572 BYRON’S

My coming, though I could not but spare themill

At this time, as my father loves to keepFull numbers of retainers round the castle,

Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries,Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense.Bod. I thought you loved the lady Ida ?

Ulr. Why,

I do so—but it follows not from thatI -would bind in my youth and glorious years,

So brief and burning, with a lady’s zone,

Although 'twere that of Venus:—but I loveher,

As woman should be loved, fairly and solely.

Rod. And constantly ?

Ulr. I think so ; for I love

Nought else.—But I hare not the time to pauseUpon these gewgaws of the heart. Great thingsWe have to do ere long. Speed! speed! goodRodolph!

Rod. On my return, however, I shall findThe Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf ?

Ulr. Perhaps my father wishes it; and sooth, Tis no bad policy : this union withThe last bud of the rival branch at onceUnites the future and destroys the past.

Rod. Adieu.

Ulr. Yet hold—we had better keep togetherUntil the chase begins; then draw thou off,

And do as I have said.

Rod. I will. But to

Return—’twas a most kind act in the countYour father to send up to Konigsberg For this fair orphan of the baron, andTo hail her as his daughter.

Ulr. Wondrous kind 1

Especially as little kindness tillThen grew between them.

Rod. The late Baron died

Of n fever, did he not ?

Ulr. How should I know ? t

Rod. I have heard it whisper’d there was some-thing strange

About his death—and even the place of itIs scarcely Known.

Ulr. Some obscure village on

The Saxon or Silesian frontier.

Rod. He

Has left no testament—no farewell words ?

Ulr . I am neither confessor nor notary,

So cannot say.

Rod. Ah ! here’s the lady Ida.

Enter IDA STRALENHEIM.

Ulr. You are early, my sweet cousin!

Ida. Not too early,

Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you.

Whv do you call me **coimn?"

Ulr. (smiling). Are we not so ?

Ida. Yes, but I do not like the name ; me-thinks

It sounds so cold, as if you thought uponOur pedigree, and only weigh'd our blood.

Ulr. (starting). Blood!

Ida. Why does yours start from your cheeks ?UJ r * Ay ! doth it ?

Ida. It doth—but no 1 it rushes like a torrentEven to your brow again.

Ulr. (recovering himself). And if it fled,

It only was because your presence sent itBack to my heart, which beats for you, sweetcousin ?

WORKS.

Ida. “Cousin" again.

Ulr. Nay, then, I’ll caii you sister,

Ida. I like that name still worse.—Would wohad ne’er

Been aught of kindred!

Ulr. (gloomily). Would we never had!

Ida. Oh, heavens! and can you wish that!

Ulr. Dearest Ida!

Did I not echo your own wish ?

Ida. Yes, Ulric,

But then I wish’d it not with such a glance,

And scarce knew what I said; but let me beSister or cousin, what you will, so thatI still to you am something.

Ulr. You shall be

AU—ail-

Ida. And you to me are so already jBut I can wait.

Ulr. Dear Ida!

Ida. Call me Ida,

Your Ida, for I would be yours, none else’s—Indeed I have none else left, since my poorfather—

[She pauses.

Ulr. You have mine —you have me.

Ida. Dear Ulric, how I wish

My father could but view my happiness,

Which wants but this !

Ulr. Indeed!

Ida. You would have loved him,

He you • for the brave ever love each other:

His manner was a little cold, his spiritProud (as is birth’s prerogative) j but under

This grave exterior-Would you had known

each other!

Had such as you been near him on his journey,He had not died without a friend to sootheHis last and lonely moments.

Ulr. Who says that?

Ida. WhatP

Ulr. That he died alone.

Ida. The general rumour,

And disappearance of his servants, whoHave ne’er returned: that fever was most deadlyWhich swept them all away.

Ulr. If they were near him,

He could not die neglected or alone.

Ida. Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed,When the dim eye rolls vainly round for whatIt loves P They say he died of a fever.

Ulr. S ay!

It U'OS so.

Ida. I sometimes dream otherwise.

Ulr. All dreams ore false.

Ida. And yet I see him as

I see you.

Ulr. Whore ?

Ida. In sleep—I see him lie

Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knifeBeside him.

Ulr. But you do not see his face!

Ida (looking at him), No! Oh, my God ! do you 1Ulr. Why do you ask ?

Ida, Because you look as if you saw a mur-derer !

Ulr. (agitatedly.) Ida, this is mere childishness ;your weakness

Infects me, to my shame: but os all feelingsOf yoursare common to me, it affects me.

Prithee, sweet child, change—^—

Ida. Child, indeed! I have

Full fifteen summers l £.4 bugle sounds.