And forfeited them by my father's wrath,

In my o'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse
Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death
Left the path open, yet not without snares.
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long
Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon

The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me,
Become the master of my rights, and lord

Of that which lifts him up to princes in

Dominion and domain.

Jos.

Who knows? our son

May have return'd back to his grandsire, and

Even now uphold thy rights for thee?

WER.

'Tis hopeless.

Since his strange disappearance from my father's,

Entailing, as it were, my sins upon

Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course.

I parted with him to his grandsire, on
The promise that his anger would stop short
Of the third generation; but Heaven seems
To claim her stern prerogative, and visit
Upon my boy his father's faults and follies.

Jos. I must hope better still, at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim.

WER. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness,

More fatal than a mortal malady,

Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace :

Even now I feel my spirit girt about

By the snares of this avaricious fiend ;

How do I know he hath not track'd us here?

Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies, Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh, Our unexpected journey, and this change

Of name, leaves all disvovery far behind :

None hold us here for aught save what we seem.

WER. Save what we seem! save what we are-sick

beggars,

Even to our very hopes.-Ha! ha!

Jos.

That bitter laugh!

WER.

Alas!

Who would read in this form

The high soul of the son of a long line?

Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands?

Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride

Of rank and ancestry? in this worn cheek,
And famine-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls,
Which daily feast a thousand vassals?

Jos.

You

Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things,
My Werner! when you deign'd to choose for bride
The foreign daughter of a wandering exile.

WER. An exile's daughter with an outcast son
Were a fit marriage; but I still had hopes

To lift thee to the state we both were born for.
Your father's house was noble, though decay'd;
And worthy by its birth to match with ours.

Jos. Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble;

But had my birth been all my claim to match

With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is.

WER. And what is that in thine eyes?

Jos.

Has done in our behalf,-nothing.

WER.

All which it

How,-nothing?

Jos. Or worse; for it has been a canker in
Thy heart from the beginning: but for this,

We had not felt our poverty, but as
Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully;

But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,

Thou mightst have earn'd thy bread, as thousands

earn it;

Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce,

Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.

WER. (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher?

Excellent!

Jos. Whate'er thou mightst have been, to me thou art What no state high or low can ever change,

My heart's first choice;-which chose thee, knowing neither

Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy

sorrows:

While they last, let me comfort or divide them;
When they end, let mine end with them, or thee!
WER. My better angel! such I have ever found thee;
This rashness, or this weakness of my temper,
Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine.

Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own nature
In youth was such as to unmake an empire,
Had such been my inheritance; but now,
Chasten'd, subdued, out-worn, and taught to know
Myself, to lose this for our son and thee!
Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring
My father barr'd me from my father's house,
The last sole scion of a thousand sires,
(For I was then the last) it hurt me less

Than to behold my boy and my boy's mother
Excluded in their innocence from what

VOL. XI.

My faults deserved exclusion; although then

My passions were all living serpents, and

Twined like the gorgon's round me.

Jos.

WER.

[A loud knocking is heard.

Hark!

A knocking!

Jos. Who can it be at this lone hour? We have

Few visitors.

WER.

And poverty hath none,

Save those who come to make it poorer still.

Well, I am prepared.

[WERNER puts his hand into his bosom, as if to

Jos.

search for some weapon.

Oh! do not look so. I

Will to the door, it cannot be of import

In this lone spot of wintry desolation-
The very desart saves man from mankind.

[She goes to the door.

Enter IDENSTEIN.

IDEN. A fair good evening to my fairer hostess

And worthy-what's your name, my friend?

Are you

WER.

Not afraid to demand it?