University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

A Gothic Hall, with a Gallery and Staircase.
Enter Honoria and Agnes.
Honoria.
A pris'ner, said'st thou?—in my father's castle!—
Here! where from infancy my growing reason
Has taught me to look forward with delight!
Is this the noontide of so blithe a promise?
Oh! Agnes, happy is the mountain peasant
That wakes exulting with the morning beam,
And, still a stranger to the cares of greatness,
Sinks to soft slumbers with the setting sun!
The seasons are to him but pleasing changes
Of labour and repose; his wife, his infants,
The smiling subjects bound by nature's laws
To decorate his little world of love!

Agnes.
Yet 'tis not always thus; for oft we see
That virtue, to the rugged wild retir'd,
Still finds the thorn affliction in its way.

Honoria.
But the rough child of nature knows no guile;
No honey'd poison meets his healthful lips,
Steep'd in the gilded chalice of deceit:
By poverty, from envy far remov'd,
No fawning sycophant assails his door,
Where holy innocence presides, secure!

Agnes.
Give not your thoughts to melancholy musing;
By pond'ring o'er past woe we oft neglect
The means of future joy.

Honoria.
Now, hear me, Agnes;
This night I promis'd in the forest's gloom
To meet my Alferenzi; there to pour
All my vast store of sorrows in his breast,
And then to seek oblivion!

Agnes.
Yet, Forbear!
Be not so rash; parental rage is transient,
And nature bends the heart to suffering virtue!

Honoria.
Oh! could transcendent virtue's charm subdue
The haughty spirit of my father's soul,
He had not with remorseless rage depriv'd
An only child of a fond mother's care.
But she's in Heav'n!

Agnes.
Yet, see thy Alferenzi—

Honoria.
[Valmont appears in the gallery.
Ah! do not mock my anguish; gods! to see him,
O'er the bleak desert or the craggy mountain,
Bow'd by the yelling blast and beating tempest,
No light save that the livid flash afforded,
Still would I wander, pleas'd and unrepining!

Agnes.
Attend—without the prospect of such danger,
You may hold converse freely; the stern guard
Your father makes the keeper of your prison
I can persuade to pity; if you'll venture,
The western portal shall be open to you,
And in the forest, by the midnight moon,
You may confer in safety, and unseen.

Honoria.
O! blessings on thee!—soft, this ray of hope
Dazzles my aching senses, and I start
As from a dream of horror, where the brain,
Stampt with the semblance of some phantom dire,
Reflects it, waking, to the fearful gaze!
Now, gentle Agnes! seek my Alferenzi!
Tell him, the gloom that hides a maiden's blush
Presents no terror to the spotless soul!
Guilt fears the witching hour of spectred night,
When on the murd'rers front the starting drop
Sits like the dew upon the pois'nous toad!
But virtue, guided by its own pure ray,
Treads the rude path, undaunted and secure.
Now to thy task, and may the pow'rs of pity
Guard thee from every ill! I will away,
And in my prison chamber wait thy signal.

[Exeunt severally.
[Valmont descends from the gallery.
Valmont.
Go, disobedient fiend!
Long shalt thou wait before thy minion comes:
The midnight moon, reflecting what she sees,
Shall veil her placid brow with tints of blood!
No sound shall greet thine ear with signal kind;
But the lone owl, with horror-boding shriek,
Shall pierce thy love-sick, palpitating heart.
How like her mother look'd the froward girl!
On that dread night, when her proud father fell,
So did she lure me to her fatal snare.—
Away, reflection! vengeance calls me hence;
And I obey the summons.