The political sagacity of Elizabeth, as well as her haughty selfwill, is exhibited in her interview with the ambassadors of France, where she dismisses them without deciding on the suit of their monarch, and cuts short their faint attempts at intercession in behalf of Mary; and her violent and imperious temper breaks out in the privy council with her lords, on the subject of her hated rival. Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, scruples not openly to counsel a magnanimous conduct toward the prisoner, while Burleigh urges her immediate execution, and Leicester, whom the poet represents as a lover of the Scottish queen, recommends moderate measures, on the ground that Elizabeth has nothing to fear from one fallen so low, whom he ventures to stigmatize as the

'Homicide and husband-killer.'

But only a faint and most inadequate idea of the power of these scenes could possibly be conveyed by the closest analysis of the dialogue; and we are sure none who can read the original, would thank us for a meagre outline. Their beauty lies in the dignity and completeness of their execution; the characters wear the truth of history; and if characters of this nature fulfil expectation, they merit eminent praise. Expectation in this case exacts much. The cowardice and irresolution of the Earl of Leicester, on the receipt of Mary's

picture and letter, conveyed to him by Mortimer, excites indignation, and his duplicity to Elizabeth contempt; but no false gloss is thrown over his character. He prevails on his mistress to afford the prisoner an interview, by suffering an apparently accidental meeting to take place, while Elizabeth is hunting in the park of Fotheringay. To effect this purpose, Mary is on that morning allowed to leave her dungeon for a walk in the open air. The third act opens with this scene: Mary, exhilarated by the intoxicating sense of new freedom, the cool breath of morning, the view of the limitless landscape, and the distant music of the bugle horns, comes bounding forward, and in her almost delirious enjoyment seems to forget that she is still in thraldom. Her wild delight is poured forth in lyrical measures adapted to her varying emotions; and the scene is so beautiful, that we shall yield to the temptation of presenting it to our readers, though merely in a literal and prosaic translation. Some other reader of the German may be fortunate enough to execute a version which shall unite the spirit of the original to its sweetness and variety of

measure.

Enter MARY, from the shade of the trees; KENNEDY following slowly.

KENNEDY.

'You hurry on as you had wings indeed;

I cannot follow you.'

MARY.

'Let me enjoy my new freedom; let me be a child again! and be thou so with me! Let me traverse the green carpet of this lawn with light and wingéd steps! Have I ascended from the darksome dungeon? Doth the doleful pit indeed no longer hold me? Let me unchecked, with thirsty lips, drink in the free heavenly air!'

'O bless, bless the friendly green foliage, that hides from me my dungeon walls! I will dream myself free and happy: wherefore disturb the sweet vision? Doth not heaven's wide vault surround me? My glance, free and fetterless, roves through illimitable space. Yonder, where the gray misty mountains rise, stretch the borders of my dominions; and these clouds, floating through the noonday sky, seek the distant seas of France. Speeding clouds! mariners of the breeze- who wanders-who sails with you? Bear my greeting to the land of my youth! I am a prisoner-— in chains — ah ! I have no other messengers! Free is your path through the air - you owe the queen no homage!'

KENNEDY.

'Alas, dear Lady! you're beside yourself;

Your long sad durance hath bewildered you!'

MARY.

'Yonder lies a fisherman in his boat; that wretched instrument could save me, could bear me swiftly to friendly shores. Heedfully doth the needy man cherish it. I would load him richly with treasure-a draught should he make such as he never made: fortune should he find in his nets, should he take me hence in that rescuing vessel.'

KENNEDY.

'Vain wish! lo! yonder in the distance, following

Our steps, the spy!-a cruel prohibition

Scares all that can feel pity, from our sight.'

'Hear'st thou the hunting horn? Hark to its peal! The mighty call through field and wood! Ah! to vault upon the eager steed, and join the cheerful greenwood chase! Yet more, O familiar voice, full of sad, sweet remembrances! How oft have I heard it with joy, in the breezy Highlands—when the clamorous horns summoned to the chase!'

The poor queen is ill prepared at such a moment to encounter the presence of her good sister,' who comes to exult in her calamities; but encouraged by the counsel of Talbot, she collects herself for the approaching emergency. As many of our readers will probably feel curious to see how the poet has managed such an interview, we shall be excused for translating a part of it:

ELIZABETH (to Leicester.)

'What is the place called?'

LEICESTER.

'Fotheringay castle.'

ELIZABETH (to Shrewsbury.)

'Send all our followers before, to London.

The people crowd the streets too eagerly;

We seek diversion in this quiet park.'

(Talbot dismisses her train; she fires her eyes on Mary, while she continues speaking to Paulet.

'Too dear our people hold us: passing reason,
Idolatrous, the tokens of their joy.

A god is honored thus-and not a mortal!'

MARY (who during this time has been leaning half insensible upon her nurse, lifts up her head, and her eyes meet the full gaze of Elizabeth. She shudders, and throws herself again on Kennedy's bosom.)

'O God! out of those features speaks no heart!'

'Who is the Lady'?'

ELIZABETH.

LEICESTER.

(universal silence.)

'You are at Fotheringay, gracious queen.'

ELIZABETH (looks surprised and astonished, then darts a stern look at the Earl.)

'My sovereign-it hath chanced - and now, since heaven

Your steps has hither led, let generosity

And soft compassion conquer !'

TALBOT.

'Let me pray you,

O royal mistress, look on the Unhappy

Who passes now before you.'

(Mary recollects herself, and offers to approach Elizabeth, but stands half way, shuddering and motionless; her features express the strong conflict of her feelings.)

ELIZABETH.

'So be it! to this also will I stoop:

Away thou powerless pride of the free soul!
I will forget even who I am, and what
I've borne; I will before her cast me down,
Her, who hath brought me into this reproach.

(kneels.)

(she turns to the queen.)
Heaven hath decided for you, sister! Crowned
With happiness and victory is your head.
The GODHEAD I adore, that lifts you up!
Be you now also noble minded, sister ---
Let me not kneel unworthily! Stretch forth
Your hand extend to me the right of princes,
And raise me from abasement!'

ELIZABETH (stepping back.)

'Lady Mary!
That is your place; and grateful I adore
The grace of God that would not suffer me
To lie at your feet as you now lie at mine.'

MARY (with rising emotion.)

'Think upon human life's vicissitudes!

That there are gods who haughtiness chastise!

O honor, reverence them, the Terrible,

Who thus have bowed me to your feet!

*

*

O honor

In me yourself! profane not nor disgrace
The blood of Tudor, - which in my veins flows,

As in your own.

O God in heaven!

Stand not so stern and so immoveable,

Like the proud rock, which some poor shipwrecked wretch,
In his extremity, vainly strives to grasp!

Mine all doth hang- my life - my destiny
Upon my words upon the force of tears!
My heart unburden that I yours may reach!
If still that freezing glance you bend upon me,
Shuddering, the channels of my heart are closed,
My tears are checked an icy horror locks
The word of supplication in my breast!'

ELIZABETH (coldly.)

'What would you, Lady Stuart, say to me?
You wished to speak with me. I have forgot
The queen, the deeply injured, to fulfil

A sister's gentle duty-granted you

The craved boon of my presence. I obey

A generous impulse, tempting a just blame

For that I stoop so far-for well you know

That you have willed my murder would reward it!'

In allusion to the injuries she has sustained at the hands of the English queen, Mary studies to avoid reproach or bitterness. She has hoped every thing from this interview- and will not, by giving way to the impulses of resentment, throw away her chance of success. Hence her language is mild and conciliating.

I came to you a suppliant, and you
The holy law of hospitality,

The sacred law of nations, violating,

Shut me in dungeon walls- my friends and servants
Torn from me, and myself condemned to want-

Before illegal judges dragged for doom:

No more of that! Oblivion eternal

Cover the woes endured! Lo! I will call them
Inevitable fate! You are not guilty-

I am not guilty: some bad spirit rose

From the abyss, hate in our breasts to kindle,
That disunited us in years of youth;

It grew with us, and ill-designing men
Fanned the unhappy flame, and insane zeal

Officious hands armed with the sword and dagger.
It is the wayward destiny of kings,

That they, divided, rend the world in hate,
Let loose the furies of fire-eyed discord!

Now is no stranger's tongue to plead betwixt us;
We stand before each other. Sister, speak!
Name me my fault; you shall have full redress:
Ah! that you then had granted me a hearing,
When I so earnestly besought it of you!
It had not gone so far; nor in this place
Of sorrow had this hapless meeting chanced.'

ELIZABETH.

My lucky star preserved me from such fate,
The viper on my breast to lay. Not fate,
Your heart, accuse; your house's wild ambition.

There was nought hostile yet had chanced between us,

When your proud uncle, that imperious priest,

Who stretched his bold hand to profane all crowns,
Taught you my arms t' assume, iny royal title

To take upon yourself- for life and death
To battle it with me? Whom called he not

Against me? The priest's tongue, the people's sword,
Infatuate zeal's fierce weapons! Even here,
Here, in my kingdom's peaceful heart, he strove
To fling the scathing fire-brand of revolt!
Yet God is with me, and the haughty priest
Discomfited. My kingly head was threatened —
'T is yours that falls!

MARY.

The quarrel that ensues is not so well; yet there is infinite dignity

VOL. IX.

57