University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Hermitage: Edwin and Angelina discovered, sitting in the entrance of the cell: a small table spread; and covered with a variety of fruits.
Edwin. Angelina.
Edwin.
Scarce dost thou taste my fruits:—O be not sad!
I will conduct thee, with the early dawn,
Where terminates the forest.

Angelina.
Ah! Father!
I fear I then shall be more distant far,
Than ever, from my journey's wisht-for end.

(Sighs.)
Edwin.
Unhappy Youth! what dost thou wish? what seek?

Angelina.
I seek in vain.—I seek—for—happiness.

(Sighs.)
Edwin.
Is happiness thy wish; here rest; here dwell.
Remote from courts, and palaces, and kings;
From domes of grandeur, and from halls of wealth;
Far from the poisonous city's busy hum;
From Passion's reign, and fierce Ambition's war,
Borne on the winnowing gale, flies Happiness.
She loves, with Peace her sister, to reside
In cottages and vales; by running streams;
In woods; and on the cliff's rude, hanging brow:
For there, if yet, perchance, on earth they dwell,
Meets she Integrity, and sober Toil;
And Innocence, and sweet Simplicity:
And oft the Hermit's cell she deigns to visit;
With Piety her guide, and mild Repose
Her fair attendant.—This, then, be this thy—

Angelina.
And do meek Piety and Peace, in truth,
Visit so often then thy cell, my Father?

Edwin.
(Apart.)
That question!—Be still my heart!— (To her.)
Dost thou doubt!—
But whence, poor Youth, the sorrows of thy breast?
The rose still blooms upon thy cheek; nor there
Trace I the characters of villain guilt.
Yet, oft ambitious is the youthful mind.
Say, dost thou thirst for Power?
(She sighs.)
Ah! remember!
'Tis but of momentary worth alone;
Lifting the proud heart of forgetful man
Above the worship pure of Heaven. It draws
From Virtue's paths; and all her smiling train,—
Even Fortitude, depart: and when appear
Misfortune and her frightful troop, the soul,
Debas'd, no longer can itself support.

Angelina.
Father, I wish it not.

Edwin.
And what is Wealth?
What, but, like Power, corrupter of the heart?
To every ill exposing more the man,
And hard'ning more to sense of others' grief.
Avarice and pride increasing; and the soul
Binding to earth, not lifting up to heaven.
Does it, on man, one virtuous wish bestow?
Or brings it happiness?

Angelina.
Alas! it does not.
Power might be mine; and Wealth I can command;
But where, ah! where, is happiness?

Edwin.
Poor Youth!
And hast thou dreamt of Friendship? Fixt thy soul
Upon a fancied friend, and found him false?
—O Phantom, subject of eternal praise!
Man's foul betrayer, murderer of his peace;
Of wealth and fame thou still-attendant shade;
The base deserter of the cheated wretch;
What art thou, visionary fiend, that man
Should ever be condemn'd to think thou art,
(Tho' thou wert never seen,) and still to seek thee?—
(To her.)
Grieve not for this;—our earthly lot is woe;
And we but bare our bosoms to the stroke,
The assassin's stroke, when we embrace a friend.
Say, dost thou mourn for one as such suppos'd?

Angelina.
O, no! I never yet so blessed was
As, even in fancy, to possess a friend.

Edwin.
And Love,—Love hath, perhaps, tormented thee?
Hast to a fair-one ever op'd thy soul?
Hast lov'd? to be the jest, the scoff, the scorn,
The play-thing, of a heart insensible?
(She sighs deeply.)
Thy only answer is of sighs and tears.—
O Heaven! and hath sincerity again,
Again hath truth been wounded?
(To her.)
Hast thou lov'd?
(She sighs more deeply, and appears greatly agitated.)
Let her be thy scorn!—Ha! know'st thou not yet,
That air, not truth, is measure of affection?
—Almighty Father! wherefore did thy wrath
Create me man? Was it to see all worth,
And every bright perfection of the mind,
Humbled before the arrogance of wealth?
False pride of birth? and tyranny of power?—
Know'st thou not this?—The heart of man, himself,
These have beguil'd; and, of his daughter's peace,
Have made her sire the assassin.

Angelina.
(In tears, and lifting up her hands.)
O, my God!

Edwin.
(Not noticing her emotion.)
For these hath woman, vain, and trifling wretch!—
(All fond desires, and sweet affections shunn'd;
Each nobler passion of the soul cast off;)
Rejected love: deceiv'd,—destroy'd,—spurn'd it,
With acrimonious, with insulting scorn.

Angelina.
(Starting up with wildness, clasping her hands, and pressing them to her head; her hat, at the same time, falling off, and her long hair floating down her back.)
Gracious, gracious God!—Spare me!—O spare me!

Edwin.
What do I see?—a woman?
(She sinks faintly into his arms.)
It is herself!
She dies!—Angelina!—What shall I do?—
(Distractedly.)
Soft!—she revives!—I'll throw me at her feet,—

Angelina.
(Reviving.)
Where am I?—where?

Edwin.
(Apart.)
Discovery might destroy my only hope.

Angelina.
(More revived.)
Where have I been?

Edwin.
(Supporting her.)
Compose thyself, my Child!
Be calm; and tell me whence these transports wild;
And let me sooth the sorrows of thy soul.

Angelina.
(With great emotion.)
I can not speak!

Edwin.
(Tenderly.)
Sit down.—Be not disturb'd.
I am, myself, the very child of woe,
And can disclose whence consolation springs.

Angelina.
My tears prevent all utterance.

Edwin.
'Tis well.—
Yes, let them flow. Composure flies afar
From where sit mute Despair and tearless Anguish;
But gently lights, where Grief her sacred dew
Sheds 'round the mourner.

(A pause.)
Angelina.
Thou art too kind, my Father.—Ah! forgive
A wretch, whose feet, unhallow'd, have disturb'd
Thy cell serene of piety and peace.

Edwin.
(Apart.)
Of peace?—alas! (To her.)
Do not condemn thyself:
The Power who rules is good; and our weak feet,
Tho' often he permit to stray, yet still
'Tis but a devious path, to good conducting.

Angelina.
I gain sweet hope and courage from the thought.
And sure compassion dwells within thy breast;
And thou wilt pity one who hath been led
Astray by love; who seeks for peace, but finds
(The sole companion of her way) despair.

Edwin.
(Passionately.)
Despair!—Proceed, my child.— (Apart.)
What shall I hear?

Angelina.
How shall I speak of happy times, which, erst,
Saw me, the daughter of an ancient Earl,
With wealth's proud splendors, blandishments of ease,
And art's and nature's, copious stores, surrounded?
Ador'd, and sung, by every neighbouring Chief;
While flattery, with music join'd its voice;
Echoing along the winding banks of Tyne?
—O blissful days of innocence and peace!
Early, how early lost!

Edwin.
Cease not, thou fair—

Angelina.
Frequent and numerous were the suing crowds,
To the warm proffers of whose love, real,
Or yet pretended, ready ear I lent;
While my young mind, intoxicate, drank in
Delicious draughts of flattery.

Edwin.
Detest—

Angelina.
Detestable indeed.—Among the rest,
Most simply clad, but grac'd with virtue's guise;
Not arm'd with wealth or power, but full of worth;
Whose mind was wisdom's throne; a Youth was seen.
Ah! how my bosom panted at his sight!
Of love he never spake; and with disdain,
Most noble of the flatterer's art—

Edwin.
(Passionately extending his arms.)
My An—
(Partly recollecting himself.)
Speak! what of him!

Angelina.
Amazement! What mean'st thou?
Know'st thou aught—?

Edwin.
(Recollecting himself, yet hesitating.)
Pardon—forgive me, daughter!—
Be not alarm'd!—Go on—I nothing meant!
The thoughtlessness of youth did cause my warmth.

Angelina.
The musk-rose, which unfolds its tender flowers
Unto the early sun; the dew, which loves to hang
Its trembling lustres on the silver bell,
The lily of the vale; his purer mind
But faintly emulate. The rose, the dew,
With charms inconstant shine: their charms were his;
But, woe to me! mine was their constancy.—
Wretch that I am! I trifled with his love,
Scofft at his pain, who only liv'd for me!

Edwin.
(Agitated.)
Haste thee—!

Angelina.
(She walks about—in extreme agitation—Edwin regarding her fixedly, and with an attitude evidencing the most entire and distressful concern.)

Edwin.
(Forcibly, and passionately, clasping her to his breast.)
“Forbid it Heaven!”

Angelina.
(Endeavoring to disengage herself.)
Man—

Edwin.

(They embrace.)