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That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket.
I throw it from me. O, my only hope;
To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds
That is the lot of heroes upon earth !

[Exit Thekla.*

(The curtain drops.)

* The soliloquy of Thekla consists, in the original, of six and twenty lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed, the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play.

ACT V.

Scene, a Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends

far into the back-ground.

SCENE I.

Wallenstein, (sitting at a table,) The Swedish Captain,

(standing before him.)

Wal. Commend me to your lord. I sympathize
In his good fortune ; and if you have seen me
Deficient in the expressions of that joy,
Which such a victory might well demand,
Attribute it to no lack of good will,
For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell,
And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow
The citadel shall be surrender'd to you,
On your arrival.

(The Swedish Captain retires. Wallenstein sits

lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The Countess Tertsky enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him ; at length he starts, sees her, and

recollects himself.) Wal. Com'st thou from her? Is she restor'd ? How

is she?
Coun. My sister tells me she was more collected
After her conversation with the Swede.
She has now retired to rest.
Wal.

The pang will soften.
She will shed tears.

Coun.

I find thee alter'd too,
My brother! After such a victory
I had expected to have found in thee
A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm !
Sustain, uphold us ! For our light thou art,
Our sun.

Wal. Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's
Thy husband.
Coun.

At a banquet-he and Illo.
Wal. (rises and strides across the saloon,) The night's

far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber. Coun. Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee! Wal. (moves to the window,) There is a busy motion

in the Heaven,
The wind doth chace the flag upon the tower,
Fast fly the clouds, the sickle of the moon,
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.
No form of star is visible! That one
White stain of light, that single glimm’ring yonder,

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* These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity.

Am Himmel ist geschästige Bewegung,
Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht
Der Wolken Zug, die Mondes-fichel wankt,

Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle. The word "moon-sickle,” reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word “falcated."

" The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reapinghook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full; but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated.

The words “ wanken " and "schweben" are not easily trans. lated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application.

Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
Is Jupiter. (a pause.) But now
The blackness of the troubled element hides him!

(He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks

vacantly into the distance.) Coun. (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand.)

What art thou brooding on ?
Wal.

Methinks,
If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.
He is the star of my nativity,
And often marvellously hath his aspect
Shot strength into my heart.
Coun.

Thou'lt see him again.
Wal. (remains for a while with absent mind, then as-

sumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly

to the Countess.)
See him again? O never, never again.

Coun. How?
Wal.

He is gone-is dust.
Coun.

Whom mean'st thou then ?
Wal. He the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd !
For him there is no longer any future-
His life is bright-bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mis-hap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance
Of the unsteady planets. O'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour,
Veil'd in thick darkness, brings for us!
Coun.

Thou speakest
Of Piccolomini. What was his death ?

The courier had just left thee, as I came.
- (Wallenstein by a motion of his hand makes signs

to her to be silent.)
Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,
Let us look forward into sunny days.
Welcome with joyous heart the victory,
Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day,
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead ;
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

Wal. This anguish will be wearied down,* I know;
What pang is permanent with man? From th' highest,
As from the vilest thing of every day
He learns to wean himself; for the strong hours
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost
In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life.
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transform'd for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanish'd-and returns not.

Coun. O be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich enough to vivify Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold. · Wal. (stepping to the door,) Who interrupts us now at

this late hour ? It is the Governor. He brings the keys

* A very inadequate translation of the original.

“ Verschmerzen werd ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Dennwas verschmerzte nicht der Mensch !"

LITERALLY.
I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious;
What does not man grieve down?

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