University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A ruined Abbey by Moonlight with a subterraneous Passage to a sepulchral vault.
LLANDORVIN,
(rising from the sepulchre.)
The bloodhounds, that have tracked me to this ruin,
Are foiled, and have rushed forward: Blest be you,
Ye sainted tenants of these sepulchres!
Who grant my injured age that kind protection,
The living dare not give; since my oppressors
Proclaim it death to screen their flying victim.
O my lost friends! dear brothers of my art!
You dying have ennobled basest death:
Arm me with courage for my harder task,
To bear the wretchedness of outcast life
In scenes, that wake regret at every step!
O Gwendylen! my dear angelic daughter!
How painful is the proof of love I give thee
To live at thy entreaty! yet sweet angel
Thy dictates are divine. I feel, as thou dost,
It is Llandorvin's duty still to cherish
Existence, tho' debased, while he can hope
His lips may breathe into the fainting frame
Of our racked country, that suspended spirit
Of manly freedom, which the ruthless Edward
Dreams, in his pride, to have suppressed for ever.
But hark! the friendly stillness of the night,
Enabling me to hear a foot approaching,
Bids me again within my sacred covert
Elude my keen pursuers.

(He descends into the sepulchre.