then of Italy, 
 
 The chivalry of France, 
 Before the light'ning of his eye 
 Shrunk wither'd at a glance; 
 The tri-color 
 Grew pale before 
 The terror of his frown. 
 His voice alone 
 Destroy 'd a throne. 
 His will restored a crown. 
 
 Then rose fair land of liberty thy sun, 
 
 . And frighted virtue made her home 
 With thee, where mighty torrents run. 
 And on thy forest mountains roam 
 The children of thy untam'd soil; 
 
 They too untam'd, not unconfin'd 
 By laws, but pure from arts that spoil 
 The freedom of the mind. 
 There virtue dwelt, 
 And there were felt 
 The blessings of her name; 
 There beauty, hcaltli, 
 And peace, and wealth, 
 Walk'd hand in hand with fame. 
 I 
 
98 
 
 Proud city, on thy blasted plains the heatk 
 
 Is withered, and thy stormy wave 
 Broad Mississippi, speaks of death, 
 As if each hollow cell a grave 
 Contained, within thy breast: 
 
 And wherefore is it so ? 
 Who underneath thy billows rest, 
 
 Dark river? what hath laid ye low 
 Fair blossoms ? not 
 The hand, I wot. 
 Of nature in her frown; 
 Her winter ne'er 
 Is half so drear. 
 She sends no blood-drops down* 
 
 A thousand voices answer from the deep, 
 
 Lo,here the British lion stood! 
 And where a thousand's ashes sleep. 
 
 Here stream'd the gory flood! 
 See! rousing at the sound again. 
 War's crimson'd arm is bare. 
 And havoc's slaughter cry, as then. 
 Rides deaf'ning on the jur. 
 The purple tide 
 Again is dyed 
 A deep and deeper red; 
 And Enghsh blood 
 Hath stain'd the flood 
 Where Eng^lish hearts have bled- 
 
99 
 
 Who leads the hostile squadron on, his brow 
 
 Encircled by the laurel wreath, 
 That snatched from France, he carries now 
 
 A tahsman 'gainst deatli? 
 Sehold! the Hght'ning" of the war 
 
 Hath sear'd it in its pride, 
 Its with'ring fragments strewn afar. 
 Lie scattered o'er the tide? 
 And he whose arm 
 Had won the charm 
 Lies bleeding on the sand, 
 While round his form 
 The corses warm 
 Ajc reeldng, of his band. 
 
 Weep, Albion, weep thy haughty Lion'» fall. 
 
 Our eagle soars on high; 
 AVho strike as ye struck, perish all! 
 
 Our cause was liberty. 
 And tho' no song of triumph rise 
 For him who did the deed. 
 No loud alarums rend the skies. 
 No trophies pay his meed; 
 The widow's fears. 
 The orphan's tears. 
 Now changed to smiles, shall pay 
 To Jackson yet 
 The mighty debt 
 ®f that triumphant day. 
 
100 
 
 MARY. 
 
 There was a name, in childhood's honr, 
 
 A little word, a spell of power, 
 
 Could e\ery way ward thought controul. 
 
 And waken music in m}' soul : 
 
 Its chains so gentl}- hung- around me, 
 
 I fondly press' d each link that bound me. 
 
 And thought from such captivity 
 
 I never, never luouldhe free. . 
 
 That name, I felt its earliest charms 
 Within a mother's cradling arms. 
 When he, my source of life and joy, 
 Bless'd his *' dear Mar\ " and his boy! 
 My heart received its treasured prize 
 And spoke its gladness in my eyes. 
 That beam'd as if with strength endowed. 
 The embrj^o soul hadbui'st its shroud! 
 
 That name still dearer, dearer grew 
 When a kind sister claim'd it too ; 
 My thoughts, my feehngs were refin'd 
 Before the mirror of her mind. 
 And w^hen the blush, of morn was o'er us 
 How briglit the path of life before us. 
 The fruit so sweet, the flowers so gay, 
 Where art thou, Mary? where arc they r 
 
101 
 
 That name can ne'er its power forg-et. 
 But gives to looks that love me yet 
 (To waken bliss and care beguile) 
 The semblance of my mother's smile. 
 A sister's voice, as kind, as dear, 
 A sister's sympathising tear. 
 These are not lost — I fondly see. 
 My Mary, all restored in thee. 
 
 That name, how richly valued now ! 
 When gazing on thy lovely brow. 
 Thy form, where " purity enshrin'd'^ 
 So sweetly guides a matchless mind, 
 I've vainly, vainly sought for speech 
 To breathe the worth I could not reach. 
 And whispering "Mary,'' oh! I've found 
 A world within that magic sound. 
 
 And can it e'er be nought to me. 
 Or lose its hallow'd melody ? 
 Oh, no! like Ossian's darling theme,* 
 Thy name shall light my darkest dream. 
 And when my harp discordant rings. 
 Thy spirit, breathing o'er the strings. 
 Shall change the tone and bid it raise 
 Sweet numbers to "my Mary's" praise. 
 
 * Malvina, the betrothed of his son Oscar, and the affectionate g^ide 
 of the sightless bard. After her death, as the wind swept the chords 
 of his harp, he often fancied the presence of his lost favorite. 
 12 
 
102 
 
 Dear name! my lips in breathing you, 
 As if the sound might leave them too, 
 Cling closer, anxious to recall 
 The much lov'd accents as they fall. 
 It gi'ows with hfe — with life to 'part 
 The warm devotion of the heart. 
 Each zealot has his chosen shrine, 
 " Thou, Mary, art forever mine !" 
 
 BALLAD.* 
 
 'Tis lonely in Ehza's bower, 
 The lamp untrim'd, the couch unprest — 
 
 Where wanders she in such an hour. 
 When innocence and youth should rest ? 
 
 The beauteous guardian of the night 
 Sheds a protecting influence round. 
 
 And g-rateful nature hails the lig*ht. 
 That spangles o'er the dewy ground. 
 
 Can danger lurk in such a scene •* 
 Can man, by brutal passions driven. 
 
 Face the soft ray of midnight's queen, 
 And murder 'midst the smiles of Heaven * 
 * Founded on Fact, 
 
103 
 
 A voice is heard — not one alone — 
 For other, sadder sounds are nigh 5 
 
 It is a mother^s pleading* tone, 
 A dying" infant's smother'd cry. 
 
 Oh! when beneath the silver ray. 
 It pillow'd soft its little head; 
 
 Could man disturb it where it lay. 
 To place it in a colder bed? 
 
 The wave receded from the shore, 
 Exulting in a prize so sweet, 
 
 Yet e'en again repentant bore. 
 The lovely victim to thy feet. 
 
 And thou could'st spurn it — coward wretch! 
 When the cold wave had pity — thou 
 
 Could'st see its hands for mercy sti*etch, • 
 And whelm in death its lovely brow! 
 
 May the eternal vengeance hoard. 
 Its burning curses for thy sake, 
 
 And shouldst tliou thirst the wave abhorred, 
 Over thy soul in mockery break! 
 
 Thy babe shall haunt the endless dream. 
 Before thy startled vision swim. 
 
 And offer, from the murderous stream. 
 The draught so fully dealt to him. 
 
104 
 
 But see the pale Eliza stand 
 With sunken cheek and aspect wild! 
 
 The outraged spirit of the land, 
 Claims from her hands her murdered child. 
 
 She speaks not, pleads not, save to say, 
 That she is guiltless of its death. 
 
 And would have given her Ufe to stay. 
 Her darhng baby's parting breath. 
 
 They ask of one, (but naught can prove,) 
 Who wronged and fled — why did he fly? 
 
 She answers not — to save her love 
 Prefers a felon's death to die. 
 
 To that dread voice, so still before, 
 The awful words of fate are given — 
 
 ** A few brief days of trial more, 
 " The next before the bar of Heaven!*' 
 
 But there is one who whisper's "Live!" 
 Whose heart's best blood were freely spilt. 
 
 Ere that too faithful heart could give, 
 Its credence to a sister's guilt. 
 
 Your cruel judgment I'll deny. 
 Before the rulers of the land ! 
 
 There is no crime in that soft eye. 
 No murder on that lily hand ! 
 
b 
 
 105 
 
 Now onward, on, my gallant steed! 
 Thy flying" mane must kiss the wind ; 
 
 Let distance vanish in thy speed. 
 And leave those towering hills behind. 
 
 On! on! thou bearest thy foaming brow, 
 To no proud scene of bloody strife ; 
 
 I seek the Usts of mercy now. 
 The prize Eliza's forfeit life. 
 
 Plunge ! plunge ! altho' the tempest lowers. 
 We've swam as deep a wave before — 
 
 The cause of innocence is ours; 
 That cause shall bear us safely o'er. 
 
 The bank is gained — the distant halls 
 Of state, in fancy seem to rise. 
 
 When lo! his noble charger falls. 
 Struggles awhile, and pants and dies. 
 
 My gallant horse ! — thou wert full dear, 
 Thy match not all my wealth had bought; 
 
 I must not stay to moui'n thee here, 
 A sister claims my every thought. 
 
 On! on ! — the stranger courser leaves 
 The shadows gathering on his flight; 
 
 The flashing steel triLmiphant cleaves 
 Like lightning 'midst the clouds of night. 
 
1G6 
 
 Oh ! haste thee, Hke my charger brave. 
 That gave for me his parting breath — 
 
 I go to one, empowered to save. 
 My sister from a felon's death. 
 
 She Hes so pale, in slumber thrown 
 Her snowy arms on either side. 
 
 That death had thought the form his own 
 And clsdm'd her for his lovely bride. 
 
 She dreams of youth's fehcity. 
 Of burning vows believed too well, 
 
 She wakes — alas ! the fatal tree 
 Claims its sad victim from her cell. 
 
 And hearts there are within that crowd 
 That feel the force of sorrow's weight. 
 
 And tongues there are that murmur loud 
 Against the lovely felon's fate. 
 
 She raises now her tearless eye. 
 And hope still seems to linger there . 
 
 "Oh! were he here to see me die. 
 And sootlie me with a brother s care. 
 
 '< He comes not — oh, how dark this place! 
 He yet rnay be in time to save 
 
 An honoured name from foul disgrace, 
 A sister from a felon's grave !" 
 
107 
 
 The death-bell tolls—she strives to speak- 
 The noose around her neck is past. 
 
 One name— a blush is on her cheek, 
 'Twas love's first offering and its last. 
 
 What steed comes wildly o'er the hill 
 I.ike lightning- to the fatal tree.^ 
 
 Who madly spurs him fiercer still? 
 One universal shout— "'tis he! !" 
 
 The frenzied cry of " a reprieve !" 
 
 Echo repeats with wild alarms. 
 He comes! he comes! 'tis to receive 
 
 Her lifeltss body in his arms. 
 
/!/. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Italian HushaJid - 
 
 The Young Dreamer . _ . - 
 
 ElegymJ.D.P, . . - . 
 
 Oh chide not - - - - - 
 
 ToH 
 
 My own Lov^d Home . - . . 
 
 To , with a Musical-Box - - 85 
 
 My Mother's Ch-ave - - - - 8« 
 
 The Harp of the Broken Heart - - 8' 
 
 Invocation - - - - - - 9*' 
 
 * Twos not a sigh . . , . ih 
 
 M Night ' - - - - - 91 
 
 Serenade ----- 9"^ 
 
 Meeting of Souls - - - - - 9o 
 
 Anniversary Ode for the Sth of January - 90 
 
 Mary - - . - - - IOC 
 
 Ballad ----- 102 
 
 LB 019 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
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