University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE BY MOONLIGHT.
Panorama of hill and forest, with groups of dead and dying.
Enter Marcella.
Marcella.
Shadow, that fleetest over heath and hill,
That midst the dead and dying guidest me,
When wilt thou pause, and point the noble frame
In which the spirit once was liberal
Of all that wooes and wins? O, Ferrex, stay.
Shew me thy corse, that I may clasp it thus;
And on thy cold, cold lips bestow the kiss
They never felt while living. Stay, O stay!
Illusion! 'tis a moonbeam cheats my vision;
Mantled in mist—and now it fades—it fades.
No spirit hovers to direct my search,
But through the horrors of this silenced plain
I wander, fear-distraught.

Enter Philander.
Philander.
Lady Marcella.

Marcella.
O, I am called; I come, dear shade, I come.
Rebuke me not, if I do seem afraid—
Pardon my shrieks—forgive me if I groan.
I have heard shrieks and groans along the field,
And they have taught my soul to echo them;
And I have wildly screamed, and tossed my arms,
In frantic terror, to the scornful moon,
That me before ne'er mocked. All things are changed—
The living is the dead—the dead is living;
My lover lives, but still the heart I prize
Hath ceased to beat. Mine throbs to agony.

Philander.
I am no spirit, lady, but Philander—
He you were wont to call your pretty page;
I am here to guide you from these slaughtered heaps.
Myself and Dordan came to seek thee, lady,
And good King Gorbudoc. Him he hath found,
Searching, like thee, for Ferrex' corse in vain;
And now, thanks to the moonlight that still shines,
Though battle hath shed blood and broken hearts
On the hushed earth, my quest has prospered here.
Go with me, lady.

Marcella.
Go with thee—and whither?
What canst thou do for me, or I for thee?
Canst thou distinguish where the slain one sleeps?

Philander.
It must be hereabouts.

Marcella.
What sayest thou?
How knowest?

Philander.
Dordan and I were on the field,
Anxious to watch the progress of the fight,
And learn its issue. We did see him fall—

Marcella.
Is this the spot? Ah, let us here remain—
Examine here, until, from out the mass,
We can discern the honoured and the loved.

Philander.
Ha! 'tis—it is the spot—and here he lies.

Marcella.
Where?—where? That is not princely Ferrex.

Philander.
No, sweet lady,
'Tis Hermon.

Marcella.
As his friend, let him be dear—

Philander.
He bravely battled by his prince's side;
Opposed by furious Enyon, till he fell,
Slain by his foeman with a sudden thrust;
Which seeing, princely Ferrex turned apart,
To avenge him on his victor mainly bent,
When Porreo his unguarded brother smote.
What happened next I know not; instant rout
Succeeding that mischance.

Marcella.
What happened next?
What values it what happened? Even the wreck
Of the great earth had been an accident
Of little note; for all the good it had,
Then perished. Nothing beautiful or fair
Was there, in all it compassed, to affect—
And all the hearts in it were void of love.
Sorrow, remorse, and madness, and revenge
Engross all bosoms with one soul of hate—
I know 'tis so—it cannot but be so.

Philander.
Nay, lady, yield not to such sad despair—
Along with me—why not along with me?

Marcella.
We have not found him—Hermon is not he.

Philander.
It cannot be, but he is borne away—

Marcella.
Hush, hush, thou knowst not what thou pratest of.

Philander.
Here comes another. 'Tis Apollo's priest.

Enter the Priest.
Priest.
Here has, I see, my errand glad result.

Marcella.
Thou art a priest and canst inquire of gods,
And they respond in oracles. Now—now—
Give hasty satisfaction my demand—
Tell me where Ferrex lies?

Priest.
Even now, I passed
Where, on a bier, the brave Dunwarro guards
The body of the Prince. The Queen herself,
Who holds her grief with wondrous fortitude,
Dispatched me from the temple, where she bides,
In search of thee; and, hither as I came,
I crossed the sad procession on my way.

Marcella.
O give me wings! float me upon the wind—
That, without lapse and motion of my own,
I may be there—for he hath waited long.

[Exeunt.