Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit 1 Ulr. For family disputes. While you were tortured Sie. Oh! my dead father's curse! 'tis working now. Ulr. Let it work on! the grave will keep it down! Ashes are feeble foes: it is more easy To baffle such than countermine a mole, That I should act what you could think? We have done Whose life I saved from impulse, as, unknown, He I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew He, you, and I, stood o'er a gulf wherein I have plunged our enemy. You kindled first Ulr. Let us have done with that which cankers lifeFamiliar feuds and vain recriminations Of things which cannot be undone. We have No more to learn or bide: I know no fear, And have within these very walls men whom (Although you know them not) dare venture all things. You stand high with the State: what passes here Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye, Stir not, and speak not;-leave the rest to me: We must have no third babblers thrust between us. When Ulric has gone out to put his intention into practice, the old count, resolved to save Gabor, strips off his jewels, and, giving them to him, points out a passage by which he may escape. He does so; and Ulric, upon his return, finds his prey gone, and himself, therefore, in danger of being denounced. He immediately announces his intention of joining the 'Black Band,' with whom he has been always secretly in league. The countess and Ida enter: the count, in his despair, tells his wife that she has given birth to a demon. Ida, indignant at hearing this, says Ida. (taking Ulric's hand.) Who shall dare say this of Ulric? Sie. Ida, beware! there's blood upon that hand. Ida. (stooping to kiss it.) I'd kiss it off, though it were mine! Them both!-My Josephine, we are now alone! Would we had ever been so !-All is over For me! Now open wide, my sire, thy grave; In mine! The race of Siegendorf is past! " Thus this tragedy concludes: it is beyond question the worst that Lord Byron ever wrote. There are some attempts at humour in the character of the Intendant, but they are very feeble. Much of the verse is prosaic, and, with the exception of the quotations we have made, there are no really impassioned passages in the whole play. The well-sustained mystery of the plot is its best character; and to all the praise which that deserves Miss Lee is, as we have said, en-i titled, as well as to many of the best things in the dialogue. CHAPTER XIII. In the latter part of the year 1821 Mr. Leigh Hunt left England, to take up his residence in Italy. He was induced to adopt this proceeding partly on account of the state of his health, which rendered a change of climate highly advisable, if not absolutely necessary; and still more, perhaps, because Mr. Shelley was then living at Pisa, and because his invitation to his friend was warmly backed by Lord Byron's. It was proposed, as the most effectual means of rendering a service to Mr. Hunt, that a periodical publication should be established, to which his friends should contribute; and it was reasonably enough expected that the names of Lord Byron and Mr. Shelley, added to the reputation which Mr. Hunt had already acquired in the literary world, would be enough to ensure the success of this project. Mr. Medwin gives, in Lord Byron's words, an account of this affair. We cannot but feel some disgust at the coarse strain in which Lord Byron speaks of his friend, and the careless tone in which he talks of his own intention to assist him, as if he were bestowing charity on him. This, however, was too often Lord Byron's way of thinking and speaking of all men, who stood beneath him in the advantages of birth and wealth. Mr. Hunt has, we suppose, too much sense to care about the matter, or to feel hurt that it should be known his means are not of the most extensive kind; and, as there is much real and well-deserved praise bestowed upon his constancy and intrepidity, he has the less reason to object to Lord Byron's quizzing him for his affectation and conceit. The passage we allude to is this:--- 12 |