are widely sundered. Amid the choirs of happy angels
thou wilt forget thy father--thou wilt bring me down no drop of cooling
dew. O George! George! my son! my son!

GEORGE. What dreadful cries! I tremble, father. Louder and louder,
nearer and nearer comes the thunder of the cannon; the last hour--the
prophesied--draws near!

THE MAN. Jacob! quick--quick--here!

A band of counts and princes cross the courtyard. Jacob follows
with the soldiers.

A VOICE. You give us broken arms, and force us to the combat!

ANOTHER VOICE. Henry, have mercy on thyself!

THIRD VOICE. Weak, wearied, famished, drive us not upon the walls!

FOURTH VOICE. Where do they drive us? where?

THE MAN. To death!--(_To George, folding him in his arms._) With this
embrace I would fain bind thee to my heart forever, George! Alas! I know
our paths are widely sundered: it may not be, my son! my son!

Struck by a ball, George sinks dying in his arms.

VOICE (_from above_). To me! to me! pure spirit! Up to me, my son!

THE MAN. Ha! to my aid, soldiers! (_He draws his sword, and holds it
before the lips of the wounded boy._) The blade is crystal clear; no
moisture dims the cold and glittering steel! Breath and life already
gone! O George, my son!

Ha! they are upon me! On I on! They are at last but a sword's length
from me! Back! Back! into the abyss, ye sons of freedom. Back!

Rushing on of man, confusion, struggle.

* * * * *

Another part of the wall of the castle. Men in the distance in line
of battle. Jacob is seen stretched out upon the wall: the Man,
sprinkled with blood, hastily approaches him.

THE MAN. Faithful old man, what has happened to you?

JACOB. May the devil reward you in hell for your obstinacy, and my dying
agonies!

So help me God the Lord!

Dies.

THE MAN (_throwing away his sword_). I will need thee no longer, sword
of my fathers! My son is in heaven--the very last of my retainers lies
dead at my feet--the craven nobles have deserted their cause; already
they kneel before the victor, and sue and howl for mercy! (_Looking in
every direction around him._) There still is time; as yet the enemy are
not upon me! I will steal a moment's rest before....

Ha! the New Men scale the northern tower; they shout 'Count Henry'--they
seek him in every direction!

Here I am! here I am! here I am! But you are not to pronounce sentence
upon me; the dead h