BETH. Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger,

And it shall be my birth-right!

SAROL. (aside.)

That look again !—

The wood which first incloses, and then skirts

The highest track that leads across the mountains

Thou know'st it, Bethlen?

BETH.

Lady, 'twas my wont

To roam there in my childhood oft alone

And mutter to myself the name of father.

For still Bathory (why, till now I guess'd not)
Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing

Gaz'd upward. Yet of late an idle terror

GLY. Madam, that wood is haunted by the warwolves,

Vampires, and monstrous—

SAROL. (with a smile.) Moon-calves, credulous girl!

Haply some o'ergrown savage of the forest

Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.

[Then speaking again to Bethlen.

After that last great battle, (0 young man!

Thou wakest anew my life's sole anguish) that
Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory

Led by a cry, far inward from the track,

In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest,

Did find thee, Bethlen, then an helpless babe.
The robe, that wrapt thee, was a widow's mantle.
BETH. An infant's weakness doth relax my frame.
O say-I fear to ask—

Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,

A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning

Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,

That strained towards the babe. At length one arm Painfully from her own weight disengaging,

She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom

Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated

Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,

And kneeling spake: If aught of this world's comfort Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man's troth,

That at my life's risk I will save thy child!

Her countenance work'd, as one that seem'd preparing

A loud voice, but it died upon her lips

In a faint whisper, "Fly! Save him! Hide-hide all !”

BETH. And did he leave her? What had I a mother?

And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life

With the desertion of a dying mother?

Oh agony!

GLY.

Alas! thou art bewildered,

And dost forget thou wer't an helpless infant!

BETH. What else can I remember, but a mother

Mangled and left to perish?

SAROL'

Hush, Glycine!

It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct:
Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,

And it will find a mirror in the waters,

It now makes boil above it. Check him not!

BETH. O that I were diffused among the waters That pierce into the secret depths of earth,

And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!
And I would seek her! for she is not dead!

She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady!
You were about to say, that he returned—

SAROL. Deep Love, the Godlike in us, still believes

Its objects as immortal as itself!

BETH. And found her still

SAROL,

Alas! he did return,

He left no spot unsearch'd in all the forest.

But she (I trust me by some friendly hand)

Had been borne off.

ВЕТН.

GLY.

O whither?

Dearest Bethlen!

I would that you could weep like me! O do not

SAROL. (continuing the story) While he was absent A friendly troop, 'tis certain, scoured the wood,

Hotly pursued indeed by Emerick.

This gracious lady must hear blessings only.

She hath not yet the glory round her head,

Nor those strong eagle wings, which made swift way

To that appointed place, which I must seek:

Or else she were my mother!

SAROL.

Noble youth!

From me fear nothing! Long time have I owed
Offerings of expiation for misdeeds

Long passed that weigh me down, tho' innocent!

Thy foster-father hid the secret from thee,

For he perceived thy thoughts, as they expanded,
Proud, restless, and ill-sorting with thy state!
Vain was his care! Thou 'st made thyself suspected
E'en where Suspicion reigns, and asks no proof
But its own fears! Great Nature hath endow'd thee
With her best gifts! From me thou shalt receive
All honorable áidance! But haste hence!

Travel will ripen thee, and enterprize

Beseems thy years! Be thou henceforth my soldier! །

And whatsoe'er betide thee, still believe

That in each noble deed, achieved or suffered,

Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth!

And may the light that streams from thine own honour Guide thee to that, thou seekest!

GLY.

Must he leave us?

BETH. And for such goodness can I return nothing, But some hot tears that sting mine eyes? Some sighs That if not breath'd would swell my heart to stifling? May heaven and thine own virtues, high-born lady, Be as a shield of fire, far, far aloof

To scare all evil from thee! Yet, if fate

Hath destined thee one doubtful hour of danger,
From the uttermost region of the earth, methinks,
Swift as a spirit invoked, I should be with thee!