University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room.
Enter Lord Hindlee in a Night Gown.
Hind.
To what new horrors is my mind ordain'd!
O that this night were past, and a new day
Would ope its eye on this deranged world,
Where human things, and beings without mould
Or earthly quality, together blent,
Move in confusion!—Would the night were over,
That day-light might dispel them!—Such a night
I shall not brook again.
(He fixes his eyes on a part of the Room and speaks as to one.)
Ha! art thou there?
Still am I haunted?—O thou mournful shade,
Pale as thy winding sheet! why do'st thou look
On me with such concern? Is there aught more
Of horror in the onward paths of fate
That I must act? Nay, come thou near to me,
Come to my side, for now I fear thee not,—
Thy form's familiar grown—Come nigh to me,
And tell thy message in my longing ear.
Poor pallid shade, thine errand must be done!
(He listens as to one speaking.)
The same old rote!—Why thou hast told me so
A thousand times!—Why harp upon it thus,
For ever, and for ever?
(He listens again and answers.)
Well, be it so—Yes; be it as thou wilt.
(Listens.)
What? I assent? No, never! This same night
Thou hast repeated it till I am callous;
But my assent thou never shalt obtain!
Woe, that a form so saint-like, thus should preach
Nothing but blood and murder!—Hence—Avaunt!
Thou art some fiend that borrowest the shape
Of her I once held dear—O God! what do I see?
O horror! she I love stretch'd at my feet
In the agonies of death, and on her breast
A deadly wound!—and say'st thou it was I?
I'll fly to the earth's end!—Would that I could
Fly from myself, or every sense shut out!
Once more I'll view the hideous sight, that it
May freeze the very vital current up,
And reason's last poor sheltering place uproot,
Driving her to the desert.

(He steals off, keeping his eye wildly fixed on a certain part of the floor.)