University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

—Scene I.

A Wood.—Henry. (Alone.)
How like a part too deeply fixed in me,
A shadow where the substance lies behind,
Is this sweet wood. I cannot grasp my thought,
But see it swell around me in these trees,
These layers of glistening leaves, and swimming full
In the blue, modulated heaven o'er all.
I would embrace you kindred tenements,
Where dwells the soul by which I deeply live.
But ye are silent; they call you emblems,
The symbols of creation, whose memory
Has failed in its behest, and so ye stand
Merely dumb shadows of what might have been,
Or hints of what may be beyond these days.

(Enter Chester and observes Henry.)
Ches.
(to himself.)
I love these moods of youth, I love the might
Of untamed nature battling with despair.
How firmly grasps the iron-handed earth
The youthful heart, and lugs it forth to war
With calm, unmoving woods, or silent lakes,
Making it dastard in the sun's light dance.
Brave on, ye unbarked saplings, soon your boughs
Shall wing the arrows of red manhood's life,
And then, as your low depths of ignorance
Unfold, how shall you wonder at your youth.
How flaunt the banners in the light of morn,
How torn and trailing when the day-god sets.
'T is a brave sight with all sails up, to see
The shining bark of youth dash through the foam,
And sickening to the most, to look upon
Her planks all started, and her rigging split,
When she hugs closely to the beach in age.
But I console myself for my gray hairs,
By spinning such warm fancies in my brain,
That I become a little thing again,
And totter o'er the ground, as when I whipped my top.
(Approaches Henry.)
Your servant, sir, the day goes bravely down.

Hen.
Through the red leaves, I see the mornings' glow.

Ches.
'T is but the picture of some morning scene;
A fair conceit the sun has in his head,
And when he sets makes fatal flourishes.

Hen.
I hear you jest with nature, that you mock,
And fling queer faces at her holy calm,
Write witty volumes that demoralize;
Pray Mr. Chester, do you fear the devil?

Ches.
As I do nightfall. I have some night-fears,
Some horrid speculations in my brain;
And when the mice play hangmen in the wall,
Or out the house the pretty frost-toes creep,
I think, pest o'nt, what dark and doleful sounds,
If it were safe I'd raise the curtain's hem.
And when I puff away the cheerful light,
The moonbeam makes a thief's dark-lantern flit;
My head is filled with horribund designs,
And on myself I pack damned Macbeth's part.
I love to nourish such complexed conceits;
I have a vein of dreadful longing in me,
Was born to murder, and excel in arson,
And so I love the devil, though broad day
Has all the devilish aspects that I know.
See, comes the gentle Mary, know you her?

Hen.
Not I, my solitude hath its own figures.

(Enter Mary.)
Ches.
(to Mary.)
God speed thee, lady, it was opportune
Your footsteps led you up this sheltered walk,
For here is Henry Gray, my friend at least,
And now is yours.

Mary.
I willingly would know what Chester does,
And Mr. Gray, I trust, will but forgive me.
I rarely venture in these forest walks,
Where leads that prithee? (To Henry.)


Hen.
'T is by the lake, which gleaming like a sword,
One edge of this green path, a peacock lance,
Crosses in sport, and then descends away,
And vanishes among the outspread moors.

Ches.
And Mr. Gray, sweet Mary, knows the path,
All paths that frolic in these devious woods,
For he's sworn friends with squirrels, steals their nuts,
Divides with other beasts their favorite meat,
Can show you hungry caves, whose blackening jaws
Breathe out a little night into the air,
Will stand you on the dizzy precipice,
Where all whirls round you like a whizzing wheel,
In truth his skill is perfect, so farewell.

(Exit Chester.)

SCENE II.

Henry and Mary.—(By the Lake.)
Mary.
Those hills you say are lofty.

Hen.
Most lofty.
I have clomb them, and there stood gazing
On villages outspread, and larger towns
Gleaming like sand-birds on the distant beach.
I love the mountains, for a weight of care
Falls off his soul, who can o'erlook this earth.

Mary.
And there you passed the night?

Hen.
I have passed weeks
Upon their very tops, and thought no more
To fall upon the low, dark days of earth.
Above, the clouds seemed welcome faces to me,
And near the raging storms, came giant-like,
And played about my feet. Yet even there,
I feared for my own heart, lest I should grow
Too careless of myself. Yonder the town,—
You must excuse my absence, for the clock
Rounds the small air-balls into leaden weights.

(Exit Henry.)
Mary,
(alone.)
I breathe, and yet how hardly,—a moment,
What a thing am I,—a passing moment,
Lifting from the earth my weary heart so sick,
O'er-burdened with the grating jar of life,—
This youth,—how sleeps the lake, how blue it gleams.

(Chester again enters.)
Ches.
Ah! Mary alone,—indeed, has Henry Gray
Shot like a rocket in the rayful air?
A brilliant youth, at least his eyes are bright.

SCENE III.

Chester and Mary.—(Outskirts of Town.)
Mary.
He is a student at the college.

Ches.
Mark you, he is a student, and knows the trick.
He has a brother too, Vincent, a gay
Free, dashing animal, or so I hear,
But I hate characters at second-hand.
You know they are towns-people; 't is an old,
And comfortable family, I hear
Pest on't, my brains won't hold much matter now,
I am too old for gossip.

Mary.
Has he a sister?

Ches.
Who wants that good device? it is a part
Of every comfortable family.

Mary.
My father's mansion, will you enter?

Ches.
No, Mary, not to-night. (Mary goes in.)

(Chester alone.)
What comes of this,
When two youths come together, but woman
Rarely loves,—a play upon the word, So, So!
As I grow old, I lose all reasoning.
I hunt most nimble shadows, and have grown
A perfect knave for picking out old seams.

(Enter William Gray.)
Gray.
Good evening Mr. Chester. I call it evening,
For I see you walk, and they say here your gait
Is nightly.

Ches.
I have seen Henry now, and Mary came,
He had not known her,—strange!

Gray.
Mary, the banker's daughter; a girl of promise.

Ches.
They are old friends of mine, banker and all.
I've held him on my arm, and made him quake
At jingling coppers. He's richer now-a-days.

Gray.
'T would please me to make more of them.

Ches.
I will contrive it. There are times in life,
When one must hold the cherry to his lips,
Who faints to pluck a fair maid by the ear.