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Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh-
Not of love, but despair ; nor sought to win,'
Though to a heart all love, what could not love me
In turn, because of this vile crooked clog
Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne
It all, had not my mother spurned me from her.
The she-bear licks her cubs into a sort
Of shape ;--my dam beheld my shape was hopeless.
Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ere
I knew the passionate part of life, I had
Been a clod of the valley,--happier nothing
Than what I am. But even thus, the lowest,
Ugliest, and meanest of mankind, what courage
And perseverance could have done, perchance
Had made me something as it has made heroes

Of the same mould as mine. The demon then utters an incantation, at the same time that lie inoulds some red earth into the shape of Achilles : when it is concluded Arnold falls senseless on the ground;- the figure of earth rises slowly, . and the phantom which the demon has conjured disappears, part by part, as the figure is animated. Arnold exults in his new form, while his former body, now an object of his contempt and loathing, lies before him. This the demon assumes ; and Arnold starts with horror at seeing the shape which he once wore inhabited by the fiend. The jaanner in which this is effected is very curious: the demon invokes the elements; and, when he has concluded his charm, an ignis faluus Aits through the wood, and rests on the brow of the body lately Arnold's. The stranger then disappears, and the body rises. Arnold exclaims :

Oh! horrible

Stran. (in Arnold's late shape.) What! treinblest thou?
Arn.

Not som
I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape
Thou lately worest!
Stran.

To the world of shadows.

At the instigation of the demon, who assumes the name of Cæsar, Arnold sets off for Italy, where the war was then raging, and Rome itself was invested by the troops under the command of the Constable

Bourbon. Four black horses are brought in by two demoniacal grooms, and the travellers begin their journey.

A scene takes place before the walls of Rome between the Constable Bourbon and his followers, among whom are Arnold and the hunchbacked demon, who here plays the Thersites of the camp. His reflections on the folly of naukind, and the wickedness of that portion of it who are soldiers, conclude the first part of the drama :

And these are Men, forsooth!
Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam's bastards !
This is the consequence of giving Matter
The power of Thought. It is a stubborn substance,
And thinks chaotically, as it acts,
Ever relapsing into its first elements.
Well ! I must play with these poor puppets: 'tis
The Spirit's pastime in his idler hours.
When I grow weary of it, I have business
Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem
Were made for them lo look at. 'Twere a jest now
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire
Unto their ant-hill; how the pismires then
Would scamper o'er the scalding soil, and, ceasing
From tearing down each other's nests, pipe forth
One universal orison! Ha! ha!

[Exit Ceser. The second part of the drama begins with a scene before the walls of Rome. A chorus of spirits is heard iv the air, describing, by anticipatiou, the horrors of the approaching conflict. The assailants then enter. Arnold is about to mount the wall, but is prevented by Bourbon, who insists on being the first in this perilous attempt. As he is mounting a shot strikes him, and he falls mortally wounded. The death of Bourbon is effectively described by the introduction of the demon's remark, respecting the Chevalier Bayard, who, it will be remembered, with his last breath reproached Bourbon for his desertion of his country. The following extract will show with what force this part of the drama is conceived : Bour.

Arnold! I am sped.
Conceal my fall-all will go well-conceal it!
Fling my cloak o'er what will be dust anon;
Let not the soldiers see it.

Arn.

You must be
Removed; the aid of
Bour.

No, my gallant boy;
Death is upon me.

But what is one life?
The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still.
Keep them yet ignorant that I'am but clay,
Till they are conquerors—then do as you may.

Cæs. Would not your highness choose to kiss the cross ?
We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword
May serve instead :-it did the same for Bayard.

Bour. Thou bitter slave! to name him at this time!
But I deserve it.

Arn. (to Cæsar.) Villain, hold your peace!

Cæs. What, when a Christian dies ? Shall I not offer
A Christian · Vade in pace ??
Arn.

Silence'! Oh.
Those eyes are glazing, which o'erlooked the world,
And saw no equal.

Bour. Arnold, shouldst thou see
France_But hark! hark! the assault grows warmer

-Oh!
For but an hour, a minute more of life
To die within the wall! Hence, Arnold, hence !
You lose time—they will conquer Rome without thee.

Arn. And without thee!
Bour.

Not so ; I'll lead them still
In spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe not
That I have ceased to breathe. Away! and be
Victorious !

Arn. But I must not leave thee thus.
Bour. You must-farewell -Up! up! the world is win-
ning.

[Bourbon dies. The rest of the drama is very dull, being filled with mere · last dying speeches' of the people who are' killed on both sides. One incident is an exception to this remark, and from this probably the author intended the chief interest of the drama to proceed. A lady, flying from the pursuit of two soldiers, reaches the church of St. Peter, and for refuge ascends the altar, where, clasping the massy gold crucifix, she exclaims to the warriors. Respect your God!' This, however, is insufficient to check them, and in her despair she throws down the immense cross, which kills one of the soldiers. The rest are about to destroy lier, when Arnold, entering, rescues her at the peril of his life. He begs her to descend; but she, preferring death to the fate which seems to await her, dashes herself down from the lofty altar on the marble floor:

Arn. (to Olimpia.) Lady! you are safe.
Olim.

I should be so,
Had I a knife even; but it matters not-
Death hath a thousand gates; and on the marble,
Even at the altar foot, whence I look down
Upon destruction, shall my head be dashed,
Ere thou ascend it. God forgive thee, man.

Arn. I wish to inerit his forgiveness, and
Thine own, although I have not injured thee.

Olim. No! Thou hast only sacked my native land, -
No injury !-and made my father's house
A den of thieves—No injury!-this temple-
Slippery with Roman and holy gore.
No injury! And now thou would preserve me,
To be—but that shall never be !
[She raises her eyes to heaven, folds her robe round

her, and prepares to dash herself down on the side

of the altar opposite to that where Arnold stands. Arn.

Hold! hold!

I swear.

Olim. Spare thine already forfeit soul
A perjury for which even Hell would loathe thee.
I know thee.

Arn. No, thou know'st me not; I am not
Of these men, though,
Olim.

I judge thee by thy mates;
It is for God to judge thee as thou art.
I see thee purple with the blood of Rome !
Take mine, 'tis all thou e'er shall have of me!
And here, upon the marble of this temple,
Where the baptismal font baptized me God's,
I offer him a blood less holy
But not less pure (pure as it left me then,
A redeemed infant) than the holy water
The Saints have sanctified !
[Olimpia waves her hand to Arnold with disdain, and

dashes herself on the pavement from the altar.

Arnold and Cæsar bear her out for the purpose of procuring assistance, which, as she still breathes, may restore her; and thus the second part ends.

Of the third part no more was written than a chorus of peasants singing before the gates of a castle in the Appennines. The following is an extract from this song:

The wars are over,

The spring is come;
The bride and her lover

Have sought their home:
They are happy, we rejoice;
Let their hearts have an echo in every voice !
The spring is come; the violet's gone,
The first-born child of the early suno;
With us she is but a winter's flower,
The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower, -
And she lists up her dewy eye of blue :
To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.
And when the spring comes with her host
Of flowers, that flower beloved the most.
Shrinks from the crowd that may consuse
Her heavenly odour and virgin hues.
Pluck the others, but still remember
Their Herald out of dim December
The morning star of all the flowers,
The , ledge of day-light's lengthened hours ;
Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget
The virgin, virgin Violet.

Enter Cæsar.

Cæsar (singing).
The wars are all over,

Our swords are all idle,

The steed bites the bridle,
The casque's on the wall.
There's rest for the Rover;
But his armour is rusty,
And the veteran grows crusty,
As he yawns in the hall.

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