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He led me to a bower of Paradise,
FLOR. Let me implore you— (struggling.)
FLOR. Count Pescara.
[ Exit, R. FLOR. (alone). Ha! this means something. Well I know
Pescara: His voice doth sound like fate within my soul, That answers back in faint and trembling echoes, This horrid band of death, his fell commands, The terrors of his eye, his looks of destiny, All, all affright me! if I must be wretched, O Heaven, don't let me know it; leave me still The bliss of ignorance! What if Pescara, Before Hemeya has adjured his creed, Should treacherously seize him ? Would that the rite were done! (a distant symphony is heard.) What seraph music floats upon my soul? Methinks it is the organ's solemn swell, That from the churh's aisles ascends to heaven. The holy rite proceeds! sweet sounds, awake! Awake again upon my raptured soul!
THE LATEST WAR-NEWS.
[The author of the following lines is unknown. There is an exquisite patbos in both thought and expression, admirably suited for sweetly modulated and pathetic recital.)
Oh pale, pale face! Oh helpless hands!
Sweet eyes by fruitless watching wronged,
Yet turning ever toward the lands
She shudders when they tell the tale
Of some great battle lost and won ! Her sweet child-face grows old and pale,
Her heart falls like a stone !
She sees no conquering flag unfurled,
She hears no victory's brazen roar,
Perchance she'll kiss no more!
Ever there comes between her sight
And the glory that they rave about, A boyish brow, and eyes whose light
Of splendor hath gone out.
Where late her fingers, like a flood
Is stiff and dark-with blood !
She must not shriek, she must not moan,
She must not wring her quivering hands ; But, sitting dumb and white alone,
Be bound with viewless bands.
Because her suffering life enfolds
Another dearer, feebler life, In death-strong grasp her heart she holds,
And stills its torturing strife. Last eve, they say, a field was won,
Her eyes ask tidings of the fight;
Who lay out in the night.
Was not upon that fatal list;
Dumb are the lips she's kissed. Oh poor, pale child! Oh woman's heart !
Its weakness triumphed o'er by strength! Love teaching pain discipline's art
And conquering at length!
THE ROMAN FATHER.
From PAYNE'S Tragedy of BRUTUS.
BRUTUS, a Roman Consul,
[This noble tragedy recals glimpses of the Eternal City in its grandest days. The plot of the piece is founded upon the infamous crime of Tarquin, the death of the virtuous Lucretia, the attempted flight of Titus with Tarquina, and the subsequent condemnation to death of the young soldier, by his patriotic father.
The tender resignation of Titus is in great contrast to the granitefirmness of the grand old Roman, and calls for a very different style of elocution.
COSTUMES of all the characters should be very similar in formthe white Roman toga and mantle ; except that Titus should have his dress somewhat richer in material, and of a bright color.)
SCENE.-An apartment in the house of BRUTUS.
Enter BRUTUS, R.
BRU. (alone). Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around And start at every footstep, lest it bring The fatal news of my poor son's conviction !Oh, Rome, thou little know'st—No more-It comes.
Enter VALERIUS, L.
VAL. My friend, the Senate have to thee transferreu
BRU. To me!
VAL. Their sentence is already passed.
Bru. Say'st thou, that the Senate have to me referred The fate of Titus ?
VAL. Such is their sovereign will.
They think you merit this distinguished honor.
BRU. And is his guilt established beyond doubt ?
BRU. (with đ burst of tears). Oh, ye gods! ye gods: (collecting himself). Valerius !
VAL. What would'st thou, noble Roman?
VAL. I have; but what doth Brutus then infer?
VAL. Yes, Brutus, I conceive
Bru. I am a Roman consul !--What, my friend,
Scene changes to
Exterior of the Temple of Mars.-SENATORS, CITIZENS, COL
LATINUS and LUCRETIUS, discovered. At L. of stage, a tribunal, with a Consular Chair upon it. *
* On a snall stage, or in a school, it is not by any means necessary to have all the Senators, &c. visibly present. They can be addressed as if they were off at the side The tribunal to which Brutus ascends should be a very plain structure; as it would be abhoren o the mind of this austere Republican to ape the trappings of royalty.
BRUTUS enters R., followed by VALERIUS—he boros as he pass
€8, and ascends the Tribunal.
Bru. Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day Hath been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire Against mature societies, may urge Their acts as bold and daring; and though villains, Yet there are manly villains—But to stab The cradled innocent, as these have done,To strike their country in the mother-pangs Of struggling child-birth, and direct the dagger To freedom's infant throat,-is a deed so black, That my foiled tongue refuses it a name.
[A pause There is.one criminal still left for judgmentLet him approach. Titus is brought in by the LICTORS, R., with their waces turned
edgeways towards him. Pris-on-er-(the voice of BRUTUS falters, and is choked, and
he exclaims with violent emotion.
Romans, forgive this agony of grief,
back, and doances from the Judgment-Scat to the front of
the stage, on a line with his son.
Tit. Father, I call the powers of heaven to witness
BRU. They will, my Titus:
Tit. The axe !-Oh, heaven !--Then must I fall so baseWhat, shall I perish like a common felon!
BRU. How else do traitors suffer?-Nay, Titus, more