Poe's Poe.ns.

EVANSS

Page 113.

POLITIAN.

And still together--together.

LALAGE.

Now, Earl of Leicester !

Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts

I feel thou lovest me truly.

POLITIAN.

Oh, Lalage!

And lovest thou me ?

LALAGE.

[Throwing himself upon his knee.

Hist! hush! within the gloom

Of yonder trees methought a figure pass'd

A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless

Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless.

[Walks across and returns.

I was mistaken-'twas put a giant bough

Stirred by the autumn wind.

Politian !

POLITIAN. My Lalage-my love! why art thou

moved?

Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience 'self,

Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,

Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind

Is chilly and these melancholy boughs

Throw over all things a gloom.

LALAGE.

Thou speakest to me of love.

Politian !

Knowest thou the land

With which all tongues are busy-a land new found—

Miraculously found by one of Genoa

A thousand leagues within the golden west?

H

A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,

And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests,

And mountains, around whose towering summits the

winds

Of Heaven untrammelled flow—which air to breathe

Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter

In days that are to come?

POLITIAN.

O wilt thou-wilt thou

Fly to that Paradise-my Lalage, wilt thou

Fly thither with me? There care shall be forgotten,

And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all.
And life shall then be mine, for I will live

For thee, and in thine eyes—and thou shalt be
No more a mourner-but the radiant Joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all;-oh, wilt thou-wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me?

LALAGE.

A deed is to be done

Castiglione lives!

POLITIAN. And he shall die!

LALAGE [after a pause]. And-he-shall-die!

alas!

Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?

[Exit.

Where am I?-what was it he said ?-Politian !
Thou art not gone--thou art not gone, Politian !
I feel thou art not gone-yet dare not look,
Lest I behold thee not; thou couldst not go
With those words upon thy lips-O, speak to me !
And let me hear thy voice-one word-one word,
thou art not gone,—one little sentence,

To say

To

say

how thou dost scorn-how thou dost hate

My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou art not gone

O speak to me! I knew thou wouldst not go.

I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durst not go.

Villain, thou art not gone--thou mockest me !

And thus I clutch thee-thus!

gone

-He is gone, he is

Gone-gone. Where am I?——'tis well-'tis very well!

So that the blade be keen-the blow be sure,

'Tis well, 'tis very well-alas! alas!