University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

The Garden before the Door of Agnes' Chamber. Dusk.
UBALD.
Once more, loved shades, I tread your fragrant lawn,
Scene of my earliest joys! not, as before,
Elate and joyous; but, like night's marauder,
I steal unto the plunder of those joys
Day will not yield me. I am ill used to deeds
That shun the light; my firm nerve quakes and trembles,
Which never blench'd before. Strange thoughts assail me.
With what a plain and level course till now
My barque has steer'd through this world's stormy ocean,
Breasting its turbulent wave as if in triumph!
Now is my course obscured, and tempest-tost
I roam amid the billows. In thee, Agnes,
Life's only sunshine dwells: joy, fame, and glory,
Are but the rays of one revolving circle,
In which thy cherish'd form is fixt and center'd.—
No voice.—The sounds of mirth have ceased within,
And no lights flit along those arched casements.
Now to love's work! Be still, thou murky air,
And shroud with thy soft veil the theft I purpose!
(Holding out the key and unlocking the door.)
O thou quaint minister to daring love,
Do thy kind secret office, and unlock
This shrine of chastity!—Hush!—Agnes! Agnes!
'Tis Ubald's voice that steals upon thy slumber.

AGNES,
(coming out fearfully.)
What means my Ubald? At this hour! alone!
How couldst thou break the privacy of my chamber?
I dare not speak with thee.

UBALD.
Nay, nay, Agnes,
Time yields no season now for doubt or scruples.
I would not trench, no not by one small atom,
Upon that reverence my love should yield thee;
But, while we speak, e'en now wing'd moments fly,
To wrest thee from mine arms for ever. Agnes,
I have not built my love upon the sand?
Thy faith will not fall from me?

AGNES.
Sooner, Ubald,
This timid heart would brave the oppressor's sword,
Than fall from thee; but steal not like a thief
Upon the night; I dare not greet thee freely,
My life, my lord.

UBALD.
If Ubald is thy life,
Thou must be his, and this night, lovely trembler.

AGNES.
O Ubald, thou art wild to say to-night.

UBALD.
I am not wild: and yet I am wild, Agnes,
To think that life's whole joy is on the cast
Of this swift hour.

AGNES.
This hour!

UBALD.
Thou darest not bide
Till the morn break, and with insulting joy
Reynald shall come to tear thee to the altar!

AGNES.
O never, Ubald! by our loves I swear
Sooner to die, than wrong thee!

UBALD.
Oaths are vain.
Hands even now are plying, chaplets woven,
To deck thee for to-morrow's sacrifice;
Sweno has vow'd it. Agnes, thou art mine
This night, or blood must stream upon thy bridal.

AGNES.
Merciful heaven! what dost thou meditate?
O Ubald, smite not in thy wrath!

UBALD.
'Tis thou,
Thy cold delay, which goads me to such phrensy.
Say, dearest, thou wilt be my bride to-night.
The priest awaits; thy Ubald kneels to thee.

AGNES.
Ubald, thou wrong'st the chaster thoughts of duty,
Which dare not yield what the weak heart would grant.
I must not hear thee; but the trembling soul
Bleeds to say nay. I may not fly my father.

UBALD.
Then bide, O false one, and be Reynald's victim!—
And yet thou darest not wed him!—Agnes, Agnes,
Thou couldst not yield this hand, thine Ubald's treasure,
And look upon the sun, that lit thy treason.

AGNES.
Indeed I durst not.

UBALD.
Agnes, this hand is pledged
To me and to my fortunes; it was given
In the fair prime and sunshine of our loves,
Which must abide through every change of season,
Not worn as summer garments, to be cast
When ruder hours assail us. Here I hold it
Before the face of heaven, and those pure orbs
Which heard the pledge. I will not loose this hand,
Till at the altar vows assure thee mine,
Though it were parricide to hold it, Agnes.
Thy sire will come! Despair hath wrought me mad.
(Kneeling, and clasping her hand passionately.)
Say thou wilt be my bride! Have mercy, Agnes!
Blood will be spilt ere morn, if thou deniest me.

AGNES.
O Ubald, I am riven by love and duty.
Would that I durst!

UBALD.
O yield thee to my faith!
To say me nay, is to say nay for ever.
Agnes, to-night or never we must wed.

AGNES.
O Ubald, do not tempt me to a deed,
Which shall embitter all our after-joys.
Heaven will not smile on disobedient vows.
My sire will curse us. Spare me, beloved Ubald!
I have not strength to strive against thy wrath.

UBALD.
The priest attends us, love. The solemn rites,
That make thee mine, shall steep thy thoughts in peace.

AGNES.
Dear Ubald, peace can never crown the guilty.
I am too weak, too deeply pledged in love,
To hold that proud demeanor, which I owe
To my own name and to my noble father.
But do not cozen me with empty hopes!
Guilt may have some brief pleasures, great though anxious;
But peace dwells only in the path of duty.
Make me not, Ubald, what thyself will scorn,
An outcast child!

UBALD.
Would Ubald cause thee sorrow?
In infant years, whene'er thy heart was sad,
And I had been but one day absent, thou
Wouldst rush into mine arms and there pour forth
Thy gentle sorrows, and they straight would vanish.
And wouldst thou place a bottomless gulph between us?
Thou wilt not tear thee from me? Night is waning,
Come, best beloved!

AGNES,
(yielding.)
I am too weak.
(Stopping again.)
Hark, Ubald!
There is an angry whisper of the air,
The shivering trees do rustle with each other.
O tempt me not to ruin, loved, loved Ubald!
Let me once see my sire, and press his knees
With burning tears, that he may spare his child!

UBALD.
Agnes, the word of knighthood duly given
Is law to Sweno. There is now no hope
Save in our instant union. Footsteps move
Through yon dark corridor. Come friend or foe,
Ubald will not resign thee but in death.
Yield, love; despair and death are in delay.

AGNES.
(She leans upon him with a burst of tears.)
Ubald, I yield me; but my bosom shrinks
With ominous terrors.

UBALD.
Fear not! Come, dear bride.

[Exeunt.