Thek. We will take weapons; my arm shall protect

And then the many posts of the enemy!—

Thek. They are human beings. Misery travels free Through the whole earth.

Neub.

The journey's weary length

Thek. The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. Neub. How can we pass the gates?

Thek.

Go, do but go.

Gold opens them.

Neub.

Should we be recogniz'd

Thek. In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, Will no one seek the daugter of Duke Friedland. Neub. And where procure we horses for our flight? Thek. My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him. Neub. Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord? Thek. He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer. Neub. Dear lady! and your mother?

Thek.

Oh! my mother !

Neub. So much as she has suffer'd too already; Your tender mother-Ah! how ill prepar'd

Thek. What can be thought, already has been thought.
Neub. And being there, what purpose you to do?
Thek. There a Divinity will prompt my soul.
Neub. Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted!
And this is not the way that leads to quiet.

Thek. To a deep quiet, such as he has found,
It draws me on, I know not what to name it;
Resistless does it draw me to his grave.
There will my heart be eas'd, my tears will flow.
O hasten, make no further questioning!

There is no rest for me till I have left

These walls-they fall in on me-A dim power
Drives me from hence-Oh mercy! What a feeling!
What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill,
They crowd the place! I have no longer room here!
Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm!
They press on me; they chace me from these walls-
Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!

Neub. You frighten me so, lady, that no longer

I dare stay here myself. I go and call

Rosenberg instantly.

[Exit Lady Neubrunn.

SCENE VI.

Thek. His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop
Of his true followers, who offer'd up

Themselves t' avenge his death; and they accuse me
Of an ignoble loitering-they would not

Forsake their leader even in death-they died for him!
And shall I live?.

For me, too, was that laurel garland twin'd

་ ་ ་ ་ན

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!

(The curtain drops.)

[Exit Thekla.*

* 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.

She will shed tears.

The pang will soften.

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.

Thy husband.

Coun.

Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's

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,

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 translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application.