And I within my tablets would note down
That there is such a feeling. Who is there!

Re-enter HERMAN.

I leave to Heaven-' Vengeance is mine alone!'
So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness
His servant echoes back the awful word.
Man. Old man! there is no power in holy

men,

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St Maurice craves Nor charm in prayer-nor purifying form
To greet your presence.

Enter the ABBOT OF ST MAURICE.
Abbot. Peace be with Count Manfred!
Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these
walls;

Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those
Who dwell within them.

Abbot.
Would it were so, Count!-
But I would fain confer with thee alone.
Man. Herman, retire.-What would my
reverend guest?

Abbot. Thus, without prelude:-Age and
zeal, my office,

And good intent must plead my privilege;

Of penitence-nor outward look-nor fast-
Nor agony-nor, greater than all these,
The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
But all in all sufficient to itself

Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise

From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense
Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge
Upon itself: there is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.
All this is well;
For this will pass away, and be succeeded
By an auspicious hope, which shall look up
With calm assurance to that blessed place,

Abbot.

Our near, though not acquainted neighbour-Which all who seek may win, whatever be

Their earthly errors, so they be atoned:
And the commencement of atonement is
The sense of its necessity.-Say on- (taught;
And all our Church can teach thee shall be
And all we can absolve thee shall be pardon'd.
Man. When Rome's sixth emperor* was near
his last,

The victim of a self-inflicted wound,

To shun the torments of a public death
From senates once his slaves, a certain soldier,
With show of loyal pity, would have stanch'd
The gushing throat with his officious robe;
The dying Roman thrust him back, and said-
Some empire still in his expiring glance-
'It is too late-is this fidelity?'
Abbot. And what of this?
Man.

I answer with the Roman

Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits
Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
Thou communest. I know that with mankind,
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.
Man. And what are they who do avouchIt is too late!'
these things?
Abbot.
It never can be so,
To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, [hope?
And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no
'Tis strange-even those who do despair above,
Yet shape themselves some phantasy on earth,
To which frail twig they cling, like drowning

Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared pea-
santry-

Even thy own vassals-who do look on thee
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril.
Man. Take it.

Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy—|
I would not pry into thy secret soul;
But if these things be sooth, there still is time
For penitence and pity: reconcile thee
With the true church, and through the church
to Heaven.

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply: What-
I may have been, or am, doth rest between [e'er
Heaven and myself.-I shall not choose a mortal
To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd

men.

[visions

Man. Ay-father! I have had those earthly
And noble aspirations in my youth,
To make my own the mind of other men,
The enlightener of nations; and to rise
I knew not whither-it might be to fall;
But fall even as the mountain-cataract,
Which having leapt from its more dazzling
height,

Even in the foaming strength of its abyss,
Against your ordinances? Prove, and punish! (Which casts up misty columns that become
Abbot. My son! I do not speak of punish-Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,)
Lies low, but mighty still.-But this is past,
My thoughts mistook themselves.
Abbot.

ment,

But penitence and pardon ;-with thyself
The choice of such remains-and for the last,
Our institutions and our strong belief
Have given me power to smooth the path from
To higher hope and better thoughts; the first

[sin

Otho.

And wherefore so?

Man. I could not tame my nature down; for
he
[and sue-
Must serve who fain would sway; and soothe-
And watch all time-and pry into all place-
And be a living lie-who would become
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such
The mass are: I disdain'd to mingle with
A herd, though to be leader-and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I.

[men?
Abbot. And why not live and act with other
Man. Because my nature was averse from life;
And yet not cruel; for I would not make,
But find a desolation :-like the wind,
The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,
Which dwells but in the desert, and sweeps o'er
The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast,
And revels o'er their wild and arid waves,
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,
But being met is deadly; such hath been
The course of my existence; but there came
Things in my path which are no more.
Abbot.

Alas!

I'gin to fear that thou art past all aid
From me and from my calling; yet so young,
I still would-

Man.
Look on me! there is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
Without the violence of warlike death:
Some perishing of pleasure-some of study-
Some worn with toil-some of mere weariness-
Some of disease-and some insanity-
And some of wither'd or of broken hearts;
For this last is a malady which slays
More than are number'd in the lists of Fate,
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.
Look upon me! for even of all these things
Have I partaken; and of all these things
One were enough: then wonder not that I
Am what I am, but that I ever was,
Or having been, that I am still on earth.
Abbot. Yet, hear me still--
Man.
Old man! I do respect
Thine order, and revere thy years; I deem
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain :
Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself
Far more than me, in shunning at this time
All further colloquy-and so-farewell.

[Exit MANFRED. Abbot. This should have been a noble creature: he

Hath all the energy which would have made
A goodly frame of glorious elements,
Had they been wisely mingled; as it is,
It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-
And mind and dust- and passions and pure|

thoughts,

Mix'd, and contending without end or order-
All dormant or destructive: he will perish,
And yet he must not; I will try once more,
For such are worth redemption; and my duty
Is to dare all things for a righteous end.
I'll follow him-but cautiously, though surely.
[Exit ABBOT.

I will look on him.
|[MANFRED advances to the window of the hall.
of early nature, and the vigorous race
Glorious Orb! the idol
Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex
More beautiful than they, which did draw down
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere
The erring spirits, who can ne'er return.-
The mystery of thy making was reveal'd!
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,
Which gladden'd, on their mountain-tops, the
hearts

Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd
Themselves in orisons! Thou material God!
And representative of the Unknown- [star!
Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth
And hearts of all who walk within thy rays!
Endurable, and temperest the hues
Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,
And those who dwell in them! for near or far,
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee,
Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise,
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance

Of love and wonder was for thee, then take
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:
I follow.

[Exit MANFRED.

SCENE III. The Mountains-The Castle of
MANFRED at some distance. - A Terrace
before a Tower.-Time, Twilight.

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of
MANFRED.

Her. 'Tis strange enough: night after night,
for years,

He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,
Without a witness. I have been within it-
So have we all been ofttimes: but from it,
Or its contents, it were impossible
To draw conclusions absolute, of aught
His studies tend to. To be sure, there is
One chamber where none enter: I would give
The fee of what I have to come these three
To pore upon its mysteries.
[years,
Manuel.
'Twere dangerous;
Content thyself with what thou know'st already.
Her. Ay, Manuel! thou art elderly and wise,

And it came to pass, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair,' &c.-There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown. -GEN. vi. 2, 4.

A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not [free-Than that of man; and in her starry shade

But yet one prayer-Alas! how fares it with thee?
Man. Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.

[MANFRED expires. | Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone.

Abbot. He's gone-his soul hath ta'en its earthless flight

MARINO FALIERO, DOGE OF VENICE:

AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY.

IN FIVE ACTS.

1820.

'Dux inquieti turbidus Adria.'-HORACE.'

PREFACE.

THE Conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero is one of the most remarkable events in the annals of the most singular government, city, and people of modern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Everything about Venice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect is like a dream, and her history is like a romance. The story of this Doge is to be found in all her Chronicles, and particularly detailed in the 'Lives of the Doges,' by Marin Sanuto, which is given in the Appendix. It is simply and clearly related, and is perhaps more dramatic in itself than any which can be founded upon the subject.

Marino Faliero appears to have been a man of talents and of courage. I find him commanderin-chief of the land forces at the siege of Zara, where he beat the king of Hungary and his army of eighty thousand men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the besieged at the same time in check; an exploit to which I know none similar in history, except that of Cæsar at Alesia, and of Prince Eugene at Belgrade. He was afterwards commander of the fleet in the same war. He took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa and Rome, at which last he received the news of his election to the dukedom; his absence being a proof that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprised of his predecessor's death and his own succession at the same moment. But he appears to have been of an ungovernable temper. A story is told by Sanuto, of his having, many years before, when podesta and captain at Treviso, boxed the ears of the bishop, who was somewhat tardy in bringing the Host. For this, honest Sanuto 'saddles him with a judgment,' as Thwackum did Square; but he does not tell us whether he was punished or rebuked by the Senate for this outrage at the time of its commission. He seems, indeed, to have been afterwards at peace with the church, for we find him ambassador at Rome, and invested with the fief of Val di Marino, in the march of Treviso, and with the title of count, by Lorenzo Count-bishop of Ceneda. For these facts my authorities are Sanuto, Vettor Sandi, Andrea Navagero, and the account of the siege of Zara, first published by the indefatigable Abate Morelli, in his Monumenti Veneziani di varia Letteratura,' printed in 1796, all of which I have looked over in the original language. The moderns, Darù, Sismondi, and Laugier, nearly agree with the ancient chroniclers. Sismondi attributes the conspiracy to his jealousy, but I find this nowhere asserted by the national historians. Vettor Sandi, indeed, says, that dalla gelosa suspizion di esso Doge siasi fatto (Michael Steno) staccar

'Altri scrissero che. con violenza,' &c. &c. : but this appears to have been by no means the general opinion, nor is it alluded to by Sanuto, or by Navagero: and Sandi himself adds, a moment after, that per altre Veneziane memorie traspiri, che non il solo desiderio di vendetta lo dispose alla congiura ma anche la innata abituale ambizion sua, per cui anelava a farsi principe independente.' The first motive appears to have been excited by the gross affront of the words written by Michael Steno on the ducal chair, and by the light and inadequate sentence of the Forty on the offender, who was one of their 'tre Capi.' The attentions of Steno himself appear to have been directed towards one of her damsels, and not the 'Dogaressa' herself, against whose fame not the slightest insinuation appears, while she is praised for her beauty, and remarked for her youth. Neither do I find it asserted (unless the hint of Sandi be an assertion), that the Doge was actuated by