Alh. My husband—

Ord.

Yes, I murder'd him most foully.

Alv. and Ter. O horrible!

Alh.

Why didst thou leave his children?

Demon, thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell
To lap their blood! Then, then I might have harden'd
My soul in misery, and have had comfort.

I would have stood far off, quiet though dark,
And bade the race of men raise up a mourning
For a deep horror of desolation,

Too great to be one soul's particular lot!
Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee.

[Struggling to suppress her feelings.

The time is not yet come for woman's anguish.
I have not seen his blood-Within an hour
Those little ones will crowd around and ask me,

Where is our father? I shall curse thee then!

Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence!

Ter. He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee! O let him live! That aged man, his fatherAlh. (sternly). Why had he such a son?

[Shouts from the distance of Rescue! Rescue! Alvar! Alvar! and the voice of Valdez heard. Alh. Rescue ?-and Isidore's Spirit unavenged? The deed be mine! [Suddenly stabs Ordonio.

Now take my life!

Ord (staggering from the wound).

Atonement!

Alv. (while with Teresa supporting Ordonio). Arm

of avenging Heaven,

Thou hast snatch'd from me my most cherish'd hope.

But go! my word was pledged to thee.

Ord.

Brave not my father's rage!

Away!

thank thee! Thou

[Then turning his eyes languidly to Alvar.

She hath avenged the blood of Isidore!

I stood in silence like a slave before her,
That I might taste the wormwood and the gall,
And satiate this self-accusing heart

With bitterer agonies than death can give.

Forgive me, Alvar!

Oh! couldst thou forget me!

Dies.

[Alvar and Teresa bend over the body of Ordonio. Alh. (to the Moors). I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain'd it wisely,

That still extremes bring their own cure.

That point
In misery, which makes the oppressed Man
Regardless of his own life, makes him too

Lord of the Oppressor's-Knew I a hundred men
Despairing, but not palsied by despair,

This arm should shake the Kingdoms of the World;
The deep foundations of iniquity

Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; The strong-holds of the cruel men should fall,

Their Temples and their mountainous Towers should fall;

Till Desolation seem'd a beautiful thing.

And all that were, and had the Spirit of Life,
Sang a new song to her who had gone forth,
Conquering and still to conquer !

Alhadra hurries off with the Moors; the stage fills
with armed Peasants and Servants, Zulimez and
aldez at their head. Valdez rushes into Alvar's

arms.

Alv. Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide, Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing. [Both kneel to Valdez. Val. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him,

Heaven!

Ter. Me too, my father?

Val.

Bless, Oh bless my children!
[Both rise.

Alv. Delights so full, if unalloy'd with grief,
Were ominous. In these strange dread events
Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice,
That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice.
Our inward monitress to guide or warn,
If listen'd to; but if repell'd with scorn,
At length as dire Remorse, she reappears,
Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears!
Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late!
And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.

THE PICCOLOMINI;

OR

THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN.

A Drama.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR.

T was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstein to this translation; but I found that it must either have occupied a space wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than they already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of Schiller's "History of the Thirty Years' War" diminished the motives thereto. In the translation I endeavoured to render my Author literally wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of idiom; but I am conscious, that in two or three short passages I have been guilty of dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have availed myself of no other liberties than those which Schiller had permitted to himself, except the occasional breaking-up of the line by the substitution of a trochee for an iambic; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas.

S. T. COLERIDGE.