I have yet one thing,
A matter of importance on my mind:
In your hands I deposit it. My lot
Was such as few indeed have e'er enjoyed-
I loved a prince's son. My heart to one-
To that one object given.-embraced the world!
I have created in my Carlos' soul,
A paradise for millions! Oh, my dream
Was lovely! But the will of Providence
Has summoned me away, before my hour,
From this my beauteous work. His Roderigo
Soon shall be his no more, and friendship's claim
Will be transferred to love. Here, therefore, here,
Upon this sacred altar-on the heart
Of his loved queen-I lay my last bequest
A precious legacy-he'll find it here,
When I shall be no more.
[He turns away, his voice choked with grief.
QUEEN.
This is the language
Of a dying man-it surely emanates
But from your blood's excitement-or does sense
Lie hidden in your language?
MARQUIS (has endeavored to collect himself, and continues
in a solemn voice).
Tell the prince,
That he must ever bear in mind the oath
We swore, in past enthusiastic days,
Upon the sacred host. I have kept mine-
I'm true to him till death-'tis now his turn--
QUEEN.
Till death?
MARQUIS.
Oh, bid him realize the dream,
The glowing vision which our friendship painted,
Of a new-perfect realm! And let him lay
The first hand on the rude, unshapened stone.
Whether he fail or prosper-all alike-
Let him commence the work. When centuries
Have rolled away shall Providence again
Raise to the throne a princely youth like him,
And animate again a favorite son
Whose breast shall burn with like enthusiasm.
Tell him, in manhood, he must still revere
The dreams of early youth, nor ope the heart
Of heaven's all-tender flower to canker-worms
Of boasted reason,-nor be led astray
When, by the wisdom of the dust, he hears
Enthusiasm, heavenly-born, blasphemed.
I have already told him.
QUEEN.
Whither, marquis? Whither does all this tend?
MARQUIS.
And tell him further, I lay upon his soul the happiness
Of man-that with my dying breath I claim,
Demand it of him-and with justest title.
I had designed a new, a glorious morn,
To waken in these kingdoms: for to me
Philip had opened all his inmost heart-
Called me his son-bestowed his seals upon me-
And Alva was no more his counsellor.
[He pauses, and looks at the QUEEN for a few moments in silence.
You weep! I know those tears, beloved soul!
Oh, they are tears of joy!-but it is past-
Forever past! Carlos or I? The choice
Was prompt and fearful. One of us must perish!
And I will be that one. Oh, ask no more!
QUEEN.
Now, now, at last, I comprehend your meaning,
Unhappy man! What have you done?
MARQUIS.
Cut off
Two transient hours of evening to secure
A long, bright summer-day! I now give up
The king forever. What were I to the king?
In such cold soil no rose of mine could bloom;
In my great friend must Europe's fortune ripen.
Spain I bequeath to him, still bathed in blood
From Philip's iron hand. But woe to him,
Woe to us both, if I have chosen wrong!
But no-oh, no! I know my Carlos better-
'Twill never come to pass!-for this, my queen,
You stand my surety.
[After a silence.
Yes! I saw his love
In its first blossom-saw his fatal passion
Take root in his young heart. I had full power
To check it; but I did not. The attachment
Which seemed to me not guilty, I still nourished.
The world may censure me, but I repent not,
