for stage effect, has seldom or never been excelled, the second act is concluded.

After this adventure, Richard and

arms.)

Oh, Rosamund!

Ros. Heaven! what means this?

Hen. Oh clasp thine arms fast round me! A supernatural shuddering seizes me, And only on thy bosom can I gain My wonted life!

SCENE X.

Rosamund, Henry, Richard, and Southwell. Rich. Ha! devil! let me go!

cottage not far from Woodstock. Here (at the beginning of the third act) the prince is visited by Armand, the insidious favourite of Queen Leonora, who comes to engage Richard in rebellion with his brothers. The dialogue is here so spirited and interesting, that we shall insert the scene entire.

ACT III.

well.

Of her old warlike fame. Deceive not, then,

The people's faith, nor to posterity
Refuse the brilliant star of such example,
To gleam o'er future ages.

Rich. Spare thy words, sir,
Nor tax thy wit, the foul pestiferous head
Of serpent-like Sedition to adorn

With laurel wreathes. Am I a child, to be
By thy false gaudy ornaments attracted,
And so the bitter cup with smiles to drain ?
Thou fool! believe me, Richard is a man!
In every nerve and pulse I feel it now.-
In one dire night, Fate from her fiery forge
Has drawn and fashion'd me. By Heaven
she plies

The hammer well!-Tell me at once, what would'st thou ?

Ar. King Lewis now, with many a prince

and baron,

The Scottish king, the chiefs of Blois and Flanders,

Are in one solemn league together join'd, Your father to dethrone. Prince Henry then

Shall be our ruler. Both your brothers, sir, Last night subscribed the deed. Your sig

nature

Alone is wanting; and such trust the princes Repose in Richard's valour, that without him, They would not hurl the blazing torch of

war ;

Therefore they wait your signature, and then

England at once on every side assail'd Must yield. So shall ere long King Henry fall,

And thou shalt be aveng'd.

Rich. This plan has been
Begot beyond the sea. Such inspiration
Of hell prevails not on our British shores.
Ar. My prince, resolve !-The ship is
ready now

That may to realms of liberty convey you!
The people in your county, Poitou,
And in Guienne, await you. "Tis indeed
A hard condition; but in power like yours,
Valour and fortune, the allies confide,
Even were King Henry's forces doubly

strong.

Now, sir, resolve !

Rich. How eloquent is hell!

Ar. Would'st thou recede ?-No, for

ward, forward, Richard!

There victory smiles-There is the rightful

cause!

Rich. The rightful cause !-Why not at

once say Honour ? Poor babbler! 'tis not by thy tongue thou conquer'st:

"Tis but the forceful impulse of this hour! -Give me the deed.

Ar. Now, Heaven be praised, he writes! Rich. (taking the pen.) Even by one stroke I thus renounce mine

honour!

Even, by one scrawl accurs'd, I barter conscience;

And henceforth live a rebel to my king,
VOL. VIII.

And recreant to my country; every law
Of sacred love and filial duty thus
I trample under foot-and yet I must!
The world may still condemn me-but I call
On every soul to place itself as I

Now at this hour am placed, 'mid the same

waves

Of wild contention-it would act as I do! No-none may ever know how much I suffer!

Recede I cannot-tho' before me, Crime, And Guilt, and Shame, with spectral features glare,

I cannot-cannot recede! Fate goads me on, My star has disappeared that led me rightly; And rayless night o'erwhelms me in the abyss!

Yet courage-courage, Richard! "Tis but one stroke!

So ends at once the struggling of thy soul! The way to Heaven is to the wanderer hard, But one straight forward path leads down to Hell! (He writes. "Tis done! Now, Armand, I am yours at lastThou hast me wholly.

quest! Already here I feel it! Of hell are burning. War against his own depth

"Tis no little conHere the fires Now the son declares father. From the

Of hell-begotten feelings rises now
The monster of rebellion in my soul !
To blood and fire our country is decreed,
And I am chosen for each murderous deed!
(Exeunt.

The third scene of this act opens in the hall of the royal palace, whither King Henry had been summoned from Woodstock (by letters of the Lord Chancellor), even before the recovery of Rosamund from the deadly swoon into which she had fallen, on her first being acquainted with the true circumstances of her supposed marriage. The king is here introduced, painfully dwelling on the various sources of agitation by which he is assailed, and attended by his youngest son, Prince John, to whom, influenced by momentary irritability, he by unrestrained expressions of his speaks almost harshly, until the boy, loyalty and filial affection, compels his father to acknowledge, with much tenderness, the fidelity and truth of his attachment. In the fourth scene, Humphrey Bohun, commander in chief of the royalist forces, makes his appearance to detail all the formidable arrangements and unnatural treasons of the enemy; and to receive, in return, his master's directions for the prompt and due conduct of a defensive war. Upon the exit of Bohun, the G

following dialogue takes place between the king and his son; and we transcribe it entire for the sake of the soliloquy which follows, (though neither, highly beautiful as they are, seem equal to some other portions of the play, to which we are now hastening on.)

ACT III.

SCENE V.-Henry, John. John. Oh, father! let me go to France

with you!

Since, faithless, my dishonourable brothers Have raised their swords against thee-so may Heaven

Grant me fit power to use mine in thy cause!
Hen. Well said, brave boy!
John. Nay-'twill be told some day,
That great King Henry's sons had all prov'd
traitors,

And those who know not my pure heart will deem

That in their guilt I shared!

Hen. Not so, my son ! From future times thou shalt not fail to gain Thy due reward of praise-yet now indeed Thou art too weak; and I with zealous care Must from the storm protect that only branch Of England's tree that proves to me yet

faithful.

We must now pass over a very highly animated and forcible dialogue between the jealous and vindictive Leonora and the King, in order to make room for the following beautiful descriptions of Rosamund in her affliction. The garden scene somehow reminds us of a highly poetical passage which we lately quoted from the works behold around us the fading flowers of Mr Shelley. We seem vividly to of summer, that by their touching associations render so much more impressive the expressions of her grief. There is evinced in these few short

speeches of the heroine a stilly mood of resigned meditation and voluntary suffering, accompanied with a visionary and creative sensibility, which no poet has, by the most laborious and artificial efforts, excelled.

ACT III.

SCENE IX.-The Garden at Woodstock.
Enter (from the Castle) O'Neale and George.
Geo. How is it with the lady?
O'N. Wonderful

And sacred is her sorrow.

In tears and lamentation. No complaint
It speaks not
Has told her sufferings; for these far exceed
The power of words to announce. She made
a sign

That we should leave her. Clara still reremain'd,

And brought anon the children to their mother.

After an hour of dread anxiety

I look'd into the chamber. There, Oh!
Heaven,

How did I find her! Pale and motionless,
She sat in resignation—like a saint,
Wrapt up in deep abstraction, yet so mild
And calmly resolute! Me she beheld not,
Nor even her children-though on them her
eyes

Intently rested; of all outward things
Yet apprehensionless. So she remained,
Even while her children slept upon her lap,
Still, as a marble statue motionless;
(Only her bosom's restless heavings mark'd

The deep contention of the soul within ;) But when at last from morning's cloudy bed The new day rous'd itself in light and joy, Her arms at once she stretch'd out to the sun, As if in silent prayer; then on her knees Sunk down, and press'd her children to her heart,

With a long kiss. Their little arms were wound

Still closely round her. Softly, then, she said, "Take them to sleep!" I took the children up,

And Clara went with them. When we returned,

The door was lock'd; yet from without we

Was call'd into her chamber. She now seem'd
Yet more composed and mild in her affliction.
Oh! this meek resignation breaks my heart!
Geo. There, I heard Clara's voice!
O'N. Aye-they are near us.
Let us retire unseen into the castle.
Methinks the King will not stay long away;
With every moment now I look for him.
[Exeunt.

SCENE X.-The Garden as before.
Rosamund and Clara.

Ros. Dear Clara, let me rest here.
Cla. Art thou not

Better 'mid this pure air?

Ros. Aye, dearest friend.

My chamber walls look'd out so darkly on

me,

And the roof seem'd to weigh upon my heart.
Here 'tis so light and free! No prison bars
Limit the roaming of the watchful eye,
That seeks in azure distance calm repose.
Far o'er the varied tapestry of the clouds,
That deck the starry temple of the sky,
Mounts up the soul, in liberty rejoicing,
Beyond all worldly ties and earthly woes.
Cla. See how the summer kindly takes
her leave!

There the last brilliant race of Asters bloom
In varied hues; and, in the mallow's flower
Of paley tint, I recognize once more,
The harbinger of Autumn.

Ros. Am I then

In Woodstock grown a stranger? Is not this Mine own old garden? Are not these the flowers

That I myself have rear'd? And, round

me still,

The venerable oaks that oft in hours
Of gladness rustled near me?
--Cla. Know'st thou not

Thine old friends, Rosa? Can thy sorrows thus

Remembrance cloud?

Ros. Seest thou this rose, my friend? It was my favourite plant, and every morn I prop'd and watered it. To-day I cannot !

Beholds the sun, its blushing leaves will fall, And the west winds will softly bear away These fragrant spoils of love's own favourite flower!

Aye, once more I must see him-this I know

That hour I shall not long survive-and yet It must be so. This love I cannot conquer; Cannot renounce, nor kill-it is immortal, Even as my soul. As I have loved him, so For ever I must love him. The soul dies not,

Nor love, that of that spirit hath possession; But as the mildly-beaming emerald, Within its golden shrine, trembles at guilt, So that within a villain's grasp it breaksSo must the heart, by holiest passion rul'd, After some brief and vain contention, perish,

If once pale guilt with poisonous breath as