Literary Remains | Page 6

me, Languid and
sad drag their slow course along, And shake big gall-drops from their
heavy wings. But I will steal away these anxious thoughts By the soft
languishment of warbled airs, If haply melodies may lull the sense Of
sorrow for a while.
[Soft Music.]
[Enter TALLIEN.]
TALLIEN. Music, my love? O breathe again that air! Soft nurse of pain,
it soothes the weary soul Of care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze of
evening That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples.
SONG. Tell me, on what holy ground May domestic peace be found?
Halcyon daughter of the skies, Far on fearful wing she flies, From the
pomp of sceptred state, From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottag'd vale she dwells, List'ning to the Sabbath bells! Still around
her steps are seen Spotless honour's meeker mien, Love, the sire of
pleasing fears, Sorrow smiling through her tears, And conscious of the
past employ, Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
TALLIEN. I thank thee, Adelaide! 'twas sweet, though mournful. But
why thy brow o'ercast, thy cheek so wan? Thou look'st as a lorn maid
beside some stream, That sighs away the soul in fond despairing, While
sorrow sad, like the dank willow near her, Hangs o'er the troubled
fountain of her eye.
ADELAIDE. Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowers On Tallien's
darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong-- Thy soul distemper'd, can my
heart be tranquil?
TALLIEN. Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt? Asks he

not vengeance on these patriot murderers? It has been borne too tamely.
Fears and curses Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams
Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre. He dies!--nor has the plot
escaped his fears.
ADELAIDE. Yet--yet--be cautious! much I fear the Commune-- The
tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his Fast link'd in close
indissoluble union. The pale Convention--
TALLIEN. Hate him as they fear him, Impatient of the chain, resolved
and ready.
ADELAIDE. Th' enthusiast mob, confusion's lawless sons--
TALLIEN. They are aweary of his stern morality, The fair-mask'd
offspring of ferocious pride. The Sections too support the delegates:
All--all is ours! e'en now the vital air Of Liberty, condens'd awhile, is
bursting (Force irresistible!) from its compressure-- To shatter the arch
chemist in the explosion!
[Enter BILLAUD VARENNES and BOURDON L'OISE.]
[Adelaide retires.]
BOURDON L'OISE. Tallien! was this a time for amorous conference?
Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature, Marshals the force of Paris:
The fierce club, With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaim Have sworn
to make the guillotine in blood Float on the scaffold.--But who comes
here?
[Enter BARRERE abruptly.]
BARRERE. Say, are ye friends to freedom? I am hers! Let us, forgetful
of all common feuds, Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrant
Concerts a plan of instant massacre!
BILLAUD VARENNES. Away to the Convention! with that voice So
oft the herald of glad victory, Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their
ears The names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin! The violent workings of
my soul within Anticipate the monster's blood!
[Cry from the street of --No tyrant! Down with the tyrant!]
TALLIEN. Hear ye that outcry?--If the trembling members Even for a
moment hold his fate suspended, I swear by the holy poniard, that
stabbed Caesar, This dagger probes his heart!
[Exeunt omnes.]

ACT II.

SCENE--The Convention.
[ROBESPIERRE mounts the Tribune.]
ROBESPIERRE. Once more befits it that the voice of truth, Fearless in
innocence, though leaguer'd round By envy and her hateful brood of
hell, Be heard amid this hall; once more befits The patriot, whose
prophetic eye so oft Has pierc'd thro' faction's veil, to flash on crimes
Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave Sleeps Capet's caitiff
corse; my daring hand Levell'd to earth his blood-cemented throne, My
voice declared his guilt, and stirr'd up France To call for vengeance. I
too dug the grave Where sleep the Girondists, detested band! Long with
the show of freedom they abused Her ardent sons. Long time the
well-turn'd phrase, The high fraught sentence, and the lofty tone Of
declamation thunder'd in this hall, Till reason, midst a labyrinth of
words, Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent. I durst oppose. Soul
of my honour'd friend, Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call-- Thou know'st
me faithful, know'st with what warm zeal I urged the cause of justice,
stripp'd the mask From faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd Her traitor
brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down Hebert and Rousin, and the
villain friends Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long Mask'd
treason's form in liberty's fair garb, Long deluged France with blood,
and durst defy Omnipotence! but I, it seems, am false! I am a traitor too!
I--Robespierre! I--at whose name the dastard despot brood Look pale
with fear, and call on saints to