Do I not love-art thou not beautiful

What need we more? Ha! glory !—now speak not of it :
By all I hold most sacred and most solemn-
By all my wishes now-my fears hereafter-
By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven-
There is no deed I would more glory in,
Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory
And trample it under foot. What matters it-
What matters it, my fairest, and my best,
That we go down unhonoured and forgotten
Into the dust-so we descend together.

Descend together-and then-and then perchance-
LALAGE. Why dost thou pause, Politian?
POLITIAN.

Arise together, Lalage, and roam

The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,
And still-

LALAGE.

And then perchance

Why dost thou pause, Politian?

POLITIAN. And still together-together.
LALAGE.

Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts

I feel thou lovest me truly.

POLITIAN.

And lovest thou me ?

LALAGE.

Now, Earl of Leicester !

Oh, Lalage! [Throwing himself upon his knee.

Hist! hush! within the gloom

Of yonder trees methought a figure pass'd

A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless

Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless.

I was mistaken-'twas but a giant bough

Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian!

[Walks across and returns.

POLITIAN. My Lalage-my love! why art thou moved?

Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience' self,

Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land
With which all tongues are busy-a land new found-
Miraculously found by one of Genoa-

A thousand leagues within the golden west?

A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,

And crystal lakes, and over-arching forests,

And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds.

Of Heaven untrammelled flow-which air to breathe

Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter

In days that are to come?

POLITIAN.

O, wilt thou-wilt thou

Fly to that Paradise-my Lalage, wilt thou

Fly thither with me? There Care shall be forgotten,
And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all.
And life shall then be mine, for I will live
For thee, and in thine eyes-and thou shalt be
No more a mourner-but the radiant Joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all;-oh, wilt thou-wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me?

LALAGE. Castiglione lives!

POLITIAN.

A deed is to be done

And he shall die!

LALAGE [after a pause]. And-he-shall-die !-
Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?
Where am I?—what was it he said ?—Politian !
Thou art not gone-thou art not gone, Politian!
I feel thou art not gone-yet dare not look,

[Exit.

-alas!

Lest I behold thee not; thou couldst not go
With those words upon thy lips-O, speak to me !
And let me hear thy voice-one word-one word,
Το say thou art not gone,--one little sentence,

To
say how thou dost scorn-how thou dost hate
My womanly weakness.
Ha ha! thou art not gone---

O speak to me ! I knew thou wouldst not go.

I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durst not go.

Villain, thou art not gone-thou mockest me!

And thus I clutch thee-thus !

-He is gone, he is gone

Gone-gone. Where am I?-'tis well-'tis very well!

So that the blade be keen-the blow be sure,

'Tis well, 'tis very well-alas! alas!

POLITIAN. This weakness grows upon me.

And much I fear me ill-it will not do

To die ere I have lived!-Stay--stay thy hand,

I am faint,