University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

Ethelbert. Sifrid.
(Sifrid walks about—agitated—occasionally stopping, and measuring Ethelbert with his eye—at length he exclaims.)
Sifrid.
Monster! thou'rt now within my power.

Ethelbert.
(With surprize.)
Monster!

Sifrid.
Thou know'st me not?

Ethelbert.
No.

Sifrid.
My form, familiar erst,
Hath then the hand of time so far defac'd?
Or have foul injuries, from thee receiv'd,
Destroy'd the well-known features of my youth?
Or rests the cause with thee? 'Tis dignity,
Perchance, above remembrance elevates.
Or do thy cruelties a hell so great,
So fierce, become, thou fear'st new punishments,
Should recollection shew thee who I am?—
Think of the man thou most hast wrong'd—and then,
Know me for Sifrid.

Ethelbert.
Sifrid!

Sifrid.
Yes, Sifrid.
And doth my name, alone, banish the colour
From thy changing cheek?—Tremble at my wrath.
Base man! doth not that name, within thy breast,
Awake more tortures than thou fear'st hereafter?—
O wretch! wretch!

Ethelbert.
I do confess—

Sifrid.
No—no—no—
Do not:—Confession ill becomes thee now.

Ethelbert.
Nay, hear me! I—

Sifrid.
Would talk of palliation:—
O thou hast sinn'd beyond its utmost reach,
And hardly can the hand of Heaven itself
Erase so deep a blot.

Ethelbert.
But yet—

Sifrid.
O, no!—
Didst thou not force me from my home?

Ethelbert.
I did.

Sifrid.
With hell-born cruelty pursue me?

Ethelbert.
'Tis true.

Sifrid.
Captive, in chains, shut from the sun, the air,
All intercourse of friends, by thy command,
For months, for years, I languisht.
Thy villain hand each little good rent from me;
Or ever, with interposition rude,
Prevented its advance.—No pleasing sounds—
Not even the plumy warblers' of the spring,
To all her offspring, Nature's common gift,
Ever approach'd me:—but, instead, deep groans;
The felon's rattling chains, the murderer's oaths;
And,—worse than all,—thy proud insulting taunts.
And more—Monster of inhumanity!—
And more—Didst thou not tear my Emma from me?
Within a noisome cell confine? Weary,
With offers of vile lust, her virgin soul?
Say, didst thou not?

Ethelbert.
All, all is true.

Sifrid.
Yes, yes! And do I live to see thee here?
The dark assassin of my love? my life?—
Wretch! what dost thou deserve?

Ethelbert.
To be heard.

Sifrid.
Heard?
And is there aught, that's villainous, undone,
Which, in this little space of life, allow'd,
Thou hop'st to do?—Or, can thy speech recall
Past times; retrace the years of frantic grief;
And once more place me where I erst was happy?
Oh, no!—Thou'st fill'd the measure of thy guilt;
Triumph'd o'er every sacred tie, that binds,
In fellowship, the man to man.—And what,
Plung'd as thou art in crimes, is left to do?
Is there, of justice, one unbroken law?

Ethelbert.
Tyrant! beyond all patience hast thou urg'd me,
And I will speak.—Justice!—Talk'st thou of justice?
Shew me in all the ample page of right,
In all truth's code, a rule, or even a plea,
To consecrate, or to excuse, thy trade.
Robber! thou can'st not.—Him does it become,
The armed leader of a ruffian band,
To hold discourse of justice? And shall he,
Who strips the unwary traveller of life;
The midnight door of sleeping wealth who breaks;
Who tears, from age, its honor, and from youth,
From helpless youth, its innocence;
Shall he of justice question?

Sifrid.
Villain!

Ethelbert.
Villain to thee! Shew me the plunder'd stores,
Rent from the industrious tenants of my fields.
Disclose the vast incalculable sum,
Swept from the puissant nobles of the realm.—
Ha! dost thou shake with rage? grow pale with shame?
Conceal it, Sir; it ill becomes a thief.

Sifrid.
Monster! if any guilt is mine,—tremble!
Yes, tremble for thyself, the accursed cause!
Who, tearing from me all that life endears;
Exalting each dark passion of my soul;
Hast made me breathe with nought but fell revenge—
—O hadst thou torn all wealth, all honor, from me;
Made me still poorer than the wandering wretch,—
Sordid petitioner of daily food;—
Heapt to the heavens, imprisonment, and pain;
Sicken'd all ears with tales of infamy;
And still hadst left my Emma to be mine;
I had been blest; had loaded thee with blessing;
And Heaven had seen me spotless and devout.

Ethelbert.
Emma is yours.

Sifrid.
(Fiercely.)
Hast thou not murder'd her?

Ethelbert.
(With horror.)
No!—no!

Sifrid.
(With terrible fury.)
Villain! hast thou not murder'd her?

Ethelbert.
She lives.

Sifrid.
(Wildly.)
Not dead?

Ethelbert.
She lives, to love and bless thee.

Sifrid.
(Faintly; and laboring for breath and utterance.)
Oh! it can not be!—It can not!—can not!
Merciful Heaven!—this tumult of my soul!
(He leans against the Cavern. After awhile, as though he supposed it some new imposition in Ethelbert, he starts; and drawing a dagger, seizes Ethelbert by the arm.)
Most damn'd impostor!—
(Ethelbert remains unappalled. Sifrid, looking on his face, observes it—drops the dagger, and exclaiming)
He could not do it!— (Sinks into a reverie.)


Ethelbert.
(After a short silence.)
Sifrid!—He hears me not.—Thy Emma lives.
She lives, indeed; and thee alone requires;
Whose hop'd return will all her joys renew.

Sifrid.
(Starting from his reverie.)
And whence is this?—From thee?

Ethelbert.
O, heap not shame,
Too vast already, on my humbled head!
For I will all disclose; nor dare conceal
Aught of near import, so thou be compos'd.

Sifrid.
Speak on. Thou hast my promise.

Ethelbert.
The tears of Emma, silent as they fell,
Soften'd my flinty heart. Compassion, then,
A guest unknown before, enter'd my breast.—
Who does not know what sweet affinity
Love bears to gentle sorrow?—Now, indeed,
A purer flame shot thro' my alter'd soul.
The grief, the modestly-reproachful woe,
Unwavering, matchless, constancy, of Emma,
Chill'd every glow of passion, bent my heart,
Reprov'd my guilt, and humbled me to silence.
Affection builds not on remorse. I shunn'd,
I fled, her presence;—but, to feel the force,
And sink the slave, of Angelina's beauty.
I saw, and lov'd:—lov'd; and of love became
The thrall successless.—Was I unhappy?—
Had not my murderous hand rent the fond ties,
Dissolv'd the fairy bliss, canker'd the buds of love?—
Frenzy possest me;—and remorseful grief,
With agonies so dreadful, shook my frame,
That reason totter'd on her throne; and hope,
That I should e'er revive, my friends forsook.
Thy Emma then—

Sifrid.
(Furiously.)
What didst thou say of Emma?

Ethelbert.
O, be calm, my friend! Let these tears declare
I am repentant. Thy sorrowing Emma
Consol'd and serv'd me, with unceasing care;
And once again to life restor'd me.

Sifrid.
(With ecstacy.)
She did!

Ethelbert.
Hence, every vice cast off, with earnest zeal,
I strove my many mischiefs to repair.
What could I do for Emma? Half my wealth
Was proffer'd, but refus'd.

Sifrid.
(Proudly.)
No doubt it was.

Ethelbert.
With care solicitous, o'er all the realm,
My trusty slaves dispatcht, still sought thee out.
Meantime, with her I lov'd, my suit advanc'd not.
With pleas'd regard she saw me turn from vice;
And witnest kind respect, but never love.
At length she fled. With unremitting zeal,
I sought her long; each town and village searching.
In vain.—This day, as full of grief I stray'd,
Whether by chance, or Heaven's conducting hand,
The long lost fair I found; when, captive made,
Hither have I been led, in some poor sort,
The wrongs on thee enforc'd, to expiate.

Sifrid.
To expiate?—O Emma! dost thou live?—
Would I could grant thee more than my forgiveness.

Ethelbert.
(Kneeling.)
And canst thou then the injuries forget—?

Sifrid.
(Raising him.)
Come to my soul, thou man of blest repentance.

Ethelbert.
O, nobleness divine!

(They embrace.)
Sifrid.
(After a pause.)
Our band, with speed,
Shall circle, and shall scour the forest thro'.
To them each part well known, the wandering Fair
Shall soon be found, and peace again be thine.

Ethelbert.
Excellent man! how greatly have I wrong'd thee!

Duet.