University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Chester and Henry.—(Seated in Chester's House.)
Hen.
What is the news, I pray?

Ches.
Last night, as I went walking in the wood,
I practise often in these woodland walks,
And on some nights I almost pluck the stars
Like crystal plums from off the tops of trees,—
But, as I said, I walked far down the wood,
In that rheumatic kind of greasy gait
I have accumulated, and I went
Dreaming and dreaming on, almost asleep,
If not quite half awake, until I reached
The lake's dim corner, where one ragged tree
Let in a gush of fuming light. The moon
Now being high, and at its full, I saw
Upon that little point of land a shape,
A fair round shape, like early womanhood
Kneeling upon the ground wept by the dews;
And then I heard such dreadful roar of sobs,
Such pouring fountains of imagined tears
I saw, following those piteous prayers,
All under the great placid eye of night.
'T was for an old man's eye, for a young heart
Had spun it into sighs, and answered back.
And now the figure came and passed by me,
I had withdrawn among the ghostly shrubs,
'T was Mary,—poor Mary! I have seen her smile
So many years, and heard her merry lips
Say so much malice, that I am amazed
She should kneel weeping by the silent lake,
After old midnight night-caps all but me.
But you are young, what can you make of it?
Where Henry's life hangs balanced in its might,
Breathe gently o'er this old, fond, doting man,
Who seems to cherish me among his thoughts,
As if I was the son of his old age,
The son of that fine thought so prodigal.
O God, put in his heart his thought, and make
Him heir to that repose thou metest me.
Ye sovereign powers that do control the world,
And inner life of man's most intricate heart,
Be with the noble Chester; may his age

Hen.
What can one make of figures? I can see
The fair girl weeping by the moonlit lake.

Ches.
Canst thou not see the woman's agony,
Canst thou not feel the thick sobs in thy throat,
That swell and gasp, till out your eyes roll tears
In miserable circles down your cheeks?

Hen.
I see a woman weeping by the lake;
I see the fair round moon look gently down,
And in the shady woods friend Chester's form,
Leaning upon his old, bent maple stick.

Ches.
What jest ye? Dare you, Henry Gray, to mock
A woman's anguish, and her scalding tears,
Does Henry Gray say this to his friend Chester,
Dares he speak thus, and think that Chester's scorn
Will not scoff out such paltry mockeries?

Hen.
Why how you rage; why Chester, what a flame
A few calm words have lighted in thy breast.
I mock thee not, I mock no woman's tears,
Within my breast there is no mockery.

Ches.
True, true, it is an old man's whim, a note
Of music played upon a broken harp.
I fancied you could read this woman's tears,
Pest on't, I am insane; I will go lock me up.

[Exit Chester.
Hen.
(alone.)
Ye fates, that do possess this upper sphere,
Yield brighter blossoms than his early years,
For he was torn by passion, was so worn,
So wearied in the strife of fickle hearts,
He shed his precious pearls before the swine.
And, God of love, to me render thyself,
So that I may more fairly, fully give,
To all who move within this ring of sky,
Whatever life I draw from thy great power.
Still let me see among the woods and streams,
The gentle measures of unfaltering trust,
And through the autumn rains, the peeping eyes
Of the spring's loveliest flowers, and may no guile
Embosom one faint thought in its cold arms.
So would I live, so die, content in all.