His eyes on mine, and drag me down, down, down!
For was he not alone omnipotent

On Earth, and ever present? Even tho' dead,
Does not his spirit live in all that breathe,
And work for me and mine still the same ruin,
Scorn, pain, despair? Who ever yet returned
To teach the laws of death's untrodden realm ?
Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now,
Oh whither, whither?

Lucr. Trust in God's sweet love,

The tender promises of Christ: ere night,
Think we shall be in Paradise.

Beatr. 'Tis past!

Whatever comes, my heart shall sink no more.
And yet, I know not why, your words strike chill:
How tedious, false, and cold, seem all things. I
Have met with much injustice in this world;
No difference has been made by God or man,
Or any power moulding my wretched lot,
"Twixt good or evil, as regarded me.

I am cut off from the only world I know,

From light, and life, and love, in youth's sweet prime.
You do well telling me to trust in God:

I hope I do trust in him. In whom else

Can any trust? And yet my heart is cold.

(During the latter speeches GIACOMO has retired conversing with CAMILLO, who now

goes out. GIACOMO advances.)

Giac. Know you not, mother-sister, know you not,

Bernardo even now is gone to implore

The Pope to grant our pardon?

Lucr. Child, perhaps

It will be granted. We may all then live

To make these woes a tale for distant years;

Oh, what a thought! It gushes to my heart
Like the warm blood.

Beatr. Yet both will soon be cold.

Oh, trample out that thought! Worse than despair,
Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope:

It is the only ill which can find place
Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour

Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost
That it should spare the eldest flower of spring:
Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose couch
Even now a city stands, fair, strong, and free;
Now stench and blackness yawn, like death. Oh, plead
With famine, or wind-walking pestilence,
Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man!
Cruel, cold, formal man! righteous in words,
In deeds a Cain. No, mother, we must die,
Since such is the reward of innocent lives,
Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.

And, whilst our murderers live, and hard cold men,
Smiling and slow, walk thro' a world of tears
To death as to life's sleep, 'twere just the grave
Were some strange joy for us. Come, obscure Death,
And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!

Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,

And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.
Live ye, who live, subject to one another

As we were once, who now→→→

BERNARDO rushes in.

Ber. Oh, horrible!

That tears, that looks, that hope poured forth in prayer,

Even till the heart is vacant and despairs,

Should all be vain! The ministers of death

Are waiting round the doors. I thought I saw

Blood on the face of one--what if 'twere fancy?
Soon the heart's blood of all I love on earth
Will sprinkle him, and he will wipe it off
As if 'twere only rain. O life! O world!
Cover me! let me be no more!

To see
That perfect mirror of pure innocence
Wherein I gazed, and grew happy and good,
Shivered to dust! To see thee, Beatrice,

Who made all lovely thou didst look upon-
Thee, light of life-dead, dark! while I say, sister,
To hear I have no sister; and thou, mother,

Whose love was a bond to all our loves

Dead!

The sweet bond broken!

Enter CAMILLO and Guards.

They come! Let me

Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves Are blighted-white-cold. Say farewell, before Death chokes that gentle voice! Oh, let me hear You speak!

Beatr. Farewell, ny tender brother. Think Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now: And let mild pitying thoughts lighten for thee Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh despair, But tears and patience. One thing more, my child, For thine own sake be constant to the love

Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I,

Though wrapt in a strange cloud of crime and shame, Lived ever holy and unstained. And though

Ill tongues shall wound me, and our common name Be as a mark stamped on thine innocent brow

For men to point at as they pass, do thou

Forbear, and never think a thought unkind

Of those who perhaps love thee in their graves.
So mayest thou die as I do, fear and pain
Being subdued. Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Ber. I cannot say, farewell!

Cam. O Lady Beatrice!

Beatr. Give yourself no unnecessary pain,
My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, Mother, tie
My girdle for me, and bind up this hair
In any simple knot; ay, that does well.
And yours I see is coming down. How often
Have we done this for one another! now
We shall not do it any more. My Lord,
We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well.

END OF VOL 1.