Look on thy bride! look on that faded thing,
That e'en the tears thy manhood showers go fast,
And bravely, cannot wake to life again!
I call all nature to bear witness here--
As fair a flower once grew within my home,
As young, as lovely, and as dearly lov'd--
I had a sister once, a gentle maid--
The only daughter of my father's house,
Round whom our ruder loves did all entwine,
As round the dearest treasure that we own'd.
She was the centre of our souls' affections--
She was the bud, that underneath our strong
And sheltering arms, spread over her, did blow.
So grew this fair, fair girl, till envious fate
Brought on the hour when she was withered.
Thy father, sir--now mark--for 'tis the point
And moral of my tale--thy father, then,
Was, by my sire, in war ta'en prisoner--
Wounded almost to death, he brought him home,
Shelter'd him,--cherish'd him,--and, with a care,
Most like a brother's, watch'd his bed of sickness,
Till ruddy health, once more through all his veins
Sent life's warm stream in strong returning tide.
How think ye he repaid my father's love?
From her dear home he lur'd my sister forth,
And, having robb'd her of her treasur'd honour,
Cast her away, defil'd,--despoil'd--forsaken--
The daughter of a high and ancient line--
The child of so much love--she died--she died--
Upon the threshold of that home, from which
My father spurn'd her--over whose pale corse
I swore to hunt, through life, her ravisher--
Nor ever from by bloodhound track desist,
Till line and deep atonement had been made--
Honour for honour given--blood for blood.
"The Queen orders Gonzales to death; but the monk accuses her of the
intended murder of Françoise, and produces her written order to that
effect. The King can no longer be blind to his mother's crimes; she is
disgraced, degraded, and condemned to pass the rest of her days in a
convent."
Here the fourth act, and the acting play closes. In the fifth De Bourbon
reappears. Lautrec proposes to join him, and assassinate the King, in
revenge for the ruin of Françoise. The memorable battle of Pavia ensues,
and terminates with the death of the King and the triumph of Bourbon.
Triboulet, the jester of the Court of Francis, is introduced with some
pleasantry, by way of relief to the darker deeds.
We cannot conclude this imperfect sketch better than by the following
judicious observations from the _Quarterly Review_: "How high Miss Kemble's
young aspirings have been--what conceptions she has formed to herself of
the dignity of tragic poetry--may be discovered from this most remarkable
work; at this height she must maintain herself, or soar a still bolder
flight. The turmoil, the hurry, the business, the toil, even the celebrity
of a theatric life must yield her up at times to that repose, that
undistracted retirement within her own mind, which, however brief,
is essential to the perfection of the noblest work of the
imagination--genuine tragedy. Amidst her highest successes on the stage,
she must remember that the world regards her as one to whom a still higher
part is fallen. She must not be content with the fame of the most
extraordinary work which has ever been produced by a female at her age,
(for as such we scruple not to describe her Francis the First,)--with
having sprung at once to the foremost rank, not only of living actors but
of modern dramatists;--she must consider that she has given us a pledge
and earnest for a long and brightening course of distinction, in the
devotion of all but unrivalled talents in two distinct, though congenial,
capacities, to the revival of the waning glories of the English theatre."
[1] This disadvantage is greater on the stage, since the audience neither
see nor hear more of Bourbon, and only four acts of the piece are
performed. In the closet it will not be so obvious, as Bourbon
returns in the fifth act.
[2] This is an entire variation from history.
* * * * *