And thrown me at his feet-that must not be.

My sweetest Julia! come my child, sit by me,
And let us talk of all your golden hopes,
When wedded to the only man deserving
So rich a prize, my dearest girl shall reign,
The cherish'd ruler of his noble life,

Her smiles his best reward, a tear, my love?
Julia. I cannot leave you.

March. But should I leave you!

You are surprised-well, let it pass-when saw you

Your Father?

Julia. Now he left me on the moment.
March. And said he ought of me?
Julia. He seem'd disturb'd,

But when I urg'd him to reveal the cause
Of his distress, he turn'd away and left me.
I fear, I have displeas'd him.

March. No, no, fear not,

Sing me that song, my love, Lord Dormer gave

you:

Soft shall it pour its melancholy tones,

Tho' fiction now has lost its power to charm,

Those days are pass'd.

(Julia sings, and the curtain slowly falls.)

Whose is

yon bier that crowds the ways,

Pale virgins weep around,

And from the black pall turn their gaze,
To dew the kindred ground.

Beauty and youth, alas! lie buried there:
Weep, virgins, weep, tis pity's genuine tear.

SCENE II.-An Apartment of LORD DORMER'S.

LORD DORMER alone.

L. Dor. Astonishment and horror still pos

sess me

And hold divided empire with my Julia.
To find his father thus !

Enter DESMOND.

Desmond! how is it with you?

Des. Wreck'd, wreck'd of every hope on

this side heav'n :

Wand'ring alone upon the barren strand

Of life-an outcast wretch.

L. Dor. This wild despair

Announces all is lost-I bleed for you.

Des. She tortur'd her indignant mind for
forms

Of fell abhorrence and disgust, and left
Her sex's softness, harshly to pronounce,
Expressions full of taunting cruelty.

L. Dor. Was she surpriz'd at your escape

from prison?

Des. One feeling only occupied her soul: The pois'nous rancour of malignant hate. L. Dor. 'Twas she, 'twas she, that gave you back to freedom.

Des. No, no, believe it not-though for th' offence,

E'en she might deem the punishment sufficient.
L. Dor. But you address'd her angrily, I fear,
And urg'd your claims with too much violence.
Des. Trust me! most scrupulously careful
was I,

No accidental word should leave my lips,
That malice might condemn, or misinterpret.
No service I entreated her, no favor

Did I solicit, 'twas my wish alone
Most justly to restore the property

She had conferr'd upon the son she hates:
I bow'd submissive to her keen reproach,
I uttered no complaint.

L. Dor. Tis very strange:

Des. Tis more than strange? still there is one

resource:

To that I fly-Who could longer bear

Thus to be trampled on :

L. Dor. Deep from my soul

I pity you, yet tho' your hapless fate

Pervades my mind, chasing each other thought, I can devise no remedy.

Des. Yes, yes,

Dormer there's one-and I will use it quickly. L. Dor. What mean you?

Des. She shall meet Don Ferdinand.

L. Dor. Meet him? Don Ferdinand? the

fell seducer,

The sanguinary fiend, to whom she owes Twenty long years of sighs, and groans, and

tears:

Confront her with Don Ferdinand? the thought Checks the warm current of my blood, and

freezes

Each motion of my frame to stiffen'd horror.
All righteous heaven! blast him, as he moves
His step to meet her-take his forfeit life!
Ye sacred powers! that guard the good and fair,
What had she been, had that man ne'er existed!
We read of arts like his, and weep to madness
O'er the dread visions of the poet's fancy :
What, were it thought the pitiless tragedy
Had e'er been acted on the stage of life!
Des. Forgive me, Dormer, 'twas a transient
thought,

Conceiv'd in anger: I resign it all,

Yet spare this keen invective on my father.

L. Dor. Tis I must pray forgiveness from you

Desmond.

And I must trespass on your patience still,

Thro' counsel harsh, tho' as I hope, convincing.

Des. I know your constant friendship and your zeal

That oft outruns your judgment in my favor: I have a shrewd conjecture of your meaning, But let me not anticipate: say on.

L. Dor. What you have seen of this most
noble woman,

Must in your mind decide her character.
Her purpose, you observe, if right or wrong,
Twere needless now to argue, is unshaken:
Her's are not feelings of the fleeting moment,
That rise, and rise, but still to pass away,
Not as mere passions sway they, acting e'er
As steady principles.

Des. Most true, alas!

L. Dor. It is the cherish'd object of her life, Dearer than life itself, to bear unstained

The name transmitted thro' an endless line, Drawn from a throne, that once o'erlook'd the world.

To force her to resign the darling thought,
Were an attempt of deepest tyranny,

Whose dreadful consequence I dare not name.
And should her son direct the fatal blow?

That son, whose youthful path she deck'd with flowers,

Still as she strew'd them, weeping she could grant No more?

Des. You are a stern adviser, Dormer,

But tho' your words probe deeply, I confess
My state required such remedy.

L. Dor. Return

To the mix'd duties of a manly life,