University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Terrace before Halbert's Tower.
Enter Lady Macdonald and Halbert.
HALBERT.
Is she so pensive still!

LADY MACDONALD.
Alas! in vain
I watch to see some gleam of pleasure light
Her mournful eyes. Save that her fingers ply
The needle constantly, as if they wrought
From habit of sweet motion, you might doubt
If in her statue-like and silent beauty
The life of this world stirr'd.

HALBERT.
If Henry broke
Upon her suddenly, his harsh demeanour
Might drive the colour from her cheeks, and scare
Her thoughts from their repose.

LADY MACDONALD.
I cannot hope it;
She has been more serene since then. Before,
She would pursue her work with restless hand;
Leave it and pace the room; sit down and sigh,
As if heart were breaking; wring her hands;
And then—as finding strength to chase some image
That madden'd her away,—toss back her head,
And smiling, urge her needle with more speed
Than at the first. But since she spoke with Henry
She has been calm, though sad, as one beyond
The reach of fear or hope; who saw her course
And was resign'd to follow it.

HALBERT.
Resign'd!
Is that my sum of happiness? To hold,
As in a tyrant's grasp, a lovely form
Subdued by its own gentleness, yet know
That the celestial mind defies the power
Of finest bonds,—and from the winning smile
In which fond custom wreathes the face, escapes
To scenes long past, or for a distant voice
Waits listening! I have held the gaoler's lot
Far heavier than his captive's;—yet how light
His chains to those I must inflict and bear!

LADY MACDONALD.
You wrong my lovely daughter;—when she weds,
Each wish, each hope, each fancy which might dim
The brightness of her constancy, will fly
For ever. Her affections have been toss'd,
But not perverted; as the water keeps
Its crystal beauty in its bed of rock,
Though vex'd by winds which from a cloudless sky
Sweep o'er high mountain tarns, her soul perplex'd
By contrary emotions, caught no taint,
Sunk or uplifted, but will settle, bright
As not a breath had wreath'd it. She will prove
With all her soul a true wife to you, Halbert,
Though not a blithe one.

HALBERT.
Do you not believe
She will be happy soon?

LADY MACDONALD.
She will be tranquil;
But if you ask me if she will enjoy
The happiness for which her nature's framed,
I cannot veil my fears.

HALBERT.
What should I do?
I have known fearful heart-struggles; but this
Makes all seem nothing.

LADY MACDONALD.
There is in your soul
A noble purpose.

HALBERT.
Must I give up all,
And yet live on? No human hope remains
For me if this be blasted. With the fall
Of the great objects which my youth revered,
I lost all power to mingle in the strifes
Of this new-modell'd world. I cannot taste
The sweet resources Heaven, in grace, provides
For love-lorn manhood; thirst of fame in me
Is quench'd; society's miscall'd delights
Would fret me into madness; and bright war,
The glorious refuge of despair, would seem
A slaughterous and a mercenary trade
To one who has no country. If I act
The thought which fills your bosom, I must live
Loveless and hopeless. Can you ask it, mother?

LADY MACDONALD.
I cannot ask it. But I saw in you
High resolution gathering, while I spoke
Of Helen's present state, and what I fear
'Twill be when—

HALBERT
(stopping her).
Speak no more. It shall not be;
I will make ready for the sacrifice.

LADY MACDONALD.
My noble son! Let me embrace you, proud
As never Roman mother in the arms
Of her crown'd hero. Shall I speak to Helen?

HALBERT.
No—not for worlds—I cannot utter yet
The irrevocable word. It may be still
That you misjudge her;—or that she mistakes
Her heart's true feeling. I will wait the morn.

Enter Alaster Macdonald.
ALASTER.
My father sends me with a gracious message
Which I rejoice to bear, though it confess
A fault in him; he offers you his hand,
With frank confession he has done you wrong,
And claims your presence at the feast he gives
To-day to Argyle's officers.

HALBERT.
Dear cousin,
I am most happy in Mac Ian's love,
And will with earnest duty answer it;
But I entreat him to excuse me now,
For I am busy with sick thoughts; unfit
For high festivity.

ALASTER.
I know you hate,
As I do, this submission; but 'tis done;
No courtesies can make it deeper. Hark!
[Distant music heard.
The guests assemble now.

HALBERT.
That music breathes
As when I heard it first;—in lively strain
It vibrates on the ear, but on my soul
Falls like a dirge. Some awful doom awaits
Our race, and thus through sounds of this world speaks
To the mind's ear. I will avert or share it.
Yes;—I attend you. Mother, you will watch
Your precious charge as if on every glance
A life depended? I am sure you will.
[Exit Lady Macdonald.
Now, Alaster, I am ready for your feast.

[Exeunt Halbert and Alaster.