University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Mary's Room. Midnight.
Mary,
(alone.)
I cannot sleep, my brain is all on fire,
I cannot weep, my tears have formed in ice,
They lie within these hollow orbs congealed,
And flame and ice are quiet, side by side.
[Goes to the window.
Yes! there the stars stand gently shining down,
The trees wave softly in the midnight air;
How still it is, how sweetly smells the air.
O stars, would I could blot you out, and fix
Where ye are fixed, my aching eyes;
Ye burn for ever, and are calm as night.
I would I were a tree, a stone, a worm;
I would I were some thing that might be crushed;
A pebble by the sea under the waves,
A mote of dust within the streaming sun,
Or that some dull remorse would fasten firm
Within this rim of bone, this mind's warder.
Come, come to me ye hags of secret woe,
That hide in the hearts of the adulterous false,
Has hell not one pang left for me to feel?
I rave; 't is useless, 't is pretended rage;
I am as calm as this vast hollow sphere,
In which I sit, as in a woman's form.
I am no woman, they are merry things,
That smile, and laugh, and dream away despair.
What am I? 'T is a month, a month has gone,
Since I stood by the lake with Henry Gray,
A month! a little month, thrice ten short days,
And I have lived and looked. Who goes? 'tis Chester,
I must,—he shall come in.

[She speaks from the window. Chester enters.
Ches.
You keep late hours, my gentle Mary.

Mary.
Do not speak so. There is no Mary here.
Hush! (Holds up her finger.)
I cannot bear your voice; 't is agony
To me to hear a voice, my own is dumb.
Say,—thou art an old man, thou hast lived long,
I mark it in the tottering gait, thy hair,
Thy red, bleared eyes, thy miserable form,
Say, in thy youthful days,—thou art a man,
I know it, but still men are God's creatures,—
Say, tell me, old man Chester, did thine eyes
Ever forget to weep, all closed and dry?
Say, quick, here, here, where the heart beats, didst feel
A weight, as if thy cords of life would snap,
As if the volume of the blood had met,
As if all life in fell conspiracy
Had met to press thy fainting spirit out?—
Say, say, speak quickly; hush! hush! no, not yet,
Thou canst not, thou art Chester's ghost, he's dead,
I saw him, 't was month ago, in his grave,
Farewell, sweet ghost, farewell, let's bid adieu.
[Chester goes out, weeping.
'T is well I am visited by spirits.
If 't were not so, I should believe me mad,
But all the mad are poor deluded things,
While I am sound in mind. 'T is one o'clock,
I must undress, for I keep early hours.