 | The Witness |  |
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.—
4
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,
5
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,
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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.
| The Witness | |