To some high fortune, and forget us all,
Reclaim'd-be sure of it- by noble parents :
Me he forgets already; for five days,

Five melancholy days, I have not seen him.

Habra. Thou know'st that he has privilege to range
Th' infected city; and 'tis said he spends
The hours of needful rest in squalid hovels
Where death is most forsaken.

Clem.

Why is this?

Why should my father, niggard of the lives

Of aged men, be prodigal of youth

So rich in glorious prophecy as his?

Habra. He comes to answer for himself. I'll leave you.

[Exit. Clem. Stay!-Well, my heart may guard its secret best By its own strength.

Ion.

Enter ION.

How fares my pensive sister?

Clem. How shall I fare but ill when the pale hand
Draws the black foldings of th' eternal curtain
Closer and closer round us; Phocion absent,

And thou, forsaking all within thy home,

Wilt risk thy life with strangers, in whose aid
Even thou canst do but little?

Ion.

It is little;

But, in these sharp extremities of fortune,

The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. "Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when Nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort which by daily use

Has almost lost its sense; yet, on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourn'd, 'twill fall
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense,
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honour'd death-bed of the rich,
To him who else were lonely, that another

Of the great family is near and feels.

Clem. O, thou canst never bear these mournful offices! So blithe, so merry once! Will not the sight

Of frenzied agonies unfix thy reason,

Or the dumb woe congeal thee?

No, Clemanthe:

Ion.
They are the patient sorrows that touch nearest!
If thou had'st seen the warrior, when he writhed
In the last grapple of his sinewy frame,
With conquering anguish strive to cast a smile
(And not in vain) upon his fragile wife,
Waning beside him; and, his limbs composed,
The widow of the moment fix her gaze
Of longing, speechless love upon the babe,
The only living thing which yet was hers,
Spreading its arms for its own resting-place,
Yet with attenuated hand wave off

Th' unstricken child, and so embraceless die,
Stifling the mighty hunger of the heart;
Thou couldst endure the sight of selfish grief
In sullenness or frenzy: but to-day

Another lot falls on me.

Clem.

Thou wilt leave us!

I read it plainly in thy alter'd mien :

Is it forever?

Ion.

That is with the gods!
I go but to the palace, urged by hope,
Which from afar hath darted on my soul,

That to the humbleness of one like me

The haughty King may listen.

Clem.

To the palace!

Know'st thou the peril, nay, the certain issue

That waits thee? Death! the tyrant has decreed it.
Confirm'd it with an oath; and he has power

To keep that oath: for, hated as he is,
The reckless soldiers who partake his riot
Are swift to do his bidding.

Ion.

I know all :

But they who call me to the work can shield me,
Or make me strong to suffer.

Clem.

Then the sword

Falls on thy neck! O Gods! to think that thou,

Who in the plenitude of youthful life

Art now before me, ere the Sun decline,

Perhaps in one short hour, shalt lie cold, cold,

To speak, smile, bless no more! Thou shalt not go!
Ion. Thou must not stay me, fair one; even thy father.
Who (blessings on him!) loves me as his son,

Yields to the will of Heaven.

Clem.

And he can do this!

I shall not bear his presence if thou fall'st

By his consent; so shall I be alone.

Ion. Phocion will soon return, and juster thoughts Of thy admiring father close the gap

Thy old companion left behind him.

Clem.

Never!

What will to me be father, brother, friends,

When thou art gone, the light of our life quench'd,
Haunting like spectres of departed joy

The home where thou wert dearest?

Ion.

Thrill me not

With words that, in their agony, suggest
A hope too ravishing, or my head will swim,
And my heart faint within me.

Clem.

Has my speech

Such blessed power? I will not mourn it then,

Though it hath told a
Till death in silence.

To this, I know not:

secret I had borne
How affection grew
day succeeded day,

Each fraught with the same innocent delights,
Without one shock to ruffle the disguise
Of sisterly regard which veil'd it well,

Till thy changed mien reveal'd it to my soul,
And thy great peril makes me bold to tell it.
Do not despise it in me!

Ion.

With deep joy

Thus I receive it. Trust me, it is long

Since I have learn'd to tremble 'midst our pleasures,
Lest I should break the golden dream around me
With most ungrateful rashness. I should bless
The sharp and perilous duty which hath press'd
A life's deliciousness into these moments,
Which here must end. I came to say farewell,
And the word must be said.

Clem.
Have I disclaim'd all maiden bashfulness,
To tell the cherish'd secret of my soul
To my soul's master, and in rich return
Obtain'd the dear assurance of his love,
To hear him speak that miserable word
I cannot, will not echo?

Thou canst not mean it!

Ion.

Heaven has call'd me,
And I have pledged my honour. When thy heart
Bestow'd its preference on a friendless boy,
Thou didst not image him a recreant; nor
Must he prove so, by thy election crown'd.
Thou hast endow'd me with a right to claim
Thy help through this our journey, be its course
Lengthen'd to age, or in an hour to end;
And now I ask it! bid my courage hold,
And with thy free approval send me forth
In soul apparell'd for my office!

I would not have thee other than thou art,
Living or dying; and, if thou shouldst fall,
Ion. Be sure I shall return.
Clem.

If thou shouldst fall,

I shall be happier as th' affianced bride

Of thy cold ashes, than in the proudest fortunes.

Let her have air; be near her through the day;
I know thy tenderness: should ill news come
Of any friend, she will require it all.

[HABRA bears CLEMANTHE out.

Ye Gods, that have enrich'd the life ye claim

With priceless treasure, strengthen me to yield it! [Exit.

DON CARLOS.

Translated by BOYLAN.

ACT III. SCENE IX.

CHARACTERS: PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain, and the MARQUESS DE POSA. The KING, having heard that of POSA which made him curious to see and study the man, face to face, has had him summoned to an interview.

SCENE: The KING'S Cabinet.

The MARQUESs alone.

Marq. How came I here? Is it caprice or chance
That shows me now my image in this mirror?
Why, out of millions, should it picture me,
The most unlikely, -and present my form