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Rush forth thro' all its doors. I am the last
O Countess !
grace and mercy of a greater Master
This sure may well be granted usone sepulchre
Oct. Countess, you tremble, you turn pale !
Oct. Help! Help! Support her!
Nay, it is too late,
[Exit Countess. Gor. O house of death and horrors !
[An officer enters, and brings a letter with the
Gor. (steps forward and meets him). What is this? It is the Imperial seal.
[He reads the address and delivers the letter to
Octavio with a look of reproach, and with
an emphasis on the word. To the Prince Piccolomini. Oct, (with his whole frame expressive of sudden an
guish, raises his eyes to heaven.
The Curtain drops.
THE HALL OF ROBESPIERRE ;
An Historte Hrana.
TO H. MARTIN, ESQ.
OF JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
DEAR SIR, Accept, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the follow. ing Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a disastrous Justre on his name. In the execution of the work, as intricacy of plot could not have been attempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it has been my sole aim to imitate the im. passioned and highly figurative language of the French Orators, and to develop the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE.
SCENE, The Tuilleries.
Barrere. The tempest gathers—be it mine to seek A friendly shelter, ere it bursts
eye the inmate of my bosom.
[Exit. Enter TALLIEN and LEGENDRE. Tal. It was Barrere, Legendre ! didst thou mark
him? Abrupt he turn'd, yet linger'd as he went, And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning.
Leg. I mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance, It menaced not so proudly as of yore. Methought he would have spoke-but that he dared
not, Such agitation darken'd on his brow.
Tal. 'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from
Leg. Perfidious Traitor !-still afraid to bask
Tal. Yet much depends upon him-well you know
Leg. O what a precious name is Liberty To scare or cheat the simple into slaves ! Yes—we must gain him over: by dark hints We'll show enough to rouse his watchful fears, Till the cold coward blaze a patriot. O Danton! murder'd friend ! assist my counsels Hover around me on sad memory's wings, And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart. Tallien ! if but to-morrow's fateful sun Beholds the Tyrant living—we are dead ! Tal. Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty mean
ingsLeg. Fear not—or rather fear th' alternative, And seek for courage e'en in cowardice,