Gab.

I know too well

And knew it ere yourself, unhappy sire!

Farewell!

[Exit GABOR. Sieg. (solus and listening). He hath clear'd the staircase. Ah! I hear

The door sound loud behind him!

He is safe!

Safe! Oh, my father's spirit!—I am faint

[He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall of the tower, in a drooping posture.

Enter ULRIC, with others armed, and with weapons drawn.

Ulr. Despatch!--he's there!

Lud.

The count, my lord! Ulr. (recognising SIEGENDORF). You here, sir! Sieg. Yes if you want another victim, strike! Ulr. (seeing him stript of his jewels). Where is the ruffian who hath plunder'd you?

Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see
'Twas as I said—the wretch hath stript my father
Of jewels which might form a prince's heir-loom!
Away! I'll follow you forthwith.

[Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC.
What's this?

Of this: he must be found. You have not let him

Escape?

Sieg. He's gone.

Ulr.

With your connivance?

Sieg. Stop! I command-entreat-implore! Oh,

Ulric!

Will you then leave me?

Ulr.

What! remain to be

Denounced-dragg'd, it may be, in chains; and all

By your inherent weakness, half-humanity,
Selfish remorse, and temporising pity,
That sacrifices your whole race to save

A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, count,
Henceforth you have no son!

Sieg.

I never had one;

And would you ne'er had borne the useless name! Where will you go? I would not send you forth Without protection.

Ulr.

Leave that unto me.

I am not alone; nor merely the vain heir

Of your domains; a thousand, ay, ten thousand
Swords, hearts, and hands, are mine.

Sieg.

The foresters! With whom the Hungarian found you first at Frank

fort!

[Go tell

Ulr. Yes-men- -who are worthy of the name! Your senators that they look well to Prague; Their feast of peace was early for the times; There are more spirits abroad than have been laid With Wallenstein!

Jos.

Enter JOSEPHINE and IDA.

What is 't we hear? My Siegendorf!

Thank Heav'n, I see you safe!

Sieg.

Ida.

Safe!

Yes, dear father!

Sieg. No, no; I have no children: never more Call me by that worst name of parent.

Ida. (taking ULRIC's hand). Who shall dare say this of Ulric?

Sieg. Ida, beware! there's blood upon that hand. Ida. (stooping to kiss it). I'd kiss it off, though it were mine.

Them both! My Josephine! we are now alone!
Would we had ever been so !- All is over

For me!-Now open wide, my sire, thy grave;
Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy son
In mine! -The race of Siegendorf is past!

THE

AGE OF BRONZE;

OR,

CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS. (1)

"Impar Congressus Achilli,"

(1) [This poem was written by Lord Byron at Genoa, in the early part of the year 1823; and published in London, by Mr. John Hunt. Its authenticity was much disputed at the time.-E.]