Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rolling with restless glare, and gazing oft,
With varying passions, on the traceless void,
Are tokens strong of a disorder'd mind.
How now, Sophia!

Sophia.
Said'st thou not, my friend,
Roldan, my love, would instantly be here,
To end my woes, my honour to restore,
And snatch my soul from Shame? See, see, how gay,
And yet how simple is my bridal dress?
Do not these red and purple flow'rets smile,
Among their verdant foliage, doubly sweet
Upon this vestal robe?—But ah! I fear
Roldan, my love, is false, and will not come.
They say Possession damps the flames of Love.
And, now I think me, he's grown cool of late.—
Oh I'm undone for ever.

(Weeps.)
Albert.
Out, alas!
Where does Conjecture lead? Alas, Sophia!
Dost thou not know thy father?

Sophia.
Oh forgive!
My wilder'd fancy, by this briny show'r
Now almost back to Reason's rule reclaim'd,
Perceives its wild mistake.

Albert.
But speak, my child;
For on the rack of doubt thy rambling words
Have stretch'd my tortur'd soul—Of Roldan what?
Thou hast not, surely, dar'd to plunge thy sire,
Thy hoary mother, and thy spotless race,
Thyself, and all into the pit obscene
Of Guilt and Shame.

Sophia,
(aside.)
Now am I curs'd indeed.
Oh break my heart!

Albert.
Ha! dost thou tremble, wretch?
And does the harlot blood forsake thy lip?
Oh guilt! guilt! guilt!—Thou stigma to my blood!

Chorus.
Oh be more gentle! See, thy harsh rebuke
Has chac'd the fainting spirit from her lip;
And deadly Terror seals her hapless eyes.

Albert.
Oh that these pale-grown lids had long been seal'd
For ever!

Chorus.
Oh be calm! Thy child revives.

Sophia.
Oh me! my sire, disarm thy bending brow;
And pity thy poor, wretched, injur'd child,
Whom Love and Treachery at once have spoil'd
Of peace and honour.

Albert.
Torture! Say no more.
Let loose my hand, lest I should dash thee off,
And bruise thy wanton form to—

Sophia.
Oh have mercy!
Yet, yet oh hear!

Albert.
No, not a word, by heav'n!
Hence, from my sight, and never see me more.

Chorus.
Rash man, forbear! Cast not thy hapless child,
More by Misfortune than by Guilt betray'd,
To public Shame and Misery a prey.

Sophia.

Oh mercy! mercy! aid my pray'rs, oh Heav'n!
Let not a hapless wretch, whose feeling heart
(Too much to sensibility attun'd)
Owes all its woes to Tenderness and Love,
Now fail within a parent's breast to wake
The soft emotions of relenting grief;
By the excess of which alone she fell.

Oh my lov'd, cruel father! had my heart,
Like thine, been barr'd to Pity's tearful plaint,
Could I, like thee, have turn'd a careless ear

To all the pray'rs, the sighs, tear-broken moans,
And moving arts of prostrate Tenderness,
I had not fall'n—I had not now become
Thus, in sad turn, a supplicant myself.
Oh then, if Pity has not fled to heav'n,
And left this sublunary world for e'er,
Chace this obdurate vengeance from thy mind,
And let Compassion soothe the rankling wounds
Compassion caus'd.

Albert.
Vile strumpet! hence, be gone.

Sophia.
My father! Oh, in pity—

Albert.

Hence, I say!
If thou but let me hear one accent more,
Or tarry longer in my blasted sight,
I'll breathe such curses on thy hated head—

Oh heaven and earth! where is the haughty boast
I made so lately of a spotless name!