 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
SONG.
1st Fisherman.
“High is the tower, and the watch-dogs bay,
And the flitting owlets shriek;
I see thee wave thy mantle grey,
But I cannot hear thee speak.
And the flitting owlets shriek;
I see thee wave thy mantle grey,
But I cannot hear thee speak.
“O, are they from the east or west,
The tidings he bears to me?
Or from the land that I love best,
From the knight of the north countree?”
The tidings he bears to me?
Or from the land that I love best,
From the knight of the north countree?”
Swift down the winding stair she rush'd,
Like a gust of the summer wind;
Her steps were light, her breath was hush'd,
And she dared not look behind.
Like a gust of the summer wind;
Her steps were light, her breath was hush'd,
And she dared not look behind.
She pass'd by stealth the narrow door,
The postern way also,
And thought each bush her robe that tore,
The grasp of a warding foe.
The postern way also,
And thought each bush her robe that tore,
The grasp of a warding foe.
And she has climb'd the moat so steep,
With chilly dread and fear,
While th' evening fly humm'd dull and deep,
Like a wardman whisp'ring near.
With chilly dread and fear,
While th' evening fly humm'd dull and deep,
Like a wardman whisp'ring near.
“Now, who art thou, thou Palmer tall,
Who beckonest so to me?
Art thou from that dear and distant hall?
Art thou from the north countree?”
Who beckonest so to me?
Art thou from that dear and distant hall?
Art thou from the north countree?”
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He rais'd his hood with wary wile,
That cover'd his raven hair,
And a manlier face and a sweeter smile
Ne'er greeted lady fair.
That cover'd his raven hair,
And a manlier face and a sweeter smile
Ne'er greeted lady fair.
“My coal-black steed feeds in the brake,
Of gen'rous blood and true;
He'll soon the nearest frontier make,
Let they who list pursue.
Of gen'rous blood and true;
He'll soon the nearest frontier make,
Let they who list pursue.
“Thy pale cheek shows an alter'd mind,
Thine eye the blinding tear;
Come not with me if aught behind
Is to thy heart more dear.
Thine eye the blinding tear;
Come not with me if aught behind
Is to thy heart more dear.
“Thy sire and dame are in that hall,
Thy friend, thy mother's son;
Come not with me, if one o'them all,
E'er lov'd thee as I have done.”
Thy friend, thy mother's son;
Come not with me, if one o'them all,
E'er lov'd thee as I have done.”
The lady mounted the coal-black steed,
Behind her knight I ween,
And they have pass'd through brake and mead,
And plain, and woodland green.
Behind her knight I ween,
And they have pass'd through brake and mead,
And plain, and woodland green.
But hark, behind! the warders shout,
And the hasty larums ring;
And the mingled sound of a gath'ring rout
The passing air doth bring.
And the hasty larums ring;
And the mingled sound of a gath'ring rout
The passing air doth bring.
O noble steed! now 'quit thee well,
And prove thy gen'rous kind!
That fearful sound doth louder swell,
It is not far behind.
And prove thy gen'rous kind!
That fearful sound doth louder swell,
It is not far behind.
“The frontier's near—a span the plain,
Press on and do not fail!
Ah! on our steps fell horsemen gain,
I hear their ringing mail.”
Press on and do not fail!
Ah! on our steps fell horsemen gain,
I hear their ringing mail.”
2d fish.
Tush, man! give o'er; thy ballads have no end,
When thou art in the mood. I hear below
A sound of many voices on the shore:
Some boat, belike, forced by the drifting current
Upon the rocks, may be in jeopardy.
1st fish.
'Tis all a mock to cut my ditty short.
Thou hast no mind to hear how it befell
That those two lovers were by kinsmen stern
O'erta'en; and how the knight,—by armed foes
Beset, a bloody combat bravely held,
And was the while robb'd of his lady fair.
And how in Paynim land they met again.
How, as a page disguised, she sought her knight,
Left on the field as lifeless. How she cheer'd him;
And how they married were, and home in state—
2d fish.
Ha' done, ha' done! a hundred times I've heard it.
My grandam lull'd me with it on her lap
Full many a night; and as my father sat,
Mending his nets upon the beach, he sang it.
I would I knew my prayers as well.—But hark!
I hear a noise again.—
[Goes to the bottom of the stage, as if he were looking down to the sea.
Along the shore
I see lights moving swiftly.
1st fish.
Some fishermen, who, later than the rest,
Their crazy boat bring in; while, to the beach,
With flaming brands, their wives and children run.
Rare sight, indeed, to take thy fancy so!
(Sings again.)
No fish stir in our heaving net,
And the sky is dark, and the night is wet;
And we must ply the lusty oar,
For the tide is ebbing from the shore;
And sad are they whose fagots burn,
So kindly stored for our return.
And the sky is dark, and the night is wet;
And we must ply the lusty oar,
For the tide is ebbing from the shore;
And sad are they whose fagots burn,
So kindly stored for our return.
Our boat is small and the tempest raves,
And nought is heard but the lashing waves,
And the sullen roar of the angry sea,
And the wild winds piping drearily;
Yet sea and tempest rise in vain,
We'll bless our blazing hearths again
And nought is heard but the lashing waves,
And the sullen roar of the angry sea,
And the wild winds piping drearily;
Yet sea and tempest rise in vain,
We'll bless our blazing hearths again
Push bravely, mates! Our guiding star
Now from its towerlet streameth far.
And now along the nearing strand,
See, swiftly moves yon flaming brand:
Before the midnight watch be past,
We'll quaff our bowl and mock the blast.
Bast.
Now from its towerlet streameth far.
And now along the nearing strand,
See, swiftly moves yon flaming brand:
Before the midnight watch be past,
We'll quaff our bowl and mock the blast.
(without).
Holla, good mate! Thou who so bravely singst!
Come down, I pray thee.
1st fish.
Who art thou who callst?
2d fish.
I know the voice; 'tis Signor Bastiani.
1st fish.
What! he, at such an hour, upon the cliff!
(Calling down.)
I cannot come. If, from my station here,
This fire untended, I were found; good sooth!
I had as lief the luckless friar be,
Who spilt the abbot's wine.
2d fish.
I'll go to him.
[Exit.
1st fish.
(muttering to himself).
Ay; leave my watch, indeed! a rare entreaty!
Enter Bastiani.
Bast.
Wilt thou not go? A boat near to the shore,
In a most perilous state, calls for assistance:
Who is like thee, good Stephen, bold and skilful?
Haste to its aid, if there be pity in thee,
Or any Christian grace. I will, meantime,
Thy beacon watch; and should the lady come,
Excuse thy absence. Haste; make no reply.
1st fish.
I will; God help us all!
[Exit.
Bast.
Here is, indeed, a splendid noble fire
307
To its fierce light oppos'd, seem thick and palpable,
And closed o'er head, like to the pitchy cope
Of some vast cavern.—Near at hand, methinks,
Soft female voices speak: I'll to my station. [Retires from the front of the stage behind the fire.
Enter Aurora, Terentia and Viola.
Viola.
A rousing light! Good Stephen hath full well
Obey'd your earnest bidding.—Fays and witches
Might round its blaze their midnight revelry
Right fitly keep.
Ter.
Ay; thou lov'st wilds and darkness,
And fire and storms, and things unsooth and strange:
This suits thee well. Methinks, in gazing on it,
Thy face a witch-like cagerness assumes.
Viola.
I'll be a goblin then, and round it dance.
Did not Aurora say we thus should hold
This nightly vigil. Yea, such were her words.
Aur.
They were light bubbles of some mantling thought,
That now is flat and spiritless; and yet,
If thou art so inclin'd, ask not my leave,
Dance if thou wilt.
Viola.
Nay, not alone, sweet sooth!
Witches, themselves, some fiend-like partners find.
Ter.
And so mayst thou. Look yonder; near the flame
A crested figure stands. That is not Stephen.
Aur.
(eagerly).
A crested figure! Where? O call to it!
[Bast. comes forward.
Ter.
'Tis Bastiani.
Aur.
Ay; 'tis Bastiani:
'Tis he, or any one; 'tis ever thus;
So is my fancy mock'd.
Bast.
If I offend you, madam, 'tis unwillingly
Stephen has for awhile gone to the beach,
To help some fishermen, who, as I guess,
Against the tide would force their boat to land.
He'll soon return; meantime, I did entreat him
To let me watch his beacon. Pardon me;
I had not else intruded; though full oft
I've clamber'd o'er these cliffs, e'en at this hour,
To see the ocean from its sabled breast
The flickering gleam of these bright flames return.
Aur.
Make no excuse, I pray thee. I am told
By good Terentia thou dost wish me well,
Though Ulrick long has been thy friend. I know
A wanderer on the seas in early youth
Thou wast, and still canst feel for all storm-toss'd
On that rude element.
Bast.
'Tis true, fair lady: I have been, ere now,
Where such a warning light, sent from the shore,
Had saved some precious lives; which makes the task,
I now fulfil, more grateful.
Aur.
How many leagues from shore may such a light
By the benighted mariner be seen?
Bast.
Some six or so, he will descry it faintly,
Like a small star, or hermit's taper, peering
From some cav'd rock that brows the dreary waste;
Or like the lamp of some lone lazar-house,
Which through the silent night the traveller spies
Upon his doubtful way.
Viola.
Fie on such images!
Thou shouldst have liken'd it to things more seemly.
Thou mightst have said the peasant's evening fire
That from his upland cot, through winter's gloom,
What time his wife their evening meal prepares,
Blinks on the traveller's eye, and cheers his heart;
Or signal-torch, that from my lady's bower
Tells wand'ring knights the revels are begun;
Or blazing brand, that from the vintage-house
O' long October nights, through the still air
Looks rousingly.—To have our gallant beacon
Ta'en for a lazar-house!
Bast.
Well, maiden, as thou wilt: thy gentle mistress
Of all these things may choose what likes her best,
To paint more clearly how her noble fire
The distant seamen cheer'd, who bless the while
The hand that kindled it.
Aur.
Shall I be bless'd—
By wand'ring men returning to their homes?
By those from shipwreck sav'd, again to cheer
Their wives, their friends, their kindred? Bless'd by those!
And shall it not a blessing call from heaven?
It will; my heart leaps at the very thought:
The seamen's blessing rests upon my head,
To charm my wand'rer home.—
Heap on more wood:
Let it more brightly blaze.—Good Bastiani,
Hie to thy task, and we'll assist thee gladly.
[As they begin to occupy themselves with the fire, the sound of distant voices, singing in harmony, is heard under the stage as if ascending the cliff.
Aur.
What may it be?
Viola.
The songs of Paradise,
But that our savage rocks and gloomy night
So ill agree with peaceful soothing bliss.
Ter.
No blessed spirits in these evil days
Hymn, through the stilly darkness, strains of grace.
Aur.
Nay, list; it comes again.
[Voices heard nearer.
Ter.
The mingled sound comes nearer, and betrays
Voices of mortal men.
Viola.
In such sweet harmony!
I never heard the like.
Aur.
They must be good and holy who can utter
Such heavenly sounds.
Bast.
I've surely heard before
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The holy brothers of Jerusalem.
It is a carol sung by them full oft,
When saved from peril dire of flood or field.
Aur.
The Knights of blest St. John from Palestine!
Alas! why feel I thus? knowing too well
They cannot bring the tidings I would hear.
[Chorus rises again very near.
Viola.
List, list! they've gain'd the summit of the cliff:
They are at hand; their voices are distinct;
Yea, e'en the words they sing.
[A solemn song or hymn, sung in harmony, heard without.
Men preserv'd from storm and tide,
And fire and battle, raging wide;
What shall subdue our steady faith,
Or of our heads a hair shall scath?
Men preserv'd, in gladness weeping,
Praise Him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
And fire and battle, raging wide;
What shall subdue our steady faith,
Or of our heads a hair shall scath?
Men preserv'd, in gladness weeping,
Praise Him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
And wheresoe'er in earth or sea
Our spot of rest at last shall be;
Our swords in many a glorious field,
Surviving heroes still shall wield,
While we our faithful meed are reaping
With Him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
Enter six Knights of St. John of Jerusalem in procession,
with their followers behind them, who do not
advance upon the stage, but remain partly concealed
behind the rocks.
Our spot of rest at last shall be;
Our swords in many a glorious field,
Surviving heroes still shall wield,
While we our faithful meed are reaping
With Him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
Aur.
Speak to them, Bastiani; thou'rt a soldier;
Thy mind is more composed.—I pray thee do.
[Motioning Bast. to accost them.
Bast.
This lady, noble warriors, greets you all,
And offers you such hospitality
As this late hour and scanty means afford.
Will't please ye round this blazing fire to rest?
After such perilous tossing on the waves,
You needs must be forspent.
1st knight.
We thank you, sir, and this most noble dame,
Whose beacon hath from shipwreck sav'd us. Driven
By adverse winds too near your rocky coast,
Warn'd by its friendly light, we stood to sea:
But soon discov'ring that our crazy bark
Had sprung a dangerous leak, we took our boat
And made for shore. The nearest point of land
Beneath this cliff, with peril imminent,
By help of some good fishermen we gain'd;
And here, in God's good mercy, safe we are
With grateful hearts.
Aur.
We praise that mercy also
Which hath preserv'd you.
1st knight.
Lady, take our thanks.
And may the vessel of that friend beloved,
For whom you watch, as we have now been told,
Soon to your shore its welcome freight convey!
Aur.
Thanks for the wish; and may its prayers be heard!
Renowned men ye are; holy and brave;
In every field of honour and of arms
Some of your noble brotherhood are found:
Perhaps the valiant knights I now behold,
Did on that luckless day against the Souldan
With brave De Villeneuve for the cross contend.
If this be so, you can, perhaps, inform me
Of one who in the battle fought, whose fate
Is still unknown.
1st knight.
None of us all, fair dame, so honour'd were
As in that field to be, save this young knight.
Sir Bertram, wherefore, in thy mantle wrapt,
Standst thou so far behind? Speak to him, lady:
For in that battle he right nobly fought,
And may, belike, wot of the friend you mention'd.
Aur. (going up eagerly to the young knight). Didst thou there fight? then surely thou didst know
The noble Ermingard, who from this isle
With valiant Conrad went:—
What fate had he upon that dismal day?
Young knight.
Whate'er his fate in that fell fight might be,
He now is as the dead.
Aur.
Is as the dead! ha! then he is not dead:
He's living still. O tell me—tell me this!
Say he is still alive; and though he breathe
In the foul pest-house; though a wretched wand'rer,
Wounded and maim'd; yea, though his noble form
With chains and stripes and slavery be disgraced,
Say he is living still, and I will bless thee.
Thou knowst—full well thou knowst, but wilt not speak.
What means that heavy groan? For love of God, speak to me!
[Tears the mantle from his face, with which he had concealed it.
My Ermingard! My blessed Ermingard!
Thy very living self restored again!
Why turn from me?
Er.
Ah! callst thou this restor'd?
Aur.
Do I not grasp thy real living hand?
Dear, dear!—so dear! most dear!—my lost, my found!
Thou turnst and weepst; art thou not so to me?
Er.
Ah! would I were! alas, alas, I'm lost:
Sever'd from thee for ever.
Aur.
How so? What mean such words?
Er.
(shaking his head, and pointing to the cross on his mantle).
Look on this emblem of a holy vow,
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We are, my sweet Aurora, far divided;
Out bliss is wreck'd for ever.
Aur.
No; thou art still alive, and that is bliss.
Few moments since, what would I not have sacrificed,
To know that in the lapse of many years
I should again behold thee?—I had been—
How strongly thou art moved!—Thou heedst me not.
Ter.
(to Aur.)
Were it not better he should leave this spot?
Let me conduct him to my quiet bower.
Rest and retirement may compose his mind.
Aur.
Ay, thou art right, Terentia.
Ter.
(to the other knights).
Noble knights,
And these your followers! gentle Bastiani
Will to a place of better comfort lead you,
Where ye shall find some hospitable cheer,
And couches for repose.—Have we your leave
That your companion be a little time
Ta'en from your company?
1st knight.
You have, good lady,
Most readily we grant it.—Heaven be with you,
And this your lovely charge!
(To Bast.)
Sir, to your guidance
We yield ourselves right gladly.
[Exeunt knights, &c., by a path between the rocks, and Aurora and Ermingard, &c., by another path.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |