Ang. I had rather gaze on thee. Cla.

And think how long We sate beneath the myrtle shade, how long Paced the cool trellis walk. When next thou steal'st Hither, from thy proud palace, I must time thee By seconds, as the nice physician counts The boundings of the fevered pulse. Away, Dear Angelo; think, if my father find thee

Ang. Oh, talk not of him, sweet! why was I born The heir of the Colonna! why art thou Rienzi's daughter? What a world of foes, Stern scorn, and fiery pride, and cold contempt Are ranged betwixt us twain; yet love, and time, Be faithful, mine own Claudia-time, and love! Cla. Alas, alas!

Ang. Thy father loves thee, sweetest, With a proud dotage, almost worshipping The idol it hath framed. Thou fear'st not him?

Cla. Alas! I have learned to fear him; he is changed,

Grievously changed; still good and kind, and full
Of fond relentings-crossed by sudden gusts
Of wild and stormy passion. I have learned
A daughter's trembling love. Then, he's so silent-
He, once so eloquent. Of old, each show,
Bridal, or joust, or pious pilgrimage,

Lived in his vivid speech. Oh! 't was my joy,
In that bright glow of rapid words, to see
Clear pictures, as the slow procession coiled
Its glittering length, or stately tournament
Grew statelier in his voice. Now he sits mute-
His serious eyes bent on the ground-each sense
Turned inward.

Ang.

Somewhat chafes his ardent spirit. Cla. And should I grieve him, too? Lord Angelo,

The love deserves no blessing, that deceives
A father.

Ang. Mine own Claudia!
Cla.

We must part.

Claudia, I say! She trembles at the sound
Of her own name, and flutters like a bird
Fresh caught, as I approach. It likes me ill
To scare thee thus, fair daughter. Time has been,
When thou hast listened for me--when my voice,
Half a street off-my footstep on the causeway—
Would bring my little handmaid, springing forth
With eager service, to fling wide the door,
And seize my cloak. Nay, nay, I need thee not.
Cla. Oh, let me take it, father!
Rie.

Sit thee down,
And ply thy sewing. Hath Alberti-no-
The west is glowing still. Hark ye, fair mistress:
Crossing the hall but now, I saw a shadow
Upon the garden wall, as clearly traced,
By the sun's parting rays, as I see thee
Weaving fresh tangles in that ravelled skein,
Which thou affect 'st to wind. He must have passed
By yonder open lattice. Art thou dumb?

Didst thou not see him, Claudia? him whose shadow Darkened the sunny wall?

Oh, no!

Cla. No, no! I'll tell thee all: forgive me, father, Only forgive me!-thou shalt hear

Rie.

Not now,

Not now, my Claudia; cheer thee, sweet! I'll hear |
Thy tale some fitter season.. Wipe thine eyes.
If I've been harsh with thee, 't was love, my Claudia,
Love of my fairest daughter, and vexed thoughts
Of this oppressed city. Sit thee, sweet!

All is at peace between us: weep no more,
My Claudia.

Cla.

Rie.

This is joy.

I have been chafed By one of yon base minions. But the hour Of vengeance comes.

Cla. Rie.

Of vengeance!

Say, of freedom:

Dost tremble at the sound?

These brawls match ill with thy white hairs.

Col. Good wife,

Would'st have me turn a craven in mine age,
A by-word to mine enemies?
Lady C.

Art thou not
Stephen Colonna, of that greatest name
The greatest? Which of these, proud Ursini,
May match with thee in fame? But thy old wreaths
Were won in nobler fields. These private feuds
Are grown a crying evil.

Count Savelli!

Enter Savelli.

Sav. A fair good evening, noble dame. Colonna, Hear'st thou the news?

Col.

Of Martin Ursini?

Sav. Nay, that were common, stale, and trivial.—

See,

I bring ye tidings of rebellion, sirs;

High tidings! stirring tidings! prompt rebellion! Headed-I pr'ythee guess.

Caf.

Rare food for mirth,

If we may judge by look and tone. The wives Of Rome revolted? or the husbands risen Against their gentle dames.

Sav.

"Tis a brief summons,

Fiery, but scholary, stern, bold, and plain

Calling the citizens to meet to-night

And win their freedom.

Such a scroll as this

There lies the mirth: ye'll never guess-read here.

(Showing a scroll.

Caf. What, Cola di Rienzi! honest Cola!
Who saves Colonna here a jester's charge,
A fool without the bells. Honest Rienzi!
'Tis a device of the black Ursini.

Col. Likelier some freak of Cola's. He hath turned

A bitter knave of late, and lost his mirth,

And mutters riddling warnings and wild tales

Of the great days of heathen Rome; and prates

Of peace, and liberty, and equal law,

And mild philosophy, to us the knights

And warriors of this warlike age, who rule

I ever thought him so:
A sad wise man, of daring eye, and free,

Yet mystic speech. When ye have laughed, I still
Have shuddered, for his darkling words, oft fell
Like oracles, answering with dim repose
To my unspoken thoughts, so that my spirit
Albeit unused to womanish fear, hath quail'd
To hear his voice's deep vibration. Watch him!
Be sure he is ambitious. Watch him, lords :-
He hath o'erleapt the barrier, poverty;
Hath conquered his mean parentage; hath clomb
To decent station, to high lettered fame;
The pontiff's notary, the honoured friend
Of Petrarch. Watch him well.

Col.

Cola Rienzi-honest Cola, rise

Tush, tush! Rienzi→

'Gainst us! Fair wife, I deemed thee wiser. They
Who plot are silent. Would we were as sure
Of Martin Ursini! What says Avignon?
The holy father hath not joined the faction?

Enter Rienzi.

Sav. I know not: but the cardinals, his uncles, Are powerful with Pope Clement.

All the race,

Col.
Churchmen or laic, old or young, have craft

Veined in their stony hearts-the master-streak
Of that cold marble. Of the cardinals,
Gaetano is a soldier-priest, but wary,

And politic as valiant; Annibal,

A meek soft-spoken monk, who, crawling, climbs Ambition's loftiest ladder. Of the nephews

By danger the two hands that tightest grasp
Each other-the two cords that soonest knit
A fast and stubborn tie: your true-love knot
Is nothing to it. Faugh! the supple touch
Of pliant interest, or the dust of time,
Or the pin-point of temper, loose, or rot,
Or snap love's silken band. Fear and old hate,
They are sure weavers-they work for the storm,
The whirlwind, and the rocking surge; their knot
Endures till death. Ye will be friends, I tell thee-
Ere yon inconstant moon hath waxed and waned,
Ye will be friends. Yet Martin Ursini

Here, in his parent nest? If thou wouldst meet
The rover, go where Mandolines are heard,
Beneath coy beauty's lattice. Count Savelli
Has a fair daughter.
Caf.
Bianca Ursini.

Col.

I heard him praise

An Ursini !

Yet watch him as thou may, against thy will
He shall espouse the fairest maid in Rome;
The fairest and the greatest.

Sav.
And as good
As she is great, and innocent as fair?
Rie. Even to the crowning of a poet's dream;
Gentle, and beautiful, and good. Yet mark me--
Against thy will! I said against thy will! [Erit.

The night is fair-I shall take horse at once
For Palestrina; thence to Avignon.
We'll bide some struggle with these Ursini.
Will ye ride with me, kinsmen ?

Caf.

Joyfully.

Yes:

Lady C. I'll wait ye to the court. Yet, once again, Beware Rienzi!

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Before the gates of the Capitol, at midnight.

Alberti, Paolo, Citizens, &c.-Crowd in the back

ground.

First Cit. This is the chosen spot. A brave as

semblage!

Second Cit. Why, yes. No marvel that Rienzi

struck

Rie. A dream! Dost see yon phalanx, stili and stern?

An hundred leaders, each with such a band,
So armed, so resolute, so fixed in will,

Wait with suppressed impatience till they hear
The great bell of the Capitol, to spring

At once on their proud foes. Join them.
Ang. My father!

Rie. Already he hath quitted Rome.
Ang. My kinsmen!

Rie. We are too strong for contest. Thou shalt see
No other change within our peaceful streets
Than that of slaves to freemen. Such a change
As is the silent step from night to day,
From darkness into light. We talk too long.
Ang. Yet reason with them-warn them.
Rie.
And their answer

Will be the gaol, the gibbet, or the axe,
The keen retort of power. Why, I have reasoned;
And, but that I am held, amongst your great ones,
Half madman and half fool, these bones of mine
Had whitened on yon wall. Warn them! They met
At every step dark warnings. The pure air,
Where'er they passed, was heavy with the weight
Of sullen silence; friend met friend, nor smiled,
Till the last footfall of the tyrant's steed
Had died upon the ear; and low and hoarse
Hatred came murmuring like the deep voice
Of the wind before the tempest. Sir, the boys-
The unfledged boys, march at their mother's hist,
Beside their grandsires; even the girls of Rome-
The gentle and the delicate, array

Their lovers in this cause. I have one yonder,
Claudia Rienzi-thou hast seen the maid-
A silly trembler, a slight fragile toy,

As ever nursed a dove, or reared a flower-
Yet she, even she, is pledged-

(The Citizens shout-Hail to our Tribune! The bell sounds thrice; shouts again; and a military band is heard playing a march without.

Hark-the bell, the bell!
The knell of tyranny-the mighty voice,
That, to the city and the plain--to earth,
And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale
Of Rome re-born, and freedom. See, the clouds
Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light
Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars
Look out on us, and smile.

(The gate of the Capitol opens, and Alberti and Setdiers join the People, and lay the keys at Rienzi's feet.

Hark! that great voice
Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke
The Capitol is won-the gates unfold-
The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend,
How shall I pay thy service? Citizens!
First to possess the palace citadel-

The famous strength of Rome; then to sweep on,
Triumphant, through her streets.

(As Rienzi and the People are entering the Capitol, he pauses.

Oh, glorious wreck

Hear me swear

First Cit. Martin Ursini?
Pao.

Now sits in judgment on him.

First Cit.

Second Cit.

The tribune

Wherefore?

Sir,