Is gained. I am but Mary's shadow now;
My noble spirit is at last broke down.
By long captivity. You've done your worst
On me: you have destroyed me in my bloom!
Now end your work, my sister; speak at length
The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither;
For I will ne'er believe that you are come

To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim.

Pronounce this word; say, "Mary, you are free;
You have already felt my power; learn now
To honor, too, my generosity."

Say this, and I will take my life, will take
My freedom, as a present from your hands.
One word makes all undone; I wait for it.
O let it not be needlessly delayed!
Woe to you, if you end not with this word!
For should you not, like some divinity
Dispensing noble blessings, quit me now,
Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth,
For all the realms encircled by the deep,
Would I exchange my present lot for yours.

ELIZ. And you confess at last that you are conquered? Are all your schemes run out? No more assassins

Now on the road? Will no adventurer

Attempt again, for you, the sad achievement?

Yes, Madam, it is over. You'll seduce

No mortal more. The world has other cares;
None is ambitious of the dangerous honor
Of being your fourth husband-you destroy
Your wooers like your
husbands!

Grant me forbearance, all ye powers of Heaven!

ELIZ. Those, then, my Lord of Leicester, are the charms Which no man with impunity can view,

Near which no woman dare attempt to stand!

MARY. This is too much!

ELIZ.

You show us now, indeed,

Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask.

MARY. My sins were human, and the faults of youth;

I have never sought to hide them. I despised

All false appearance as became a queen.
The worst of me is known, and I can say
That I am better than the fame I bear.

Woe to you, when, in time to come, the world
Shall draw the robe of honor from your deeds.
Virtue was not your portion from your mother;
Well know we what it was which brought the head

Of Anne Boleyn to the fatal block.

SHREWS. [stepping between them].

O Heaven! Alas, and must it come to this?
Is this the moderation, the submission,
My Lady, that you promised?

MARY. Moderation! I've supported
What human nature can support! Farewell,
Lamb-hearted resignation! Passive patience,
Fly to thy native Heaven! Burst at length
Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave,
In all thy fury, long-suppressèd rancor!
And thou, who to the angered basilisk

Impart'st the murderous glance, O arm my tongue
With poisoned darts!

SHREWS. She is beside herself!

LEIC. Attend not to her rage! Away, away, From this disastrous place!

Profanes the English throne! The generous Britons
Are cheated by a juggler, whose whole figure
Is false and painted, heart as well as face.
You now would in the dust, if right prevailed,

[ELIZABETH hastily quits the stage; the LORDS follow in consternation.]

KENNEDY. What have you done? She has gone hence in wrath? All hope is over now!

MARY. Gone hence in wrath!

She carries death within her heart! I know it.

[Falls on KENNEDY's bosom.]

Now I am happy, Hannah! At last,

After whole years of sorrow and abasement,

One moment of victorious revenge!

A weight falls off my heart, a weight of mountains;
I plunged the steel in my oppressor's breast!

KEN. Unhappy Lady, frenzy overcomes you:
Yes, you have wounded your invet'rate foe;
"Tis she who wields the lightning, she is Queen!
You have insulted her before her minion.

MARY, I have abased her before Leicester's eyes;
He saw it, he was witness of my triumph!
Yes, I did hurl her from her haughty height!
He saw it and his presence strengthened me!

[Exeunt.]

HERMANN AND DOROTHEA.

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE.

E'ER have I seen the market and streets so empty!

"NEE

Still as the grave is the town! All are running, racing,

To see the sad train of poor fellows driven to exile.

Wife, you did well to bid our son go meet them,

Taking with him linen and something to eat and drink.
The rich are bound to befriend the poor.

Hermann, I trust, will find them, and give them

Straightway into the room the son made entry,
And in calm accents with gravity speaking:

"When I passed the gate and came upon the highway,
Streams of citizens I met returning; I quickened my pace,
For the train of exiles had long disappeared. Hastily
I drove to the village where I had heard to rest and sleep
They intended; as I went on my way, ascending
The newly-made causeway, suddenly I saw a wagon
Drawn by oxen. Close beside it there walked,
With sturdy footsteps, a maiden guiding the beasts
With a staff which she knew how with skill to use,

Now driving, now restraining their progress.

When the maiden observed me, she came near and said:

'Not so sad is our lot as it may seem to thee,

Nor alms would we ask of the stranger;

But have you linen and food to give these people

In their distress and their hunger?'

"My mother sent me to relieve your wants and help the needy.' With joy she thanked me and said heartily: 'May your kindness be by Heaven requited.' On then she drove the oxen. I followed, Overtook the maiden and said to her quickly:

'Maiden, my mother sent not linen and food alone;

She added wine, the weak to refresh, too;

I will put this in your care to divide with prudence.'

She replied: With faithfulness I will bestow your gifts,
And the weak and the weary shall rejoice at your bounty.''

999

When Hermann had ended his story the neighbor Exclaimed: "Only deem the man happy who lives in his house In these days of flight and hardship and exile." "Neighbor," rejoined Hermann, with emphasis, "Altogether I differ, Can he be deemed worthy Who thinks alone of self, and knows not the secret

Many an excellent maiden needs a husband's protection
And many a man a cheerful wife his home to enliven."

Smilingly said the father: "Words of such wisdom in my presence
Have seldom been uttered by youth." Then spake the mother:
"Son, we set the example; not in times of mirth and of pleasure
Made we our choice of each other. The saddest of hours
Knitted us closely together." "And, my Hermann, you would cheer
Our old age," said the father, "if you bring us a daughter.
Bring home one of the girls of the neighborhood,

As I brought your mother before you."

Modestly answered the son: "Truly my wish was like yours,
To marry a neighbor's daughter; one whom, in fact,

I sported with in youthful days. But I have found them
Vain and unloving, unlike the Eve of Adam.”

"Little comfort you give me, son. I always have said.
You possess not a due sense of honor." The son arose

And approached the doorway in silence. After him shouted the

father:

"Be off! Go and look after the business!

But fancy not

That I'll ever allow you to bring home in triumph,

As my daughter-in-law, an impudent stranger.

Long have I lived in the world; and she whom you marry

Must be able to soften my cares and vexations" At these words, Softly the son raised the latch and left the apartment.

Forthwith to the husband spake then the mother:

"Father, you're unjust to speak thus to our son.

We cannot fashion our children after our own fancy;

We must bring them up for the best, but let each do as he listeth. My Hermann shall not be upbraided. You daily

Dishearten him, and make the poor fellow unhappy

Then after her son she hastened, hoping with words of affection To gladden his heart, for well he deserved it.

She searched for her son till she found him at last