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One moment in thy doubts-when my bless'd soul
Ascended from the couch of pain and grief
To liberty, and uncontrolled joy.

I look'd on thee, and though in bliss, there rose
Something, which when on earth, had been a wish
That thou couldst see me, and that I could soothe
Thy grief, and bind thy faith; for thou didst doubt
In thy affliction, and didst fear thyself

Of God and hope forsaken-then the prayer
Of the departing Saint, the holy Man
Of those dim caves, arose unto the Heaven
For thy benighted soul, that thus the faith
Of him whose heart was righteous, should not die
As the guilt-spotted man's-then Heaven heard-
And when the words of power were said, I swept
Downward from my bright cloud, and with the stream
Mingled my spirit, and from its misty breast,
Rose up before thine eyes.

Leontine.

Oh, how my soul Blesses thy gentle love, that thus survives

The grave, and mingles with eternity!

I am more happy in this holy bond,

Than hadst thou lived on earth; and yet there is
One bliss, if it may be, that I would claim-

I hear thee, see thee-might I touch thy hand
With my still earthly lip?

The Spirit.
No; for that hand
Were charged for thee with death; and this is not
Thine hour, Oh, Beloved!-but, it comes-

I feel a higher sense of joy than e'er

Mine essence knew before, for soon thou wilt
Unfetter'd be, and thy delighted spirit
Roam blessedly with me; but soft-the air
Is cut before me; something human comes
Tinted with richer hues, for there remain'd,
The roseate colours of my flower-born robe,
Memorial of my visit!-So, when man
Hereafter, as he will,-shall seek this spot,
He will behold with wonder the rose hues
Blushing upon the snow!

Leontine.

Oh, lot of bliss!

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The Spirit.

No!-for his liberty

Is portion'd to his actions; and that is

As the Almighty dooms him; sometimes he

Sleeps in a torpid sleep-the trance of death

Dull, heavy, senseless. Such are those who have

Inactive been, and reckless of the gifts

With which they were endow'd; their lives unmark'd
By any good, although unstain'd by crime-

Spendthrifts of time-who dogg'd away their days
As they were nights, or as, instead of time,

Eternity, was written on the brows

Of those who stood around them-The sin-stain'd
Are darker doom'd-sometimes enfetter'd to

The earth which they have quitted, they are bound
To mark the consequences of their guilt,

And watch their issue. The proud Greek of old,
The Macedonian, who with toil and blood,
Strode high above the necks of fellow-men,
And trampled on warm hearts, and wither'd joy,
To raise a mighty empire, was condemn'd
To see his huge throne shaken, and his friends
Sever, one by one, the columns !-He beheld
The swords his own ambition had unsheath'd,
Plunged in his children's hearts, and saw their shades
Rise trembling from the earth, and mount afar
Above his gloomy dungeon. These are those
Who, chain'd within the womb of the fierce sea,
Are tossed to and fro by the wild storm,
And never rise in air, except to pour
Destruction on the labouring vessel, which
May bear some ancient friend, or child beloved,
Or a lamenting wife. Some are compell'd
To guide the thunderbolt of wrath, which rends
To fragments their own home ;-such one I mark'd
Weeping and throwing lightnings, and averting
His eye from where they fell!-And others float
A pestilence in air, and carry death

To the bosoms best belov'd. The Oppressor, who
Rent from the hungry the coarse sordid meal,
To heap up treasures for his heirs, beholds
Those heirs expire of famine, which himself
A deadly blight upon the herb and corn

Breathes o'er the healthy land. The Tyrant's scourge
Is wielded by the Demons, who through space
With stripes pursue the spectre-worse the lot
Of him the envy-struck, who is condemn'd
To watch the bliss of those he most abhors,
And which he strove to crush; he is, indeed,
The tortured-for the penalties of hell

Alone exceed the measure of his pangs.

Leontine. I love the theme, and yet I fear to ask, Lest with unhallow'd question I offend

The mercy of the Holiest !-If it be

Permitted thee to answer, hath thine eye
Gazed on the Majesty of God?

The Spirit.

It is

Permitted thee to question, for thy tongue

Is chain'd from uttering the secrets deep,
Which have been breathed into thy list'ning car.
Thou art as yet but mortal, but ere long
Thy soul shall be enfranchised; even now

I see, but thou canst not, where near thee stands
The beauteous shadowy King, who looks on thee
With a soft, solemn smile, and whose cold hand
Will fall so lightly on thy youthful brow,
That to the charm'd beholder his still rest
Shall seem like infant's sleep; but guard thee well,
Temptation cometh-danger and distress
Will soon beset thy soul-but be thou firm,
And thou wilt be with me-but not to gaze
Upon the light of the Eternal's eye.

That may not be till after Earth and Heaven

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Enter BASIL, ZENO, and GREEKS, with ANDRONICUS.

Basil.

Thou hear'st, he speaks,

Conversing with the demons-now, old man,

Wring from thy son his secret, let him prove
His innocence, or else behold him die!

Andronicus. Insatiate bigot! Oh! my son, my son!

Have mercy on thy father's snowy head;

Bring not the grey hairs to the grave in woe-
Let me not see thy young blood fall to earth,
Ere the old man's hath fail'd-My son, my son!
Let me not lose thee-if thou canst-reveal
Thy secret, and preserve thy life.

Leontine.

My life!

It is not worth a crime-I will not break

My promise-but I stand prepared to die.
Weep not, oh father-death for me is bliss.
I go to meet my Zoe-lead ye on.

The punishment of sorcery, though I

Am guiltless of the sin, I am prepared

To meet, oh friends-Peace, dearest father, peace!
We shall soon meet again-Now to the death

My soul, my soul is ready.

Andronicus.

Wilt thou, son,

Wish me not

Wilt thou destroy thy father?

Leontine.

To live a sinful, and a hopeless man.

Now, if I die, 'tis blessedly-I go.

High Heaven will heal thine anguish, as before
It closed the wounds of mine.

Basil.

Friends, he will die

Unshrinkingly-see-for himself, he has

No fears. Attack his young heart in its loves→→
Seize on his father-let him victim be

Of the young sorcerer's crimes.

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Leontine. Content!-thou, righteous heaven! hear me! oh hear! Sinless is my pursuit, but if ye deem

My wanderings other, why then, let me die;

I stand prepared-bind on these hands your chains,
And let my father

Andronicus.

go.

I pray ye heed

Nor urge him farther-Ye have wisely judged-
Lead me unto the bed of peace, which waits

To clasp the limbs of the life wearied man.
Zeno. Lead him unto his sentence.

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The Spirit.

Thou hast done

Thy account

With hours now, beloved.

With time is closed for ever; now thou step'st
Within the circle of eternity.

Thou hast achiev'd the conquest of thy foe.
The Tempter who beset thee-thou didst give
Thine all for filial love, and wast resign'd

To live a groaning wretch; for this the wreath--
The coronet of Icicles doth wait

To bind thy happy brow, and that thy death
Be favour'd as thy life, lo! I am sent
To summon thee to glory, and to peace-
Now then we part no more-thou art mine own.
Henceforward and for ever, the loved charm,
The golden chord is broken. Mourn thou not
Thy father, peace will crown his few short days,
For I have open'd his earth-clouded eyes,
And now, with holiest joy, he looks upon us.—
Thou didst once ask to touch my death-chill'd hand-
Approach me now, and on thy lips receive

This holy kiss, and sink upon my breast.

"Tis done!-Earth take thy part, the silent clay!—
Soul!-to the elements !

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Art thou entranced too-what hast thou seen?

Zeno. Nought but a silvery cloud, from which there comes
Sounds as of heavenly music. We have wrong'd

The innocent Leontine !-Is he dead!

Can that be death !—A smile is on his face!

O pardon, Heaven, if, in our zeal, we have
Destroy'd the innocent.-Oh, good old man,
Forgive us for thy son!

Andronicus.

My son is dead!

Glory to God!-My heaven-claim'd son is gone.

Gone from all misery-from pain, from sin

Unto eternal bliss.-Glory to God!

The flowers he planted, he hath gather'd young

To bloom in paradise! The stars he lent

To light this earth, he hath reclaimed now

To place within his crown!-Praise be to God!
Glory to the Almighty! •

This subject is partly taken from a Tale, published some years since, entitled, “The Ring and the Well.”

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