speak to her (to his mother)—tell her that-O Heaven, that I were dead!

Pauline-How confused he looks!-this strange place!-this woman— -what can it mean? I half suspect-Who are you madam! who are you? can't you speak? are you struck dumb?

Widow-Claude, you have not deceived her? Ah! shame upon you! I thought that before you went to the altar she was to have known all.

Pauline-All! what! my blood freezes in my veins! Widow-Poor lady! dare I tell her, Claude? Know you not, then, madam, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte?

Pauline-Your son! hold-hold! do not speak to me. Is this a jest? is it? I know it is, only speakone word-one look-one smile. I cannot believe-I, who love thee so-I cannot believe that thou art such a -No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word-speak!

Mel-Leave us. Have pity on her, on me; leave us. Widow-Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee, of whom I was so proud! [Exit.] Pauline-Her son, her son!

Mel-Now, lady, hear me.

Pauline-Hear thee!

Ay, speak-her son! have fiends a parent? Speak,
That thou may'st silence curses-speak!

Mel-No, curse me;

Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness.
Pauline "This is thy palace, where the perfumed

light

Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps,

And every air is heavy with the sighs

Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth
I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture?
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom.
O fool! O dupe! O wretch! I see it all—
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue
In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch
Of human kindness? If thou hast, why, kill me,
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot-
It cannot be; this is some horrid dream;

I shall wake soon. Art flesh? art man? or but
The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real.

What have I done to thee? How sinn'd against thee, That thou should'st crush me thus?

Mel-Pauline, by pride

Angels have fallen, ere thy time: by pride-
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould-

The evil spirit of a bitter love,

And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.
From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee;
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy
Tended, unmark'd by thee-a spirit of bloom,
And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape.
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man
Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy.
And from that hour I grew-what, to the last
I shall be thine adorer! Well, this love,
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became
A fountain of ambition and bright hope;
I thought of tales that, by the winter hearth

Old gossips tell-how maidens sprung from kings

Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like

death,

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook
Beside the sceptre.

My father died; and I, the peasant born,
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise
Out of the prison of my mean estate :

And, with such jewels as the exploring mind
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom
From those twin gaolers of the daring heart—
Low birth and iron fortune. For thee I grew
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages:
For thee I sought to borrow from each grace,
And every muse, such attributes as lend
Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee,
And passion taught me poesy-of thee,
And on the painter's canvass grew the life
Of beauty! Art became the shadow

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes!
Men call'd me vain-some mad-I heeded not;
But still toil'd on-hoped on-for it was sweet,
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee?

Pauline-Why do I cease to hate him?

Mel-At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour
The thoughts that burst their channels into song,
And sent them to thee-such a tribute, lady,
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest.
The name appended by the burning heart
That long'd to shew its idol what bright things
It had created-yea, the enthusiast's name,
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn;
That very hour, when passion, turn'd to wrath,
Resembled hatred most-when thy disdain
Made my whole soul a chaos-in that hour
The tempters found me a revengeful tool

For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm-
It turned and stung thee!

Pauline-Love, sir, hath no sting.

What was the slight of a poor powerless girl
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge?
Oh, how I loved this man! a serf, a slave!
Mel-Hold, lady! No, not a slave!

free!

I will not tell thee of the throes, the struggles,
The anguish, the remorse: no, let it pass!
And let me come to such most poor atonement
Yet in my power. Pauline!-

Pauline-No, touch me not!

Despair is

I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant,
And I-O Heaven!-a peasant's wife! I'll work,
Toil, drudge, do what thou wilt-but touch me not;
Let
my wrongs make me sacred!

Mel-Do not fear me.

Thou dost not know me, madam; at the altar
My vengeance ceased-my guilty oath expired!
Henceforth, no image of some marble saint
Niched in cathedral aisles is hallowed more
From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong.

I am thy husband-nay, thou need'st not shudder;
Here at thy feet I lay a husband's rights.
A marriage thus unholy-unfulfilled-
A bond of fraud-is, by the laws of France,
Made void and null. To-night sleep sleep in peace.
To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn

I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine,
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home.
The law shall do thee justice, and restore
Thy right to bless another with thy love.

And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot
Him who so loved-so wrong'd thee, think, at least→→
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still
In that poor peasant's nature.

[Enter WIDOW.]

Conduct this lady-she is not my wife;

She is our guest-our honored guest-my mother—
To the
poor chamber where the sleep of virtue
Never, beneath my father's honest roof,

Ev'n villains dare to mar! Now, lady, now,
I think thou wilt believe me.

Widow-She is not thy wife!

Go, my mother!

Mel-Hush, hush! for mercy's sake.

Speak not, but go.

[Exit WIDOW. PAULINE follows, turns to look back.] Mel-All angels bless and guard her!

K.

HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING.

HEN-Fair Katharine, and most fair,

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms

Such as will enter at a lady's ear

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Kath-Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England.

K.Hen-O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?

Kath-Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is 'like me.'