University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Wood. Henry is discovered leaning against a tree in a musing posture. To him enter D'Eston.
D'ESTON.
I ask not how you've sped.

HENRY.
No need to ask,
If you can read th'inscription on my brow,
Traced there like Cain's.

D'ESTON.
St Mary! can it be
That the bold Outlaw droops?

HENRY.
O damn that word!
Deeply I suffer for that folly now.
An old man murdered, and his daughter mad;
His daughter, beauteous once as forest flower,
And innocent, and happy—but for me!
My father's grief for his degraded name,
Should these things reach him.—Now, what think you, D'Eston,
Of this brief catalogue? Bears it not proof
That Retribution tracks the foot of Vice
With more than blood-hound certainty?

D'ESTON.
You paint it
With colours far too dark. I grieve for Cuthbert,
And for his woodland blossom; but reflect,
You slew him not—if he indeed is slain;
And Fanny's fate is but one sad result
Of ill-matched love. Your father's name will suffer
Slight degradation from the venial frolics—

HENRY.
Now by the gods! you do offend me, D'Eston.
Frolics with such effects, are aught but venial.
My curse on Norton! He shall answer yet
For confidence abused.—Heavens! I am now
The Puppet, not the Arbiter, of fortune,
Forced, by invisible springs, to move and look
As what I am not!—List to me. Last night
I saw the lady of my soul! O D'Eston,
She stood in moonlight, as a seraph stands
In th'love of Heaven!—Ere I should urge my suit,
I wished to reconnoitre the defences,
To see if there were any point whereat
Assault might be effective. 'Mid the conflict
Of our sharp wits, I chanced, half jestingly,
To hint at my wild fame; when—could you think it?
She, though her sojourn here hath been so brief,
Had learnt the history, and shrieked aloud—
“Thou art the Outlaw!”—At the sound rushed out
Lord Fenwick—so they style him—who, 'tis said,
Aspires to win her love. Gods! but for her,
I would, that hour, have taught him humbler views!
But a bright time is coming.

D'ESTON.
Am I then
To understand you meditate revenge?

HENRY.
Revenge? Thou givest it so foul a name.
But we encumber each the other's path,
And one had better vanish. Therefore goes
My message to him, which his gallantry
Dares not neglect. We meet to-day by Gordale—

D'ESTON.
To gore each other, like irrational brutes!
Harry, forgive the pun and simile.
But I will see this Fenwick.

HENRY.
Not for worlds!
No—not for Heaven! One syllable disclosed,
And thou and I are foes for ever!—Come;
The sun is bright on Malhamdale. Away!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Gennet's Cave in front. A small waterfall on the right. Norton, in the black gown of a Friar, before the entrance of the Cave.
NORTON
(solus).
The plot works bravely! Cuthbert's wounds and woes,
Fixed upon him, have given a deeper stain
To his blurred reputation. Other deeds,
Achieved to-day, may crown his infamy,
And turn her love to loathing. By the fiends!
That were the top of scheming.—But suppose
They met?—A meeting would bring explanation;
And that would show my treachery.—Be it mine
To counteract this! [Whistles.

Ho! my merry-men—
[Calling.
Ye must give readier answer when that signal
Is heard in Gordale.

[The Outlaws rush, by two and two, from the Cave, and arrange themselves in order for action,— each man with his hand on his Sword-hilt.
NORTON.
This will do.—Now mark,
Your revels may be merry, but not long.
Cool heads make steady hands. Be like the hare,
That never, e'en in slumber, shuts her eyes;
And when your game presents, be like the tiger,
That makes no second spring!—
I am advised
The cavalcade is near, and wanting him
Whom ye might shrink to meet. I shall find means
To join it, and to note their strength. Be sure
I will not risk your lives in vain encounter.
Couch in the copse-wood till ye hear my whistle,
And let the sound assure you of the spoils
That guerdon valour when the fight is won!
Meantime, bid Gennet make her fairy cave
Ready for the fair captive.

[Exit Norton.
[The Outlaws re-enter the Cave, and the Scene shuts.

SCENE III.

The Church and Burial-ground of Kirkby-Malhamdale. Fanny Ashton is discovered leaning on a tomb, with a bundle of rushes and a garland on a stone beside her.
FANNY
(singing).
The maiden to the greenwood flew,
All while the moon was shining,
And there she spied her knight so true
Against a tree reclining.
He seized her hand, that gallant proud,
Where shadowy moonbeams quiver,
And by the Queen of Night he vowed
To love that maid for ever.
[Speaks.
He meant not as he said, though. He was false,
Or else the ballad is. Soft! it is here—
[Sings.
The maid again to greenwood flew,
All while the moon was shining;
But there she spied no lover true
Against the tree reclining.
He came no more, that gallant proud,
Where shadowy moonbeams quiver;
But, mindless of the vow he vowed,
He left that maid for ever!
[Speaks.
I knew 'twas so. He ne'er will come again,
And she may weep. 'Twill ease her head to weep.
I would that I had tears! I had them once—
But this hot sun hath scorched them up.
[Looks round.
'Tis strange!
'Tis very strange.—Is Fanny Ashton, then,
The only Rush-bearer? They'll come anon.
[Pausing.
I hate these tombs. They are so dark within,
And press upon the dead so!—Mine shall be
A common grave, with daisies on the turf;
Where dew-drops lie, and sunbeams love to shine—
But none shall tread upon it—none—but He!
Yes, he shall come, and pluck the daisy flower,
And I shall hear him!—never—never—never!—
Hark! there is music.

[A procession of youths and maidens bearing rushes and garlands, and accompanied with music, arrives at the Churchyard gate. The villagers, singly or in pairs, begin to carry their bundles into the Church. A young man, seeing Fanny stops.
YOUNG MAN.
Glad to see thee, Fanny,
At Kirkby Rush-bearing. But wherefore not
Go with us, to assist in gathering flowers,
And pulling rushes? Thou wast always proud.

FANNY.
Proud! show me aught that's not. Those flowers are proud
To feel the breeze fan, and the sunbeam kiss them.
But they were prouder ere thy rude hand cropped them—
'Twas cruel in thee that!

YOUNG MAN.
I understand not
Thy meaning, Fanny. Thou wast cruel, then,
To crop that garland lying there.

FANNY
(mournfully).
E'en so!

YOUNG MAN.
Thou art not well, I think?

FANNY.
Thou thinkest so?
Thy thought's not worth a rush. Begone!

YOUNG MAN
(aside).
By Jings,
The lass is crazed.

[Exit, and enter a Girl.
GIRL.
O, Fanny Ashton come,
To help to strew the Church 'gainst winter tide!
With me, then, Fanny. Thine's the prettiest wreath
That I have yet beheld. Where didst thou find it?

FANNY.
Thou knowest not the place? But I do—well!—
O! I beseech you, go not near it! There
The snake breeds, and the toad, the asp, and all
The reptiles that with sting or venom take
The blood from out the cheek, and crowd the brain
With jarring fancies!—O! I beg you, go not!

GIRL
(aside).
Her looks and words are strange and frightful! (to her)
Well,
I will not go, then. Wilt thou bear with me?

FANNY
(sharply).
No.

[Exit Girl, and enter Young Man and Young Woman.
YOUNG MAN.
It shall be so, now. I'll dance with none,
If I mayn't dance with thee:

YOUNG WOMAN.
Thou'lt break thy word,
If Sally Airton comes.

YOUNG MAN.
'Tis ever so!
'Tis always Sally Airton! I think thee
A prettier girl, by half. Now, shall I be
Thy partner for the night?

YOUNG WOMAN.
Now that's well thought of!
It might be vexing Sally, to engage
Thyself for longer time.

YOUNG MAN.
For that, sweet teazer,
I'll bind myself for ever, and thou wilt,
By oath upon the mass-book.

FANNY.
Swear not, churl!
Thou'lt break thy vow e'en as thy betters do,
And she will weep—like me. Poor girls have hearts, man,
And they can feel! Dost think they cannot, Henry?
That no kind breast can throb, save under satin,
Where it stirs gem and jewel as it heaves?—
Away! Why gaze ye thus?

YOUNG MAN.
We wait to have
Thy company.

FANNY.
Thou liest! for the eye
Of heedless, incommunicative bird
Is hardly welcome in a true-love bower
Where lovers sit! But I will nothing tell—
Why should I tell, when Time will?—Ay, the blast
Will tear thee, maiden, from the stem thou lovest,
And fling thee to the pity of the rain,
Whose tears will bleach thy red!

YOUNG WOMAN
(to him).
Let's go. She's mad.

YOUNG MAN.
Poor girl! I pity her. (to Fanny)
Thou wilt not go, then?

FANNY.
I will; for I perceive thou'rt sad, and I
Am very sad—indeed I am. Go on.

[She takes up her bundle and chaplet in a languid manner, and Exit with the villagers.
[Enter First Young Man.
YOUNG MAN
(solus).
I'm sure she's crazed. She would not else have talked
So like a player-girl. By Jings! to blame me
For plucking senseless flowers, and then to wave me
With such an air—thus.

[Enter Villagers.
FIRST VILLAGER.
Something's wrong, no doubt.
O sirs, we little know what coming days
May bring to each of us!

SECOND VILLAGER.
The most unlikely
Are sometimes seized as she is. Well, may God
Have mercy on the spirit He hath bruised!

YOUNG MAN.
It comes of pride. I never knew a girl
Ape the high airs of folk above her rank,
But she got humbled.

FIRST VILLAGER.
O, thou bearest spite,
Because at our last Rush-bearing, she chose
Another youth—not thee—to be set home by.

YOUNG MAN.
And worthy choice she made! A Fly-byth'-sky,
Whom no one knew—not e'en herself, perhaps—
With gew gaws glittering underneath his cloak.

FIRST VILLAGER.
St Mary! what is here? A hundred horse
Are clattering down the brow!—And see, they stop—
Dismount—and come towards us!

YOUNG MAN.
By Jings! I'm off.

[Exit Young Man, followed by the Villagers.
[Enter Ladies Margaret and Emma, with Cathleen, who walk slowly across the Stage—the Rush-bearers continuing their work.
LADY MARGARET.
A pleasing scene! one that would suit Arcadia,
When it was in the pink of simple usage.

LADY EMMA.
I did not think Rusticity imbued
With so much taste.

LADY MARGARET.
O, Nature is the same
In high and low; and in some instances
I deem the low our masters. Their displays
Are not o'erlaid with pomp, their mirth not checked
By ceremony.—Would I were a cot-maid!
She feels no sorrows, or she finds such play
As this, a compensation for them all.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Interior of the Church. The Villagers strewing the floor. Fanny Ashton wandering idly about, and singing snatches of tunes.
A VILLAGER.
Hush, Fanny. 'Tis the Church, and work-day tunes
Are unbecoming.

FANNY.
Would'st have something else?
I knew an old hymn once. Hark! this is it—
[Sings.

LADY MARGARET.
A most sweet voice!

FANNY.
So Henry used to say;
But his was sweeter when he said it. O!
My love's voice is as mellow as a bird's,
When it sings in the forest all alone,
And sad hearts listen!

[She busies herself in strewing.
LADY MARGARET.
What a lovely creature!
And to be thus! See, Emma, how deceived
May be our judgments. I but now did envy
The bliss of cot-maids!—
[To a strewer.
Dost thou know, good girl,
Who that poor maiden is?

GIRL.
So please you, she
Is the old Ranger's daughter; Cuthbert Ashton
Her father is called; Lord Clifford's keeper, who
Hath Lodge in Flasby forest.

LADY MARGARET.
She hath not
Been always thus?

GIRL.
'Tis not a week, since I
Beheld her at her father's, blithe and blooming.

LADY MARGARET.
And knowest thou not the cause of this sad change?

GIRL.
No; but I fancy love, ma'am—love and grief.
'Tis said that she was courted by a man
Known but to her—one of the Outlaws, ma'am—
And he hath killed her father.

LADY MARGARET.
Gracious Heaven!

FANNY
(to LADY MARGARET).
'Tis false! 'tis false! Believe me, it is false!
Dost thou know Henry? Trust me, he would not
Set foot upon a snail! His pride would shun
Its crawling filth, his pity spare its life
For the next sunny shower!

LADY MARGARET
(agitated).
And who is Henry?

FANNY.
Wouldst find the secret? Find it, then. I know,
But will not tell thee. Thou art proud and fair—
They told me looks and jewels such as thine,
Have wiled my Henry from me; but 'tis false.
Thou couldst not have the heart! I know thou couldst not.
God bless you! I shall find my Henry still.
[Sings.
[Exit Fanny.

LADY EMMA.
Ha! heard you that?

LADY MARGARET.
O! I have heard enough
To tell me I am wretched.

LADY EMMA.
Rather say,
There was a precipice concealed by fogs,
To whose dread brink your steps were hastening;
But Providence hath rolled the glooms away,
And you have seen the peril, and may pause!

LADY MARGARET.
True. Yet this solving of a painful doubt
Is trial to the heart!

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Green in front of the Inn. The old Villagers seated on benches around, and the young dancing. During the dance Lords Fenwick, Grey, &c., appear on the Stage.
LORD FENWICK.
Youth, health, and mirth; light limbs, and lighter hearts;
What lack these to be happy?

LORD GREY.
Ask the Host.
Yonder, with rosy face and rounded front,
He bears a frothing pot.

LORD FENWICK.
I understand you.
The Host would say—more liquor; and perchance
A few broad-pieces to procure them that,
Were no unwelcome donative. Host, ho!

[Calling.
[The Host comes forward, and receives money from two or three of the Party.
LORD FENWICK.
Take these, my friend, and let the villagers
Rejoice therewith, till our return from Gordale;
When, should the contribution be too scant,
We may augment it.

HOST.
Thanks, ye generous strangers.

LORD GREY.
It strikes me, too, that our rude knaves had rather
Stay here and join the sport, than wend with us
To gaze on crag and brushwood.

LORD FENWICK.
Be it so;
If that they will not brawl with these good peasants.

HOST.
There bears a dark cloud over Gennet's gill,
And the West blackens o'er the fell. These signs,
Amid our hills, portend no distant storm.
If Gordale is your aim, 'twere best ye reach it
Ere the day change.

LORD FENWICK.
We thank thee, sir. A Guide
Is all we want to 'vail us of thy counsel.

HOST.
And that is soon supplied. Here comes a man,
One of a holy Brotherhood, whose cell
Is near this place.

LORD FENWICK
(glancing at GREY).
I relish not conductors
Drawn from a sacred Order. But go on.

HOST.
He weeps and wanders, mid the glooms of Gordale,
From morn till eve. What brings him now, I wot not;
Unless, as I suspect, it be to preach
The Rush-bearers a sermon on the sin
Of passing time so happily. As lief
Would I see aught as him.

LORD FENWICK
(smiling).
And so wouldst make
A transfer of his services to us?
Well, I like candour, friend, and will remove
This marrer of enjoyment—if he list.

[Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER
(showing a letter).
This for the Lord of Fenwick.

LORD FENWICK.
I am he.

MESSENGER.
I wait reply.

LORD FENWICK.
A moment, lords, excuse me.
[Reads.
Go, tell the writer I will meet him—no;
Myself will bear my answer. Wait apart.
[To Messenger.
My lords, a slight affair demands me hence.
Nay, question not—a trifle—I will join
Your train again ere long.
[To Messenger.
Lead on, my friend.
[Exit Lord Fenwick.

[Enter Norton.
LORD GREY
(to Norton).
Father, we would see Gordale. We are strangers,
And may, perhaps, avail us of that name
To ask the guidance of so good a man
As we have heard thou art.

[Enter Ladies.
NORTON.
Would I could teach you,
When Gordale opes his chasm, to elevate
Your minds from the low pleasures of base sense,
To Him whose fiat scooped it, or whose earthquake
Rent its huge cliffs asunder, to attract
The gaze of ages!

LORD GREY
(smiling).
Who knows but we may
Be diligent pupils under such a tutor?
The ladies are devout. So lead, good Father.

[As the strangers are quitting the stage, the Scene shuts.

SCENE VI.

A Landscape. Enter Lord Grey and Roddam.
LORD GREY.
I think thou'rt prudent.

RODDAM.
For that flattering thought
I stand your lordship's debtor.

LORD GREY.
Did you note
The Monk, our former Guide?

RODDAM.
I did, and deemed
His manner most unlike the garb he wore.

LORD GREY.
There guessed you rightly. Yet you could not dream
That in such peaceful garb there stood disguised
A Bandit leader?

RODDAM.
No; in sooth, I could not!

LORD GREY.
Yet so it is. At least so fame reports it.
Now mark me, Fenwick hath received from him—
We cannot doubt the source—a message, which—
We doubt as little—is a hostile one.
Too brave to weigh the risk of a rencounter
With one who laughs at honour and at law,
Lord Fenwick gives the meeting he demands.

RODDAM.
And you are here to tell it! You—his friend—
Are calmly talking of his risk, while he
Dies, it may be, amid a horde of villains!—
My horse there!

LORD GREY.
Honour to the noble soul
That speaks in thee! My friend is not alone.
Swinburne and Ridley, Orde and Lilburn follow
To vindicate the right. I but delay
To bid you lead the cavalcade to Malham;
And ask you, should the ladies mark our absence,
To find such fair excuse as may allay
Their apprehensions.

RODDAM.
That safe post be his,
Who fears to look on danger! I'll with you.

LORD GREY.
Bethink thee, one fair maid may lack protection.

RODDAM.
If you mean insult, my good Lord of Wark—

LORD GREY.
I half repent my choice. I deemed thee prudent,
And still will deem thee so—unless thy folly
Engross one moment further of a time
Too precious to be wasted.—Fare thee well.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A Glen. Henry is discovered beside an ancient Oak. To him enter Lord Fenwick.
LORD FENWICK.
In ignorance of what thou art—in doubt
Whether I meet a man entitled to
Receive from me this courtesy, or one
That hath no claim to it—behold me here,
In answer to your missive.

HENRY.
You have done
What I expected, lord; and thus far, therefore,
Will I, at present, satisfy your doubt.
Believe that, if I fall, you will have shed
Blood precious as your own. If fate reverse
The issue, it may help to sooth your death-pang,
To think you perish by no vulgar brand.

LORD FENWICK.
This is evasion, and would clear me, did
I shun the combat.

HENRY.
If your northern courage
Shrinks as it nears the hazard—be it so.

LORD FENWICK.
My courage hath enabled me, ere this,
To smile at hazard equal—take my word—
To that which threatens now. But we are men,
And should be rational; nor draw the sword
Without good cause.

HENRY.
Agreed. My cause is good—
Your last night's words of insult.

LORD FENWICK.
But those words,
Addressed to one who—as I thought—had offered
Outrage to her that claims my guardianship,
Were meaningless—since outrage there was none;
Inapplicable—therefore inoffensive.

HENRY.
Another valid reason why your sword
Should keep its scabbard!

LORD FENWICK.
From another lip,
Or at another time, I had not brooked
That haughty sneer. Nor would I now, but that
I would not prosecute a baseless quarrel;
And such is ours—if something yet unnamed
Stir not your blood.

HENRY.
Somewhat there is, perchance,
Which I would have concealed, did not I find
Your valour needs a spur.—Nay, hear it now.
I will be brief. The Lady Margaret claims,
You say, your guardianship?

LORD FENWICK.
And proudly say it.

HENRY.
No doubt. But what if I should say that you
No longer shall keep watch, as dragon-guard,
On that Hesperian fruit?

LORD FENWICK.
Why, then I should
But laugh at thy most impotent presumption!

HENRY
(aside).
At last the metal rings!— (to him)
Thou wilt not, then,
Resign thy bold pretensions to that lady?

LORD FENWICK
(aside).
Sits the wind there?— (aloud)
Hadst thou that question put
Less haughtily, I might have deigned reply
By a plain statement. But thus bullied, I
For answer tell thee—Never! Right in you,
Or any one, but most of all in you,
Upon me such condition to impose,
I do deny, repel, and treat with scorn!

HENRY.
Then you reject the only chance of peace.
I pray you, ponder.

LORD FENWICK.
Palsied be my tongue,
When it seeks peace on terms which Honour spurns!
And blasted be my fame, if—having come
Alone to give thee, what thou couldst not hope,
The chance of losing by a true man's brand
The felon life predestined to the halter—
I let thee now escape me unchastised!

HENRY.
That speech wants little to be eloquent,
Except one item of some moment—truth.
Thou come alone? Look yonder, and confess
The falsehood of the vaunt. By heaven! thy prudence
Equals, my lord, thy valour—or transcends it.
[Enter Grey, Swinburne, Orde, &c.
But let them come. (Drawing)
Here, like this mountain oak,
I bide the fury of the storm. Come on!
Come one by one—I ask no favour else—
And thou the first!

[To Lord Fenwick.
LORD FENWICK.
(to his Friends).
For this inopportune,
Though well-intentioned zeal, I thank you not.
Back—if you love me! Back—unless you deem me
The craven which this braggart says I am!

HENRY.
Proclaim me braggart when my deeds belie
The promise of my words.

LORD GREY.
And him a craven
On the same terms. But hear! A high-born man,
Whose life hath public value, is not called
To risk it in a brawl with one whose life
Must be of less—MAY be of no concern.
And therefore have we come—not to o'erpower
A single warrior—not to interpose,
Unwarrior-like, between you; but to learn,
Ere blow be struck, whether our friend is matched
With fair antagonist. Of that assured,
Let triumph gild the braver!

LORD FENWICK.
Stop, my friends.
Too much hath passed between us, now to plead
That point of custom. Be he what he may—
Noble or ignoble—or high or low—
True man or robber—he shall have his wish.
No more, as ye are friends!

[A single combat, in which Lord Fenwick's Sword is forced out of his hand by Henry.
HENRY.
Demand thy life.

LORD FENWICK.
Never! My name in arms is now eclipsed;
My life is worthless. Take it.

HENRY.
Foul befall
The man that strikes the vanquished!—No, no, live.
But bar my way no more.—Now for the next—

LORD GREY.
Your true nobility of soul, brave Stranger,
Disarms us all. To that, and not to any
Less lofty motive, do we beg you give
Our wish for peace—a wish, you may believe,
Not usual in a Borderer.

HENRY.
I believe it;
And when we meet again, there may be less
Of mystery, more of pleasure. Fare ye well.

[Exeunt.