CAIN (interrupting her).

No,

No more of threats: we have had too many of them:
Go to our children; I will follow thee.

ADAH.

I will not leave thee lonely with the dead;

Let us depart together.

CAIN.

Oh! thou dead

And everlasting witness! whose unsinking

Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou now art,
I know not! but if thou see'st what I am,

I think thou wilt forgive him, whom his God

Can ne'er forgive, nor his own soul.-Farewell!

I must not, dare not, touch what I have made thee.
I, who sprang from the same womb with thee, drain'd
The same breast, clasp'd thee often to my own,
In fonduess brotherly and boyish, I

Can never meet thee more, nor even dare

To do that for thee, which thou shouldst have done
For me-compose thy limbs into their
grave-
The first grave yet dug for mortality.

But who hath dug that grave! Oh, earth! Oh, earth!
For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I
Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness.

[ADAH stoops down and kisses the body of ABEL.

ADAH.

A dreary, and an early doom, my brother,
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn for thee,
I alone must not weep. My office is
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them;
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me,
Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee.
Now, Cain! I will divide thy burden with thee.

CAIN.

Eastward from Eden will we take our way;
'Tis the most desolate, and suits my steps.

ADAR.

Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may our God
Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children.

CAIN.

And he who lieth there was childless.

I have dried the fountain of a gentle race,
Which might have graced his recent marriage couch,
And might have temper'd this stern blood of mine,
Uniting with our children Abel's offspring!
O Abel!

ADAH.

Peace be with him!

CAIN.

But with me!-

[Exeunt.

conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been more developed with greater advantage. Amongst those whose opinions agreed with mine THE following drama is taken entirely from the « Ger- but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use; for every upon this story, I could mention some very high names; man's Tale, Kruitzner,» published many years ago in one must judge according to their own feelings. I merely « Lee's Canterbury Tales;» written (I believe) by two refer the reader to the original story, that he may sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and another, both of which are considered superior to the not unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure see to what extent I have borrowed from it; and am remainder of the collection. I have adopted the chain perusing it than the drama which is founded upon racters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and, one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself: but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young (about fourteen, think) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written, I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or at any rate its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add

I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as 1815 (the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called «< Ulric and Ilvina,» which I had sense enough to burn), and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere amongst my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have re-written the first, and added the subsequent acts.

The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage.

February, 1822.

Where hast thou seen such?

Scene-partly on the frontier of Silesia, and partly in Let me be wretched with the rest!
Siegendorf Castle, near Prague.
Time-the close of the thirty years' war.

JOSEPHINE.

But think

How many in this hour of tempest shiver
Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain,
Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth,
Which hath no chamber for them save beneath
Her surface.

WERNER.

And that's not the worst: who cares
For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom
Thou namest-ay, the wind howls round them, and
The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones
The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier,
A hunter, and a traveller, and am

A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of.

JOSEPHINE.

And art thou not now shelter'd from them all?

WERNER.

Yes. And from these alone.

JOSEPHINE.

And that is something.

JOSEPHINE.

To me

Something beyond our outward sufferings (though
These were enough to gnaw into our souls)
Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now.
When, but for this untoward sickness, which
Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and
Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means,
And leaves us,-no! this is beyond me! but
For this I had been happy-thou been happy-
The splendour of my rank sustain'd-my name-
My father's name-been still upheld; and, more
Than those--

JOSEPHINE (abruptly).
My son-our son--our Ulric,
Been clasp'd again in these long-empty arms,

I thought so all along; such natural yearnings Play'd round my heart-blood is not water, cousin; And so let's have some wine, and drink unto [A knocking is heard. Our better acquaintance: relatives should be Friends.