sentment is entirely silent) is not stilled within me - Oh Heaven, but I still hear the voice of a father within me

Isa.---Ah hearken to it! It is a voice which nothing equals; perbaps he is less criminal!--It even appears impossible that he should be criminal in this instance: but (such as he may be) hear him thyself to-day.—Become an intercessor for a son with a father-who can be so better for a son? Though he should have beeu occasionally haughty with persons not friendly to truth, with thee he will certainly not be haughty; lend to him thine ear, and open thine heart, to sweet paternal affection; thou never callest him to thee and never showest him favor; he is always filled with mingled dread if he approaches thee-and in an obstinate fatal silence, distrust increases and love is lesse ped. Do thou arouse his original virtue in him. Though it should be even dormant in him, yet extinct it cannot be in one who is thy son. Do not confide to others thy paternal cares. Show to him the countenance of a father and maintain towards all others the austere majesty of the king. What may not be won by generous means from a generous heart? Does he seem guilty of some fault to thee, (and who does not err) do thou in private show to him when he is alone with thyself the justice of thy resentiment. The resentment of a father is mild, what son notwithstanding can help trembling at it? A single word of thine, the word of a true parent, is better fitted to awaken in his noble breast remorse, and to leave there less of raucour, than one hundred spoken by others with malignity and of set harshness and violence, Let your whole court hear that you love and esteem your son, and regardest his youthful temerity as claiming at once correction and indulgenci; and you will suddenly hear the court resound in every direction with his praises. Pluck from thine heart suspicions not natural to thee. The base apprehension of infamous treasoți leave to kings who deserve to be betrayed.

Phil. This is a werk worthy of thee and of thee alone. It makes the father's heart attend to the cry of nature. Ah! others cannot do so! Oh sad fate of kings, to whom it is not allowed 1 wil not say to follow the affections of their own hearts, but even to acknowledge them; acknowledge! what do I say? not even to nanie them; most often to deny and to conceal them; but the time is coming when we shall utter their dictates free and unreser, ved. Thy words make every thing clear to me, much more than thou thinkest; ah! the prince appeals innocent to me, since thou believest him innocent! Gonies, let him come hither without delay.

SCENE THE THIRD

Philip and Isabella.

Phil. Now thou shalt see that I still know how to show myself a father to him better than I should be able to do if at any

time I should have to show myself to him in the majesty of an offended Sovereign.

Isa.-I will believe thee; but he comes. Permit me to withdraw to some other place.

Phil.-Rather do thou remain here.

Isa.---I have dared to lay open my thoughts before thee, because thon wishedst it, why should I now remain ? Besides, a step-mother is a vain witness between a father and a son.

Phil.---Vain! ah thou deceivest thyself, thon art to me a neces sary witness here: thou hast only the name of a step-mother, and even that name thou mayest forget. Thy presence may be grate ful to him. So here he is. Let him perceive that thou art the surety of his exalted virtue, of his fidelity and of his love.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Philip, Isabella, Charles and Gomes.

Phil.---Draw near, Oh Prince: say now when shall the day be in which I can accost thee by the sweet name of son? In me thou mayest have ever seen mixed (would that thou corresponded theretoĵ the names of father and king but why at least hast thou not loved the father and feared the king!

Char.---Sire-This mortal reproof is new to me, notwithstanding my having often heard it. To be silent is not therefore strange to me---if 1 appear guilty to thee. I am certainly guilty. True it is that I have not felt any remorse in my heart but profound grief, that you consider me guilty-ah, would to God that I might know the true occasion of my misfortune, or (if it pleases you better} my fault!

Phil. The having so little affection for the country, none for thy father, and the hearkening too much to artful flatterers. Seek no other reason for your faults.

Char.-I am pleased at least that thou hast not ascribed it to a naturally perverse disposition in me. I may thus, in some degree, repair the past, learn how my country is, how it is loved, how much I onght to love a father; and the means of putting away those flatterers who plot against thee more than against me in proportion as your power is greater than mine.

Phil.-Thou art a youth, yet it may be discovered that in heart, in acts, in countenance you presume not a little bey n what you ought. I should have regarded it as a fault of youth n thee, but I perceive that as years roll on, thy discretion lessens instead of increases. Thy error of to-day I would name a youthful fault, although perhaps thou hast showed aged malice.

Char-Error! But of what kind?

Phil.---And dost thou ask it? art thou ignorant that I know eventhy thoughts, not merely thy incautions acts, but the thonghts, yea, thy mest hidden thoughts-Queen, thou seest that not the being, guilty but the not feeling himself to be guilty makes it worse in biin.

Char-Father! lead me to an end of doubting: what now have I done?

Phil.---Hast thou so many crimes that now thou dost not know of which I am speaking? Hearken-There where the most sedi. tious forge of impious error boils, hast thou not secret plots?→ within my palace, by stealth, before the rising of the day hast thon not given a long and criminal audience to the orator of the rebellous Batavians, to that wicked person who, if you credit his words, comes for mercy, but in bis heart carries perfidy and the hope of unpunished treason?

Char.-Oh Father! and shall it be that every least act of mine is thus imputed to crime? It is true that I spake to the orator at some length---it is true 1 bewailed with him the destiny of these thy subjects, that however I should dare to do in thy presence: nor perhaps wouldst thou thyself be far from bewailing it if it was fully known to you, the iron rule under which thy subjects groan for so many years, oppressed by ministers cruel, avaricious, timid, inexperienced and unpunished. I feel in my heart pity for their cala mities and by no means deny it; and wouldst thou, that I, Philip's son, should have a soul vulgar, cruel, base? In me the hope of opening again thy heart to pity by telling thee the whole truth, has been perhaps too dating today--but how should I offend a father in supposing him susceptible of compassion, if then art true image upon earth of the Ruler of Heaven, what makes thee resemble Hin if it be not pity!? however, if I appear to thee or am guilty in this matter, thou art the sole awayder of my punishment--I ask no other thing from thee, only not to be named a traitor!!

Phil.-All thy words breathe a noble pride--but thou canst ill penetrate the reasons of thy king, nor shouldst thou therefore; there is occasion for thee to restrain the ardour in thy youthful breast and the bold impatient wish of giving advice masked, of displaying thy opinion as if it were a great judgment. It it be destined that the world shall one day see thee and venerate thee upon the greatest of all the many thrones of Europe Learn thou to be cautious. The presumption may be pleasing in thee now, from whence thou wouldst then derive no slight blame. It entirely ap pears to me that it is time for thee to change thy style, thou hast sought compassion in me and thou hast found it, but only for thyselt! not all are worthy of it! Allow me to be the sole judge of my own business. The Queen has spoken to me before at length in thy favor, and she has not spoken to me without effect and she thinks thee no less worthy of my affection than of her own! thou owest thy pardon to her more than to me, to her!

In the meantime it pleases me to hope that henceforward from to day thou wilt know how to value better, and to deserve better my favor. Thou seest madam that I resign myself to thee and that from thee I learn not only to excuse, but to love dearly my son. Isa.-Sir!

Phil. I owe it thee and to thee alone, for thee I have this day subdued my indignation, and in the sweet tones of a father have chid my son may I never have occasion to repent of it- son! not to disappoint her hope consider ever to make thyself still more agreeable to her and thou O! Queen in order that he may ever more advance from good to better, the more frequently see him and speak to him and direct him and do thou listen to her without avoiding her!!

Char.-O how painful to me is the name of pardon!--but now since I have had to accept it from my father, and thou madam to obtain it for me, al may my destiny which is my only crime never more make me descend to such humiliation !!

Phil.-Hold it the greater humiliation not in obtaining pardon but in having occasion for it from thy father-But enough already. Go take account of my words-Return forthwith O! Queen to thy apartments-Thou shalt see me there in a short time at present I owe some few moments to other weighty concerus.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Philip and Gomes.

Phil-Hast thou heard?

Gomes.-I have heard.

Phil.-Hast thou seen?

Gomes. saw.

Phil.-O wantoness! Is he then suspected?

Gomes. It is quite a certainty.

Phil.-And is Philip still unrevenged?

THE POLE'S LAMENT.

My heart is sad, for I am far

From where my home and kindred are!
Yes, I have left far, far behind,

The green graves where my sires are sleeping, In battle fall'n, by glory shrined,

Around whose bones their sons are weeping.
Not vainly has their blood been shed,
Twill mark the path for more to tread,
Who like themselves all tyrants hate,
Mayhap to meet a better fate!

But should they not, and should they fall
In freedom's cause, their virtues all
Will shine in History's future pages,
Amidst the blood and dust of ages.
There was a time my home's green sod,
By none but freemen's feet was trod.
Then proudly shone each warrior's eye,
To see the banner waive on high,
Of his loved country, from some tower
Of Warsaw's wails. Oh! happy hour!
But those bright days have fled away,
Like sunshine on an April day:
They have not even left the glow,
Which passing sunbeams leave below.
For all is darkness, and the cold
Of slavery's winter chills the bold.
Our laws are wiped out with the gore
Of Poland's Princes now no more ;
Fallen before a despot's rage.

When History filled her darken'd page,
With our wild deeds, our suffering years,
She half effaced them with her tears,
To see her favorite in the dust.
Many the tyrant helped, Ent curst
Be he who linked the fetters first!
If ought could wake the sleeping dead,
The cries of woe above their head,
Would call their bones to life again,
To rise and break the tyrant's chain.
Yes, they are dead to all but fame,
Nor feel, nor know their children's shame.
They do not see the Russian sit
Around the hearths where once were lit
The ever-blazing, peaceful fires,

Of them and their long race of sires.