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mysteriously inscribed by nature, 305

       Perchance may piece out and interpret thine.

       Command thyself! Be secret! His true father ——

       Hear’st thou?

      Glycine. O tell —

      Bethlen (rushing out). Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!

       Who is my father?

      Sarolta (gazing with surprise). Thine? Thy father? Rise!

      Glycine. Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310

      Sarolta. His countenance, not his act!

      Glycine. Rise, Bethlen! Rise!

      Bethlen. No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan’s tongue

       Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth

       And have no power to rise! Give me a father!

       There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes 315

       That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it,

       And bring it back, and make it plead for me

       In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me

       A name in the world!

      Sarolta. By that blest Heaven I gazed at,

       I know not who thou art. And if I knew, 320

       Dared I — But rise!

      Bethlen. Blest spirits of my parents,

       Ye hover o’er me now! Ye shine upon me!

       And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin,

       I feel and seek the light I can not see!

      Sarolta. Thou see’st yon dim spot on the mountain’s ridge, 325

       But what it is thou know’st not. Even such

       Is all I know of thee — haply, brave youth,

       Is all Fate makes it safe for thee to know!

      Bethlen. Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger,

       And it shall be my birthright!

      Sarolta (aside). That look again! — 330

       The wood which first incloses, and then skirts

       The highest track that leads across the mountains —

       Thou know’st it, Bethlen?

      Bethlen. Lady, ‘twas my wont

       To roam there in my childhood oft alone

       And mutter to myself the name of father. 335

       For still Bathory (why, till now I guessed not)

       Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing

       Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror ——

      Glycine. Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves,

       Vampires, and monstrous ——

      Sarolta. Moon-calves, credulous girl! 340

       Haply some o’ergrown savage of the forest

       Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.

       After that last great battle, (O young man!

       Thou wakest anew my life’s sole anguish) that

       Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory 345

       Led by a cry, far inward from the track,

       In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest,

       Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe.

       The robe that wrapt thee was a widow’s mantle.

      Bethlen. An infant’s weakness doth relax my frame. 350

       O say — I fear to ask ——

      Sarolta. And I to tell thee.

      Bethlen. Strike! O strike quickly! See, I do not shrink.

       I am stone, cold stone.

      Sarolta. Hid in a brake hard by,

       Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,

       A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning 355

       Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,

       That strained towards the babe. At length one arm

       Painfully from her own weight disengaging,

       She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom

       Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated 360

       Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,

       And kneeling spake: ‘If aught of this world’s comfort

       Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man’s troth,

       That at my life’s risk I will save thy child!’

       Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing 365

       A loud voice, but it died upon her lips

       In a faint whisper, ‘Fly! Save him! Hide — hide all!’

      Bethlen. And did he leave her? What! had I a mother?

       And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life

       With the desertion of a dying mother? 370

       Oh agony!

      Glycine. Alas! thou art bewildered,

       And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!

      Bethlen. What else can I remember, but a mother

       Mangled and left to perish?

      Sarolta. Hush, Glycine!

       It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: 375

       Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,

       And it will find a mirror in the waters

       It now makes boil above it. Check him not!

      Bethlen. O that I were diffused among the waters

       That pierce into the secret depths of earth, 380

       And find their way in darkness! Would that I

       Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!

       And I would seek her! for she is not dead!

       She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady!

       You were about to say, that he returned — 385

      Sarolta. Deep Love, the godlike in us, still believes

       Its objects as immortal as itself!

      Bethlen. And found her still —

      Sarolta. Alas! he did return,

       He left no spot unsearched in all the forest,

       But she (I trust me by some friendly hand) 390

       Had been borne off.

      Bethlen. O whither?

      Glycine. Dearest Bethlen!

       I would that you could weep like me! O do not

       Gaze so upon the air!

      Sarolta. While he was absent,

       A friendly troop, ‘tis certain, scoured the wood,

       Hotly pursued indeed by Emerick.

      Bethlen. Emerick. 395

       Oh hell!

      Glycine. Bethlen!

      Bethlen. Hist! I’ll curse him in a whisper!

       This gracious lady must hear blessings only.

       She hath not yet the glory round her head,

       Nor those strong eagle wings, which make swift way

      

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