University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A terrace of the Castle, overlooking a lawn and woods. Elinor alone. Enter Florence.
Flor.
She stood, majestic, 'mid her waving woods,
Like Dian musing on her hill of cedars,
Or that famed Princess, whom the grey-eyed dawn
Found lingering on the beach beneath proud Carthage,
Pensive and pale, her sandals wet with sea-foam,
And her dark tresses with the tears of night,
Accusing Heaven, and looking lorn as thou dost!

El.
Good morrow, cousin.

Flor.
Prithee, pretty maid,
Why creep'st thou slyly from my side, at dawn,
Day after day, up to this lonely platform?

El.
Look forth: let universal nature speak.
See yonder, how the Cheviot summits glow;
What fiery colors deck the glistening wood;
How volumed, dense, and white, the river mist
Winds down the gleaming vale!

Flor.
Solve me, sweet coz,—
What stirs thy pensive breast to deeper musing
Than all the hues and melodies of nature?
Than moonlight walks on wild Northumbrian hills,
Than hoarse waves booming to the ocean shore,
Autumn's sear leaves, sad fields, and farewell song,
Or converse with the starry spheres?—Come, solve me.

El.
Pish! leave such senseless rhapsody.

Flor.

El.
What mean'st thou, Florence?

Flor.
His vest was green,
His feather blue,
His glance was keen,
His arrow true,—
And hill and greenwood, high and low,
Shrilled to his merry bugle O!

El.
In simpler words,—the friend who knows me best,
To whom my thoughts, even from our childish years,
Have been transparent as the crystal waters,
Believes me (else, why urge this tedious jest?)
Enamoured of a hind, my father's vassal!

Flor.
O, spare me! frown not on my harmless muse.
I did but sport: forgive me, Elinor.
Yet, would I knew what preys upon your cheek,
Shrouds you in gloom, and locks me from your bosom.
When Raby's towers from morn till midnight rang
With dance, masque, pageant, minstrelsy, and song,
Our lives seemed sweetest pastime. Not a lark
Rose from her nest more gayly to the skies
Than we from slumber: joy was all our theme.
Silence and melancholy now usurp—

El.
What need to search my heart? Thou know'st it thine.

Flor.
Does Elinor unkindly cast me out
From sympathy in sorrow, like a stranger?

El.
Cease, Florence, cease; I have not yet complained,
Nor ever will, while bounteous Heaven showers down
Blessings unnumbered on my worthless head.
Complain! By what prerogative am I
The darling offspring of a noble house?
Born in this land of heroes? Graced in all things?
Who gave those tender parents, and preserves?
Who stretched a canopy above my bed,
And steeps my eyelids in the dew of slumber,
While many an one no worse than I—No, no,
If, spite of me, my thankless heart repine
Because some fancied good swells not the store,
Ne'er will I utter such rebellious murmurs.

Flor.
Seems it rebellion to thee, Elinor,
To bathe the wounds which Providence inflicts
In friendship's tears?

El.
As for that youth—few words
Will sum his story. Three months since, surprised
By a wild night, while journeying near these walls,
He begged a shelter. Voice, or face, or mien,—
Fate willed it,—touched my sire, who questioned him.
Fortune, he said, smiled fairly at his birth;
But fatal feuds, mischances long to tell,
Robbed him of friends and substance while a child,
And, ever since, his adverse fate had frowned.
Cheered by kind looks and courtesy, he asked
Among the hunting-train some humble post.
Rare talents in the art so cherished here
Had won him rank and favor, ere his arm,
Blessed be Heaven, preserved my life and honor.

Flor.
Thy life—

El.
Have I not told thee? Strange neglect!—
O, Florence, hear.—A balmy eventide
Allured me, with a damsel, down the vale.
Beguiled with talk, and roving heedless, night
O'ertook us. Hurrying through the wood, just where
That ancient ash o'erspreads the way, a band
Of prowling Scots, moss-troopers from the wild,
Rushed from a covert, captive seized us—

Flor.
Jesu!

El.
Bound us upon their horses, and amain
Spurred for the Border. Long our dangerous course
O'er hills and moors, by lonely robber paths,
We held in darkness, guided by the stars
And fitful lustre of the northern light.
At last, (the moon now broad above the fells,)
Crossing a glen, they halted in a brook,
Full in the beam, to counsel, and to breathe
Their o'erspent steeds. Four huntsmen, 'midst the parle,
Reined up beside us. Judge what trembling seized me,
When on their coats my father's crest I saw!
Think—in that wild untrodden solitude
To find brave Arthur by my side! Speech, breath
Forsook me. Agnes shrieked. Then, Florence, then—
But my brain reeled; his desperate charge I saw not.
I found myself upon the moonlight bank
Sustained by Agnes; felt upon my cheek
The night-breeze freshened by the gushing rill
Which Arthur from his basnet sprinkled o'er me.
No hostile sound disturbed us; tranquil, pale,
And sweet all seemed, till on the runnel's brink,
Close at my feet, I spied two grim marauders
Mixing their life-blood with the bubbling stream.
That night he gave me to my mother's arms;
And such a night!—such agonies of joy
I hope no more to see.—To this poor youth,
Whose blood redeemed me, ingrate shall I prove?

Flor.
Forbid it gratitude—

El.
But if a lighter thought—remember, Florence,
Mine is the stock of Lancaster, the blood
Whose pure, proud current feeds the hearts of Princes.

(Exit.)
Flor.
Four days!—and not a whisper of this tale,—
That should have flown to meet me on the way,
Leaped from her eyes, mixed with the welcome-kiss,
And dwelt the favored theme upon her tongue!
Her mother's silence, too!—ay, that!—But why—
What doth he here? haunting about her steps,
And practising upon her noble nature?—
Alas! if Elinor,—the gentle, high-souled,—
This claims my care, and nicest observation.

(Exit.)