SCENE IV.
Before the walls of a churchyard, a narrow iron gate
at the bottom of the stage, behind which the gleaming
of a torch is faintly seen; the front of the stage
entirely dark. Solemn music is heard, as the scene
opens.
Enter a Sexton, with keys, followed by
Claude
and
Crawford.
Claude.
Music! and from the spot! what may it be?
Sexton.
Leave was requested that a solemn dirge
Should be this night sung by some grave; but whose,
Or e'en by whom requested, I am ignorant.
Some Papist, like enough: but what of that?
Craw.
(
to sexton).
How many graves thou'st made in one short week!
Thou hast been busy in thy sad vocation.
Sexton.
I have, good sooth, and knew it would be so,
A month before the fell disease began.
Craw.
How knew it?
Sexton.
He, the sighted man from Skye,
Was in the town; and, at the crowded cross,
Fell into strong convulsions, at the sight
Which there appear'd to him.
Craw.
What did he see?
Sexton.
Merchants, and lairds, and deacons, making bargains,
And setting trystes, and joking carelessly,
Swathed in their shrouds; some to the very chin,
Some breast-high, others only to the loins.
It was a dismal, an appalling sight;
And when I heard of it, I knew right well
My busy time was coming.
Claude
(
to sexton, impatiently).
Didst thou say
That leave has been requested for a dirge
To be this night sung by some Papist's grave?
Sexton.
Papist or not I cannot surely say,
I ask'd no questions.
Craw.
Having cause, no doubt,
To be well satisfied no harm would ensue.
Sexton.
No harm. In this retired nook it cannot
Annoy the living; and for the departed,
Nought can disturb their rest.
Craw.
Hast thou not heard of restless souls returning?
Perhaps thou'st seen it, during thirty years
In which thou hast been sexton of this parish.
Sexton.
In all that time I ne'er could say with certainty
That aught of such a nature pass'd before me;
But I have seen uncertain shadows move
As 'twere confusedly, and heard strange sounds,—
Stranger than wind or natural cause could utter.
Craw.
And thou wast sure they were unnatural sounds?
And hast thou heard them often?
Sexton.
Many times:
But that was in the first years of mine office.
I am not now alarm'd: use makes me feel
As if no harm could e'er befall the sexton:
And e'en my wife will in dark winter nights
Enter the church alone and toll the bell.
Craw.
And ne'er has been alarm'd by any sight
Of apparition or unearthly thing?
Sexton.
Yes; she was once alarm'd.
Craw.
(
eagerly).
And what appear'd?
Sexton.
It was, as nearly as I can remember,
Upon a Friday night—
Craw.
(
quickly).
Ne'er mind the night: what was it that she saw?
Sexton.
Nay, she herself saw nothing; but the dog
That follow'd her bark'd briskly, then stopp'd short,
And, with a kind of stifled choking howl,
Look'd in her face, then cower'd by her side,
Trembling for fear; and then right well she knew
Some elrich thing was near her, though its form
Was only visible to the poor brute.
Craw.
You think the dog saw something.
Sexton.
Certes did he!
And had he not been dumb, he could, no doubt,
Have told a tale to set our hair on end.
Claude
(
who, during their discourse, has been pacing
to and fro impatiently, to sexton).
You know not who it was?
Sexton.
The Lord preserve us, sir! for she saw nothing.
Claude.
What dost thou mean? Couldst thou not guess, at least,
Who 'twas who made request to chant the dirge?
Sexton.
Ay, ay! the dirge. In truth I cannot say.
It was a man I never saw before.
Claude
(
eagerly).
Stately, and of a stature somewhat taller
Than middle size, of countenance somewhat younger
Than middle age?
Sexton.
No; short, and grave, and ancient, like a priest
From foreign parts.
[
Music sounds again.
Craw.
Be still and hear the dirge.
DIRGE
sung by several voices without.
Dear spirit! freed from earthy cell,
From mortal thraldom freed;
The blessed Virgin keep thee well,
And thy dread passage speed!
Quick be thy progress, gentle soul!
Through purifying pain,
To the saved Christian's happy goal,
Thy Father's bright domain!
Beloved on earth! by love redeem'd,
Which earthly love transcends,
Earth's show,—the dream that thou hast dream'd,
In waking transport ends.
Then, bathed in fountains of delight,
Mayst thou God's mercy prove,
His glory open'd to thy sight,
And to thy heart His love!
There may thy blessed dwelling be,
For ever to endure
With those who were on earth like thee,
The guileless and the pure!
Dear spirit! from thy earthy cell,
From mortal thraldom freed, &c. &c.
Claude
(
seeing the light disappear).
They are all gone at last: unlock the gate.
[
The sexton applies the key, but in vain.
Canst thou not open it? what is the matter?
Sexton.
I've brought a key made for another gate;
Woe worth my stupid head!
Claude.
I'll climb the wall.
Sexton.
Be not so very hasty, please your honour.
This key unlocks the southern gate: I pray you
To follow me, and you will soon have entrance.
Woe worth my stupid head!
[
Exeunt.
