Mine, the dread Pow'r that gives the Law to Italy.

To think that I bestride the furious Lion,

And turn him where I list! How cunning is the Tempter!

With every sin he yokes some smiling Virtue.

Unfortunate Ambition! Primeval Madness!

In thy embrace, the Seraphs lost a Heaven,

While Death obtain'd a Throne.

Angels thou lur'st with Songs of Immortality!

And Men, with Gold, with Women, and with Crowns.

(After a pause of some moments-determined.)

To gain a princely Diadem-is great

To lay it down-is Godlike!

(Firm and decided.)

Then fall the Tyrant! Genoa be free! And I

(Sinking into softness.)

Thy Friend, thy Saviour, and thy Citizen !!!

The Curtain falls.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

A savage wilderness in the neighbourhood of Genoa.

Time-Midnight.

Enter VERRINA.-BOURGONINO.

BOURGONINO (stops short.)

But whither do you lead me Father? the melancholy

Tone of voice with which you bade me follow you,

Still vibrates on my ear.

Why heaves your breast so heavily?

Speak I conjure you! I will go no further.

This is the place!

VERRINA.

BOURGONINO.

O Father, if what you have to say,

Bear any likeness to this dreadful solitude,

My hairs will stand on end

VERRINA.

Tut, tut! This gloom is cheerfulness itself,
To the dark night that shadows my sad soul.
Were I to suit the temper of my Mind,

I'd lead you, where Corruption holds her banquet,
And the dread King of Terrors, grimly feasts
On mouldering remnants of Mortality!

I'd lead you where the shrieks of damned souls,
Amuse the hosts of Satan;

Where the big tears of sorrow fruitless roll

Along the leaky sieves of endless time.

I'd lead you, to the world's extremest bounds

Where Nature withers and looks blank with horror;

Where even the Deity puts off his essence

And Vice itself supplies the place of Virtue

There, while the Thunders roar'd, and Lightenings

Flash'd around me, I'd ease my burden'd soul
In wild convulsions, and thy young teeth should
Chatter at the tale!

BOURGONINO.

What is it, I conjure you!

VERRINA.

Young man, I fear thy blood is rosy red!

Thy heart is soft and easily affected!
Thy disposition tremblingly alive,

To all the various sorrows of Humanity!

Not so with me! The warmth of sensibility expires,
Beneath the clay cold touch of icy wisdom.
Had but the frost of age or hand of grief,
Subdu'd the lightsome sallies of thy spirits,
Had the black clotted blood of suffering nature,
Shut up each melting passage to thy heart;
Then, wer'st thou fit to understand my grief,

And start at my Resolve

Not so, my son!

BOURGONINO.

I'll hear it and make mine!

VERRINA.

Verrina spares thy heart

The painful duty. O Scipio! heavy burdens

Press upon my breast; a thought more dismal

Than the gloomy night, appals my shuddering soul!

'Tis more than human nature can sustain !

1

Alone I will perform the dreadful deed,

But not alone, can I support th' idea of it.

Were pride my failing, Scipio, I might tell thee,

How great the torment of a noble mind,

That dares to do-but trembles to-accomplish.

Greatness is fallen in the eyes of Heaven, to evolves!

And Friendship mourns, what Piety determines !

Hear me, Scipio!

BOURGONINO.

My soul is swallowed up in thine!

VERRINA.

Hear me, but answer nothing! nothing, young man;

No, not a single word! be silent as the grave.

Dies! I thank thee, God of Heaven, 'tis out at last!

Fiesko dies! yes-dies, my son, thro' me.

Now go, some deeds there are, which cast aside

The judgment of mankind, and own no other Arbiter

Than Heaven! 'Tis one of them! Go home, my son,

I neither ask your praise nor condemnation,