SAROL. So doth the ignorant distance still delude

us!

Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,

In its mere self a cold, drear, colorless void,

Seen from below and in the large, becomes

The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods!

Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance? And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?

GLY. Yes, madam! he was there. So was the

My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me!

may

SAROL. Yes, at my lord's request, but never

wished

My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.

Thou know'st not yet the duties of a wife.

GLY. Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam! To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him,

And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska

But I shall tremble.

SAROL.

Not with fear, I think,

For you still mock him.

cottage!

Bring a seat from the

(Exit GLYCINE into the Cottage, SAROLTA

continues her Speech looking after her.)

Something above thy rank there hangs about thee,
And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,
Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine,

A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel
More as a mother than a mistress to thee!
Thou art a soldier's orphan! that—the courage,
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give
A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!
Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood,

Or there's no faith in instinct!

[Angry voices and clamour without, re-enter GLYCINE.

GLY. Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants, And my lord's steward, Laska, at their head,

Have come to search for old Bathory's son,

Bethlen, that brave young man! 'twas he, my lady,
That took our parts, and beat off the intruders,
And, in mere spite and malice, now they charge him
With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.

Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This

What needs your presence?

BATH. What! Do you think I'll suffer my brave

boy

To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians,

And leave it to their malice,-yes, mere malice!-
To tell its own tale?

[LASKA and Servants bow to LADY SAROLTA.
Laska! What may this mean?

SAROL.

LAS. (pompously, as commencing a set speech.) Madam! and may it please your ladyship!

This old man's son, by name, Bethlen Bathory,
Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he,
On yester-eve, being his lordship's birth-day,
Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir:

The lord high steward of the realm, moreover-
SAROL. Be brief! We know his titles!

LAS.

And moreover

Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.
And furthermore, said witnesses make oath,

Led on the assault upon his lordship's servants;

Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman,
His badge of livery of your noble house,

And trampled it in scorn.

SAROL. (to the servants who offer to speak.) You have had your spokesman !

Where is the young man thus accused?

BATH

But if no ill betide him on the mountains,

He will not long be absent!

SAROL.

I know not:

Thou art his father?

BATH. None ever with more reason prized a son;

Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.

But more than one, now in my lady's presence,

Witness'd the affray, besides these men of malice;

And if I swerve from truth

BATH. My tale is brief.

During our festive

dance,

Your servants, the accusers of my son,

Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort,

To our village maidens. He, (could he do less?)
Rose in defence of outraged modesty,
And so persuasive did his cudgel prove,
(Your hectoring sparks so over brave to women
Are always cowards) that they soon took flight,
And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters,
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words
Which their own threats provoked.

SAROL.

Old man! you talk

Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect

To the livery of our house?

BATH.

Even such respect

As the sheep's skin should gain for the hot wolf

That hath began to worry the poor lambs!

LAS. Old insolent ruffian!

GLY.

Pardon! pardon, madam!

I saw the whole affray. The good old man

Means no offence, sweet lady!-You, yourself,

Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians!