University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Lake on the South Side of the Convent, surrounded with Mountains.—At the back Ground Alfonso is discovered pacing restlessly to and fro.—The Convent is seen.
Alf.
It will not be concealed! Death! death! release me!
Ye mountains! on whose heights, when first ye tower'd,
Coeval winter stood! hoar cliffs! where time,
From the first stretch and waving of his wing,
Shed everlasting snows! hear, hear my voice!
Fall on my brow! and thou, on which I tread,
Immoveable rock! rive thy deep base beneath me!
Nor give me back, 'till at th' appointed hour
I, and each secret sinner upon earth,
Stand up, and hear the doom that shall not change.

Conf.
(Without.)
Alfonso!

Enter Confessor.
Alf.
Ha!

Conf.
'T is he! I long have sought thee—loudly call'd—
And thrice the Convent bell has warn'd thee home.

Alf.
It 'scap'd me not unheard.

Conf.
The Provost sends me—

Alf.
Consents he to my wishes?

Conf.
Trust his kindness.

Alf.
He comes to search my soul.

Conf.
Not yours alone.
Each layman, every hind that serves the house,
Has render'd strict account.

Alf.
Pure, sinless souls!
Why wound their spirit with unfounded questions?
They have not shed man's blood.

Conf.
'T is true, they urg'd the inquiry.

Alf.
And, ere now,
Each to his day-task hies with lighten'd heart,
Merrily trolling forth his mountain song,
Each with the good man's blessing on his head.

Conf.
So shall thy soul find peace.

Alf.
Oh, never! never!

Conf.
Thou little know'st his kindness; but thy deeds
Are known to him.

Alf.
(Disturbed.)
What deeds?

Conf.
All, all, whate'er
Zeal, unabated toil, and dauntless courage
Have wrought at risk of life.

Alf.
Would I had died
In rescuing those that suffer'd!

Conf.
Hear, Alfonso!
His voice will sooth thy misery.
He is not, as some are who wear our garb,
Of soul austere: virtue in him beams forth
With seraph mercy. Here his way of life,
'Mid scenes of suffering, but in closer bonds,
Links him to those that suffer; and hoar age,
That draws his spirit nearer to its God,
Looks kindly back on those who toil below.
If thou hast sinn'd, in him the penitent sinner
Beholds a father.

Alf.
But I have not shed
The tear of penitence that cleanses guilt.
Who probes my soul,
Must loath the thing I am. I shall pour forth
To the astonish'd and incredulous ear
Of this most sinless father, deeds of woe;
Guilt that shall shock his nature, while he weeps
In pity of man's weakness.

Conf.
Calm thy spirit.

Alf.
(Highly agitated.)
These rocks have heard it, and the night-storm borne
On his dark wing, 'mid cliffs and hollow caves,
My echo'd groans; and I have quak'd to hear,
When the gust paus'd,
Sounds as of men, accomplices in blood,
Muttering their tales of murder.

Conf.
Soothe him, Heav'n!
Be calm, Alfonso; these wild bursts of passion
Will but arouse suspicion.—Why thus grasp me?

Alf.
Suspicion! Who beheld me? Where th' accuser?
Come to the Provost.

Conf.
Not till thou art tranquil.
None, none shall see thee thus, so strangely mov'd.
I oft have still'd thy grief.

Alf.
Thou art most kind.

Conf.
Look round; this scene shall soothe thy soul to peace.
Long years may pass, ere in these storm-tost heights
A sky so clear, air of such temperate breath,
And sun with scarce a cloud to veil his glory,
May visit us again.

Alf.
Oh, holy comforter!
Scenes such as these have rais'd my voice in prayer
'Mid solitudes where none on earth could hear.
Oh, that the innocent joys of days long past
Might steal me from myself, like lenient dreams
Of friends that are no more!

Conf.
Nay, inly brood not;
Look on yon azure sky, and call on Heav'n.—
Oh hang not o'er that lake.
Why dost thou gaze so fixedly upon it?

Alf.
Look where the shape of yon o'erhanging crag
That thwarts the sun, lies shadow'd in the lake,
How suddenly the gathering ice shoots on,
Chilling the wave beneath.
(To himself.)
E'en so it fares with me. The winter, here,
Turns every object that the eye doth glance on
To its own cheerless nature.
(Starts back from the lake in frantic agitation.)
Heav'n and earth!—

Conf.
Whence that wild look of horror?

Alf.
That, that form (Pointing to the lake.)

Which scowl'd upon me there:—not earthly, sure!
Oh, never yet did flesh and blood assume
Such ghastly semblance! never living eye
So look'd!

Conf.
Oh, merciful Heav'n!

Alf.
I conjure thee,
Oh, tell me, am I then that ghastly form?
Was it myself? was there none other here?

Conf.
It was thy shadow'd form.

Alf.
(Most vehemently.)
Guilt, guilt is on me,
Deep graven by the visible hand of Heav'n!
Like his that bore upon his brow the blood
Of the first slain.—Come! to the Provost, haste!

[Exeunt.