University of Virginia Library

ACT THIRD.

SCENE I.

A Hermitage: Edwin, disguised as a Hermit, sitting in the entrance; in profound contemplation. He rises, and comes, slowly, forward.
Edwin.
(Walks in great agitation.)

SCENE II.

As Edwin is slowly crossing the Stage, Angelina enters—at first, not seeing him.
Edwin. Angelina.
Angelina.
(Seeing Edwin.)

Edwin.
(Turns, and advances.)
Pilgrim! fatigue sits heavy on thy frame;
Let me support thee: thou hast gone too far.

(Assists her.)
Angelina.
Indeed, my father, I have greatly stray'd;
And, much I fear, shall find no place of rest.

(Sighs.)
Edwin.

(He leads her into the cell.)

SCENE III.

The inside of the Cavern. Ethelbert alone.
Ethelbert.
With what a generous and unceasing care
Does Sifrid seek to serve me! Could I once,
What my full soul is anxious to disclose,
Unfold; and draw him from this fatal snare;
All would be well.

SCENE IV.

Enter, to Ethelbert, Sifrid—with a wild and distracted air; as having just dismist the Banditti; and without observing Ethelbert.
Ethelbert. Sifrid.
Sifrid.
(To himself)
They're gone; all gone; at last I am alone!
Would I had been so ever! Never known man!
Had perisht ere my eyes were op'd to light!
Or wither'd, an untimely fruit!—O where!
Where are the golden visions that, but now,
Ravisht my soul, with ecstacies of joy?
Where now the treacherous hope which made thee mine,
Too faithful Emma? Never more shall I,
With arms of love, encircle thee. No more!—
Would God that I had died,—that thou hadst died,
Ere this accursed hour of dark despair.
That we were slumbering in the peaceful grave.
Now, when shall I know peace? Never! never!—
O that I knew not that thou still didst live!
That yet I thought thee dead! Then, as before,
I now should rise, fierce-panting for revenge.
Thy fancied death—my own foul wrongs—despair—
United, would urge on my furious hand;
And make the work of death seem just and joyful.
But now,—horrible state!—tho' heaven itself
Entices me to turn;—tho' I do know
Where it will plunge me;—stand upon the brink;—
Tottering;—I must— (starting back)
horror! horror!

Ethelbert.
Sifrid!

Sifrid.
Who calls upon that wretch? (Seeing Ethelbert.)
And is it thee?

(Tenderly.)
Ethelbert.
'Tis me, 'tis Ethelbert, it is thy friend!
Why dost thou look thus wildly on me, Sifrid?
What is it that so shakes thy frame? What cause—?

Sifrid.
Have I not cause enough,—Eternal Powers!
Have I not cause enough, for my distress?

Ethelbert.
Whence is this dreadful passion which destroys thee?
Art thou not master of thy native fields?
Is not thy Emma free, and faithful to thee?
Does she not languish for thy quick return?

Sifrid.
Ay, but my oath! For I am bound; have sworn.

Ethelbert.
And think'st thou any oath hath force to bind
Against the eternal ordinance of Heaven?
Believe it not.—What hast thou sworn to do?
To murder and despoil, is 't not?—Beware!
The positive injunction sure is plain;
Casting stern condemnation in thy face.

Sifrid.
Ay, but my truth is pledg'd; my honor giv'n;
And were eternal death the sure event,
I've sworn upon my soul,—and must go on.

Ethelbert.
Horrid, but powerless, oath.

Sifrid.
Immutable!
O agony supreme! I see my fate.—
Emma!—yes, thee I must leave:—Forever!
I must fulfil my destiny of death.
The wrath of Heaven falls heavy, and I sink.

(A short pause.)
Ethelbert.
O be calm, my dearest friend! Let sweet peace
Soft settle on thy soul, and sooth its woes.

Sifrid.
Never more shall peace visit this bosom.

Ethelbert.
Nay, think not so!—it shall, my friend, it shall.
Observe the pleasing prospects that invite thee.
Untoucht, thy hamlet, and paternal fields:
These, by thy care, shall thrive; there shalt thou live;
And, with thy Emma, see thy joys renew'd.

Sifrid.
Never again, will joy be mine!

Ethelbert.
It will.—
Leave but these scenes, and, 'mid thy native shades,
Gain independence from the cultur'd soil;
Thou shalt be truly happy.—Here, around,
On every side, danger approaches swift.
The alarmed nation hastens to destroy thee.
Toils, dangers, and distress, and many deaths,
Perchance of thy best chiefs, most sure await thee.
If fortunate at first, it can not last;
Unfortunate, thy people's, and thy, lot,
How dreadful! The reverse, how sweet! Where thou,
Where they, a ready pardon, from the throne,
Procur'd, secure, the joys of peace may taste;
And life steal on, serene, to honor'd age.

Sifrid.
O I do see how many, many joys,
I might, full sure, obtain! But, I have sworn.

Ethelbert.
And will not they, to whom thy oath is given,
Like thee, discern the danger, and avoid it?
Dost thou not think thy brothers of the war
Would share thy toil?

Sifrid.
(With frantic ecstacy.)
They will!
(Suddenly relapsing into despair.)
No! they can not.
I must still live a very wretch.

Ethelbert.
(A pause.)
Sifrid!
What mean'st thou? Wherefore can they not?

Sifrid.
Ask not.
Leave me, my friend, to perish. Thy kindness
Can not, now, avail me.

Ethelbert.
Sifrid, I can not,
Must not, leave thee.—Explain what thou dost mean.

Sifrid.
Are we not bound by mutual oaths, to death?
Is it not death to him who first shall dare
Request a change? And how shall I, who fram'd,
Propos'd, the oath; exacted their acceptance;
Dare, first, to seek exemption from its bonds?
O, would they but relent; unite, with me,
In more endeared toils; (to Ethelbert)
thou wilt have rais'd
A weight that presses me to deep perdition.

Ethelbert.
Thy passion, Sifrid, doth unman thy soul;
And makes thee estimate the danger more
Than reason will allow.—Cheer up my friend!
And when, from this their search, thy Band return,
Do thou address them with a manly zeal:
Point but their way, and I will fields bestow,
Untill'd, thro' fear of their despoiling hands,
Which soon would bud and blossom, by their aid.

Sifrid.
'Tis well!—I am resolv'd! It can not be
But only death.—Emma! I can not bring
Thee hither;—and, without thee, this little,
Little day of life, were agony; were death.—
I will address them.

Ethelbert.
Fear not; they will comply.
Pardon, and rural wealth, shall crown the act;
And fairer suns shall rise to gild thy day.

Sifrid.

[They go out.

SCENE V.

The Hermitage: Edwin and Angelina discovered, sitting in the entrance of the cell: a small table spread; and covered with a variety of fruits.
Edwin. Angelina.
Edwin.
Scarce dost thou taste my fruits:—O be not sad!
I will conduct thee, with the early dawn,
Where terminates the forest.

Angelina.
Ah! Father!
I fear I then shall be more distant far,
Than ever, from my journey's wisht-for end.

(Sighs.)
Edwin.
Unhappy Youth! what dost thou wish? what seek?

Angelina.
I seek in vain.—I seek—for—happiness.

(Sighs.)
Edwin.
Is happiness thy wish; here rest; here dwell.
Remote from courts, and palaces, and kings;
From domes of grandeur, and from halls of wealth;
Far from the poisonous city's busy hum;
From Passion's reign, and fierce Ambition's war,
Borne on the winnowing gale, flies Happiness.
She loves, with Peace her sister, to reside
In cottages and vales; by running streams;
In woods; and on the cliff's rude, hanging brow:
For there, if yet, perchance, on earth they dwell,
Meets she Integrity, and sober Toil;
And Innocence, and sweet Simplicity:
And oft the Hermit's cell she deigns to visit;
With Piety her guide, and mild Repose
Her fair attendant.—This, then, be this thy—

Angelina.
And do meek Piety and Peace, in truth,
Visit so often then thy cell, my Father?

Edwin.
(Apart.)
That question!—Be still my heart!— (To her.)
Dost thou doubt!—
But whence, poor Youth, the sorrows of thy breast?
The rose still blooms upon thy cheek; nor there
Trace I the characters of villain guilt.
Yet, oft ambitious is the youthful mind.
Say, dost thou thirst for Power?
(She sighs.)
Ah! remember!
'Tis but of momentary worth alone;
Lifting the proud heart of forgetful man
Above the worship pure of Heaven. It draws
From Virtue's paths; and all her smiling train,—
Even Fortitude, depart: and when appear
Misfortune and her frightful troop, the soul,
Debas'd, no longer can itself support.

Angelina.
Father, I wish it not.

Edwin.
And what is Wealth?
What, but, like Power, corrupter of the heart?
To every ill exposing more the man,
And hard'ning more to sense of others' grief.
Avarice and pride increasing; and the soul
Binding to earth, not lifting up to heaven.
Does it, on man, one virtuous wish bestow?
Or brings it happiness?

Angelina.
Alas! it does not.
Power might be mine; and Wealth I can command;
But where, ah! where, is happiness?

Edwin.
Poor Youth!
And hast thou dreamt of Friendship? Fixt thy soul
Upon a fancied friend, and found him false?
—O Phantom, subject of eternal praise!
Man's foul betrayer, murderer of his peace;
Of wealth and fame thou still-attendant shade;
The base deserter of the cheated wretch;
What art thou, visionary fiend, that man
Should ever be condemn'd to think thou art,
(Tho' thou wert never seen,) and still to seek thee?—
(To her.)
Grieve not for this;—our earthly lot is woe;
And we but bare our bosoms to the stroke,
The assassin's stroke, when we embrace a friend.
Say, dost thou mourn for one as such suppos'd?

Angelina.
O, no! I never yet so blessed was
As, even in fancy, to possess a friend.

Edwin.
And Love,—Love hath, perhaps, tormented thee?
Hast to a fair-one ever op'd thy soul?
Hast lov'd? to be the jest, the scoff, the scorn,
The play-thing, of a heart insensible?
(She sighs deeply.)
Thy only answer is of sighs and tears.—
O Heaven! and hath sincerity again,
Again hath truth been wounded?
(To her.)
Hast thou lov'd?
(She sighs more deeply, and appears greatly agitated.)
Let her be thy scorn!—Ha! know'st thou not yet,
That air, not truth, is measure of affection?
—Almighty Father! wherefore did thy wrath
Create me man? Was it to see all worth,
And every bright perfection of the mind,
Humbled before the arrogance of wealth?
False pride of birth? and tyranny of power?—
Know'st thou not this?—The heart of man, himself,
These have beguil'd; and, of his daughter's peace,
Have made her sire the assassin.

Angelina.
(In tears, and lifting up her hands.)
O, my God!

Edwin.
(Not noticing her emotion.)
For these hath woman, vain, and trifling wretch!—
(All fond desires, and sweet affections shunn'd;
Each nobler passion of the soul cast off;)
Rejected love: deceiv'd,—destroy'd,—spurn'd it,
With acrimonious, with insulting scorn.

Angelina.
(Starting up with wildness, clasping her hands, and pressing them to her head; her hat, at the same time, falling off, and her long hair floating down her back.)
Gracious, gracious God!—Spare me!—O spare me!

Edwin.
What do I see?—a woman?
(She sinks faintly into his arms.)
It is herself!
She dies!—Angelina!—What shall I do?—
(Distractedly.)
Soft!—she revives!—I'll throw me at her feet,—

Angelina.
(Reviving.)
Where am I?—where?

Edwin.
(Apart.)
Discovery might destroy my only hope.

Angelina.
(More revived.)
Where have I been?

Edwin.
(Supporting her.)
Compose thyself, my Child!
Be calm; and tell me whence these transports wild;
And let me sooth the sorrows of thy soul.

Angelina.
(With great emotion.)
I can not speak!

Edwin.
(Tenderly.)
Sit down.—Be not disturb'd.
I am, myself, the very child of woe,
And can disclose whence consolation springs.

Angelina.
My tears prevent all utterance.

Edwin.
'Tis well.—
Yes, let them flow. Composure flies afar
From where sit mute Despair and tearless Anguish;
But gently lights, where Grief her sacred dew
Sheds 'round the mourner.

(A pause.)
Angelina.
Thou art too kind, my Father.—Ah! forgive
A wretch, whose feet, unhallow'd, have disturb'd
Thy cell serene of piety and peace.

Edwin.
(Apart.)
Of peace?—alas! (To her.)
Do not condemn thyself:
The Power who rules is good; and our weak feet,
Tho' often he permit to stray, yet still
'Tis but a devious path, to good conducting.

Angelina.
I gain sweet hope and courage from the thought.
And sure compassion dwells within thy breast;
And thou wilt pity one who hath been led
Astray by love; who seeks for peace, but finds
(The sole companion of her way) despair.

Edwin.
(Passionately.)
Despair!—Proceed, my child.— (Apart.)
What shall I hear?

Angelina.
How shall I speak of happy times, which, erst,
Saw me, the daughter of an ancient Earl,
With wealth's proud splendors, blandishments of ease,
And art's and nature's, copious stores, surrounded?
Ador'd, and sung, by every neighbouring Chief;
While flattery, with music join'd its voice;
Echoing along the winding banks of Tyne?
—O blissful days of innocence and peace!
Early, how early lost!

Edwin.
Cease not, thou fair—

Angelina.
Frequent and numerous were the suing crowds,
To the warm proffers of whose love, real,
Or yet pretended, ready ear I lent;
While my young mind, intoxicate, drank in
Delicious draughts of flattery.

Edwin.
Detest—

Angelina.
Detestable indeed.—Among the rest,
Most simply clad, but grac'd with virtue's guise;
Not arm'd with wealth or power, but full of worth;
Whose mind was wisdom's throne; a Youth was seen.
Ah! how my bosom panted at his sight!
Of love he never spake; and with disdain,
Most noble of the flatterer's art—

Edwin.
(Passionately extending his arms.)
My An—
(Partly recollecting himself.)
Speak! what of him!

Angelina.
Amazement! What mean'st thou?
Know'st thou aught—?

Edwin.
(Recollecting himself, yet hesitating.)
Pardon—forgive me, daughter!—
Be not alarm'd!—Go on—I nothing meant!
The thoughtlessness of youth did cause my warmth.

Angelina.
The musk-rose, which unfolds its tender flowers
Unto the early sun; the dew, which loves to hang
Its trembling lustres on the silver bell,
The lily of the vale; his purer mind
But faintly emulate. The rose, the dew,
With charms inconstant shine: their charms were his;
But, woe to me! mine was their constancy.—
Wretch that I am! I trifled with his love,
Scofft at his pain, who only liv'd for me!

Edwin.
(Agitated.)
Haste thee—!

Angelina.
(She walks about—in extreme agitation—Edwin regarding her fixedly, and with an attitude evidencing the most entire and distressful concern.)

Edwin.
(Forcibly, and passionately, clasping her to his breast.)
“Forbid it Heaven!”

Angelina.
(Endeavoring to disengage herself.)
Man—

Edwin.

(They embrace.)

SCENE VI.

Ethelbert, Sifrid, and Banditti, burst through the Wood, and advance hastily.
(Angelina shrieks faintly, and clings to Edwin—who raises his staff, in defence,—while, with his left arm, he supports her.)
Edwin. Angelina. Ethelbert. Sifrid. Banditti.
Ethelbert.
Tis she! and in another's arms!—
Hermit!
Release—

Edwin.
Robber! thou diest if thou advance.

Ethelbert.
See'st not our numbers?—Wherefore should I hurt thee?

Edwin.
Single, unarm'd, I will defend my charge,
“Against a world in arms.” (To Angelina.)
Fear not, my love!
Heaven combats on the side of right.

Ethelbert.
(Angrily.)
Old man,
Provoke me not!

Edwin.
Proud boy, away! (To her.)
Be calm.
(To him.)
Dare not!— (To her.)
My Angelina—

Angelina.
(Faintly, and looking up to him.)
O, forbear!
Risk not thy life!

Ethelbert.
(Fiercely.)
Hermit, be brief. By heaven,
Nought shall detain her.

Edwin.
As thou valuest life,
Advance not.

Sifrid.
Peace! let me be heard, my friends.—
Holy man, we come not here to injure thee:
Far be from us impiety so base.
Earl, Ethelbert most dearly loves the maid
Whom thou withhold'st: and surely thou dost know
Of what fierce quality and fiery power
Is love; and wilt forgive impetuous speech.
He seeks but to restore her to her friends,
And gain her hand: for, he doth so adore,
Above all earthly good he prizeth it.
And why should'st thou detain? why not release,
And give, her to his wish?—His noble soul
Disdains a force superior to employ.—
Be obstinate no more—but yield—

Edwin.
(With great firmness.)
Never.

Ethelbert.
I would not harm that reverend form, or dash,
Against the earth, thy sacred head;
But, wert thou young, thy life should answer me,
For thy high insolence, old man!

Edwin.
(Throwing off his disguise.)
Off! off!
Ye trappings of dishonorable peace!
Array of bondage, vestments of disgrace!
Hence, the monk's cowl, and hermit's staff! and now,
Come forth thou sword of ancestry heroic!
(To Ethelbert.)
Villain! I dare thee!

Ethelbert.
(In great surprize.)
Edwin!

Edwin.
(Fiercely advancing.)
Edwin, Lord!

Ethelbert.
(With great emotion.)
The saviour of my life!
The murderer of my love!

Edwin.
Nay, hang not back!
We stand upon the perilous brink of death,
And one must surely leap.

Ethelbert.
(Greatly agitated.)
Almighty God!
Whence?—wherefore?—why is this?—My life!—my love!
Gratitude!—Passion!—It can not—can not be!—
(Walks distractedly.)
Come to my breast each noble sentiment?
Arm, arm my soul, and make it all your own,—
That I— (irresolutely)
I can not do it— (firmly)
I will—
That I may spare his love, who sav'd my life.

(All stand in a posture of surprize.)
Edwin.
Why do we wait?

Ethelbert.
After ingratitude
So base, if with repentant heart I come,
Say, noble Edwin, canst thou yet forgive me?
Angelina, daughter of heaven, canst thou?

Edwin.
Whene'er Earl Ethelbert becomes himself,
He shall not want a friend.

(Edwin drops his sword; they meet, and embrace. Angelina advances.)
Ethelbert.
Angelina,
I owe thee all:—compassionate my woes;
Forget my errors; if thou canst, forgive.

(Angelina places one hand in his—the other in Edwin's.)
Angelina.
When Edwin pardons, I can ne'er refuse.

Edwin.
(Drawing her towards him.)
My Angelina!

Ethelbert.
Excellent woman!
(To the Band.)
My friends, one mystery remains to you.
It is to Edwin that I owe my life;
Rescu'd, at risk of his, from men whose souls
No mercy knew. Already had they stript
And bound me; and their reared swords
Menac'd my death; when, (a delivering spirit,)
He came, with lightning speed—withering their powers.
Three fell beneath his hand; and, to the fourth,
Humbled, and full of promises, he gave
Life, freedom, and security.—Bleeding,
Nor conscious of my state, me he convey'd
To where attention dwelt; and only left,
When, in returned strength, vigorous he saw me.
But—O how!—how shall I relate the rest?
Vain-glorious, cruel, execrably base,—
In the remembrance, Sifrid, of thy woes,
Learn thou the shameful history of his.

SCENE VII.

Enter Walter and Edred, with other Banditti.
Edwin. Angelina. Sifrid. Ethelbert. Walter. Edred. Banditti.
Sifrid.
(To Walter, &c. as they enter.)
Happily arriv'd, my friends!

Ethelbert.
n (To Sifrid.)
Remember!

Sifrid.
(To Ethelbert.)
I do.— (To the Banditti.)
My friends! Hear all.
To my fond arms, Earl Ethelbert restores
The woman of my love; unto my care,
My fields paternal, and my earliest home.

Walter.
Sifrid!

Sifrid.
Nay, more—

Walter.
Chief! think upon thy oath!
And how thou'rt bound to us, and we to thee!
Think of the forfeit too!

(The Banditti draw their swords, and encircle Sifrid.)
Sifrid.
(To the Band.)
Deem not that I,
So used to blood and death, shall shrink with fear.
I know my life is forfeit; and that you,
As most shall please, may spare, or may exact it.
I have well weigh'd the terms, and place that life,
Now more than ever dear, upon the issue.—
If it shall please you to allow me chance,
I will unfold my purpose.

Walter.
(Looking round upon the Banditti, who nod their assent.)
'Tis granted.

Sifrid.
For myself, I plead not. I will not strive
To move your pity for a wretch, who, long,
From all he valued, banisht; finds, at length,
The happiness he lost, within his reach.
No!—for yourselves, it is, I plead; for you,
By many union'd toils, to me endear'd.—
'Tis not to me alone, this noble Earl
(Pointing to Ethelbert.)
Doth offer good; he, generously, to you,
Extends his manors, and invites acceptance.

Walter
And is this thy mighty purpose? For this
Hast thou forsworn thyself, and purchas'd death?
What charm, think'st thou, to tempt us from our woods,
Is there in vassalage?—Are we not free?
And shall we stoop to bondage? (To the Band.)
What say You—
Shall we be bond or free?

All Banditti.
Free!

Sifrid.
Curst be he
Who shall attempt to make ye slaves.—My friends!
Ye do mistake:—Not vassalage, but wealth,
Is offer'd;—not bonds, but independence.—
Think of the value of the proffer'd boon!
To your own hearts I speak; what hath revenge
Of pleasure so unmixt, as rural ease,
And independent toil?—Weigh, and compare,
This mighty mass of good, with that estate
In which you stand.—Behold, by you arouz'd,
The assembled vengeance of the nation haste,
Wide desolation o'er your shades to pour.
What can you do to stem this torrent?

Walter.
Die.

Sifrid.
And will thy death, the death of these brave men,
Confer such lasting glory on your names,
As to have cast revenge aside, when penitence,
With outstretcht arms, implor'd you to forgive?
What glory can arise, from spurning life,
When ready pardon waits, when wealth invites,
And nature and humanity beseech?
Let me not plead in vain! O! as in scenes,
Where danger and where death hideous appear'd.
Where rapine and destruction arm'd the hand,
I have been oft your guide; let me still lead
Where peace doth spread her shades, and where
Dwells sweet humanity!—If not,—'tis well!—
Here strike!—I bare my breast! the heart within
Beats only for your good.—Here plunge your swords!
For, without Emma, never more shall joy
Visit the soul of Sifrid; never more
Will he seek for revenge in fields of death.—
Why do ye linger?

Walter.
(Sheathing his sword.)
'Twas man's oppression made me what I am;
Let it be due to man that I become
Such as I ought to be.—

Edred.
(Replacing his sword.)
Walter hath spoken.

Sifrid.
Shall I then lead? and will you follow me?

All Band.
(Putting up their swords.)
We will.

Ethelbert.
(To the Band.)
My friends! this your resolve is sure
The very work of Heaven. (To all.)
O! we will form
A little world of love; all wrongs forgot,
And all our errors: for all have errors;
Nor is the Libertine's, nor Robber's, life,
More false to nature than the Anchorite's.

Edwin.
All must, indeed, amend: all will amend.
Our energies, long time, so ill-directed,
Henceforth, with wondrous joy, shall bless the land:
While men shall say—

Sifrid.
Not deeply, in their souls,
Could Vice her dark, polluted seat have fixt,
Who could, so easily, her chains cast off,
And bow their wills to Virtue's rightful sway.

Chorus.
Now burst the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.
Peace, henceforth, forever reigns;
And laughing Plenty loads our plains;
Then burst the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.

Sifrid.
Fierce Despair,

Edwin.
And frantic Grief,

Both.
Find, at length, unhop'd relief:

Angelina.
Wayward Beauty,

Ethelbert.
Brutal Lust,

Both.
Learn to feel, and dare be just.

Chorus.
Burst, then, the shout of joy around,
And let the forest wide resound.

Ethelbert.

Chorus.
Loud burst the shouts of joy around,
And plains, and forests, wide resound.

Edwin.
The mineral, sleeping in the mine,
Decks not the board, nor glows in coin,
While droop the languid arts;
Refin'd, its power, where'er it flies,
Bids new-born wonders round arise,
New energy imparts;

Chorus.
While burst the shouts of joy around,
And plains, and busy shores, resound.

Angelina.
The meteor gilds the face of night,
The pilgrim trusts the faithless light,
And sinks in lonely death;
But, by the moon's serener ray,
Unharm'd, the wanderer speeds his way,
O'er many an unknown heath;

Chorus.
And swells the notes of joy around,
And bids the peaceful shades resound.

Sifrid.

Chorus.
While bursts the shout of joy around,
And earth and heaven the strain resound.