University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Witches' Cot.
Grimald, Nora, Maldie.
Grim.
Here is the blood from thy right arm,
Sign, seal, and rivet the charm.

Mal.
I would, but dare not, for I dread
In doing so, I do a deed
Not to be cancell'd or forgiven—
May I do this, and yet win heaven?

Grim.
Certes; think'st thou that we conspire
With spirits damn'd from home of fire?—
No, we consort with spirits free
From every bond, as thou shalt be.

Mal.
First I desire that thou wilt show
Thy power, what thou hast pledged to do.

Grim.
It shall be done—name thy request.
Whom would'st thou see?

Mal.
Call up the priest,
Whom most I dread and most detest—
If he is thine thou hast the rest.

Grim.
(Aloud, waving her rod.)

(A whistle without.)
Nora.
Hush!—Stop the rites—Whom have we hear?
Haply 'tis my familiar—Move not limb,
Nor tongue, nor finger, till I hearken him.

(She opens the door and screams.)
Enter Father Lawrence and Ben.
Grim.
Oh!—Oh!—Oh!
(Howls in ecstacy.)
We have won! We have won!
He is ours! he is ours!
The earth is our own.
(Changes her voice from an eldritch howl to a deep hollow tone.)
Spirit, we kneel to thee!
Sign, set, and seal to thee!
Laud to thy might,
Thy honour and right,
For the power is thine own
By the day or the night.

F. Law.
Art thou distraught, dame Grimald? prithee rise,
And let thy 'haviour similate to us,
Conversant only with humanity.

Grim.
I have thee! I have thee!
The world cannot save thee!
Nay—nothing alarm thee,
Here nothing shall harm thee;
But ah! should'st thou kick,
Thy heart how I'll nick,
And the arteries out of thy black bosom pick,
Till the core in its cover
My talons shall reach,
And the drivelling soul grin out of the breach!
Ha, ha, ha! ooh!

(Howls.)
F. Law.
Cease, cease—I take the risk. Thou art aware
That I deny your most redoubted power.
I come to be resolved of it, and then
I'll bow to you, and ask your aid and counsel
As others do—Can'st thou, by voice, or sign,
Or form of aught on earth or hell, advise
Who or from whence these nightly robbers are
Who harry us in every shape of man,
Yet never can be found?

Grim.
Priest—animal!—(for that's a name
Suiting the brotherhood you claim,)
Behind that hallan cast thine eye,
And note if living thing you spy.

(Father Lawrence and Ben, with lights, go behind the arras and return.)
F. Law.
No, nothing—Not a mouse is stirring here,
Nor room I see for one to enter it.

Nora.
(Drawing a Circle round them.)
Now stand you there.
I would not aught befel you in this place:
Swear therefore to me, not to move a foot,
Nor once attempt to stir out of this circle,
Whatever you hear or see, and you shall learn
That you desire.

F. Law.
I do—I swear.

Ben.
And I.

Nora.
Sister, call.

Grim.
Spirit—Spirit—Hitherward hie thee.
Where shall I turn me?—where shall I spy thee?
Come by the wind-hole like miasm swarth,
Rise like a fire-fly up from the hearth,
Or bore like a mould-warp out of the earth.
Come not like shepherd, nor come thou like shade,
Come not like elfin king, come not like maid,
But come like a hypocrite stately and slow,
Come like Priest Lawrence and tell what you know.
Mouly, Gil-Mouly, sly mouse of the mill,
Here-away, there-away, come when you will.
(A soft cadence of Music within.)
Oh! thou art come in music, art thou, spirit?
Then thou art but a voice to-night—a sound
Without the semblancy of frame or being.
Thou ever-changing modalist, can'st thou,
In this earth-born unelemental state,
Shape the thin air to words, or cadency,
That nature may expound? Or sing, or say,
Or mince in melody all that thou know'st
Of the mysterious plunderers of the vale.

SONG within.

F. Law.
Grace be my shield, but this is wonderful!
I have had proofs of secret conference,
Of most mysterious kind, held with a maiden,
Who shall be nameless here.

Grim.
Step forth, I say, thou freakish thing;
Why fear a face so grovelling?
Seest thou this priest of reverend fame?—
Step forth in garb and form the same.
See, I wave my magic wand—
Come, come, I thee command.

Enter one habited like Father Lawrence.
Spirit.
Why am I called?—Beware of me!
Of night and day count three times three,
And that thou hast shall pass away.
The word is given; note what I say.

F. Law.
Yes, I will note thee well.—Are we released?

Nora.
For one short moment stay, until we hear
The sound that speaks his flight.—
(Soft tones of Music within.)
Now go thy way.

F. Law.
Suffer me once again to look within,
That all my doubts may fade.

Grim.
Thou foolish wight!
Search for a spirit, sooth!—Search as thou wilt.

(Scene changes to a dark Closet.—Enter Father Lawrence and Ben, with lights.— They search. As they are about to retire, Father Lawrence observes a line on the floor. He kneels down and examines it, tracing a square with his finger. He makes a sign to Ben, who likewise examines it. Father Lawrence blows the Call.—Enter five or six armed Peasants.)
F. Law.
One guard the door—the rest force entrance here.—
Is the linn path belaid?

Peas.
Most closely guarded, sire.

(They force up a trap-door, and descend—Pause. —Cries and firing without.—Scene changes as before.—Enter Peasants, with two Robbers, guarded, one in the habit of Father Lawrence. —Father Lawrence and other re-enter from behind.
F. Law.
Now all the mystery is at once disclosed.
Within this cavern are deposited
The spoils of years—a motley countless spoil,—
Robes of the dead and living without end;
Coffins and cabinets—O, what a scene
Of guilt and imposition hath been here!
In these two thieves I trace the remainder
Of that cursed gang, that bold Egyptian race
Late banish'd from our land, and dear the forfeiture
To them shall prove.—How camest thou leagued with them?

Grim.
I leagued with them!—No! nor with aught
That e'er with sense, or sordid flesh and blood
Fester'd the face of nature.—I leagued with them!
Poh! morbid wart!

F. Law.
Declare if this be true. Is she not leagued
In your infernal policy and fraud?

Nora.
With us she is not leagued.—These three long years
That crazed unnatural thing hath been to us
A source of wealth.—Full oft have these my sons
Arisen from out that cave, in garb and guise
By her called up, till she believed that all
The spirits of the air and nether world
Came at her bidding: Yet I needs must own,
That human beings at her call have come;
Some strange events by her have been forespoke;
And, poor, deranged, and hagard as she is,
She hath seen better days; for sore mishap
Hath made of her a prey, therefore I deem
Her sold to Satan, and her witching powers
Unknown even to herself—This is the truth.
Let us go free, and we these haunts beloved
Will leave, and never more revisit them;
But should you give us up to justice, I
Have sons and true associates who will wreak
Vengeance upon you, even to fire and blood.

F. Law.
That be our care to avert—Lead them away
To justice—And for thee, wild hellish crone,
Though duped, thou hast a most malignant heart,
And hatred of all good—Thy curses now
Return upon thyself, for thou shalt see
A Cross of Leader such a sacrifice
Of human nature in depravity,
As Scotland hath not seen.

Grim.
Ay, lead me there, and prove your impotence
To scathe one single hair of these grey locks.
Cart me to hall of justice—to the stake—
Load me with fetters, chain this faded frame
To rock of adamant—Your faggots pile
High as the Eldon—Squeeze the heaven and earth
Together for a bellows to the flame—
O, I'll raise those from out the spider's nest,
Or from the bluart's eye, will scatter you,
And set the prisoner free!—I duped by you!
Ha! ha! The arbitress of angels duped!
Fardels of rank corruption!—Oh, to move
The overthrow of nature, the support
Of such incarnate dross!—I'll call on it.—
I'll order't to be done.—Tremble, ye weeds!
Ye garbage of existence!—for your hour
Draws on apace—I saw it blazon'd red
Upon the dial of heaven, and the hand,
The pointer throwing hell's infernal shade,
Near'd to its limb.

F. Law.
Cease thy wild blasphemy—Lead her away.
Why do you tremble? Take them to their doom,
Which none so well have earn'd.—God grant me strength,
For there is need of comfort and rebuke.
(To Maldie.)
Thou wicked minx, what brought thee to this place?
Cam'st thou again a conjuring for men?

Ben.
No names, so please you, sire—Weak, but not wicked.
We have been all abused—Look up, my girl,
And do not weep—There's something here thy friend;
And if I can, I will forgive thee all.

F. Law.
Forgiveness is the doctrine which I teach,
And peace and charity the themes I love.

Enter Hutchon.
Hut.
O, sire, I come with more unwelcome tidings;
Lord Hindlee is no more!

F. Law.
Father of Mercies,
Do not destroy our trust!—Thou messenger
Of woe, say how it hap'd; for surely thou
Art blameable in this?

Hut.
He 'scaped from me,
And bounded like a wild deer to the waste,
Crying aloud that he was sent afar
On glorious mission. More than mortal speed
Mark'd his career—The shepherd fled aside,
The passenger to silent covert slid
Till he pass'd by—Loudly he pray'd to Heaven,
And then by turns he laugh'd—boasting amain
Of that he would fulfil—“I'll reach the bourn,”
He cried, “I will! I will! and then I'll do it.
O God! let me but on to do thy work,
For I am burning for the high employ
Of everlasting moment!—Laggard, on!
On, Gabriel, on! thou messenger of doom!
Fly! fly! Dost thou not see how I would fly,
And then the wind would cool me? Oh, were I
Dissolved into a wind, that I might sweep
Light over hill, and plain, and yielding wave,
Never to shift or change!—Or to a stream,
For it is sent, and runs on—on—for ever.
I'll be a stream!—No, no, I'll be the wind,
And then there's no bar nor impediment
On nature's face between me and the East.
The wild-fowl of the heath will cower him down
Till I pass over—swans will ope their ranks—
The solan swim aside—the rolling clouds
Fling wide their downy windows far before
The eye of God's eternal messenger!
I cannot! Oh, I cannot!—On! On! On!”
These were his words, while I his words could hear.
His rout was traced with blood, for his bare feet
Were lacerated by the shivering ice.
That track I follow'd, forth, around, and back,
For redder still it grew—At length, hard by
Beside the church-yard wall I found him stretch'd,
A ghastly corse!—Ah! such a woful sight
Ne'er blench'd the human cheek! for in his hands
Was squeez'd the snow-ball leaven'd with his blood.
All clothing and encumbrance he had thrown,
Yet kept the sacred book, which in the last
Wild agonies of dying he had gnaw'd;
And still within the grin of madness lock'd,
The remnant of that holy book remains.

F. Law.
For mercy's sake, no more!

Ben.
Father, wilt thou not lay eternal curse
Upon the authors of these miseries?

F. Law.
O no, I leave them to the just award
Of Him, whose hand unerring sent this scourge
By these his ministers, for grievous sin,
Or others' welfare.—Hence let never man
Pry for a crevice to futurity,
For all are wisely closed. O let it lie
In its primeval darkness! Short the while
That the dull twilight of this life can last,
And then the dawning of Eternity
Will pierce the veil, and all our longings end.