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 [Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC. 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, A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, count, 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 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! For me!-Now open wide, my sire, thy grave; 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.] |