University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Ethelbert enters, from the opposite side, without observing, and unobserved by, Angelina.
Angelina. Ethelbert.
Ethelbert.
(To himself.)
Whence is that voice so sweetly melancholy?
Do the celestial denizens of air
Visit this forest? Or is all around,
As sure to me beseems, enchantment strange?

Angelina.
(Seeing him.)
Heavens! it is Ethelbert!

Ethelbert.
Which way soe'er
My footsteps stray, still the same spot appears,
Unbidden, and restrains my further course.
And when reflection tells me I am here,
And wherefore here; and when it all reviews,
Which here hath past; I startle at myself;
And question hold if it be truth.
(Observing Angelina.)
Pilgrim!
I pr'ythee stay.—Nay,—whither dost thou fly?
I am no robber that would do thee harm;
But a most hapless man, here lost, and here
Enforc'd to wander.—Nay, do not leave me!
(Catching hold of her garment.)
Leave me not here alone, unhelpt to perish!
Silent!—still silent!— (Discovering who it is.)

Angelina! Heaven!

Angelina.
(Aside.)
Lost! lost, forever!

Ethelbert.
And is it thee? Indeed? And have I found thee?
O fate! I thank thee! She is found! is safe!
Speak to me, Angelina! art thou well?
Uninjur'd? Safe? Ah! how hast thou escap'd
The numerous perils which beset thee round?
How have thy delicate and tender limbs
Sustain'd the fierce extremes of temperature?
The sickly mists of day, and dews of night?
—Speak, O speak to me, my Angelina!
—And is it possible, that while the tears,
Of transport, for thy safety, bathe my cheeks;
O, is it possible! that thou with such
Cold, cold demeanor, can'st receive me?

Angelina.
Ethelbert! beware!
Withhold me not; nor follow thou my steps.
Now thou dost know what most I wisht conceal'd,
Let it content thee; and do thou release me.

Ethelbert.
Release thee?—Astonishment! Impossible!
Hast thou not lost thy way? deceiv'd, perchance,
By the wild beauty of some favorite walk,
Skirting thy lov'd paternal towers, 'till Eve
O'er thee, unconscious, cast her starless shade;
And conjur'd up some demon, whose false lamp,
With devious glare, betray'd thee 'mid these horrors
Have I not sought, and found thee? And shall not
My hand conduct thee to thy native dome?

Angelina.
Never.

Ethelbert.
Never!—What frenzy hath possest thee?—
Never?—Never return?—It cannot be.

Angelina.
See'st thou not where we are?—Release thy hold.

Ethelbert.
Think'st thou I would enforce thy stay?—O, no!

(Loosing his hold.)
Angelina.
'Tis well: I know thee now.—When to the world
I voluntary farewell bade—

Ethelbert.
O, no! (With great vehemence.)

Thou dost not mean it. No, it cannot be,
That hither thou hast stray'd of choice. What charm
Have these drear forests, and huge craggy rocks,
For one, like thee, the idol of the world?
—O do not let thy hate of Ethelbert
Urge thee, thus madly, to renounce that care
With which he will, inviolate, restore thee.

Angelina.
Earl Ethelbert!

Ethelbert.
Dost thou distrust me then?—
I swear, upon the honor of a Peer:
And surely thou may'st trust his oath, whose heart,
With holiest love, adores thee.—If thou didst know
How many days of grief, how many nights
Of sleepless anguish, thy departure caus'd;
Sure they would plead within that gentle breast,
For some small gracious token of compassion.
—O think how hard the lot of Ethelbert;
Leaving the accustom'd pleasures of his state;
Anxious, distracted, for thy loss; these woods,
Horrid with every dreadful death, exploring;
Fir'd with the hope to shield thy precious life,
And safe restore thee:—Think what pangs are his
To find his zeal repulst; and, in the stead
Of kind regard, to meet thy fiercer scorn.

Angelina.
Hear Ethelbert. To thee, thou knowest well,
I ne'er have us'd deceit; but have been frank.
Why should my words want credit with thee, then?
I do assure thee, on a maiden's faith,
That not unwillingly I roam these woods.
Nor do thou follow me.—Think not I scorn thee.—
No, Ethelbert: e'er since I saw thy change,
Thou hast possest esteem: and nothing more
This heart can give thee.—Farewell:—and leave me.

Ethelbert.
Too beauteous maid! do not! O do not ask it!
If thou wilt wander here, vouchsafe me leave,
(I will not speak of love,) to be thy guard.
Nay, do not frown!—O thou shalt ever find me
Most submissive. All day I will provide,
And bring thee food; and all the live-long night,
Thou sleeping, guard thee from approaching harm.

Angelina.
It may not be. My purpose needs no aid.
Farewell.

(Turning, and proceeding.)
Ethelbert.
Stop, I conjure—Angelina!
(She looks back, and stops.)
Thou must not go!—Heavens! think what perilous,
What dreadful fates surround thee. These dark woods,
“Tangled with horrid thorn;” these ruinous rocks,
Frowning with death; shouldst thou escape these ills,
On thy dank couch the hissing snake may dart,
And rabid wolves hem in thy daily walk.
Should Heaven protect thee from such foes as these,
Who, who shall save thee from more savage men?
Men, who do live on violence and lust?
Think, Angelina! think before thou mov'st!
O! it were more dreadful than any death.

Angelina.
Sure, Ethelbert, thy passion doth obscure
Thy sight. Consider well this garb. Who knows,
Thus far from winding Tyne, Earl Orgar's daughter?
What man but, seeing me, shall deem me man?
And of such holy sort, that he shall feel
His duty bind him, to defend, not harm, me?

Ethelbert.
What garb can hide thy loveliness? What garb
The ruffian hand of violence disarm?—
But if thou'st no compassion on thyself,
Still let humanity restrain thy steps.
Whate'er of good I have, to thee I owe it.
By thee half-torn from vice, yet not confirm'd
In virtue. And wilt thou, after such toil,
And in this feverous state of soul, forsake me?
Say, wilt thou not pursue, perfect, thy work?
Has Ethelbert been led to virtue's path,
And will his guide, his angel guide, even there,
Desert him?—O! for pity's sake relent!—
Who, when thou'rt gone, shall aid my tremulous steps,
And warm my doubting heart to virtuous deeds?

Angelina.
Thou know'st but little of the power of virtue,
If thou dost doubt its efficacy here.
Be virtuous,—thou must, perforce, be happy.
Be virtuous,—

Ethelbert.
Ah! what is virtue, without
(What constitutes its worth) the bright reward?
Be then compassionate.—I do not ask,
I will not ask, for love.
(Kneeling and seizing her hand.)
Hear me!—I swear,
By every sainted soul, in yonder heaven,
Thou shalt be safe, be free. I conjure thee
Hear me! 'Tis for thyself, for thy own life,
For thy own peace, for thy eternal peace,
I plead. Speak, Angelina!

Angelina.
Urge me not:
Seek not reproach: Release my hand.

(A rushing noise is heard.)
Ethelbert.
Hear'st that?
It is our foes, the ruffians of the wood!
Haste, ere they rush upon us; for they come:
The dry leaves rustle, and the forest shakes.
Yield to my care! By all in earth and heaven
Thou valuest, I adjure thee! Let us fly!
(A loud shout, and the Banditti appear.)
I will defend thee with my life.