The poetical works of William Wordsworth ... In six volumes ... A new edition |
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The poetical works of William Wordsworth | ||
Scene, A Chamber in the Hostel—Oswald alone,
rising from a Table on which he had been writing.
Osw.
They chose him for their Chief!—what covert part
He, in the preference, modest Youth, might take,
I neither know nor care. The insult bred
More of contempt than hatred; both are flown;
That either e'er existed is my shame:
'Twas a dull spark—a most unnatural fire
That died the moment the air breathed upon it.
—These fools of feeling are mere birds of winter
That haunt some barren island of the north,
Where, if a famishing man stretch forth his hand,
They think it is to feed them. I have left him
To solitary meditation;—now
For a few swelling phrases, and a flash
Of truth, enough to dazzle and to blind,
And he is mine for ever—here he comes.
Enter Marmaduke.
Mar.
These ten years she has moved her lips all day
And never speaks!
Osw.
Who is it?
Mar.
I have seen her.
Osw.
Oh! the poor tenant of that ragged homestead,
Her whom the Monster, Clifford, drove to madness.
Mar.
I met a peasant near the spot; he told me,
These ten years she had sate all day alone
Within those empty walls.
Osw.
I too have seen her;
Chancing to pass this way some six months gone,
At midnight, I betook me to the Churchyard:
The moon shone clear, the air was still, so still
The trees were silent as the graves beneath them.
Long did I watch, and saw her pacing round
Upon the self-same spot, still round and round,
Her lips for ever moving.
Mar.
At her door
Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman,
I thought I saw the skeleton of Idonea.
Osw.
But the pretended Father—
Mar.
Earthly law
Measures not crimes like his.
Osw.
We rank not, happily,
With those who take the spirit of their rule
From that soft class of devotees who feel
Reverence for life so deeply, that they spare
The verminous brood, and cherish what they spare
While feeding on their bodies. Would that Idonea
Were present, to the end that we might hear
What she can urge in his defence; she loves him.
Mar.
Yes, loves him; 'tis a truth that multiplies
His guilt a thousand-fold.
Osw.
'Tis most perplexing:
What must be done?
Mar.
We will conduct her hither;
These walls shall witness it—from first to last
He shall reveal himself.
Osw.
Happy are we,
Who live in these disputed tracts, that own
No law but what each man makes for himself;
Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.
Mar.
Let us begone and bring her hither;—here
The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved
Before her face. The rest be left to me.
Osw.
You will be firm: but though we well may trust
The issue to the justice of the cause,
Caution must not be flung aside; remember,
Yours is no common life. Self-stationed here,
Upon these savage confines, we have seen you
Stand like an isthmus 'twixt two stormy seas
That oft have checked their fury at your bidding.
'Mid the deep holds of Solway's mossy waste,
Your single virtue has transformed a Band
Of fierce barbarians into Ministers
Of peace and order. Aged men with tears
Have blessed their steps, the fatherless retire
For shelter to their banners. But it is,
As you must needs have deeply felt, it is
In darkness and in tempest that we seek
The majesty of Him who rules the world.
Benevolence, that has not heart to use
The wholesome ministry of pain and evil,
Becomes at last weak and contemptible.
Your generous qualities have won due praise,
But vigorous Spirits look for something more
Than Youth's spontaneous products; and to-day
You will not disappoint them; and hereafter—
Mar.
You are wasting words; hear me then, once for all:
You are a Man—and therefore, if compassion,
Which to our kind is natural as life,
Be known unto you, you will love this Woman,
Even as I do; but I should loathe the light,
If I could think one weak or partial feeling—
Osw.
You will forgive me—
Mar.
If I ever knew
My heart, could penetrate its inmost core,
'Tis at this moment.—Oswald, I have loved
To be the friend and father of the oppressed,
A comforter of sorrow;—there is something
Which looks like a transition in my soul,
And yet it is not.—Let us lead him hither.
Osw.
Stoop for a moment; 'tis an act of justice;
And where's the triumph if the delegate
Must fall in the execution of his office?
The deed is done—if you will have it so—
Here where we stand—that tribe of vulgar wretches
(You saw them gathering for the festival)
Rush in—the villains seize us—
Mar.
Seize!
Osw.
Yes, they—
Men who are little given to sift and weigh—
Would wreak on us the passion of the moment.
Mar.
The cloud will soon disperse—farewell—but stay,
Thou wilt relate the story.
Osw.
Am I neither
To bear a part in this Man's punishment,
Nor be its witness?
Mar.
I had many hopes
That were most dear to me, and some will bear
To be transferred to thee.
Osw.
When I'm dishonoured!
Mar.
I would preserve thee. How may this be done?
Osw.
By showing that you look beyond the instant.
A few leagues hence we shall have open ground,
And nowhere upon earth is place so fit
To look upon the deed. Before we enter
The barren Moor, hangs from a beetling rock
The shattered Castle in which Clifford oft
Has held infernal orgies—with the gloom,
And very superstition of the place,
Seasoning his wickedness. The Debauchee
Would there perhaps have gathered the first fruits
Of this mock Father's guilt.
Enter Host conducting Herbert.
Host.
The Baron Herbert
Attends your pleasure.
Osw.
(to Host).
We are ready— (to Herbert)
Sir!
I hope you are refreshed.—I have just written
A notice for your Daughter, that she may know
What is become of you.—You 'll sit down and sign it;
'Twill glad her heart to see her father's signature.
[Gives the letter he had written.
Her.
Thanks for your care.
[Sits down and writes. Exit Host.
Osw.
(aside to Marmaduke).
Perhaps it would be useful
That you too should subscribe your name.
[Marmaduke overlooks Herbert—then writes— examines the letter eagerly.
Mar.
I cannot leave this paper.
[He puts it up, agitated.
Osw.
(aside).
Dastard! Come.
[Marmaduke goes towards Herbert and supports him —Marmaduke tremblingly beckons Oswald to take his place.
Mar.
(as he quits Herbert).
There is a palsy in his limbs—he shakes.
[Exeunt Oswald and Herbert—Marmaduke following.
Osw.
They chose him for their Chief!—what covert part
He, in the preference, modest Youth, might take,
I neither know nor care. The insult bred
More of contempt than hatred; both are flown;
That either e'er existed is my shame:
'Twas a dull spark—a most unnatural fire
That died the moment the air breathed upon it.
—These fools of feeling are mere birds of winter
That haunt some barren island of the north,
Where, if a famishing man stretch forth his hand,
They think it is to feed them. I have left him
To solitary meditation;—now
For a few swelling phrases, and a flash
Of truth, enough to dazzle and to blind,
And he is mine for ever—here he comes.
Enter Marmaduke.
Mar.
These ten years she has moved her lips all day
And never speaks!
Osw.
Who is it?
Mar.
I have seen her.
85
Oh! the poor tenant of that ragged homestead,
Her whom the Monster, Clifford, drove to madness.
Mar.
I met a peasant near the spot; he told me,
These ten years she had sate all day alone
Within those empty walls.
Osw.
I too have seen her;
Chancing to pass this way some six months gone,
At midnight, I betook me to the Churchyard:
The moon shone clear, the air was still, so still
The trees were silent as the graves beneath them.
Long did I watch, and saw her pacing round
Upon the self-same spot, still round and round,
Her lips for ever moving.
Mar.
At her door
Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman,
I thought I saw the skeleton of Idonea.
Osw.
But the pretended Father—
Mar.
Earthly law
Measures not crimes like his.
Osw.
We rank not, happily,
With those who take the spirit of their rule
From that soft class of devotees who feel
Reverence for life so deeply, that they spare
The verminous brood, and cherish what they spare
While feeding on their bodies. Would that Idonea
Were present, to the end that we might hear
What she can urge in his defence; she loves him.
Mar.
Yes, loves him; 'tis a truth that multiplies
His guilt a thousand-fold.
Osw.
'Tis most perplexing:
What must be done?
Mar.
We will conduct her hither;
These walls shall witness it—from first to last
He shall reveal himself.
Osw.
Happy are we,
Who live in these disputed tracts, that own
86
Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.
Mar.
Let us begone and bring her hither;—here
The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved
Before her face. The rest be left to me.
Osw.
You will be firm: but though we well may trust
The issue to the justice of the cause,
Caution must not be flung aside; remember,
Yours is no common life. Self-stationed here,
Upon these savage confines, we have seen you
Stand like an isthmus 'twixt two stormy seas
That oft have checked their fury at your bidding.
'Mid the deep holds of Solway's mossy waste,
Your single virtue has transformed a Band
Of fierce barbarians into Ministers
Of peace and order. Aged men with tears
Have blessed their steps, the fatherless retire
For shelter to their banners. But it is,
As you must needs have deeply felt, it is
In darkness and in tempest that we seek
The majesty of Him who rules the world.
Benevolence, that has not heart to use
The wholesome ministry of pain and evil,
Becomes at last weak and contemptible.
Your generous qualities have won due praise,
But vigorous Spirits look for something more
Than Youth's spontaneous products; and to-day
You will not disappoint them; and hereafter—
Mar.
You are wasting words; hear me then, once for all:
You are a Man—and therefore, if compassion,
Which to our kind is natural as life,
Be known unto you, you will love this Woman,
Even as I do; but I should loathe the light,
If I could think one weak or partial feeling—
Osw.
You will forgive me—
Mar.
If I ever knew
My heart, could penetrate its inmost core,
87
To be the friend and father of the oppressed,
A comforter of sorrow;—there is something
Which looks like a transition in my soul,
And yet it is not.—Let us lead him hither.
Osw.
Stoop for a moment; 'tis an act of justice;
And where's the triumph if the delegate
Must fall in the execution of his office?
The deed is done—if you will have it so—
Here where we stand—that tribe of vulgar wretches
(You saw them gathering for the festival)
Rush in—the villains seize us—
Mar.
Seize!
Osw.
Yes, they—
Men who are little given to sift and weigh—
Would wreak on us the passion of the moment.
Mar.
The cloud will soon disperse—farewell—but stay,
Thou wilt relate the story.
Osw.
Am I neither
To bear a part in this Man's punishment,
Nor be its witness?
Mar.
I had many hopes
That were most dear to me, and some will bear
To be transferred to thee.
Osw.
When I'm dishonoured!
Mar.
I would preserve thee. How may this be done?
Osw.
By showing that you look beyond the instant.
A few leagues hence we shall have open ground,
And nowhere upon earth is place so fit
To look upon the deed. Before we enter
The barren Moor, hangs from a beetling rock
The shattered Castle in which Clifford oft
Has held infernal orgies—with the gloom,
And very superstition of the place,
Seasoning his wickedness. The Debauchee
Would there perhaps have gathered the first fruits
Of this mock Father's guilt.
88
Host.
The Baron Herbert
Attends your pleasure.
Osw.
(to Host).
We are ready— (to Herbert)
Sir!
I hope you are refreshed.—I have just written
A notice for your Daughter, that she may know
What is become of you.—You 'll sit down and sign it;
'Twill glad her heart to see her father's signature.
[Gives the letter he had written.
Her.
Thanks for your care.
[Sits down and writes. Exit Host.
Osw.
(aside to Marmaduke).
Perhaps it would be useful
That you too should subscribe your name.
[Marmaduke overlooks Herbert—then writes— examines the letter eagerly.
Mar.
I cannot leave this paper.
[He puts it up, agitated.
Osw.
(aside).
Dastard! Come.
[Marmaduke goes towards Herbert and supports him —Marmaduke tremblingly beckons Oswald to take his place.
Mar.
(as he quits Herbert).
There is a palsy in his limbs—he shakes.
[Exeunt Oswald and Herbert—Marmaduke following.
The poetical works of William Wordsworth | ||