University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The churchyard, near the walls of St. Mungo's church, which occupies the bottom of the stage. A newly covered grave is dimly seen near the front; the stage darkened, but not entirely so; a degree of light, as from a new-risen moon in a cloudy night, showing objects imperfectly.
Enter Malcolm, who bends over the grave for some time in silence.
Mal.
And here beneath this trampled sod she lies,
Stiffen'd and cold, and swathed in coffin-weeds,
Who, short while since, moved like a gleam of brightness,
Lighting each face, and cheering every heart.
Oh, Emma, Emma Graham, is this thy place?
Dearer than thou a lover's soul ne'er worshipp'd;
Fairer than thou a virgin's robe ne'er wrapt;
Better than thou a parent's tongue ne'er bless'd.
Oh, Emma Graham, the dearest, fairest, best!
Pair'd with thee in the dance, this hand in thine,
I've led thee through the whirl of mazy transport,
And o'er thy chair have hung with wistful ear,
Catching thy words like strains of melody,
To be with fancy's treasures stored for ever.
I've waited near thy portal many an hour,
To see thy hasty transit from its steps
To the grim gaping coach, that seem'd to swallow,
Like a leviathan, its beauteous prey.
And now alas! I come to seek thee here!
I come to seek thee here, but not to find.
This heart, which yearns through its ribb'd fence to break
Into the darken'd cell where thou art laid
In Nature's thraldom, is from thee divided
As by a gulf impassable. Oh, oh!
So short a time! such fearful, sad transition!
My day is turn'd to night; my youth to age;
May life to death be the next welcome change!
[Throws himself on the grave in a burst of sorrow.
Sweet love, who sleepst beneath, canst thou not hear me?
Oh, if thou couldst! Alas! alas! thou canst not!
[After a pause, and half-raising himself from the grave.
But is it well, and is it holy, thus,
On such a sacred spot, to mourn the dead,
As lost and perish'd treasure? God forgive me!
The silver lamp, with all its rich embossments
Of beauteous workmanship, is struck and broken,
But is the flame extinguish'd? God forgive me!
Forgive a wretched and distracted man,
And grant me better thoughts!—The unclothed spirit
In blessed purity hath still existence.
Perhaps, in its high state is not unconscious
Of what remains behind; perhaps, beholds
The very spot. Oh, if she does! her pity—
Her pity, yea, her love now rests upon me.
Her spirit, from the body newly freed,
Was in my father's house, ere it departed
To its celestial home; was it not sympathy?
O! Emma, Emma! could I surely know
That I was dear to thee, a word,—a token
Had been to me a cherish'd, rich possession,
Outvaluing all that martial chiefs contend for
On their embattled fields.—Ha! who approaches? Enter Claude.

Come not, I warn thee, near this sacred spot.

[Springing up from the ground.
Claude.
A sacred spot, indeed! but yet to all
Who loved in life the dead whom it contains,
Free as the house of God.

Mal.
I say it is not.
In this, her first night of the grave, the man
Who loved her best when living, claims a right
To watch the new-closed tomb, and none beside.

Claude.
Then yield to me that right, for it is mine;
For I have loved her longest,—long ere thou
Hadst look'd upon her face, or heard her name.

Mal.
'Tis not the date, but potency of love
Which bears account: I say, approach no nearer.

Claude.
Must I endure such passion? Frantic man!
Are we not both in grief smitten to the earth?
May we not both weep o'er this sacred spot,
Partners in wretchedness?

Mal.
Away, away! I own no partnership;
He who hath spok'n such word hath thereby proved
The poorness of his love. Approach no nearer.
I'll yield my heart's blood rather than resign
This my sad eminence in widow'd sorrow.

Claude.
Dar'st thou to hinder me?

Mal.
I dare and will.

[They grapple fiercely.
Enter Crawford.
Craw.
(separating them.)
For shame! for shame! to hold contention here!
Mutual affliction should make friends of foes,
Not foes of friends. The grave of one beloved
Should be respected e'en as holy ground,—
Should have a charm to smother all resentment.

Mal.
And so it should, and shall.—Forgive me, Claude;
I have been froward in my wretchedness.

Claude.
And I, dear Malcolm, was to blame, so suddenly
To break upon thy sorrow.

Craw.
The provost hath despatch'd a messenger
Upon our track, who found me out e'en now,
Requesting both of you to give your presence
On an occasion solemn and important.

Claude.
What may it be?

Craw.
Within the late apartment of the dead,
Your sister has a duty to perform,
Enjoin'd her by the dead. And 'tis her wish
That ye should both be present.

Claude and Mal.
(together).
We will obey her shortly. Go before us.

[Exeunt Crawford and Malcolm; and Claude, after bending in silence for a few moments over the grave, follows them.