JUSTINA.

I

Appeal to Heaven against thee; so that Heaven

May scatter thy delusions, and the blot
Upon my fame vanish in idle thought,

Even as flame dies in the envious air,
And as the flowret wanes at morning frost,
And thou shouldst never--But, alas! to whom
Do I still speak?-Did not a man but now
Stand here before me ?—No, I am alone,
And yet I saw him. Is he gone so quickly?
Or can the heated mind engender shapes
From its own fear? Some terrible and strange
Peril is near.
Lisander! father! lord!
Livia!-

A man go forth from my apartment now?—

I scarce sustain myself!

I saw him.

LIVIA.

No, Lady.

JUSTINA.

LISANDER.

'Tis impossible; the doors

Which led to this apartment were all locked.

LIVIA (aside).

I dare say it was Moscon whom she saw,

For he was locked up in

my room.

LISANDER.

It must

Have been some image of thy phantasy.

Such melancholy as thou feedest, is
Skilful in forming such in the vain air

Out of the motes and atoms of the day.

My master's in the right.

LIVIA.

JUSTINA.

O, would it were

Delusion; but I fear some greater ill.

I feel as if out of my bleeding bosom
My heart were torn in fragments; aye,
Some mortal spell is wrought against my frame;
So potent was the charm, that had not God
Shielded my humble innocence from wrong,

I should have sought my sorrow and my shame
With willing steps.-Livia, quick bring my cloak,
For I must seek refuge from these extremes
Even in the temple of the highest God
Which secretly the faithful worship.

LIVIA.

Here.

JUSTINA (putting on her cloak).

In this, as in a shroud of snow, may I Quench the consuming fire in which I burn, Wasting away!

LISANDER.

And I will go with thee.

LIVIA.

When I once see them safe out of the house

I shall breathe freely.

JUSTINA.

So do I confide

In thy just favour, Heaven!

LISANDER.

Let us go.

JUSTINA.

Thine is the cause, great God! turn for my sake,

And for thine own, mercifully to me!

SCENES

FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE.

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

The Lord and the Host of Heaven. Enter three Archangels.

RAPHAEL.

THE sun makes music as of old

Amid the rival spheres of Heaven, On its predestined circle rolled

With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Though none its meaning fathom may:The world's unwithered countenance

Is bright as at creation's day.

GABRIEL.

And swift and swift, with rapid lightness,
The adorned Earth spins silently,
Alternating Elysian brightness

With deep and dreadful night; the sea
Foams in broad billows from the deep

Up to the rocks, and rocks and ocean, Onward, with spheres which never sleep, Are hurried in eternal motion.

MICHAEL.

And tempests in contention roar

From land to sea, from sea to land; And, raging, weave a chain of power, Which girds the earth, as with a band.— A flashing desolation there,

Flames before the thunder's way;

But thy servants, Lord, revere

The gentle changes of thy day.

CHORUS OF THE THREE.

The Angels draw strength from thy glance,
Though no one comprehend thee may;-

Thy world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as on creation's day.*

RAPHAEL.

The sun sounds, according to ancient custom,

In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres.

And its fore-written circle

Fulfills with a step of thunder.

Its countenance gives the Angels strength

Though no one can fathom it.

The incredible high works

Are excellent as at the first day.

GABRIEL.

And swift, and inconceivably swift

The adornment of earth winds itself round,

And exchanges Paradise-clearness

With deep dreadful night.

The sea foams in broad waves

From its deep bottom, up to the rocks,

And rocks and sea are torn on together

In the eternal swift course of the spheres.

MICHAEL.

And storms roar in emulation

From sea to land, from land to sea,

And make, raging, a chain

Of deepest operation round about.
There flames a flashing destruction