University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Gate of a town seen at some distance.
Isbel. Alone.
Isb.
Again the annual morning of my loss,
Brings all anew the loneness of my doom!
Again the sun, sole witness of the blow
Which left my husband, on this cursed spot,
A bloody corpse, looks on the murd'rous earth,
As if he saw the undivulg'd assassin,
And kept his bright and searching eye upon him
'Till Justice come and seize. But nineteen years
Have drearily their dismal round completed,
Since the red horror of the crime was done,
And yet no chance to give suspicion scent
Has Providence permitted to arise.—
But though the mem'ry of my murder'd husband
Has perish'd from all others' thought but mine,
And from the unrequited villain's fear,
Time still shall prove eternal Justice true,
And vindicate the vigilance of Heaven.
Wait therefore patiently, my widow'd heart,
Wait and expect, nor mourn the outward change
Which leaves me as a solitary wretch
Left in some wilderness, whose drear horizon
Is bounded by the sky. Th'embracing Heavens,
That show a limit round the sandy wild
And ocean's waste where never coast was known,
Gives to the faithful and religious eye
Th'assuring sign of providential care.
And in my lone estate, my widow'd loneness;
I still have found its sacred aid attend.
Yes! as the ravens fed the prophet's need
With watchful constancy, still on this day
It ever sends the gen'rous Glanville here;—
And he will come, though his accustom'd hour,
(Alas, the hour on which my husband fell)
Be long gone by, and the sun near on noon.
[Enter Reginald.]
Come, Reginald; where is thy father, youth?
He has not, as his wonted custom was,
Been here to-day. Surely he cannot fail
To think that always annual on this day,
He came as faithful as the sun himself,
To soothe my sorrow with his gifts and pity.
By this good constancy of kindness, he
Hath made a compact that he should fulfil.

Reg.
Thou art offended, Isbel.

Isb.
I have cause,
For never bond on legal vellum seal'd,
Gave stronger confidence to expectation,
Than his successive visits gave to me
That I had still a friend.—If he be honest,
He will fulfil the compact he has made,
Nor balk my rightful hopes. If he do not,
I will a grievous penalty exact.

Reg.
Nay, be not thus so heady and so wild,
Thou shalt not lose thy stated gift to-day.

Isb.
I know that this day cannot pass unnoted.
It is an anniversary that Heaven
Doth make the holy angels keep with awe,
—Now looking down from their celestial seats,
Upon this cloudy orb of blood-stain'd men,
All wond'ring gaze to see what may befall.
But nineteen times they have the vigil kept,
And saving still some new distress to me,
Fate's dreadful purpose thickens unreveal'd.

Reg.
But to our house it has been deem'd propitious,
And ever mark'd by prosperous events.

Isb.
Yes, still on it, I know, some bounteous chance
Repaid thy father's charity to me.
But, gentle Reginald, should he not come:—
For, as the fortune of your father's house
Has been advanc'd as he prov'd kind to me,
Shall it not fall again at his remissness?—
There is som secret tie between our lots,
Which strangely seem in adverse scales oppos'd;
Methinks, the scales of providential justice!
And when the one ascends, the other sinks.
—From that unhallow'd and unguarded hour
In which my husband was so grimly slain,
I have beheld the tide of Fortune set
With a strong current that advanc'd your father,
Leaving me ebbed far upon a shoal,
Where nought presents itself to all my view,
But the white bones of a poor mariner,
Who in the dead defenceless hour of sleep,
Was by some dark and undiscover'd foe,
Cast from the shipboard down into the deep.
Blood will have blood, and Heaven heard Abel's cry.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A room.
Ariette and Glanville.
Glan.
Why looks my Ariette so sadly pale?

Ariet.
The solemn magic of this poet's verse
Enchants my spirit into pleasing wonder,
Tinctur'd with holiest awe. His every thought
Hath, like the halo round the sainted head,
A heavenly and religious intimation.

Glan.
What is his theme?

Ariet.
A rude pathetic tale.
How a poor damsel, hopeless died in sin.
Her mind was tender as the lacy film,
Woven at morning in the hawthorn blossoms,
And deck'd with gems of dew, which the soft gale
That breathes but fragrance, or the gentler stir
Of the fond linnet nestling with her young,
Shakes from the weeping boughs. Oft as the moon,
Round, full, and golden, fac'd the glowing west,
An evil spirit, faithful to the hour,
Came with persuasive dreams. Long she withstood
His soft seduction, and with flowing eyes,
That glimps'd like dew-drops in the moon's chaste light,
She pray'd her guardian angel to be watchful.
But there are times, as the sad poet sings,
When our celestial guards go up to Heaven,
With their account of that which we have done,
And in the interim, the unguarded hour,
Few can resist the instigating fiends.

Glan.
Alas! 'tis even so!

Ariet.
Sir, you seem mov'd!

Glan.
There's an infection in such mystic tales
Which taints the heart with strange infirmity.
Read them no more; take books that treat of life,
The mind soon sickens that still feeds on verse,
The fruit of thriftless and distemper'd brains.
All the endowments of the Poet's mind,
That rich effulgence of bright-tinted thought,
Which wakes thy wonder, and inspires delight,
Are bred by ails in his corporeal frame,
As the gay glories of the tulip's flower,
Spring from disease engender'd in the root.

Ariet.
You do amaze me, Sir. Never before
Did you forbid me, but was wont to praise
That subtile tact by which the Poets learn
Th'inscrutable affinities of thought;
And by some happy combination raise
Delicious pleasure from afflicting themes.
If this sweet Poet be not an inspir'd,
Surely fond nature, in some beauteous error,
Did reckless frame for such a world as this,
A mind so inexpediently fine.

[Enter Reginald.]
Glan.
Ha, Reginald, you look amaz'd.

Reg.
Alas!
You have neglected your accustom'd visit
To the poor maniac at the city gate.

Glan.
It is again the day!

Reg.
She waits impatient,
Claiming the boon that you were wont to give
As due to her by some dread compact made,
And vowing vengeance if it be withheld.

Glan.
She has, indeed, poor wretch, just cause to claim;
And I did fail in an imperious duty,
When I forgot the hour, th'unguarded hour!

Ariet.
Ah, you have caught the Bard's romantic thought,
Your guardian Angel has been then away,
Else had you not so err'd? Why do you sigh?

Glan.
That I should suffer such a breach of mind
As to forget the desolated woman,
Whose only claim in life is strong on me.—
Methinks I have a desperate forfeit made.
What did she say? you say she threaten'd, what?

Reg.
'Twas aimless boding, like the foul black bird,
That, perch'd upon the chain-hung murd'rers head,
Croaks hideous and unutterable things.

Glan.
Ah!

[The sound of a trumpet heard.
Ariet.
Hark!

Glan.
Again!—

Ariet.
What means that doleful sound?

Reg.
It is the trumpet of the Magistrates,
As they proceed to greet the Judge's entrance
Into the town.

Ariet.
Sad signal to the guilty.

Reg.
You will be late for the procession, Sir.

Glan.
I do forget myself. I am too late.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The gate of the Town seen at some distance, as in Scene I.
Glanville, an Advocate, Magistrate, &c.
Mag.
Let us stop here. It is the wonted spot
Where ancient custom and our charter says,
We must do homage to the King's vicegerent,
And ask for Justice in the name of Heaven.

Glan.
A little farther—nineteen years have pass'd,
Since we were wont to meet him at this place,
He may expect us, where we met last year.

Adv.
It was a breach in your feudalities
To change the place.

Mag.
True, Sir, but the sad cause
Which chanc'd upon the morning of the change,
Gave us some warrantry.

Adv.
You did amiss
So to entrench on old prescribed tenures.
What was the cause?

Mag.
Upon that solemn day,
A hideous murder was committed here,
Whereby the ground was foul with clotted blood,
And most unfit for our solemnity.
The circumstance I do not well remember,
But Glanville may.

Glan.
Why, Sir, should I?

Mag.
For you have ever with most constant kindness
Aided the widow of the hapless victim.
Alas, poor wretch! Grief has diseas'd her wit,
And but for him she were indeed forlorn.

Adv.
I did observe her once, 'twas near this place,
And she appear'd so gaunt, and curs'd with spleen,
Blear'd in the eye, and blasted in the visage,
That all the reverence due to age forsook me,
And, as I look'd on her, methought her figure
Prov'd that the mind, and the external frame,
Fail, fade, and wither in companionship.
Could we but see, thought I, the soul of age,
We should a plain and true accordance find
In its affections with the alter'd features.—
The sharp and harsh projection of the bones,
Demonstrate pride and stern relentlessness;
The rheumy eye, wan Envy's master feature,
Proclaims the spite that grudges youthful pleasure;
The downward look evinces sordid thoughts,
Searching the very dust as 'twere for geer;
Th'trem'lous voice and shaking head denote
A graspless heart that hath forgone all love,
And hieroglyphics graven on the brow,
Long use of pityless arithmetic.

Glan.
Forbear, young man! such fancies but insult
The course and purposes of Providence.
What though poor Isbel hath outliv'd your pity,
The time may come when you yourself shall know,
That e'en the power to pity quits the heart.
There is an epocha in human life,
When all men find their sympathies extinct.
In some the change by wayward fortune wrought,
Falls in the prime and vigor of their days;
But with the general throng of daily minds,
The wintry solitude of age prevails,
Before that sear and withering of the heart.

Adv.
What causes think you, Sir, produce this change?

Glan.
Sometimes the canker of ingratitude,
Gnaws out the fruitful germ of tenderness;
When, as the stifling ivy climbs the tree,
Barren misanthropy invests the heart;
Sometimes the blossom of our vernal hopes,
Like the bright hectic of a fated fair,
Allures to disappoint: When it is gone,
We have no courage to expect again,
Nor ever love aught worthy of a tear;—
The vampire vice too drains the bosom dry
Of Nature's kindness. But much more than these,
Is conscious guilt pernicious to our feelings,
Turning each thought, yea, ev'ry corporal sense,
All into one quick sentinel of accusation.
Hark!

[a trumpet heard.
Adv.
'Tis the trumpet of the judge.

Glan.
He comes.

Mag.
On you the task to give him welcome lies.

Glan.
Let us advance then.

Mag.
Sir, it must be here,
This is th'appointed place. Why should we move?

Glan.
You are peremptory. Well, be it here.

Adv.
He cogitates a speech.

Mag.
Stand back.

Adv.
The Judge.

[Enter from one side the Judge attended. Isbel comes in at the same time from the other.]
Mag.
His Lordship waits for us, Sir; give him welcome.

Glan.
By old enactments of our ancient kings,
We are commanded, on this fatal spot,
In heaven's dread name to bid the judges enter,
And deal us justice without fee, or fear,
Of monarch or of man. Within our burgh,
Not in the King's, but in the name of God,
Tremendous Justice mounts her awful throne;
And Providence, as fam'd traditions tell,
Hath frequent there stood witness at the bar,
Confronting perjury that would destroy,
And proving guilt when far beyond all trace,
The links of human evidence had fail'd.
Therefore, my Lord, in Heaven's dread name we ask
Your righteous ministration.—Isbel, here!

Jud.
In Heavens dread name we do accept the trust.

Isb.
[aside]
'Tis he, 'tis he that did the deed of death.

Jud.
What is that woman, who with such a shriek
Of thrilling exultation, mars the course
Of our appointed high solemnity.

Adv.
A wretched maniac.

Jud.
Send her away.

Glan.
Retire, good Isbel, you disturb our rites,
Pray thee retire, you do offend the Judge.

Jud.
Give me the list of all who are accus'd.

Mag.
'Tis here, my Lord.

Isb.
It wants, it has not all!

Jud.
I know thee now. Alas, unhappy creature!
How long shalt thou the same sad note repeat?
For many a year, still as the list was given,
She has this melancholy protest made.
Who is accus'd that is not in the list?

[To Isbel.
Isb.
Glanville.

All.
Glanville!

Jud.
Of what is he accus'd?

Isb.
Murder!

All.
Murder!

Isb.
Secret and long conceal'd.

Jud.
Say, who against him brings this dreadful charge.

Isb.
I do, my Lord!

Adv.
Woman, get thee away.

Jud.
Let her alone.

Adv.
She is a maniac.

Jud.
Still must her accusation be receiv'd,
It was for such as know not how to claim
With legal form and advocated plea
Redress of wrong, that we in public here,
Receive the list of all accus'd delinquents;
If to the list exception be not made,
The guilty unaccus'd henceforth are free.

Glan.
She ne'er, my Lord, suspected me before.

Jud.
Nor any else, but only did protest,
Asserting Providence would prove the charge.
Be not so mov'd, Sir, at this wild conceit,
Though charter'd law compels us to admit it.

Isb.
Justice, Justice, in Heaven's dread name remember.

Glan.
It was, my Lord, a settled custom with me,
Upon the annual coming of this day,
Which still has been in all my life auspicious,
To bear myself a small benevolence
To this poor widow, as she mourning sat
Here on this spot, where her lov'd husband fell;
But by some lapse, some breach in my remembrance,
I did to-day neglect that stated duty,
And for the failure she in spite accuses.

Isb.
No, not for that, no, not for that, my Lord!
Though by his punctual regulated kindness,
I thought he had a compact made with me
As sure as that which Heaven holds with the earth,
To give the reaping and the fruitage time.
And when he came not, I did think, 'tis true,
That he incurr'd, for the default he suffer'd,
A dreadful forfeit which I would exact,
But then I knew not that my words of passion
Were prompted by an oracle divine.
On to the hall and mount the seat of Justice.

Glan.
O thou vindictive and ungrateful witch,
The source of kindness backward flows in thee,
Or thou would'st never recompense me thus.
Had she, in envy of my prosp'rous fortune,
Which on this day did always richly shoot
With new luxuriancy of fruit and blossom,
Revil'd my life and scoff'd at my success,
I had not rued the pity that I felt.
But this accurst, destructive calumny,
Sinks to my heart like a malignant drug.
The venom that the viper Envy spits
Hath not the power to injure Virtue's ermine,
But calumny from those that we have cherish'd,
Is as a cruel and deep-searching acid,
Which takes at once something away, and leaves
An irremediable blain behind.

[Exeunt.