Sar. He does, but braves thy power.

Officer. Why don't you smite him for that look?
Ges. Can I believe

My eyes? He smiles! nay, grasps

His chains as he would make a weapon of them
To lay the smiter dead. [TO TELL.]

Why speakest thou not?

Tell. For wonder.

Ges. Wonder!

Tell. Yes, that thou should'st seem a man.
Ges. What should I seem?

Tell. A monster!

Ges. Ha! Beware - think on thy chains.

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me down Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up

Erect, with nothing but the honest pride
Of telling thee, usurper', to the teeth,
Thou art a monster! Think upon my chains!
How came they on me?

Ges. Darest thou question me?
Tell. Darest thou answer?

Ges. Do I hear?

Tell. Thou dost.

Ges. Beware my vengeance.
Tell. Can it more than kill?

Ges. Enough it can do that.
Tell. No, not enough:

It cannot take away the grace of life

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Its comeliness of look that virtue gives -
Its port erect with consciousness of truth-

Its rich attire of honorable deeds

Its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues:
It cannot lay its hands on these, no more
Than it can pluck the brightness from the sun,
Or with polluted finger tarnish it.

Ges. But it can make thee writhe.

Tell. It may.

Ges. And groan.

Tell. It may; and I may cry,

Go on, though it should make me groan again.
Ges. Whence comest thou?

Tell. From the mountains. Would'st thou learn What news from them?

Ges. Canst tell me any?

Tell. Ay; they* watch no more the avalanche.

Ges. Why so?

Tell. Because they look for thee.

The hurricane

Comes unawares upon them; from its bed

The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track -
Ges. What do they then?

Tell. Thank Heaven it is not thou!

Thou hast perverted nature in them.

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There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but The thought of thee doth wither to a curse.

Ges. That's right! I'd have them like their hills, That never smile, though wanton summer tempt Them e'er so much.

Tell. But they do sometimes smile.
Ges. Ay?-when is that?

Tell. When they do talk of vengeance®.

Ges. Vengeance! Dare they talk of tha?

Tell. Ay, and expect it too.

Ges. From whence?

Tell. From Heaven!

Ges. From Heaven?

Tell. And their true hands

Are lifted up to it on every hill
For justice on thee.

Ges. Where's thy abode?
Tell. I told thee

on the mountains.

*The mountaineers.

Ges. Art married?

Tell. Yes.

Ges. And hast a family?

Tell. A son.

Ges. A son! Sarnem!

Sar. My lord, the boy.

[GESLER signs to SARNEM to keep silence, and, whispering, sends him off Tell. The boy! What boy?

Is't mine? and have they netted my young fledgling"?

Now Heaven support me, if they have! He'll own me,
And share his father's ruin! But a look

Would put him on his guard-yet how to give it!
Now, heart, thy nerve; forget thou art flesh; be rock.
They come they come!

That step-that step-that little step, so light

Upon the ground, how heavy does it fall

Upon my heart! I feel my child!

Enter SARNEM with ALBERT, whose eyes are riveted on TELL's bow which

SARNEM carries.

Tis he!-We can but perish.

Sar. See!

Albert. What?

Sar. Look there!

Alb. I do. What would you have me see?

Sar. Thy father.

Alb. Who? That

- that my father?

Tell. [Aside.] My boy my boy! — my own brave boy

He's safe!

-

Sar. [Aside to GESLER.] They're like each other.
Ges.

Yet I see no sign

I am sure it is his father. Look at them.

It may be

A preconcerted' thing 'gainst such a chance,

That they survey each other coldly thus.

Ges. We shall try. Lead forth the caitiff1.

Sar. To a dungeon?

Ges. No; into the court.

Sar. The court, my lord?
Ges. And send

To tell the headsman" to make ready. Quick!
The slave shall die! You marked the boy?

Sar. I did. He started— 'tis his father.
Ges. We shall see. Away with him!

Tell. Stop!-Stay!

Ges. What would you?

Tell. Time!-a little time to call my thoughts together.
Ges. Thou shalt not have a minute.

Tell. Some one, then, to speak with.
Ges. Hence with him!

Tell. A moment! Stop!

Let me speak to the boy.

Ges. Is he thy son?

Tell. And if

He were, art thou so lost to nature as

To send me forth to die before his face?

Ges. Well, speak with him.

Now, Sarnem, mark them well.

Tell. Thou dost not know me, boy- and well for thee Thou dost not. I'm the father of a son

About thy age. Thou,

I see, wast born, like him, upon the hills;

If thou shouldst 'scape thy present thraldom, he

May chance to cross thee; if he should, I pray thee
Relate to him what has been passing here,

And say I laid my hand upon thy head,

And said to thee,- if he were here, as thou art,

Thus would I bless him. May'st thou live my boy,
To see thy country free, or die for her,

As I do!

Sar. Mark! he weeps.

[ALBERT weeps

Tell. Were he my son,

He would not shed a tear. He would remember
The cliff where he was bred, and learned to scan
A thousand fathoms' depth of nether1 air;
Where he was trained to hear the thunder talk,
And meet the lightning eye to eye; where last
We spoke together, when I told him death
Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life,
Embraced for virtue's sake. He shed a tear!
No; were he by, I'd talk to him, and his cheek
Should never blanch, nor moisture dim his eye, —
I'd talk to him

Sar. He falters!

Tell. "Tis too much!

And yet it must be done! I'd talk to him-
Ges. Of what?

Tell. The mother, tyrant, thou dost make

A widow of. I'd talk to him of her.

I'd bid him tell her, next to liberty,

Her name was the last word my lips pronounced.
And I would charge him never to forget

To love and cherish her, as he would have

His father's dying blessing rest upon him.

Sar. You see, as he doth prompt, the other acts.

Tell. [Aside.] So well he bears it, he doth vanquish me.

My boy my boy! O, for the hills, the hills

!

To see him bound along their tops again,

With liberty.

Sar. Was there not all the father in that look?

Ges. Yet 'tis 'gainst nature.

Sar. Not if he believes

To own the son would be to make him share

The father's death.

Ges. I did not think of that! [TO TELL.] "Tis well The boy is not thy son. I've destined him

To die along with thee.

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