The King's College Magazine

Enter KOSINSKY.

Kos. Now, captain, why do you tarry? What is it? will you stay here longer?

R. MOOR. Up! saddle the horses! before sunset we must be over the bounds!

Kos. You joke.

R. MOOR. Quick! quick! Tarry no longer; leave all there; and let no eye see you.

[Exit Kosinsky.

The least delay would make Brother! brother! thou hast

R. MOOR. I fly from these walls. me rage, and he is my father's son. made me the most wretched on the earth; I never injured thee; it was not brotherly done. Reap the fruit of thy crime in peace; my presence shall no longer embitter thy satisfaction;-but, truly, it was not brotherly done. Darkness quench it for ever, and the dead rouse it not up!

Enter KOSINSKY.

Kos. The horses are saddled, you can mount when you will. R. MOOR. Why so hastily? shall I see her no more? Kos. I can unbridle them again if you will: you bid me hurry over head and neck.

R. MOOR. Yet once! yet one farewell! I must fully drain this poisoned draught of blessedness, and then-stay, Kosinsky! Ten minutes hence-be in the castle yard-and we start from thence!

SCENE IV.-In the garden. AMELIA.

AMEL. You weep, Amelia?—and that he said with a tone! with a tone-it seemed as though nature grew young again-the past spring-time of love dawned with that tone! The nightingale sang as of old; the blossoms breathed as of old; and I lay lost in delight upon his neck. Ha, false, faithless heart! how wilt thou excuse thy perjury? No! no! away from my soul, thou wicked picture-I have not broken my oath, thou only-one! Away from my soul, ye traitorous, godless wishes! in the heart where Charles reigns, no son of earth may dwell. But why, my soul, dost thou turn so constantly, so unwillingly, towards this stranger? Does he not cleave to the form of my only-one? Is he not the eternal companion of my only-one? You weep, Amelia? Ha, I will fly from him! fly!- -never shall mine eye see this stranger! R. MOOR, (opens the garden door.)

AMEL. (starts.) Hark! hark! did not the door creak? (She sees Charles, and springs up.) Him? where? what?—he hath rooted me here, that I cannot fly-Leave me not, God in heaven! No, thou shalt not tear me from my Charles! My soul hath not room for two deities, and I am a mortal maiden! (She takes out Charles's picture.) Thou, my Charles, be my guardian against this stranger this love-disturber! thee, to see thee unchanged,and away with all godless looks after this. (She sits with her eyes fixed on the picture.)

R. MOOR. Thou here, gracious lady? and mournful? and a tear upon this painting? (Amelia does not answer.) And who is the fortunate one for whom the eye of an angel grows silvery? May I also see this

AMEL. No, no!

R. MOOR, (drawing back.) Ha! and deserves he this adoration?-deserves he

AMEL. If thou hadst known him!

R. MOOR. I should have envied him.

AMEL. Worshipped, shouldst thou say.

R. MOOR. Ha!

AMEL. Oh, thou wouldest have loved him so there was so much, so much in his face-in his eye-in the tone of his voice, that was so like yours-that I so love

R. MOOR, (looks on the earth.)

AMEL. Here, where thou standest, stood he a thousand times— and near him one, who, near him, forgot earth and heaven; here his eye wandered over the beautiful country-that seemed to feel his great rewarding look, and to grow more beautiful under the pleasure of its master-form; here, with his heavenly music, he held chained the listeners of the air; here, from this bush, he plucked a rose-and plucked the rose for me; here, here he lay on my neck, and the flowers died willingly under the foot-tread of the loving

R. MOOR. He is no more?

AMEL. He sailed on the stormy seas-Amelia's love sailed with him; he wandered through untrodden sandy deserts-Amelia's love made the burning sand under him green, and the wild bushes bloom; the moon scorched his bare head, northern snows pinched his feet, the stormy hail rained upon his temples-and Amelia's love tended him in the storm; seas, and mountains, and horizons were between the lovers-but the souls freed themselves from their

dusty prison, and met in the paradise of love ;-you seem sad, Sir Count?

R. MOOR. The words of love make my love also living.

AMEL. (pale.) What! you love another? Woe me, what have I said?

R. MOOR. She believed me dead, and remained true to the dead; she heard again that I lived, and sacrificed for me the crown of an anointed. She knew that I wandered in the desert, and in misery—and her love followed me through the desert and misery. She was called Amelia, too, like thee, gracious lady. AMEL. HOW I envy thy Amelia !

R. MOOR. Oh, she is an unhappy maiden; her love is for one who is lost, and will-never be rewarded.

AMEL. No, it will be rewarded in heaven: say they not there is a better world, where the mourners rejoice, and the loving meet again?

R. MOOR. Yes, a world where the veil drops, and love finds itself again in horror-Eternity is its name!-my Amelia is an unhappy maiden.

AMEL. Unhappy, and love thee?

R. MOOR. Unhappy because she loves me! how, if I were a murderer? how, my lady? if thy beloved could count thee a murder for each kiss? woe to my Amelia! she is an unhappy maiden.

AMEL. (joyfully.) Ha! how happy a maiden am I. My onlyone is the reflection of the Godhead, and the Godhead is grace and mercy ! He would not see a fly suffer: his soul is as far from a thought of blood, as the south is from the north. R. MOOR, (turns round quickly.) AMEL. (plays on the lute and sings.)

Oh, Hector! wilt thou ever from me go
To where the murdering iron biddeth flow
Its purple sacrifice of blood?

Oh! who will then thy little children show
With manly, warlike skill the spear to throw,
When thou art sailing on the Xanthus flood?

R. MOOR, (takes the lute and plays.)

My dearest wife! go fetch the deadly lance,

And let me forth to the wild warlike dance.

(He throws the lute away, and rushes from the place.)
(To be continued.)

THE

KING'S COLLEGE MAGAZINE.

JANUARY, 1842.

CONTENTS.

CHRISTMAS

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