University of Virginia Library

SCENE XIV.

The Front of an old Monastery; with a View of the Appennines at Sun-set.
Enter Honoria.
Honoria.
Here, in this awful, this monastic gloom,
I trust my weary soul will find repose!
As late I stood upon the cavern'd cliff,
List'ning the cat'ract's desolating roar,
I mark'd the spires of this lone habitation
Red with the lustre of the sinking sun!
The solemn silence that surrounds these walls
Well suits the shrine of holy meditation,
And feasts the mind with luxury of thought.
This is the goal where, faint with life's dull toil,
The feeble woe-worn trav'ller stops, and smiles
To know the busy hour of grief is past!
For, after all, what is this fev'rous state?
A transient day, of sun-shine and of storms;
A path, bestrew'd with thorns and roseate wreathes;
We journey on with hope, or lag with fear,
Still, minute after minute, cheating time,
Till, at the close, we stumble on the grave. [Light appears thro' the painted windows of the Chapel.

It is the hour of vespers, which prepares
The mind serene of virgin innocence
For slumbers undisturb'd by ruthless care;
Oh! apathy! thou kindly numbing pow'r!
Thou opiate! rivalling the Theban drug,
Lulling the nimble passions of the soul,
And binding fast in sweet oblivious spells
The wild rebellious fancy, here thou dwell'st!
But I shall know thee not; my weary life
Unfading memory presents before me,
Dark as the clouds that shroud the coming storm!
When will the day-star rise, that shall proclaim
My morn eternal in the realms of bliss.

[The gate opens. Constantia comes forward.
Constantia.
I heard the voice of mis'ry complaining,
While at the holy altar of our saint!
And Heav'n forbid the temple of religion
Should e'er be shut against the child of woe!

Honoria.
Alas! I ask but little, rev'rend mother.

Constantia.
Make your request; I only wait your will.

Honoria.
A lonely speck of consecrated earth!
A narrow pallet in the silent grave!

Constantia.
Have you no kindred to relieve your cares?

Honoria.
I had a father when the sun did rise!

Constantia.
And does he let thee wander thus forlorn?
Where is he, gentle stranger?

Honoria.
He's in Heav'n!
Is he in Heav'n?—Yes, yes; I hope he is!
He was a very stern and rash old man;
But still he was my father! He is gone!
Cold drops of blood freeze on his silver hairs,
Like the small flow'rs that peep thro' Alpine snow!

Constantia.
Holy Saint Peter! Was he murder'd, lady?

Honoria
(confused.)
I fear he was: most sure I am he died!
His cheek was pale, and petrified, and cold!
But I entreat you let us change the matter,
For 'tis a wounding subject; and, alas!
I own I'm strangely wild when I do think on't!

Constantia.
Oh! my heart feels thy sorrows in its own;
Like thee, sweet maid, in youth's exulting bloom,
I found within these solitary walls
A blest asylum from oppressive woe!
My noble kindred long have mourn'd me lost;
For since this awful sanctuary I sought
No tidings have I sent to tell my fate.

Honoria.
Indeed! I pray you, do not count my youth
Too apt and forward, if with curious speech
I question you, How long in this deep gloom
Your beauty has been shrouded from the world?

Constantia.
Just twenty summers, half my days of woe,
Here have I pass'd sequester'd and unknown.
So long has suff'rance borne affliction's thorn,
Deep rankling in the breast of wedded love!

Honoria.
Of wedded love! art thou then married? Speak!

Constantia.
Oh! would I were not But th' omniscient pow'r,
I trust, in pity, will, with tenfold joys,
Requite my child for all her mother's wrongs!
If yet she breathes, Heav'n show'r down blessings on her,
And guide her thro' this wilderness of woe!
Oh! could I once behold her ere I die,
Could I but clasp her in my fond embrace,
I would forgive her father's cruel scorn
And bless the name of Valmont.

Honoria.
Oh! 'tis she!
I am thy child! thy lov'd, thy lost Honoria!
The hapless offspring of the murder'd Valmont.

Constantia.
Support me, Heav'n!

[Faints.
Honoria
(supporting her.)
What has my rashness done?
Oh! do not leave me, angel! mother! Speak!
Honoria calls thee! let not death's fell grasp
Tear the fond parent from her long lost child! [Constantia revives.

She lives! she breathes! Oh! cherish in thy heart
The only comfort of thy widow'd days: [they embrace.

We will, when fainting hope denies to cheer us,
Mingle our tears, and smile at ruthless fate,
In all the proudest luxury of woe!
By day I'll strew thy lonely path with flow'rs,
And all the live-long night thy slumbers watch,
And chant my orisons for blessings on thee!

Constantia.
Alas! my child! such pious hopes are vain;
Here must I stay for ever! Thou art born
For gaudier scenes of splendour and delight!

Honoria.
Not for the globe's vast treasures would I leave thee!
Thou shalt return to Valmont; to thy home;
The noble Leonardo's close of life
Will bloom a second spring of youth and joy,
Blest in the converse of a saint like thee!

Constantia.
That cannot be; nor must thou here be known.
My vows for ever bind me to this goal,
Where, till my last funereal peal shall sound,
My vesper pray'rs, my early matin songs,
Must still confirm my solemn league with Heav'n.
Thou art o'erwhelm'd with persecuting woe;
Come, let me lead thee to the shrine of peace.

Honoria.
Oh! best of angels! Here will I remain;
This venerable pile shall be our tomb,
Where we will rest together!
Moss-grown shrines, Approaching the gate.

Where persecution shrinks from pity's gaze,
And penitence prepares the soul for Heav'n,
Oh! welcome to my dreary fev'rish soul!

[Exeunt into the Monastery