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 The father's revenge; a tragedy, with oth 
 
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 the Cornell University Library. 
 
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THE 
 
 FATHER'S REVENGE, 
 
 TRAGEDY: 
 
 WITH OTHER POEMS; 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PRINTED BY W. BULMER AND CO. 
 
 &$k6pmt printing £DfKct, 
 
 RUSSEL-COURT, CLEVELAND-ROW, ST. JAMEs's. 
 
 1800. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 In ancient times, when Edward's conquering son, 
 
 O'er prostrate France his glorious course had run; 
 
 'Midst clashing arms, and 'midst the din of war, 
 
 Meek Science follow' d not the Victor's car. 
 
 Though Gower and Chaucer knelt before her shrine, 
 
 And woo'd, on British ground, the tuneful Mine, 
 
 Yet she, to climes congenial to her soul, 
 
 Fled from our chilling blasts, and northern pole. 
 
 'Twas there she waved her universal wand, 
 
 And led, o'er classic fields, her learned band; 
 
 There, as a model to this distant age. 
 
 With language pure adorn d Boccacio's page. 
 
 While all around us here was cold and dark, 
 
 While chieftain dunces set their peasant mark, 
 
 The Muse was stringing Dante's sounding shell, 
 
 Bade him, inspired, of things sublime to tell, 
 
 And, to his proud demand, expanded heaven and hell ; 
 
 O'er the soft lute taught Petrarch's hand to move, 
 
 And give his years to sweetest song, and love. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 Tet here, though late, when milder life began 
 To spread its influence, and to soften man ; 
 When, as the castle sunk, the rampart Jell, 
 And struggling reason burst the monkish cell, 
 Toung Industry rustid forth, the desart smiled, 
 And Geres triumptid o'er the heathy wild. 
 Hither the Muse would sometimes bend her way, 
 Willing to loiter, but afraid to stay ; 
 Until bright spirits of etherialjire 
 Raised the charm d note, and waked the British lyre, 
 Shakspeare and Milton ! Listening to their lays, 
 How soon unfelt were Albion s clouded days. 
 Pleased, too, she follow d where her Cowley led, 
 O'er Waller s tongue her choicest honey spread, 
 Nor let that garland fade she wove for Spenser s head. 
 
 These knew to tempt her stay ; — from soil she loved, 
 Hither her plants, and favourite flowers removed; 
 Taught the sweet sounds that roWd o'er Arms wave, 
 Again to vibrate in their Thames s cave. 
 
 Such sacred labours to pursue with care, 
 Dry den, to all their skill and science heir, 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 Qaughtfrom their mighty hands the magic power, 
 
 And fix d her empire on Britannia's shore. 
 
 He, from Italia s fount , would frequent bring 
 
 The dismal tale, the tender heart to wring ; 
 
 Each stormy pafsion of the breast to move, 
 
 By Guiscard'sfate, and Sigismonda s love. 
 
 If .following him, a Bard should dare explore, 
 
 And search that mine which had been pierced before ; 
 
 If, on the Stage, he now presumes to shew, 
 
 By such great masters touctid, dark crimes and woe ; 
 
 The bold attempt forgive, the Poet spare, 
 
 JVbr, though you wept before, deny the tear. 
 
 And if, in varied form, and order new, 
 
 He brings again the wretched to your view, 
 
 'Tis to those masters but fresh worship paid, 
 
 And added incense on their altars laid. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEM. 
 
 Tancred. 
 
 Archbishop of Salerno. 
 
 Manfred, Prince of Benevento. 
 
 Guiscard. 
 
 monforti. 
 
 Hassan. 
 
 Anselmo. 
 
 Bender. 
 
 Raimond. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 SlGISMONDA. 
 SlBILLA. 
 
 Scene, Salerno. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHERS REVENGE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 ACT I. SC E XE L 
 
 A CLOISTER IN THE ARCHBISHOp's PALACE, OPENING IN FRONT 
 TO A DISTANT VIEW OF MOUNT VESUVIUS. A FLIGHT OF 
 STEPS ON THE SIDE LEADING TO THE CHAPEL. THE ORGAN 
 AND VOICES ARE HEARD FROM WITHIN. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop, Anselmo, and Monks, in procession 
 
 Archbishop. 
 
 Move forward to the chapel — you, Anselmo, 
 Remain with me — I'll speedily attend you ; 
 For yet cold age must not retard my duty. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Archbishop and Anselmo. 
 
2 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Fearlefs of death, and carelefs when ye hide 
 
 These wearied bones beneath your holy pavement, 
 
 Too weak to struggle for an injured people, 
 
 And rush between my brother's wrath and them, 
 
 What charm has life for me ! I view the bourn, 
 
 Its welcome limitation, and fain would, 
 
 Fatigued, worn down, shape a near course towards it. 
 
 Ansel. What means my lord ? On that unruffled brow, 
 By holy patience smooth'd, I ne'er beheld 
 Such marks of rooted care. 
 
 Archb. Alas ! Anselmo, 
 Little thou know'st the horrors of last night ! 
 Terrors are surely made for guilt : you'd think 
 That Virtue would, like our tall Pharos, stand, 
 Which spurns the waves that dash in vain below, 
 And, midst the war of jarring elements, 
 Maintains its pure and salutary light. 
 Yet, tho' in peace with God and man, when late 
 I laid me down to take a short repose, 
 Fears, I'm ashamed to own, did banish sleep. 
 Almighty powers ! what must the accursed feel, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 The shrouded murderer at his final doom, 
 
 When, bursting from his charnel-house, he meets 
 
 The accusing angel ? He, alas ! weigh'd down 
 
 With the foul burden of repeated sin ; 
 
 I, wash'd from guilt, and blamelefs : Yet I felt 
 
 Horror past utterance ; the pealing noises 
 
 Still din upon my ear. 
 
 Ansel. Most reverend father, 
 It was my duty, all the livelong night, 
 To watch before our altar. Solemn stillnefs 
 Hush'd the whole convent ; e'en Vesuvius, 
 In dying thunders, seem'd to court repose. 
 
 Archb. Anselmo, mark my words, and I beseech thee, 
 Think not 'twas dotage wove this airy vision. 
 A thousand footsteps seem'd in haste to pafs 
 Close by my chamber door : — strange whisperings — 
 Then horrid shrieks : — and some, methought, did laugh ; 
 But with a mirth so terrible, the groans 
 Which follow'd e'en gave respite to my fears. 
 A hollow voice upon my brother call'd, 
 And, in the tumult, Sigismonda's name 
 
4 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Struck on my ear. I started from my bed, 
 
 And, by a hand invisible impell'd, 
 
 Through these lone mansions of the dead, survey'd 
 
 That royal tomb, exposing, in sad show, 
 
 The nauseous remnants of all worldly grandeur, 
 
 And gaping wide in sad expectancy 
 
 Of some new victim from our falling house. — 
 
 — Had'st thou, Anselmo, in that hour beheld me 
 
 Sinking to earth, thou surely would'st have deem'd 
 
 Some foul and secret guilt had bade these terrors 
 
 Brood o'er my sleeplefs head. 
 
 Ansel. O no, my master, — 
 Is not that restlefs angel Charity 
 Ever on wing for thee, midst lonely streets, 
 And solitary places, in her search 
 To give new objects to thy endlefs bounty ; — 
 To bear with thee to Misery's humble dwelling 
 Peace and sweet comfort, and unloose with thee 
 The chain of captive innocence and virtue ? 
 
 Archb. O that proud-hearted men but once could know 
 The penetrating throb, one generous pang 
 
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THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Of the breast heaving at the poor man's blefsing, 
 
 Or at the ill-articulated thanks 
 
 Of modest worth relieved ! Would they not own 
 
 That love, ambition, grandeur, wealth, and power, 
 
 Only amuse them with the names of pleasures, 
 
 Play with the senses, trifle with the pafsions, 
 
 And mock them with the semblance of delight ! 
 
 Little the merit in the willing offer 
 
 Of my best services, but in the omifsion 
 
 Real offence and shame. — What mean these shouts ? 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Att. Manfred's victorious fleet, with Pagan spoil, 
 Now makes Salerno's harbour. The glad people 
 Rush to the shores, impatient to behold 
 Those gallant leaders, by whose righteous arms 
 All Syria bends before our holy crofs. 
 
 Archb. They are most welcome. But how wears the morn ? 
 
 Ansel. So quick, that, ere our rites shall be perform'd, 
 
6 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Your brother's crowded palace will receive 
 The adulating herd, prepared to light 
 Their pois'nous incense on his natal day, 
 Striving who first shall change the rising curse 
 Into base flattery, and impious worship. 
 
 Archb. You do forget he was great William's son. 
 
 Ansel. In truth I do : I would that Tancred's virtues 
 Would oftener call that God-like hero back ! 
 'Tis better to forget those happier days ; 
 Our people's chains sit lighter, when they cease 
 To dream of freedom past : the night of hell 
 Was doubly black to the rebellious angels, 
 Because they once had shared the radiant blaze 
 Of heaven's eternal day. 
 
 Archb. You're too severe ; 
 Yet I will own that brooding discontent 
 Casts a sad gloom amongst us, and I fear 
 My brother fails in his harsh scheme of rule, 
 Nor leads his people through so smooth'd a way, 
 As would a child clothed in gentlenefs, 
 Beckoning them where to follow. In our streets, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 I've trembled to behold his subjects meet, 
 
 Each, by his look and gesture, fathoming 
 
 The other's will ; reading each others thoughts ; 
 
 Then, with their eyes cast up, they witnefs heaven 
 
 To some strong oath ; and all together grasp 
 
 Their ready swords, abruptly finishing 
 
 The ambiguous conference. 
 
 Ansel. This is too true ; 
 Tancred, I trust, is still secure from danger ; 
 For, without conduct, secrecy, and caution, 
 The people's rage, like an old warrior's dart, 
 Falls short, and only marks the bold intent. 
 They have no chief, nor is there one amongst them 
 To whose authority they dare commit 
 The enterprising hour afsign'd to vengeance ; 
 Fear not the vain attempt. 
 
 Archb. I fear it not, 
 But arm my breast with confidence in heaven. 
 He who can quell the fury of yon mountain, 
 When from the molten stream of liquid fire 
 The astonish'd deep shrinks back, 'tis he alone 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Can bend and soften Tancred's iron sceptre, 
 
 Disarm a furious people of their rage, 
 
 And ward the impending dangers that await us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 A VIEW OF THE PORT OF SALERNO. 
 
 ■ Manfred, Guiscard, Slaves, Attendants. 
 
 Manf. Welcome, my Guiscard, to thy native land ! 
 When from our ship we first Salerno spied, 
 I could at times perceive the glow of life 
 Fade in thy cheek, and then return again. 
 
 Guise. Well, well, my lord, I freely own the sight 
 Of this loved country did affect me greatly. 
 You mark'd how from the mast a captive Turk, 
 With a loud shout, proclaim'd the lengthening shore. 
 If fortune frown'd upon his early youth, 
 
Salerno, 
 
 Jo /my Jh^e (9 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 9 
 
 When fighting bravely he became my slave, 
 Yet for the boy she had a smile in store ; — 
 I gave him, for that shout, his liberty. 
 
 Manj. 'Twas like thy generous nature. True compafsion 
 Attends the soldier to the embattled field, 
 And, in the din of roaring war, she sues 
 For bleeding youth, and shields exhausted age. 
 But now, my Guiscard, (how the thought afflicts me !) 
 I must resign thee, as by promise bound, 
 To Tancred's earlier right. He lent thee to me, 
 And I must give thee back : with joy he'll hear, 
 That his young soldier was the first to plant 
 Our holy standard on the Syrian walls. 
 
 Guise. Could I do less than follow thee ? The price 
 Of glorious danger was thy envied praise. 
 'Twas at thy side, in the long waving shadow 
 Of those black plumes, I first by thee was taught 
 To stain my novice sword in Pagan gore. 
 
 Manj. And well you proved its edge. — And yet, my 
 Guiscard, 
 Thus severed, never more must we again, 
 
10 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Roused by the neighing of impatient steeds 
 
 Rattling their iron harnefs, bear together 
 
 The dreadful vengeance of our righteous swords 
 
 Up to Norredin's throne ? Shall these bright arms, 
 
 This batter'd casque and shield, this well-tried lance, 
 
 Serve only, hanging in our castle halls, 
 
 To damp the joys of feast and revelry ; 
 
 And, as we eye them, draw from our full hearts 
 
 The sigh of shame, to view them uselefs there, 
 
 Upbraiding our cold spirits ? — 
 
 Guise. O ! my prince, 
 Such words distract my soul : the aguish frame, 
 The sleepy blood of cowards, may require 
 Such stimulating med'eine ; to the brave 
 'Tis poison, lights up madnefs in the brain, 
 And forces sense and reason from their seats. 
 Raise but thy standard in an honest cause, 
 Thy honour injured, or our crofs insulted, 
 If Guiscard is not canopied the first 
 Beneath its sacred shade, may dastard fear 
 Unstring his sinews in the day of battle ; 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 11 
 
 Or, if he fall, may not one virtuous wound, 
 Plain in his bosom, plead for his interment ! 
 
 Manf. Guiscard, I doubt thee not ; but will not Tancred, 
 Though honour calls, detain thee from the field, 
 While thy fair fame shall bleed, a sacrifice 
 To his false kindnefs and pernicious love ? 
 
 Guise. Tancred has ever loved me ; can I think 
 He would debase me so ? In early years 
 Inured to arms, he knows that youthful courage, 
 Ev'n as a pinion'd eagle sits and frets, 
 Will pine and sicken in inglorious ease. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter Bender. 
 
 Bend, [to Guise] A Turk, to whom, in pity of his age, 
 You gave permission to ascend our bark, 
 Demands a moment's audience. 
 
\% THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Guise. Tell him, Bender, 
 I must attend the prince. 
 
 Bend. Alas ! my master, 
 (I love the name, and thus must ever call you) 
 This poor old man has never ceased to grieve, 
 Since first we sail'd. There was a dignity 
 In his grave sorrows, that our roughest sea-boys, 
 With folded arms and sympathizing silence, 
 Wept as he wept, unconscious of the tears 
 That glisten'd on their sun-burnt cheeks : — you cannot 
 Refuse this comfort to afflicted age. 
 
 Guise. Cold is the winter of our closing days ; 
 The cheerful blaze, which ease and affluence light 
 In that hard season, cannot drive its heat 
 Through the iced channel of our veins ; alas, 
 If penury is added, then, indeed, 
 
 The imbitter'd cup runs o'er. Know you his businefs ? 
 Requires it quick dispatch ? 
 
 Bend. All that I learn 
 Is, that to Tancred you must be his suitor. 
 
 Guise. Does he attend ? Say, is he near at hand ? 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 13 
 
 Bend. He still remains on board ; our fleet is moor'd 
 Near to that point ; I fly to bring him to you. 
 
 [Exit Bender. 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 
 Manfred, Guiscard. 
 
 Guise. Tis said, that Nature has not form'd the heart 
 Of Tancred of her softest clay : in me 
 Behold an instance of his clemency. 
 Where Reggio's rocky cliffs the surge defy, 
 There was I found, inhumanly exposed, 
 (By whom, and whence, uncertain) there I lay 
 An infant, helplefs, in my cradle pent, 
 Left to the mercy of a rising sea. 
 'Twas in that season, in this perilous state, 
 Tancred espied me as he chanced to pafs, 
 Just as the favouring tide, by Heaven directed, 
 Heaved me on shore. My plaintive cries so moved 
 
14 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Salerno's prince, that carefully, in his robe, 
 He wrapt me round, and bore me to his palace ; 
 Where, from that moment, I have ever shared 
 His fatherly affection. 
 
 Manf. 'Tis most strange, 
 That on thy head the shower of Tancred's kindnefs 
 Should all be spent, and not a stream of pity 
 Left to afsuage his people's sufferings ; 
 That he, accustom'd to the piercing shrieks 
 Of tortured criminals, should turn aside 
 To thee, and let thy childish eloquence 
 Invade a breast so fenced against compafsion. 
 
 Guise. Imperious in his nature, wrong'd by those 
 Whom he most trusts, instructed from his youth 
 To esteem the people but as instruments 
 Of his ambition, or capricious will, 
 Yet, sir, believe me, Tancred still has virtues, 
 Which might in public blaze, but are obscured 
 By the dim clouds of pafsion that eclipse them, 
 And intercept their lustre from mankind. 
 
 Manf. 'Tis true, indeed, he rears that tender plant, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 15 
 
 His beauteous daughter, with unwearied care, 
 In spotlefs innocence, and purest virtue ; 
 Ne'er has he suffer'd the infectious gale 
 Of vice to breathe upon her tender ear : 
 In this, he shews a softnefs in his nature 
 That almost blunts the dart of accusation. 
 
 Guise. Named you his daughter, lovely Sigismonda ? 
 O ! I have seen him sit and gaze upon her, 
 Till down his manly cheeks the scorching tears 
 Have flow'd so fast, that on his iron corselet 
 Were mark'd their rusty channels. Innocence 
 Like her's is watch'd by all the host of angels ; 
 The fiends of this licentious court obey 
 The fascination of her eyes, though meek 
 As gentle Mercy's at the throne of Heaven. 
 
 Man/. And the soft graces of her outward form 
 Keep equal pace with all her soul's perfections. 
 
 Guise. The amorous winds, sure, never in their sport, 
 From such a forehead stirr'd the waving trefses, 
 To give more beauty to the gazing world. 
 
 Manf. But you, my Guiscard, witnefs to the spring 
 
16 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 When first these beauties budded to the morn, 
 Arm'd with its gentler warmth, and gradual fires, 
 Faint not like those that feel the summer's gleam. 
 
 Guise, [aside.] Ah ! that in truth it were so ! — But behold 
 The minister of Tancred, with his train. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Enter Monforti, Raimond, Guards, Attendants, ire. 
 
 Motif. Great prince, the firm supporter of our crofs, 
 Religion's boast, ordain'd by Heaven the scourge 
 Of Mahomet's proud sons, imperial Tancred, 
 With open arms, and never-ceasing friendship, 
 Greets your arrival. — And to you, young warrior, 
 
 [to Guiscard. 
 Pleased with the embafsy, I am charged to bear 
 A father's welcome from our gracious lord. 
 
 Guise. His goodnefs overcomes me. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 17 
 
 Manf. Say, if health 
 Still crowns your royal master's honour'd age, 
 
 * 
 
 And adds new beauties to his lovely daughter ? 
 
 Monf. Prop of his age, and solace of his toils, 
 She knows to smooth each hidden festering care 
 That drags the worn-out body to the tomb. 
 She sits at his full board like Health's young goddefs, 
 And, from the sickening feast, and poisonous revel, 
 Charms him to temperate slumbers ; it should seem 
 That age, in pity to her pious cares, 
 Meant not to touch the venerable fabric, 
 But leave it unimpair'd for ever. 
 
 Guise. Guard her, 
 Ye angels, and ye saints ! Let no foul weed 
 Rear its dark leaves among the flowers that paint 
 Her youthful way ! O ! may she still continue 
 The envy of .her sex, the joy of ours, 
 The pattern of an imitating world ! [Aside. 
 
 Manf. To our brave knights, who, from the Holy Land, 
 Have followed me, their chief, bear these my wishes ; 
 That each, with due attention, do observe 
 
 D 
 
18 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 The conduct of their vafsals, ever mindful 
 We are no longer 'midst the plunder'd walls 
 Of sack'd Aleppo ; each in that strict guise 
 Himself demeaning, as should best become 
 The gallant wearer of that blushing crofs 
 Which beams upon his mail. — Guiscard, be this 
 Thy care, and then rejoin me at the palace. 
 
 [Exeunt Manfred, Moriforti, ire. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Enter Bender to Guiscard. 
 
 Guise. Say, Bender, does the Turk attend ? 
 
 Bend. He does. 
 
 Guise. Inform him of my haste, and lead him hither. 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 19 
 
 Re-enter Bender, with Hafsan. 
 
 Hafs. Young soldier, if I am rightly taught, you share 
 The prince's confidence. 
 
 Guise. Too certain envy 
 Attends a favourite's lot : I'm grieved to hear 
 That I am so esteem'd. Tell me, can I, 
 My honour safe, with strict regard to justice, 
 Serve thee, old man ? 
 
 Hafs. Thou can'st ; let but my fate 
 On these depend, and I am safe. To Tancred 
 Deliver this ; know, 'tis a dreadful web, 
 Wrought in the loom of anguish and despair : 
 If, with a favouring eye, he views the tale, 
 I shall be found to thank you — but if not — 
 
 Guise. If not — what then ? 
 
 Hafs. No matter — from those walls 
 Each friendly eye is watching this delay. — 
 My life is in thy hands. [Exit Hafsan. 
 
 Guise. I know not whether 
 
20 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 His honest bluntnefs wins me to his cause, 
 
 Or there is something in his air and voice, 
 
 Which has so quickly changed a cold compliance 
 
 Into the warmest zeal to do him service. [Exeunt. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHER'S REVENGE, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 33 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 AN APARTMENT IN TANCREd's PALACE. 
 
 Enter Tancred, Manfred, Guiscard, Monforti, Raimond, 
 
 Guards, (?c. 
 
 Tanc. Gods ! how seducing is the breath of Fame ! — 
 .The very winds that pafs'd o'er Syria's plains 
 Were but your mefsengers, to scatter round 
 The wondering land the terrors of your name : 
 O now I feel my years — once, from the backs 
 Of prefsing hosts, I'd vaulted like this boy 
 
 [turning to Guiscard. 
 O'er fofs and battlement. But now, alas — 
 
 Manf. Shipwreck'd by many a boisterous storm of life, 
 Tancred may sure his votive tablet hang 
 
24 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 In the still temple of rewarding Peace. 
 Has not the God of War placed round those brows 
 The last full chaplet of progrefsive honours ? 
 Receive that glorious meed which few attain. 
 
 Guise. The war-worn standard, waving o'er the dust 
 Of other heroes, who have fought like thee, 
 The long inscription of their godlike actions, 
 Teaching us how they bled, and where they fell, 
 The envied victims to their country's safety, 
 Light as they may the sparks of martial fury, 
 Or wring our hearts with sorrow ; yet the groans, 
 The tears of millions, on their cold heads fall 
 Unnoticed, and unthank'd. Reflect, O Tancred, 
 How glorious, and how rare, the lot of those 
 Who have, like thee, walk'd hand in hand with death, 
 To whom 'tis given, in the calm vale of ease, 
 To unrivet their bright mail, and there receive 
 The full reward of virtue and renown. 
 
 Tanc. I know there are those so basely cast, who'd spin 
 Their mortal thread, till, worn by lingering time, 
 'Tis fretted to a hair. A soldier's life 
 
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THE FATHER'S REVENGE 25 
 
 Is only measured by its course of glory : 
 That past, who would be left the mockery 
 Of slaves, the babbling bed-rid jest of women ? — 
 Just Heaven avert such shame ! — No more of this. — 
 Salerno's custom dedicates this day 
 To glad festivity and sport. And see, 
 The morning-star which ushers in our joy, 
 The lovely Sigismonda ! — 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Enter Sigismonda and Sibilla. 
 
 Sigis. Health, and Content 
 The soul's sweet comforter, whate'er can smooth 
 And solace age, wait on my dearest father ! 
 Through the revolving year, may all his hours, 
 Like the mix'd colours of the rainbow's arch, 
 Unite and flow together ; only varied 
 
26 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 By the bright change of fresh succeeding joys ! 
 May Sigismonda long, O long, be suffer'd, 
 Borne on the wings of duty and of love, 
 Thus, thus to light on her fond father's bosom ! 
 
 Tanc. And, for this single blefsing which is left me, 
 To prefs thee to it, life is worth a prayer. 
 Forgive this weaknefs, — ye too may have children, 
 
 [to Manfred and Guiscard. 
 Who will so twine themselves, and cling about 
 Your hearts, that ye will wonder how fond Nature 
 Should vanquish all the manly pride within you, 
 And make you dote as I do. — O my child, 
 Long as these eyes, unveil'd with clouds, may gaze 
 Upon thee ; long as my dull'd hearing wakes 
 To that enchanting voice, a little sunshine 
 Still faintly trembles on my evening landscape. — 
 But see, my daughter, Manfred has restored 
 Our Guiscard, rich in honours and in spoils. 
 Can Sigismonda call to mind, as once 
 I told her how I found this orphan, dancing 
 On the rough billows in his cradle vefsel, 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE %i 
 
 She wept, and thought I mock'd her, when I bade 
 Her lisping tongue no longer call him brother. 
 
 Sigis. O happy ignorance ! dear childish vision ! 
 Had ye, bless'd powers, but still prolong'd the cheat ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Manfred, accept my thanks, a sister's thanks 
 I may not call them ; those fond dreams are o'er ; 
 That you, who taught him all the ways of glory, 
 Till round our crofs he bound the wreath of conquest, 
 Yet have not left him a poor mangled corse, 
 A prey to vultures, where he fought so well. 
 
 Guise. Down, down thou busy heart, [aside.] — What 
 can I say .' 
 All language is too weak ; words are but shadows, 
 The feeble outlines of our thoughts ! — I sink 
 Beneath the weight of joy and gratitude. 
 
 Tanc. Come, these unmeaning speeches are the growth 
 Of Asiatic softnefs, — fit for slaves. — 
 The morning wears : — my brother was not wont 
 To be thus tardy in his salutations ; — 
 This absence might impeach his love. 
 
28 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Monf. Great sir, 
 Consider how far distant is his palace ; 
 The crowded streets may interrupt his train. 
 
 Tanc. Those humble saints, o'er whose devoted bones 
 We bend, were not impeded in their way 
 By the meandring of a monk's procefsion : 
 Their mules were not weigh'd down with golden trappings, 
 But nimbly moved beneath their easier load. 
 They had no censers to perfume the air, 
 Extinguishing the morning fragrance, nor 
 Bore they their diamond crosiers through the streets, 
 To mock the sun, and give a prouder day. 
 
 Manf. 'Tis by such pomp your brother means to honour 
 The morn which gave you birth. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 29 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter Anselmo. 
 
 Ansel. My holy master, 
 With serious thoughts and cares opprefs'd, that make 
 Tumultuous noise, and the loud people's joy, 
 Sad music to his harafs'd senses, prays 
 He may withhold his brotherly embrace 
 Until an hour more suited to his temper 
 Admit him to your privacy. 
 
 Tanc. He is 
 For ever full of needlefs cares. Know'st thou 
 This urgent businefs, whose intruding form 
 Would mar the day's festivity ? For this — 
 Be it as seems him best. — Do you, Monforti, 
 The sports being ended, by the private way 
 Conduct him to us. 
 
 A nse l. — And till then, each blefsing 
 
30 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 That pure Religion can call down from Heaven, 
 With unremitted vows for Tancred's safety, 
 He fervently invokes. 
 
 Tanc. Lead to the square ; 
 The stagnant mist that hangs upon the cloister 
 Must not obscure the splendour of this day. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Monforti and Raimond. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Monf. Hast thou, throughout this murmuring city, spread 
 The hopes of vengeance, and redrefs of wrongs ? 
 
 Raim. The leaflefs oak, crumbling to dust with age, 
 Fires not so quickly in the lightning's course, 
 As our brave citizens, whene'er I point 
 The path to great revenge. 
 
 Monf. Say, hast thou ventured 
 To hint that I partake their just resentments, 
 Approve their rage, and weep at their opprefsion ? 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 31 
 
 Raim. I even whisper'd, you would not be wanting 
 To guide them through the danger. 
 
 MonJ. The gull'd fools 
 Believe I love them. They are, indeed, the waves, 
 And, while they bear us, we must court their favour 
 Until we gain the port ; unheeded then, 
 To the wide ocean they again may flow, 
 Lost and forgotten midst their kindred waters. 
 
 Raim. You will admit the leaders to your presence ? 
 
 MonJ. We'll meet this night. 
 
 Raim. And why so late, when darknefs, 
 That precious cloak of mischief, should be worn 
 For execution ? — Day-light is for council : 
 We want the sun, with all his beams, to read 
 If the firm soul recoils not in dismay 
 At the loud thunder of the boasting lip. 
 The favouring night can better be employ'd 
 Than in cold conference. 
 
 Monf. This very night ? 
 
 Raim. The prostituted voice of hireling crowds 
 Charms to more death-like sleep a tyrant's senses 
 
32, THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Than Hermes' fabled rod, or all the juice 
 
 Of Anatolian poppies. His guards, too, 
 
 Will be all hush'd, and drown'd in wine ; to-morrow 
 
 We may salute thee monarch of this land ; 
 
 Tancred in chains, and haughty Sigismonda 
 
 Repaying all thy sufferings with her charms. 
 
 Monf. What ! Sigismonda ? And shall that proud beauty • 
 Then deign to purchase, with her lovely self, 
 A respite for her father's life? Great Gods, 
 How glorious is the thought ! Come, fierce Ambition, 
 And slighted Love, come arm my desperate hands, 
 And, in the horrors of the midnight gloom, 
 Steel my firm soul 'gainst pity or remorse ! 
 Yet be we careful of the powers this morn 
 Arrived with Manfred. 
 
 Raim. Sir, be that my care : 
 Their chiefs are lodged within the town ; with ease 
 We may secure their persons. 
 
 Monf. Two hours hence, 
 In the long gallery which o'erhangs the river, 
 Deserted since the death of Tancred's queen, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 33 
 
 (You know the secret door,) the chosen band 
 Shall there be taught their lefson. — Now farewell ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Sigismonda and Sibilla. 
 
 Sibil. Why does my mistrefs seek this lone retreat ? 
 The knights are all in steel ; you know whose hands 
 Must place the laurel on the champion's head. 
 Your father ill will brook this want of duty, 
 And think you do not share the general joy : 
 O ! tempt not his displeasure. 
 
 " Sigis. No, Sibilla, 
 'Twas fearing his displeasure that I left him. 
 
 Sibil. It is your absence that will move his anger. 
 
 Sigis. My presence rather might excite his care. 
 
 Sibil. What mean those eyes of grief ? t 
 
 Sigis. O, was it fit 
 Those eyes should meet my father's searching glance ? 
 
34 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Sibil. I understand you not. 
 
 Sigis. Thy ignorance 
 Tells me, Sibilla, I am not betray'd. 
 And may I trust thee ? This opprefsive load 
 That bends my heart, grows heavier every hour ; 
 'Tis thou must help me to support its weight. 
 
 Sibil. Can Sigismonda doubt my secrecy ? 
 
 Sigis. O, secrecy, thou common household god, 
 Received by all, but worship'd by how few ! 
 What, though in chains thou bind'st the captive tongue, 
 That dangerous foe subdued, how many more 
 Hast thou to conquer yet, — imprudent blushes, 
 Exprefsive throbbings, and revealing eyes ! 
 A single look consigns a virgin's fame 
 To endlefs censure, and the public scorn. 
 Yet I will trust thee : — : Hast thou, then, observed 
 That this poor breast e'er harbour'd aught but ease, 
 And calm tranquillity ? 
 
 Sibil. To me it seem'd 
 The seat of mild serenity. 
 
 Sigis. That's well ; 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 35 
 
 O were it ever such ! And yet, my friend, 
 The hall of ^Eolus, when, from their chambers, 
 The fierce winds meet to rush upon the world, 
 Is not distracted with such various rage 
 As this sad bosom. Here Religion's fire, 
 Here female pride, and filial duty strive ; 
 Here virgin modesty, and raging love, 
 
 Contend for empire. 
 
 Sibil. Am I in a dream ? 
 
 Love, did'st thou say ? — for whom ? 
 Sigis. Ah ! my Sibilla, 
 
 And can'st thou ask ? — Can there be more than one ? 
 
 Are there two Guiscards to undo our sex ? 
 
 Sibil. Guiscard ! — if e'er thine eyes in tendernefs 
 
 Were cast on him, suspicion never yet 
 
 Pursued the secret glance. 
 Sigis. That, too, is well : 
 
 But yet methinks 'tis wonderful, Sibilla, 
 
 That jealousy ne'er set its spies on me ; 
 
 For, have I not a watching, hating rival, 
 
 In every beauty that adorns this court ? 
 
S6 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Who, who can gaze on Guiscard, and not love ? 
 
 Is he not all that Heathen fiction drew ? 
 
 For, let him snatch the silver lyre and bow, 
 
 O he is lovely as the God of Day. 
 
 If thou would'st view the wondrous charms, that caused 
 
 The wife of Theseus to forget her woe, 
 
 Bid Guiscard round his ruddy temples twine 
 
 The vine's curl'd tendril. — Who can still deny 
 
 That heavenly spirits take the form of men, 
 
 And triumph as they will ? 
 
 Sibil. Ah ! calm these transports ; 
 If the warm air of a suspicious sigh 
 Should light on Tancred's ear, too well thou know'st 
 How rudely he would tear the secret from thee. 
 Compose that ruffled look, rejoin your father;- — 
 Till you approach him, leave me to excuse 
 This strange delay. [Exit Sibilla. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 37 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Enter Guiscard. 
 
 Guise. Princefs, I plead 
 Your father's orders for this boldnefs ; anxious 
 He seeks the cause of Sigismonda's absence. 
 
 Sigis. Guiscard, that cause Tancred must never know. 
 
 Guise. And may I profit of this golden hour ? — 
 Again renew my vows ? But you are silent : — 
 Perhaps 'tis me you shun. — Ah ! Sigismonda, 
 Tell me, tell me, if perfidious Love 
 Ne'er yet has taught those roving eyes to turn 
 To some more favour'd youth, to light in him 
 The scorching blaze of love, driving him mad, 
 Like me. A whole eventful year hath pafs'd, 
 A livelong year hath roll'd its various course, 
 Since, to our lefsening bark, from yonder point, 
 With your loose veil you waved a long farewell. 
 
38 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Fool that I was, to think the wind, that blew 
 From shore, came fraught with constancy and truth, 
 And, warm from those enchanting lips, convey'd 
 The vow of faith and ever-during love ! 
 
 Sigis. Alas, have I not more to fear than thou ? 
 A youthful conqueror in a land of beauty ! 
 Each female trick and artifice employ'd 
 To vanquish him who had subdued their country : 
 And could I hope these little charms would shield 
 My Guiscard's bosom 'gainst such dangerous shafts ! 
 
 Guise. Transporting words ! O ! 'twas thy lovely form 
 That floated round me wheresoe'er I went. 
 It trod on the light surge ; the silent moon 
 Was conscious of our fond discourse ; whole nights, 
 As in the trenches thou hast watch'd beside me, 
 I've held sweet converse with thee, 'till the camp, 
 Roused at the morn, hath scared thy fluttering spirit, 
 Destroy'd the dream, and left me to despair. 
 
 Sigis. Dost thou remember, Guiscard, it was near 
 This very spot, that we together read 
 Of two young lovers who scarce knew they loved ; 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 3 
 
 (Two infant flowers, that, like us, had grown 
 In the same border,) when a sudden blush 
 At the same instant seized our guilty cheeks ; 
 Alike our trembling tongues refused their office, 
 The book was flung aside, — we both retired, 
 Fearful to meet each other's conscious eyes. 
 
 Guise. Forget that hour ! — that all-revealing blush ! — 
 Here they are chizel'd, Love's eternal work, 
 Beyond the reach of Time's erasing hand. 
 
 Sigis. But yet, my Guiscard — 
 
 Guise. Why, O Sigismonda, 
 That rising sigh ? 
 
 Sigis. My joy at seeing thee 
 A little had dispersed the clouds around me : 
 Joy, like a meteor in a wintry night, 
 Brighten'd the landscape for a moment ; now 
 All is forlorn again, dismay, and terror. 
 
 Guise. Thou hast a soul superior to thy sex ; 
 In thee, proud man's perfections all unite : 
 No common cause demands that look of care. 
 
 Sigis. I have no tears to give to needlefs woe ; 
 
40 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Imaginary sorrows flutter round 
 The mansions of the happy, but pals by 
 The gate that's watch'd by real misery : 
 When next we meet, prepare thy soul to bend, 
 Prepare to yield, where madnefs must obey. 
 
 Guise. Am I not blefs'd beyond my warmest wish ? — 
 True to thy faith — 
 
 Sigis. Guiscard, my boding heart 
 Informs me — but ere long dread certainty 
 Will take the place of miserable doubt ; 
 Till then be patient. — Soon, I fear, the sun 
 Of all our happinefs must set for ever ! [Exeunt. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 ACT III. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 43 
 
 ACT III SCENE I. 
 
 TANCRED S PALACE. 
 
 Tancred, Archbishop, Guiscard. 
 
 Tanc. [with Hafsaris petition in his hand.] No — he refused 
 us homage, and denied 
 Himself a vafsal ; from his towers display'd 
 Rebellion's standard, and against our arms 
 Let down his strong portcullis of defiance. 
 
 Guise. His sufferings, sure — 
 
 Tanc. He was so proud a traitor, 
 He never sued for mercy, though his walls 
 Were level with the earth ; we found him sitting 
 Amidst a heap of fallen followers, 
 Contemplating his sad work ; he scarce deign'd 
 
44 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 To utter word, till scornfully he bade me 
 Finish the scene, a place of honour yet 
 Remain'd for him upon that bloody couch. 
 
 Archb. And did that courage, that contempt of death, 
 That spirit unsubdued, that noble pride, 
 Excite your anger ? You had then a moment, 
 Heaven's choicest gift, doubly to overcome, 
 First by your sword, and then by your forgivenefs. 
 
 Guise. Think, that, in twenty years of misery, 
 Of abject servitude, his soul has bow'd 
 To the harsh orders of a foreign master ; 
 His silver head, uncover'd through the waste, 
 Has felt the scorching dog-star ; and his hands, 
 111 suited to the slavish toil, have led 
 The burthen'd camel through the tedious way. 
 How changed from him, lord of a proud domain, 
 Slaves at his nod, and plenty at his board ; 
 Where nightly revel lit its festive taper, 
 Mirth's hospitable beacon, to call in 
 The wandering knight, and pilgrim, to his hall ! 
 All now is desolation. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 45 
 
 Tanc. Mark me, boy, 
 If, lingering in these walls, to-morrow's sun 
 O'ertake the slave, that moment is his last. 
 Inform the traitor of our fix'd resolves. 
 Begone — How's this ? What ! am I not obeyd ? 
 Why does he thus unwillingly retire ? 
 
 [Exit Guiscard with marks of unwillingnefs . 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Tancred and Archbishop. 
 
 Archb. Because he is a man — and, being such, 
 Feels all the weaknefs of his humble nature ; 
 Lets foolish pity, with infectious grief, 
 Difsolve his soul in tendernefs. Tis not 
 For princes, sure, — we intermediate beings 
 'Twixt God and man, — to feel the mockery 
 That waits on such infirmity ! 
 

 46 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Tanc. Know, brother, 
 These taunts but ill become you. Must I kneel 
 Tore a monk's consist'ry ? Is that the bar 
 Where I must plead, and justify my actions ? 
 
 Archb. No, Tancred, no ; yet there's a judgment-seat 
 Where purple kings, high as their x full-blown pride 
 Or flattery can set them, must be summon'd : 
 'Tis in their subjects' rigorous inquisition 
 They may forestall the more tremendous procefs 
 That waits beyond the grave. — Think'st thou thy people, 
 Because they bear, don't feel their injuries ? 
 
 Tanc. There spoke the restlefs spirit of the church : — 
 And does Sedition's larum-bell become 
 Those pious hands ? Is it for thee to bawl 
 Resistance to the mob ; for thee to seek 
 Sad grievance, where no grievance is, and sow, 
 Hid in that sacred garb, the seeds of discord, 
 Which, once dispersed through the prolific air, 
 Not all your holy witchcraft can recall ? 
 
 Archb. Tancred, you are my sovereign ; as your subject, 
 I bear this ill construction of my actions. 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 41 
 
 I am your brother too ; as such I dare 
 Encroach upon a servant's low obedience, 
 Nor fear to warn you, though you bind the pilot 
 Who would direct you through a sea of danger. 
 
 Tanc. What are these dangers but some new creation 
 Of a distemper'd brain, and feverish night ? 
 
 Archb. A dying wretch, whose pangs to sooth this 
 morn 
 One of our order watch'd with pious office, 
 Disclosed this plot against your sacred life : 
 Death dropp'd his javelin, 'till the sick man drew 
 From underneath his languid head this list 
 Of foul conspiracy. [giving a paper. 
 
 Tanc. What's this I see ? 
 Monforti's name ? 
 
 Archb. Yes. In the afsafsin's roll 
 He has the bright pre-eminence. 
 
 Tanc. Base fiction, 
 To undo the man I love ! — Where are Salerno's 
 Poisons ? — Has she not one, among her sons, 
 Who knows the fittest moment of the night 
 
48 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 For undiscover'd murder, that ye fling 
 This net of accusation o'er so many ? 
 
 Archb. Pray Heaven the charge prove false, by jealousy 
 Forged, to divert the streams of royal favour ! 
 Yet stand upon your guard, recall the troops 
 That fill your frontier towns ; and O let caution — 
 
 Tanc. Where reason cannot prop the dark suspicion, 
 Caution is cowardice ; prudence but a name, 
 A pompous title dignified to hide 
 Mean apprehensions, and unmanly doubts. 
 Fore Heaven ! the knife that drinks my heart's best blood 
 Would pain me lefs, than, living, still to hear 
 The just upbraidings of dishonour'd friendship. 
 
 Archb. There's virtue in those words : and yet, to 
 borrow 
 The specious veil of justice, and to breathe 
 Her rigorous dictates, for no better end 
 Than from thyself — nay, shrink not — from thyself 
 To hide a favourite's guilt ; in her fair temple, 
 To seek asylum 'gainst the pointed shame 
 That needs must follow such misplaced affection ; — 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 49 
 
 Fie, fie — 'tis much beneath you. — The insect tribes 
 
 That, at the night-fall, buzz about the lake, 
 
 Are less in number than the perilous chances 
 
 That hover round your couch. Think, think on this: 
 
 And yet you'd fling your armour in a corner, 
 
 And sleep as k if your rule had been so pure 
 
 As did from all men challenge watch and guard. 
 
 Tanc. Are not the chambers of this palace fill'd 
 With veteran chiefs, of valour well approved, 
 And unsuspected faith ? will such men join 
 Sedition's short-lived rabble? will they bear 
 To view their honourable scars, obtain'd 
 At their old master's side, thus meanly blended 
 With the foul scratches of rebellion's sword? 
 Trust me, they will not: and, if danger, like 
 An incorporeal spirit, can glide through 
 The slender crevice of all earthly shelter, 
 Where is a prince in safety? — where secure? 
 
 Archb. In the strong fortrefs of his people's love ; 
 That is the citadel for kings : 'tis there, 
 Safe as our Alpine eagle, who looks down 
 
 H 
 
50 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 On storms that combat in the ethereal plain, 
 May'st thou look down upon all worldly mischief. 
 'Tis from that height, thou'lt see the storms of envy, 
 The plots of desperate guilt, the afsafsin scheme 
 Of disappointed pride, and all the rage 
 Of frustrated ambition, break beneath thee. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter Anselmo. 
 
 What tidings of conspiracy's foul aim [to Anselmo. 
 
 Have reached thy ear, Anselmo? of its leaders 
 What notice learn'st thou from the spies afsign'd 
 To watch their secret motions ? 
 
 Ansel. More I learn not, 
 But that, ere long, Monforti has appointed 
 To meet a chosen band in the long gallery, 
 Well suited to their treason, which, remote 
 From all observers' eyes, o'erhangs the river. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 51 
 
 Archb. Lo! Tancred, now, what, blindly, men call 
 chance, 
 The secret purpose of Heaven's guardian care 
 Affords a fit occasion to convince you, 
 My fears were built not on the ground lefs base 
 Of loose suspicion. 
 
 Tanc. Yet, I must have proof 
 Clear as the noontide light, ere in my breast 
 One thought be harbour 'd of Monforti's falsehood. 
 
 Archb. Let us be present at the appointed place, 
 And let your eyes give credit to the scene 
 Themselves shall witnefs. 
 
 Tanc. Yes, I will attend you, 
 Not to detect my servant's guilt, but prove 
 The steady zeal of his unshaken virtues. [Exeunt. 
 
52 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 
 THE STREET BEFORE TANCREd's PALACE. 
 
 Hafsan, solus. 
 
 How often have I, from my fix'd resolve ; 
 Been strongly tempted — Yes, the very hour ; 
 The place where Tancred found him ; his story, 
 The common theme of gofsipping discourse ; 
 Oh all, yes all, proclaim him mine. — If spurn'd 
 An outcast and a beggar, why to him, 
 To mar his blooming fortunes, should I leave 
 The dangerous duty to avenge my wrongs ! 
 But tyrants are capricious, and will sometimes 
 Turn to sweet mercy for a change — Happy 
 Who seize on that rare interval. — See, he comes. 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 53 
 
 Enter Guiscard. 
 
 Guise. Hafsan, I grieve to tell thee, thy offences 
 Have sunk so deeply into Tancred's bosom, 
 'Twere vain to hope for pity or forgivenefs. 
 
 Hajs. What is my sentence ? is the rack to tear 
 These sinews ? is my blood to stain the scaffold ? 
 Or must I, clasp'd in famine's icy arms, 
 Whole days and nights in vain solicit death ? 
 
 Guise. Not so : — but yet, old man, prepare to meet 
 The fiercest vengeance, if thou'rt found to-morrow 
 Within these walls. 
 
 Hajs. Thy slumbers will be soft 
 For this fair deed, this good intent, though cross'd : 
 I will intrude no longer. [going out. 
 
 Guise. Hafsan, see, 
 These tears will witnefs that I share thy sorrow ! 
 
 Hajs. Farewell ! 
 
 Guise. Ah ! whither dost thou bend thy steps ? 
 
 Hajs. Ask not ; the ties that would have fix'd me here, 
 
54 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 And made me brave, perhaps, the tyrant's fury, 
 
 Are broken, and difsolved : — Excuse this weaknefs : — 
 
 I had a wife and child ! — [weeping. 
 
 Guise. And do they not 
 Remain, to lock thee in their fond embraces, 
 Hang on thy neck, repaying tears with tears, 
 To kneel at Tancred's feet, and by the magic 
 Of wringing hands, and sobs, and cries, avert 
 Thy cruel doom? 
 
 Hafs. Alas ! they are no more : 
 O'er their loved heads the gloomy waves have spread 
 Their watery curtains. — Angels, guard his youth! — 
 Farewell ! — 
 
 Guise. Where did'st thou learn their dismal fate ? 
 
 Hafs. Already I have gone too far — Sweet youth, 
 What can'st thou have to do with woe. — Hear me, 
 Thou serv'st a tyrant, be not prodigal 
 Of grief for others : 
 I would not rob thee of a single tear 
 That thou may'st want, perhaps, before to-morrow, 
 To wash away the stinging recollection 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 55 
 
 Of royal favour lost, and perjured greatnefs. 
 
 Guise. You but increase my eagernefs to hear 
 The horrors of your fate. 
 
 Hafs. Know then, young soldier, 
 (And yet I feel unwilling) 'twas my lot, 
 Amidst a strange variety of woes, 
 Flying this country, to become the slave 
 Of a Sicilian pirate, then returning 
 From lawlefs ravage on Calabria's shores: 
 It was his boast, e'en at the gates of Tancred, 
 Who, in that season, held his court at Reggio, 
 Without resistance to have borne away 
 A beauteous female ; one, whose humble raiments 
 But ill conceal'd her dignity of charms, 
 Telling a bitter tale of alter'd fortunes, 
 And affluence changed to want. At this, my heart 
 Sunk dead within my bosom ; for 'twas there 
 My wife had fled, to rear her infant son 
 In virtuous privacy. Her form he drew 
 With so much circumstantial cruelty, 
 That lively hope grew wither 'd while he spoke. 
 

 56 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Guise. I blame my curiosity; indeed 
 I did not think to touch the fatal string 
 Of such accumulated woes. 
 
 Hafs. In truth, 
 I doubt it not. — He, with a brutal sigh 
 Of disappointment, not of pity, added, 
 That, as they made from land, a sudden storm 
 Drew all attention from their sacred prize : 
 She, in that moment, plunged into the deep, 
 And thus, escaping with her honour, made 
 Self-murder lovely. 
 
 Guise. And thy infant son ? 
 
 Hafs. Oh I can tell no more. Let me retire — 
 
 Guise. Gods ! the Calabrian shore ; a drowned mother ! 
 
 Hafs. Let me depart, young man — 
 
 Guise. How pale you look ! 
 
 Hafs. Let me depart, I say. 
 
 Guise. Not till you clear 
 These agonizing doubts — Thy little child! 
 Thy helplefs son! 
 
 Hafs. [after much hesitation.} O I am lost, undone! 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 51 
 
 They tore him from his mother's arms, and left 
 The smiling cherub on the rocky strand ; 
 And here I find him. 
 
 Guise. O it must be so — 
 For, when did Nature suffer other powers 
 To share her empire, or what spirit dares 
 To steal her pangs, her wondrous sympathies, 
 Or ope the sacred source of tears like these. 
 
 Hafs. Was it to Tancred that I owe my child ? 
 
 Guise. To him we are indebted for this joy. 
 
 Hafs. Recall that word; it could not be to Tancred: 
 Say, that some monster from the pitying deep, 
 Or the shag'd queen of the impervious forest, 
 Was thy strange fostering nurse, and I'll believe thee. 
 
 Guise. Alas ! 'twas Tancred saved your helpless orphan. 
 
 Hafs. 'Tis false — he has no softnefs in his nature: 
 Hell's ministers are truer to their charge, 
 Nor e'er will suffer pity to o'erleap 
 The circle of their damned powers: — for tell me, 
 Am I not driven to want, debasing want ? 
 O ! grant me patience ! — 'tis not age alone 
 
 i 
 
58 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 That blanches this sad head ; 'tis my foul wrongs ; 
 
 "Tis Tancred's cruelty. — And wert not thou, 
 
 My virtuous Constance, left without a guard ! 
 
 Thy charms inviting insult, yet deprived 
 
 Of a fond husband's arm to shelter thee ! 
 
 Are Heaven's own lightnings then no longer deem'd 
 
 The fiery javelins of a vengeful power, 
 
 That Tancred's head ne'er felt the scorching blast ? 
 
 If [kneeling.] Hell hath torments in her sulphurous womb, 
 
 If Heaven loves justice ! — [rising.] But he saved my boy, 
 
 He saved my orphan, and I cannot curse him. 
 
 [embracing Guiscard. 
 
 Guise. Let us, I pray thee, sir, retire within. 
 
 Hafs. Lend me thine arm: these aged limbs had borne 
 me 
 To the extremest ridge of Caucasus ; 
 Nay, I had journey'd through all Lybia's sands, 
 And had not felt such wearinefs. — [embracing his son.] O 
 
 Gods ! 
 I could have borne my woes; that stranger Joy 
 Wounds while it smiles. The long-imprison'd wretch, 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 59 
 
 Emerging from the night of his damp cell, 
 
 Shrinks from the sun's bright beams, and that which flings 
 
 Gladnefs o'er all, to him is agony. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Enter Manfred and Bender. 
 
 Manf. Was't not thy master parted hence ? — recall him, 
 I have some businefs for his private ear — 
 
 Re-enter Guiscard. 
 
 Guiscard, I long have sought thee ; fain I would 
 Divide this flood of joy, and let one stream 
 Direct its laughing course to thee : that breast 
 Still, as it shared, hath lefsen'd all my woes, 
 And shall it not, when Manfred tastes of blifs, 
 Partake the golden gift ? 
 
 Guise. Speak, Manfred, speak. 
 
60 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Manf. Guiscard, be then inform'd, 
 The hour may come when this imperial city, 
 These powerful realms, the nations that now own 
 Tancred's extensive sway, shall be ordain'd 
 To hail me lord of all Sicilia's land. 
 The nobles have approved the choice, and sworn, 
 On their bright swords, to see their prince obey'd. 
 
 Guise. Is not by this his daughter foully wrong'd ? 
 She, who is fit to bear all earthly crowns, 
 And see the world beneath her rule, must she, 
 Must she be cheated of her little portion, 
 This atom of the globe ? — Manfred, refuse 
 The dangerous offer ; for should she unveil 
 Her face in tears, but raise her magic voice, 
 And plead her cause before a weeping people, 
 Thy empire's at an end : the very swords, 
 On which, to thee allegiance is engraved, 
 Would all be drawn to force thee from that seat 
 Where usurpation, not fair right, had placed thee. 
 
 Manf. Guiscard, I little understand this warmth :— 
 Hear then : no princefs wails her lost dominions ; 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 61 
 
 Nor I from thee deserve the hard aspersion. 
 
 Tell me, I pray thee, tell me, have I robb'd, 
 
 Or clipp'd from merit's brow, one leaf of laurel, 
 
 To add to those I have so fairly won ? 
 
 And, if I have not pilfer'd for renown, 
 
 Nor let that syren, Opportunity, 
 
 Allure me from the path which Justice treads, 
 
 Why should I now begin to play the villain, 
 
 And spoil that sex a soldier lives to guard ? 
 
 Besides, if crowns and realms have such allurements, 
 
 How many trembling monarchs of the east 
 
 Did pluck their proud tiaras from their brows, 
 
 Baring their foreheads to the sun, and strove 
 
 Who first should cheat us with their glittering baubles ! 
 
 No — Sigismonda is, of all the mine, 
 
 The only jewel that endears this gift. 
 
 Guise. Is it to try me, that you tell me this ? 
 Or, is it to chastise the only crime 
 That on our friendship cast a shade ? By Heaven 
 I swear, my heart ne'er held a secret thought 
 Before unknown to thine. 
 
62 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Manf. I do not want 
 To cloak my meaning in ambiguous terms ; 
 Be plain in speech, as I am: Tancred gives 
 This day his daughter to my arms, and with her, 
 For her fair portion, half his mighty realm. 
 
 Guise. Manfred, thy franknefs calls for mine ; I tell thee, 
 And in as loud a voice as thou canst raise, 
 That Sigismonda never must be thine. 
 Her vows of plighted constancy and faith, 
 Those sacred vows of truth, are mine, and Heaven's. 
 And will't not irk thee, though her father drag 
 The struggling victim to thy hated bed, 
 To hear thy murmuring words of love repaid 
 With bitter loathings, and reproaching tears ? 
 But let me warn thee, at such rites as those 
 'Tis Death, not Hymen, lights the fatal torch. 
 
 Manf. Could I believe it pofsible — methought 
 Those words did wear the ugly shape of menace • 
 And, could I credit more amazing things, 
 In thee I am to view a dangerous rival ! 
 
 Guise. Yes, Manfred, yes, I am that dangerous rival ; 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 63 
 
 And, by this bold confefsion, though I drag 
 All plagues, and every mischief on my head, 
 That humbled pride and disappointment know, 
 Yet, 'twere as easy for me to renounce 
 My love, as to conceal its raging power. 
 
 Man/. Shamelefs presumption ! am I then to fear 
 That Sigismonda has bestow'd a thought 
 On one of doubtful birth ? 
 
 Guise. 'Tis false : — of that 
 No more: — but were it true, the charge were base, 
 Base as thy foul ingratitude ; for, say, 
 Was't not this arm that snatch'd. thee from thy fate? 
 And, when the Turk had struck thee to the ground, 
 Who was it then stepp'd in 'twixt death and thee, 
 And laid the fierce barbarian at thy side ? — 
 I ne'er should speak of this, but that you tempt me 
 Beyond all human bearing. Then you did not, 
 You did not ask, if 'twere my vulgar birth, 
 My coarse extraction, that so strung my nerves, 
 And gave the lightning to my hand ; nor truly, 
 If it were peasant's blood which stream'd so fast 
 
64 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 From the wide wound that fortune meant for you ; 
 You did not then enquire — 
 
 Manf. O spare me, Guiscard, 
 I have been much to blame. 
 Guise. Indeed you have ; 
 For you have forced me to despise myself, 
 The mean recorder of my own deserts. 
 Know, what I did for thee, I would have done 
 For the most low and abject wretch that fought 
 Beneath our banners ; yet, in that poor wretch, 
 In that mean slave, I might have found a virtue, 
 Which grandeur should not blush to wear, a true, 
 A generous recollection of the service. 
 Manf. Yet, Guiscard, hear me. 
 Guise. Hear you! bid me hear you! — 
 Be patient in my wrongs, and, with a meeknefs 
 Well suited to my low estate, pour forth 
 My blefsings, with the fawning crowd, when you 
 Bear, through Salerno's streets, your perjured bride ! 
 
 Manf. Now, by our order's holy saint, I mean 
 To cancel all I owe thee — I renounce 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 65 
 
 All claim to Sigismonda's charms, and brave 
 A father's anger for his slighted offer. 
 
 Guise. What's this I hear ? — you do not mean to mock 
 me ? 
 
 Manf. Nay more ; my ample realms shall be the 
 asylum, 
 Where persecuted love and truth shall find 
 A safe retreat : — and this I swear to do. — 
 Now, Guiscard, tell me, am I still thy debtor? 
 Nor rate too high this sacrifice : the heart 
 That's lock'd in others' bonds, for me has lost 
 Its fascinating powers ; I freely yield it. 
 
 Guise. O, generous Manfred, raise me not from earth ! 
 Rage freely vents itself in proud defiance, 
 Grief has its milky tears, Despair is lost 
 In all-forgetting madnefs ; but alas ! 
 What secret source of ease has Gratitude ? 
 Nothing but cold unsatisfying thanks ; 
 Actions and deeds are fruits which wait the spring 
 And warmth of slow occasion for their birth ; 
 Words never can unload this breaking heart. 
 
 K 
 
66 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Man/. Thus let us ever hide each other's weaknefs ! 
 
 [embracing. 
 I have not time for more ; for, at this hour, 
 Salerno's prelate, in the palace garden, 
 Awaits my coming : something, the holy brother, 
 Who did impart his wishes, seem'd to hint 
 Of schemes and plots : he earnestly entreated 
 Our captains might have orders to repair 
 With speed on board the fleet ; and there to wait 
 Their chief's commands. — This, Guiscard, see perform 'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 69 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE L 
 
 A PART OF THE PALACE WHICH OPENS INTO A GARDEN. 
 
 Enter Sigismonda and Sibilla. 
 
 Sigis. How changed is all around me ! the black vapour, 
 That rises from my brain, has tinged each object 
 With its funereal dye. The plants and flowers 
 Fade as I stoop to crop them ; and, even now, 
 The sun, who, with his golden lips, saluted 
 The trembling bosom of the lake, did hide 
 His beams at my approach. — Methought the herd 
 Changed, as I pafs'd along, their cheerful lowings 
 To sounds most terrible. No bird appear'd, 
 Save such as, sitting on the castle's height, 
 Seem'd, with their clamorous tongues, to talk of things 
 Where pain and death had part ! — 
 
70 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Sibil. Ah ! feed not thus 
 Your inward grief with dreams of fancied sorrows ; 
 Too much of real anguish doth afflict 
 Your tortured bosom. 
 
 Sigis. — What ! — to marry Manfred ! — 
 This night ! — And then, did he refuse to hear me ? 
 Did Tancred turn away? — Did Tancred leave 
 His once-loved daughter prostrate on the ground ? 
 
 Sibil. Comfort ! my mistrefs, all may yet be well ! 
 
 Sigis. Ye heavenly powers J what horrors hourly wait 
 To blast compulsion's execrated vow ! — 
 Round the domestic hearth, how soon may rise 
 Hatred, with its fell scorpion sting ! — to that 
 What woes succeed ! — 'tis then, the adulterous fiend 
 Dares whisper in the ear, but ill seal'd up 
 'Gainst his pestiferous voice ! — and then it is, 
 O horrible ! that murder has been known, 
 Giving the lamp of night its steadiest flame, 
 To mark where a remorselefs wife should drive 
 The afsafsin knife, and, with a husband's blood, 
 Redden the marriage-bed. Have there not been 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 71 
 
 Who, in the hate of those they call'd their husbands, 
 
 Did wreak fierce vengeance on their helplefs offspring, 
 
 And, deaf to nature, with a madden'd rage, 
 
 While their poor babes were slumbering in their laps, 
 
 Have stabb'd the little innocents ? — And yet, 
 
 Ye cruel parents, sooner ye'd endure 
 
 Your children blacken'd with the foulest sins 
 
 Of those detested mothers, than that they 
 
 Should shun the choice which pride and avarice 
 
 Have made so dear to you ! — 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 9 
 
 Enter Guiscard. 
 
 Sigis. My Guiscard here ! 
 
 Guise. Yes, I am come, but not to see thee break 
 Thy plighted vows, and be the wife of Manfred. 
 
 Sigis. What means my Guiscard ? — Say, can he bring 
 comfort 
 
72 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 In this dark hour of grief? He knows my father, 
 He knows his hard commands. 
 
 Guise. He does ; yet it 
 Depends on thee, whether those hard commands, 
 That power which Heaven ne'er gave, shall be obey'd, 
 Or boldly set at naught. 
 
 Sigis. On me ? 
 
 Guise. On thee : 
 For Manfred, generous friend! the man I deem'd 
 My hated rival, (and in rage did that 
 For which my cheek must ever wear a blush,) 
 Him I upbraided with my services ; 
 Yet he has given thee back, resists thy beauty, 
 Thy wondrous charms, and, like another Scipio, 
 Suffers his friend to lead away the prize. 
 Nay more, his fleet shall guard thee from these lands 
 To love and safety in his powerful realms. 
 
 Sigis. Alas ! what say'st thou? — leave my father's 
 palace ? 
 My honour tainted, and my name aspersed! 
 
 Guise. Honour shall have its right. — A husband's title 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 13 
 
 Shall be the bulwark of thy fame. All's lost 
 If you resolve not quickly : — This hour Tancred 
 Gives to repose : this hour must make you mine, 
 Or we must part for ever. In that chamber, 
 Where your loved mother dwelt, a reverend priest 
 Attends my orders. — Dangers fly around us. 
 For, if we yet should linger here, the eye 
 Of piercing curiosity will search 
 Our very looks, and through our inmost souls 
 Dart its quick beam. — My life — but what of that — 
 It is not worth a thought — 
 
 Sigis. Not worth a thought ? — 
 Thy precious life ? — My care for that bears down, 
 Like an impetuous torrent, all before it ; 
 Thy life, — thy safety asks the dangerous tribute : 
 'Tispaid, and lam thine! — [kneeling.] Shade of my mother, 
 I here invoke thee ! — 
 And, if the solemn deed I'm now to act, 
 Has, as I deem it has, its sacred source 
 In honour, virtue, constancy, and truth, 
 Look down, and blefs it from thy heavenly mansions ! 
 
74 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Guise. O generous Sigismonda ! — but what words 
 Can duly thank you ? 
 
 Sigis. Wonder not, my Guiscard, 
 That, in the tumult of conflicting pafsions, 
 I had forgot thy letter, which instructs me 
 In the strange story of thy noble birth. 
 And now, perhaps, my Guiscard thinks to watch 
 The wild effusions of a joyful bosom ; 
 Expects to hear me thank abundant Heaven, 
 That his fair birth is equal to his virtues. 
 But what has birth, or titled parentage, 
 A long-drawn lineage, or a proud descent, 
 To do with real love ? — Disclaim thy birth, 
 For that, methinks, deprives me of a proof 
 Of what I dare for thee. 
 
 Guise. You, then, must swear 
 That secret never shall escape your lips. 
 
 Sigis. O, why must it be seal'd in endlefs night ? 
 
 Guise. A father, guiltlefs of his son's offence, 
 May live to share his punishment. 
 
 Sigis. Oh ! guard him, 
 
 *&? 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 75 
 
 Ye saints, and, though we fall, may he be left 
 To steal, unnoticed, to our haplefs graves, 
 And give his tears to our ill-fated loves ! , 
 
 Guise. Banish such thoughts: next moment makes thee 
 mine : 
 And, when the morning breaks, Salerno's towers 
 May faintly glitter in the distant prospect. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Monforti and Raimond, meeting. 
 
 Raim. Stop, stop, my lord, — the path you would pursue 
 Leads far away from love, revenge, and power: 
 That vision's past: — it points but to the abode 
 Of death. — All is discover'd: even now, 
 Behind the arras as I stood conceal'd, 
 I heard the king direct his chosen guard 
 To seek the spot where we had fix'd our meeting, 
 
76 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 And, when the appointed signal should be thrown 
 From the west tower, quick to rush forth at once, 
 And act as then commanded. 
 
 Monf. Calmly, then, 
 Let's meet our fate, my friend : to escape — to fly, 
 Impofsible: — no more of that. — And yet — 
 
 Raim. [after musing an instant.] — O yet, there is a way, 
 And only one, which, like a thawing flood, 
 This fatal moment must be crofs'd, or never. 
 
 Monf. O name it straight. 
 
 Raim. Be it for us, my lord, 
 To intercept*our friends, ere they draw near 
 The horrid brink, where Fate and Ruin beckon: 
 If they Ve the souls of men, they will not fall 
 Ere yet the thirst of great revenge be sated, 
 And Tancred's palace flow with blood. — Their arms 
 Are all at hand. — Lead them to instant action; 
 Safety and conquest still may smile upon us. 
 
 Monf. You give me hope ; the pit, indeed, is dug, 
 But yet the lion may escape the snare. [Exeunt. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 7 7 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 THE VESTIBULE TO THE -GALLERY. 
 
 Enter Tancred, Archbishop, Attendants, Guards. 
 
 Tanc. By Heavens ! it half repents me to have come 
 Thus far: all here is quiet — not a foot-fall. — 
 Where lurks this treason ? — Nay, I do beseech you, 
 Another time, good brother, as you love us, 
 Give poppies to your sick: — record no more 
 Such boding dreams, as is your trade to invent, 
 Cheating the fond credulity of women. 
 
 Archb. O, you are merry, brother ; but restrain 
 Your triumph till the danger's o'er ; — as yet, 
 We have not reach'd the appointed place of guilt. 
 
 Tanc. Come then, let's on, you shall indulge your humour. 
 
 Archb. Methinks, beyond that pillar, somewhat seems 
 To glide, of human form. 
 
78 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Tanc. Truly, 'tis one 
 In holy vestments ; he appears to shun us: 
 Seize quickly on the slave. [a friar is brought in. 
 
 Archb. What art thou, man, 
 That, in these solitaryregions, prowl'st 
 Far from all human converse ? — does thy zeal 
 For our religion prompt thee to this gloom 
 Of meditation ? — would not holy thoughts 
 As well illume the night of thy own cloister, 
 And cell recluse ? 
 
 Tanc. See, he turns pale. Know, friar, 
 Thy errand is betray'd ; — confefs thy crime, 
 Reveal thy foul conspiracy ; or death, 
 In its worst shape — 
 
 Friar. O ! good my lord, be patient ! 
 I am no traitor, no conspirator. 
 
 Tanc. Then bear him to the rack, and try if torture 
 Can draw the secret from him. 
 
 Friar. Grant me life, — 
 I can unfold a dismal tale: — but yet 
 Expect to hear that, which may make life's current 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 79 
 
 Stop in its course, never, perhaps, to gain 
 Its channel more ! 
 
 Tanc. Friar, speak on, and fear not. 
 
 Friar. Gold, which I did not want, that curse the earth 
 Flings back on man for raking in her bowels, 
 Has damn'd my honesty, and ruin'd thee. 
 
 Tanc. What can this mean ? — Proceed. 
 
 Friar. Connubial rites 
 This hour has seen perform'd: the horrid omens 
 Are now too well explain'd : Grief and Despair 
 Stood screaming by the altar ! — ghastly Death 
 Witnefs'd the lovers' oath, and, in his tablets, 
 Wrote their sad names in blood ! — Now,Tancred, mark me, 
 Guiscard and Sigismonda — 
 
 Tanc. Raven, cease, 
 
 And, for this hellish falsehood [runs at him with his 
 
 dagger, but is stopped by the Archbishop. 
 
 Archb. O, restrain 
 Your rage ! 
 
 Tanc. Adders twist round his tongue ! — Vile wretch, 
 If this were true, the utterance of such crimes 
 
80 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Difsolves all compact with thee. 
 
 Archb. This is madnefs — 
 A prince's word, like the all-glorious sun, 
 When little planets vagrant roll, should stand 
 Immutable, and fix'd for ever. — Fear not, 
 Finish this killing tale. 
 
 Friar. The bark unbends 
 Her sails, which, through the favour of the night, 
 Is to transport the destin'd pair. — They tarry 
 In the adjoining chamber. 
 
 Tanc. [going out.] This the way 
 That leads me to them. 
 
 Archb. [stopping him.] Yet one moment, Tancred, 
 One moment give to temperate thought. Consider 
 What wrongs provoke thee — then, into what abyfs 
 Of woes, thy thirst of vengeance and of blood 
 May plunge us all ; I have no hope that Pity 
 Dare, midst such horrors, shew her face to plead 
 For the poor victims. Tancred, yet be calm, 
 And, with a soul unbowd beneath affliction, 
 Approve thyself a man. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 81 
 
 Tanc. Yes, yes, my brother, 
 I will be patient; and I will dam up 
 The torrents of my rage ; I'll feel no shame 
 To weep, and play the woman ! — O! my child, 
 O Sigismonda, thou hast kill'd thy father ! — 
 Am I not calm ? — This, this is not the hour 
 Of angry purposes : — revenge and hatred, 
 In this fierce tempest of conflicting pafsions, 
 Afsume a thousand different shapes at once, 
 Puzzling my senses, like a troop of spectres, 
 Which flit so quick before me, I can seize 
 On none. — Alas ! was not her virgin soul 
 Whiter, far whiter, than the ivory throne 
 Of sainted Innocence, till this cursed deed ? — 
 To let that bramble twist its baleful leaves 
 Round her fair stem ! — [after some pause.] Ah ! I've a 
 
 . thought — 'twill do- — 
 'Tis great, — and yet, if I approach these serpents, 
 My fury damns the project: — take my dagger — 
 
 [gives his dagger to an attendant. 
 And, though I should command their instant death, 
 
32 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Obey me not. — Then, have I not her tears 
 
 To combat too ? — yet shall those very tears 
 
 But minister to vengeance: — yes, I'll use 
 
 Those drops — her cries for mercy — shrieks of fear — 
 
 Only to blunt my rage, and, for a while, 
 
 To lull the storm ; so that my slow revenge 
 
 Shall be as ample as a father's wrongs. — 
 
 Lead to this wanton bower of guilt and shame. 
 
 Archb. [to one of the guard.] Here take thy stand, obser- 
 vant of each step 
 That pafses near the palace, and impart 
 The earliest notice of suspected treason. [Exeunt. 
 
 \ 
 
 ■IN- 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 83 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 THE GALLERY. 
 
 Guiscard, Sigismonda, Hafsan, Sibilla, Bender. 
 
 Guise. Let me speak comfort to thee ; — -Ah ! why beats 
 This little heart so quick ? why glance thine eyes, 
 Now to the vault of heaven, now fixed down, 
 As they would pierce the earth ? — My love, my wife, 
 My beauteous Sigismonda, here repose 
 Thy fluttering soul ; this chamber is the abode 
 Of safety, and of silence. 
 
 Sigis. O! you err, 
 You sadly err: — such fears may come hereafter. 
 A father's grief comes with the whirlwind's sweep, 
 And carries all before it. 
 
 Hafs. Ye just Gods ! 
 That this can be the child of tyranny ! 
 
84 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Sigis. O Tancred, author of my being, thus, 
 Thus I reward thy love ! — Withheld by Time, 
 When Death did stand as at a distance from thee, 
 I've dragg'd the unwilling minister of fate 
 Towards thy sacred head ! — 'Tis, 'tis too much. 
 Nay, [turning to Guiscard.] when we plough the sea, though 
 
 your fond arms 
 Shield me from angry waves, and whistling winds, 
 Though from my cheeks you wipe the tears away, 
 And murmur in my ear such tender words 
 As only I may hear, and you can utter, 
 Ev'n then, a father's threatening form may rise, 
 From the black deep, to blast our guilty joys. 
 
 Guise. O ! no, kind Venus shall direct our bark ; 
 The astonish'd deep shall wonder how we cleave 
 His glafsy bosom ; — unperceived, the Loves 
 Shall waft us on, and, mindful of the charms 
 Of Egypt's lovely Queen, confefs how far 
 Thy beauty shines above her ! — Then arrived 
 Where Manfred's friendship shall securely place us, 
 Far from the noisy world, in some lone castle, 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 85 
 
 Encircled with impenetrable shades,. 
 Each golden day we'll consecrate to love ; 
 There, every hour shall witnefs some contrivance, 
 Some new device to please you, till invention 
 Itself shall be no more, and nothing left 
 But iterated joy, delight, and fondnefs. 
 
 Hajs. [starting.] Ha ! whence those sounds ? — alas ! my 
 
 wretched children. 
 
 [While he speaks these words, the folding doors in the back 
 of the stage suddenly open, and enter 
 
 (SCENE VI.J 
 
 Tancred, Archbishop, Friar, Attendants. 
 
 Sigis. My father — and the priest ! nay then, all's lost ! 
 
 [running into Guiscard's arms. 
 There's only time for this. — Now, Tancred, now 
 Cleave with one stroke two faithful hearts at once. 
 
86 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Guise, [embracing Sigismonda.] Here take, thou prodigy 
 of love and courage, 
 A husband's first, a husband's last embrace ! 
 
 Tanc. [recovering from his surprise] What — in my sight ! 
 — O ! horror, guilt, and shame ! 
 What, not restrain your strong libidinous wills, 
 But, in the presence of the conscious day, 
 Imbrute ! — Though bestial sensuality 
 Had hurried half the sex to the embraces 
 Of all that's monstrous of earth, air, or sea, 
 Still had I deem'd. (but how deceived and cheated !) 
 That this sweet wax, unmelted, had retain'd 
 Its virgin purity! 
 
 Sigis. Tancred, I know my offence, and, seeing too 
 The hideous garb in which it meets your eyes, 
 Hope not for pardon, but, as most befits me, 
 Submit with meek, though not repentant soul, 
 To all your rage may dictate. If your vengeance 
 Points its just aim to blast the guiltiest head, 
 Here, Sigismonda stands prepared to meet it. 
 'Twas I, not he, that cut the fatal isthmus, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 87 
 
 Which birth, and rank, and pride, had placed between us, 
 Flung down the sandy barriers, and at once 
 Let the two eager torrents rush together. 
 
 Guise. This is too much. — Tancred, believe her not, 
 Reject the generous fiction ; satiate here 
 Your utmost fury. 
 
 Tanc. Gods ! can I give credit 
 To all I see, and hear! and yet 'twas well 
 I gave away my poignard, or this moment 
 Had been their last ! 
 
 Sigis. I had stretch'd this willing neck 
 To have met the axe, and smiled upon its edge ; 
 I had felt the rude afsafsin's griping hand 
 Buried in these poor ringlets, nor had heaved 
 A sigh, nor utter'd weak complaint ; while pity 
 For thee, my father, (who art doom'd to drag 
 Thy woes about the world, when we may sleep 
 In our cold graves,) and the extatic thought 
 Of being borne again to those dear arms, 
 In regions where we ne'er shall part, had checquer'd 
 My few remaining hours of life ! — But now, 
 
88 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 To hear my honour murder'd, and pure modesty 
 So coarsely blasted by a parent's breath, 
 This is most hard, indeed ! 
 
 Tanc. Ye holy spirits ! 
 Is this my child, or not ? — That syren tongue, 
 That face of innocence, so like her mother's, 
 Bespeak her Sigismonda. — But alas ! 
 Where is that chaste reserve, that sweet acquaintance 
 With all which duty prompts, and virtue acts ? 
 Some [turning to Guiscard.] daemon sure, in mischief 
 
 exquisite 
 Above his fellows, takes that villain's shape 
 Thus to undo me ! — Thou insidious reptile, 
 That keep'st thy poison for the hand that feeds thee, 
 Worm, that wast writhing out thy hateful life, 
 Till I recall'd it back, say, what excuse 
 Has falsehood for this monstrous treachery? 
 
 Guise. Where there's no crime, there needs be no defence, 
 To shelter Virtue ; Falsehood need not ope 
 The treasure of her arts, nor will fair Truth 
 Clothe that in armour which may naked pafs, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 89 
 
 And brave, with conscious innocence, the world. 
 Excuse I have none. If Tancred would be taught 
 The cause of what injustice terms a crime, 
 Learn, then, 'twas Love, almighty, glorious Love ; 
 Love, that so long has torn this restlefs planet, — 
 Love, in whose cause oceans of blood have flow'd, 
 And ne'er shall cease to stream, while man retains 
 His form, an image of his God, and keeps 
 
 One atom of his heavenly nature perfect. 
 
 As for my birth — of that mistake, O ! witnefs 
 
 This sad refuter ! [pointing to Hafsan.] — Know, your 
 
 daughter loved me, 
 Loved, when she deem'd me low as your reproach 
 Can make me ! — Humbler in my own esteem, 
 And meaner still, I dared, an earth-born reptile, 
 To gaze on that celestial orb. 
 
 Hafs. See, Tancred, 
 In me, the injured Conrad, and the sire 
 Of Guiscard. Heaven, injustice, has repaid 
 Thy wrongs of me in him I proudly call 
 My son. 
 
 N 
 
90 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Tanc. His destiny were happier, had he been 
 The vilest slave, the base-born, grovelling, offspring 
 Of rags, disease, and beggary, than sprung 
 From thy rebellious loins. Contempt, perhaps, 
 Had pour'd its dull allay upon my vengeance, 
 And mitigated torture ; — now, thank Heaven ! 
 His birth has made him worthy of my rage. 
 
 Archb. O Sigismonda! — lost, undone for ever! 
 That those rare beauties, mild engaging manners, 
 The spring of softnefs, and the golden summer, 
 Rich with all Nature's fruits, and ripe perfections, 
 Should be the harbingers of so much ruin ! 
 Still art thou dear ! — ah ! that this faultering; voice 
 Had but a sound of comfort, or of hope ! 
 
 Sigis. Talk not to me of hope : the drowning wretch, 
 When all the ocean's level with his eyes, 
 May be buoy'd up by hope : — that poor deceiver 
 Shall find no welcome in this breast. — Despair 
 Enter'd the portal with you: — she, who's wont 
 To plough up all things with her driving share, 
 Making a chaos of the human breast, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 91 
 
 Has cut the thriving root of every hope, 
 That fear may grow the stronger. 
 
 Tanc. Ah, I knew 
 What needs must follow all thy boasted firmnefs ; 
 I thought how long the victim would remain 
 Thus patient, and submifsive, at the altar! 
 It is your sex's great prerogative 
 To do superior ill, and it is one, 
 Midst Nature's hidden laws, never to make you 
 Cowards, until the daring sin's committed: 
 She gives you fears for torment, not prevention. 
 
 Sigh. Yes, Tancred, yes, I do confefs that fear 
 Rends and distracts me. O! it is most horrible 
 To think, when Guiscard's blood shall have appeased 
 A portion of your rage, (when all that's godlike, 
 When honour, virtue, truth, and generous love, 
 In his cold bosom are entomb'd,) that you, 
 To me more cruel than to him, may shew 
 Scorn'd and detested mercy. 
 
 Tanc. I'll hear no more — this throbbing brain will burst — 
 Quick to their dungeons bear the scorpions from me. 
 
92 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Sigis. O! moment worse than death ! O wild dis- 
 traction ! 
 Support me, holy sir, or I shall sink — 
 
 [she leans, fainting, upon the Archbishop. 
 Your arm — O ! this is kind indeed. 
 
 Archb. Good Heaven, 
 My child, support thee in this hour of trial ! 
 
 Guise, [breaking from those who attempt to hold him.] Ruf- 
 fians, stand by — respect a husbands woe. 
 O ! she is breathlefs : — are those marble cheeks 
 Thus blanch'd for ever ? — to eternal grief 
 Then may she never wake ! Help to unlock 
 Her clenching hands. — Yet she revives — O agony! 
 
 Tanc. Tear them asunder. 
 
 Sigis. Where, O where's my husband? — 
 Is he not dead? — Let me but look upon him — 
 But one short instant, — and 'tis all I ask. 
 
 Guise. O ! you shall never — never part us — 
 
 Sigis. Hark ! 
 Do I not hear his voice ? — My life, my Guiscard, 
 Thy Sigismonda calls. — I see him not — 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 93 
 
 Tanc. Furies and death ! will none obey the king ? 
 Why lingers still the traitor in our sight? 
 
 Guise. Off — murderous hell-hounds. 
 
 Guard. "Tis our duty, sir ; 
 'Twere vain to struggle. 
 
 Guise. O! remorselefs tyrant ! [they tear him off by force. 
 
 Sigis. His voice again ! — and now it dies away — 
 'Tis heard no more — Hush — hush — it was from thence 
 It came ! — alas ! all's silent ! — and you weep ! 
 
 [turning to the Archbishop. 
 Now by the God of truth, whom you adore, 
 Tell me, O quickly, I conjure you, tell me, 
 Are Guiscard's sufferings at an end ? — You sigh, 
 And shake your head — O! then I know the worst — 
 You have a tender heart, a gentle soul, 
 And tears for grief like mine: pray bear with me, 
 I hardly know what's past. 
 
 Archb. Guiscard still lives. — 
 But— 
 
 Sigis. O that but, — 
 Returning reason gives it all its horrors. 
 
94 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Tanc. [to Sigismonda.] Back to thy chamber: ere the sun 
 shall hide 
 His beams, in shame of such detested crimes, 
 Uncertain of thy fate, expect my coming. 
 I shall have businefs with thee, that will try 
 Thy soul's best powers: — seek not, till then, to measure 
 The vast extent of vengeance that may suit 
 An injured father, and an injured king ! [Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHERS REVENGE. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 97 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 A PRISON, 
 
 Hafsan and Guiscard, both chained. 
 
 Hafs. These mansions of distress, of deep despair, 
 This blood-stain'd pavement, heaps of dead men's bones, 
 Where ours must soon be added, (there to blanch 
 And take their silver polish) groans and screams, 
 That wind so sharply through these caves of night, — 
 Such are thy nuptial honours ! — Ah ! — how fair 
 The morning broke, when, smiling, first it view'd 
 These aged arms infold a long-lost child, 
 And crown'd thee with the joys of faithful love ! 
 Heavens ! what a change ! — But soft — no more of this, 
 Lest, for the poor unmanly occupation 
 
 o 
 
98 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Of brooding o'er such wither'd hopes, we suffer 
 A dastard wish of life to steal upon us. 
 
 Guise. O! Sigismonda, I could wish for life, 
 To be the thing, the creature, most exposed 
 To human hate, contempt, or injury, 
 That I might still be near thee, still gaze on thee ; — 
 But, to have life without thee — horrid thought ! — 
 O! let not that, by some avenging fiend, 
 Be whisper'd in his tyrant pupils ear ! — 
 His frantic rage, his pride inexorable, 
 Ensure a kinder lot — The unrudder'd vefsel, 
 All leak and foundering, with lefs joy descries 
 A sail emerging from the bright horizon, 
 Than I now welcome my approaching fate. 
 
 Hap. Nobly resolved ; and, for this strength of soul, 
 With more true joy I'll prefs thee to my heart, 
 Than when I first pour'd forth the sacred tribute 
 Of my paternal fondnefs : — I'd forgot [attempting to rise, 
 he is impeded by his chains, and bursts into tears. 
 My chains. — What folly this, to let a trifle 
 Unman me thus ! alas ! I was entrench'd 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 99 
 
 'Gainst pain, and death, and all such open foes : — 
 "Tis past, and you shall blush for me no more. 
 
 Guise. But, to have drawn this ruin on thy head — 
 
 Hafs. Waste not a thought on me. — Saplefs and old, 
 Yielding nor shelter, fruit, nor foliage, 
 Nature will sue the winds to clear her forests 
 Of such unprofitable loiterers ; 
 
 They fall, and are not mifs'd. — That the rude blasts 
 Should single out the pride of all the grove — 
 There, there's the grief! — without accusing Heaven, 
 May we not ask why such things are ? — 
 
 Guise. Methinks, 
 Through the arch'd labyrinth, I hear the sound 
 Of distant footsteps; and, from yon dark aile, 
 Lo! ever and anon, a light breaks forth, 
 And then is lost again. 
 
 Hafs. Now let me watch thee : — 
 The blood still keeps thy cheek, thy eyes still roll 
 With wonted freedom - , and I view no tears ; — 
 Those chains would tell me if thy nerves but shook — 
 Thou art my son ; thou art the child of Conrad. 
 
100 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Guise. Lo! they approach — men all well pick'd and 
 chosen 
 For such a solemn embafsy. 
 
 Enter Rujfians. 
 
 Hajs. Remember, boy, that nature knows not pain 
 Beyond a certain point ; and that the soul 
 Will rush to Heaven, e'en from the smallest crevice, 
 Where least her flight is look'd for. The stretch'd nerves 
 May throb long after life is done, the heart 
 May tofs in palpitation, as the waves 
 After a storm, though all is hush'd above. 
 
 1 Ruff, [to Guiscard.] Our businefs is with you — unloose 
 him first. 
 
 Guise. Your visages and garbs want no decyphering. 
 Dispatch me quick, and, while I yet have life, 
 Remember I'm a soldier ; one who fears 
 More the rude license of a ruffian's tongue, 
 Than all his equipage of death. 
 
I'm FATHERS Ml^El^F, 
 
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THE FATHER'S REVENGE 10 1 
 
 Hajs. Alas ! 
 You do not, cannot, mean to slay a son, 
 And shed his blood before his father's eyes. 
 
 1 Ruff. — Then this way with him . [they whisper together. 
 
 % Ruff.- [to Hafsan.] You awhile may wait, 
 Then hence before the king. 
 
 Guise. I once had thought 
 To have met my fate without a parting look, 
 This dear embrace, — but that had been unkindnefs. 
 
 [after a long embrace. 
 One pang remains behind. — Poor Sigismonda! 
 Sustain her, Heaven ! infuse into her heart 
 Some balm of comfort ; and, if woes like these 
 Must kill her reason, as I think they must, 
 O ! let her visions all be calm and peaceful ! 
 Quench in her soul the torch of faithful love ; 
 And when, with puzzled view, and feeble sense, 
 She'd fain recall things past, let Guiscard's truth, 
 Without his sufferings, grief, despair, and end, 
 
 Stand singly planted on her weaken'd mind ! 
 
 Now, sirs, conduct me. [he is borne off. 
 
102 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Manet Hafsan. 
 
 Hafs. [after a long silence.] Perhaps, by this, 'tis o'er - 
 Ye gracious powers, 
 For what do you reserve me ? — better fortunes, 
 And lefs of sorrow, had been now a curse. — 
 Adversity, I thank thee ; I've been dragg'd 
 Up to thy top-mast rock, far, far beyond 
 Where miserable man e'er trod before. 
 What is to come, compared with what is past, 
 Must be all rest and ease. — Tarry blefs'd spirit, 
 Bear witnefs how I'll emulate thy virtue ; 
 O ! view in me again thy glorious firmnefs, 
 Thy patient mind, unconquerable soul, 
 Thy scorn of tyrants, and contempt of death! 
 
 [he is taken out at the opposite side of the stage. 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE \03 
 
 Monjorti and Raimond brought in. 
 
 Monf. Say, by what sanction of authority, 
 Whose order, you conduct us ? 
 
 Jailor. See this warrant ; 
 Let this suffice ; it bears a signature 
 Stamp'd by Salerno's bishop: 'tis for us 
 To execute his mandate ; and ev'n now 
 All Manfred's troops are planted round the walls 
 Of your afsociates. 
 
 Monf. Baffled by my rival ! 
 The man whose daring enterprize shall claim 
 A proud reward in Sigismonda's love! 
 This points affliction's keenest shaft, and gives 
 A wound before unfelt: — You speak not, Raimond; 
 Hast thou no words for Fortune when she frowns ? 
 
 Raim. All words are loathsome — I renounce, abhor 
 Their idle use. Had we employ 'd our hands, 
 And not our tongues, Monforti, at this hour 
 We had in safety stood beyond the reach 
 
104 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Of all the tyrant's rage. But, yet in vain, 
 I seek to trace the cause, nor can unfold 
 This treachery. 
 
 Monf. 'Twere fruitlefs to unfold it. 
 Death now, and death in all its shapes of terror, 
 Must be our only thought. And O! my friend, 
 What torments wait us ! will not coward Nature 
 Shrink at the nice and exquisite improvements 
 That art shall add to butchery? — the sharp 
 But lingering knife — the slow-consuming fire — 
 The nerve-distending rack — do not all these 
 Appal thee, Raimond ? 
 
 Raim. These indeed are tortures 
 That might appal the dying saint. — 'Tis now 
 The rage of disappointment that to death 
 Gives tenfold horrors, and inflicts a torment 
 Beyond what all the tyrant's studied arts 
 Of cruelty can reach. 
 
 Monf. And, add to this 
 The stings of conscious guilt ! — O Raimond, had I 
 Been never born, Salerno's realms had known 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 105 
 
 A milder sway. I poison'd Tancred's nature, 
 Dash'd the fair scale of Justice on the ground, 
 Scourged Mercy from his throne, and placed about it 
 The weakest centinels a prince can trust to, — 
 Hate, Fear, and Pride. I was that envious shade, 
 Through which the sun-beams never pierced — the night, 
 In whose thick damp all the foul pafsions gender'd, 
 That, with the adder's venom'd tooth, crept forth, 
 And stung an injured people into madnefs. 
 I was that wizard, conjuring up all ill, 
 Myself invisible, while Tancred drew 
 On his lefs guilty head his people's hatred. 
 But now I fall, in my own wiles ensnared, 
 The victim of my guilt. 
 
 Jailor. You'll wonder not, 
 The purport of my warrant should demand 
 Your close confinement. — You'll retire within. [Exeunt. 
 
106 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 sigismonda's apartment. 
 Sigismonda and Sibilla. 
 
 Sigis. Does not the solemn hour approach, that brings, 
 Robed in paternal awfulnefs, my judge, 
 My king, my father ? 
 
 Sibil. Haply, he revolves, 
 In his repentant heart, past hours of joy, 
 The summer of his reign, when you and Guiscard 
 Shared the mild influence of its genial beams. 
 Ev'n now, perhaps, he figures to his mind 
 The state of helplefs infancy that first 
 Gave the loved orphan to his fostering care, 
 While pity may revoke the bloody sentence 
 That lately seal'd his doom. 
 
 Sigis. Away, away, 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 107 
 
 Trifle no longer with me ; 'twas but now, 
 (Yourself the witnefs) near his dungeon gate, 
 Men with sad aspects, and with cautious tread, 
 Were seen to take their way. — Had this a shew 
 Of mercy? — No — they were the slaves to drefs 
 His funeral couch — and Guiscard rests in peace! 
 How long am I still destined to endure 
 This curse of life, this insult to my love! 
 But here comes one who can unfold the mystery. 
 
 Enter Tancred, with a vase in his hand. 
 
 Tanc. All void the chamber — leave us to be private. 
 
 Sigis. Low at your feet see Sigismonda falls ! — 
 No hand is stretch'd to raise her from the dust, — 
 No glance, inspiring confidence ! — Alas ! — 
 He heeds me not — 
 
 Tanc. Let none approach our presence. 
 
 Sigis. Then must thy daughter grow for ever here ! 
 
 Tanc. Rise: these are idle forms, mere mockeries; 
 
108 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 They please me not. What boots the bended knee, 
 When the proud stubborn heart derides such crouchings ? 
 Behold this vase ! 
 
 Sigis. I know its dreadful import. 
 
 Tanc. Alas ! alas, thou know its import ! — thou ! 
 The babe of ease and joy ! — Leave those who've-prefs'd 
 The milklefs breast of want, who have been scared, 
 On the first step of life, with famine, war, 
 •The gangrened plague, or mafsacre ; leave those, 
 With all their skill in horrors, to divine 
 Its foul contents — But thou — 
 
 Sigis. I know 'tis poison : 
 A welcome present, worthy of my father. 
 You tremble, give it to my steadier hand. 
 
 Tanc. No, let it rest awhile. — [places it on a table.] Now 
 hear me, daughter. 
 Thou dost not, sure, forget that horrid night, 
 When, circled in these arms, you watch'd in silence 
 Your mother's parting breath: the expiring saint, 
 Fixing her eyes on thee, thus faintly cried, 
 Almighty Powers ! preserve yon blooming infant, 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 109 
 
 Make her the comfort of her father's age, 
 
 Nurse of his sicknefs, pleasure of his health, 
 
 And, ere she swerve from Virtue's arduous path, 
 
 Take her, O! take her, pure and innocent, 
 
 To your immortal selves ! 
 
 Short-sighted state of man, unjust and vain 
 
 In all his reasonings ! — if death had hasten'd 
 
 His well-timed course, to save thee from this ruin, 
 
 Still I had wept ; with partial cruelty 
 
 Had tax'd high Heaven — perhaps, had follow'd thee 
 
 To the cold grave, in the fond doating error 
 
 Of thy bright excellence, that fence impregnable 
 
 'Gainst wantonnefs and vice. 
 
 Sigis. Tancred, I make 
 No empty vaunt; I boast not, that, since first 
 This tongue knew utterance, this brain conception, 
 This bosom sense and feeling, I have loved thee 
 Beyond a father's poor prerogative, 
 Or the cold tribute of a daughter's duty, — 
 My mother's prayer was heard ; she pray'd that Virtue 
 
HO THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Should point my dubious way. 'Twas by that light 
 
 I steer'd ; and fix'd on that, on that alone, 
 
 I found it led to Guiscard, and to truth. — 
 
 This to his manes ! — [seizing the vase. 
 
 Tanc. O ! — yet hold, my daughter. 
 
 Sigis. Idle delay: — the drug may lose its force. 
 
 Tanc. Art thou prepared to view — 
 
 Sigis. Speak — what? [she removes the lid.] O! horror! 
 
 What's this that meets my eyes ? 
 
 Tanc. Thy husband's heart — 
 
 His rebel blood — my exquisite revenge. 
 
 Dost thou approve the gift ? 
 
 Sigis. [after a long struggle to speak.] I now have strength 
 To thank you as I ought ! — Do I approve it ? — 
 Thou true, thou honest heart ! O sad, O poor 
 Remains of all my soul held dear ! thus, thus 
 I prefs thee to this throbbing breast ! 
 
 Tanc. [aside.] I fear 
 I've gone too far — behold how eagerly 
 She grasps the fatal cup. — Forbear, my child, 
 Forbear 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE ill 
 
 Sigis. I am conversing with the dead, 
 And must not be disturb'd. — Alas ! poor heart, 
 And wilt thou ever sleep inanimate 
 Within thy narrow sepulchre ! — Vain shadow 
 Of that which once was Guiscard ! — where are all 
 Thy fine sensations — thy tumultuous pulse ? 
 Spark of ethereal fire, how are you quench'd ! 
 Region of honour, courage, truth, and love, 
 All, all laid waste ! — "Tis strange I am not mad; 
 Perhaps I shall not be. — It matters not, 
 For the short space that's left me. — For, there's something 
 That from within whispers my quick releasement. 
 Methinks I feel like one worn out with age, 
 Tottering, and weak, — though, at the evening bell, 
 (And night's not fallen yet) I had the nerves 
 Of playful youth. 
 
 Tanc. [half aside.] O! my lost child, too late, 
 Too late, alas ! I wish the deed undone. — 
 Resign the cup — it is a sight too horrible 
 For mortal vision. 
 
 Sigis. Never but with life. — 
 
112 THE FATHERS REVENGE 
 
 Swear that no ruffian force shall tear it from me. 
 But let it thus be lock'd in my embrace, 
 The partner of my grave ! To heaven I'll bear it 
 With me, the pafsport to eternal peace ! 
 
 Tanc. Who talks of peace and heaven! — O damning 
 guilt ! 
 O sharp remorse ! the sounds of peace and heaven, 
 Harrow my soul with fears: — and, to complete 
 My woes, thou'rt ready with thy dying curse. 
 
 Sigis. I pray come nearer to me. — Thus I curse thee — 
 
 [embracing him. 
 Thus, on thy neck, pour forth the only tears 
 I've shed in all my grief. — Horror, before, 
 Dried up their source. 
 
 Tanc. And can those injured hands, 
 That should have sent a poignard to my bosom, 
 Entwine me thus within them? — I, all stain'd 
 With blood — ah ! and whose blood ! 
 
 Sigis. That's true : impure [starting from him. 
 
 Is thy embrace, and 'tis an impious deed 
 To approach my husband's murderer Let me hence. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE 113 
 
 Enter to them hastily, the Archbishop and Manfred. 
 
 Here comes a holy man, who'll not refuse me 
 A refuge in my miseries, a corner 
 Where I may lay this haplefs head in quiet, 
 Where, till my grave is ready, I may hide, 
 And watch this treasure with a miser's care. 
 
 Tanc. Why break you in upon us ? 
 
 Archb. This intrusion 
 May find its pardon, when unhoped-for joy 
 Bids zeal outstrip the tardy pace of form. 
 
 Man/. For that I've saved thy royal house from ruin, 
 Thy breast from the afsafsin's knife, thy crown 
 From beaming on a traitor's brow, I ask 
 No thanks, no recompence, but Guiscard's life. 
 
 Sigis. O miserable error ! — Why to this 
 
 [pointing to the vase which she holds. 
 
 Do I my eye-balls glue ? and wherefore thus 
 
 Imprint these kifses on its surface ? and 
 
 All this without a cause ? 
 
 Tanc. Better — far better, 
 
 2 
 
114 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 For her, for me, for all, to have sunk at once 
 Together in our country's general ruin, 
 Than to have life to tell thee, that thou ask'st 
 Too late. — The sacrifice is made — enquire 
 No further — 
 
 Manf. What — be dumb ! — Inhuman tyrant — 
 But thou shalt rue the deed. Vengeance shall shake 
 O'er Guiscard's mangled corse her flaming torch : 
 I will pursue its light where'er it leads me. 
 
 Tanc. I am not worth thy rage ; and much too wretched 
 To keep a sense of fear, or heed such threats : 
 O! look on that poor wretch, and let, I pray thee, 
 Thy meaner griefs give place, nor dare to force 
 Their trifling forms amidst her sacred woes. 
 
 [Sibilla whispers the Archbishop and Manfred, aside. 
 
 Archb. O Heavens, it cannot be ! 
 
 Manf. Accursed deed! 
 
 Sigis. Perhaps I touch another spring of grief: 
 But Guiscard had a father, one much wrong'd 
 By fortune and by thee. 
 
 Tanc. Thanks be to Heaven ! 
 
THE FATHERS REVENGE 115 
 
 Conrad still lives : of all his large pofsefsions 
 
 Full restitution shall be quickly made, 
 
 His broken shield shall, to his arm restored, 
 
 Be blazon'd with new honours. — Hence with speed, 
 
 [to an Attendant. 
 Tell him our fair designs, and bear his age 
 Far from these scenes of wretchednefs and guilt. 
 
 Sigis. I am too near my end, and have no voice 
 To thank you as becomes me. 
 
 Tanc. O! my full heart. [turns away in tears. 
 
 Sigis. You turn away: you surely will not leave me: 
 Desert me not. — Soon will my soul take wing, 
 Ah ! now I feel that death hath icy fingers, — 
 And round my shivering limbs he seems to fling 
 A dripping shroud of snow ! — The vase — remember — 
 Look where it's fix'd — your oath that no rude hand — 
 Mercy ! — what's this I feel ? — it throbs — it beats 
 As it would burst its monument. — I come — 
 Thy summons is obey'd. — If I delay, 
 'Tis to forgive, to blefs — to blefs my father. 
 
 [sinks into Tancred's arms, and dies. 
 
116 THE FATHER'S REVENGE 
 
 Tanc. Did you not note those sounds ! O all bear witnefs, 
 She did not curse me with her parting breath. 
 But give her air ; perhaps she may but faint ; — 
 Soft — bend her forward ; — Medicine may have powers — 
 
 Archb. Vain is thy fond attempt ; no art can* break 
 That everlasting sleep. Mark'd ye, how death 
 Gently enticed away her willing spirit ? 
 
 Tanc. I will not add to the enormous weight 
 Of my foul acts, to wish thee breath, and misery. 
 Farewell ! — -farewell ! — While I preserve my senses, 
 Manfred, to thee I yield the reins of empire. 
 Deprived of this, yet I have other children, 
 A numerous people ; take them to thy bosom ; 
 Rule with a gentler hand ; for my misdeeds 
 Make reparation. — When your locks, like mine, 
 Are white with age, O! may you have no cause 
 To pluck them thus by the roots ! — Here turn thine eyes ; 
 Is't not a sight to move a moment's pity, 
 To see an aged soldier, once a brave one, 
 Worn down, unmann'd by sorrow, shame, and guilt, 
 Look on his sword, yet be afraid to strike ; 
 
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THE FATHER'S REVENGE 117 
 
 And, as the only refuge in his miseries, 
 Hide, like a coward, thus his hated head ? 
 
 [he falls on the dead body of his daughter. 
 Archb. Forbid the impious despicable thought, 
 That prompts the murderous act. — Dastards and infants 
 Fly any where from pain, the patient Brave 
 Defy its power ; and, ev'n for wounds like thine, 
 From the same plants which innocence has rear'd, 
 Repentance draws a strength-restoring balm. — 
 Now gently loose the bonds that thus infold 
 
 The living with the dead. Manfred, in you 
 
 Centre a nation's hopes : on the wide ruins 
 Of our once-splendid house, you place your throne. 
 Drive from your thoughts all fierce designs of vengeance, 
 And guard from insult that unhappy father. 
 Just punishment is heaven's prerogative ; 
 But erring pity is for erring man ! [Exeunt. 
 
POEMS. 
 
ODE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF GRAY 
 
 MDCCLXXI. 
 
ODE, be. 
 
 What Spirit's that which mounts on high, 
 Born on the arms of every tuneful Muse ? 
 His white robes flutter to the gale : 
 They wing their way to yonder opening sky, 
 
 In glorious state, through yielding clouds, they sail, 
 And scents of heavenly flowers on earth diffuse. 
 
 II. 
 
 What avails the Poet's art ? 
 
 What avails his magic hand ? 
 Can he arrest Death's pointed dart, 
 
 Or charm to sleep his murderous band ? 
 Well I know thee, gentle shade, 
 
 That tuneful voice, that eagle eye. 
 
 Quick bring me flowers that ne'er shall fade, 
 
 The laurel wreath that ne'er shall die ; 
 
 \ • 
 
124 POEMS 
 
 With every honour deck his funeral bier, 
 
 For He to every Grace, and every Muse was dear 
 
 III. 
 
 The listening Dryad, with attention still, 
 
 On tiptoe oft would near the Poet steal, 
 To hear him sing upon the lonely hill 
 
 Of all the wonders of the expanded vale ; 
 The distant hamlet, and the winding stream, 
 
 The steeple shaded by the friendly yew, 
 Sunk in the wood the sun's departing gleam, 
 
 The gray-robed landscape stealing from the view. 
 Or, wrapt in solemn thought, and pleasing woe,* 
 
 O'er each low tomb he breathed his pious strain, 
 
 A lefson to the village swain, 
 
 And taught the tear of rustic grief to flow ! 
 
 But soon, with bolder note, and wilder flight, t 
 
 * Elegy written in a Country Church-yard. 
 + The Bard, a Pindaric Ode. 
 
POEMS 125 
 
 O'er the loud strings his rapid hand would run ; 
 
 Mars hath lit his torch of war, 
 Ranks of heroes fill the sight ! 
 Hark, the carnage is begun ! 
 And see the Furies, through the fiery air, 
 O'er Cambria's frighten'd land, the screams of horror bear ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now, led by playful Fancy's hand,* 
 O'er the white surge he treads with printlefs feet, 
 
 To magic shores he flies, and Fairy-land, 
 Imagination's blefs'd retreat. 
 
 Here roses paint the crimson way, 
 No setting sun, eternal May, 
 Wild as the priestefs of the Thracian fane, 
 When Bacchus leads the maddening train, 
 His bosom glowing with celestial fire, 
 To harmony he struck the golden lyre ; 
 
 * The Progress of Poetry, a Pindaric Ode. 
 
126 POEMS 
 
 To harmony each hill and valley rung ! 
 The bird of Jove, as when Apollo sung, 
 To melting blifs resign'd his furious soul: 
 With milder rage his eyes began to roll, 
 The heaving down his thrilling joys confefs'd, 
 Till by a mortal's hand subdued he sunk to rest. 
 
 O guardian angel of our early day,* 
 
 Henry, thy darling plant must bloom no more ! 
 By thee attended, pensive would he stray, 
 
 Where Thames, soft murmuring, laves his winding 
 shore. 
 Thou bad'st him raise the moralizing song, 
 
 Through life's new seas the little bark to steer ; 
 The winds are rude and high, the sailor young, 
 
 Thoughtless he spies no furious tempest near ; 
 Till to the Poet's hand the helm you gave, 
 From hidden rocks an infant crew to save! 
 
 * Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College. 
 
POEMS 127 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ye fiends who rankle in the human heart,* 
 Delight in woe and triumph in our tears, 
 Resume again 
 Your dreadful reign ; 
 Prepare the iron scourge, prepare the venom'd dart. 
 Adversity no more with lenient air appears ; 
 The snakes, that twine around her head, 
 Again their frothy poison shed, 
 For who can now her whirlwind flight control, 
 
 Her threatening rage beguile ? 
 He, who could still the tempest of her soul, 
 And force her livid lips to smile, 
 To happier seats is fled! 
 Now, seated by his Thracian sire, 
 At the full feast of mighty Jove, 
 
 To heavenly themes attunes his lyre, 
 And fills with harmony the realms above ! 
 
 * Hymn to Adversity. 
 
TRANSLATION 
 
 FROM 
 
 DANTE, 
 
 CANTO XXXIII. 
 
 Dante, being conducted by Virgil into the infernal regions, sees 
 a person devouring a human skull, and, struck by so horrid a sight, 
 enquires into his history, and receives the account contained in the 
 following lines. 
 
TRANSLATION, be. 
 
 JNlow from the fell repast, and horrid food, 
 The Sinner* rose; but, first, (the clotted blood 
 With hair depending from the mangled head) 
 His jaws he wiped, and thus he wildly said — 
 
 Ah ! wilt thou then recall this scene of woe, 
 And teach my scalding tears again to flow ? 
 
 * Count Ugolino, a nobleman of Pisa, entered into a conspiracy with the 
 Archbishop Ruggiero, of the Ubaldini family, to depose the governor of Pisa ; in 
 which enterprise having succeeded, Ugolino assumed the government of the city; 
 but the Archbishop, jealous of his power, incited the people against him ; and, 
 gaining the assistance of the three powerful families of the Gulandi, Lan- 
 franchi, and Sismondi, marched, with the enraged multitude, to attack the 
 house of the unfortunate Ugolino, and, making him their prisoner, confined him 
 in a tower with his four sons : at length refusing them food, and casting the key 
 of the dungeon into the river Arno, he left them, in this horrible situation, to be 
 starved to death. 
 
is% POEMS 
 
 Thou know'st not how tremendous is the tale, 
 My brain will madden, and my utterance fail. 
 But could my words bring horror and despair 
 To him whose bloody skull you see me tear, 
 Then should the voice of vengeance never sleep, 
 For ever would I talk, and talking weep. 
 
 Mark'd for destruction, I, in lucklefs hour, 
 Drew my first breath on the Etruscan shore, 
 And Ugolino was the name I bore. 
 This skull contain'd a haughty prelate's brain, 
 Cruel Ruggiero's ; why his blood I drain, 
 Why to my rage he's yielded here below, 
 Stranger, 'twill cost thee many a tear to know. 
 Thou know'st, perhaps, how, trusting to this slave, 
 I and my children found an early grave. 
 This thou may'st know, the dead alone can tell, 
 The dead, the tenants of avenging hell, 
 How hard our fate, by what inhuman arts we fell. 
 Through the small opening of the prison's height, 
 One moon had almost spent its waining light ; 
 
POEMS 133 
 
 'Twas when short sleep had lull'd my pangs to rest, 
 And wearied grief lay dozing in my breast ; 
 Futurity aside her curtain drew, 
 And thus, the troubled vision rose to view. 
 
 On those high hills, it seem'd, (those hills which 
 hide 
 Pisa from Lucca) that, by Sismond's side, 
 Guland and Lanfranc, with discordant cry, 
 Rouze from its den a wolf and young, who fly 
 Before their famish'd dogs ; I saw the sire 
 And little trembling young ones, pant and tire ; 
 Saw them become the eager blood-hounds' prey, 
 Who soon, with savage rage, their haunches flay. 
 I first awoke, and view'd my slumbering boys, 
 Poor haplefs product of my nuptial joys, 
 Scared with their dreams, tofs o'er their stony bed, 
 And, starting, scream with frightful noise for bread. 
 
 Hard is thy heart, no tears those eyes can know, 
 If they refuse for pangs like mine to flow. 
 
134 POEMS 
 
 My children wake ; for now the hour drew near, 
 When we were wont our scanty food to share. 
 A thousand fears our trembling bosoms fill, 
 Each, from his dream, foreboding some new ill. 
 With horrid jar, we heard the prison door 
 Close on us all, alas ! to ope no more. 
 My senses fail, absorb'd in dumb amaze, 
 Deprived of motion, on my boys I gaze: 
 Benumb'd with fear, and harden'd into stone, 
 I could not weep, nor heave one easing groan. 
 My children moan ; my youngest, trembling, cried, 
 " What ails my father ?" still my tongue denied 
 To move ; they cling to me with wild affright : 
 That mournful day, and the succeeding night, 
 We all the dreadful horrid silence kept ; 
 Fearful to ask, with silent grief they wept. 
 
 Now, in the gloomy cell, a ray of light 
 New horrors added, by dispelling night ; 
 When, looking on my boys, in frantic fit 
 Of maddening grief, my senselefs hands I bit 
 
POEMS 135 
 
 Alas ! for hunger they mistake my rage, 
 
 *' Let us," they cried, " our father's pains afsuage: 
 
 " 'Twas he, our sire, who call'd us into day, 
 
 " Clad with this painful flesh our mortal clay, 
 
 " That flesh he gave he sure may take away." 
 
 But why should I prolong the horrid tale ? — 
 Dismay and silent woe again prevail. 
 No more that day we spoke ! — Why, in thy womb, 
 Then, cruel earth, did we not meet our doom? 
 Now, the fourth morning rose ; my eldest child 
 Fell at his father's feet ; in accent wild, 
 Struggling with pain, with his last fleeting breath, 
 *' Help me, my sire," he cried, and sunk in death. 
 I saw the others follow, one by one, 
 Heard their last scream, and their expiring groan. 
 And now arose the last concluding day ; 
 As o'er each corse I groped my stumbling way, 
 I call'd my boys, though now they were no more, 
 Yet still I call'd, till, sinking on the floor, 
 
136 POEMS 
 
 Pale hunger did what grief efsay'd in vain, — 
 
 For ever seal'd my eyes, and closed the scene of pain. 
 
TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A PRESENT OF FLOWERS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 
 
TO A LADY. 
 
 r itted to grace imperial Beauty's hand, 
 
 And, at thy bidding, shed our sweets around, 
 We come, wild children of a distant land, 
 
 Where monsters share, with wretched man, the ground. 
 We've seen the buffalo rushing from the wood, 
 
 The march of elephants, the lion's war, 
 The sea-cow starting from the marshy flood, 
 
 Deep in the thicket shine the tiger's glare. 
 
 'Midst these soft groves though no hyaena lies, 
 
 No fell rhinoceros commands the plain, 
 Yet much we fear, though hidden from our eyes, 
 
 A fiercer monster holds his dreadful reign. 
 Wings on his back, and arm'd with poisonous tongue, 
 
 Quick as our wolf, and cunning as the snake, 
 These scenes he's said to haunt : sweet lady, shun, 
 
 At twilight hour, the valley and the brake : 
 
140 POEMS 
 
 In ambush here he lies ; his easiest prey 
 
 Young health, and careless beauty, as they roam ; 
 Sweet lady, fly, gain thy protecting home ; 
 Safer on Afric's burning plains to stray, 
 Less mischiefs there obstruct the dangerous way. 
 
TO 
 
 MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 
 
 It appears, by the pleadings relative to the will of Charles Mellish, Esq. 
 (1786), that he had made this Lady the offer of succeeding to his 
 estates, in prejudice of his natural heirs. To this offer, she instantly 
 returned this firm and dignified answer : " I hope there is nothing 
 " on earth could induce me to accept an estate that I certainly have 
 " no right to, and which my honour and conscience tell me belongs 
 " to others. Let me, therefore, prevail with you to make a fresh will 
 " immediately; for, I must acquaint you, were this you mention to 
 " take place, I should think myself bound, not only by every tie of 
 " justice and equity, but even to secure my own peace of mind, to 
 " resign every advantage I might receive by it, in favour of those 
 " who are much nearer related to you, and are really descendants of 
 " the. Mellish family." Finding, however, at this gentleman's decease, 
 that, contrary to her remonstrances, he had persisted in bequeathing 
 his estates to her, she immediately resigned them to his niece, the 
 person naturally entitled to the inheritance. 
 
TO MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 
 
 -A. stranger Bard, turning from pomp and power, 
 
 Sits at the threshold of thy calm retreat ; 
 While, through the windings of thy peaceful bower, 
 
 Of harmless age,* and innocence the seat, 
 
 By the soft magic of a willing lute 
 
 He leads the stream of harmony along, 
 Truth shall the subject to the measure suit, 
 
 Honour and justice shall inspire the song. 
 
 Then shall thy conscious breast, thy generous heart, 
 From pride, from interest, each mean passion free, 
 
 * In her letter to Mr. Mellish, Mrs. Pitt, declining to become either his exe- 
 cutrix or heiress, says, " My true character is that of a silly, ignorant, old 
 " woman, (and being harmless is as much as can be said in my praise), and 
 " not at all fit to be employed in business." 
 
144 POEMS 
 
 When steady virtue claims the minstrel's art, 
 Challenge the note, and feel he sings to thee. 
 
 The gifted mansion, and the village cell, 
 
 Where rest the sick, the crippled, and the poor, 
 
 Where Age, by Charity, is led to dwell, 
 
 And wear out life, in sunshine, at the door; 
 
 How often raised to soothe the bed of care, 
 How often plann'd by malady's last breath, 
 
 To force a smile from horrible despair, 
 A cheat for terror, and a bribe for death ! 
 
 Not such thy acts ; — nor pains, nor fears, combin'd 
 To bid thee turn the golden stream aside, 
 
 And, where immortal justice had design'd, 
 To its true channel lead the erring tide. 
 
 For virtues less than thine, had Athens raised 
 The letter'd column to thy spreading fame ; 
 
 On Roman altars votive fires had blazed, 
 
 And mix'd with holy rites thy honour'd name. 
 
POEMS 145 
 
 If these, a niggard country should deny, 
 
 Something, O Pitt ! the Muse has yet to give, 
 
 When the stone crumbles, and the flame shall die, 
 Such worth as thine in lasting verse may live. 
 
TO 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, 
 
 ON HIS 
 
 RESIGNATION OF THE PRESIDENT'S CHAIR 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ROYAL ACADEMY. 
 
 MDCCXC. 
 
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 1 oo wise for contest, and too meek for strife, 
 Like Lear, opprefs'd by those you raised to life, 
 Thy sceptre broken, thy dominion o'er, 
 The curtain falls, and thou 'rt a king no more. 
 Still, near the wreck of thy demolish'd state, 
 Truth, and the weeping Muse, with me shall wait ; 
 Science shall tench Britannia's self to moan, 
 And make, O injured Friend! thy wrongs her own. 
 
 Shall we forget when, with incefsant toil, 
 To Thee 'twas given to turn this stubborn soil ; 
 To Thee, with flowers to deck our dreary waste, 
 And kill the poisonous weeds of vicious taste ; 
 To pierce the gloom where England's genius slept, 
 Long of soft love and tendernefs bereft ; 
 From his young limbs to tear the bands away, 
 And bid the infant giant run and play? 
 

 150 POEMS 
 
 Dark was the hour, the age an age of stone, 
 When Hudson claim'd an empire of his own ; 
 And, from the time, when, darting rival light, 
 Vandyke and Rubens cheer'd our northern night, 
 Those twin stars set, the graces all had fled, 
 Yet paused to hover o'er a Lely's head ; 
 And sometimes bent, when won with earnest prayer, 
 To make the gentle Kneller all their care : 
 But ne'er with smiles to gaudy Verrio turn'd ; 
 No happy incense on his altars burn'd. 
 O witnefs, Windsor, thy too pafsive walls, 
 Thy tortured ceilings, thy insulted halls! 
 Lo! England's glory, Edward's conquering son, 
 Cover'd with spoils from Poictiers bravely won ; 
 Yet no white plumes, no arms of sable hue, 
 Mark the young hero to our ravish'd view ; 
 In buskin trim, and laurell'd helmet bright, 
 A well-drefs'd Roman meets our puzzled sight. 
 And Gallia's captive king, how strange his doom, 
 A Roman, too, perceives himself become ! 
 
POEMS 151 
 
 See, too, the miracles of God profan'd, 
 By the mad daubings of this impious hand. 
 For while the dumb exult in notes of praise, 
 While the lame walk, the blind in transport gaze, 
 While vanquish'd demons Heaven's high mandates hear, 
 And the pale dead spring from the silent bier ; 
 With laced cravat, long wig, and carelefs mien, 
 The painter's present at the wondrous scene ! 
 
 Vanloo and Dahl, these may more justly claim 
 A step still higher on the throne of fame ; 
 Yet to the west their course they seem to run, 
 The last red streaks of a declining sun. 
 
 And must we Jervas name? so hard and cold, 
 In ermined robes, and perukes, only bold ; 
 Or, when inspired, his rapturous colours own, 
 The roll'd-up stocking, and the damask gown, 
 Behold a tastelefs age in wonder stand, 
 And hail him the Apelles of the land ! 
 
152 POEMS 
 
 And Denner too; — but yet so void of ease, 
 
 His figures tell you they're forbid to please ; 
 
 Nor in proportion, nor exprefsion nice, 
 
 The strong resemblance is itself a vice. 
 
 As wax-work figures always shock the sight, 
 
 Too near to human flesh and shape, affright, 
 
 And when they best are form'd afford the least delight. 
 
 Turn we from such to Thee, whose nobler art 
 Rivets the eye, and penetrates the heart; 
 To Thee whom nature, in thy earliest youth, 
 Fed with the honey of eternal truth ; 
 Then, by her fondling art, in happy hour, 
 Enticed to Learning's more sequester'd bower. 
 There all thy life of honours first was plann'd, 
 While Nature preach'd, and Science held thy hand. 
 When, but for these, condemn'd, perchance, to trace 
 The tiresome vacuum of each senseless face, 
 Thou, in thy living tints, hadst ne'er combined 
 All grace of form, and energy of mind. 
 
POEMS 153 
 
 How, but for these, should we have, trembling, fled 
 
 The guilty tofsings of a Beaufort's bed ; 
 
 Or let the fountain of our sorrows flow 
 
 At sight of famish'd Ugolino's woe? 
 
 Bent on revenge, should we have pensive stood 
 
 O'er the pale cherubs of the fatal wood, 
 
 Caught the last perfume of their rosy breath, 
 
 And view'd them smiling at the stroke of death? 
 
 Should we have question'd, stung with rage and pain, 
 
 The spectre line, with the distracted Thane? 
 
 Or, with Alcmena's natural terror wild, 
 
 From the envenom'd serpent torn her child? 
 
 And must no more thy pure and clafsic page 
 Unfold its treasures to the rising age ? 
 Nor from thy own Athenian temple pour, 
 On listening youth, of art the copious store ; 
 Hold up to labour independent ease, 
 And teach ambition all the ways to please ; 
 With ready hand neglected genius save, 
 Sickening, o'erlook'd in misery's hidden cave: 
 
 x 
 
154 POEMS 
 
 And, nobly just, decide the active mind 
 Neither to soil nor climate is confined ? 
 
 Desert not then thy sons, those sons who soon 
 Will mourn with me, and all their error own. 
 Thou must excuse that raging fire, the same 
 Which lights their daily course to endlefs fame ; 
 Alas! impels them, thoughtlefs, far to stray 
 From filial love, and Reason's sober way. 
 Accept again thy power, resume the chair, 
 " Nor leave it, till you place an Equal there." 
 
SONG. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Oh fling away that foolish flower, 
 Spoiling the perfume of a breast 
 
 That wants no scent of meaner power, 
 To make its sweetnefs be confefs'd. 
 
 From the Spice Isles, delicious gales 
 (Long after land is lost to view) 
 
 With odours fill the swelling sails, 
 And many a league the bark pursue. 
 
 Thy fragrance, thus, when from thee torn, 
 On magic wing pursues my way ; 
 
 Still, in each gale, thy breath is borne, 
 And absence steals not all away. 
 
158 POEMS 
 
 Thy form still glides before my eyes, 
 I almost prefs thee to my heart, 
 
 If I entreat, thy voice replies 
 
 Fancy, such joys can still impart. 
 
 'Tis thus you cheer my melancholy way ; 
 And cruel absence steals not all away. 
 
]XA~ WCDMTMl . C 'AS TILE 
 
 Jo fciiv JWye /sg 
 
NAWORTH CASTLE; 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
NAWORTH CASTLE;* 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 vJ Na worth, monument of rudest times, 
 When Science slept intomb'd, and o'er the waste, 
 The heath-grown crag, and quivering moss, of old 
 Stalk'd unremitted war. The call for blood 
 A herd purloin'd, perchance a ravaged flock ; 
 For this, how often have thy dungeons, caves 
 Of sad despair, been fed with those, whose hands, 
 More fit to wield the scythe or spade, uprear'd 
 The enormous pike. While all, in iron clad, 
 As plunder tempted, or their chieftain led, 
 Join'd the fierce rout of predatory force, 
 Making our Border tremble. Ah, how oft 
 
 * In Cumberland. 
 Y 
 
162 POEMS 
 
 These oaks, that fling their leaflefs arms so high, 
 
 And warn the traveller erring from his way, 
 
 (Best office of their age) have pitying heard 
 
 The veteran's dying groan ; beheld him dragg'd 
 
 To an unworthy death, and mark'd the voice 
 
 That, to a long descent, and distant time, 
 
 Left the dire legacy of deep revenge. 
 
 If, on yon mountain's slippery ridge, where once, 
 
 From man's annoyance safe, the wild stag browsed, 
 
 Lord of this heathy world ; and where the eagle 
 
 Defied the invader of his rocky bed ; 
 
 Now, the plantation, gay with different tints, 
 
 Drives its new shadow o'er the wondering lake ; 
 
 If now, the waving corn has dared to hide 
 
 Within its yellow breast, the proud remains 
 
 Of Roman toil, magnificence, and power ;* 
 
 If now, the peasant, scared no more at eve 
 
 By distant beacons, and compell'd to house 
 
 His trembling flocks, his children, and his all, 
 
 * The Roman wall. 
 
POEMS 163 
 
 Beneath one crazy roof, securely sleeps ; 
 
 Yet all around thee is not changed ; thy towels, 
 
 Unmodernized by tastelefs Art, remain 
 
 Still unsubdued by Time 
 
 THE END. 
 
 From the Press of 
 W. BULMER & Co. 
 Cleveland-Row, St. James's,