Ord.

And you kill'd him? Oh blood-hounds! may eternal wrath flanie round vou! He was his Maker's Image undefaced! [Á pause It siezes me-by Hell, I will go on!

What wouldst thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't save thee! {A pause. Oh cold-cold-cold! shot through with icy cold! Isi. (aside). Were he alive, he had return'd ere

now

The consequence the same dead through this plot

ting!

Ord. O this unutterable dying away-hereThis sickness of the heart!

[A pause.

What if I went

And lived in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds?
Ay! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool!
[A pause.
What have I done but that which nature destined,
Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me?
If good were meant, why were we made these beings?
And if not meant-

Isi.

You are disturb'd, my Lord! Ordonio (starts, looks at him wildly; then, after a

pause, during which his features are forced into a smile.)

A gust of the soul? i' faith, it overset me.

O't was all folly—all ! idle as laughter!

Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me.
Isi. (in a low voice). I'll perish first!

Ord.

What dost thou mutter of?

Isi. Some of your servants know me, I am certain. Ord. There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll

mask you.

Isi. They'll know my gait: but stay: last night I watch'd

A stranger near the ruin in the wood,

Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild flowers.
I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scale
Its western wall, and by an easier entrance
Stole after him unnoticed. There I mark'd
That, 'mid the chequer-work of light and shade,
With curious choice he pluck'd no other flowers
But those on which the moonlight fell: and once
I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard--
Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment.
Ord. Doubtless you question'd him?

Isi.
'T was my intention,
Having first traced him homeward to his haunt.
But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies
Lurk everywhere, already (as it seem'd)
Had given commission to his apt familiar

To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning,
Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway.
I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him
In that lone place, again conceal'd myself,

Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd,
And in your name, as Lord of this domain.
Proudly he answer'd, "Say to the Lord Ordonio,
He that can bring the dead to life again!"

Ord. A strange reply!

Isi.

Ay, all of him is strange.

He call'd himself a Christian, yet he wears

The Moorish robes, as if he courted death.

Ord. Where does this wizard live?

Isi. (pointing to the distance). You see that brooklet!

Trace its course backward: through a narrow opening
It leads you to the place.
Ord.

Isi. You cannot err.

How shall I know it?
It is a small green dell'

Built all around with high off-sloping hills,
And from its shape our peasants aptly call it
The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst
And round its banks tall wood that branches over
And makes a kind of fairy forest grow
Down in the water. At the further end
A puny cataract falls on the lake;

And there, a curious sight! you see its shadow
For ever curling like a wreath of smoke,
Up through the foliage of those fairy trees.
His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it.
Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of
the scene, and then turning round to Isidore).
Ha!-Who lurks there? Have we been overheard?
There, with the smooth high wall of slate-rock glit-

ters

Isi. 'Neath those tall stones, which, propping each the other,

Form a mock portal with their pointed arch!

Pardon my smiles! "T is a poor Idiot Boy,
Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about,
His weak eyes seethed in most unmeanning tears.
And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head;
And, staring at his bough from morn to sun-set,
See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises!

Ord. 'Tis well! and now for this same Wizard's

Lair.

Isi. Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters

O'er the old thatch.

Ord.

I shall not fail to find it. [Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE.

SCENE II.-The Inside of a Cottage, around which Flowers and Plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ, and ALHADRA, as on the point of leaving.

Alhadra (addressing Alvar).

Farewell, then! and though many thoughts perplex me,
Aught evil or ignoble never can I

Suspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art,
The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need

Of such a leader.

Alv.

Noble-minded woman!

Long time against oppression have I fought,

And for the native liberty of faith

Have bled, and suffer'd bonds. Of this be certain :

Time, as he courses onwards, still unrolls

The volume of Concealment. In the Future,

As in the optician's glassy cylinder,

The indistinguishable blots and colours

Of the dim Past collect and shape themselves,
Upstarting in their own completed image
To scare or to reward.

I sought the guilty,

And what I sought I found: but ere the spear
Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form
Betwixt me and my aim.
With baffled purpose
To the Avenger I leave Vengeance, and depart!

Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid,
Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee;
For many are thy wrongs and thy soul noble.
Once more, farewell.

1

[Exit Alhadra.

Yes, to the Belgic States

We will return. These robes, this stain'd complexion,

Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit.
Whate'er befalls us, the heroic Maurice
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance
Of our past services.

Zul. And all the wealth, power, influence which is

yours,

You let a murderer hold?

O faithful Zulimez!

Alv.
That my return involved Ordonio's death,
I trust, would give me an unmingled pang,
Yet bearable-but when I see my father
Strewing his scant gray hairs, e'en on the ground,
Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa--
Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants,
His infants-poor Teresa !—all would perish,
All perish-all! and I (nay bear with me)
Could not survive the complicated ruin!

Zul. (much affected). Nay now! I have distress'd you-you well know,

I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True, 'tis tiresome! You are a painter,* one of many fancies!

The following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as (if I may say so without disrespect to the Public) to gratify my own feelings, the passage being no mere fancy portrait; but a slight, yet not unfaithful profile of one, (Sir George Beaumont. Written 1814.) who still lives, nobilitate felix, arte clarior vitâ collendissimus.

Zul. (speaking of Alvar in the third person). Such was the noble Spaniard's own relation.

He told me, too, how in his early youth,

And his first travels, 't was his choice or chance
To make his long sojourn in sea-wedded Venice;
There won the love of that divine old man,
Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian !
Who, like a second and more lovely Nature,

By the sweet mystery of lines and colours
Changed the blank canvass to a magic mirror,
That made the Absent present; and to Shadows

Gave light, depth, substance. bloom vea, thought and motion.