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the moonlight. Then I stood so near,

       I heard him mutt’ring o’er the plant. A wizard!

       Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employments.

      Osorio. What may his name be?

      Ferdinand. That I cannot tell you. 135

       Only Francesco bade an officer

       Speak in your name, as lord of this domain.

       So he was question’d, who and what he was.

       This was his answer: Say to the Lord Osorio,

       ‘He that can bring the dead to life again.’ 140

      Osorio. A strange reply!

      Ferdinand. Aye — all of him is strange.

       He call’d himself a Christian — yet he wears

       The Moorish robe, as if he courted death.

      Osorio. Where does this wizard live?

      Ferdinand (pointing to a distance). You see that brooklet?

       Trace its course backward thro’ a narrow opening 145

       It leads you to the place.

      Osorio. How shall I know it?

      Ferdinand. You can’t mistake. It is a small green dale

       Built all around with high off-sloping hills,

       And from its shape our peasants aptly call it

       The Giant’s Cradle. There’s a lake in the midst, 150

       And round its banks tall wood, that branches over

       And makes a kind of faery forest grow

       Down in the water. At the further end

       A puny cataract falls on the lake;

       And there (a curious sight) you see its shadow 155

       For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke,

       Up through the foliage of those faery trees.

       His cot stands opposite — you cannot miss it.

       Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash

       Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters 160

       O’er the new thatch.

      Osorio. I shall not fail to find it.

      [Exit OSORIO. FERDINAND goes into his house.

      Scene changes.

      The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various

       kinds are seen.

      ALBERT and MAURICE.

      Albert. He doth believe himself an iron soul,

       And therefore puts he on an iron outward

       And those same mock habiliments of strength

       Hide his own weakness from himself.

      Maurice. His weakness! 165

       Come, come, speak out! Your brother is a villain!

       Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours

       You suffer him to hold!

      Albert. Maurice! dear Maurice!

       That my return involved Osorio’s death

       I trust would give me an unmingl’d pang — 170

       Yet bearable. But when I see my father

       Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the ground

       Which soon must be his grave; and my Maria,

       Her husband proved a monster, and her infants

       His infants — poor Maria! — all would perish, 175

       All perish — all! — and I (nay bear with me!)

       Could not survive the complicated ruin!

      Maurice (much affected). Nay, now, if I have distress’d you — you

       well know,

       I ne’er will quit your fortunes! true, ‘tis tiresome.

       You are a painter — one of many fancies — 180

       You can call up past deeds, and make them live

       On the blank canvas, and each little herb,

       That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest,

       You’ve learnt to name — but I ——

      Albert. Well, to the Netherlands

       We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange 185

       Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance

       Of our past service.

      Maurice. Heard you not some steps?

      Albert. What if it were my brother coming onward!

       Not very wisely (but his creature teiz’d me)

       I sent a most mysterious message to him. 190

      Maurice. Would he not know you?

      Albert. I unfearingly

       Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead;

       And what the mind believes impossible,

       The bodily sense is slow to recognize.

       Add too my youth, when last we saw each other; 195

       Manhood has swell’d my chest, and taught my voice

       A hoarser note.

      Maurice. Most true! And Alva’s Duke

       Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands

       He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon,

       During our long imprisonment.

      Enter OSORIO.

      Albert. It is he! 200

      Maurice. Make yourself talk; you’ll feel the less. Come, speak.

       How do you find yourself? Speak to me, Albert.

      Albert (placing his hand on his heart). A little fluttering

       here; but more of sorrow!

      Osorio. You know my name, perhaps, better than me.

       I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. 205

      Albert (groaning aloud). The son of Velez!

      [OSORIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks

       attentively at the plants.

      Maurice. Why, what ails you now?

      [ALBERT grasps MAURICE’S hand in agitation.

      Maurice. How your hand trembles, Albert! Speak! what wish you?

      Albert. To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish!

      Osorio (returning). All very curious! from a ruin’d abbey

       Pluck’d in the moonlight. There’s a strange power in weeds 210

       When a few odd prayers have been mutter’d o’er them.

       Then they work miracles! I warrant you,

       There’s not a leaf, but underneath it lurks

       Some serviceable imp. There’s one of you,

       Who sent me a strange message.

      Albert. I am he! 215

      Osorio. I will speak with you, and by yourself.

      [Exit MAURICE.

      Osorio. ‘He that can bring the dead to life again.’

       Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard,

       But one that strips the outward rind of things!

      Albert.

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