University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

A Room in Eliza's Cottage. Eliza seated, with a Map before her.
Eliza.
He should be here, here, where he said the sea
Was of a deeper blue than my own eyes.—
Alas! how is it with me? I am faint;
And something like a mist is on the map.
'Tis nothing.—And to-morrow he'll be there.—
O! he has gone with radiance on his soul,
But left me dark in spirit, ill at ease.—
This hand I plighted, and before he left
I felt that I had given him all my heart.
And so I had; but, like a new-drawn tooth,
I feel as if the fragment were left in
That caused the pain.—Then, in about a week,
The Falkland Isles—no, no, I've lost my course:
My thoughts are crowded, I am press'd with thoughts,
Yet to no end or purpose can I think. (A knock.)

Come in, and welcome, be ye whom ye may;
Come any one, and take these thoughts away. Enter Reuben.

Ah, Jane! I am so glad, so very, very glad.

Reuben.
And so am I, to find you are so very, very glad.
But where is Jane? She was not telling me—

Eliza.
Is she not with you, then? Not ill, I trust, not ill?
Be seated, Reuben, and tell me.

Reuben.
She is well. 'Tis I that am ill.

Eliza.

And you do well to walk for it. There is nothing better than a country walk for a slight illness.

Reuben.
And you with me, Eliza.

Eliza.
(aside)
Ah!—what means he?

Reuben.

O! how may I approach you, how obliterate the old impressions you must have of Reuben? Eliza, I— I love you.

Eliza.
O, God! too late! too late! Away, dear Reuben!
Leave me! I cannot—may not—O, you are too late!

Reuben.
Too late! O, how?

Eliza.
I am another's! I—I am betrothed.

Reuben.

O! thou hast plucked my soul out! I have no thought, no word—dumb silence all!

Eliza.

O! Reuben, I did love thee—love thee now; and even yesterday would—O, God! God! Farewell— thy presence maddens me. O leave, for Heaven's dear love.

Reuben.

I go, Eliza! but the love of Heaven methinks I leave behind. Farewell! Be happy, and—forget me.

[Exit.

Eliza.
He should have said forget, and then be happy—
Not happy and forget.—O! I could pray
That thou, my God, would'st teach me to forget,
But that thy will is visible in this,
And rules it as it is. If thus to-day
He loves me, surely yesterday he loved.
What unseen finger then lay on his lips,
Or held back in his eye that tongue of light,
And loosed them now to speak unto a heart
That dares not hear?—I have been as a tree,
Whose inward principle of life is love;
Which from the earliest spring has budded out
Nothing but leaves of sorrow. Surely now
I've reach'd the full flow'r of my agonies!
And next, in Heaven's good time, must come the fruit;
Bitter or sweet, I leave with thee, O God!