University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Frankfort, a village on the Kentucky river. Alonzo and Eudora walking in the evening.
Alonzo.
This lower world, says Shakspeare, is a stage,
Where every mortal acts a comic part;
Who, now and then, in Tragedies engage,
Which break up every fountain of the heart!
For marriages have been so long the rage,
Each actor seems to play it with an art;
For common things have never fail'd to sate us,
Till something should succeed to reinstate us.

Eudora.
Your wisdom must suggest, a married life's
The only one beneath the sun, worth living?

Alon.
Man is a compound being—made of love—
Love, out of soul and body—he's all love!
But why the heart is mortal, and must go
To dust again—is not a work of mine.

Eud.
We see it thus, and know it should be so,
And should not, for mortality, repine!
But let our hearts attend to life's first cause;
And live obedient to the moral laws.

Alon.
This is a definite world, and so are we,
And tend, in our relations, to each other—
Proving that we are just as we should be—
That every man should be his neighbour's brother.
For all must meet in that eternity,
As children of the same immortal Father!
Then, why not, in this pleasant world delight?
Since Pope has said, “whatever is, is right’

Eud.
That is, all moral, virtuous acts are right.
Because, they are the will of Heaven revealed—
The oracles of sacred truth confirm it.

Alon.
Confirm that which they cannot prove! think not!

Eud.
Do not believe the oracles of God
Agree with human attributes, and tend
To benefit the human race?

Alon.
I do.

(Reluctantly.
Eud.
The mountains, rising on the fruitful world,
Are glowing with immensity around us!
The sun, the moon, and all that we behold,
Confirm us of this truth, and quite confound us!

Alon.
Then, why should we not live in joy and mirth?
When every blessing we can ask, surrounds us?

Eud.
The book of nature rusts upon our shelves!
And we forget the duty owed ourselves.

Alon.
Ah! tells us with a voice, divine as deep,
That death is soon to lull us all to sleep!

Eud.
'Tis right that every man should moralize
Upon those precepts which pertain to good!

Alon.
'Tis also right he should not sacrifice
His early life, in the prorogue of good.
Some, call their childhood up with tears!
Because they let some precious moment pass.
In manhood they forget their passing years—
Then say, Ah! what a havoc time has made!
Their hearts become o'erburthen'd with their cares—
But such have dropt their acorns in the shade!
And why should they thus mourn about their prime?
Because, like all things, they were born to die?
But time has nothing more to do with blunders,
Than sunshine has to do with this world's wonders.

Eud.
No human heart repines at doing good.

Alon.
And here you would suggest an evil thing—
That is, I make myself my own man's man,
Be satisfied with self, and wish no more.

Eud.
My plan is not to sacrilege the truth.

Alon.
All good from evils come—now, this we know,
Were I to hold exposed, in both my hands,
Both spotless truth, and truth defiled, which take?
Take that which Adam took from mother Eve!
Because, such truths unto our natures tend.
Man cannot see beyond an eagle's eye!
He cannot hold the sun, nor grasp the moon;
“But he can tame the lion,—slay the lamb!”
He cannot live upon the air, nor fly;
But he has feelings which mature in love,
When things around in due relations stand.

Eud.
The oak may stand aloof a thousand years!
And brave the whirlwind's and the lightning's blast,
But, when it falls, we shed no tears, nor weep,
And quite forget it ever braved the storm;
But, when man dies, our conscience rears a tablet
To his memory—that his name may live!
And, if his deeds can only fill the rent,
We go and write them on his monument.
Now, why all this?—I'll tell thee why it is:—
The end of law is not immediate death.

Alon.
But look at this—we grow mature and old,
While hope's delusions dance around us ever,
Then opportunity, at length, takes wing;
And, first we know, affections grow so cold,
We hope for death, that we may live for ever.

Eud.
“Whatever is, is right”—if 'tis not wrong!
[Alonzo takes a paper from his pocket.
What's that? A secret I suppose?

Alon.
'Tis not;
But 'tis a mirror which reflects my heart!
There is a fount within this beating breast,
Which never yet has felt the storms of life;
But shines as limpid as a mountain stream,
That brooklet to the river of my joy—
That crystal stream of pure and perfect love,
Which terminates the utmost of my hopes!
Now, mark! There is above all earthly things
One bright display of wisdom to the world—
'Tis yonder canopy of deathless love!
Like blue-eyed woman in a love-sick hour!
Whose altitude from earth distracts the mind,
Which would be there, but is afraid to go.
Now, as the ocean mirrors forth the stars,
So does this paper personate my heart.
Thy smiles are as the unclouded stars that shine.
My heart, within this vestibule of love,
Is, as the ocean, pregnant with thy smiles;
While my imagination's mingled thoughts,
Are figured frost-works on its fancied tide.
All life is circumfused with radiant joy,—
The vessel of my life is on the tide—
The summer of thy smiles look fresh and gay—
The canvass of my barque is spread out wide,
Oh! may it catch each fervent sigh of thine—
Then on the highest heaven of consolation,
All my thoughts shall soar, and rest in heaven.

Eud.
Then give it me—perchance it may be blest—
Too kind to be a brother, and not kind
Enough to be a husband—let me hear—

Alon.
How sweet to trace the outlines of thy face—
And drink the living music of thy voice!
[Reads.
To fold thee gently on my bosom's couch,
And hear the echoes of thy faithful sighs.
Oh! how my life could nurture thee, Eudora!

[Embraces her.
Eud.
'Tis true, thy voice is sweet to human ears,
But talking lovers are the falsest of their race.
They woo us with the sunshine of their thoughts,
As lecherous Sol doth woo the emerald spring.
They make a world of spirits, and commune
With ministers, in other, brighter spheres.
Thus did a lover, who was born to honour,
A youth of genius and luxurious hopes—
An heir to all, but deep and constant love.
He talked with lightnings in their fiery course!
And seemed no more afraid of raging storms,
When ocean moaned the dirges of the dead!
Than would a child, beneath a cooling shade,
To hear the music of melodious birds.
He made the very thunderbolt his pen,
And with the ink of lightning, wrote his song.
Transfixed his trident in the human heart,
Till admiration turned to love-sick tears!
But mark his settled agony and strife!
Although his echoes chased him o'er the sea,
Through all his soul ran fiery indignation!
Because he wanted morals in his heart.
His love, with apathy, grew cold and stiff!
The tenant of his soul became an exile!
He, as some transient star, shut out by gloom,
Through time's resolving years, went up to heaven!
For men to look upon, with gazing eyes.—
Became disgusted with life's habitation,
And, through his sinful deeds, despised the world.

Alon.
Oh! what a glorious and exalted thought,
To make this vestibule of restive life—
This ante-chamber of mortality!
Where settled resolutions mould resolves;
A prelude unto symphonies divine!

Eud.
But oh! the fairest flowers the soonest fade!

Alon.
And wert thou born to die, voluptuous maid?
Born unto manifold distresses here?
A pilgrim wandering through earth's lonely wild?
Oh! that mortality were infinite!
Then, how my soul could love and press thee near!
Thus chained to one, so lovely as thou art!
Why wert thou made from this bright world to part?

Eud.
To yield life's being to a kingdom higher!
Then, through God's Paradise shall ring, that lyre—

Alon.
Whose tones first taught me what it was to love—
Oh! what a chain coils round my throbbing heart!
And, can such high-born pulses beat for thee?
Those eyes, which, like a river, deep and clear!—
Was beauty made to dwell so shortly here?

Eud.
Why dost thou manifest, for me, such care?
'Tis true, I know myself, and feel my worth;
But self-esteem may faun me into pride.
'Tis strange, such love should kindle up so soon!
'Tis better to prorogue the spreading flame,
Than feel, in after life, regrets for love!
This manifest of love, is like a star,
Which, as the daylight of reflection breaks,
Recedes behind the curtain of the world;
And leaves no trace that once it was, but gloom!—
But one wide labyrinth of trackless space!
This is the blind vacuity of fate!
Which fills the interim of life's delights,
And claims a home in every human heart!—
Could I be flattered, in my youth, by words,
I might heap sorrow on my heart and thine.
But, being taught, by mother's soundless love,
I've weighed mine anchor near a better shore.
The raging sea, on which life's barque is tost,
May bear me on, where rocks and shoals invite;
But when I take a survey of my youth,
I have been blest with such a tender mother!— [Weeps.


Alon.
Thou art sole essence of my being's love!

Eud.
Thou tellest me, to my face, I am the light
Which shuts out darkness from thy soul,
Beneath whose beams there shines resplendent day—
Without it, life is darker than the tomb!
And, oh! I have been thinking it were best;
For, I have nothing but myself on earth!
My father died when I was but a child,
And left my mother and myself alone!—
[Weeps.
Yes, I have one bright jewel, white as snow!
Wouldst thou behold it shine?—then ope my heart!
Raise up the tablet to my bosom's fount,
And in its chambers—in my heart's deep core,—
The jewel lies!—more precious far, than gold!
Link'd with my life on earth!—my hopes of heaven!
Matured, it yields a thousand precious fruits,
But needs the culture of a tender hand!
Without this kindness, tis a barren waste!
The dove will love but one fond mate through life;
And if a fowler's shot but lay that low,
Thou mayest, at noontide, in the sultry sun,
When wanton zephyrs play around her wings,—
Stand auditor, and hear her plead his cause!—
'Twould lend affection to the hardest heart.

Alon.
Sweet lady! with thy deathless charms, oh! smile?
Come! on the rose bed of my bosom rest!
Oh! speak unto me, that I may be thine?

Eud.
Shine thou my morning unto brighter day?

[Falls on his breast.
Alon.
Here, shalt thou sleep, as on a downy couch;
Here, on the velvet of my bosom rest!
And help my wings, with thine, to flee away.

Eud.
My mother! good heavens! I have delayed my time!
Unknown adventure! I must hie me home,

Alon.
Nay! stay, my love?—then meet me on to-morrow.—
[Exeunt Eudora.
Alonzo alone.
See how the fulgent sun, in yonder west,
Doth blush at this untimely precedent!
Behold him! how he leans his radiant head
Upon his hand, and on eternity!
While yonder clouds, new dipt, in heavenly dyes,
Look back, in crimson, on his beams, and weep!
As if to bid good bye to parting day;—
While, through yon rent appears the blue arcade,
Like blue-eyed woman in a love-sick hour!
As if they could transmute earth's sin and guile,
And mould man's image into heaven above.
Thy voice is softer than the Darian flute—
Thy words are sweeter than Arcadia's lute.
Eudora! could I deem her of this earth,
Perchance I might be happy in her love;
But, oh! the folly, and methinks, the crime,
To woo an angel from the heavens above.—
Enter Angeline.
Sweet Angeline! how art thou?

Angeline.
I am well.
Why do you look so sad, Alonzo?—say?

Alon.
I pray thee minister in fervent smiles.
Thy smiles are like the jewels of the sky,
Transfixed in equal beauty on the sea;
As if life's ocean were a canopy,
And I, a pilot to my home in thee!
See love's fond lightnings round thy temples play,
Like Venus trembling in unclouded skies;—
Which shines the brightest where perfection dwells.

Ang.
Like hope's fond tallisman, thou whisperest joy.

Alon.
Thy breast is like a mountain spread with snow,
On which thy locks, like angels, skip and play;
Thy steps make music like a trembling lyre—
Thine own pure heart the instrument and strings.

Ang.
Which shall be mute, till struck by thy dear hands.

Alon.
Oh! give me but one atom from thy lips,
And, like the healing medicine of old,
'Twill cure the heart which thou hast wounded so!
But tell me thou art mine, and life is joy;
Yes, all my life shall be but as one morn,
And that, a mayday, shining without clouds.

Ang.
Yes, I am thine, by yonder heavenly light!

Alon.
A lamb! a tender-hearted, gentle lamb!
Had I this earth—a home in heaven above;
And all the stars that shine in yonder sphere,
I would be poor, without thy richer self!

Ang.
Like thy sweet voice, they seem to whisper joy,
As if no future frost might all destroy!

Alon.
No; never shall my heart forget that morn!
Thou hast endowed each feeling with a thought,
Which doth, by magic, work upon the heart—
'Tis as a mountain set on fire by love,
Which burns, into its centre, all unseen!

Angeline
sings.
The sky, by day, is seen afar,
In one celestial hue;
By night, there is a brighter star,
Than all the rest in view;—
But soon, that sky may disappear,
That star, to darkness pass!
And so may fond affection near,
Assume the same—alas!

Alon.
I tell thee, love like this, can never tire,
But flags for moments, to revive again;
'Tis that bright spark which melts away in heaven!

Ang.
This heart, is as a lyre, of many strings!
And that which thou wouldst have, or sweet, or sour,
The same is at thy will, this day and hour!

[Embraces her.
Alon.
Is it that faithfulness, like Noah's dove?
Which hath no parallel on land or sea?—
This heart retains one crystal stream as free,
Which runs, immediate, from my soul to thine.

[Exeunt Angeline.
Ang.
'Tis thine, Alonzo,—adieu!

[Exeunt Angeline.
Alon.
Farewell!
The sun is almost set!—she has not come!
[Alone.
I see him beckoning to the watchful stars,
Which make the heraldry of fulgent heaven!
See how his sentinels stand out, to guard,
The skirts of time, and diadem old night!
Now, on the confines of celestial space,
They softly tread the downy couch of eve,
And walk in pensile beauty through the skye!
Trembling, with queenly innocence, to teach
This lower world the chasteness of the heavens!
The sun's red arrows cleave yon azure brow,
And spend their influence on the engirdled earth!

[Pauses.
Eudora
returns singing.
Come, oh! come to the bridal night!
Clouds are gone, and the sky is bright.
Come, oh! come to the sylvan bower,
Twilight fades, and the dew drops lower;
Smile, oh! smile, she's a virtuous shrine!
Give her praise in a song divine—
Come, oh! quickly come!

Alon.
Were I the music of a tuneful lyre,
To live in echoes, and in tones expire!—
To pass off gently to a world of dreams,
And die in melody that never dies!—
I'd change existence with infinite will,
And live in echoes, and be music still.—
[Embraces her.
Oh! Eudora! thou, dearest to my heart!
That gentle voice hath settled in my thought!
Come, sing again, my love! and joy be thine.—
[Sings.

Alon.
Oh! joy!

Eud.
Away! I have delayed my time!
(Frightened.
What will my mother think of this?

Alon.
Why hunt for absent woes when none are nigh?
And, if she will not let thee be content,
I have thy legacy—'twill bring her down!

Eud.
And wouldst thou have me disobey my mother?

Alon.
Her love's maternal love, which ends in hope!
In welfare, and in virtuous rectitude.—
My love is not a mother's love, but more!
'Tis love that groweth, and keeps pace with joy,
Marks down each quiver of thy lip—each smile!
Makes music of thy steps, and hears thy voice,
With rapture, when all else, on earth, is still.
But does man's love stop here? no; 'tis not so!
He lives within thee, as his world of worlds!
Must lie down with thee, in voluptuous bliss,
Must nurture thee in love, till life is o'er;
And wake, to guide thee, on the future morn,—
This is man's love!—this is my love!—then stay!

Eud.
The sun is almost set! and I must go!

Alon.
Oh! stay my love! and set thy prisoner free!

Eud.
The stars are gathering now, as sentinels.
The fulgent sun lies down in tranquil peace!
Mantling his brow, with dark pavillion'd night,
And, at the birth-place of the primal morn,
Shakes hands with day, and leaves her in repose.
Farewell! I must be gone! indeed, I must!

Alon.
Be happy! this fond perquisite of love,
Is not an argument of future grief;
But clusters gathered from the vines of truth,
Which feeds expectancy on actual joy.
Be thou, unto me, as a cooing dove,
Which goest in quest of some immortal leaf;
Then come back laden to an ark divine,
And I will be the kindest of the kind.—
Nay, stay but one brief moment, that my life
May not be darkened, longing for thy light!
Oh! that I were a jewel in thy breast,
That thou might'st press me to thy tender heart,
And feed upon the sunshine of thy smiles—
Drink down the first born rivers of thy life;
And bathe existence in thy healthful blood.
Yes, swim about through all thy summer veins,
And anchor every feeling in thy soul.

Eud.
Now, I must leave thee, lest my absence here,
Leave wrong impressions on my mother's mind.

Alon.
I tell thee, say thou hast not seen me—
Tell her thou hast been to see a friend!
And tell her Frankfort will bear witness to't.

Eud.
And wilt thou not return, and see me home?

Alon.
'Tis best that I remain—they may suspect me.

Eud.
Suspect thee, Alonzo? suspect thee, what?
This speech imports some foregone thought of thine!
Presumptuous word! thou incubus to love!
Did mother know thou wert sincere,—the cause,—
Would she not turn her love to thy regard?
Yes, doat upon thee with familiar smiles!
You must remember, mother's love is great!
E'en as a mount above a mote hill stands,
So does my mother's love above the childless!
Then go, and she will be to thee, a mother!
And part of love for me, bestow on thee!

Alon.
You know what pains most people take to lie!
It gluts a fool to self-esteem, to think
Himself the author of the world's surprise!
Although the word were Ætna's red-hot flames,
A sword, with twenty edges, keen and sharp;—
Would wound his lips at every utterance!
So, he could leave a gash in other's hearts,
He'd let the poisonous adder hiss and bite!

Eud.
Then, I must be gone! farewell Alonzo!

[Shakes hands.
Alon.
Come to me again to-morrow, my love!

Eud.
At what time to-morrow shall I come?

Alon.
Meet me, my love!—this eve, in Sylvia's shade,—
In the evening, at the hour of six.

[Exeunt Eudora.
Alon.
Oh! what a joy were that sweet lapse of love,
Which make life's interim a sweet delight.
Oh! that my soul could drink of her its fill,
And sate life's longings with redoubled bliss!
The pure out-pourings of the draught would kill!
And hope would wing me, like a frightened dove,—
Like Israel's pillar, in the dead of night,
Which stood in heaven, a beacon to the host.—
[Pauses.
There is a secret whisper in this heart,
Called conscience!—'tis my life's embassador!
Whence doth it come?—from heaven? from earth? or hell?
'Tis like the bolt of Jupiter new hurled!
Like Neptune's trident in my heart transfixed!
It summons, from the temple of my soul,
Nature's high priest,—to mediate for virtue!
Should I not heed this voice?—what if I break,
The link which binds me to existence's self?
Oh! Conscience! why wert thou given to torture me?
If I unweld one link from nature's chain,
Wherewith I stand connected unto heaven,—
'Twill let me down to dark nonentity!—
To rise no more!—with devils damned!—in chains!
But hark! the zephyrs waft a soothing strain,
Methinks tis hers!—it settles in my heart!
Till all life's music mingles into love!

[Exeunt.