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Pol. Now this is true:

All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar,
And I have not forgotten it.

Thou't do me

Wilt thou go back and say

A piece of service.

Unto this man, that

I, the Earl of Leicester,

Hold him a villain? Thus much, I prythee, say

Unto the Count. It is exceeding just

He should have cause for quarrel.

Bal. My lord!— My friend!·

Pol. (aside). 'Tis he! He comes himself! (Aloud). Thou reasonest well.

[sage.

I know what thou wouldst say,-not send the mesWell, I will think of it: I will not send it!

Now, prithee, leave me. Hither doth come a person With whom affairs of a most private nature

I would adjust.

Bal. I go. To-morrow we meet,

Do we not, at the Vatican?

Pol. At the Vatican.

(Enter Castiglione.)

(Exit Bal.)

Castiglione. The Earl of Leicester here?

Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,

Dost thou not, that I am here.

Cas. My lord, some strange

Some singular mistake-misunderstanding

Hath without doubt arisen. Thou hast been urged

Thereby, in heat of anger, to address

Some words most unaccountable, in writing,

To me, Castiglione,-the bearer being
Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware

Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, Ha! am I right? 'Twas a mistake, undoubtedly. We all

Having given thee no offence.

Do err at times.

Pol. Draw, villain, and prate no more!
Cas. Ha! draw! and villain!

Have at thee, then, at once, proud Earl!

(Draws.)

Pol. (drawing). Thus to the expiatory tomb, Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee,

In the name of Lalage!

Cas. (letting fall his sword, and recoiling to the extremity of the stage.)

Of Lalage!

Hold off-thy sacred hand! Avaunt, I say!

Avaunt! I will not fight thee! Indeed, I dare not. Pol. Thou wilt not fight with me, didst say, Sir

Count?

Shall I be baffled thus? Now, this is well!

Didst say thou darest not?

Ha!

Cas. I dare not!-dare not!

Hold off thy hand! With that beloved name
So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee!
I can not!-dare not!

Pol. Now, by my halidom,

I do believe thee! Coward, I do believe thee! Cas. Ha!-coward! This may not be! (Clutches his sword, and staggers toward Politian, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl.)

Alas! alas! my lord, it is—it is—most true!

In such a cause I am the veriest coward. Oh, pity me!

Pol. (greatly softened). Alas! I do! Indeed, I pity thee!

Cas. And Lalage

Pol. Scoundrel! Arise, and die!

Cas. It needeth not be-thus-thus-oh, let me die

Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting
That in this deep humiliation I perish.

For in the fight I will not raise a hand

Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thon home!

(Baring his bosom.)

Here is no let or hinderance to thy weapon!
Strike home! I will not fight thee!

Pol. Now 'sDeath and Hell!

Am I not―am I not sorely-grievously tempted
To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir:
Think not to fly me thus! Do thou prepare
For public insult in the streets, before
The eyes of the citizens. I'll follow thee,-
Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee

Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest-
Before all Rome I'll taunt thee, villain!-I'll taunt

thee,

[me?

Dost hear? with cowardice! Thou wilt not fight Thou liest! Thou shalt!

Cas. Now, this indeed is just!

(Exit.)

Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.*

SONNET.-TO SCIENCE.

SCIENCE! True daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?

How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies,

Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star?

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

* Private reasons-some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems-have induced me, after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my earliest boyhood. They are printed verbatim, without alteration from the original edition, the date of which is too remote to be judiciously acknowledged.

E. A. P.

AL AARAAF.*

PART I.

Oh, nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
Oh, nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill-
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell—
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours—
Yet all the Beauty-all the flowers

That list our Love, and deck our bowers—
Adorn yon world afar, afar

The wandering star.

'Twas a sweet time for Nesace-for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air,

* A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe, which appeared suddenly in the heavens; attained, in a few days, a brilliancy surpassing that of Jupiter; then as suddenly disappeared, and has never been seen since.

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