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Tell. I told thee in the mountains.

Ges. How lies it-north or south?

Tell. Nor north, nor south.

Ges. Is't to the east or west, then?
Tell. Where it lies,

concerns thee not.

Ges. It does.

Tell. And if it does, thou shalt not learn.

Ges. Art married?

Tell. Yes.

Ges. And hast a family?

Tell. A son.

Ges. A son!

Sarnem !

Sar. My lord, the boy! (Exit Sarnem.)

Tell. The boy! what boy?

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Is't mine? - and have they netted my young fledgeling?
Now heaven support me, if they have! He'll own me.
And share his father's ruin. But a look,

Would put him on his guard—yet how to give it!

Now, heart, thy nerve: forget thou'rt flesh-be rock,

They come-they come !

That step-that step-that little step, so light

Upon the ground, how heavy does it fall

Upon my heart! I feel my child! — 'Tis he!

We can but perish.

[Enter Sarnem with Albert, who's eyes are rivetted on Tell's bow,, which Sarnem carries.]

Albert. (Aside.) 'Tis my father's bow,

For there's my father. I'll not own him, though.

Sar. See!

Alb. What?

Sar. Look there.

S

Alb. I do; what would you have

Me see?

Sar. Thy father.

Alb. That is not my father!

Tell. My boy-my boy! my own brave boy! He's safe!

Sar. They're like each other.

Ges. Yet I see no sign

Of recognition to betray the link

Unites a father and his child.

Sar. My lord,

I'm sure it is his father. Look at them:
That boy did spring from him, or never cast
Came from the mould it fitted. It may be
A preconcerted thing 'gainst such a chance
That they survey each other coldly thus.
Besides, with those who lead the mountain life,
The passions are not taken by surprise,
As ready as with us. They do commune
From day to day with nature's wonders, till
They see her very terrors without awe,

And catch from her her stern and solemn look,
That e'en their joy seems thoughtful.

Ges. We shall try.

Lead forth the caitiff.

Sar. To a dungeon?

Ges. No:

Into the court.

Sar. The court, my lord.

Ges. And send

To tell the headsman to make ready. Quick!

The slave shall die! You mark'd the boy?
Sar. I did.

He started -'tis his father.

Ges. We shall see.

Away with him!

Tell. Stop!-stay!

Ges. What would you?

Tell. Time

A little time, to call my thoughts together.

Ges. Thou shalt not have a minute.

Tell. Some one, then,

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He were, art thou so lost to nature as

To send me forth to die before his face?

Ges. Well, speak with him. Now, Sarnem, mark them well. Tell. Thou dost not know me, boy; and well for thee

Thou dost not. I'm the father of a son

About thy age: I dare not tell thee where

To find him, lest he should be found of those
"Twere not so safe for him to meet with. Thou,
I see, wast born, like him, upon the hills:
If thou shouldst 'scape thy present thraldom, he
May chance to cross thee; if he should, I pray thee
Relate to him what has been passing here,

And say I laid my hand upon thy head,

And said to thee if he were here, as thou art,

Thus would I bless him: Mayst thou live, my boy,
To see thy country free, or die for her

As I do!

Sar. Mark:- He weeps.

Tell. Were he my son,

He would not shed a tear: he would remember
The cliff where he was bred, and learn'd to scan
A thousand fathoms' depth of nether air;
Where he was train'd to hear the thunder talk,
And meet the lightning eye to eye! Where last
We spoke together-when I told him death

Bestow'd the brightest gem that graces life,
Embraced for virtue's sake-he shed a tear!
Now, were he by, I'd talk to him, and his cheek
Should never blanch, nor moisture dim his eye,—
I'd talk to him

Sar. He falters.

Tell 'Tis too much!

And yet it must be done! I'd talk to him
Ges. Of what?

Tell. The mother, tyrant, thou dost make
A widow of! I'd talk to him of her.

I'd bid him tell her, next to liberty,

Her name was the last words my lips pronounced:
And I would charge him never to forget

To love and cherish her, as he would have
His father's dying blessing rest upon him!

Sar. You see, as he doth prompt, the other acts.
Tell. So well he bears it, he doth vanquish me.
My boy my boy!-O, for the hills- the hills,
To see him bound along their tops again,
With liberty, so light upon his heel,

That, like the chamois, he flings behind him

Sar. Was there not all the father in that look?

Ges. Yet 'tis against nature.

Sar. Not if he believes

To own the son would be to make him share

The father's death.

Ges. I did not think of that.

I thank thee, Sarnem, for the thought. 'Tis well
The boy is not thy son; I've destin'd him

To die along with thee.

Tell. To die! For what?

Ges. For having brav'd my power, as thou hast. Lead Them forth.

Tell. He's but a child.

Ges. Away with them!

Tell. Perhaps an only child.

Ges. No matter.

Tell. He

May have a mother.

Ges. So the viper hath;

And yet who spares it for the mother's sake?
Tell. I talk to stone! I talk to it as though
"Twere flesh, and know 'tis none. No wonder I've
An argument might turn as hard a thing

To flesh- to softest, kindliest flesh, as e'er
Sweet Pity chose to lodge her fountains in.—
But I do talk to stone. I'll talk to it

No more. Come, my boy

I taught thee how to live - I'll show thee how
To die-

Ges. He is thy child?

Tell. He is my child!

Ges. I've wrung

Tell. My name?

:

tear from him! Thy name?

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Ges. What! he so fam'd 'bove all his countrymen

For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat?

And such a master of his bow, 'tis said

His arrows never miss! - Indeed - I'll take

Exquisite vengeance! - Mark! I'll spare thy life,

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