And not the deed itself, I speak with shame- For good and ample reasons, to remove Sir Walter D'Arlon from this troublesome world. ARTEVELDE (signing to the men-at-arms, who lead out Aye, Gilbert, God forgive thee for thy sins! OCCO. Stop: hear me yet. If through pretext of justice I am doom'd, To testify against me ere you strike. Enter VAN RYK, conducting ADRIANA, who throws herself into the arms of VAN ARTEVELDE. addresses himself to Occo. ARTEVELDE. He supports her, and Lo! here a witness! look upon this face, And bid death welcome. Lead him to the block. ADRIANA. Oh, spare him; speak not now of shedding blood, Now, in this hour of happiness! Oh, spare him! Vengeance is God's, whose function take not thou! Relent, Van Artevelde, and spare his life. ARTEVELDE. Not though an angel plead. Vengeance is God's; Let Flanders judge me from my deeds to-night, Now, Adriana, I am wholly thine. [Occo is led out. END OF THE FIRST PART. The curtain falls upon the fancied stage, Pause here and trim thine intellectual light, Which, more than mine, shall make my meanings bright. Loved war in every shape,-its pride, its art, That in the shocks of powers so wild and rude, That of that man who seeks a sovran sphere, And yet in times so stormy, in a land Where Virtue's self held forth a bloody hand -Rest thee a space or if thou lov'st to hear Turn thou the page, and let thy senses drink And find what life was hers before the date With this she wiled away the lonely evening hour. THE LAY OF ELENA. He asked me had I yet forgot The words at my command. They would not come, and it was better so, But I can answer when there's none that hears; Yes, I remember well The land of many hues, Whose charms what praise can tell, Up to their summits clothed in green, They lightly rise, And scale the skies, And groves and gardens still abound, For where no shoot Could else take root, The peaks are shelved and terraced round; Earthward appear, in mingled growth, The mulberry and maize,-above The trellised vine extends to both Looks out the white-walled cottage here, Far down the foot must roam to reach A bark is launch'd on Como's lake, A little sail is loosed to take The night wind's breath, and waft Before her shines the evening star, The castle lights are lost. What doth she there? The evening air Lifts her locks, and her neck is bare; And the dews, that now are falling fast, |