No sound disturbs the quiet of the place,

Save of the bleating flocks and lowing herds,
And the meek murmurs of the trilling stream,
That flows sweet-winding thro' the vale beneath;
No objects intercept the gazer's eye,

But the neat cots of neighb`ring villagers,
Whose lowly roofs afford a pleasing scene
Of modest resignation and content.
There piety, enamour'd of the spot,
Resides; there she inspires her holy fervour,
Mild, not austere; such piety, as looks
With soft compassion upon human frailty,
And sooths the pilgrim-sinner to embrace
Repentant peace beneath her holy roof.—
Say, wilt thou quit, for such serene delights,
This gay abode of shame ?

Rosa. I will, my father;

My wish invites to such a soft retreat.
Oh, lead me forth!

Cliff. Thy words give added strength

To my weak frame, and warm my languid blood.
Some two hours hence, when midnight veils the globe,
Disguis'd, as now, in this religious garb,
Again expect me, to redeem thee hence,
And guide thy steps to that abode of bliss.-
Here break we off-

Rosa. Once more thy blessing on me,
While I pour forth the silent gratitude
Of my full soul for thy returning love.

Cliff. Warm as thy soul can wish, my child, re

ceive it.

[Embracing him.

Oh, the supreme delight 't will be, to see thee
Restor❜d to holy peace and soft content,

;

And sometimes share thy converse then devote
My lonely intervals to ceaseless prayer,

That Heaven will pour on thy repentant heart
Its healing mercy, and its promis'd grace!

[Exit. Rosa. Propitious power, who chear'st the mourner's spirit,

Accept my boundless thanks-thy pitying goodness
Inspir'd my father's heart, and sent him hither
To succour and sustain me. Oh, continue
Thy strength'ning fervour, that I may not shrink
From the great task I have begun, but rise
An object, worthy thy returning grace!

Ethel. My gentle mistress, I partake your transport, Yet apprehension checks the rising joy.

What agonies will pierce your Henry's heart

Rosa. Peace, on thy life! seek not to wake again
Those thoughts which I must hush within my breast;
'The lover is forgot; what Clifford's daughter
Leaves unperform'd, Clifford himself will perfect.
That tongue, whose wholesome counsels Henry wont,
In early life, to listen and obey.

That heart, which lov'd his virtues, will again
Exert its power, and win him to applaud
The minister of peace, who leads me hence
To that asylum my offences seek.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

The Bower. A Table with Letters, &c. Enter
ROSAMOND and ETHELINDA.

Rosamond.

Is it the vain suggestion of my fears,

Or do unwonted sounds, and buzzing murmurs
Ride in each breeze?

Ethel. "T is fancy's coinage all ;

Your mind, alarm'd, lest any thwart event
Should interrupt this night's important business,
Creates false terrors.

Rosa. Twice within this hour

Hath it presented to my tortur'd sight

My father in the agonies of death,

Gasping and pale, and stretching forth his hands

To me, for aid and pity.

Ethel. When suspense

And expectation hold dominion o'er

The agitated bosom, these illusions

Are busy to torment us.

Rosa. Angels speed him

In safety to me! and console my Henry,

When he shall seek his Rosamond in vain

Around this once-lov'd bower! When thou behold'st

him,

(O! can it be a crime to leave a sigh,

One soft adieu for him who was so dear!)

Say, Ethelinda, that I left these walls

Not with a harden'd, but a tutor'd mind;

Not desp'rate, but resolv'd; arm'd with that due,
That holy resolution, which becomes

My státe and purpose; and when busy memory
Recalls the sad idea of our loves,

(Too oft, alas! I fear 't will press my mind!)
I'll pour my fervent prayers, that bliss and honour
May crown the hero's days!

Ethel. I will do all

My mistress bids; but must I stay behind?
Must I renounce the sweet companionship,
Her gentleness and soft humanity

Have taught me to esteem my highest bliss.

Rosa. This once, obey-this night's great business

done,

I claim no duty more; but when the storm
Shall be o'erblown, and all be calm again,
If aught of good befall my after-hours,
Thou, Ethelinda, shalt partake it with me.
Go now, collect together those dear pledges,
The only treasure I shall carry hence,
My Henry's letters; my o'er harras'd spirits
Would sink beneath the task.

Ill-boding fears

[Exit Ethel.

Possess me still; such as I oft have heard
Haunt the sick couch, death's sable harbingers.

Enter Queen, with a bowl and dagger.

Queen. Ay, there the trait'ress sits. Who could surmise

Guilt kept abode in such an angel-form?

Approach, thou beauteous fiend!-Well mayst thou

start,

'Tis Eleanor that calls; she comes to wake thee From the vain dream which thou hast long enjoy'd, To justice and atonement.

Rosa. Shield me, powers,

From that wrong'd form!-My fears are all explain'd! Queen. No pow'r can shield thee now-thy pray'rs are fruitless;

Now cry in vain to him who hath undone thee,
Who robb'd thee of thy innocence of heart,
And taught thee to be rival to a queen.

Rosa. Most injur'd majesty, thus to the earth
I bow myself before thee. I confess

My heinous crimes; I sink beneath their weight:
Yet, oh! take pity on a hapless creature

Misled by fatal love, immers'd in guilt,

And blinded to the evils that ensued.

Queen. And plead'st thou that in thy defence, fond wretch,

Which loudest cries against thee? Knew'st thou not Who Henry was, what were his noble ties?

How did thy passion dare aspire so high?

Thou should'st have sought within thine own degree Mates for thy wanton hours; then hadst thou not Debas'd a monarch in his people's eyes,

Nor wak'd the vengeance of an injur'd queen.

Rosa. Alas, thou look'st on me as on a wretch Familiar with pollution, reconcil'd