University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Kilnsey Crag. Henry and Norton discovered at the base of it.
HENRY.
O! to have seen her, Norton, in these arms,
Pale as a lily—pale as if the death
These arms had saved her from, had found her there!
Then to have watched returning colour faintly
Shine through the white—as dawn's red clouds through mist!—
And O! returning light to that fair eye
Which opened on me like the star of Morning—
Heavens! 'twas a moment and a rapture, worth
All the best hours and feelings of my life!

NORTON.
A tender moment, and a fortunate
For a disclosure of your name and love,
By which, of course, you profited.

HENRY.
It seems
Indeed, a time most opportune; but, Norton,
We are made up of inconsistencies.
I hardly know, e'en yet, why I let 'scape
That golden moment. Something I had learned
Of visit to these wilds; and it might be
That my romantic fancy nursed some scheme
Of gay adventure—some surprise—when She
Should grace my native scenes.

NORTON.
But your return
To the wild band of old associates,
And leading them in wrong, or in excess,
Seems a strange burying of new hopes.

HENRY.
It may.
Yet think of habit, Norton. And besides,
Perchance I thought my band of gallant Outlaws
Might be of use to aid whatever plan
Should catch my wayward humour.

NORTON.
And they will;
Depend upon their faith, and zeal to serve you.

HENRY.
You touch the very point on which I want
Your best co-operation. As I told you,
This Outlaw farce must terminate. Myself
Will counsel D'Eston, Farrand, and the rest.
Your word will weigh with the inferior names,
And eke with those brave peasants, whom our leading
Hath somewhat injured. Go, my friend; share this
[Gives him a Purse.
Among my humble followers, and assure them
That if they now abandon this wild life,
And settle down to honest villagers,
That small donation of their grateful Chief
Shall often be repeated. Act with firmness.
My order, tell them, is imperative.
That they must understand; yet mildly say it,
Nor wound a single feeling.—Pardon me
A caution which I feel your prudence needs not.
Farewell a while. Remember.

[Exit Henry.
NORTON
(solus).
Yes—I swear it!
Bear witness, ye pale stars, I will remember!
If thou and thine had covered me with favours;
If my House—which is ancient as thine own—
Had been distinguished by the courtesies
Lavished on richer, not on better men;
I might have been forgetful—like the world.
If thou and thine had ne'er o'ershadowed me,
As the proud oak the shrub; if thou—ay, thou—
Hadst never crossed my path, nor dashed my hopes,
E'en where my dearest feelings were concerned;
I might have been forgetful. But deep wrongs,
And slights that cut like wrongs, and—worse than all—
That show of kindness to disguise a heart
Of haughtiness and pride, demand remembrance!
To benefits the memory is a sieve,
Which injuries will not pass through. Be it so.
Mine shall be treasured here—until avenged!

[Exit.