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sontment is entirely silent) is not stilled within

Oh Heaven, but I still bear ibu voice of a iniher within me

Is...--Ab hearken to it! It is a voice which nothing equals; perbaps. he is less crinnnal!---1t even appears impossible that he should be criminal in this instance: bui (such as he may be) hear him Thyself 10-duy:- Become an intercessor for a son with a father--wh can be so belles for a seu? Though he should have heelt uc casionally haughty wiih persons not friendly 10 truth, with thee be will certainly not be haughty; lend to him thine ear, and open ibine heart, lo. sweet paternal affection; thou never callest him to thee and never showest bim favor; he is always filled with mingled drrad if he approaches thee-aud in an obstinaie falal silence, distrust increases and love is lesse ped. Do thou arouse his original virine in him. Though it should be ever dormint in him, yet extinct it cannot be in one who is thy son. Do not contide to olliers ihy, paleial cares. Sbosy to him ibe comileliance of a faiber and maintain towards all vibors ihe austere majesty of the king. What may not be won by generous means tromi a gunerous bent? Does die seem guilty of some lank to ibee, and ubo does not err) do thou in private show 10 him aben he is alove with thyselt the justice of thy resentment. The re'senunent of a father is mild, what son notwithstar divg can help trembling al in? single word of thine, ibe word of a true paroni, is beilea fiuted 10 awalien iv bis noble breast rimorse, and to leave there less of raticour, ihan one hundred spoken by obels with mulignity and of set barstiness and vivience, Jet your whole count bear what you love and esteem your sup, and Tegardest his youthful tinerily as claiming at oure correction and indulgenci ; and you will suddenly bear she court respund in every direcion with lis praises. Pluck from thine heart suspicions not darural to thee. The buse apprehensivy ut infamous treasun leave la kings who deserve to be betrayed.

Phil.—This is a work worthy of thee and of thee alone. It makes the father's beurt allend in the cry of nature. Ah! others cannot do so! Oh sad late ol kings, to bow it is not alloweda ļ wl not say to follow the affections of their own hearis, but even to ack::1. wlude ibem; uchuowledge ! »bat do I say ? not even lu naniu theni ; most ollen lo deny aud conceal thein; but the time is coming well we shall ulter their dictates free and unreser, ved. Thy words make every thing clear lo me, much more than thou thivikest; ah! the prince appeals innocent to nie, since thou kelievest bim iunuccul! Gunies, let him cone ucher without delay.

10

SCENE THE THIRD

Philip and Isabella. Phil.-Now thou shalt sce that still know how to show myself a father wu bim better than I should be able lo do it ul airy

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

Isa.-1 will believe thee; but he comes. Permit me to withdraw to some other place.

Phil.-Rather do thou remain bere.

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

Phil...-lain! ab thou deceivest thyself, thon art to me a necesa sary witness bere: thou hast only the name of a slip-mother, and even that name thou mayest forget. Thy presence inay be grates ful to him. So bere he is. Lrt bin perceive that thon art the surety of bis exalted virtue, ol bis fideliiy and of bis love.

son

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Philip, Isabella, Charles and Gomes.

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

Char.---Sire-This mortal reprool is new to me, notwithstanding my having often heard it. To be silent is not iberefore stranye lo me---if I appear guilty to thee. I am certainly guilty. 'True it is that I bave not sell any remorse in my heari but protimnd grief, that you consider me gniliy-ah, would to God hai I might know the irue occasion of my mistortune, 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 datierers. Scek no other reason for your faalts.

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

Phil.-Thou art a youth, set it may be discovered that in heart, in acts, in contenance you presime not

a lille bes nl what you ought. I should have regarded it as a fault of yonih 11 thee, but I perceive that as years roll on, the discretion lessens instead of increases. Thy error of 10-day I would name a youibful fault, although perbaps thou hast showed aged Walice.

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Ckar.-Error! But of what kind ?

Phil...-And dost ikou ask it? art thou ignorant that I knot erett thy thoughıs, not merely thy incautions acts, but thy thoughts, yea, thy musi bidden thoughts Queen, thou seest that not ihe being, guilty but the not leeling himself to be guilty makes it worse in biin.

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

Phil.---Hast thon so many crimes tha: now thou dost voi know of which I am speaking? Hearken-.-There where she most sedi. Lious forge of impious error boils, hast thou not secret plots ? within iny palace, by stealth, before the rising of the day hast thon not given a long and criminal audience to the orator of the rebel. lions Batavians, to that wicked person nho, if you credit his words, conies for mercy, but in bis heart carries perfidy and the hope of unpunished ireason ?

Char.-Oh Father! and sball it be that every least act of mine is thus imputed lo crime? It is true that I spoke to the orator at some length---it is true I bewailed with him the destiny of these thy subjects, that however 1 slould dute to do in thy presence: nor perhaps wouldse thou thyself be far from bewailing it is it was fully krowo w you, the iron rule tinder which thy subjects groan lor so many years, oppressed by minister's cruel, avaricious, timid, inesperienced and unpunished. I feel in my heart pity for ibeir cala. mities and by no means deny il; and wouldsi thou, that I, Phi. lip'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 ioo dating in day...but how should I offend a father in supposing him susceptible of compassion, il' thoa aita true image upon earth of the Ruler of Heaven, what makes thee resenible Hini if it he vot pityi? however, if I appear to thee or am guilty in this matter, thou art the sole awarder of my pruisbmeni... I ask no other thing from thee, only not to be named a traitor !!

Phil. - All thy words breathe a noble pride--but thon canst ill penetrate the reasons of thy king, nor shouldst ihou therefore; there is occasion for thee lo resirain iheardour in thy youthind breast and the bold impatient wish of giving advice masked, of displaying thy opinion as

a great judgment. It it be destined that the world shall one day sie thee and venerate thee upou lhe greatest of all the many thrones of Europe Learn thou to be camious. The presumption may be pleasing in thee now, from whence thou wouldst then derive no slight blame. Il entirely appears to me that it is time for thee to change thy style, thou hast sought compassion in ine 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 lo me without effect and she thinks thee no less worthy of my affection than of her own ! ibou owest ihy pardun to her more than to me, to her!

if it were

In the meantime, it pleases me to hope that hencelorward from to day thou wilt know how to valne bet er, and 10 deserve heller my favor. Thou seesi madam that I resign myself to thee and that from ibee I learn not only to excuse, but to love dearly my son.

18á... Sir!

Phil.-I owe it 'thee and to thee alone, for thee I have this day Bubdued my indignation, and in the sweet tunes of a faiber have chid my son-may I never have occasion 10 repent of i-() son! not to disappoint her hope consider ever to make thyself still more agreeable to her and rhon O! Queen in order that he may ever more advance from good to beller, the more frequently see him and speak to him and direct him and do thou listeu to her without avoiding her!!

Char.-0 how painful in me is the name of pardon !_but now since I have had to accept it from my father, and thou madam 19 obtain it for me, ah! may my destiny which is my only crime never more make me descend to such humiliation !!

Phil.-Iold it the greater humiliation not in obtaining pardoa but in having occasion for it from thy father-But enough already. Go take acconnt of my words-Re: rn forth with 0! Queen to thy aparıme:its-Thou shalt see me there in a short time-ai presens I owe some few moments to other weighty concerus.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Philip and Gomu.

Phil.-Hast thou beard?
Gomes.- I have heard.
Phil.-Hast thou seeno
Gomes. saw.
Phil.- wactoness! Is he then suspected?
Gomes. It is quite a certainty.
Phii.-And is Philip still unrevenged ?
Gomes. Consider.
Phil.-I have considered - Follow me.

PND OP ACT THE SECOND,

THE POLE'S LAMENT.

my

My heart is sad, sor I am sar
From where iny bome and kindred are!
Yes, I wave lefi far, far behind,
The green graves w

where sires

are sleeping, In battle all'n, by glory sbrined,

Around whose bones their sons are weeping. Not vainly has their blood been shed, 'Twill mark the path for inore to tread, Who like themselves all tyrants hate, May hay to meet a better fate! Bui should they not, and should they fall In freedom's cause, their virtnes all Will shine in History's fullure pages, Ainidst 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, Or 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 ihe 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 dar kend page, With our wild deeds, our suffering years, She half effaced ihem with her tears, To see her favorite in the dust. Many the tyrant helped, kint curst Be he who linked the felters 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 leel, norknow their children's shame. They do not see the Russian sil Around the hearths where once were lic The ever-blazing, peaceful fires, Of them and their long race of sires.

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