IV.

The garders of a palace-Moonlight. Lalage and Politian

Lalage. And dost thou speak of love

To me, Politian ?-dost thou speak of love

To Lalage?—ah wo-ah wo is me!

This mockery is most cruel-most cruel indeed!

Politian. Weep not! oh, sob not thus !-thy bitter tears

Will madden me. Oh mourn not, Lalage

Be comforted! I know-I know it all,

And still I speak of love. Look at me, brightest,
And beautiful Lalage!-turn here thine eyes!
Thou askest me if I could speak of love,

Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen.
Thou askest me that-and thus I answer thee-

Thus on my bended knee I answer thee.

Sweet Lalage, I love thee-love thee-love thee;
Thro' good and ill-thro' weal and wo I love thee.
Not mother, with her first born on her knee,
Thrills with intenser love than I for thee.
Not on God's altar, in any time or clime,
Burned there a holier fire than burneth now
Within my spirit for thee. And do I love ?

(kneeling.)

(arising.)

Even for thy woes I love thee-even for thy woes

Thy beauty and thy woes.

Lal. Alas, proud Earl,

Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me!
How, in thy father's halls, among the maidens
Pure and reproachless of thy princely line,

Could the dishonoured Lalage abide ?

Thy wife, and with a tainted memory—

My seared and blighted name, how would it tally
With the ancestral honours of thy house,
And with thy glory?

Pol. Speak not to me of glory!

I hate-I loathe the name; I do abhor
The unsatisfactory and ideal thing.

Art thou not Lalage and I Politian?

Do I not love-art thou not beautiful

What need we more? Ha! glory!-now speak not of it.
By all I hold most sacred and most solemn―
By all my wishes now-my fears hereafter-
By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven-
There is no deed I would more glory in,
Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory
And trample it under foot. What matters it-
What matters it, my fairest, and my best,
That we go down unhonoured and forgotten
Into the dust-so we descend together.

Descend together-and then-and then perchance-
Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian?

Pol. And then perchance

Arise together, Lalage, and roam

The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,

And still

Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian ?

Pol. And still together-together.

Lal. Now Earl of Leicester !

Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts

I feel thou lovest me truly.

Pol. Oh, Lalage! (throwing himself upon his knee.) And lovest thou me ?

Lal. Hist! hush! within the gloom

Of yonder trees methought a figure past

A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless-
Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless.

(walks across and returns.)

I was mistaken-'twas but a giant bough
Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian!

Pol. 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.

Lal. Politian!

Thou speakest to me of love. 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?

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?

Pol. 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?

Lal. A deed is to be done

Castiglione lives!

Pol. And he shall die!

(exit.)

Who spoke the words?

-alas!

Lal. (after a pause.) And-he-shall-die !-
Castiglione die?
Where am I?—what was it he said ?—Politian !
Thou art not cone-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,
To say thou art not gone,-one little sentence,
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!

-He is gone, he is gone

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!

V.

The suburbs Politian alone.

Politian. This weakness grows upon me. I am faint,

And much I fear me ill-it will not do

To die ere I have lived!-Stay-stay thy hand,

O Azrael, yet awhile!-Prince of the Powers
Of Darkness and the Tomb, O pity me!
O pity me! let me not perish now,
In the budding of my Paradisal Hope!
Give me to live yet-yet a little while:
'Tis I who pray for life-I who so late
Demanded but to die!—what sayeth the Count?

Enter Baldazzar.

Baldazzar. That knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud Between the Earl Politian and himself,

He doth decline your cartel.

Pol. What didst thou say?

What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar ?

With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes
Laden from yonder bowers!—a fairer day,
Or one more worthy Italy, methinks

No mortal eyes have seen!-what said the Count?
Bal. That he, Castiglione, not being aware

Of any feud existing, or any cause

Of quarrel between your lordship and himself
Cannot accept the challenge.

Pol. It is most true

All this is very true. When saw you, sir,