506 
Unlatch’d the door of death for thee? "Twas not 
Our fault, nor is it our sin; thou wert our foe, 
And yet { spared thee, when my own destruction 
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening ! 
And only took—accursed gold! thou liest 
Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee, 
Nor part with thee; thou cam’st in such a guise, 
Methinks thou would’st contaminate all hands 
Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee, 
Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master’s doom, 
Tho’ he died not by me or mine, as much 
As if be were my brother! [ have ta’en 
His orphan Ida,—cherish’d her as one 
Who will be mine. 
In the midst of a solemn festival, 
held at Prague, to commemorate the 
restoration of peace,—at which Sie- 
gendorf and Ulrie assist,—the former 
sees and is addressed by Gabor, and 
the strict search which he institutes is 
rendered unnecessary by the voluntary 
appearance of the supposed criminal. 
Being charged by Siegendorf with the 
murder, he repels it with indigna- 
tion. 
Gabor.—’ Tis false. 
Siegendorf.—W ho says so? 
Gabor. . 
Siegendorf, And how disprove it? 
Gabor. By 
The presence of the murderer. 
Siegendorf. Name him! 
Gabor. e 
May have more names than one. Your lordship 
had so 
Once on a time. 
Siegendorf. If you mean me, I dare 
Your utmost. 
Gabor. You may do so, and in safety : 
1 know the assassin, 
Siegendorf. Where is he? 
Gabor (pointing to Ulric).—Beside you. 
{Ulric rushes forward to aftack Gabor, 
Siegendorf interposes.} 
Siegendorf.—Liar and fiend! but you shall not 
be slain: 
These walls are mine, and you are safe within 
them. [He turns lo Ulric. 
Ulric, repel this calamny, as I 
Will do. I avow itis a growth so monstrous, 
l could not deem it earth-born: but be calm; 
It will refute itself. But touch him not. 
(Ulric endeavours to compose himself. 
Gabor.—Look at him, Count, and then hear me. 
Siegendorf (first to Gabor, and then looking at 
Ulric).—1 hear thee. 
My God! you look— 
ric. How? 
Siegendorf. As on that dread night 
When we met in the garden. : : 
Ulric (composes himself).—It is nothing, 
* * * * * * 
Siegendorf (to Ulric).—Then, my boy, thou art 
guilty still. 
Thou bad?st me say I was so once—Oh! now 
Do thou as much. 
Gabor. Be patient ! [ can no¢ 
Recede now, tho’ it shake the very walls 
Which frown above us. You remember, or, 
If not, your son does,—that the locks were changed 
Beneath his chief inspection—-on the morn 
Which led to this same night . how he had enter’d, 
He best knows; but within an anti-chamber,— 
The door of which was half ajar,—I saw 
Aman, who wash’d his bloody hands, and oft, 
With stern and anxious glance, gazed back upon 
The bleeding body,—but it moved no more. 
Siegendorf—Oh 1 God of Fathers! 
Gabor. I beheld his features 
As I see yours,—but yours they were not, though 
Resembling them. Behold them in Count Ulric’s! 
Distinct—as I beheld them,—tho’ the expression 
Is not now what it then was ;—but it was so 
When I first charg’d him with the crime—so lately. 
Gabor then proceeds to demand 
some compensation, as an inducement 
News from Parnassus, No. XX1. 
(Jan. fs 
to silence on his part, and Siegendorf — 
asks a little time for deliberation ; and, 
in the meanwhile, desires him to with- 
draw into a turret, pledging his ho- 
nour for the stranger’s safety. The 
father and son then come to an under- 
standing on this point. 
Siegendorf (advances to Ulric).—Now, Count 
ric,— 
For son I dare not call thee,—what say’st thou? 
Uiric.—His tale is true. 
Siegendorf.—True, monster! 
Ulric, Most true, father; 
And you did well to listen to it : what 
We know we can provide against. He must 
Be silenced. 
Siegendorf.—Ay, with half of my domains; 
And, with the other half, could he and thou 
Unsay this villany— 
Ulric. It is no time 
For trifling or dissembling. I have said 
His story’s true; and he too must be silenc’d. 
Siegendorf.—How so? 
Ulric.—As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull 
As never to have hit on this before? 
* * * * * 
Siegendorf. Parricide! no less 
Than common stabber! What deed of my life, 
Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit 
Yor your accomplice? 
ric. Father, do not raise 
The devil you cannot lay, between us, his 
Js time for union and for action, not 
For family disputes. While yo were tortur’d, 
Could J be calm? Think you that | have heard 
‘This fellow’s tale without some feeling? you 
Have taught me feeling for you and myself; 
For whom or what else did you ever teach it ? 
Siegendorf.—Oh, my dead father’s curse! ’tis 
working now. 
Ulric.—Let it work on,—the grave will keep -it 
down! 
Ashes sre feeble foes: it is more easy 
‘To baffie such, than countermine a mole | 
Which winds its blind but living path beneath you. | 
Yet licar me still. If you condemn me, yet 
Remember w/o hath taught me once too often 
To listen to him? //’Ho proclaim’d to me 
That ‘here were crimes made venial by the occasion? 
‘That passion was our nature? That the goods 
Of Heayen waited on the goods of fortune ? 
Who show’d me his humanity secur’d 
By his nerves only? /Vho deprived me of 
All power to vindicate myself and race 
In open day? By his disgrace, which stamp’d 
(It might be) bastardy on me, and on 
Himself,—a felon’s brand! ‘The man who is’ 
At once both warm and weak, invites to deeds 
He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange 
That I should act what you could think? We have 
done 
With right and wrong; and now must only ponder 
Upon effects, not causes, Straulenheim, 
Whose life I saved from impulse,—as, wnknown, 
1 would have saved a peasant’s or a dog’s,—I slew 
Known as our foe; but not from vengeance. He 
Was arock in our way, which | cut through, 
As doth the bolt, because it stood between us 
And our true destination,—but not idly. 
As stranger I preserv’d him, and he owed me 
His life ; when due, I but resuin’d the debt. 
He, you, and I, stood o’er a gulf, within 
1 have plunged our one You kindled first 
The torch,—yvow show’d the path; now trace me that 
Of safety,—or let me— 
Siegendorf.—l have done with life! 
Ulric.—Let us have done with that which cankers 
life,— 
Familiar feuds, and vain recriminations 
Of things which cannot be undone. We have 
No more to learn or hide: I know no fear, 
And have within these very walls men whom 
(Although you know them not) dare venture all 
things. 7 
You stand high with the state,—what passes here 
Will not excite her too great curiosity : 
Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye, 
Stir not, and speak not,—leave the rest to me. 
We must have no ¢hird babblers thrust between us. 
Ulric 
