Or deck'd the honour of Merzon, and lived?
What more? I pass'd into the revel throng,
And sate me by the mistress of the feast.
Some marvell'd that thy absence should so far
Belie thy promise, some that thy place was fill'd
By me, the whilst the bride spoke tremblingly
To bid me welcome to the wedding cheer.

Eus. To make thee scorned of others as of her.

Mer. The time went by-the pausing mirth revived,

And all believed I came in friendliness

To banish idle fears of my revenge ;

While, 'midst the busy sounds of lute and song,

I told my grief, and woke a soft remorse

In her who listened.

Eus.

And who listen'd only

For a defender from thy cursed tongue.

Mer. She sigh'd and wept-" She knew not half my love,

She had been rash; yet, since the deed was done,
We must henceforth meet only in our prayers."

At length comes one with ghastly face to tell
The dire mischance which had befall'n the bridegroom;
And there were wonder and becoming woe,
And tears in some, and prophecies recalled,
Which beldames muttered ere you left the altar
How two false-hearted never could be blest,

And sudden wrath would follow. And what then?
The scared Mathilde sobb'd loudly with affright
And disappointment of her marriage hopes;

Whilst I renew'd the offer of my love,
And kind forgetfulness of all the past,
Eus. Ay, and she spurn'd thee.
Mer.

No; she was too thankful.

Eus. O, my good guard, be blest, and loose my chains

One instant whilst I tear this liar piecemeal.

Mer. Alas, poor youth, thou hast not strength enough

To carry thine own weight! I will have done.
A season pass'd in pitiful remembrance,
And decent weeds, shall faithfully be paid thee;
Nor will I chide her if, in after times,

She drops a wandering tear upon thy tomb,
Or lulls me with the strain you taught her.
Eus.

He hath destroy'd her, or she had been here

To scare him back to hell!

Mer.

To witness what I speak.

Which made you one.

Monster

She is come here

Behold the ring

She drew it from her finger

With horror, lest some unimagined judgment Should fall upon the wearer; and returns it By me, with pray'rs, that thou wilt die repentant. (To himself, as he walks slowly out, looking steadily back upon Eustache).

Ay! doth he writhe?—he made me live in torment; And thus in torment will I have him die.

Eus. (Clasping his hands). Be merciful, and teach me, ere I die,

If thou dost die for sparing me one hour,
Thy sins will be forgiven!

Guard.

Impossible

I pity thee, but have no power to spare.

Eus. (kneeling). Look-look-I kneel to thee, and

Let me but know my wife is innocent,

My blood shall gush with laughter from my veins !

EUSTACHE, GUARD, GENS-D'ARME.

Eus. Now, now, my messenger, let loose thy words,

Like one that's pleading for his life. Thou saw'st Mathilde.

Gens d'Arme. And did thy message—

Eus.

And the answer?

Gens d'Arme. The lady wept, and said a friend would bring it.

(Eustace dashes himself upon the ground).

I've seen Eustache stand boldly in the battle.

Guard. Would he had died there! it hath wrung

my heart

To look upon his anguish. His accuser

Was here but now to crush him with the news

Of his

young

bride's unworthiness. I would

Have stabb'd the wretch; but dar'd not for his.

power.

Gens d'Arme. His case is hard-'twere best to free

him quickly.

Come, rouse him.

Guard.

Now for pity do't thyself;

I'm only fit for common cruelties.

Gens d'Arme. Why, man, he hath a comrade in his death

Would move thee more-a delicate young boy,

And lovely as a maiden. I look'd on

The whilst he stood before our dread tribunal;
And when maturer victims groan'd and wept,

His cheek seem'd pale with sorrow more than fear :
He heard his sentence with a smile, and ask'd
No mercy saving leave to empt his veins

In the same current with Eustache. He comes,

I could not harm a thing so beautiful.

Guard. Who hath denounced him?

Gens d'Arme.

None that I could hear;

I saw him pressing through the crowd to join

A string of criminals who stood for sentence,
And there, in spite of one who strove to hold him
With tears and prayers, he gain'd what seem'd his

wish.

THE ABOVE. ANNABELLE (as a peasant boy),

Gerault, Guards, &c.

Ann. (Rushing to Eustache, bends over him, and speaks in a suppressed tone).

Thou'rt mine at last-our blood will now be wedded In a sweet stream, sacred to faithful love!

[The death-bell tolls.

Eus. (Springing up.) Mathilde, Mathilde! are there so many here,

And thou away?

Ger.

Be patient, good Eustache;

If she forgets thee, thou art still beloved

As never man hath been.

Eus.

I hear thee not!

I cannot for the beating of my heart;
He said he was to marry her! my wife!
O, no, no, no! which of you all will gain
The blessing of a dying man, and say
That she is dead?

[He sinks overpowered upon the bosom of Annabelle.
Ann.
He hath forgotten me.

Eus. Why do we stay? on, on, sweet friends, to

death,

For I am braver than the reeking Mars,

And scent my own blood with a raven's longing!

Pale, faithful, and forsaken Annabelle,

Was it for this I blanch'd thy blooming cheek?
Come hither one of you-I have a word

Of special trust (to Annabelle). There is a gentle girl
Who hath been faithful to me since the day