SCENE II.
[A forest.—Deep in the shade a single
monument appears, covered with wild-flowers
and roses.]
HERBERT
[alone].
'Tis fit she should be buried in this place
So fragrant and so peaceful; O, my love!
Thou hast grown dull of hearing! I may call
'Till the lone echoes shiver with thy name,
Thou wilt not heed me; dust, dust, dust indeed!
And thou—more glorious than the morning star;
More tender than the love-light of the eve!
They tell me thou shalt rise again, Christ's bride,
Not mine, most beautiful, yet changed;
Perchance I shall not know thee, or perchance,
The human love which made thine eyes like heaven—
My heaven of hope and worship—shall be lost
In some diviner splendor! all is hushed,
No smallest whisper trembles gently up
From the deep grave to soothe me; 'tis in vain
I agonize in thought. Eternal Nature!
She whom I once called “mother,” wears an aspect
Callous and pitiless. I fain would solve
This terrible mystery that weighs down my soul
With nightmare fancies. Let me die in peace,
O God! and if I may not see her more
Through all the long eternities, nor hear
Her voice of tender pardon, let me rest
Next to some stream of Lethe, and repose
In everlasting slumbers!—
[Enter Jocelyn.]
JOCELYN.
Come, let us hence! the darkness creeps upon us;
See, Sir! there's not a spark of sunset left
In all the waning West.
HERBERT.
Well, what of that!
I live in darkness,—the light burns my spirit,
It mocks and tortures me! Begone, I say,
And leave me to the dismal shade thou fearest!
JOCELYN.
Good Sir, be counselled—stay not in the wood;
Thine eye is troubled, and thy visage weary;—
'Tis a rash venture!
HERBERT.
Sooth to say, I thank thee;
Thou could'st not serve long in the household blessed
By her most merciful presence, and not catch
Some tenderness of temper;—take my thanks!
Yet will I stay in this same dreary wood,
And watch until the night is overpast.
JOCELYN.
Thou'lt find it lonely.
HERBERT.
Oh, I have my thoughts,
A stirring company, that never slumber.
JOCELYN.
Why, worse and worse! I've heard, such restless thoughts
Engender a sore sickness—
HERBERT.
Of the mind;
Yet is my case already desperate,
Past healing, and past comfort. Go thy way.
Thou kind old man, thou canst not shake my purpose,
But when the last star wanes before the dawn,
Come back; my night will then be overpast,
And my watch ended; till that hour, farewell!
