His faithful armour covers his bold breast;
Yet in the days unguarded, of repose,
When but thin silk wraps his luxurious frame,
Then finds the murderous dagger its free way,
And evil demons, that lay hid, at once
Break forth and triumph! Here, oh here
alone,

Let me have peace; and then let England

rage,

Let Nature's laws be horribly reversed,
And every sinful deed come forth in sunlight;
Here let me but have peace, and then I fear
not!

Ros. Our children, love, have prattled much of thee!

I am so glad when thus the little ones Lip, in mine arms, thy name; and for their father

Ask me so fondly, "If he will not come Home to them soon, and play with them once more ?"

They are indeed dear children! Richard still, Whene'er the door is opened, calls aloud, "There comes my father! He will bring for me

A sword at last! He will not break his promise!".

Hem. That boy will be a soldier, and a brave one!

I have high hopes of him!

Res. And yet to-day

Thou art not cheerful, Henry! On thy brow Each furrow wont to disappear, when thus Thy Rosamund embrac'd thee! but alas! Tis not so now!-What is the cause, dear husband?

Hen. Nought of importance. But these gloomy times

Will leave no mind at rest.
Ros. Nay, there is more
Than this to-day. Oh tell it me! This right
Of a fond wife, if others are denied,

I may demand of thee. Let me but share Thy sorrows and thy toils !-See! thou art drawn

From home, and life around thee rages wildly; Thou stand'st with thy proud heart alone, to brave

The stormy waves undaunted; but oh grant
That I may hold my place in that wild tumult;
There should I be; nor idly in repose
Dally mine hours away, while thus my hus-
band

With deep deceit and faction wild contends!
See, yonder oak, that long has brav'd the

storm,

And heavenward sends its mighty boughs;

'tis true,

It trusts in the old strength of its tried roots, And still may trust them. Yet behold, the

green

And slender ivy, with affection's grasp
Clings round the stem, as if to hold it fast!
Oh leave then to this ivy, though it were
All but a dream-Oh leave the consolation,
To think that, in the embraces of true love,
Hercak blooms more securely!-Leave her

but

This joy!

Hen. Yet if the storm indeed should come, And tear at last the faithful roots from earth, And break the branches; or the thunderbolt Rend even the stem asunder?

Ros. So let it be !

Then shall the ivy wither and die too! For she more firmly than the roots adhere To life, twin'd round the tree.

Hen. (aside.) Oh! shall the pride Never be mine, unto the world to tell How noble is the soul that here hath lov'd me? Ros. Now for thy secret cause of grief? Hen. I came

Straightway from court; there I beheld the throne

By faction's rage assail'd; I saw the king Misunderstood even by his dearest friends; For this I griev'd. What boots it the poor Henry,

That England styles him her good king? That still

The barons have obeyed him-and that Ireland

Is peacefully subdued; and even that Europe

Acknowledges in him a dauntless warrior! Still wretched is the king, condemned to

bear

The matrimonial chain with one whom he Deeply despises-knowing, too, the treason Of his unnatural sons, that now are arm'd Against their father? Where is then the fortune

That he perchance deserv'd? Aye, he indeed,

Deserv'd a better fate ;-his ardent zeal For the land's welfare, and his subjects" rights

His sympathy with every noble deed,
His restless efforts for the good of all-
Even when at times he fail'd-Aye, this
indeed

Deserv'd a better fate! Yet he must now Catch, even by stealth, at every drop of joy ; And every transient hour of bliss so gain'd, ('Tis but a shadow !) from all eyes conceal! His marriage vows have made his people free,

But he remains the slave of his own throne, A splendid sacrifice to save his country.

Ros. O how I do compassionate the king! Hen. By heaven, he is not of thy tears unworthy!

Ros. Thou art with thy whole heart to him devoted

Is it not so?

Hen. His unimparted grief, That sometimes is unconsciously betrayed, Indeed hath mov'd me!

Ros. "Tis methinks a lot Fearful, and chilling to the soul to be Thus with a being uncongenial joined, With whom there is no love nor confidence.

Perchance to know that in some other heart

Throb the deep sympathetic chords of love;
Yet, by indissoluble bonds controll'd,
That knowledge to conceal or to forget.

Here virtue, that is wont to smile so mildly,
Almost appears terrific, when the rights

Of Love and Duty fiercely thus contend, And mortal law holds wedded souls asunder! How do I thank thee Heaven that I am spared

This worst of earthly grief!

for stage effect, has seldom or never been excelled, the second act is concluded.

After this adventure, Richard and

arms.)

Rosamund, Henry, Richard, and Southwell.

Rich. Ha! devil! let me go!

cottage not far from Woodstock. Here (at the beginning of the third act) the prince is visited by Armand, the insidious favourite of Queen Leonora, who comes to engage Richard in rebellion with his brothers. The dialogue is here so spirited and interesting, that we shall insert the scene entire.

ACT III.

from me!

well.

Of her old warlike fame. Deceive not, then,

The people's faith, nor to posterity Refuse the brilliant star of such example, To gleam o'er future ages.

Rich. Spare thy words, sir,
Nor tax thy wit, the foul pestiferous head
Of serpent-like Sedition to adorn

With laurel wreathes. Am I a child, to be
By thy false gaudy ornaments attracted,
And so the bitter cup with smiles to drain?
Thou fool! believe me, Richard is a man!
In every nerve and pulse I feel it now.-
In one dire night, Fate from her fiery forge
Has drawn and fashion'd me. By Heaven
she plies

The hammer well!-Tell me at once, what would'st thou ?

Ar. King Lewis now, with many a prince

and baron,

The Scottish king, the chiefs of Blois and Flanders,

Are in one solemn league together join'd, Your father to dethrone. Prince Henry then

Shall be our ruler. Both your brothers, sir, Last night subscribed the deed. Your sig

nature

Alone is wanting; and such trust the princes Repose in Richard's valour, that without him, They would not hurl the blazing torch of

war;

Therefore they wait your signature, and then

England at once on every side assail'd Must yield. So shall ere long King Henry fall,

And thou shalt be aveng'd.

Rich. This plan has been
Begot beyond the sea. Such inspiration
Of hell prevails not on our British shores.
Ar. My prince, resolve! The ship is
ready now

That may to realms of liberty convey you!
The people in your county, Poitou,
And in Guienne, await you. "Tis indeed
A hard condition; but in power like yours,
Valour and fortune, the allies confide,
Even were King Henry's forces doubly

And recreant to my country; every law
Of sacred love and filial duty thus
I trample under foot-and yet I must!
The world may still condemn me--but I call
On every soul to place itself as I

Now at this hour am placed, 'mid the same

waves

Of wild contention-it would act as I do! No-none may ever know how much I suffer!

Recede I cannot-tho' before me, Crime, And Guilt, and Shame, with spectral features glare,

I cannot-cannot recede! Fate goads me on, My star has disappeared that led me rightly; And rayless night o'erwhelms me in the abyss!

Yet courage-courage, Richard! "Tis but one stroke!

So ends at once the struggling of thy soul!
The way to Heaven is to the wanderer hard,
But one straight forward path leads down to
Hell!
(He writes.
'Tis done! Now, Armand, I am yours at
last--
Thou hast me wholly. "Tis no little con-
quest!
Already here I feel it! Here the fires
Of hell are burning. Now the son declares
War against his own father. From the
depth

Of hell-begotten feelings rises now
The monster of rebellion in my soul !
To blood and fire our country is decreed,
And I am chosen for each murderous deed!
(Exeunt.

The third scene of this act opens in the hall of the royal palace, whither King Henry had been summoned from Woodstock (by letters of the Lord Chancellor), even before the recovery of Rosamund from the deadly swoon into which she had fallen, on her first being acquainted with the true circumstances of her supposed marriage. The king is here introduced, painfully dwelling on the various sources of agitation by which he is assailed, and attended by his youngest son, Prince John, to whom, influenced by momentary irritability, he speaks almost harshly, until the boy, by unrestrained expressions of his loyalty and filial affection, compels his father to acknowledge, with much tenderness, the fidelity and truth of his attachment. In the fourth scene, Humphrey Bohun, commander in chief of the royalist forces, makes his appearance to detail all the formidable arrangements and unnatural treasons of the enemy; and to receive, in return, his master's directions for the prompt and due conduct of a defensive war. Upon the exit of Bohun, the G

That in their guilt I shared !

Hen. Not so, my son ! From future times thou shalt not fail to gain Thy due reward of praise-yet now indeed Thou art too weak; and I with zealous care Must from the storm protect that only branch Of England's tree that proves to me yet faithful.

John. Yet, where shall I be stationed?
with my mother?

That may not be ! Father, I cannot bear
Her bitter words, without the fearful strife
Of shame and anger in my heart. With thee
Oh let me go; for if I here remain,
I cannot choose but hate her!

Henry. (alone.) How stand'st thou now, so leafless and so lorn,

Proud tree, that shadow'd England! See, thy boughs,

Wherein thou didst rejoice, break faithless all, In the wild day-storm-and the clouds rise up

In dusky ranks along the horizon,
And in their banners, deeply shrouded, bear
The thunderbolt, to rend thy heart asunder!
Yet courage! thine old trunk is living still;-
"Tis the old stem-to battle used, and con-
quest-

That many an equinoctial blast defied,
And whose Briarean roots in countless arms
Extending cling to earth. The boughs may
break,

We must now pass over a very highly animated and forcible dialogue be tween the jealous and vindictive Leonora and the King, in order to make room for the following beautiful descriptions of Rosamund in her afflic tion. The garden scene somehow reminds us of a highly poetical passage which we lately quoted from the works of Mr Shelley. We seem vividly to behold around us the fading flowers of summer, that by their touching associations render so much more impressive the expressions of her grief. There is evinced in these few short

speeches of the heroine a stilly mood of resigned meditation and voluntary suffering, accompanied with a visionary and creative sensibility, which no poet has, by the most laborious and artificial efforts, excelled.

ACT III.

SCENE IX.-The Garden at Woodstock. Enter (from the Castle) O'Neale and George. Geo. How is it with the lady?

O'N. Wonderful

In tears and lamentation. No complaint And sacred is her sorrow. It speaks not Has told her sufferings; for these far exceed The power of words to announce. She made

a sign

That we should leave her. Clara still reremain'd,

And brought anon the children to their mother.

After an hour of dread anxiety

I look'd into the chamber. There, Oh
Heaven,

How did I find her! Pale and motionless,
She sat in resignation-like a saint,
Wrapt up in deep abstraction, yet so mild
And calmly resolute! Me she beheld not,
Nor even her children-though on them her

The deep contention of the soul within ;) But when at last from morning's cloudy bed The new day rous'd itself in light and joy. Her arms at once she stretch'd out to the sun, As if in silent prayer; then on her knees Sunk down, and press'd her children to her heart,

With a long kiss. Their little arms were wound

Still closely round her. Softly, then, she said, **Take them to sleep!" I took the children up,

And Clara went with them. When we returned,

The door was lock'd; yet from without we

Saw

The sainted sufferer still upon her knees; And then her sorrow seemed dissolv'd in tears. Gea. But now

O'N. She longs once more to be refresh'd By wandering through the garden. Just now Clara

Was call'd into her chamber. She now seem'd
Yet more composed and mild in her affliction.
Oh! this meek resignation breaks my heart!
Gea. There, I heard Clara's voice!
O'N. Aye-they are near us.
Let us retire unseen into the castle.
Methinks the King will not stay long away;
With every moment now I look for him.
[Exeunt.

SCENE X.-The Garden as before.
Rosamund and Clara.

Rer. Dear Clara, let me rest here.
Cia. Art thou not

Better 'mid this pure air?

Ros. Aye, dearest friend.

My chamber walls look'd out so darkly on

me,

And the roof seem'd to weigh upon my heart.
Here 'tis so light and free! No prison bars
Limit the roaming of the watchful eye,
That seeks in azure distance calm repose.
Far o'er the varied tapestry of the clouds,
That deck the starry temple of the sky,
Mounts up the soul, in liberty rejoicing,
Beyond all worldly ties and earthly woes.
Cla. See how the summer kindly takes
her leave!

There the last brilliant race of Asters bloom
Ia varied hues ; and, in the mallow's flower
Of paley tint, I recognize once more,
The harbinger of Autumn.

Ros. Am I then

In Woodstock grown a stranger? Is not this Mine own old garden? Are not these the flowers

That I myself have rear'd? And, round me still,

The venerable oaks that oft in hours
Of gladness rustled near me?

Ch. Know'st thou not

Thine old friends, Rosa? Can thy sorrows thus Remembrance cloud?

Ros. Seest thou this rose, my friend? It was my favourite plant, and every morn I prop'd and watered it. To-day I cannot !

Beholds the sun, its blushing leaves will fall, And the west winds will softly bear away These fragrant spoils of love's own favourite flower!

Aye, once more I must see him—this I know

That hour I shall not long survive-and yet
It must be so. This love I cannot conquer;
Cannot renounce, nor kill-it is immortal,
Even as my soul. As I have loved him, so
For ever I must love him. The soul dies
not,

Nor love, that of that spirit hath possession;
But as the mildly-beaming emerald,
Within its golden shrine, trembles at guilt,
So that within a villain's grasp it breaks-
So must the heart, by holiest passion rul'd,
After some brief and vain contention, pe-
rish,

If once pale guilt with poisonous breath assails it!

Cla. Unconscious crimes involve no real guilt.

Ros. But conscience, now awake, enjoins me penance.

Cla. Wilt thou for ever then renounce thy husband?

Ros. For ever Clara? no, that may not be!

There I am his again! Only on earth Devoted hearts must separate. In heaven We shall in happiness unite once more; With life must I atone for guilt-and death At last shall bear me pure to realms of light.

Cla. Methought I heard thy Henry's

voice

Ros. Oh heaven,

He comes-now, heart be firm-for here

the last

And fearful strife awaits thee. One dire conflict-

And I shall have o'ercome. Go, call the children!

Cla. May heaven support thee!
Ros. Aye-methinks the skies
Are smiling on me-and I feel my soul
Resolved and calm!

(CLARA retires.

King Henry now enters, accompanied by O'Neale and Prince John, having resolved to leave the latter at Woodstock during his absence in France. In a short but affecting dialogue the young prince is introduced to Rosamund, and then, having retired with O'Neale, the hero and heroine are left together. We need offer no