om 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 we