 | Albina, Countess Raimond |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE, A magnificent Hall in the Gothic style.Enter the Earl of Westmoreland, and a Gentleman.
WESTMORELAND.
Bear back my duty to my royal Master;
Tell him I will obey his gracious summons,
And meet the Council at th'appointed hour:—
—Yet would I hope the flying rumour false.
GENTLEMAN.
Too well, my Lord, the tidings are confirm'd;
Again the sacrilegious Turk hath broke
The peace he ask'd—again the Crescent's rear'd
Upon the Holy Plains, whilst yellow streamers,
Fann'd by the wanton air, which late embrac'd
The Christian standard, to the world proclaim
The impious war.
WESTMORELAND.
Give back the years, O Time!
When such a tale as this had fir'd my soul,
And sped me to th'unrighteous camp, on wings
Of holy zeal! The fire's not yet extinct,
But cank'ring age the sinews of my youth
Hath eat away.
2
Be not thus thankless to an age,
Which in its slow advance, to gain a welcome,
Brought honours, triumphs, and a nation's love!
WESTMORELAND.
Forbear! Thou com'st a messenger of war;
Away then with the flatt'ring arts of peace,
And deal in words more suited to the times!
GENTLEMAN.
Your pardon, Lord! Know then, the King in haste
Orders his vet'ran Nobles to attend him.
A powerful army he'll in person lead
To Asia's plains. Ten thousand choicest warriors
Mean time are his precursors to the field,
Led on by him they love—the gallant Edward—
Who, ere the down of youth forfook his cheek,
Deeds had perform'd that laurell'd age might envy.
WESTMORELAND.
His manhood will fulfill his youth's fair promise—
—A star, or I mistake, which rose in splendor,
And will in glory set. Had Heaven bestow'd
On me a son like him, without regret
I'd sink into the arms of nerveless age;
Count his exploits, grow vain upon his conquests;
And, when my Country claim'd her ancient warrior,
I'd proudly show my Son.
GENTLEMAN.
Though from your prayers a Son hath been witheld,
A Daughter was bestow'd, so rich in graces,
So excellent in mind—
WESTMORELAND.
She's my heart's darling—
—My only pledge of chaste connubial love!
Her mother's beauty, and her mother's worth,
Survive the grave—They live in my Albina!
3
SERVANT.
The Lord Edward, with earnestness, demands
An audience of your grace.
WESTMORELAND.
Instant admit him.
[Ex. Serv. and Gent.
He comes, to boast a Soldier's happiness.
Enter Lord Edward.
WESTMORELAND.
Welcome, young Hero! I partake the transports
Which this high honour, this unsought command,
Must give a heart—panting, like yours—for Glory.
EDWARD.
My Lord!
[confusedly.
WESTMORELAND.
How's this! have I misread your heart?
Now, whilst our fiery youth are all in arms,
And martial ardors dart from ev'ry eye;
Edward, as if oppress'd with maiden shame,
Blushing, averts his head—
EDWARD.
Well may I blush!
The Soldier, chosen by the King, to lead
His warlike bands, and carry Britain's thunder
To holy Zion's gates—he whose rapt bosom,
No flame, but glory, should confess—
—He stands before you, with a fainting heart,
To tell a tale—of love.
WESTMORELAND.
The time's unapt;
Yet 'tis a tale at which a Soldier needs not blush.
He, who most ardent in the sanguine field,
Contemning danger, braves the whizzing storm;
He is most fit to storm a Maid's reluctance,
He best deserves the happiness of love.
4
This, from a Hero's mouth, warrants my sighs.
Edward no longer then shall fear to own
The power of silken tresses, and fair eyes:
But, Westmoreland! with equal patience hear
That she, who in my heart hath rais'd this flame—
—She, who doth pityless receive its sighs,
Is matchless Raimond—is thy beauteous Daughter!
WESTMORELAND.
Heaven, I thank thee! [aside.]
Is this a sudden passion,
Bred from the fever of hot youthful blood?
Or kindled by some casual glance?
EDWARD.
Oh no!
A faithful Love—with my existence twisted;
Nor know I when th'attachment first began.
Deep in my heart she'd fix'd her beauteous image
When, by my father sent, I England left
For distant lands.
WESTMORELAND.
So early!
EDWARD.
E'en so early.
Ere glory or ambition touch'd my breast,
Albina fill'd it with resistless love.
WESTMORELAND.
Had you disclos'd your passion to my Daughter?
EDWARD.
If the unartful language of mine eyes
Disclos'd the tale, she knew I was her slave;
But youthful bashfulness seal'd up my lips:
And when I left—reluctant—Albion's shores,
Not one soft glance my longing eye could catch
To sooth the raging passion in my breast.
5
But Gallia's shores a ready cure bestow'd:
Her beauties kindly heal the wounds they give,
Nor let their lovers languish in their chains.
EDWARD.
In vain the beauties of the Gallic Court
Spread out their nets—In vain the dames of Italy
Display'd their charms—Impatient I return'd
To lay my heart at your Albina's feet—
—Oh day of horror! She was wife of Raimond!
Fury, despair, seiz'd my distracted mind—
I curs'd his fortune, curs'd myself, and loath'd
His hated name—
WESTMORELAND.
Young Lord, you do forget
Earl Raimond was my Son—the chosen Husband
To whom I gave Albina.
EDWARD.
Oh pardon, Sir, the transports of my grief,
Which, at this distant period, shake my frame,
And guess from them what Edward hath endur'd!
Earl Raimond's arms, and mine, against the Saracens
Our monarch did command—and then I prov'd
That I was worthy of Albina's hand.
WESTMORELAND.
Your valiant acts by fame have been proclaim'd.
EDWARD.
Of fame, of valour, 'tis not that I boast,
'Tis not the prowess of my arm in war,
'Tis of a deed a Roman might have claim'd,
And you will thank—
WESTMORELAND.
You warm my expectation.
EDWARD.
'Twas on a day, when truce had been proclaim'd,
I pass'd beyond the lines t'observe the foe.
6
Within the bosom of a tufted thicket,
Three Saracens, waging unequal fight
Against one English warrior, I espy'd.
My bounding courser bore me to the spot—
There Raimond I beheld, o'erpow'r'd and prone:
Lifting this temper'd sword, I cleft the arm
Which, aiming at his heart, had instant pierc'd it—
He rose with strength renew'd, and we grew victors.
WESTMORELAND.
Talk not of Roman, 'twas a Briton's act,
And well became a Christian warrior.
Go to Albina—boldly speak your passion—
She must, she shall, reward thy truth and honour!
Tell her, her Father doth approve thy suit,
And speeds thee, with his wishes, to her heart.
EDWARD.
For this, O noble Westmoreland! I thank thee;
But vainly I've assail'd with warmest vows
Albina's heart: Sorrow, like a chill atmosphere,
The beauteous dame surrounds, quenching each dart—
Each burning dart of love.—
WESTMORELAND.
Oh, you've not yet been vers'd in women's ways.
You, who can brave Bellona, when she shakes
Her iron locks, I warrant, are dismay'd
At Beauty's frown, and tremble if she sweeps
Her train in scorn: But you must learn t'o'erlook
An hundred follies—vanity behold
In every shifting form, and yet be pleas'd—
Still patiently admire, or never hope
To win fantastic woman.
EDWARD.
Oh, such services
Albina never claim'd; yet, if she did,
Whole years I'd spend to gratify her taste,
7
But now, to those sweet homages which Love
Delights to pay, a cruel period's fix'd—
Within three days, England I quit for Palestine.
WESTMORELAND.
'Tis a short period. It will scarcely serve
To break a piece of gold, or carve her name,
With your's entwin'd, on some young willow's bark.
EDWARD.
Ah, my good Lord, treat not my griefs thus lightly!
For if I leave your Daughter, Raimond's widow,
I go to certain death—if Edward's Bride,
I will return in triumph to her arms,
Lay my proud laurels at Albina's feet,
And seek no future glory, but her love.
WESTMORELAND.
Well, to my Daughter I will plead your cause.
This do I owe the love your Father bore me,
And to the fame your virtues have attain'd—
Here meet me in an hour, and hope success.
EDWARD.
This—this, O Westmoreland! I dar'd to hope;
Yet joy and gratitude, like fires confin'd,
Struggle within my heart for room—for utterance—
My tongue, unus'd to descant on felicity,
Denies its words—yet trust to me—
WESTMORELAND.
Nay keep them
For purposes more fit; words may win Ladies,
But Soldiers must be won by deeds!
[Exeunt severally.
8
Enter Editha followed by Adela.
EDITHA.
Why shines the sun thus gaily on the world?
Why do the feather'd habitants of air
With melody, and cheery songs, insult me?
Is it to prove that, 'mongst all Nature's beings,
I am the most unblest? Th'unconscious birds
Chant songs of gratitude for good possess'd;
I know no good—I feel no gratitude—
—An outcast, and undone!
ADELA.
Your sorrows, Madam,
Seem to gain strength with time!
EDITHA.
To griefs like mine,
Time brings no lenient balm. Each dawning day
Is a fresh witness of my abject state.
Born, Adela, to an exalted rank,
Bright pomp attending on my early years,
And blessings springing round me as I trod—
—Oh! thou should'st wonder that my swelling soul
Can stoop a moment to this vile dependence—
—It cannot stoop! Misfortune bears upon me,
But my aspiring mind is unsubdu'd.
ADELA.
You think too deeply; sorrows keen as yours
Are frequent in the page of human life.
EDITHA.
'Tis from our feelings sorrows take their force—
—And what are mine? State, fortune, rank, with all
The joys they bring, torn from my eager grasp—
—Torn from my grasp, still present to my thoughts;
Their shadows haunt me, whilst I bend my knee,
And humbly take, with thanks, my daily bread!
9
Alas! you think unjustly of the Countess:
Still amiable and good, she sooths your griefs,
And, with unceasing kindness—
EDITHA.
Hah! her kindness!
And was I born to bear Albina's kindness?
Thou, who art left the sole remaining wreck
Of my lost grandeur, knew'st me once her equal.
Her goodness tortures me—Earl Sibald's heir
Should grant, and not receive; she should protect,
Not seek protection.
ADELA.
Though now dependent,
Yet still such blessings do attend your state—
EDITHA.
Thou, Adela! to low dependence born,
Enjoy'st its little comforts; me they torture—
—The height from which I fell, I must reclimb—
—The tow'ring Eagle builds not with the Thrush,
Nor stoops to batten with the lowly Wren.
ADELA.
Why struggle thus with fate? The noble Countess
Studies your welfare, and deserves your love.
EDITHA.
Had I ne'er fall'n, and were I not dependent,
I might perhaps esteem, nay, I might love her;
But now!—hear my whole soul—then think, my Adela!
How I must love her! Know that 'tis through Edward,
Through Edward only, I can hope to gain
The glorious steep from which my fate has caft me—
But this Albina—she whom I must love,
Hath caught his sordid vows in nets of gold.
ADELA.
Is't possible? Lord Edward!
10
Even him.
ADELA.
Sure 'twas his Father that brought woe on yours;
He wing'd the ruin that o'erwhelms your House—
—He caus'd the ills you mourn.
EDITHA.
Have I forgot it?
No.—His stern loyalty made me an orphan,
And Edward shall repair my bitter wrongs.
The only good Editha can accept,
Is to partake his greatness, and his name.—
—That would be bliss; all less than that is insult.
ADELA.
Will then Lord Edward—will this bliss be yours?
EDITHA.
The Countess stands 'twixt me and all my hopes.
Had Fortune smil'd less lavishly on her,
Edward's whole heart had been resign'd to me—
And I restored to all my native honours.
ADELA.
And why not still? for she, reserv'd and cold,
With unselecting eye, beholds her lovers,
And Edward sinks unmark'd amidst the crowd.
EDITHA.
So may he still!
Raimond scorn Edward! and thou, Edward, know
That all my native hate is but suspended—
—My mind's in equipoise, ready alike
To hold thee as my Lover, or my Foe!
ADELA.
The Countess and her Father come this way.
EDITHA.
Hah! then retire unseen [Exit Adela.]
My low estate
May make me deem'd obtruder on their privacy—
—This bow'r conceals me.
[Enters the Bower.
11
Enter Westmoreland and Albina.
ALBINA.
Oh, my good Lord, urge not your daughter thus!
Ne'er be it said of noble Raimond's widow,
That she grew sick of weeds in one short year,
And lightly chang'd them for the bridal vest.
WESTMORELAND.
Full fourteen months have led their pensive hours,
Since the sad obsequies of your dead Lord:—
He was the Husband of my choice, whom you
In duty took—
ALBINA.
And will in duty mourn.
Nay, had Albina's heart forgot the virtues,
Which made her Lord so worthy of its love;
Yet still she dares not slight the laws of custom,
Nor to licentious tongues give themes for slander.
WESTMORELAND.
Enough to custom, and to grief, thou'st giv'n.
Wilt waste thy blooming youth in widowhood,
Because some months you bore the name of Wife?
ALBINA.
I have not sworn to know no second love.
To Raimond's mem'ry grant another year;
And then—in truth, my Lord, you prompt my tongue
Beyond discretion's bounds.
WESTMORELAND.
Come, come, Albina;
Though to a Lover you might wear this guise,
Of coy reserve, yet, to a Father's eye,
Your mind should now appear as legible
As in the days of prattling infancy.
Raimond deserv'd the tribute of your tears,
And you have wept a deluge to his manes.
12
The prize for whom contending beauties strive!
His name and wealth amongst the first are rank'd,
And he stands high in royal Henry's favour.
ALBINA.
I know his merits, and I know his love;
Nay, I will own that when my dying Lord
From Palestina wrote, he gave me charge,
That if again the holy marriage bonds
I e'er should wear, that I should chuse—beyond
All others chuse—his Friend, the noble Edward;
But did not bid me hymeneals sing
Upon his turfless grave.
WESTMORELAND.
This sing his dirge,
And with it join Lord Edward's, who'll perchance
Be soon entomb'd—victim alike of love
And war.
ALBINA.
Say you, my Lord!
WESTMORELAND.
I say, my Lady,
That in three days Edward returns to Palestine.
Our Royal Master hath on him bestow'd
The levies for the Holy War; from which
He'll ne'er return, save he leaves you his Wife.
ALBINA.
Can this be true?—Or do you mean to try
If in my heart there is not hid more love
For Edward, than modesty would own?
WESTMORELAND.
Truly not:
Modesty hath not wove so thick a shade
13
He surely goes—In triumph to return,
Or hopeless die—Albina must decree.
ALBINA.
Then coy reserve, and women's arts, adieu!
Danger tears off the veil—
Oh, spare my burning blushes whilst I own,
Edward is dearer to Albina's heart
Than same or conquest to the bever'd soldier.
WESTMORELAND.
Well said, my child!—
ALBINA.
When on Lord Raimond you bestow'd my hand,
E'en then the image of the blooming Edward
Made duty—to my heart—an arduous task;
But virtue aided my devoted mind,
Whilst Raimond's worth, and manly tenderness,
Had, I believ'd, converted all my love—
—'Till freedom taught that virtue had but hid,
Not rased, the deep impression.
WESTMORELAND.
Well may my heart be proud of such a daughter!
Oh, the pure transport!—The exalted joy!
By fav'ring Heaven for parents minds reserv'd,
When in the fiery combat of the passions,
Their children rise, victorious from the trial!
By honour led—by sacred virtue crown'd!
To thee I give a Child's most glorious meed,
[to Albina.
To thee I give a Father's grateful thanks.
ALBINA.
Alas! my Lord, you much o'errate a duty,
In which to fail, were gross—were deadly shame.
14
The best reward, Albina, now awaits thee;
Thy Edward loves thee—loves with fervent truth—
—Yield then thy hand, to him who wears thy heart;
Let me, to-morrow, greet Lord Edward—Son!
ALBINA.
Oh grant a longer space—a few short days,
To cheer the sadness from my widow'd brow,
Lest I insult the blissful marriage feast
With pensiveness, ill-suited to the day!
WESTMORELAND.
Within three days, Edward must England quit,
—Must quit the land where Peace and Beauty reign,
For hostile camps, and scenes of savage war!
To-morrow, then, consent to be his Bride—
—To-morrow, bless the Man thy Country honours!
A Father—'tis a Father asks the boon.
ALBINA.
The boon my Father ask'd, my heart or lips
Have never yet denied; to-morrow, then—
—Since you, my Lord, command—to-morrow's sun
Beholds Lord Raimond's Widow, Edward's Bride.
WESTMORELAND.
Then all that's good, shine doubly in its beams!
Ye passing moments, bear away her sorrows;
Ye which approach, come fledg'd with young delights.
—Lead on the dawn that crowns her truth and virtue;
Be it distinguish'd in Time's circling ring,
Mark'd out with blessings and peculiar joys—
—The favor'd morn that makes Albina happy!
[Exeunt.
Enter Editha from the Bower.
EDITHA.
Be it accurst! Oh torture! are my hopes,
Like airy visions, fled? The darling hope,
15
And I awake to horror! mad'ning thought!
Albina triumphs—and Editha's scorn'd!
All that remains of yesterday's gay dream
Is to behold a haughty rival's bliss—
At grov'ling distance, see her tow'ring fate,
And pine away a hated life in envy.
Enter Albina.
ALBINA.
In tears, Editha! Whence such marks of woe,
Whilst joy and happiness beam forth on me?
EDITHA.
When I have cause, I too shall boast of joy,
And brave the mischiefs of the scorning world.
ALBINA.
Hear then a cause! You know, with ardent passion,
The noble Edward long hath sought my love—
Now know, that, though conceal'd, the tender flame
Within my bosom glow'd; and that, to-morrow,
The holy rites will sanctify our love.
EDITHA.
You, therefore, may rejoice—but on Editha
What glorious fortune beams, that she must yield
Her heart to joy, and dress her face in smiles?
ALBINA.
What bliss e'er shone on me, that reach'd not you!
Come, chase away this unavailing gloom!
Albina is your friend, and, in her love,
Thou shalt find shelter from the world's cold frowns.
EDITHA.
More hateful is this insolence of goodness,
More cutting, than contempt. [Aside.]
I thank you, Madam.
Well do I know, I am your bounty's creature:
Your table feeds me, and your coffers clothe.
16
Am now dependent on your charity.
ALBINA.
And blame you me for this, unjust Editha?
Your ruin'd fortunes often have I mourn'd,
And sooth'd your sorrows with a sister's kindness.
Methinks you lack your usual courtesy.
EDITHA.
Your pardon, Lady!—
You know I am not fashion'd like my sex;
I have no sympathy for Lover's feelings;
Their hopes, their fears, their soft sollicitudes,
Have here no unison—the fire which animates
My breast, is a true flame—'tis bright ambition!
ALBINA.
Ambition was not meant for feeble woman.
Leave it the boist'rous sex, whose minds capacious
Are aptly fited to so proud a guest!
A sweeter province Nature gave to us—
—As a fond parent to its last-born child,
For woman she reserv'd her choicest gift,
And call'd the blessing—Love—
EDITHA.
Love! be thou ever stranger to my heart!
Thee, more than age, or ugliness, I dread!
Who gives thee place, a ruthless serpent bosoms
To poison her repose, and snare her virtue!
Thou merciless dost wreck the virgin's fame,
Shadowing all her chearful morn of life,
As dreary vapours veil the bright Aurora,
Folding in dismal gloom the springing day.
The curse pronounc'd on disobedient woman
In love is wrap'd, inflicted, and fulfill'd.
ALBINA.
Oh, 'tis all false! Thou dost profane the source
From whence our blessings spring.—
17
Whose pow'rs the master never hath call'd forth,
Or with unskilful finger struck harsh discords;
Yet touch with truth the strings, and harmony will flow,
And tones mellifluous enchant the ear,
Filling with melting music empty space.
When these effusions of a female heart
Thou canst with patience bear—Editha, find me!
[Exit.
EDITHA.
First will I find Lord Gondibert.—
What revolutions hath this love accomplish'd!
And shall less power belong to bright ambition?
Ambition! thou whose hallow'd flame can live
Only in minds refin'd from the gross elements
Of which the herd of human kind are made!
This Deity of Fools shall yield to thee.
I'll strait to Gondibert, whose long-pent passion
Will, like a torrent, from its mound break forth,
O'erwhelming its opposers: his fierce transports
With the soft voice of Friendship I will meet,
And guide them to my purpose.
END OF ACT I.
| Albina, Countess Raimond | |