Into the lists let fearless warriors pour, [Exeunt with drawn swords. After a short martial symphony, the back of the stage opens, and discovers a wild scene of conflict, the prominent features of which are the taking prisoner of Lewis of Thuringia by the brave Tedel, and the flight of the cowardly new Duke of Saxony, Bernhard of Ascania, before its rightful lord, in whose power the caitiff leaves his dishonoured sword; which, however, Henry contemptuously returns by the hands of the discomfited Landgrave, whom he declines retaining captive. The triumph of the Lion in these successes, and the entire re-occupation of Saxony by his troops, is cruelly damped by the sight of the burning villages of his beloved subjects in every quarter; while his already wounded feelings are further awakened to the full horrors of war by an interview with Kurd, an old attached peasant, who, in the true spirit of a clansman of that feudal age to wards his chief, seems actually to feel as if criminal in not being able loyally to exult in a victory of his lord's, which has laid in ashes his own flourishing dwelling, and cost him the lives of his only sons-the latter, too, not having afforded him the consolation of falling in their master's quarrel, but perishing in consequence of their simple-minded resistance to the measures of devastation carried on in his name. Henry, moved by the old man's suppressed grief, and the sight of a migrating band of houseless women and children, afflictingly appeals to Heaven for his innocence of such desolating intentions; yet, since these are the inevitable consequences of civil war, he implores from the Power which had raised him so high above contemporary princes, the strength to humble himself by sueing for peace. The brave Tedel, albeit unused to the relenting mood, admires a resolution which he could not have imitated; while old Henry of Lunenburg attests with unwonted tears, his sense of a self-conquest which he hesitates not to place above all the Lion's former victories. We are next transported to the Emperor's camp, where he is bitterly reproaching his imbecile commanders, Bernhard and Lewis, with the disastrous result of so decisive a campaign. Fred. Speak on't no more!-But this one victory, Bern. 'Twas evil destiny! Besides, 'tis known Philip of Cologne. 'Tis ev'n As Bernhard says. I vouch for it, my liege. Fred. (ironically.) That's high authority, most reverend sir. Ye needs must know the devil,-'tis your office. Devil or none, to me it matters little, If thus the Lion lays our forces prostrate. (To Lewis.) For you, Count Lewis, I am bound to blush Especially, seeing my doughty general He would have none of for a prisoner. Lewis. The fate of war is ever changing thus. Phil. Damp not our courage, good my liege. I hold The unworthy counsellors who surround the throne, continue to practise on the Emperor's conflicting passions of shame, and fear and in dignation, at his recent humiliation in Italy, all of which he ascribes to Henry's contumacy-to extort from him an oath confirmatory of the Diet's sentence, by which, in case of its revocation, they may be secured against the reviving power of the Lion. The Emperor, while his pride scorns to minister directly to the base views of others, adopts the suggestion as a safeguard against his own relentings. He exclaims, Fred. A Knight (entering.) Duke Henry comes! Lewis. Will ruin all! Fred. And with his army? All's lost! This sudden re-appearance Perchance a false alarm. Phil. If he's alone, we are a match for him! Lewis. And then, our troops are under arms. Oh, aye! I did not think of them. We're safe, Count Lewis. Fred. Thou Henry!-in the camp? Duke. Well may ye wonder, 'Tis daring in ye, Considering what's past. Fred. Without safe conduct, to confront your Emperor. Duke. I'm better used within these states to grant, Than ask safe conducts,-least of all of thee! Fred. The ban hangs o'er thine head. Thou art an outlaw. Fred. Duke. I've one no longer. Fred. Duke. Where hast thou left thine host? How? Doth this surprise ye! Ye had been more astonish'd, had I stood Fred. What dost thou seek? Duke. What doth that mean, Lord Emperor? Bern. (ironically.) The vassals of the Duke are falling off. It means, that he'd preserve his Ducal crown Henceforth by foreign swords. Duke (hastily.) Ah! that reminds me. Got ye back yours? I gave it to yon Landgrave, In charge for ye. [Bern. turns away ashamed. Fred. Duke. First, as regarding my complaint at Spire, Duke. Fred. Whither this leads. Duke. I marvel To reconcilement, Frederick Fred. (pointing to Bernhard.) Saxony's Duke stands here. I'd taught him better. Fred. What! He?-I thought Nay, his right's confirmed I can conquer Thy vassals have revolted. Duke. And why?-I govern'd justly that fair land. a Fred. 'Tis at least strange an outlaw'd man should dare Impose conditions-yet unwonted grace I'll show thee, and will call another Diet A fourth-to judge thy cause. Duke. No! 'tis with thee, And not with any Diet, I've to do! Diets and Emperors are burdened yet With Quidlinburg's deep debt of infamy; There died my father-poisoned by an Emperor! Duke. Aye, the race of Guelf hath much To thank the Emperors for!-My cousin Frederick! Thy mother was a Guelf-and from the heart I gave thee then my hand. Fred. (after a pause.) I know thee, Duke. Duke. Aye-e'er since Italy ?-'twas there my faith There for thy life I freely gave my blood. Fred. (seeming to resolve.) Well! Duke. [Philip and Bernhard both step forward and seize his handshe stands irresolute. Have these men earn'd the right To speak, even with thy life? Philip (in a whisper.) Thine oath, my Liege. Fred. (irritated by the recollection.) Who called the Emperor into court!-Ha! thou Thyself, Duke Henry! Wouldst thou have thy sentence And humbly wait for what imperial grace Duke. Is this our Emperor's speech? How am I fall'n When in my presence Frederick can speak thus! Duke (grasping his sword.) Ha! the traitor! Who spake that word? Several Voices. Help! help! the Emperor's threaten'd! Duke. To thee The name belongs-and yet, by Heav'n, thy heart That lent thee thy great office-Wipe the stain Fred. (beside himself.) I will!-lay hands on him. Duke (after hastily drawing, he lays it down and kneels.) Me?— Well, well!-'tis fate's decree! Once in the dust Thus didst thou lie before me-now we are quits, I've eased thee of that load-and now I dare though shorter and far inferior, may remember the reader of a similar one in Ivanhoe,) announces from a window the unexpected arrival of the Black Knight, and his almost superhuman efforts to achieve the rescue of Matilda, who scarcely knows whether to prefer deliverance by such questionable aid, to the utmost rigour of her enemies. The poor Black Knight (alas! with out much sympathy from those whom Duchess. Good angels be my guard! To tremble. Baldwin (taking it, and clasping it to his bosom.) Let me grasp salvation's pledge! Enter HENRY, hastily. Duke. My wife! my child!-(to Baldwin)-O, God of Heav'n! and thou? Is there no hope? Baldwin. Duke. None! Through thy corslet seams The blood fast oozes-Can it not be staunch'd? Baldwin. 'Tis from the heart!-There's help in God alone!— I've kept my promise, Henry!-there's thy wife Receive her from mine hand unharm'd. Sinless may my last glance upon thee rest, My next must meet my judge! [A Knight unclasps the helmet, and long fair hair falls over a female countenance. Duke. O, Clementina! Is't thee? and spite Of frowning priests, is thy heart faithful still? Clem. I've struggled long, but in my breast the flame Still conquer'd-still my erring passion glow'd Purer and brighter. In this solemn hour, When judgment's nigh, when Heav'n's decree impends Over mine head, my love is firm as ever! Duke (to Abbot.) O give that erring soul deliverance, Henry! The ties that, disallow'd by holy canons, Once made thee Henry's. Clem. God be gracious to me! In vain I'd conjure my rebellious heart, |