University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A sylvan valley, in the vicinity of Frankfort.
Alonzo
enters alone.
There is the place where I'm to play the devil.
What has become of conscience? 'tis not here!—
It haunts me not—its habitation's changed!
'Twas restive at its home, disturb'd my thought,
And left the kingdoms of my soul at war!
That nightingale, call'd love, complains in song—
She sighs unvarying,—'tis one mellow wail!
But hark! the lark unlocks the gate of morn,
And lo! its levee lowers down dark clouds!—
My galliot now is on the raging sea,
And with my pampered self I'll while the hours,—
As if, Arabia, o'er Eutopia's isle,
Sent fragrance, floating on the wanton winds.
[Pauses.
Proud man! what art thou but a tender flower!
The blooming pageant of a passing hour!
To-day, a legatee of doubts and fears,
For fear to-morrow may be spent in tears!
A dying echo on a trembling lyre—
A living spirit, loathing to expire!
A wounded bird, denied an angel's wings!
A harp immortal, with ten thousand strings!
A rapturous element of living streams,—
A day of visions, and a night of dreams!
A sword suspended on a wall to rust,
A soul immortal, in a heart of dust!—
If all thou hast, and canst attain, is nought,
And buried are thine elements of thought?
And thus it is, we live and die on earth,
But without woman, what are mortals worth?
A grain of sand upon a desart shore,
Which meets the tide, and then, is seen no more!
Some gentle hand must first attune the lyre,
Then can the soul impart celestial fire!
'Tis but an instrument of many strings!
An ocean, watered from a thousand springs!
A paradise, where fond affections grow,
If nursed by women,—but if not,—'tis wo!
[Pauses.
The morning sun knows not, when he doth rise,
That clouds portend, to darken him at noon!
The damask down pours in, with radiant joy,
And so does she, with all her hopes, shine bright.
What's this?—my conscience has come back again!
Man! wilt thou tread upon that sacred thing?
Mould, with thy lust, such ugliness and grief?
And lop the tender roses in their bloom?—

Eudora
enters.
I may relent me yet, and make her mine!

Eud.
Relent, Alonzo? am I not thine own?

Alon.
What saidst thy mother, on thy brief return?

Eud.
She questioned me about my stay from home,
And told me, I had better mind—take care!

Alon.
Take care of what? to shun my company?

Eud.
No; keep these shining words of virtue bright.

Alon.
Let me kiss the nectar from thy tender lips.
We must go on—no chance can turn us back—

Eud.
You alarm me, Alonzo! am I thine?

Alon.
I cannot swallow down thy mother's words!
I long to be where I have never been,—
And long to see what I have never seen—

Eud.
I must return again.
[Takes her hand.
Mercy, Alonzo!

[Falls on one knee.
Alon.
Eudora! art thou not that living light,
Which shuts out chaos from my soul?
Thou shalt not go!—I have thee to myself.

Eud.
Be thou, unto me, as a branching tree,
And I, beneath thee as a feeble lamb!
Oh! if the winds blow fierce, do, hush the storm!

Alon.
Rise!—thy mother wish'd to win thee from me!

Eud.
Why dost thou speak so harsh! my mother loves thee!

Alon.
Loves me? 'tis no such thing!—there, say no more!
No; 'tis too late! I'd rather be a slave,
And plough your mother's land, than be the man
I am, and bear her private scorn!—'tis true!—
To have her cloud the daylight of my life!
And drop into love's chalice, wormwood—gall!
Which no Canathus ever wash'd away!
'Didst thou not feel a throbbing at thy heart,
When she advis'd thee to beware of me?
I'll be reveng'd—I'll bear no woman's scorn!

Eud.
Oh! Alonzo! she is kind to thee!

Alon.
Kind?
Persuade me black is white—there, say no more!
Were yonder rocky mountains massive gold,
Could I recall those words, I'd give them freely!—
Oh! Eudora! thou hast beguil'd my thought!
Go—get thee—meet me on to morrow eve,—
That I may banquet on thy beauteous charms.

Eud.
What dost thou mean, Alonzo? art thou mad?
Open thy wanton breast, and let in virtue!
Unlock the chambers of thy soul, and let
In prudence, let in sacred honour—trust!
Wouldst thou betray the trust repos'd in thee,
For that advantage which thou hast in hand!
Heap dust and ashes on my mother's head?
And drive me, loathsome, from myself and heaven?
Say, no, Alonzo! and I still am happy.

Alon.
Knowest thou the ordinances of my love?
Then hear maternal puling never more!

Eud.
What! despise my mother? I must be gone.

Alon.
Begone?—where to?—I say thou shalt not go!
This arm and hand protect thee!—thou must go!
I tell thee, by this heart, that loves thee well,
My soul is kindled into rapturous flight!
Here, I have a jewel—wear it near thy heart,
[Gives it to her.
Recount the happy days and hours we spent,
Which none have realiz'd like I and thou;
For which no substitute was ever found,
When ev'ry whisper was a vow of truth.
Go, meet me on this very eve—farewell!
[Exit Eudora.
The sky above me is Italian blue,
[Alone.
As day leans westward to enchanted night;
Which looks on man's creation with a love,
As deep, as from this earth to heaven on high.
While I am here, in love's lascivious garb,
Betraying truth, and feeding lust on virtue!—
The which, to think on, makes me loathe myself,
And hate the birth which made me such a fool!
Oh! Angeline! my love! and if my tears
Were tests of my affection, call me kind!—
They flow as if I had ten thousand thorns,
To root from out a long destracted heart!—
[Weeps.
What tale is this, to woo me from my joys?
By heavens! I'd loose my life—Eudora's mine!

[Exit.