JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
God speed the ship Columbus! may
Her star-bright pennant shine
Abroad, at home, for many a day
The boast of all the Line.
God speed her noble Captain!—Land
I dare defy, or sea,
To find an abler to command,
Or kindlier man than he.
Sept. 10, 1834.
The patriotic drama of William Tell, has been often
repeated on our boards, and been always witnessed
with interest and enthusiasm by our countrymen.
The author, Mr. J. S. Knowles, is now among us—
we feel peculiar gratification in being enabled to lay
before our readers the following additional scene,
which was written and performed at the author's
benefit, on a late occasion, at one of the London
theatres. We believe it has never until now been
republished in this country.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Tell’s Cottage—Melchtal asleep upon a couch, at the
head of which Emma is watching. Emma. (rising,
and coming forward.)
I never knew a weary night before!
I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
And still no William—and the storm was on,
Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep,
The mountain with the lightning all ablaze,
And shaking with the thunder—but to-night
Mine eyes refuse to close! The old man rests:
Pain hath outworn itself, and turned to ease.
How deadly calm ’s the night! What ’s that?
grown
An idiot with my fears. I do not know
The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!
What keeps him? ’tis but four hours’ journey hence:
He'd rest; then four hours back again. What keeps
him?
Erni would sure be found by him—he knows
The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!
Metcu. Help! (in his sleep.)
Emma. What's the matter?
dreaming:
He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
I’m sick with terror! Merciful powers! what ’s this
That fills my heart with horrible alarm,
And yet it cannot see.
ME cu. (waking.) Where am I?
Emma. Father!
Metcu. My daughter, is it thou? Thank heaven,
I'm here!
Is ’t day yet?
Emma. No.
Me cn. Is ’t far on the night?
Emma. Methinks, about the turn on’t.
Me cu. Is the boy
Come back?
Emma. No, father.
Metcu. Nor thy husband?
Emma. No.
Metcu. A woful wife and mother have I made
thee!
Would thou had’st never seen me.
Emma. Father!
Metcu. Child?
Emma. Methinks I hear a step!—I do! (knocking.)
A knock!
Metcu. ‘Tis William!
Emma. No, it is not William's knock.
door.)
I told you so! Your will?
I'm
Only the old man
(Opens the
Enter STRANGER. Srran. Seeing a light, I e’en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter, For I have miss'd my way. Emma. Whence come you, friend? Srran. From Altorf. Emma. Altorf! Any news from thence? Srran. Ay! News to harrow parents’ hearts, and make The barren bless themselves that they are childless! Emma. May heaven preserve my boy! Metcu. What says thy news? Srran. Art thou not Melchtal—he whose eyes ’tis said The tyrant has torn out? Metcu. Yes, friend, the same. Srran. Is this thy cottage? Metcu. No; ’tis William Tell's. Srran. "Tis William Tell's—And that’s his wife —Good night. Emma. (Rushing between him and the door.) Thou stirr’st not hence until thy news be told! Srray. My news? In sooth ‘tis nothing thou
would’st heed.
Tis something none should heed so well
'
Emma.
as I!
Stray. I must be gone.
Emma. Thou seest a tigress, friend,
Spoil’d of her mate and young, and yearning for them.
Don’t thwart her! Come, thy news. What fear’st
thou, man;
What more has she to dread, who reads thy looks,
And knows the most has come. Thy news? Is ’t
bondage?
Srran. It is.
Emma. Thank heaven it is not death!
Or two?
STRAN.
Emma.
Is ’t not?
Srran. It is.
Emma. My husband and my son
Are in the tyrant’s power! There ’s worse than that!
What ’s that is news to harrow parents’ breasts,
The which the thought to only tell, ’twould seem,
Drives back the blood to thine!—Thy news, I say!
Would’st thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman’s aim,
Would’st thou not have the fatal arrow speed,
Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!—
Me.cu. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whate’er
it is!
Srran. To save himself and child from certain
death,
TELL is to hit an apple, to be plac’d
Upon the stripling’s head.
Metcu. My child! my child!—
Speak to me!—Stranger, hast thou kill'd her?
Emma. No!
No, father. I'm the wife of William Tell;
Oh but to be a man! to have an arm
To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong!
Unnatural—insufferable wrong!
When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?
Srran. To-morrow.
Emma. Spirit of the lake and hill,
Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him
Who makes his pastime of a mother’s pangs,
Launch down thy vengeance by a mother’s hand!
Know’st the signal when the hills shall rise? (To
Melchial.)
Metcu. Are they to rise?
Emma. I see thou knowest naught.
Srran. Something’s on foot! "T'was only yester-
day,
Of one—
Of two.
A father and a son?
